Today I'm going to use our Torah portion as a springboard to talk about forgiveness.
Although this week’s Torah portion, Parashat
Nitzavim, begins with reproof and warning, it then moves on, in Chapter 30, to
a deep theme of divine love and forgiveness.
After we return, after we repent, “then (quoting) the Lord your God will restore
your fortunes and take you back in love.”
Once we are again following the covenant, following God’s commandments,
“once you return to God with all your heart and soul…the Lord will again
delight in your well-being, as he did in that of your fathers….”
Hearing about that beautiful divine forgiveness and
acceptance that follows return and repentance is music to our ears. But divine forgiveness applies to sins
against God. So we turn our attention
toward sins against our fellows, which it’s our
responsibility to repair.
In Judaism, atonement and forgiveness are about the
repair of damaged relationships, for the sake of reconciliation and for the
sake of the community.
In the Talmud, seeking forgiveness is required, and
it’s to be public. God can forgive offenses against God, but if we have
injured another human being, we must make amends directly to him or her.
"Atonement for transgressions committed against other people depends not
on God but on reconciliation with the injured party." The wisdom in that
formulation is that without reconciliation the whole community is damaged.
Forgiveness isn’t for sissies! The difficulty of
repairing relationships has in part spawned our society’s huge helping
industry.
We know we’re supposed to ask for forgiveness, but
knowing what to do isn’t the same as knowing how. That’s why Professor Moshe
Halbertal says in his Fall, 2011 article “At the Threshold of Forgiveness” that we
need both halacha and aggadah—both law and story. In that article, he tells three stories.
In the first parable, one Talmudic sage of antiquity, Rav (Rabbi) Jeremiah,
has injured another, Rav Abba. Rav Jeremiah is sitting on the doorstep of
R. Abba's house, unable to take the next step toward making amends and
achieving reconciliation. While Rav Jeremiah is seemingly stuck on the literal threshold of forgiveness, Rav
Abba's maidservant, who is pouring wastewater out of the window, accidentally
splashes some on Rav Jeremiah. At that point, Rav Abba, who now realizes
that he too must make amends, comes out of the house and face-to-face
with Rav Jeremiah, saying, "Now it is I who must appease
you...."That first parable shows that even though we are directed to ask for forgiveness when we have offended, we can only do so when an encounter between the offender and the offended party is possible. If we are stuck on that threshold, out of fear of being rebuffed or perhaps of making things worse, we cannot proceed. According to Moshe Halbertal, before the offender can ask for forgiveness, the injured party must first offer a partial, preliminary forgiveness lest the distance between the two parties be insurmountable.
The second parable simply states that a certain person has injured Rav Zera, who then proceeds to put himself repeatedly in the offender's presence--to "invite himself into his presence"--to give the offender an opportunity to ask for forgiveness, which would clear the way for reconciliation.
The Talmud presents that second example as worthy of emulation. By repeatedly drawing near to the offender, the injured party is extending a preliminary forgiveness that sets the stage for reconciliation. Even though the offender may not (yet) feel the remorse that would prompt him or her to ask forgiveness, the injured party makes that next step possible. The preliminary forgiveness is an act of grace, meaning it’s given without any guarantee that the offender will actually feel remorse or ask for forgiveness; the parable expresses how great that grace is, when one can give it—even though it is not until the offender does feel remorse (prompting him or her to seek forgiveness) that full reconciliation can be achieved.
In the third and final parable, the
problem is not just that the offending party fears being rebuffed or making
things worse. Maybe the offending party doesn’t
know he’s offended. I’d been wondering about that, before I came
across this article. Maybe the offending
party doesn’t care, or even thinks the injured party deserves what he got.
In this third scenario, the local
butcher has injured another one of the ancient Rabbis, here simply known as
"Rav." It is almost Yom Kippur, but the butcher has not
repented or even approached Rav, who now announces to his disciple that he will
go to the butcher and appease him. Thereupon the apprentice says,
"Abba (father) is going to kill a man." Rav went and stood over
the butcher while he worked. The butcher looked up, and when he saw Rav,
he said, "Abba, go; I have nothing to do with you." While he was
still killing the animal, a bone shot out, struck the butcher in the neck and killed him.
The third parable may look on the
surface like the second one, in which Rav Zera put himself within speaking
distance of the offender to give him an opening to ask for forgiveness.
The story may even appear to be one of vindication of Rav. In other words
the person who has wronged him pays, and pays the ultimate price, at
that.
But that isn't what Moshe Halbertal says
the Talmud is teaching. Rav's act, although superficially resembling the
act of grace in the second parable, is one of aggression. The key to that
understanding is in the reaction of the disciple, who could tell something was
up. Rav did cross the literal threshold but also crossed a
threshold of time, as well, since it is almost Yom Kippur. So, one way
Rav has erred is that time pressure has affected his judgment. Moreover,
he crossed the threshold of class, as he is an important rabbi and the
butcher a lowly working man. He has been intrusive, has thrown his weight
around.
That's why we have instructive
stories as well as laws. In the second parable we had an act of grace,
but one that cannot be ordered or prescribed because of the ease with it could
shade over to being an act of narcissism, as in this third parable.
Not that each of us is a high-powered rabbi whose every mistake could be
fatal—but these parables are still so very relevant today.
The
official aim of Judaism is reconciliation of two individuals which will then
benefit the stability of the entire community.
Our process of forgiveness is
precision-oriented. It’s geared toward a resolution between particular
adversaries in a close-knit community. But
we’re so big. We don’t know everybody here all that well.
Beyond our own borders we rub
shoulders with our sister communities and organizations, where we’re likely to
know others even less well.
Looking even further out beyond our community, we see our own wildly polarized
country, where it can seem much easier to get further offended than to find forgiveness
and reconciliation.
We Jews are in the thick of
things. Our mitzvot—our
commandments—involve walking in God’s way out in the world—even though we are a
minority, even though we are in diaspora.
That’s why we need these Talmudic
parables. When we are "the injured
party" we can try to take that first step, placing ourselves delicately
but deliberately into the vicinity of the offender. It's a delicate dance for the injured
party to cross the threshold into the presence of the offending party, since it’s
so hard to see ourselves clearly.
The preliminary forgiveness that
precedes complete forgiveness and reconciliation may be a difficult and
delicate dance that cannot be commanded or legislated, but is well worth
envisioning, since it offers a way forward.
We need to courageously place
ourselves in the presence of offending parties if we truly are going to
increase the chances for the forgiveness process and set the stage for the
offender's remorse and atonement and, finally, for reconciliation.
May it be so, soon and in our time,
for the sake of heaven and earth! Amen.
Postscript: The above words were the result of a lot of thinking about the article in question and the question of forgiveness in general. In fact, I wrote an earlier discussion of forgiveness that culminated in an earlier version of the sermon itself, which The Temple clergy helped me get "ready for prime time." I am completely responsible myself for the earlier, longer piece. I was looking at the differences between what we say about forgiveness in our society and how we actually use it and the term "justice." The longer piece rambles more than most of what I've posted in my blog, but I kept it because I thought it was getting me to a new place. I may eventually go back into it to clarify it.
Moshe Halbertal's article in the Jewish Review of Books is locked, so I'm providing the link as a reference only.
No comments:
Post a Comment