A couple of days ago I heard Marion Blumenthal Lazan speak at Cortland State. She is a Holocaust survivor, having been born near Hannover, Germany, deported to the Westerbrook detention center in Holland when she was 4 years old, and then being transferred to Bergen Belsen. She was 9 years old when she was liberated. She has written a book, Four Perfect Pepples, about her life in the camps.
The more I listen to Holocaust survivors (at least Jewish ones) the more I hear similar themes. Blumenthal was typical:
* First, the experience was horrifyingly dehumanizing on so many levels.
* Second, there are small parts to her story when God's mercy was incredibly evident, even though she credited it to luck or chance.
Third, she has not forgiven the people who caused her so much suffering.
After the session I hung around for a while and wanted to chat with her. She had been signing books for about an hour and I watched her be incredibly generous and engaging with the Cortland State students. She posed for photo after photo with each of them.
So there I was with Marion Blumenthal, who today lives on Long Island with her husband Nathaniel. Only about 30 minutes from where I grew up.
I asked her if she thought Simon Wiesenthal had ever forgiven the German officer, as recounted in the book The Sunflower (Marion had referenced this in her talk). She stared down at the table, pensive, turned to me with a sad expression of resignation, and slowly said, "How could he? I don't think he could ever forgive that Nazi officer."
I responded, "Even though the German officer, on his death bed, confessed to his sin and expressed his deep remorse and how long he was?"
"Yes," Marion responded, "even then he cannot be forgiven."
Wow Brian...I really wrestled with this - not an easy post to respond to. It would be easy to quickly give the (perhaps obvious) Christian responses to this, but I felt I needed to ponder this awhile and not be quick to judge another's experience. I have not walked in her/their shoes (though, actually, my grandparents have). Yet I find myself coming to a few thoughts: trying to imagine a world without forgiveness; and pondering whether a refusal to extend forgiveness to someone who is asking it brings us (even if it's just a little) closer to becoming like the perpetrator. In wanting to honor her/their real pain, yet honor the human need for forgiveness, I think the words that come to me that give me hope are Jesus' words (perhaps a different context, but same principle): "With men this is impossible, but with God all things are possible."
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