As we bask in the warm beauty of summer on the North Fork, we find ourselves in the middle of one of Judaism’s great annual events — an unfolding drama of alienation and reconciliation. It begins with the disastrous “Three Weeks,” culminating in Tisha B’Av — the anniversary of the destruction of the Temples and the horrifying alienation of exile. This is followed by the “Seven Weeks” of consolation, culminating in Rosh Hashanah, the Ten Days of Penitence, and Yom Kippur.

We go from ungodly devastation to moments with The Divine.

How? Or, more specifically, what is the magic in the human-divine relationship that allows the mistakes of the past to be forgiven and, if not forgiven, then forgotten?

My friend and teacher Rabbi Philip Pohl taught me the magic. He told me this painful story: A family in his congregation suffered the devastating loss of a child. The family relied heavily on the rabbi for emotional support. Initially, all went as well as it could under such tragic circumstances. But then, the rabbi came face to face with every rabbi’s worst nightmare: The time for the unveiling was somehow not recorded on his calendar, and he missed it. Despite all the heartfelt apologies, his relationship with the family was shattered.

Years passed. Rabbi Pohl was teaching a class about the High Holy Days, and he mentioned the classic rabbinic image of HaShem making a record of our deeds in the Book of Life. In the audience was the bereaved mother, a professional calligrapher. She asked the question, “What kind of pen does HaShem use?” And Rabbi Pohl responded, “I’m not sure what kind of pen it is, but there’s one thing I do know — the pen has an eraser.”

The effect was electric. Cathartic. Even G-d, they both understood, has an eraser. At that moment, Rabbi Pohl and his congregant were able to renew their bond, their friendship, and their sacred relationship.

So, too, with all of us. We have all experienced hurt and betrayal — sometimes intentional, sometimes not. Our trauma is not a figment of our imagination, not something to be denied or dismissed. The hurt is real. But so is the hope that we can find the erasers to rewrite the book, to forgive and to be forgiven.

Our congregation has gone through some difficult times recently and, G-d knows, the people of Israel have been going through difficult times as well. There are no magic wands to wave to make it all better.

But pens with erasers are the next best thing.

Let us hope that during the upcoming holidays, HaShem will give us the twin gifts of forgiveness and the power to forgive.

—Rabbi Robert L. Wolkoff