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Authors: Rachel Cantor
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arms?
I put Dante back in his rightful place at the bottom of the pile and went online. A happy voice advised me that I Had Mail . From Benny.
Thanks for coming by!
I’d barely replied when I got an instant message from “Jellyroll_Baruch”: Bartleby?
Ahab! I typed back.
Late, isn’t it? Don’t mommies get up at the crack of dawn?
Sometimes we worry till the crack of dawn.
Andi okay?
She’s fine. Why’re you up?
Got any flags? he wrote. We could semaphore out the window. Then he “laughed out loud.” I enjoyed your visit, he added. Let’s not wait another year.
You could call my cell, you know. You wouldn’t wake anyone.
There was a pause.
I like writing you, he typed back.
Oh , I said.
Don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t answer my question before. Do you believe in forgiveness? What do you think it is?
Forgiveness? I wrote. Whence your interest in forgiveness?
It’s the month of Elul, he wrote. Our time of reckoning. I tend not to do such a good job—asking for forgiveness, forgiving others. You know the drill. Help a poor Jew out.
Why did Benny think I knew anything about forgiveness? He knew my history, he knew my mother’s original sin. Couldn’t he let it lie?
My reply: I don’t know the drill: I’m an unbeliever. I don’t see the point of ritualizing our expiation of guilt. Does fasting make our anger go away? Does saying I’m sorry make anything better? We hurt people, people hurt us—we get over it or we don’t. No matter what, we feel bad.
I sent the message, then waited. Benny was thinking, or I’d put him off with my reply.
More , he said.
More?
Yes, please.
If that’s true, I wrote, what can forgiveness possibly mean? You pretend a thing didn’t happen? You acknowledge that it happened but pretend it doesn’t matter? If it matters, then by definition forgiveness isn’t possible. If it doesn’t matter, what’s to forgive?
Silence.
More , he said.
Really?
More. I’m listening.
I thought a moment, then typed:
Dante suggests a three-part technology for penance: Confession (admit your sin), Contrition (feel sorry for what you’ve done and say so), Satisfaction (make reparation and change your evil ways). This makes sense to me. But I don’t think he tells us how to forgive.
More silence. I checked my horoscope. Change is afoot , it read, which made me laugh. Was it really a foot? What were its preferences in footwear?
As you point out, Benny eventually replied, there’s a lot in our traditions about how to atone, less on how to forgive. Apologies help, but what if the offender isn’t sorry, what if the damage is very great?
My point exactly! I wrote. Are you worried about forgiving or being forgiven? Knowing your good sweet nature, I assume it’s the former.
You’ve too high an opinion of your old friend. Or maybe you expect too much of ‘persons of the cloth.’ We all do things we wish we could undo, no?
I suppose, I typed. My interest in this topic, never strong, wasexhausted. Whatever it is, I wrote, I can’t believe it’s enough to keep you awake.
Did I say it was keeping me awake?
Isn’t it?
Maybe.
What is it?
Silence.
Subject for another day, he wrote.
Okay , I replied, wondering why we were “talking” at all.
Sorry, he said. I want you to like me. I can’t tell you my faults all at once.
Okay.
There was a pause.
Can I call you?
I thought you liked writing me.
Now I want to hear your voice.
When the phone rang, I was slipping into bed.
You wanna know what I think forgiveness is? Benny asked.
Sure, I said. Not really, I thought.
I think forgiveness is a movement of the heart from our own hurt to that of another.
Meaning?
I can’t say it any better than that. Remember the Celan quote from that story you wrote? “When only the nothingness stood between us, we found our way, all the way, to each other?”
Of course, I said, smiling because in just a few days, two people had brought up that story, which I’d
I put Dante back in his rightful place at the bottom of the pile and went online. A happy voice advised me that I Had Mail . From Benny.
Thanks for coming by!
I’d barely replied when I got an instant message from “Jellyroll_Baruch”: Bartleby?
Ahab! I typed back.
Late, isn’t it? Don’t mommies get up at the crack of dawn?
Sometimes we worry till the crack of dawn.
Andi okay?
She’s fine. Why’re you up?
Got any flags? he wrote. We could semaphore out the window. Then he “laughed out loud.” I enjoyed your visit, he added. Let’s not wait another year.
You could call my cell, you know. You wouldn’t wake anyone.
There was a pause.
I like writing you, he typed back.
Oh , I said.
Don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t answer my question before. Do you believe in forgiveness? What do you think it is?
Forgiveness? I wrote. Whence your interest in forgiveness?
It’s the month of Elul, he wrote. Our time of reckoning. I tend not to do such a good job—asking for forgiveness, forgiving others. You know the drill. Help a poor Jew out.
Why did Benny think I knew anything about forgiveness? He knew my history, he knew my mother’s original sin. Couldn’t he let it lie?
My reply: I don’t know the drill: I’m an unbeliever. I don’t see the point of ritualizing our expiation of guilt. Does fasting make our anger go away? Does saying I’m sorry make anything better? We hurt people, people hurt us—we get over it or we don’t. No matter what, we feel bad.
I sent the message, then waited. Benny was thinking, or I’d put him off with my reply.
More , he said.
More?
Yes, please.
If that’s true, I wrote, what can forgiveness possibly mean? You pretend a thing didn’t happen? You acknowledge that it happened but pretend it doesn’t matter? If it matters, then by definition forgiveness isn’t possible. If it doesn’t matter, what’s to forgive?
Silence.
More , he said.
Really?
More. I’m listening.
I thought a moment, then typed:
Dante suggests a three-part technology for penance: Confession (admit your sin), Contrition (feel sorry for what you’ve done and say so), Satisfaction (make reparation and change your evil ways). This makes sense to me. But I don’t think he tells us how to forgive.
More silence. I checked my horoscope. Change is afoot , it read, which made me laugh. Was it really a foot? What were its preferences in footwear?
As you point out, Benny eventually replied, there’s a lot in our traditions about how to atone, less on how to forgive. Apologies help, but what if the offender isn’t sorry, what if the damage is very great?
My point exactly! I wrote. Are you worried about forgiving or being forgiven? Knowing your good sweet nature, I assume it’s the former.
You’ve too high an opinion of your old friend. Or maybe you expect too much of ‘persons of the cloth.’ We all do things we wish we could undo, no?
I suppose, I typed. My interest in this topic, never strong, wasexhausted. Whatever it is, I wrote, I can’t believe it’s enough to keep you awake.
Did I say it was keeping me awake?
Isn’t it?
Maybe.
What is it?
Silence.
Subject for another day, he wrote.
Okay , I replied, wondering why we were “talking” at all.
Sorry, he said. I want you to like me. I can’t tell you my faults all at once.
Okay.
There was a pause.
Can I call you?
I thought you liked writing me.
Now I want to hear your voice.
When the phone rang, I was slipping into bed.
You wanna know what I think forgiveness is? Benny asked.
Sure, I said. Not really, I thought.
I think forgiveness is a movement of the heart from our own hurt to that of another.
Meaning?
I can’t say it any better than that. Remember the Celan quote from that story you wrote? “When only the nothingness stood between us, we found our way, all the way, to each other?”
Of course, I said, smiling because in just a few days, two people had brought up that story, which I’d
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