In one of my classes this semester, a required reading that we just completed was The Sunflower: On the Possibilities and Limits of Forgiveness by Simon Wiesenthal. The cover of the book summarizes the compelling topic of the work — “You are a prisoner in a concentration camp. A dying Nazi soldier asks you for your forgiveness. What would you do?” Wiesenthal’s question and account is non-fiction, and therefore puts an unavoidable pressure on humanity to respond. I didn’t take it to be rhetorical at all, and I don’t think anyone should. Wiesenthal spurs an important dialogue that must take place within ourselves and with each other.  70 years later, the question is frighteningly relevant — it spans over different spheres of how we confront betrayal or harm, all the way to worldwide threats like terrorism. Could we ever find it within ourselves to forgive a terrorist? Would one ever be able to forgive someone who murdered someone they loved?

I feel compelled to answer the question presented in The Sunflower and to wrestle with why the question in itself is so troubling. A nagging presence exists in the mind of the reader after being nudged to accept the challenge of considering the heavy question — What would you do? A definite conclusion is hard to come by, but after someone brings it up, we must recognize this burden to humankind. We like trying to distract ourselves from discussing the things that matter most, and most of them are decades or even centuries overdue discussions. So now is the time.

Forgiveness is grace. Followers of Judaism are called to have a purpose in life summarized by the words “tikkun olam,” meaning “heal the world or repair the world”.  When I first heard this phrase in my Theology 100 class last year, it instantly struck me with hope. I wish more people, no matter their proclaimed religion, would inhale and exhale this motivation every moment of their lives.

We are responsible in restoring each other, but also to promote justice. The word “human” is crucial to the conversation. Does murder make someone inhuman? If so, do we have no right to extend compassion to them? After murdering, how could someone be still regarded as a human?  Or should we have mercy and allow them to be regarded as such? Are they forgivable?

In his response to Wiesenthal’s question, Desmond Tutu, a South African social rights activist says, “Forgiveness is not facile or cheap,” and that is because it is standing up against evil and patronizing it in a sense. I agree with the Jewish basis that only the direct victim of a wrong can be the one to grant forgiveness. Sorting through, perhaps murder is unforgivable in the form of homicide, genocide, or terrorism, but I believe there is at least a remedy. There’s no cure for these forms of evil, but everything has a remedy, and maybe forgiveness is that remedy. True forgiveness by the victim is essential for the rehabilitation process of both parties, and for the abuser they must face the even more overwhelming challenge of forgiving themselves which sometimes isn’t possible. It isn’t the only medicine, but one of many parts of therapy. Having the capacity to forgive is the greatest strength someone can have. It doesn’t ignore anything; it acknowledges the burden and accepts the challenge. Darkness doesn’t make it hesitate; it acknowledges reality, but pushes through, opening up the ability of the person to start healing themselves.  Now is the time.

Theodicy is the study of the nature of evil in the world and what we do about it. My professor for my honors class on worldview, Dr. Daniel Finucane, a member of the theology department, explained to my class that we can’t really come up with a clear answer of why evil exists, but instead we can ask a question back — What can we do to help? Somehow there is a blinding white light of goodness in the inkiest of nights that we create together. It isn’t all one person’s responsibility.

My pursuit of an answer to Wiesenthal’s question will never be complete, and there are so many different ways to examine it and develop the premises for a decision. Should we forgive because God would forgive? Or can we say, “But we are only human,” and use that as an excuse to walk away from the question?  We need to start a conversation together to answer this question. What would you do? I want to live in a society that isn’t afraid to question everything and to challenge each other’s answers, even if it feels uncomfortable.

Many memorials for the Holocaust contain the words “Never Again” — a way of bringing the world to rehabilitation. It takes courage and passion to uphold “tikkun olam” and looking straight into the face of the heaviest and deepest despairs, but doing so would yield the most cherished and productive elements of human life and legacy. We live in a broken world, but still everyday there is hope.