Rabbi Michael Leo Samuel

The Chinese say, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step.” Tonight we begin our spiritual journey with a celebration of Yom Kippur—a holiday that is wholly devoted to the cultivation of forgiveness and spiritual renewal—both as individuals and as a community.

“I have forgiven you as you have spoken” Fewer subjects personally challenge our moral sensibilities like forgiveness—both as individuals and as a society.

As we commemorate the 10^th anniversary of 9/11, it is important for us to revisit some of the important questions about the nature and dynamics of forgiveness.

But what are the limitations of forgiveness? What are its possibilities? Should a person forgive unconditionally? Should the terrorists be forgiven for their crime of murder? In Jewish tradition, it is often customary to broach an important topic with a story. Afterwards we shall examine the important implications of the story to our original questions.

You are a Jewish prisoner in a Nazi concentration camp. You are sent to work in a hospital. A nurse brings you to a German soldier named Karl, who is mortally wounded. The dying soldier confesses that he has committed terrible atrocities against your people and asks you to forgive him. What would you do?

Actually, this was the question faced by renowned Nazi hunter Simon Wiesenthal and is the focus of his autobiographical novel, The Sunflower. Wiesenthal took the soldier’s hand listened to his story.

The patient recounted a horrible act in which he had participated. All of the Jews, mothers with infants and children, young and old, were rounded up and crowded into a large yellow house. The commanding officer ordered the house to be set afire.

When the Jews started running from the burning building and jumping out windows, the commander ordered the troops to fire. After telling the story, the patient asked Wiesenthal if he would forgive him for his role in the massacre.

Ultimately, young Wiesenthal walks away in silence. He can’t forgive the man. But his own soul is scorched with the agony of his decision to walk away. Liberated from the camps, Wiesenthal seeks out the dead soldier’s mother to ease his mind. He finds a broken woman, left with nothing but the good memory of her son.

Wiesenthal decided not to tell her of her son’s confessed atrocities, his silence brings him peace of mind. He couldn’t forgive the soldier for the murder of others; he can spare an old woman suffering.

WHO HAS THE RIGHT TO FORGIVE?

Wiesenthal later wrote, “Forgetting is something that time alone takes care of, but forgiveness is a choice, and only the person who suffers is qualified to forgive” As the years went by, his conscience still haunted him: Did I do the right thing in refusing to forgive the SS soldier? What do you think? Are there some crimes that simply cannot be forgiven?

When Wiesenthal first printed his book, there was a remarkable range of responses. Most Jewish respondents felt that Wiesenthal was right in not forgiving the dying Nazi. How could a mass-murderer be forgiven?

DID KARL FINALLY REPENT?

Did Karl truly repent? Possibly. However, in Karl’s case, we cannot confuse the beginning of a journey with its ending. Only God knows, but it is possible that he took a significant meaningful first step toward some form of redemption . . . The rest of his journey can only continue in the World of Eternity. Therefore, it seems only apropos for the souls of the victims to deal with the souls of their perpetrators on their own terms. But regardless how one views the story, this much is known: Could either young Simon or Karl have ever imagined that their mysterious encounter would challenge the moral sensibilities of countless millions of people across time? I believe there is a profound spiritual significance that is behind this synchronicity-one which ought to give our souls a pause to reflect upon . . .

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN JUDAISM AND CHRISTIANITY

Wiesenthal’s book highlighted for me one of the most important distinctions between Judaism and most but not all forms of traditional Christianity.[1] Many Christian thinkers and theologians argued the opposite. Forgiveness should and ought to be unconditional. Just as God is gracious in forgiving sinners, so must we be as well. Not long after 9/11, Pope John Paul II expressed the following prayer: “We pray for the victims today, may they rest in peace, and may God show mercy and forgiveness for the authors of this horrible terror attack . . .”

This position is not altogether new. Shortly after Timothy McVeigh was found guilty of murdering 168 people in the Oklahoma City bombing, a minister invited Americans to forgive him In a second case, Michael Carneil, a freshman at Heath High School in West Paducah, Kentucky, gunned down three students attending a prayer group on campus. A few days later the students erected a banner saying, “We forgive you, Michael.”

A personal note: Within a day of the 9/11 attack, I will never forget the words of the local Presbyterian minister who said, “We should understand and forgive the terrorists for bombing the World Trade Center which left over 3000 dead, since they were only reacting to our foreign policies . . .” Some local ministers said, “We need to love the bombers in the spirit of compassion and forgiveness . . .” There seemed to also be a consensus of religious leaders across the world see who felt that we must solve the problem of evil by listening, offering compassion and bestowing forgiveness. As one might have expected, they were more concerned about the terrorists than they were about their innocent victims.

IMAGINING MAIMONIDES’ RESPONSE TO 9/11

Maimonides in his Laws of Repentance writes that repentance requires five elements: recognition of one’s sins as sins (hakarát ha‑chét’), remorse (charatá), desisting from sin (azivát ha‑chét’), restitution where possible (peira’ón), confession (vidúi) and-only then-forgiveness (michila).

From Maimonides’ criteria, we can deduce several important points: Forgiveness can only be given by the victims; those clamoring for forgiveness were not the ones who were wronged—it is the victims of these terrorist attacks who were wronged. Therefore, it is totally inappropriate for anyone to offer forgiveness on behalf of someone else. Fortunately, not all Christians believe like the Pope, the Protestants and countless New Age cults. Some of the scholars and theologians I will briefly mention offer a very Judaic understanding of forgiveness and even may serve to amplify our understanding of Maimonides’ Laws of Repentance.

One of the great Lutheran heroes of WWII was the German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer (1906-1945); he will always be best remembered for participating in a plot to assassinate Hitler; in the end, he was hung by the Nazis. Aside from being a great symbol of conscience, he went against the classical Christian understanding of forgiveness and warned all Christians about the dangers of “cheap forgiveness” because it enables evil. Had Bonhoeffer lived to see 9/11, he would have condemned the desire to forgive Al Qaeda terrorists as misguided and morally outrageous.

Bonhoeffer is not the only one thinker to challenge the morally vacuous theology of carte blanche forgiveness. One contemporary Korean Christian theologian, Andrew Park, develops a similar approach. He argues that every broken or shattered relationship requires that the offender heal the shame of the victim; this applies no less if the person is a victim of emotional abuse, sexual victimization, violence, or any number of other ways.

Park argues convincingly that forgiveness is a two-step process; whenever you harm someone in word or deed, you are unleashing anguish and misery to that person, resulting in a scarring of the soul. The offender cannot find healing in his own soul until he takes the necessary steps to heal his victims. Both the Catholic and Protestant Church have done a serious injustice by ignoring the victims, putting the onus on them to find their own way to wholeness and inner peace.

Thus, the person who was once a drug pusher who now commits his life to keeping young kids off the streets, or the father who had in the past neglected his children, now becomes a model father who is truly involved in their lives, or the spouse who cheats, who later becomes an ideal mate and life-partner—all these examples personify the concept of han. Or as the Talmud would say, Yom Kippur has the power to transform sins into good deeds—provided someone truly repents.

I believe that Park’s observation fits perfectly with the Maimonidean paradigm that we have mentioned.

The process of addressing the victim’s pain is what Korean society refers to as han; han is the relational consequence of sin—and shame of their victims. To reconcile yourself with God and with other humans, you must take the steps to heal the pain you have caused.

The bottom line is simple: The evil we see in the world is a sad reflection of the apathy and tolerance we have for evil. Religious leaders have to stop making excuses for the diabolical exploitation of religion. For the most part, Muslim leaders especially, have done a terribly poor job speaking out against the hijacking of their faith; we have a duty to hold their leaders accountable and insist that they take a more active role in condemning the jihadistic theology that inspires young people to commit such acts of violence in the world. Yes, there are some outspoken Muslim leaders who share this sentiment, but they pale when compared to the lunatics that speak in the name of the Islamic faith. The media can play an important role in assisting these men find a broader audience, but the media seems to be only interested in only maintaining the status quo.

SUMMARY

The questions Simon Wiesenthal raises will continue to challenge the ways Jews, Christians, Secular humanists, and Buddhists look upon forgiveness.

As we give thought to the meaning of Yom Kippur this evening, let us always remember that a sin between God and Man is always more severe than a sin between God and Man. Why? Because a sin against our fellow human beings also to be a sin against God, who is triangulated—as Martin Buber observed—in every human relationship . . .

Forgiveness involves several steps, not the least of which is taking personal stock of one’s behavior through a process of introspection called, “Heshbon haNefesh” a spiritual accounting and evaluation of how we have wronged others. Yet, it is not insight or verbal confessions that matter—if we want to rectify our relationships with our families and friends, it begins with changing our behavior; we must do our part in taking the practical steps to restore our victims and make them whole again—whenever, wherever possible. In the end, as Andrew Park observed, we must heal the fractured relationship and uproot the pain we have caused others. Although it is difficult, it is not impossible—but to truly experience the miracle of Yom Kippur, we must start the process now—beginning this evening.

Yes, the journey of a 1000 miles begins with the first step—good luck along your journeys, and may we all find healing on this day of Yom Kippur.

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Notes:

[1] There are a number of structural limitations in Wiesenthal’s book, for instance: The author has little notion of contrarian Christian views that come close to the traditional Maimonidean understanding of repentance. Secondly, When he originally wrote his book, he should have solicited the views of Martin Buber and Emanuel Levinas-both thinkers would have offered an intriguing alternative to the other Judaic viewpoints offered, which I believe would have narrowed the gap between the Christian and Jewish theological perspectives.