The elderly stranger sat at the far end of the table after my Talmud class. I welcomed him.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s too far,\u201d he replied, sneering at me with a disdainful look in his eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cToo far?\u201d I echoed, waiting for him to elaborate.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s too far. It\u2019s too far for me,\u201d he said in a mocking voice, imitating someone.<\/p>\n
I remained quiet, meeting his glare with as much warmth as I could, caught off guard by this older man\u2019s harshness. I had no clue about what to say or how to say it. What was too far? Who had told him that, and under what circumstances?<\/p>\n
\u201cI know you. Don\u2019t worry. I know exactly who you are,\u201d he taunted me.<\/p>\n
I waited, remaining quiet.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou were the rabbi in Centralburg*,\u201d he said. \u201cMy wife was in the hospital and I was told to call you. I asked you to visit her and you refused. You said it was too far. \u2018It\u2019s too far\u2019,\u201d he said mockingly once again. This man was angry and hurting. He described how his wife had been given a grave diagnosis, hospitalised in a remote city to see a specialist. He had a business to tend to and couldn\u2019t travel there. He had been told to call the rabbi in that city to visit and assure that her needs were managed.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut you would not help. You refused. \u2018It\u2019s too far\u2019, you claimed. You would not help her. I knew that one day I would meet up with you and tell you how I felt then and how I feel about you now.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded, displaying the sadness and compassion which I felt for this troubled man. I had no idea if his wife had survived. I opted not to ask him.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have a lot of hurt inside of you. Do you know how long ago that happened?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt does not matter how many years it has been. Don\u2019t try to get out of it by telling me I should forgive you. Yes, it is more than ten years ago, but that does not make me less angry. I still won\u2019t forgive you. \u2018It\u2019s too far! It\u2019s too far!\u201d he repeated, mimicking my voice.<\/p>\n
\u201cSir, I know that you are hurt and feel resentment. But I must tell you: what you are describing does not trigger any memory in me. That\u2019s not something I would have said under the frightening circumstances you went through.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, so you have forgotten it!? That makes me more angry at you. You have no sympathy. You did not have it then and you lack it now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI have not forgotten. I do not remember the call you describe.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, rabbi, let me remind you. The year was 19**. You were the rabbi of the city of Centralburg. I got your name from my rabbi and called. You refused to go. \u2018It\u2019s too far. It\u2019s too far.\u2019<\/p>\n
I closed my eyes and thought back. Where had I been during that time? What would have gotten into me that I would refuse to visit an ailing person, and snub her anxious husband? My memory crystallised. I began to remember such a call.<\/p>\n
I had been the rabbi of the town of Twin Hill* during those years, not Centralburg, which was very far away. Somehow, someone had mixed me up with the rabbi of Centralburg and had given him my number. I did recall now getting his call, and upon learning where his wife was hospitalised, I had advised him that he should call Rabbi Little* there, the rabbi in Centralburg. Centralburg was many hours away from my town and I had no resources there. I remember him asking if I could just go there myself so that he wouldn\u2019t have to make any more calls, and indeed, after commiserating with him, I had tried to explain that Centralburg was in a different part of the state, miles and miles away, and that I was unable to travel there in one day.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut why can\u2019t you just go today?\u201d he had asked me back then.<\/p>\n
\u201cI cannot travel that distance at this moment. Rabbi Little lives there and is a good man. I can call him for you, but you must give him the details of where your wife is and what she needs. I am quite sure that he will help, just as I try to take care of people here in Twin Hill.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo you won\u2019t help? You won\u2019t go? I need you to go there today,\u201d he insisted.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am not able to drive to Centralburg today. It is much too far to travel in one day. But I am willing to make a connection for you with the rabbi there. Give me your number and I will work on it immediately.\u201d<\/p>\n
But he had hung up.<\/p>\n
And years later, he had found me and was confronting me. Should I tell him the real story, refreshing his memory that he had called me in error? Should I reason with him that it was time to let go of his anger over a misunderstanding? Should I assert that he had no right to hold a grudge based on a mistaken identity? Would anything I might say make a difference with his embedded perceptions of what had happened and why he could not forgive \u201cme\u201d?<\/p>\n
I opted to spare him my attempts to correct his assumptions about me. I apologised for my role in his having felt rejected by me. He agreed to accept my apology.<\/p>\n
\u201cBy the way, were you able to get a rabbi to help out with your wife back then?\u201d I inquired.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, it wasn\u2019t necessary. She was discharged that day. The doctor had made a mistake in her diagnosis. She was fine. She still is,\u201d he added as he shuffled off.<\/p>\n
*Place and person names, as well as dates are fictitious. <\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Forgiveness and forgetfulness By: Rabb Dr David Fox The elderly stranger sat at the far end of the table after my Talmud class. I welcomed him. \u201cIt\u2019s too far,\u201d he replied, sneering at me with a disdainful look in his eyes. \u201cToo far?\u201d I echoed, waiting for him to elaborate. \u201cIt\u2019s too far. It\u2019s too far for me,\u201d he said in a mocking voice, imitating someone. I remained quiet, meeting his glare with as much warmth as I could, caught off guard by this older man\u2019s harshness. I had no…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":6,"featured_media":2377,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[67],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2397","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-september-2020"],"gutentor_comment":0,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jewishlife.co.za\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2397","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jewishlife.co.za\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jewishlife.co.za\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jewishlife.co.za\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/6"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jewishlife.co.za\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2397"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.jewishlife.co.za\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2397\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2398,"href":"https:\/\/www.jewishlife.co.za\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2397\/revisions\/2398"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jewishlife.co.za\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2377"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jewishlife.co.za\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2397"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jewishlife.co.za\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2397"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jewishlife.co.za\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2397"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}