The Sunflower_ On the Possibilities and - Wiesenthal, Simon copy

after twenty-seven years in jail, patently entitled to wreak vengeance on his tormentors, and
who responds by forgiving his jailers. Or one thinks of Tomas Borge, a Nicaraguan
Sandinista fighter, captured by the contras and brutally tortured, confronting his torturer after
the war had ended. The court entitled him to name the punishment appropriate for his
torturer. Borge responded, “My punishment is to forgive you.”
Such instances build up a moral capital on which the rest of us can draw: supposing, just
supposing, that an act of forgiveness on our part could tip the scales toward compassion
rather than brutality…
We can propound these and other examples that might mitigate some of the harshness of
the imperative Never forgive, but in all instances we are exploring only exceptions to the
rule. One cannot allow, as a human axiom, a position such as that of the philosopher-poet
Heinrich Heine, “God will forgive, that's what He's here for.”
So, had I been in Simon Wiesenthal's position, fearful of denying too much or of
promising too little, I think I would have urged the young man to address his plea directly to
God, and throw himself on the possibility of Divine Mercy, something I am not permitted to
adjudicate one way or the other.
How could I justify such a response, refusing to grant either sentimentalized mercy or
hard-nosed judgment? I return to Elie Wiesel, to offer two responses in the form of
questions:
1. I do not believe we can supply an answer to the first question, “Where is God in
all this?”—a question on the lips of character after character in Wiesel's novels. The
closer I come to what might be called an “answer,” the more circumspect I must