Forgiving and holding on

A blog by Joyce Cordus

I have been working with Frits Koster on the theme of forgiveness for two years now. Our collaboration began out of curiosity and commitment, but current events give it added significance. With the ongoing violence in Gaza, for example, the question of what forgiveness means and when it is possible feels more urgent than ever.
The word “forgive” appears to have a long history. In Proto-Germanic, fur meant “away” and gebaną meant “to give”: to give away, to surrender. Therefore, forgiveness once literally meant relinquishing something—land, property, or a right. Traces of that old meaning can still be found in phrases such as: “That copy has already been given away.” What we mean is that it has been given to someone else.

Centuries later, to forgive acquired its inner meaning: to remit a debt or let go of resentment. This shift from the material to an inner process shows that forgiveness is essentially about letting go. However, not every situation lends itself to this. Sometimes, reality demands that we hold on to dignity, truth, and justice.

There is a tension between letting go and holding on. In a moral sense, forgiveness always raises the question, “What do you let go of, and what do you hold on to?” Philosophers and ethicists have often pondered this tension. Hannah Arendt wrote that forgiveness is only possible if the truth is acknowledged and the perpetrator takes responsibility. Without these conditions, forgiveness becomes a form of denial rather than a moral gesture.

Arendt calls some acts, such as genocide, “unforgivable” — not out of revenge, but because they exceed the human capacity for forgiveness.

Where forgiveness stalls
In the photo above, taken in Gaza and published by Middle East Eye, we see a grieving woman, an image symbolizing loss, holding on, and longing for recognition. In Gaza, Israel and its allies—including the United States and many Western governments—refuse to acknowledge the truth and take responsibility. These acts are not only denied but sometimes even justified. No mother can forgive those responsible, especially as long as the violence continues.

For her, letting go is impossible; she can only hold on—to her child, to memories, to her dignity, and to the hope that the world is watching. In such circumstances, forgiveness is not the initial response. First and foremost, protection, justice, and truth are needed. Only when these are guaranteed can the possibility of forgiveness perhaps cautiously present itself.

The moral courage of holding on
If forgiveness essentially means “giving away,” then it may be tempting to think that letting go is always the highest good. However, moral courage sometimes means not giving anything away: your voice, your right to justice, your loyalty to the truth, or your humanity.

As Hannah Arendt emphasized, moral courage requires visibility in the public sphere, speaking truth to power, and taking responsibility, even when doing so is dangerous or unpopular. It means having the courage to not go along with lies, to not remain silent when expected to do so, and to remain true to your own judgment, even when it goes against the grain.

In times of war, oppression, or systemic injustice—as is currently the case in Gaza—that choice is not inflexibility but clarity. Holding fast is not a refusal to forgive but a necessary step toward achieving a just peace.

Joyce Cordus, 13th August 2025