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Forgive the terrorists? By Rabbi Benjamin Blech
http://www.JewishWorldReview.com |
G-d, I need your guidance. I grieve for all the victims of
September 11th. My heart is filled with pain, and with anger at the terrorists
responsible for the horrible crimes committed on that day. But I know that
you teach us to forgive those who sin. In the Bible you often tell us that you
are a G-d who is slow to anger, merciful and forgiving. We are supposed to
imitate you and adopt Your behavior as guidelines for our own personal
conduct. Does that really mean that no matter how difficult it is, I have to tell
myself to forgive all those who turned the twin towers into a mass graveyard?
Am I guilty of failing my spiritual obligations if I'm not willing to respond to
terrorism with love and forgiveness? G-d, how far does clemency go? In the
name of religion, must I be prepared to pardon even those who committed
murder?
Forgiveness is a divine trait. It defines the goodness of G-d. Without it human
beings probably couldn't survive. Because G-d forgives, there's still hope for
sinners. When we do wrong, G-d reassures us that he won't abandon us as a
result of our transgressions. Divine forgiveness is the quality that most clearly
proves G-d's love for us.
That's why the many passages in the Bible that affirm G-d's willingness to
forgive our sins are so important. They comfort us and they fill us with
confidence. We know none of us are perfect. If we would be judged solely on
our actions we would surely all fall short. Thank G-d the heavenly court isn't
that strict. We can rest assured, as the prophet Isaiah told us in the name of
the Lord, "Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow."
It makes perfect sense, then, for us to understand that if we expect G-d to
forgive us for our failings we have to be prepared to forgive others as well.
What we need when we're being judged from above certainly deserves to be
granted to those we are judging. So we obviously have to be guided by the
profound words of Alexander Pope: "To err is human, to forgive, divine."
That all makes it seem like we have no choice in the matter. Forgiveness
appears to be our only moral option. But the more we study the Bible, the more
we recognize a peculiar paradox. The same G-d who preaches forgiveness very
often doesn't forgive. Instead, he punishes sinners. He holds people
responsible. He criticizes, he condemns, and afflicts those who committed
crimes. Adam and Eve sinned, and they were kicked out of the Garden of
Eden. Cain sinned and he was condemned to become a wanderer over the face
of the earth. The generation of Noah sinned and a flood destroyed them. The
builders of the Tower of Babel sinned and their speech was turned into babble.
In one story after another, from the five Books of Moses through the works of
the prophets, we read of retribution, of accountability, of divine punishment.
Isn't this an innate contradiction in the Bible? The same book in which G-d
identifies himself as merciful and forgiving, repeatedly shows us a G-d of justice
who withholds undeserved pardons. It almost sounds hypocritical to hear G-d
glorify forgiveness as an ideal way to act and then most the time not to put it
into practice in his dealings with human beings.
There must be something we're missing. There can't be such an obvious
contradiction in the Bible. And sure enough, just a little reflection makes clear
why there are times when G-d forgives people for their sins and why at other
times he refuses.
THE PRICE FOR FORGIVENESS
"Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts; and let
him return unto the Lord, and He will have mercy upon him; and to our G-d, and
He will abundantly pardon." (Isaiah 55:7)
Forgiveness is willing to overlook the sins of the past for the sake of an altered
future. It is ready to pardon the most terrible wrongs for the price of remorse,
regret and the desire for a new beginning. But the one thing G-d's forgiveness
is unwilling to do is to condone vicious crimes by simply accepting them. An
unrepentant sinner mistakes G-d's mercy for permission to continue in his
ways. To forgive such a person isn't kindness; its cruelty to all those who'll be
hurt by the evil that wasn't stopped before it could do more harm.
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But when Jonah told the residents of the city of Nineveh that they were
doomed because of their evil behavior, they took the message to heart and
committed themselves to a new way of life. And the people who changed were
immediately forgiven. G-d wasn't going to hold their past against them -
because it was really a thing of the past.
To speak of forgiveness as if it were the automatic entitlement of every criminal
is to pervert a noble sentiment into a carte blanche for mayhem and chaos. We
might as well open the doors of every jail and release all the thieves, rapists
and murderers. Our wonderful act of compassion wouldn't take too long to be
followed by the cries of the victims of our folly!
As a Jew, I recognize this idea as a basic principle of our faith. In our tradition
we are taught that, "He who forgives the wicked hurts the good." But you
don't have to be Jewish to acknowledge the validity of this concept. The Christian Bible unambiguously affirms it as well: "And if your brother sins against
you, rebuke him; and if he repents, forgive him. And if seven times of the day
he sins against you, and seven times of the day turns to you saying, I repent,
you shall forgive him." (Luke 17:3-4) Forgiveness isn't an orphan. Its parent
has to be repentance.
DON'T FORGIVE THEM UNLESS?.
The day after the Columbine High School massacre, a group of students
announced that they forgave the killers. A short while after the Oklahoma
bombing, some people put out a call to forgive Timothy McVeigh. And, on
September 12th, on several American campuses, colleges groups pleaded for
forgiveness for the terrorists responsible for the horrific events of the previous
day.
These weren't just misguided gestures of compassion. They were serious sins
with potentially tragic consequences. Evil unchallenged is evil condoned. To
forgive and forget, as Arthur Schopenhauer so well put it, "means to throw
valuable experience out the window." And without the benefit of experience's
lessons we are almost certain to be doomed to repeat them.
The terrorists who piloted the planes into the twin towers never asked us to be
forgiven. They expressed not the slightest remorse as they went to their
deaths together with their victims. Those who sent them, those who financed
them, and those who applauded their mission never for a moment regretted
what happened. Forgiving them is no less than giving them license to murder
4000 more innocent people. That's why to forgive in a case like this is to
become an accomplice to future crimes.
WHAT IF A NAZI ASKED FOR FORGIVENESS?
That's not just a theoretical question. Something
exactly like that happened towards the end of the
Holocaust. And the man who had to decide what to
do in such a situation, a concentration camp victim
who had suffered indescribable mistreatment and
torture, wrote a remarkable book about his
experience.
Simon Wiesenthal was a prisoner of the Nazis
confined to slave labor in a German hospital. One
day he was suddenly pulled away from his work and
brought into a room where an SS soldier lay dying.
The German officer, Karl, confessed to Wiesenthal
that he had committed atrocious crimes. Although
raised as a good Catholic and in his youth
G-d-fearing, Karl had allowed himself to become a
sadistic accomplice to Nazi ideology. Now that he
knew his end was near and he would soon be facing
his Maker, Karl was overcome by what he now
realized was the enormity of his sins.
More than anything else, Karl knew that he needed
atonement. He wanted to die with a clear
conscience. So he asked that a Jew be brought to
him. And from this Jew, Simon Wiesenthal, the killer
asked for absolution.
Wiesenthal has been haunted by this scene his
entire life. When it happened, he was in such shock
that he didn't know how to respond. His emotions
pulled him in different directions. Anger mixed with
pity , hatred with compassion, and revulsion with mercy. His conclusion was to
leave in utter silence. He didn't grant Karl the forgiveness the German
desperately sought.
Years later, Wiesenthal shared the story with a number of prominent
intellectuals, theologians and religious leaders. How would they have reacted?,
he asked them. In the light of religious teachings and ethical ideals, what
should have been the proper response? Was there a more suitable reply than
silence?
Wiesenthal collected the answers and had them published as a book called The
Sunflower. The ranges of responses offer a fascinating insight into different
views on forgiveness. Some, like the British journalist Christopher Hollis, believe
that the law of G-d is the law of love, no matter what the situation. We have
an obligation to forgive our fellow human beings even when they have caused
us the greatest harm. A remorseful murderer deserved compassion.
On the other hand, Cardinal Franz Konig believes that Wiesenthal did Karl a
favor just by listening to him. Wiesenthal did pass up the chance to offer his
forgiveness to Karl, although in those circumstances doing so would have been "
superhuman."
Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, a prominent American theologian and author,
offered a different perspective. No one can forgive crimes not committed
against him or her personally. What Karl sought could only come from his
victims. It's preposterous to think that one solitary Jew can presume to speak
for 6 million.
AND
WHO ARE YOU TO FORGIVE?
When he finished, one of the very famous names in American corporate life
angrily rebutted the essence of Heschel's talk. " I'm tired," he said," of hearing
about the Holocaust. You claim that you're speaking in the name of morality.
Why can't you demonstrate true morality by learning to forgive and forget?"
To a stunned audience, Heschel replied by asking them for permission to tell a
story. Before beginning, he introduced his listeners to the man he would be
speaking about. In the history of the Jewish people, he explained, there has
hardly ever been someone considered as saintly as Rabbi Israel Kagan,
commonly known as the Chafetz Chaim ("the one who desires true life"). A
Polish rabbi and scholar of the late 19th and early 20th century, he was
universally revered not just for his piety but more importantly for his extreme
concern for the feelings of his fellow man. It is an incident in the life of this
holy figure that Heschel said he wanted to share before he would respond to
the question put to him.
Rabbi Kagan was traveling on a train, immersed in a religious book he was
studying. Alongside him sat three Jews anxious to while away the time by
playing cards. The game required a fourth hand so they asked the
unrecognized stranger to join them. Rabbi Kagan politely refused, explaining
that he preferred to continue his reading. The frustrated card players refused
to take no for an answer. They began to beat the poor Rabbi until they left him
bleeding.
Hours later, the train pulled into the station. Hundreds of people swarmed the
platform waiting to greet the great sage. Posters bore signs of Welcome to the
Chafetz Chaim. As the Rabbi, embarrassed by all the adulation, walked off the
train with his bruises, the crowd lifted him up and carried him off on their
shoulders. Watching with horror were the three Jews who had not long before
accosted the simple Jew sitting in their cabin, now revealed as one of the
spiritual giants of their generation. Profoundly ashamed and plagued by their
guilt, they managed to make their way through the crowd and reached their
unwilling card player partner.
With tears, they poured out their feelings of shame and remorse. How could
they possibly have assaulted this great Rabbi? They begged for forgiveness.
And incredibly enough, the Rabbi said no. The man who spent his life preaching
love now refused to extend it to people who harmed him and regretted their
actions. It seemed incomprehensible. So the three Jews attributed it to a
momentary lapse. Perhaps, they thought, it was just too soon for the rabbi to
forgive them. He probably needed some time to get over the hurt. They would
wait a while and ask again at a more propitious moment.
Several weeks passed and it was now close to Yom Kippur, the Day of
Atonement. Even the simplest Jews knew that they had to gain forgiveness
from their friends if they wanted to be pardoned by G-d. With trepidation, the
wicked three wrangled an appointment and once again were able to speak to
the Rabbi. They pleaded their case. Still the Rabbi said no. He would not
forgive them.
The rabbi's son was present as this strange scene played itself out. Puzzled by
his father's peculiar behavior, he couldn't contain himself. It was so unlike
anything he had ever witnessed before. Why did his father suddenly act so
cruelly? Why would he persist in tormenting people who only asked for a simple
expression of forgiveness?
The son dared to ask. His father explained. "Do you really think I don't want to
forgive these poor Jews before the High Holy days? If it were only in my power
to do so, don't you know that I would have forgiven them when they stood
before me at the railroad station? Of course I, Rabbi Kagan, forgive them for
what they did to me. When they learned who I was, they were mortified and
filled with shame for what they had done. But the man they beat up was the
one they presumed to be a simple, unassuming poor person with no crowd of
well- wishers waiting to greet him. He was the victim and only he is the one
capable of granting them forgiveness. Let them go find that person. I am
incapable of releasing them from their guilt."
Rabbi Heschel completed the story. He then turned to the executive who
suggested that it was time for us to move on after the Holocaust and to forgive
and forget. "I would be more than happy to do so if I only could. But I was not
the one who was sealed in the gas chambers to die a horrible death. I didn't
have my child pulled from my breast and shot it in front of my eyes. I was not
among the tortured, the beaten, the whipped, and the murdered. It is they and
they alone who can offer forgiveness. Go and find those 6 million and ask them
if they are prepared to forgive and forget."
Should we forgive the murderers of the thousands of victims of terrorism on
9/11? Perhaps the most appropriate response is simply this: We are not the
ones who have the right to make that decision.
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Interested in a private Judaic studies instructor — for free? Let us know by clicking here. To comment, please click here. JWR contributor Rabbi Bejamin Blech is the author of several highly acclaimed books. He is a professor of Talmud at Yeshiva University and the Rabbi Emeritus of Young Israel of Oceanside, NY, which he served for 37 years and from which he retired to pursue his interests in writing and lecturing around the globe.
© 2011, Rabbi Bejamin Blech
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