Rabbi Leonard Rosenthal Tifereth Israel Synagogue Rosh Hashana 5771
:d lŸr l d-¤V d d ¥I ` e m iv¥ r d e W¥ ` d d ¥P d x¤n`Ÿ I e i p a i P ¤P d x¤n`Ÿ-I e ia ` x¤n`Ÿ I e eia ` m d x a ` l¤` w g v i x¤n`Ÿ I e f
Then Isaac said to his father Abraham, “Father!” And he answered, “Yes, my son.” And he said, “here are the firestone and the wood; but where is the sheep for the burnt offering?”
d- lŸr l d ¤V d F N d¤` x i m idŸl¡ ` m d x a ` x¤ n`Ÿ I e
And Abraham said, “God will see to the sheep for His burnt offering my son.” And the two of them walked on together. (Gen. 22:7-8)
We are familiar with what happens next. Abraham ties Isaac to the sacrificial altar and raises his knife to slay him. At the last possible minute he is stopped by an angel of God who tells him not to harm his son. “God does not want you to sacrifice your son,” says the angel. “God only wants to test your obedience.”
In his readiness to slay Isaac, Abraham passes with flying colors.
Isaac survived but his close encounter with death damaged him irreparably. In the Torah, Isaac is a weak transitional figure. He largely duplicates the acts of his father before giving birth to Jacob, the next great actor in Jewish history.
Although the Torah tells us that Isaac helped bury Abraham, before the funeral day there is no record of any interaction between Abraham and Isaac.
d- lŸr l d ¤V d F N d¤` x i m idŸl¡ ` m d x a ` x¤ n`Ÿ I e g :d lŸr l d-¤V d d ¥I ` e m iv¥ r d e W¥ ` d d ¥P d x¤n`Ÿ I e i p a i P ¤P d x¤n`Ÿ-I e i p A
“Here are the firestone and the wood; but where is the sheep for the burnt offering?” “God will see to the sheep for His burnt offering my son.” is the last recorded conversation between father and son.
If, after the A , Isaac fled from Abraham, who could blame him? Even if Isaac recognized that Abraham ultimately had to submit to the Will of God, he still must have wondered why his father did not argue with God or plead for his life. Why, he must have thought, did his father so quickly and meekly submissively acquiesce?
1 But Abraham was a man of steadfast faith. He always obeyed God. God had given the orders and since God is God, what God commands is moral, just, and right, even if the demand is to sacrifice one’s son.
After the fact, might Abraham have had second thoughts? Did he regret not arguing with God as he did when God wanted to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah? If he did, the Bible gives no evidence.
Did he apologize to Isaac for nearly killing him? It’s doubtful. He might have explained, rationalized, and justified his act, but apologize? Why would or should Abraham apologize for obeying the Will of God?
We will never know, but the Torah records no apology and no reconciliation, and Isaac and Abraham never speak to each other again.
The story of the A , the binding of Isaac, came to mind a couple of weeks ago when I was speaking with our new Abraham Ratner Torah School Director, Rabbi Shai Cherry. We were about the upcoming High Holy Days, which is what Rabbis do for aggravation before Rosh Hashana, when he posed the question: “Between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur we are supposed to ask forgiveness for the offenses we have committed. Those we have harmed are supposed to accept our apologies and forgive us. But what about those people who harmed us and do not apologize? Are we supposed to forgive them as well?”
I bristled at the suggestion and its implications. If forgiveness without contrition is a , then crime victims and their loved ones would be obligated to forgive unrepentant murderers and rapists. It would mean that victims of hate crimes would have to forgive their attackers and victims of theft forgive those who have stolen their goods even when no forgiveness is requested by the perpetrator.
Why should unrepentant criminals be forgiven? What purpose does it serve? And on a more personal level, why should I forgive those who have hurt or injured me, especially if they were convinced that I earned their wrath and that they did no wrong? Why should Isaac have been obligated to forgive his father for nearly killing him if Abraham had no regrets?
On the contrary, I am always perplexed by those who forgive people who hurt them when no forgiveness is asked. I am especially troubled by this unsolicited forgiveness when the perpetrators are unremorseful and unrepentant. In the absence of contrition and apology, granting forgiveness to people who harm us seems more a Christian, than a Jewish value.
In the Christian Bible, the Gospel of Luke says that Jesus, while impaled on the cross, forgave the Romans who had put him there: “Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” (Luke, 23:24) Jesus asked God to forgive his executioners even while he was suffering from their cruelty and they were dividing his possessions.
2 Christians are taught to forgive those who harmed them even when no forgiveness is asked, in order to follow in the footsteps of Jesus who forgave the Romans for executing him.
Interestingly enough, I could find only two Jewish sources which reflect a sensibility of granting forgiveness to those who do not ask for it: the first is in the introduction to the S prayer which is said before going to bed, and the second is in a prayer called “Tefillah Zakah,” the Purity Prayer which, although not found in our M , is found in the new Conservative M , on the cover of our S prayer book, and in traditional M .
In this prayer, which individuals recite before Kol Nidre is chanted, we declare: “I hereby forgive all who have hurt me, all who have done me wrong, whether deliberately or by accident, whether by word or by deed. May no one be punished on my account.” Aside from these instances, I could not find any another Jewish source that suggests that we should forgive those who have harmed us before they, themselves, do and request our forgiveness. Granting unrequested forgiveness does not appear to be a serious Jewish value.
Why not? It seems to me that Judaism does not require us to grant unrequested forgiveness because it recognizes that doing so is essentially self-serving and does not lead to T , the healing of human relationships.
When one is wronged or injured, the psychological and emotional wounds, as well as the physical wounds, can run deep. When we are hurt we may find ourselves consumed by anger, fear, and outrage, and overwhelmed by our sense of powerlessness. We may become emotionally paralyzed and unable to move on, or even concentrate on the mundane aspects of our daily lives. We may want to lash out not only at those who harmed us, but at the world that did not protect us. Sometimes we may feel as if we want to explode. Unless we find a way to relieve the pain, our lives may grind to a halt.
Granting forgiveness to those who have harmed us is one way to relieve the pressure. It is a way to lessen the pain, a way to let go and to begin move on. As we set aside anger and resentment we begin to regain some of the power and control we have lost.
As the Center for Christian Ethics of Baylor University puts it,“...forgiving is the only way to be fair to ourselves. For only forgiveness liberates us from a painful past to a brand-new future.”
However, while granting unrequested forgiveness may have personal and therapeutic value in helping the victim move on in life, as a religious and spiritual value I think it is problematic. It may be more self-serving than noble, more a way of coping than healing. Forgiveness without reconciliation may help the one who is injured, but it is a solitary act. It does not heal human relationships.
3 As each of us knows from our own experiences, there is nothing more important in life than the relationships we form with other human beings. The relationships we have with our parents, spouses, and children, our siblings, relatives, friends, and God not only define who we are, but give meaning to life itself. As the Talmud says, “i` `zezin i` ,`zexag” - without community, only death remains. (T.B. Ta’anit 23b)
We all know that the people closest to us have the ability to cause us the most pain. Part of that intense pain comes from our realization that someone we loved and trusted, someone who should have protected us, harmed us instead.
When someone we trust hurts us, the pain may be so great that the relationship may be damaged beyond repair. Sometimes we may not even bear to be in the same room with them. Sometimes we may even wish to do them harm.
There is only one way to mend broken relationships. The one who has caused us pain must acknowledge their offense, apologize, and ask our forgiveness. In other words, they must do , admit their guilt and change their ways. Without remorse and admission of guilt, there can be no reconciliation. Only after atonement is made, can mutual healing begin.
We don’t have to look to the Bible for further examples of broken relationships. All of us know parents and children who are not on speaking terms due to some offense, and brothers and sisters who refuse to be at the same family gathering. We all know husbands and wives who, even if they continue to reside under the same roof, live their own separate lives. We all have stories about life long friends who parted ways for some long forgotten offense, or congregants who ignore each other in , even during the High Holy Days.
We all know people who refuse to admit wrongdoing and apologize for what they have done, who live smugly and self-righteously, and believe that they have done nothing to apologize for. And sometimes, we even recognize these people as ourselves.
When those who have hurt us ask for our forgiveness, must we always grant it? What happens when the hurt and trauma are so deep that no apology can make it better? What if words and actions do not seem enough to mend the wounds? Here Jewish tradition is unequivocal. Since the building of human relationships is paramount in our tradition, in most cases, we are obligated to accept the apologies of the truly contrite.
Moses Maimonides, the Rambam, wrote, “It is forbidden for a person to be cruel and refuse to be appeased. Rather, he should be easily pacified but hard to anger. When the person who wronged him asks for forgiveness, he should forgive him with a complete heart and a willing spirit.” (Rambam, h. Teshuva 2:10)
There are, of course, exceptions to the rule. I don’t think one is obligated to 4 forgive a murderer, rapist, thief, or Nazi, for example, or someone who is blatantly insincere. But when it comes to the everyday people who inhabit our personal universe, accepting their apologies, forgiving them, and rekindling the relationship is what God wants us to do. And we would always do well to remember that even when we feel that others have harmed us, they most likely feel we have injured them as well. Asking for and receiving forgiveness is a two way street.
The Jewish High Holy days are a time for seeking and granting forgiveness. It is a time of reconciliation and making peace with those we have offended. We set these ten days apart from all others as the season to atone for the pain we have caused others and the shame we have brought God. The Shofar reminds us to review our lives and turn toward God and toward each other. Our fast on Yom Kippur helps us focus on all those in need whom we could have helped, but ignored.
The Y N are above all days of hope, love, of returning to God, and returning to those we love from whom we have become estranged. It is a time of returning to all that we ever hoped we would one day become.
Must we forgive those who have hurt us who remain arrogant and unrepentant? I do not think so. But even when we believe that we are the injured party, it is still laudable for us to approach those from whom we have become estranged and take the first step in healing the relationship. It is better to be loved than to be right.
Finally, just as we ask forgiveness of those we have wronged so must we forgive those who have wronged us, lest we end up like Abraham and Isaac, death alone reuniting them.
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