ROSH HASHANAH SERMON 2009: HEROISM DURING THE HOLOCAUST

Any child of Holocaust parents carries a burden. It is that of the suffering of their parents and the inability to make that pain go away. I did not know what to say to my parents who had been in Auschwitz. I could not listen to stories about the Holocaust. It was just too overwhelming. Silence. That is how they treated the Holocaust in our house.

Yet something extraordinary happened to me this year. I saw the movie Defiance. This was the story about the Bielskis who saved 1,200 Jews in the forest of Belarus. I called up Zvi Bielski, Zus's son, and I asked him, did that really happen? Come over to my house, he said, and I will tell you all about it. "My father fought the Nazis," he said proudly. I listened intently and began to imagine what my parents had done to survive Auschwitz. Did they fight back? Did they or someone else in the camps resist? Suddenly I began to talk about the Holocaust. Yes, I listened to stories of the most horrible treatment of human beings ever committed because at the same time they perked my ears to pick up stories of resistance and heroism.

Some of you know I became obsessed with telling the story of Defiance. I invited Zus to speak hear on Yom Hashoah. I organized an exhibit I spent months preparing. I called Zus's nieces Trudy Fischer on Staten Island and Lola Kline from Freehold and was invited to their homes. "Tell me again how you survived the forest?"

I needed very badly to believe that there were heroes in the Holocaust. I needed to know that people could do good even under the most tragic of circumstances. Not all Jews went passively to their deaths. And when I thought back on my conversations with my parents, I began to realize that they had all along told me stories of resistance. When younger, I was too traumatized by the pain of their suffering to recognize what they were telling to me. There were many examples of goodness shown by people—even to perfect strangers.

This year, I stood at the pit of hell at the site of the first and one of the most notorious killing sites in Europe, the ravine known as Babi Yar. Here for the first time, the Nazis killed more than 33,000 Jews in only two days and wiped out the Jewish population of Kiev, the capital of the Ukraine. This action sent a clear signal to Jews of Europe that their end was near. I had come to Babi Yar as part of a trip to the Ukraine. We were on a river cruise that had about 30 Jewish families out of the 200 passengers. Naturally, these people wanted to see the Jewish sites. And so they requested and the crew arranged for us to visit Babi Yar as well as the Jewish communities of Kiev, Odessa, and Dnieperpretovsk. Some of my fellow Jewish passengers saw me daven in one of the shuls and came over to me. Steve, we would like to ask you to recite Kaddish for us when we go to Babi Yar. It would be my honor, I said. And so when the time came and the non-Jewish tour guide had told us that most of the ravine had been covered up, I recited the Kaddish. Everyone there stood at attention and joined in. It was an awesome experience. I was no longer silent about the Holocaust.

A comforting voice from the midst of darkness takes on a heroism all its own. Do you know that when under Soviet rule, no mention was ever made of Jews being killed at? Babi Yar. How could they? It would reveal the Ukrainians' complicity in killing Jews. So, as Bartov wrote in his book ERASED, the Soviets did not put up one monument to recognize the murder of Jews. But all it takes is a whisper, which then turns into a roar, a poem, and a symphony, and they can finally hear the voice of Jews killed in Babi Yar. It starts with an eye witness, a Mr. Kuznetsov, who smuggled out his book Babi Yar from the Soviet Union in 1970, and now the whole world knows. It continues with the poem Babi Yar by Yevgeny Yevtushenko, a noted Russian poet who dared to say, "I am a Jew, even though I am not born Jewish, because whatever happens to the Jew happens to me." Then the great composer Dmitri Shostakovich takes this poem and makes it one of the themes of his "Thirteenth Symphony. " Next, if you are Father Patrick Desbois, you decide to travel in the Ukraine from one town to the other to hear townspeople and survivors tell their stories of what the Father calls the "Holocaust of Bullets." Now they can hear all the poor wretched souls of our murdered brethren in the Ukraine. In my book, if you uncover the truth and tell the story of suffering and survival, you are also my hero.

I can tell you that for every bullet spent, there is also a corresponding story of heroism. On the night we went home from our Yom Hashoah program and finished listening to Zvi Bielski tell of his father's exploits fighting Nazis, we went home to watch the second half of "The Courageous Heart of Irena Sendler," the incredible story of a polish young woman who saved 2,500 children in the Warsaw Ghetto by giving them away to non-Jewish families. Her story, not yet well publicized, inspired four non-Jewish ninth graders in rural Kansas to create a play called "Life in a Jar." They gave it this name because Irina kept the names of these children in a jar with the names of their real parents. So after the war, they could reunite them. As of 2008, these students have performed this play 250 times for groups all over North America and in Europe.

However, the students had an even bigger dream. They wanted to meet this spectacular woman. Their dream came true. It happened in January of 2001. A Jewish educator and businessman just happened to see one of their performances and asked to have lunch with them. How would like to meet the real Irina Sendler? He asked. "I'll sponsor the trip if you go in the spring because Irena is 91 and in poor health. On May 22, 2001, these four students spent time with Irena Sendler and a famous Polish poet whom Irena saved. This poet told the students, "You thought Irina was the rescuer. But you rescued her story from oblivion. So, you are heroes as well."

Then a few weeks later, we went to see the Broadway play with Tovah Feldshuh telling the story of Irina's Vow to save the 12 Jews who were living right under the major Nazi's nose. They survived the war and invited Irina Opdyke back to receive an honor as a righteous gentile by Yad Vashem. At the play, her daughter from California came out and spoke to the audience about her mom's exploits. She was so proud of her mom and that others were getting to hear her story. "What happened to the Nazi major?" a member of the audience asked. You will not believe the answer. When one of the children heard the story of how they survived in the Nazi's house, they wanted to thank the Nazi major. So, they looked for him. Sure enough they found him in his hometown homeless and penniless. Are you ready? They brought this former Nazi back to live with them. They called him grandpa. The audience was dumbfounded and spellbound. HEROISM CAN APPEAR AS IF OUT OF NOWHERE. ONE ACT OF HEROISM BEGETS ANOTHER IN AN ENDLESS CYCLE OF GOOD.

Of course, you can go to extremes. If you are Quinton Tarrintino, you can imagine, American Jews coming to the European theater and hunting down Nazis, even collaborating to kill Hitler and all his henchmen. But we do not have to invent superhuman Jews who blow up Nazis, because there are plenty of real life examples. The Ritchie boys were Germans lads who saw the handwriting on the wall. They emigrated to the US and wanted to join the American military services to fight Nazis. But because they were German they were labeled "foreign aliens" and not allowed to have weapons. Until someone in the brass had this bright idea: these are Jews so they must be smart and they speak the native language. Let's train them to be intelligence officers and send them back to spy on the Nazis, to interrogate Nazi prisoners, and to serve as interpreters. These were the Ritchie boys, trained in Ritchie Maryland, sent to Europe and now they are interrogating German prisoners. They had this neat trick they played on the Germans. They would sit a German soldier down and ask him to give them vital information. Of course, he would refuse, "Well, I have no choice, but to turn you over to the Soviets," the Jewish interrogators said. "Any officer must be turned over immediately." Well, nothing scares the Germans more than to be turned over to the Soviets. In walks another Ritchie boy dressed in a Soviet uniform dripping with medals, and just stands there and stares at the German. "May I introduce you to Comrade Krukov," the Jewish interrogator said. Well, they had their information in the next second.

Now, so as not to be undone, the young Jewish men who escaped Germany and went to Palestine, also wanted to fight. As reports of Nazi atrocities were heard round the world, this group of Jews, now part of the Haganah, petitioned the British High Command to be allowed to form a Jewish Brigade. They denied them this request three times until finally Churchill overrode the decision of his War Board and allowed this group of 5,500 men to create a Jewish fighting brigade and go to Europe to fight Nazis. But here is the real act of bravery: they brought with them the Israel National Flag and wherever they marched they held the flag high for all to see. When the war was over and displaced persons' camps dotted Europe, these soldiers went from camp to camp wearing an arm band—not the infamous yellow band—but the Israeli star. When these displaced persons saw the stars, they gasped. You mean there were Jews fighting the Nazis." It made them proud and gave them a reason to live. And, of course, the soldiers offered a free trip and safe passage for any survivor who wanted to emigrate to Israel. You have to see this DVD to watch how these clever Jewish brigadenicks commandeered trucks and supplies from right under the nose of the British stationed in Europe so that the fledgling state of Israel would have weapons and supplies with which to defend from attacking Arabs. Together, with now these seasoned soldiers, the Holocaust survivors formed the nucleus of what would become the Israel Defense Forces of the future State of Israel.

Real heroism: the Bielski brothers, Irina Sendler, Irina Opdyke, the Ritchie Boys, the Jewish brigade: no reason to develop fake heroes. There were plenty of real ones and now their stories are coming out. It Had to Happen in Italy, published a few weeks ago, is the fascinating story of Italian citizens who refused to give up Jews when Italy allied itself with Germany. Instead, Italians took them to their own internment camps where they allowed them to wear their own clothes—no Yellow Star of David; their kids went to school; there were choral groups and musical ensembles, a newspaper, and activities for adults. No persecution, no beatings, no abuse. Just this amazing picture of a priest standing next to a Rabbi and declaring, "Here we don't need to discriminate. The Jews are our brothers." Elizabeth Bettina, the author is not Jewish, but she came from Campagna where Jews were interned and she was amazed that she hadn't heard the story when she lived there. So she gathered the survivor's one at a time from all over the world, took them back to Campagna, so they could thank the town and its citizens for saving them. I was so moved that I e-mailed Ms. Bettina to ask if she would be willing to speak to us on Staten Island. She replied, "I'd love to and I am going to bring with me a survivor." I asked how much? She replied again: "Pick us up at the Ferry and give us $100.00." I can't wait.

Wow, in one year, I had the privilege of being bombarded with one heroic story after the other. There were good people in the world—even then. And so if we are to remember every Jew who was killed in the Holocaust and every atrocity committed against us, then we are duty bound to remember every act of heroism that saved a Jew, that made his plight easier, and that brought him hope.

Even before escape was closed to Jews, an American came to visit Ernest's hometown of Mannheim. He was lost and Ernest and his father offered directions. Thank you Mr. Lindsay said. Turning to Ernest he asked, "Perhaps you would like to be pen pals with my son Robert." Ernest wrote often and Robert reciprocated. When Ernest saw Hitler choke off any way to escape, he wrote the Lindsay family for help. They responded immediately, "Dear Ernest, we remember your act of kindness to guide us on our way. We are herewith sending you an affidavit to emigrate. We guarantee you a job and shelter." Despite the presence of this affidavit, the Germans refused him exit and they sent Michel to Auschwitz and survived the death march to Buchenwald. When liberated he was accidently captured with German soldiers. He was seated in a chair and the interrogator—just happened to be one of the Richie boys—began his questioning. What unit did you serve in? Answer, "None." What rank did you achieve? Answer, "None." What were your orders? "My orders?" Ernest gave him a puzzled look. "My orders were to survive the most terrible torture you could ever imagine in a hell hole they call a concentration camp. And here is my tattooed number to prove it." The interrogator was so overwhelmed because it was the first survivor that he met. He took Ernest out and introduced him to the military captain in charge, a Mr. Albert Hutley from Chicago, Illinois. He couldn't do enough for Ernest, giving him a job and a home in which to sleep.

And there is more. Hunter calls him into his office. "Ernest," you have some visitors. Please sit down. Four men walk in, all wearing arm bands sporting an Israeli flag. "These gentlemen," Hunter explains, "are from the Jewish Brigade. They have something for you. The brigade officer hands Ernest a letter. He opens it. And his eyes begin to swell. It is from his sister Lotte who was sent by her parents before the war to France to escape when she was ten years old. Ernest had no way of knowing if she was dead or alive. There wasn't a dry eye in the room. Lt. Hunter told Ernest, "When you come to the United States, I want you to live with me. Ernest did, and the Lt. paid for his college education.

Because Ernest was fluent in English and German, he was asked soon after liberation to cover the Nuremburg trials where some of the most notorious Nazis were to be punished for their crimes. How would you like to interview Goebbels in his cell? Yes, he said. Imagine a Jew standing in front of one of the most notorious masterminds of Jewish killing, who was Hitler's right-hand man, and asking him to his face why he was part of such an evil empire. But Michel couldn't do it. He couldn't get a word out. He stood frozen in silence as he stared evil in the face.

But if I had that chance, I would have spoken and I would not have asked THAT question. We know why he killed Jews. I would rather have made a statement: "You thought you would eradicate every Jew in the world so that the world could become Judenfrei, free of Jews. Let me tell you that a Jew stands in front of you now whose spirit you tried to break, but still believes in the power of kindness to combat evil. This spirit you will never destroy, no matter how many bodies you throw into the oven." And from then on Ernest vowed that the best way to undermine Hitler was to ensure that every survivor is allowed to tell what goodness—large of small—was shown by one human being to another.

You probably know the story of Israel Meir Lau, the former Chief Rabbi of Israel who was liberate when he was a young man from Buchenwald on April 11, 1945. You might also have heard of a fellow Elie Wiesel was liberated at the same time. But what you might not know is that these two were part of 904 boys who survived in a state relatively better than most prisoners. How did they manage to survive? The answer is that inmates at the camp—Jewish and non-Jewish vowed to save these youth. They protected them, hid them, gave them extra food, and clothed them—acts of unbelievable kindness, even in concentrations camps.

You know, there are those who say the Holocaust never existed. There are even Jews, well-known Jews, who say that we should no longer dwell on the Holocaust. Avrum Burg, a former member of the Knesset, argues in his new book The Holocaust is Over that speaking of the Holocaust condemns the Jewish State to live in the past and its people to believe they are eternal victims. My answer to him is that we are not JUST remembering the tragedies. We are also remembering the heroism of the human spirit. If we are victims, we are also heroes. You can't have one without the other. The State of Israel was born by Holocaust survivors and their rescuers. We are not eternal victims. We are eternal optimists who want the world to see that the Jewish people are resilient, despite what they have gone through. And now I have figured out why Ahmadinejad has to say the Holocaust never happened. Because if it did, then he would be embarrassed having to explain why Arabs are condemned to such oppression and poverty. If the Jews can be victims—and yet build a country like the State of Israel, "What excuses do the Arabs have?"

Let us remember as we enter into the year 5770 that every good deed we do inspires someone to reciprocate and in turn give back the love they have received. I want to close with a story that is now circulating on the Internet. I don't know if it is true. I tried to find out, but could not. Snopes has it as undetermined. But in any way, I know of no better story to illustrate the contagious effect of one kindness being heaped upon another.

I put my carry-on in the luggage compartment and sat down in my assigned seat. It was going to be a long flight Tm glad I have a good book to read. Perhaps I will get a short nap, I thought.

Just before takeoff, a line of soldiers came down the aisle and filled all the vacant seats, totally surrounding me. I decided to start a conversation. "Where are you headed?" I asked the soldier seated next to me." Chicago - to Great Lakes Base. Well be there for two weeks for special training, and then we're being deployed to Iraq "

After flying for about an hour, an announcement was made that sack lunches were available for five dollars. It would be several hours before we reached Chicago, and I quickly decided a lunch would help pass the time. As I reached for my wallet, I overheard soldier ask his buddy if he planned to buy lunch. If so, that seems like a lot of money for just a sack lunch. Probably wouldn't be worth five bucks. I'll wait till we get to Chicago His friend agreed.

I looked around at the other soldiers. None were buying lunch. I walked to the back of the plane and handed the flight attendant a fifty dollar bill. Take a lunch to all those soldiers. "Thanks," she said. "My son was a soldier in Iraq. I know what kindness means."

Picking up ten sacks, she headed up the aisle to where the soldiers were seated. She stopped at my seat and asked, "Which do you like best - beef or chicken?" "Chicken," I replied, wondering why she asked. She turned and went to the front of the plane, returning a minute later with a dinner plate from first class. This is your thanks."

After we finished eating, I went again to the back of the plane, heading for the rest room. A man stopped me. "I saw what you did. I want to be part of it. Here, take this." He handed me twenty-five dollars. Soon after I returned to my seat, I saw the Flight Captain coming down the aisle, looking at the aisle numbers as he walked, I hoped he was not looking for me, but noticed he was looking at the numbers only on my side of the plane. When he got to my row he stopped, smiled, held out his hand, and said, "I want to shake your hand."

Quickly unfastening my seatbelt I stood and took the Captain's hand. With a booming voice he said, "I want to thank you for all men enlisted in our armed forces." I was embarrassed when they heard applause from all of the passengers.

Later I walked to the front of the plane so I could stretch my legs. A man whom they seated about six rows in front of me reached out his hand, wanting to shake mine. He left another twenty-five dollars in my palm.

When we landed in Chicago I gathered my belongings and started to deplane. Waiting just inside the airplane door was a man who stopped me, put something in my shirt pocket, turned, and walked away without saying a word. Another twenty-five dollars!

Upon entering the terminal, I saw the soldiers gathering for their trip to the base. I walked over to them and handed them seventy-five dollars. "It will take you sometime to reach the base. It will be just about time for another sandwich."

"God Bless You."

Ten young men left that flight feeling the love and respect of their fellow travelers. As I walked briskly to my car, I whispered a prayer for their safe return. These soldiers were giving their all for our country. I could only give them a couple of meals. It seemed so little...

But my friends, we know it means a lot, and telling the story, feels great. Maybe one day, with enough kindness in the world, and enough people transmitting stories of kindness received, we won't ever have to experience suffering again. Uvechein yehi ratzon. And so shall it be your will in this coming year. Venomar, And let us say, "Amen."

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