Do We Have to Forgive? Lessons From a Gourd Plant

Do we have to forgive?

There’s a story in the Talmud (Ta’anit 2a-b) that says that Rabbi Elazar ben Shimon once insulted a man – called him ugly. And then immediately realized that he had done wrong. He got down off his donkey and pleaded for forgiveness. He said, “נַעֲנֵיתִי לְךָ, מְחוֹל לִי!  – I have wronged you, please forgive me!”

But the insulted man wasn’t ready to forgive.

So Rabbi Elazar followed him back to town, where the townspeople encouraged the man – begged him – to forgive the rabbi, “שֶׁאָדָם גָּדוֹל בְּתוֹרָה הוּא – because he is a great teacher of Torah.”

And the insulted man–I assume reluctantly–agreed to forgive, as long as Rabbi Elazar wouldn’t behave that way again.

Do we have to forgive? The story seems to hint that the answer is yes. The man essentially gets pressured into forgiving the rabbi – not because he wants to. Not because he’s ready to. But because the society around him wants to make this thing go away. Society is not prepared to genuinely hold him in his pain.

And we could write this off as a one-time thing – I mean, it’s just a story in the Talmud – except that it’s not a one-time thing. It is, in many ways, a Jewish doctrine.

Built into Jewish teachings about the High Holy Days is the idea that we are supposed to forgive.

עֲבֵרוֹת שֶׁבֵּין אָדָם לַחֲבֵרוֹ… אֵינוֹ נִמְחַל לוֹ לְעוֹלָם עַד שֶׁיִּתֵּן לַחֲבֵרוֹ מַה שֶּׁהוּא חַיָּב לוֹ וִירַצֵּהוּ.
Transgressions between a person and another person… are never forgiven until you go to the person with reparations and to ask forgiveness.

And if they say no you have to try again, and if they say no again you have to try again a third time. But after the third time you are considered to have fulfilled your responsibility. You’ve done what you can – you’ve apologized – and at that point it says ְזֶה שֶׁלֹּא מָחַל הוּא הַחוֹטֵא -the one who refused to forgive is now considered the sinner.

This is a really nice teaching from a repentance perspective – because it teaches us that we have to make right with other people. We have to do the work of reconciliation here on earth.

But it’s a really challenging paradigm from the point of view of the person who was wronged. Because it pretty much says that you have to forgive, and if you don’t, you’ve done wrong. Now you’re the sinner.

I don’t think that this can be all that Judaism has to say about forgiveness. And today, I want to explore a different paradigm. It’s one that comes out of the book that we’re going to read this afternoon: the book of Jonah.

Jonah is, in my opinion, the strangest book in the Tanach. It tells the story of the prophet Jonah, who is called to go to the people of Nineveh and tell them to change their ways. And who promptly runs in the opposite direction. He doesn’t want the job. Many of you know what happens next – he can’t escape God’s decree. He gets caught up in a storm, and then he spends three days in the belly of a giant fish which spits him out at Nineveh. And he finally tells the people to repent. And lo and behold, they do.

Jonah is, in some ways, a satire of prophecy. You have the prophet who has to be delivered by giant fish. The people who immediately repent their ways. The divine judgement that is completely and totally forestalled. Jonah makes repentance look easy.

By the way, that’s probably why we read it today – to remind us that teshuvah is both doable and transformative. That repentance is not some faraway, out-of-reach task. It’s the human task of examining our deeds and trying to be our best selves. AND, as the book suggests, our teshuvah has the capacity to be transformative – to temper the divine decree; to repair what is broken inside us and around us – just as it does for the people of Nineveh.

But that doesn’t help us with our forgiveness problem. So I think we have to look closely for another message that comes only in the final verses of the book.

In the last chapter of Jonah, the prophet gets aggravated that the people were forgiven, that their divine punishment was cancelled. He says to God, “I knew you were going to do that!”

יָדַ֗עְתִּי כִּ֤י אַתָּה֙ אֵֽל־חַנּ֣וּן וְרַח֔וּם אֶ֤רֶךְ אַפַּ֙יִם֙ וְרַב־חֶ֔סֶד וְנִחָ֖ם עַל־הָרָעָֽה׃
“I knew You were a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in kindness, renouncing punishment.”

That’s why I ran away in the first place! So I wouldn’t look like a liar for predicting their demise right before you cancelled it.

It sounds heartless, right? Why wouldn’t Jonah want these people to be live and be well? Why doesn’t Jonah want what’s best for his fellow human beings? Why can’t he forgive?

But if we think about it, can’t we understand just a little bit? He’s feeling hurt by the situation – he’s feeling embarrassed, ashamed, undermined. It’s very hard in a situation like that to see beyond your own hurt. It’s very hard in a situation like that for us to see the humanity of the other.

And so God does something to remind Jonah of that.

Here’s what happens: Jonah goes and sits to watch what will happen to the city, and God makes a gourd plant grow over his head to provide shade. Then God makes the plant die, and Jonah gets upset about that.

And God says:

אַתָּ֥ה חַ֙סְתָּ֙ עַל־הַקִּ֣יקָי֔וֹן – You cared about the plant, which you didn’t even grow…
וַֽאֲנִי֙ לֹ֣א אָח֔וּס עַל־נִינְוֵ֖ה הָעִ֣יר הַגְּדוֹלָ֑ה – Shouldn’t I care about Nineveh, that city of more than 120,000 people who don’t even know their right hand from their left?”

At first blush, this looks like a sharp rebuke of Jonah – How dare you be so heartless! How dare you care more about a plant than about people? How dare you not forgive!

But let’s notice what God does and doesn’t say. God doesn’t say “Jonah, you have to care about the people of Nineveh.” Instead God says, “Jonah, I care about the people of Nineveh.” I care about them, God says, because they are people – people who (as the text says) don’t know their right from their left. People walk through the world hurting other people, making mistakes, doing their best, but often falling short.

God is modelling for us one of the core elements of forgiveness – which is the effort to see humanity in the other, even in the people who hurt us.

That’s not the same thing as excusing them, and it may not mean that we want to be their best friends – but it might just shift us away from hurt and toward compassion. And that is the first step toward forgiveness.

Do we have to forgive? I just don’t think you can legislate that kind of thing. Telling us we have to do something is the worst motivation ever.

But what Judaism does tell us is that it is Godly to try to see the humanity in others – even others who have hurt us. And that in the end, that is one way that we can move ourselves and our world toward healing.