Читать книгу The Hebrew Prophets after the Shoah - Hemchand Gossai - Страница 7

On the anniversary of the killing of Osama bin Laden, and in the midst of the politics and often politicizing of that moment, it was not unusual to hear the statement, “Of course if I were in power I would have made the same decision.” Perhaps for a little while, that statement will score political points with those who are supporters, and ideologically aligned with the speaker. But finally to have such a momentous event as the capture and death of a terrorist, where the decision was so extraordinary, to look in retrospect and use the language of “of course” is at best self-indulgent and self-aggrandizing. Indeed, I would argue that in seeking to show compassion, to listen intently, to console, etc. the vocabulary of “of course” should be stricken from our lexicon or used sparingly and with circumspection. Finally, one does not absolutely know. So then where does that leave us? Is this an implied suggestion that one cannot do anything; that one must have a particular experience in order to speak, console, show compassion? In a rather extraordinary document, Lawrence Langer in a prelude to interviewing Shoah survivors notes, “A statement like, ‘to understand, you have to go through with it,’ however authentic its inspiration, underestimates the sympathetic power of the imagination.”1

The Shoah evokes a redefining that permits and requires us to reread all else as fragment. It does not distort the Shoah nor does it trivialize to take the Shoah as the lens for reading the world of horror, abuse and violence everywhere all around, in forms of terrorism or in more institutionalized forms of capital punishment, and welfare reform and so on.2

The issues of understanding and memory are arguably no place more poignantly present and urgent, as in remembering and speaking about the Shoah. The ubiquitous statement “You have to go through it to understand” and the many variations, do have truth, but along the lines of Langer’s observation that in fact while absolute identification is not ever fully possible, the story nonetheless has to be told. One might say with some certitude that no two Shoah experiences are in fact identical; the experiences are also shaped by worldviews, internal capacity for faith, fortitude, religion, etc. Yet, the story must be told and personal identification cannot become a moment of silencing the voice or truncating the story. One must step away from the comfort and boundaries of lived experiences, and modes of thinking, and find a way of entering into the stories so that we might give voices to the memory. We must give voices, for we, unless we are survivors ourselves, cannot remember, and so we give voices to the memory of those who lost their voices, and those who have remembered and left us their memories. Listening to the voices of witnesses, we in turn become witnesses.

One of the most challenging ideas is that of the role of war as a means of punishment, or for injustices which often necessitates the resources for military power and might, over and against the need for bread. YHWH’s use of war and cosmic artillery in a variety of forms as punishment for a people who are involved in systemic and systematic injustices suggests two things. First, this level of violence and the magnitude of declaring war or cosmic cataclysm raises ethical questions, and the challenging prospects of reconciling the idea of God as one who is merciful and slow to anger with that of a God who launches a war and unleashes cosmic havoc on a people. Platitudes and clichès will not suffice here, nor will simple points of justification. Indeed, in large part this kind of challenge leads some to conclude that the “violent” and “warring” God is the God of the Old Testament and the God of Love is the God of the New Testament and with this comes salvation, redemption, etc. This kind of thinking creates an untenable and troubling dichotomy, and it is a variation of the flawed “promise and fulfillment” distinction that has for the most part been dismissed as indefensible. Second, one might argue that the issue of oppression and injustice is such that it transcends petty acts, but points to that which is systemic and systematic, and therefore must be met with a kind of punishment that is commensurate; hence war and acts of cosmic violence. Thus, with considerable reflection and circumspection one is compelled to ask: is genocide a proportionate response to injustice and idolatry? Janet Tollington has raised several pertinent and urgent questions in this regard. “‘Is war a divinely approved method of establishing justice, of settling territorial claims, of resolving power claims?’ ‘Is war divinely instigated and part of the overarching order between the nations?’ ‘Is war an inescapable fact of life and therefore understood as inevitable within Hebrew Bible traditions?’”3 The very questions in the context of injustices point to that which is significant in the lives and dynamics of the peoples’ lives.

One of the undeniable and unprecedented struggles that the victims of the Shoah face analogous to the experience of Jewish exiles in Babylon, is the loss of identity where not only are they stripped of their clothes and homes and land and temple, but are faced with the real possibility of death, family separation, and ongoing violence. There is also, in both instances, the real possibility of losing faith, whatever faith they might have had in God, and for that matter in humanity. In the Babylonian exile the Israelites are told that they will return home one day, and indeed God has plans for them. Yet, how could one realistically function in such a foreign and hostile society, and still maintain the level of faith, and believe that in fact God the architect of their exile, is the one who will deliver them, again. In both the Babylonian Exile and the Shoah is the fact that one could not quite fathom the new reality with the inherent questions. Certainly in the case of the Shoah it very quickly became apparent that staying alive was no longer a self evident reality but one had to reach into the recesses of one’s physical and mental strength, where it took all of the resources to simply stay alive. Langer suggests, “Once the impulse to stay alive begins to operate, the luxury of moral constraint temporarily disappears. Tainted memory then replaces judgment as it deposes guilt.”4

Rarely pursued is the issue regarding the prophets’ voice on behalf of the people to God. In this regard, Jeremiah and Amos are notable exceptions among the prophets, though Abraham, Moses, and Job also stand in the tradition of advocates though the divine responses vary. In the first instance the issue focuses on engaging God, but unlike Jeremiah and Amos, Isaiah is silent! God responded positively to Amos on both occasions, and Abraham stopped asking on behalf of Sodom and Gomorrah, not God. So, one is left to wonder about Isaiah’s silence.

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I; send me!”

And he said, “Go and say to this people:

‘Keep listening, but do not comprehend;

keep looking, but do not understand.’

Make the mind of this people dull,

and stop their ears,

and shut their eyes,

so that they may not look with their eyes,

and listen with their ears,

and comprehend with their minds,

and turn and be healed.”

Then I said, “How long, O Lord?” And he said:

“Until cities lie waste

without inhabitant,

and houses without people,

and the land is utterly desolate;

until the Lord sends everyone far away,

and vast is the emptiness in the midst of the land.

Even if a tenth part remains in it,

it will be burned again,

like a terebinth or an oak

whose stump remains standing when it is felled.”

The holy seed is its stump.5

While much has been written and spoken about the call of Isaiah, the details of the text beyond the well known and foundational “‘Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?’ And I said, ‘Here am I; send me!’” lies a very problematic and challenging outline of what is at the forefront of the call. Indeed the call of Isaiah is not only a matter of sending the prophet to proclaim a message to the people that contains a quality of indictment because of injustices, and perchance a possibility of redemption. Rather, this message given to Isaiah to be pronounced to the people, and in so doing be effected, is one of utter devastation. The principal message is to destroy and sever the relationship. There is no point of restoration, but rather an utter annihilation of the present. If the message that is given to Isaiah is taken for what it is, and not even to imagine it to a logical conclusion, it would be of apocalyptic proportions. The prophet is to speak to the people and cause them to lose their relational quality: no intellect, no hearing, no sight, no capacity to comprehend, no healing. But beyond their personal incapacities, the people are scattered, and land, homes are destroyed. No longer is there a sense of home or belonging, even as communities and families will be separated and scattered. One is left to wonder what is God’s end plan. The vocabulary in this text itself tells the devastating story: no comprehension; no perception, dull; deaf; blind; no healing; wasteland; forsaken; desolation; burnt to the ground; displacement; emptiness! With such destruction, the prophet’s response is encapsulated in, “How long?” Just as well that the prophet is not given an inkling of the message before he accepts! One is reminded that the “How long, O Lord?” question has more to do with a lamentation than a quest for a timeline. Yet, surely this cannot be enough. Such devastation cannot only be met with a sigh that suggests a sense of resignation. If the prophet does not raise his voice under such circumstances, then what is the message to those who today face such devastation and genocide by those with power to destroy? Painful as it is to say and acknowledge, Isaiah at this point is complicit with God’s and this complicity underlines the destructive role of silence under these circumstances. What might have been the difference or consequence had he said, no?

“In the end, Isaiah becomes complicit in the evil proposed by YHWH for the people by his failure to act.”6 While it almost certainly will not be overwhelmingly embraced or accepted, there is, I believe, truth to Sweeney’s observation. When translated into the context of the Shoah, and indeed in contexts such as Darfur, Rwanda and Kosovo, and certainly in the context of domestic abuse, the truth is much more striking, and cannot be dismissed casually or uncritically. The voice of the victim cannot be silenced, and be blamed for his or her suffering, as is far too often the case. This is not to say that there are no consequences to certain actions, but the one with power cannot routinely be protected and the powerless who are victimized routinely be blamed and silenced.

Posing the Difficult Questions

In reading biblical texts interpreters must not only resist the temptation of navigating around the many challenging acts attributed to God, but resist the very tempting notion of seeking to justify divine acts of violence that by any measure under different circumstances might be extraordinarily difficult to justify.

Our world no less than the world of our ancient forbears is a world of violence. Whether it is at home, in the schoolyard, on the city streets, or on the shores of another country, violence would appear to be sown into the fabric of our domestic, social, and political lives. We all, in one form or another, are caught up in violence’s vicious play, either as victims or victimizers, or more likely, a bit of both . . . Divine violence cannot be treated in isolation from other language about God. If God is violent, God is also loving, benevolent and compassionate, all powerful and wise. And for Christians the violence of the cross itself represents preeminently, the revelation of the non-violent love of God, God’s solidarity through Christ with us as victims of violence and the promise of God that violence and counter violence of this world will not win out in the end.7

In Dobbs-Allsopp’s astute encapsulation, he observes that to overlook, or for that matter minimize the importance of divine violence is to marginalize the central act of the crucifixion in Christianity. The crucifixion in Christianity has been a dividing point for many denominations and Christians, namely its centrality in the faith. There seems to be two options for many Christians. Some seek to hasten the distance between crucifixion and resurrection. The darkness for some is so overwhelming that they cannot bear the thought of living through the darkness, and so it is brushed aside. “In an age after Auschwitz such a risk, even if unwitting, cannot be tolerated.”8 In Lamentations, the malevolence of God’s silence and inattention is not so much represented or inveighed against, as it is felt, evoked in the reader, and thus implicitly criticized. “It is self-destructively sentimental for Christians to allow their understanding of the God who is Love to be separated from the hidden God. We must be willing, religiously and theologically, to face the dialectic of the revelation of God’s radical hiddenness as we—and the Bible—experience that hiddenness in life.”9

Many Jewish thinkers, including some who survived the Shoah have raised significant questions about God, about divine silence, about the role of humans after the Shoah. Where was God? Why was God silent and perhaps even absent during the Shoah? These questions, difficult as they are, must be posed and pursued. Buber has argued that ultimately it is humanity’s idolatry that has been the basis for the historical moments of punishment in different forms. Buber does develop this idea with particular reference to the Shoah, but one is left to wonder somewhat given that this idea is articulated in a volume published in 1952. Could one make and sustain this argument about the Shoah and what led to the Shoah? Buber’s idea is predicated on the notion of hestēr pānîm, that is, the hidden face of God as espoused in Jewish thought. Sweeney notes that this idea “posits that the all-powerful and righteous G-d sometimes chooses to remain hidden in times of crisis.”10 Certainly this idea raises substantial questions about God and the manner in which God is involved in the affairs of the world and the lives of the people. An immediately apparent issue would be, if God does not act, and is in fact absent during times of crises, then what might be God’s role. Indeed as Sweeney notes, there are several essential questions that have been raised, and indeed must be raised. Thus for example Sweeney responds to Ignaz Maybaum’s The Face of God after Auschwitz, in which Maybaum argues that Jews are destined to suffer and the Shoah was theologically justified in order to save the world. That is, there is a greater good and importance to the slaughter of six million Jews, for such is their lot in this life; thus their suffering and death will witness to and save the world. Not surprisingly, Maybaum’s ideas have not generated widespread support, and indeed have met with astonishment by many. However, this notwithstanding, Sweeney notes that there are a number of critical questions that might be raised. “Can G-d’s love and justice be understood in relation to the Shoah? Is it even possible for the Shoah to be understood as a form of punishment? What sins would justify the punishment the magnitude of the Shoah?”11 This idea can certainly be expanded to include other genocides, exiles and such altering and dramatic moments that transform the landscape of human life. Indeed after such extraordinary events, one might very well be left to wonder how a human-divine relationship might continue, and if so in what re-designed form. Even if one wanted to, one cannot overlook the exile or the Shoah as a defining event, and in light of these it is impossible not to wonder about the role of God.

Elie Wiesel places the most dramatic reading of God’s role in his novel, The Accident. The protagonist, not coincidentally named Eliezer, concludes that God is malevolent, and abuses his power by using humans for his own sport and entertainment, and there is nothing that humans can do about it. David Blumenthal’s examination of abuse, as a particular way of exploring God’s action and inaction on behalf of Israelites in Exile and Jews in the Shoah raises further questions, and places the issue squarely within the category of human experience that affects the ordinary person, regardless of race, ethnicity, nationality, or religion to identity. Could God be an abuser? Referring to Blumenthal’s study, Sweeney notes,

Taking an analogy from contemporary concern with the abusive behavior of spouses, parents, clergy, and so forth, Blumenthal posits that G-d may be viewed as an abuser insofar as the Shoah constitutes abuse perpetrated or permitted by the ultimate figure tasked with the well-being and security of the Jewish people and humankind in general. In such a model, the abusive perpetrator is one who is known to and loved by the victim; the abuser breaches and takes advantage of a relationship based on trust; the abuser blames the victim; and the abusive relationship seeks the continued commitment of love while continuing to perpetrate the abuse.12

Like all analogies, this too ultimately breaks down, but like all good analogies, this too has truth to it, with the particular complexity of divine-human relationship. Thus, the questions and statements of abuse between human perpetrator and human victim might also be voiced here, namely, “why don’t you leave,” “sever the relationship,” and “carve out a new direction for life.” Indeed many who have suffered have done these very things, and many who have suffered in the Shoah have lost their faith in God and severed their relationship with God. One of the components of this analogue of abuse is the particularly egregious level of suffering of the children, given that children are often equated somewhat with innocence; and in this case divine abuse takes on a very difficult and painful quality. As if to underline the extraordinary drama of violence against children, only recently has the world witnessed the massacre of twenty-seven persons in Newton, Connecticut, twenty of whom were little children. The world mourns and the phrase “this is different” reflects the painful unparalleled act of the slaughter of children.

The Hebrew word for “question” is she’elah, which as Elie Wiesel notes, has el, God in it. God is thus in the questions, and someone might say that there is something divine about the great questions, including the questions that are posed to God. Perhaps one might equally say that answers should not be the logical conclusion to every question. As we explore the various themes that surround exile, punishment, redemption, ritual, injustice, among others, we are led inexorably by the prophets to the matter of divine righteousness, justice, power, and inevitably to the issue of theodicy. What is God’s role and intention in the punishment and suffering of the covenant people? Sweeney notes that the book of Isaiah raises some very disturbing questions. One of the factors that seems to have characterized many interpreters of the Hebrew Prophets is the very particular reluctance to raise sustained questions about the issue of theodicy and the disturbing realities of prophetic complicity in the punishment of the people. More disturbing is the matter as to God’s role in intentionally creating a circumstance that makes it impossible for the people to come to a realization of what they are doing, and what needs to be done in order to change their actions and rectify the relationship. “To what extent does YHWH consign the people of Israel, Judah and Jerusalem to suffer by rendering them blind and deaf and therefore unable to repent? To what extent is their suffering explained by their own wrongdoing, even when they are prevented from recognizing that wrongdoing and changing their ways? What might have become of the people had Isaiah done more than simply ask, ‘How long, my L-rd?’”13 In this last question, is there a sense that Isaiah has simply decided that the punishment that is meted out is justified, that YHWH will not listen, that the decision is a fait accompli? Yet, one must ask, “what if?” This is more than simply a rhetorical device. It is a way of saying that in the face of what is about to transpire, one cannot say that belief in God is central, and yet decline to ask what might be the final and defining question.

The conventional view among the majority of scholars is that the Hebrew prophets based their pronouncements on the verifiable and defensible fact that God was faithful and Israel repeatedly was unfaithful, and therefore the prophets over the course of centuries would also repeatedly prophesy with sharp and piercing invectives. While this perspective is substantially true, there are still notable moments where questions to, and about God and the role and actions of God are brought into question. The reason for the questions or occasional challenges is not to usurp the role of God or for that matter tarnish the character of God. Rather it is to walk in the footsteps of those biblical characters who have questioned or wondered aloud about God’s actions, and indeed have not been cast aside by God for blasphemy or arrogance. Questions about the nature of punishment and the depth of the judgment, from bondage to exile, to the remarkably defining moment of the Shoah must be voiced.

I believe that it is important, even ethically mandatory, to recognize and resist dangerous thinking wherever it occurs including and perhaps especially in the Bible. To be faithful, I believe demands recognizing the problems of biblical texts, how they participate in the web of power relations that are toxic . . . I believe that [the Bible] has to be read responsibly, with eyes wide open. To attempt to “fix” the problems of the Old Testament by reading it selectively or making excuses for it is, in my understanding, not only dishonest, but also dangerous.14

It is the capacity to raise substantial and existential questions to, and about God that reflects that depth of confidence and faith, and belief in God who is indeed God of the universe and is unafraid to face major questions. Not to question strikes me as a weak sign of faith. Sometimes a question must be posed even if it remains unanswered. Ignoring or diminishing the ‘Why?’ questions is often a remarkably easy way to escape from our own complicity in such matters. Sweeney poses a number of questions that are generated from Job that have universal claims, and thus must be asked beyond the parameters of the story of Job. “Why do the righteous suffer? Does G-d indeed protect the righteous? Is a human being capable of questioning G-d? Is it sinful for a human to question G-d? Is it futile for a human to question G-d? Is suffering the lot of human beings because humans must ultimately die? Can humans correct G-d? Can humans challenge G-d’s power? . . . Rather than condemn Job and the readers of the book for asking such questions, the book of Job is designed to elicit and affirm such questions, even if the answers are not easily forthcoming”15

Incoherent Fragments

A recognizable note from the biblical text reminds us of the reality that we live in a world that is ever changing, and while God is understood as both inscrutable and unchangeable, nonetheless, the manner in which we are to embrace and interpret the biblical text also must reflect the world in which we live. Thus, while for some interpreters it might seem noble or wise to conclude that they have a sense of certitude about God and the text, it seems to be a dangerous proposition, as one perhaps imperceptibly usurps the place of God, and ignores the world around. In this regard it is impossible to think of the role of God in the world as being the same as before and after the Shoah. It seems that the questions are more pronounced, more pointed, more wide-ranging and strikingly resistant to the impulse to remain locked in a time gone by. The Shoah in modern times, recalls the exile and the dramatic landscape of biblical times. Everything has changed! Simply to leave things as they are; to refuse to broach questions under the well established veil of only being human and therefore unable to know the mind of God, is unconscionable and a dereliction of faithfulness.

The truth is in fragments . . . In the face of fragments, the empire and its theologians fling out coherence—all coherent, all reasonable, all accounted for, all understood, . . . For most adherents of such coherence, however, the claim becomes a recipe for denial, censure and pretense, all of which issue in violence.16

Coherency certainly has its place, but in the midst of a fragmented society, the idea of coherency born out of an artificial construct or coercion is not only unacceptable, but destructive. Coherency of this sort simply awaits a time for further and worsened disintegration. Fragmentation cannot be made whole by a patch work or being “band aided” together. The etymology of sincere is instructive here. The common background of the word combines sin (without)+ cere (wax). The word is generally associated with marble sculptures in Roman times, some of which had imperfections that were filled with wax, which to the average eye, unskilled to discern imperfections would assume that the piece is not flawed or fragmented. A society cannot be waxed together in the face of fragmentation. In 1936, the Nazi regime “waxed” its deeply oppressive and violently fragmented society into a showpiece for the 1936 Berlin Olympic Games. Regarding the question of a boycott of these Olympics, Avery Brundage, president of the American Olympic Committee, stated: “The very foundation of the modern Olympic revival will be undermined if individual countries are allowed to restrict participation by reason of class, creed, or race.”17 Creating another “waxed laden” moment, Brundage was invited for an inspection tour which, following the “waxed” script of Hitler, he saw what he was meant to see, and indeed what he wanted to see. Brundage stated publicly that Jewish athletes were being treated fairly and that the Games should go on, as planned. He even alleged the existence of a “Jewish-Communist conspiracy” to keep the United States out of the Games. This is the problem when coherence trumps all else, and when coherence further generates fragmentation, and when personal ideology forges ahead for the world to see. Many who thought and might have felt otherwise, over the fragmentation, settled for the faux coherency. Even though many nations including the United States knew of this “waxing,” they nevertheless participated and closed their eyes to Hitler’s prohibitive “waxing” that was put into place. “Hitler’s Nazi dictatorship camouflaged its racist, militaristic character while hosting the Summer Olympics. Soft-pedaling its antisemitic agenda and plans for territorial expansion, the regime exploited the Games to bedazzle many foreign spectators and journalists with an image of a peaceful, tolerant Germany.”18

The word survival means living through or living over. Those who have survived a particular horror such as the Shoah or particular wilderness experiences such as the Babylonian exile must face the daunting reality of how does one live through such an event, precisely because one must live through such moments if one is to survive. The idea of survival intimates a mandate to live again, but this kind of living through can never be as it once was, for the landscape has been transformed. Fretheim correctly observes, “We need to be confronted more directly and more often with our known and our unknown participation in the causes of suffering, and reflections on such questions can be helpful to that end.”19 Fretheim points to a two-fold imperative here. It might be a deep seated reluctance to face oneself and thereby one is unable to ever face the reality of one’s complicity. As suggested elsewhere in this study, I would argue that facing oneself in whatever way, and for whatever reason, has to be one of the most difficult and challenging things that one does, and yet it is only in so doing that the possibility exists for a beginning to clarity as to why certain things transpire. So the “why” must be asked not to diminish faith, but to face the possibility that the answer lies within our human purview. Moreover, the “why” question must not be silenced by others either by casting misplaced fear, or the suggestion that asking such questions reflect a lack of faith. We might very well learn from Job an essential lesson in terms of how humans might relate to God, and not only on the occasion of one’s personal pain and suffering, but particularly in times when one is not personally involved. What is of significance here is the fact that one who takes the relationship with God seriously, must in fact have the level of confidence to ask personal and existential questions. In matters of gravity, one should have to face the devastating statement, “you should have asked,” or “you should have said something.” Job asked, and after the “God Speeches” in which Job seems to have been taken to task by God, God then extols the sustained righteousness of Job. One of the qualities that we might determine from the “God Speeches” is not that Job should not have asked questions, persistently so, as is sometimes concluded by some interpreters, but that the questions of Job might not have been encompassing and universal enough. It is not that Job should not be concerned about himself, but God invites Job to think of all of creation, and even the inherent realm of divine responsibility. In this regard, Job invites all interpreters to pose significant and large questions to God not only about oneself or for that matter one’s community or nation, but for all people wherever there might be evidence of injustice, and particularly circumstances where God might be held accountable. It is precisely God’s encounter with Job at the end of the book that suggests something of a divine mandate to question in a wide-ranging way. Among the many pertinent questions that we are compelled to ask, perhaps the most challenging is that of God bringing suffering on the innocent for reasons that only God knows; reasons that are never told to the suffering, and to those who wonder and lament. Thus, it is that the prophetic voice today must not focus narrowly but be attentive and accountable to the entire world where there is injustice and oppression in whatever way.

With life comes suffering in a variety of ways, not simply the possibility, but the certainty of suffering. And regardless if this is the result of human finitude, limitations or fault still human acknowledgment leaves us wondering, perhaps about what we perceive as the unfairness of it all. Or as Hall sees suffering, “Life depends in some mysterious way on the struggle to be . . . If nothing were inaccessible, nothing out of reach, and there were no unfulfilled dreams or wishes, there would also be no wonder, no surprise, and no gratitude.”20 Hall’s point regarding the struggle to be is well taken, and it certainly underlines humankind’s ongoing journey, one that is not unencumbered, but is filled with hills and blind corners. However, it still seems somewhat more of a justification of that which we cannot fully understand, and in a way are forced to embrace, comes from God. Are we then given pain so that we can understand the value and the wonder of joy and happiness? When one takes this to a logical conclusion, it seems that we encounter the Shoah along the way and we are then left speechless. What possible justification is there!

Cost of Saving Nineveh

As one reflects on the book of Jonah, and moves beyond what has become something of a simplistic tale of “Jonah and the Whale,” and indeed beyond the ill-conceived idea of Jonah being xenophobic and the purveyor of ideas that historically have lead to an anti-semitic perspective, we once again encounter the issue of theodicy. We know now, and the prophet and the people knew then, that the Assyrian kingdom had a propensity for the abuse of power, and impulse for violence, as witnessed when the Assyrian Empire destroyed the Northern Kingdom of Israel in 721 BCE. Given this, the searching and difficult question must be asked: why would God set out to save a nation, particularly with the somewhat extreme measures witnessed in Jonah, knowing that Assyrian Empire would in fact come to destroy Israel? So then, the question arises as to whether God should be proactive in saving Israel knowing that destruction looms or simply allow Israel, the people, including the innocents, and land to be punished? Part of the complexity in Jonah is the fact that it not only points to the theme of divine mercy for all people, including the Assyrians whose track record for abuse of power and violence is known and documented, but also the question of divine justice. Thus, would a just God save the Assyrians, or for that matter invite the Assyrians to repentance knowing that with the possibility of repentance, these very Assyrians will indeed destroy Israel? In this regard, perhaps one might argue that Jonah, aware as he was of the Assyrian history and propensity for violence, and the execution of unbridled power, simply did not want to have God exercise what is very much a part of who God is, namely a God of justice and mercy. One might also argue with some justification that one should not be condemned on the basis of what one imagines might happen in the future. This is a philosophical principle that humans might employ in pondering human realities, but it poses greater complexities with regard to God. It is far too easy and perhaps even simplistic to speak of devastating punishment and violence such as exile and Shoah; slavery or war, as ordinary suffering. Those who have had these experiences and have survived to have a memory can never be the same; the landscape of their lives has been irreparably altered.

God does not seem to take the evil with all of the necessary seriousness. Jonah began by addressing himself to ra‘atam of the Ninevites (1:2) and he brings them back middarkam hara‘ah, from their evil way (3:10), thus averting their punishment. God repents of the ra‘ah which he had intended to do to them (3:10). But this is precisely ra‘ah gedolah, a great evil (4:1) in Jonah’s eyes . . . Jonah clearly expected the literal fulfillment of his oracle of doom against Nineveh. He preached to the Ninevites, not in order to bring them to repentance, but in a spirit of vengeance that is without parallel in Israelite prophecy . . . For ancient Israel, being is inseparable from performing. Abraham is the one who leaves Ur and becomes the father of faith; Jacob is the one who fights with the angel and deserves to be called Israel; Amalek is the wicked one who tries to thwart the fulfillment of Israel’s destiny. Similarly Nineveh is the destroyer of Jerusalem, the concentration camp for God’s people. God’s decision to spare it perpetuates a fatal threat to Israel. One must always bear in mind the historical character of the reality of which the Bible speaks. It is furthermore in the name of the historical integrity of the “actors” and their acts that Jonah is also as much message as messenger. He feels totally implicated in the Nineveh affair, vis-à-vis which he keeps no objectivity. When the oracle’s outcome is the antipode of the prophet’s expectation, it is clear that Jonah is left with an unbearable split of his personality. He was wholly committed to his message “yet forty days and Nineveh shall be overthrown.” A reprieve of the sentence or, worse, a verdict of cancellation is violation of his person.21

One of the arguments, legitimate and arguable, is whether one can make such judgments suggesting a kind of determinism that punishments are made on the basis of what one might expect or anticipate in the future. Indeed the entire fabric of repentance would unravel if indeed a person of tomorrow would always reflect the person of yesterday particularly in terms of evil intent or actions. And this is surely a message of redemption, that is, one is not left to wither and die in one’s present reality. The reason why YHWH would have repented of the evil even after the announcement by Jonah that Nineveh would be destroyed in forty days underlines why one must attend to repentance seriously, and not make judgments on the basis that one’s repentance cannot be believed to carry over into the future. Yet, this decision by YHWH and the decision to allow Babylon to become another prison of the Israelites led to the razing of the Temple and the destruction of Jerusalem. The LaCocques argue that in fact, while this kind of dramatic change is possible, it would in fact take a miracle, and since the history of change is not predicated on miracles, this kind of dramatic change by the Ninevites is not likely.

The Nineveh of tomorrow is not necessarily the Nineveh of yesterday. This, in part, is the lesson of the book of Jonah. But for this metamorphosis to happen, no less than a miracle must occur. Only a miracle can alter the unswerving course of heavenly bodies, but Jonah’s “logic of faith” militates against such a hypothesis, not only because history is not made up of miracles, but when they do occur it is in Bethlehem, in Judah, in Palestine. That they can actually happen in Nineveh is in Jonah’s eyes a remote possibility that is not to be envisaged. For all practical purpose, Nineveh is what it represents; it represents evil. Jonah’s anger does not, therefore, emerge from solipsism and parochialism. It is a righteous wrath for which Jonah feels no shame.22

In this narrative, fundamental conventions are overturned. We are fully expecting that the prophets will listen and obey whatever it is that YHWH has told them to pronounce, even though they might be reluctant or even refuse or be in a state of question. Finally the expectation is that they will listen and follow. In Jonah, both expectation and convention are overturned as Jonah refuses, and the Ninevites listen, and thereby have a reprieve and Nineveh lives; in time Nineveh will return to destroy Israel. Thus, one wonders whether this is a sign of God’s mercy, weakness, or as the Wisdom of Solomon testifies that this is indeed an expression of God’s omnipotence. The fact that God is creator, is both able and willing and perhaps compelled precisely to act in the manner because God is God.23 Perhaps, it is the case that Jonah is not disappointed as he knew from the beginning that God would likely do this and so now he must decide if in fact this will undermine his credibility as a prophet. He made a pronouncement as mandated by God only to see his words lead to a divine reprieve not to the punishment that he believes the Ninevites deserved. The circumstances that emerged might very lead him to wonder if he misconstrued his calling and the message. That is to say, it is not simply that Jonah knew that the mercy of God was such that it will likely be given to the evil Ninevites but that he will begin to wonder about his role. Given, that he might have concluded that YHWH’s decision will inevitably lead to the demise of Israel, along with other prophets such as Elijah and Jeremiah, he might wonder if it is not better to die than endure this sense of doubt and divine betrayal. But as is the case with all of the prophets who saw death as an option, God would have none of it.

Jonah’s theology is not one-sided; he cannot be accused of believing an authoritarian God who would lack the attributes of mercy and compassion . . . Jonah, therefore, simply chooses to call into question the exercise of divine mercy toward Nineveh. This, he thinks, is tantamount to warming a snake on one’s breast . . . Clearly the prophet does not seek to protect himself; he, rather, puts himself in jeopardy, as he did on the boat, showing to all that he is not a coward . . . He rejects any idea of an absurd existence where justice is flouted by the very one who is its initiator, its founder and its guardian.24

Given this, one of the ongoing questions that continues to be in the forefront of our consciousness, and one which needs to be reckoned with is that of the quality of redemption. Is redemption possible in every instance even in evil hearts and those who have a perpetual evil inclination and impulse? To point to the defining instance of our time, the Shoah, is it possible to imagine redemption for Hitler and the Nazis? Is the mercy shown to Nineveh an indication that even for the Ninevites, knowing their historical propensity for evil and what in fact they did to Israel later, there is still hope for transformation and the justification of redemption? In a dialogue between Origen and Jerome regarding this very issue, the two early Church Fathers came to radically different conclusions. “Origen insisted upon the full pardon of the repentant sinner; at the end even the devil will be converted. Jerome reacted to this opinion with indignation, rhetorically asking whether ultimately there will be no difference between the Virgin Mary and a prostitute, between the angel Gabriel and the devil, between the martyrs and their torturers.”25

Memory and Shame

There have been instances in which those who have been the victims of injustice or oppression have survived and have themselves gained power, proceed to perpetuate the cycle of violence. Victims having had the experience of what it means to be oppressed and who lived under tyranny cannot in turn become oppressors, particularly under the guidance of, and relationship with the God who delivers them from, and breaks the bonds of oppression and injustice. In this regard, one reflects on the major infra-structural undertaking by Solomon, including the building of the Temple and the manner in which the success of such a massive enterprise eventuated. Slave labor of the Hebrews by the Pharaoh was such a bane that the memory of it has lingered in the consciousness to this day and it is surely one of the defining moments in the life of ancient Israel. Yet, once again, either there is a lapse in memory at the highest level or a disregard of the lessons and experiences of history. In order to build extensively, Solomon conscripted his people and so engineered a new era of forced labor, and from all indication, those who were the principal workers were his people, those with little power to avoid such conscription. As we are aware today, those with power have the voice and position to avoid such conscription for reasons that may not be accessible to all. Certainly in ancient Israel, not everyone was viewed equally. The fact is, forgetfulness has devastating consequences, because we are destined to repeat our mistakes and have no context from which to understand the consequences of our actions. In forgetting what is central, two elements are to be noted. First, forgetfulness shifts the focus of our attention and core conviction to other now privileged idols in a sort of hedonism. The prophet Hosea pronounces:

Israel has forgotten his Maker, and built palaces;

and Judah has multiplied fortresses;

but I will send a fire upon his cities,

and it shall devour his strongholds.26

This pronouncement from Hosea encapsulated three particular aspects of grave concern: forgetfulness of the creator; extravagance by rulers; the multiplication of its military prowess. In this case, forgetfulness of God is directly connected to the confidence of the military protection and a lifestyle of opulence and extravagance. Yet, such confidence is self-indulgence and military fortresses will not withstand the divine inferno that will destroy the strongholds. That is the result of forgetfulness. It allows the people, in this case the leaders and the powerful, to find a new center. Here, tellingly the two foci are opulence and fortification of the military. But there is an even more devastating consequence of the people’s forgetfulness, and that is, God will in turn forget them. This in effect places the relationship on very thin ice.27 Moreover what the people of Israel were told, and the essential message for contemporary society and religious institutions, remains for the most part the same, namely, perish. Given the nature of our society and its unbridled preoccupation with commodity and more commodity, and the dramatic expanse of the divide between wealthy and poor, it would be easy perhaps to dismiss such a pronouncement as unfounded or explain it away as archaic and no longer applicable. But this kind of dismissal also reflects what society has come to believe, namely that might, particularly military and imperial might, might hint that such pronouncements do not apply or affect. The act of not forgetting or remembering is neither abstract nor theoretical; it must be active. One’s life must be a testimony to remembering the one or those to whom one belongs and what that means. “Memory of the painful past corrects an amnesia of both divine and human identity . . . Memory and shame: taking responsibility for past actions and acknowledging our failures—Ezekiel affirms repeatedly that this kind of self knowledge is necessary if a future of hope is to open before us.”28 The importance of memory not only significantly ensures that the past injustices are not repeated, but even moreso not to remember is not to live. How can one really live without a memory, without being attentive to what has gone before, and how might one be shaped in light of this? There is an existential issue to be reckoned with here, namely our capacity for self-reflection and self-critique. This surely is one of the most difficult undertakings if for no other reason than it poses the real possibility that we might discover within us that which must be changed, altered, transformed. So today, as it was in ancient Israel, many simply choose not to reflect and in so doing make a decision that the path on which they travel is one that will never be changed. Perhaps there is fear in facing who we are, and yet we must wonder about the cost of no self-reflection.

Without self-reflection, how might we possibly have a sense of what our sins are, our errors, the pain which we might have wrought, and indeed the joy that we might have been the subject of? In other words, self-reflection and self-critique are not simply an afterthought, a luxury, but a necessity. But there is also the matter of being ashamed of what we have done in the past, call it sin or some other term, and the capacity to face the past and to acknowledge our actions and seek repentance, repair and restoration. Self-assessment and reflection are certainly very difficult and many have made the choice to avoid them, perhaps with the hope that the challenges might disappear. Of course whatever challenges there might be do not simply disappear. In the United States in general we are very reluctant to have any kind of collective national self-critique and as a consequence, whatever it is that confronts us it is very difficult to take particular responsibility for what occurred. Memory was also significant for the ancient Israelites. They must remember YHWH and the history of redemption and salvation, given that forgetting or neglecting inevitably leads to acts of injustice. Moreover, one must remember both in times of suffering and in times of prosperity. In the case of punishment and suffering, when painful and persistent questions about belonging and abandonment abound, divine absence, divine silence, and fear all are woven together, it was important to remember the times when they were given assurance and hope in the midst of despair; judgment and punishment are not the last word. Such memory cannot be confused with reminiscence as good as the latter might be under the right circumstances, but an active sense of remembering. Indeed extravagance generated by injustices and lavish lifestyles are no more the last word than is suffering. “Memory alone would not have been enough on which to base hope for exiles. As an end in itself it becomes a preoccupation with the past . . . Memory served to enable discernment of God’s new thing for Israel’s future. That future was to be no mere repeat of the past. Even when the prophets use a familiar image for them from the tradition it was often transformed in keeping with trust that God was doing a ‘new thing.’”29

See, the former things have now come to pass,

and new things I now declare;

before they spring forth,

I tell you of them.

Sing to the LORD a new song,

his praise from the end of the earth!30

“The people’s failure to know themselves is revealed especially whenever Ezekiel refers to the benefits of shame, yes, the benefits of feeling ashamed. For Ezekiel, shame is a profound gift, and an essential element of self-knowledge . . . Remembering our sins is a crucial part of self-knowledge . . . and remembering the past is always accompanied by an appropriate sense of shame, spurred by the recollection of our past actions.”31 There is certainly something of a difference between being “shamed” by someone and having a sense of shame. The point is not being forced into shame, but to come to that moment for the right reasons. Within the context of the Hebrew prophets, one notes Jeremiah’s pronouncement.

They acted shamefully, they committed abominations;

yet they were not ashamed,

they did not know how to blush.

Therefore they fall among those who fall;

at the time I push them, they will be overthrown, says the LORD.32

That is to say, shame has to do most fundamentally with an acknowledgement of actions gone before. Indeed an essential component of shame is confessional in nature. It is an acknowledgment that what has happened by way of injustices, oppression or atrocities must not happen again. Not to be ashamed of these acts on behalf of those who have gone before us, and in whose footsteps we travel, is not only to show a wanton disregard for the pain and suffering, but to give the impression that a lack of shame is an indication that it is likely to occur again. To be sure, there is nothing simple or easy about being ashamed; indeed it is particularly difficult if the shame must be on behalf of our ancestors. Yet, the alternative is even more painful and destructive. Thus, not to feel shame for slavery, or indentured servanthood or genocide is to live with a belief that whatever the form of injustice, we cannot be responsible for the actions or perhaps even the belief. This invariably may lead to the conclusion that whatever the actions were, they must have been justified, or of no import. To hold in tension the positive regard that we have for our ancestors and the counter intuitive reality that their actions might have been destructive is difficult. The challenge is not simply to know intellectually or logically that what transpired was unjust and oppressive, but to be able to engage the heart as well. While we may have deep affection for our ancestors, the test of our sense of justice is to have the will to be engaged with our moral agency even when we must face ourselves in the persons of our ancestors. “Prophetic calls to shame in the context of history are not calls to a paralyzing guilt or humiliation. It is a call to recognize the constant failures of living according to alternative ideals and values . . . Shame therefore is not a psychology, it is a politics.”33 To feel shame for our ancestors is at the same time to face ourselves. At every level and under every circumstance shame must be felt and not be simply an embarrassment that is concluded with a passing mea culpa. Michael Sells has pointed out the refusal of the Serbian Orthodox Church to not even acknowledge the genocidal policies of the Serbs. This is the first step to feeling shame and if there is intransigence on the part of the Church, and if the Church will not acknowledge such heinous atrocities then could the church bear witness to God’s justice and the centrality of confession and forgiveness.34

The juxtaposition of Isaiah and Jeremiah is very instructive both for an understanding of the progression and relationship of the prophetic message and also for the interpreters, and their understanding of the importance of memory. Thus, we know that Jeremiah challenged Hananiah on the latter’s proclamation that Jerusalem will be safe and there will be peace. Isaiah had prophesied that while Israel will face severe judgment through the conquest by Assyria, Jerusalem will be saved and delivered from such punishment. One of the fundamental lessons here is the fact that one must learn from one’s past, and the history that surrounds and encompasses us. We see the evidence of this in two important ways. Hananiah was inattentive to the fact since the time of Isaiah, the behavior of Jerusalem had changed dramatically and thus a reprieve from the Assyrians did not commit Jerusalem to a carte blanche freedom from judgment. Jeremiah on the other hand was cognizant to the fact that the messages of those who came before and prophesied have to be remembered. The prophets and their message therefore did not function independently of each other; the one constant being God. What Jeremiah knew was that unless Jerusalem heeded the mistakes of Israel, judgment would be meted out to Jerusalem as well. If ever there was a universal lesson to be heeded here, it would certainly be that we must have a memory that is beyond the recent past, and perhaps most importantly, we must have a memory that does not assume that which has gone before us cannot be replicated. For that matter we ourselves who do not carry the blood stained hands of our ancestors, howsoever faints these stains might be, are not above reproach. Those who in the past have taken on this posture have done so at their own peril. What is particularly striking about Jeremiah’s message, specifically in his Letter to the Exiles, is the recognition that there were prophets among the exiles who were preaching a message of empty and painless deliverance. It is not that there was no recognition that the people were in exile, but rather the unwarranted belief that life in exile will be brief and the judgment will pass quickly and life will return to the way things were. This, for Jeremiah would not be, for he was compelled to pronounce very specifically that they must in fact live their lives fully in Babylon. Jeremiah was not in any way relishing the pronouncement of judgment, but he recognized that as painful as it was, the truth must be told. We are further reminded that before all else in Jeremiah, words of restoration, to build; to plant (Jer 1:10) are made; it is also made clear that what was about to transpire in terms of judgment and punishment will not be the last word. However the moments of “darkness” so to speak cannot be circumvented or for that matter navigated away. If anything, Jeremiah’s message is that all of life must be lived even in the midst of exile and among those who are deemed the enemy. Having said this we are still faced with difficult questions, such as divine judgment not predicated on any kind of sustained evil or sinful behavior.

Jeremiah tells the people not to listen to the more popular but false assurances that the exile is nothing more than a “passing glitch” and will soon be over. Indeed Jeremiah’s younger contemporary Ezekiel points to the rebuilding of the Temple and Jerusalem, but does so on the heels of having made clear that the reason in the first place that this is even necessary is that all creation has been corrupted through idolatry. While one may not dispute this reality, we are to equally recognize that such an idea as this cannot be applied universally. Ezekiel has been particularly concerned about the problem of evil and what might have precipitated the evil of exile and the devastating punishment that was the exile. Ezekiel believed with justification that the destruction of the Temple and Jerusalem were the result of the people’s intransigence and attitude of ritual self-indulgence that ultimately led to judgment. Certainly, there were many moments of resistance and reluctance to bring such devastating message to the people. No prophet took pleasure in bringing a message of doom and destruction, and on occasions the reluctance was so sharp that the prophets not only brought the message, but even cast derisive comments against God’s decision and the divine insistence on severe punishment. The prophet’s life is such that his identification with his people (and one thinks most notably about Jeremiah in this regard) that his loyalty and deep compassion only made his message so much more unbearable and difficult to proclaim. Indeed Jeremiah grieved and was pained for his people, the people whom he loved and with whom his life was deeply invested. But it is precisely a prophet such as Jeremiah that reminds us that as much as he cared deeply for his people, he could not casually approach the message, nor was he crazy about the idea of delivering it, yet his principal and first loyalty was to God. The people’s pain would be his pain, and in this respect, his words first pierced his heart along with the people. While a prophet such as Amos made pronouncements and then left, and though his words would live on with him, and his words would be the framework for future prophets’ ethical imperatives, it is entirely different when the prophet lives among the very people, and to whom his words will serve as a devastating indictment and judgment. The challenge with Ezekiel’s message is not only that it has unequivocal truth with regard to Judah and Jerusalem of the sixth Century, but how might one translate this message for today, particularly in light of some systemic and devastating evil such as the Shoah.

The fact remains that in some very striking ways, memory, and the act of remembering might very well be a double edge sword. Some memories are so very deep that one cannot get out from under them. It is not to suggest that one must forget, but the deep memory is such for some that it becomes another remarkable burden that cannot be shared. Former President Jimmy Carter relates the story of the meeting of Egyptian President Anwar Sadat and Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin meeting at Camp David to work out a peace treaty, which would emerge as the Camp David Agreement. In the first face to face to meeting between Prime Minister Begin and President Sadat, Prime Minister Begin was so aggrieved about the ancient Hebrews being in bondage in Egypt, that he spoke about such Egyptian oppression and reached so far back in the history and memory of what transpired that such deep memory had the potential to unravel the fragile talks before they ever settled into forming something permanent and formidable. So the question is whether the possibility exists that imagination can be born out of such deeply set memory? The answer must be “yes.” Though it comes with substantial challenges, it can be a road that leads to redemption. “In some way too, with the exception of surviving victims, all are witnesses to memory rather than remember themselves. They have an ‘unstory’ to tell.”35

1. Langer, Shoah Testimonies, xv.

2. Brueggemann, “Fissure Always Uncontained,” 73.

3. Tollington, “Ethics of Warfare,” 72.

4. Langer, Shoah Testimonies, 150.

5. Isa 6:8–13.

6. Sweeney, Reading the Hebrew Bible after the Shoah, 91.

7. Dobbs-Allsopp, Lamentations, 45.

8. Ibid., 48.

9. Tracy, “Hidden God,” 13.

10. Sweeney, Reading the Hebrew Bible after the Shoah, 8.

11. Ibid., 9.

12. Ibid., 13.

13. Ibid., 103.

14. O’Brien, Challenging Prophetic Metaphor, xxi.

15. Sweeney, Reading the Hebrew Bible after the Shoah, 198–99.

16. Brueggemann, “Fissure Always Uncontained,” 73.

17. Bard, “Nazi Olympics,” n.p.

18. Ibid.

19. Fretheim, Untamed Creation, 101.

20. Hall, God and Human Suffering, 58–60.

21. LaCocque and LaCocque, Jonah, 139.

22. Ibid.

23. Wis 11:23–24.

24. LaCocque and LaCocque, Jonah, 143.

25. Ibid., 145.

26. Hos 8:14.

27. Hos 4:6.

28. Lapsley, “Genius of the Mad Prophet,” 136.

29. Birch, Let Justice Roll Down, 294.

30. Isa 42:9–10a.

31. Lapsley, “Genius of the Mad Prophet,” 134.

32. Jer 6:15.

33. Smith-Christopher, Theology of Exile, 76.

34. See Sells, “Kosovo Mythology,” 180–207.

35. Langer, Shoah Testimonies, 39.