Can You Ever Forgive Me?

Lisa Brennan-Jobs, daughter of Steve Jobs from a failed relationship, has written a new book about her life with her father. In a recent New York Times Article, Nellie Bowles writes:

In passage after passage of “Small Fry,” Mr. Jobs is vicious to his daughter and those around her. Now, in the days before the book is released, Ms. Brennan-Jobs is fearful that it will be received as a tell-all exposé, and not the more nuanced portrait of a family she intended. She worries that the reaction will be about a famous man’s legacy rather than a young woman’s story — that she will be erased again, this time in her own memoir.

On the eve of publication, what Ms. Brennan-Jobs wants readers to know is this: Steve Jobs rejected his daughter for years, but that daughter has absolved him. Triumphantly, she loves him, and she wants the book’s scenes of their roller skating and laughing together to be as viral as the scenes of him telling her she will inherit nothing.

Ms. Brennan-Jobs’s forgiveness is one thing. What’s tricky is that she wants the reader to forgive Mr. Jobs, too. And she knows that could be a problem.

This article raises a number of questions:

1. What is forgiveness anyway?
2. How do people who are wronged decide when and how to offer forgiveness?
3. Do we, who are not the victims of wrongdoing, have the right to make our own judgments?

What is forgiveness?

One Christian understanding of forgiveness, which has become a part of our culture, is exemplified in the following news story from the aftermath of the shootings in a church in Charleston, South Carolina three years ago.

The relatives of people slain inside the historic African American church in Charleston, S.C., earlier this week were able to speak directly to the accused gunman Friday at his first court appearance.

One by one, those who chose to speak at a bond hearing did not turn to anger. Instead, while he remained impassive, they offered him forgiveness and said they were praying for his soul, even as they described the pain of their losses.

“I forgive you,” Nadine Collier, the daughter of 70-year-old Ethel Lance, said at the hearing, her voice breaking with emotion. “You took something very precious from me. I will never talk to her again. I will never, ever hold her again. But I forgive you. And have mercy on your soul.”

What is the model of forgiveness in this story?

There are similar stories in Judaism, of course.

The Chofetz Chaim was called once to testify in court, and the lawyer wanted to explain to the court what an honest man the Rabbi was. He said that once the Chofetz Chaim caught a thief stealing property from his small home. He pursued the thief, shouting “it’s yours! I forgive you!”

The judge looked at the lawyer and asked if he truly believed this amazing tale. “I’m not certain, your Honor,” said the lawyer, “but I do know that they do not tell such stories about you and me.

But such behavior is well beyond what is expected of us.

Maimonides in his code of law, Mishneh Torah, sets for what is actually expected of us when someone wrongs us.

1. What steps must a person who has wronged someone take in order to be forgiven?
2. Who has the power to forgive when one person wrongs the other?
3. How is this model different from the "Christian" approach above?

Once the criteria for asking forgiveness has been met, the person who is wronged also has obligations.

1. How far does the obligation to forgive extend?
2. Is this a reasonable expectation?

It is important to remember that, in Judaism, there is a school of thought that suggests that not all forgiveness is the same. Rabbi David Blumenthal explains in an article that appears to draw on commentaries on the ethical teachings in the book Tomer Devorah.

The most basic kind of forgiveness is "forgoing the other's indebtedness" (mechilá). If the offender has done teshuva, as described above, and is sincere in his or her repentance, the offended person should offer mechila; that is, the offended person should forgo the debt of the offender, relinquish his or her claim against the offender. This is not a reconciliation of heart or an embracing of the offender; it is simply reaching the conclusion that the offender no longers owes me anything for whatever it was that he or she did. Mechila is like a pardon granted to a criminal by the modern state. The crime remains; only the debt is forgiven.

The second kind of forgiveness is "forgiveness" (selichá). It is an act of the heart. It is reaching a deeper understanding of the sinner. It is achieving an empathy for the troubledness of the other. Selicha, too, is not a reconciliation or an embracing of the offender; it is simply reaching the conclusion that the offender, too, is human, frail, and deserving of sympathy. It is closer to an act of mercy than to an act of grace. A woman abused by a man may never reach this level of forgiveness; she is not obliged, nor is it morally necessary for her, to do so.

The third kind of forgiveness is "atonement" (kappará) or "purification" (ahorá). This is a total wiping away of all sinfulness. It is an existential cleansing. Kappara is the ultimate form of forgiveness, but it is only granted by God. No human can "atone" the sin of another; no human can "purify" the spiritual pollution of another.

1. How do you understand the difference between mechila, selicha and kappara? Use examples to better illustrate the differences.
2. How do you feel about this understanding of forgiveness? Does it make it easier to fulfill the obligation to forgive?

What is our role in judging and forgiving a public figure? While forgiveness is not up to us, we cannot avoid having to make judgments. In this case, Hillel's teaching in Pirke Avot provides an important caution.