The solider confesses that, in his past, he destroyed a house full of 300 Jews with fire and armaments. After his story, he asks Wiesenthal to forgive him. After a few moments (he does briefly hold the hand of the former Nazi), Weisenthal leaves the room without speaking to the dying soldier any further. The solider dies by the next morning.
Wiesenthal then poses the provocative question to the reader: Had he done the right or wrong thing? What would you have done in his place?
The book then contains a collection of responses from many religious leaders, scholars and others who have witnessed various forms of injustice and tyranny.
The biggest lesson I took away from this was just how complex forgiveness is. For a Jew like Weisenthal, he knew that there was more at stake than his own individual conscience — there were the 300 Jews who died in that house, and their widows and families that survived them. There were the Jews as a whole people, and all they had suffered and endured for so many years. Weisenthal knew he couldn’t trivialize his decision, and all that it signified.
I feel the temptation to trivialize forgiveness even in my everyday life.
There are times I’ve spoken in a rude way to my wife, and then I quickly apologize, explaining it was a mistake and essentially asking her to “move on” immediately, so I don’t have to deal with the discomfort and consequences of my actions. And, thankfully, she doesn’t let me get away with it, but tells me, “I hear your apology, but I need some time.” It forces me to see how my negative words have impacted her and our relationship.
Whether it’s forgiveness, restoration of a relationship, or moving forward in partnership, we must be careful not to move on too quickly without acknowledging the cost of doing so — especially to those who have been hurt or marginalized in the past. We must remember that forgiveness is divine, but justice cannot be ignored in the process. And justice often puts us to the real tests of our character.
