Tonight marks the 80th
anniversary of Krystallnacht, the Night of Broken Glass a day on which the persecution of the Jews of
Germany took a giant leap toward the Holocaust to come. 276 Synagogues and
7,500 businesses were set aflame, countless homes were destroyed, 91 people
were killed and 30,000 Jewish men were arrested and imprisoned in camps.
It was a night of mass
intimidation and brutality. And whereas, many Jews had assumed that others
would rise to their defense, if attacked, it was a night not just of shattered
glass, but of shattered hopes and perceptions, a shattered sense of well-being;
a loud awakening to a frightening reality. It was also a night that shattered
the idea that in the modern Western world, the pogroms of the old world could
not and would not happen. We heard similar sentiments expressed about the
recent attack at Eitz Chayim Synagogue. “I never thought it would happen here.”
Yesterday, I found a video of
Peter Pintus, former Assistant to the Rabbi at the Temple, who passed away some
years ago now, speaking about his experiences during the Holocaust for a class
at Iowa State. I heard him talk about his experiences numerous times and
remember clearly what he said happened on Krystallnacht. They lived in Berlin. Peter’s
father was a wealthy Jewish industrialist. His mother was a Christian.
That night, the NAZIs came to
the family apartment for his father, “the Jew Pintus,” who had heard about what
might happen, and spent the night riding the subway instead of returning home.
The Nazis who showed up terrorized and intimidated Peter and his mother. They
damaged the furniture and tossed the apartment, but didn’t harm them. When the
NAZIs visited their elderly Jewish neighbor, a single woman whom Peter had
recalled collected Hummel figurines, they shattered every single piece in her prized
collection, gleeful at the destruction, and the emotional turmoil that it
caused her.
Peter talked of walking the
streets near their home, seeing what had been wrought that horrible night.
There was a burning synagogue with firemen outside, not trying to put out the flames
in the synagogue, but protecting the surrounding buildings from catching on
fire. Perhaps, some were distressed by not being able to do their jobs. But
they let the synagogues burn.
Peter talked of passing by
Jewish businesses, the glass windows shattered into the streets, anti-Jewish
slogans scrawled in yellow paint on the walls.
It’s hard to imagine the
level of fear that Jews in Berlin would have felt that night and in the days,
weeks, months, and later years to come. They were forced to come to the
realization that all that they had built up could so easily be taken away and
destroyed, that so many people who could have helped, who could have said or
done something, instead said and did nothing, and that so many others joined
against them.
“Zachor!” “Remember!” is one
of the most important themes in the Jewish tradition. We remember our journey
from Egypt, from slavery to freedom. We remember how Amalek came after those
who were vulnerable and we celebrate a holiday to remember the events in the
story of Esther. We remember our family members and our martyrs during Yizkor
services multiple times a year. We are constantly urged to remember.
Our tradition doesn’t just
believe that “He who forgets history is destined to repeat it.” Instead, our
tradition believes that history often repeats and those who forget or ignore
the lessons of history, how to cope with threats as they unfold, will not long
survive when they do.
Having seen the truth of our
errors, we are a people who nonetheless strives to see the best in others and
often, having trusted in others to stand up to evil, find ourselves far too
regularly disappointed. We are like Rabbi Jacob Rader Marcus, a professor at
Hebrew Union College, who wrote in 1935 of the Rise of the Nazis to power in
Germany:
There
is doubt, however, that the fear of widespread pogroms at the present is
well-grounded. It is probable that the masses of the Party, if not some of the
leaders, original envisaged a program which would wipe out the entire Jewish
community. The response of the world to the atrocity reports made it clear,
however, that such a policy could never be put into execution.
It was so clear to him that
the world would rise up in condemnation and action.
Over the centuries, we’ve
learned all too well that people who threaten to do us harm and have the means
to do so must be taken at their word. The greatest sin of our age is not
indifference to the suffering of others, it is indifference to threats that
lead to the preventable suffering of others and even of ourselves. It is seeing
rail lines on their way to camps and not bombing them. It is watching genocide
unfold and forming committees to discuss the events while hoping that sanity
will prevail in the interim. Failure to act against those who threaten has time
and again led to a byproduct of that failure, to discussions of how we should
not “stand idly by” as those future threats are put into action.
We strive to make true the
words of Professor Yehuda Bauer in reference to the Shoah, “Thou shalt not be a
victim, thou shalt not be a perpetrator, but, above all, thou shalt not be a by-stander.”
We have both a justifiably
paranoid tradition and a tradition that believes in miracles and preaches hope
amid darkness. We too are like Anne Frank, a young woman hiding in an attic
during some of the darkest days of our people’s history, saying, “Despite
everything, I believe that people are really good at heart” and “I must uphold
my ideals, for perhaps the time will come when I will be able to carry them
out.”
Amid our fears and sadness
over the past couple of weeks, we have seen great compassion and goodwill,
outreach from across the religious spectrum. Perhaps, the strongest support we
have received has come from the Muslim refugee community here, people who know
persecution and oppression.
We saw perhaps 1,000 people
gather for our community vigil, including dozens of members of the clergy and
political leaders from both parties. It was a tremendous showing of love and
concern and we appreciated it very much.
But as we seemingly face both
rising antisemitism and an increased willingness to act upon hatred, our
challenge is to go beyond thoughts and prayers to effective actions.
The darkness of the age old
hatred of Jews yet endures. We cannot ever forget that it is there, neither
because it regularly resurfaces, nor because we always must be mindful that it
could flourish in the right conditions.
On this anniversary of the
night of broken glass, we must remember that our Shalom, the peace in our lives,
which our tradition likens to a Sukkah, is very much like crystal glass as
well. The whole shatters when but a small piece is pierced. We have learned
through the generations to sweep up, to make repairs, and to go on with life.
But we go on remembering, ever mindful, ever aware.
Tonight, as we remember the
events of 80 years ago and those in recent weeks, we also need to remember what
has happened since, that we have survived the utter darkness and we once again
thrive as a Jewish people.
· We have made a difference and brought goodness into
the world.
· We re-established a Jewish nation a decade after
Krystallnacht.
· We have gathered threatened exiles from a myriad of
nations and helped them create new homes with new hopes.
· We danced Hava Nagilah on the streets of Tel Aviv and
Jerusalem within a few years of the last flames of the furnaces being
extinguished.
· Our culture thrives.
· Our religious traditions are maintained and expanded.
· Our contributions to science and the arts have been
taken to yet new heights.
· The Jewish state is strong and secure, as is the
Jewish community in the United States of America.
· There is a bright Jewish future.
But tonight, around the
country, the Jewish community is fearful enough that security is a priority and
armed guards are seen by many as an absolute necessity. In Europe, for many
years now, that has been the case. I do not know that our community will always
feel that necessity, but we feel it now. We feel a need for the extra security
cameras and the locked doors as well.
This Shabbat, as we read of
the story of two nations battling each other in Rebecca’s womb, of Jacob and
Esau, each representing competing characteristics, let us choose to be joyful
and idealistic instead of sad, angry, and fearful. Let us, like Ann Frank, go
forward trusting in the goodness of those who show us caring and not allow
ourselves to so easily succumb to cynicism.
There is indeed evil in the
world. We don’t need to look too hard to find it.
Our challenge, today, as it
has been time and again in our past,
Will be to not become lost to
our fears,
But to maintain our
commitment to our values:
To welcome with audacious
hospitality rather than wariness,
To respond to hatred with
Remember the stranger and Love thy neighbor,
Rather than to become haters
ourselves,
To kindle light amid the
darkness and
Even walking through the
darkest valleys,
The valleys darkened by the
shadow of death,
May we ever focus on that light.
We are Jews.
We remember.
Shabbat Shalom.
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