Six months ago, my precious 19-year-old son was stabbed with a knife in the back while in Israel.
My son was attending school in Jerusalem for the last year and a half and had taken a weekend mini-vacation with friends on November 4, 2022 in a remote quiet town near the Israel-Lebanon border.
Akko, Israel. (Akka in Arabic/Acre in English).
ACRE, ISRAEL, Houses situated on seaside of the old town of Akko/Acre, Israel
As my son laid in a hospital bed with lacerations to his diaphragm and liver, and a slight nick of his lung, I raced from Denver to Israel to care for him. It was the longest flight of my life. I cried most of the 12+ hours there.
Thankfully, my son has completely physically healed since this horrific episode. At his age, it’s hard to know when he’ll emotionally heal.
In the days and weeks following the attack, the emotional wounds kept coming.
First, Israeli newspapers falsely reported the facts of the attack, first calling it a stabbing of a new immigrant (my son is American and not an Israeli immigrant), and then failing to even mention the attacker as if a knife randomly attacked my son.
Then too many people I know immediately assumed that a Palestinian attacked him.
“Terrorism?” one friend immediately texted me.
My son wasn’t attacked by an Arab. He was attacked by a 17-year-old Jewish boy who was out looking for trouble while my son was going for a walk with his friends. Alas, there are bad actors among all of us.
Then I got the awful news that the attacker would not have to stand trial and be punished for his almost murder of my son. He went straight back to his high school.
To say it’s been a difficult six months for me since the attack would be an understatement.
Not sure how I would’ve gotten through any of this if close friends across the globe had not continued checking on me and asking about my son. Or without their regular prayers.
But just as I was beginning to take baby steps at healing, I got a message on WhatsApp.
“Hello Jeffrey. This is the father of the boy who was involved in the unfortunate incident that happened to your son. I did not contact you yet because I am ashamed to talk to you…. I would appreciate if you would agree to talk to me to apologize.”
Ugh.
I was a bit thrown by his characterization of the attack as “the unfortunate incident.” He probably should’ve gone with “This is the father of the boy who stabbed your son.”
It took me two weeks to respond to his message and another two weeks to agree to a phone call but I finally relented. But not without some trepidation.
On April 18, 2023 at 7:22 a.m. MST, I had my phone call with the stabber’s father.
As the boy’s father poured out his shame, crying with apologies, asking for forgiveness, even telling me how religious his family is, I knew I needed to take this opportunity to explain to him what I expected to offer forgiveness.
To remind him about the Jewish view on forgiveness.
Society is always hyper-focused on forgive forgive forgive.
They tell you, “forgiveness is for you, not the offender.”
Forgiveness, according to modern society, is supposed to be freely given. To allow peace to return to our hearts. To offer grace and healing.
We see religious leaders offering their forgiveness for some of the worst acts. It’s our “obligation” to forgive, they say.
But that’s not exactly how the Jewish nation and 3,000 years of tradition view it.
So there’s no mistake, Judaism teaches that forgiveness is one of the most fundamental acts we as humans perform. It’s what we want God to do for us when we make mistakes. And since we’re supposed to emulate God, we ought to be forgivers. Emulating God is one of the main principles of practicing the spiritual part of being Jewish.
Throughout the Hebrew Bible, called the Torah (meaning instruction) by Jews, God many times forgives human sin. Many other times in the Judean holy scriptures humans forgive their fellow human beings.
Despite valuing forgiveness, though, Jewish legal texts still mandate that we don’t forgive unless the perpetrator undertakes sincere repentance and change. This includes rigorous self-examination, confession to the victim, expressing real regret, and doing whatever is possible to right the wrong committed.
If and only if a person does these things can (and must) we forgive.
But if the perpetrator fails to perform these conditions, forgiveness not only hasn’t been earned, the victim isn’t permitted to forgive. Let’s say that again. Forgiveness cannot be given to someone who hasn’t stepped up to the plate.
Forgiveness may be emotionally powerful for the forgiver but Judaism demands it not be given so easily. Jewish law requires real change as a condition to forgiveness.
So when the father of my son’s attacker asked for our forgiveness, I asked a litany of questions.
“Is your son in therapy?”
“What is your son doing to figure out why he did this?”
“What is your family doing to get him the help he needs so this is never repeated.”
“What have been the consequences for your son?”
“What has your family done to figure out how your son learned this was ok?”
“Has your son volunteered for victims?” “Has he gone to any classes or read any books?”
I wasn’t yet prepared to offer the father our Jewish version of forgiveness without knowing what more there was than a tearful apology.
And since he wasn’t prepared to tell me enough had been done, I guess it’s until we speak again.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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