“The crux of the matter is, of course, the question of forgiveness. Forgetting is something that time alone takes care of, but forgiveness is an act of volition, and only the sufferer is qualified to make the decision.” — Simon Wiesenthal
This is how Wiesenthal wraps up the memoir section of his book The Sunflower, the title of which refers to the author’s observation of sunflowers adorning the graves of German military after World War II by contrast with the unmarked mass graves many Jews had during the war. He notes that his silence when asked for forgiveness for the Holocaust could have been ambiguous, possibly like the Buddha’s silence (my comparison).
Here are three more responses to his philosophical question.
Holocaust historian Deborah Lipstadt uses the Talmudic concept of teshuva, or repentance, to support Wiesenthal’s behavior. Teshuva for sin is a complex process. Asking forgiveness of the aggrieved party is only the first step, followed by a turn to God through verbal confession and resolution not to commit the sin again even if given the opportunity. Finally, she distinguishes between teshuva and kaparah, or atonement. Kaparah means punishing consequences. “The question to be asked is not should the prisoner have forgiven the SS man but could the prisoner have forgiven?” She indicates he could not have. It is akin the Buddha’s silence when asked an inappropriate question.
Cynthia Ozick, Jewish American fiction and essay writer, gives a four-point reply. Ozick suggests first that Christian personification of God contributed to the German SS man’s acceptance of an almighty Fuhrer. Secondly, she says German Nazis were worshipping an idol, thereby breaking the second commandment and summoning the flesh-consuming monster Moloch; they thereby lost their capacity for human pity. Third, she quotes rabbinic wisdom that “‘whoever is merciful to the cruel will end by being indifferent to the innocent;'” paradoxically “forgiveness can brutalize.” Finally, the SS man deserves condemnation because though not a savage at heart, he let himself become one, she says.
Albert Speer, chief architect of the Nazi regime who pled guilty at the Nuremberg Trial and spent 20 years in prison at Spandau, says neither he himself nor Wiesenthal can forgive his moral guilt, but in their post-war correspondence Wiesenthal did show “clemency, humanity, and goodness.” He adds that “every human being has his burden to bear” and “no one can remove it for another,” but his was lightened by Wiesenthal’s actions.