Sorry for offending you – whoever you are

I’m envious of people who know who they have offended. And who can make a phone call, have coffee, or even send a WhatsApp to apologise for something that they might have done or said. Likely said.

I, on the other hand, genuinely would have no idea where to begin. I have been awarded multiple platforms on which to offend people each day. Between radio, articles, presentations, and work interactions, there’s unlikely to be a sunset that hasn’t witnessed me offending someone in the past day.

Not too long ago, I was approached by a bloke who said the following, “I want you to know that my mother hated you until the day she died!” He didn’t mean it unkindly, and intended to cause no harm. But facts are facts. And the fact that they had only recently buried her meant that the little bit of truth was still fresh in his mind. “Umm…” was my rather non-eloquent reply. “Thanks?”

It turned out that they had begged her not to listen to me or read what I wrote, but she would have none of it. There was someone out there who she disagreed with, hated, and who continued to annoy her. She might have been a lot of things, but a coward wasn’t one of them.

I never got to learn her name.

A few years ago, I interviewed a Muslim cleric on my show. I wanted to understand the similarities between Islam and Judaism. Before he began, he asked if he could say a short prayer, to which I consented. I’m not sure exactly what it was, but it invoked the story of Moses who is about to go before Pharoah and asks G-d to assist him with his mission. If my guest was Moses, it left little imagination who Pharoah was in this little interaction.

If that wasn’t bad enough, over the past weekend, a rabbi compared me to Adolf Eichmann. Not, he claimed, because I’m an evil, bloodthirsty murderer, but because when “you march up to me with such clear intent, I get nervous. And I’m sure that I see your German roots coming through when you do. Like Eichmann.” It shouldn’t have to be said, but for the record, we weren’t those types of Germans. Even if the rabbi sometimes thinks otherwise.

With all my good intentions, clearly I’m a lot to handle.

In truth, there are articles that I have written and not published, and there are articles that I published that I shouldn’t have written. I’m critical of my work, and whereas I love some of what I have penned, there are many pieces and many conversations that I don’t like at all.

I try to be responsible, and I try to consider what the reaction to my words will be. But I also take my role – whatever it is – seriously, which sometimes means addressing things that are uncomfortable. Subjects that would be easier – and smarter for me – to leave the hell alone.

I also often get it wrong. Articles that I considered harmless and fun often cause greater outrage than the ones that I thought would do so, and subjects that are safe and insipid become social media flurries.

Which is the reason that I would like to use this column on erev Yom Kippur to explain that whatever I’ve written or said has never been meant in a malicious way. My pen might be sharp, my words might bite, but the intention is pure.

I’ll probably have no recollection of the words that offended you most, but I’m sorry if they did. One thing I’m certain of is that it’s not worth hating me. It’s a genuine waste of an extremely valuable emotion. Especially not until the day you die.

Gmar chatima tova!