The philosopher Jacques Derrida once said, ‘’There is only forgiveness, if there is any, where there is the unforgivable.’’

The broad strain of Jewish tradition, treading the narrow tightrope between both justice on the one hand and mercy on the other, would tend to disagree. Simon Wiesenthal’s famous book, The Sunflower, is an important case in point. It details the confession of a former Nazi officer who, on his deathbed, begs for Weisenthal’s forgiveness for the hundreds of Jewish families who were murdered on his command.

The famous Nazi hunter refuses on the basis that if any forgiving is to be done, it is the victims who have the power to grant it. To do otherwise would be to usurp the divine prerogative and that is not in Weisenthal’s power. 

Perhaps the refusal to forgive can be the righteous thing to do, even the morally appropriate course of action. Archbishop Desmond Tutu recounted an example from the South African Truth Commission in which a black woman testified. Her husband had been tortured and then killed by the police. As she said, ‘’A commission or a government cannot forgive. Only I eventually could do it. And I am not ready to forgive.’’

In an enigmatic story from the Talmud, Rabbi Elazar, son of Rabbi Shimon, is initially not granted forgiveness following his insult to a stranger. On realisation of his wrongdoing, he says to the person: “I have sinned against you; forgive me.” The man said to him: “I will not forgive you until you go to the Craftsman Who made me and say: ‘How ugly is the vessel you made’.’’

Maimonides in his Code stipulates that for sins committed to our fellow we are obligated to seek forgiveness directly. The above episode, however, indicates that perhaps all sins are ultimately an offence before the Divine. It also powerfully goes to the heart of the ambiguity that lies surrounding questions of forgiveness, namely, what is being asked when one seeks forgiveness? Whom is being asked? Something or someone? 

Judaism certainly calls into question a notion of unconditional forgiveness that is perhaps the preserve of the confessional box.

The parting of ways in Jewish and Christian attitudes to forgiveness need not be so stark, however. Rabbi Louis Jacobs corrects the distinction often made that in the notion of “turning the other cheek” from the Sermon on the Mount lies the difference between Judaism and Christianity. Indeed, as he points out, responding to injury without revenge, welcoming further suffering, has its echoes in a talmudic passage: 

“Our rabbis taught: Those who are insulted but do not insult, hear themselves reviled without answering, act through love and rejoice in suffering of them Scripture says: ‘But they who love Him are as the sun when he goeth forth in his might’.”

It is also a theme that the Safed mystic Moses Cordovero develops in his Palm Tree of Deborah, where he shares as a virtue the notion of being patient and allowing oneself to be insulted and yet not refuse to bestow one’s goodness on others. While not all approaches are as extreme, we may certainly reclaim the notion that “turning the other cheek” is nonetheless a Jewish one. 

The central paradigm for forgiveness in Judaism when someone has been wronged by another draws on the story of Abimelech’s taking Sarah, Abraham’s wife, and then returning her to him to declare that monetary compensation is not enough (Genesis 20). The attacker must beg for forgiveness. But when he does so, the victim should grant it readily, in the way that Abraham was prepared to forgive the far from salutary figure that was Abimelech. 

It is from this episode that we understand the tradition’s powerful psychological insight that even once justice has been done, for no lingering resentment to persist, the moral obligation to seek forgiveness is still necessary.

We also learn that placing the importance on readily granting forgiveness is perhaps the best antidote to the condition so many of us endure  — and exemplified by Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner, whose only release comes from rehearsing the tragedy that has consumed him.

There is also added emphasis that we do embrace forgiveness, lest bitterness ensue, given the notion, as Maimonides sets out, that if after three attempts a perpetrator (the second and third attempt involving a group to accompany them) is not granted forgiveness, it is then the victim who is deemed sinful for refusing a pardon. 

The tradition certainly recognises therefore that past hurt should never rob us of our future and become the narrative of our lives. Only forgiveness has the power to release us from the treadmill of the past. 

As we approach this season of forgiveness, and the power that it entails, we may enable the sometimes clogged river of our lives to flow again. In doing so the wounds of the past may be healed and the shattered relationships between individuals and even nations may be mended.

Adapted from an essay in Simon Eder’s recently published Jewish Angle of The Week, Jewish Quest \Publications, £20