Remembering not to forget

Last night, at the close of Holocaust Memorial Day in the UK, I watched the film “Denial” again – it’s currently available on the BBC I-Player (which, unfortunately, is only available in the UK). It tells the story of the London deformation trial of Deborah Lipstadt, an historian, who defended a claim brought against her by a Holocaust denier. Some of the most moving scenes are when she visits Auschwitz, along with her senior and junior counsel, and some experts on the events that unfolded there. One of the experts suggests they walk the perimeter to get an idea of the scale of the place. Her senior council says he has already done that, and so they proceed to part of the complex where Jews were first undressed, and then led into gas chambers, passing pacifying signs saying they were on their way to the baths. Scale is an interesting idea in this context. What word is appropriate? Immense? Industrial? The physical and numerical dimensions of what was done, as horrific as they are, do not come close to encapsulating the events of the Holocaust. For while they reflect the evil intent of what occurred, and are the most accessible aspect of that intent, they do not come close to capturing the true ferocity of the hatred that was vented on ordinary and innocent men and women, boys and girls, the majority of whom were distinguished by one thing and one thing only – they were Jews.  

Others are much more qualified than me to attempt an explanation of that hatred. That there was an implacable, intense and fundamentally irrational hatred burning in the hearts of some of the perpetrators of the Holocaust is undeniable. Much ink has also been spilt on the mass complicity that was required to achieve their evil ends; the blind eyes and numbed hearts (and not all of them in Nazi Germany) that helped, or at least did not hinder, the venting of that hatred. That it grew from poisonous but relatively small beginnings, that it involved the crossing of many lines from the subtle to the gross, seems believable. Where it all ended up, in mass, organized, documented, industrial, attempted genocide, seems barely believable. That’s why it is important that we do not forget, that we do not let the events of the Holocaust become some kind of fantastic myth. There are those who would like it to be regarded in that way. In addition to being monumentally unjust, this would be madness, perhaps a madness that could lead to its repetition. There have, after all, been attempts to follow the same playbook.

It is a playbook that involves the “othering” of a minority. It is always easy to blame someone else for personal or societal ills. Having identified one group or another as a scapegoat, by caricature and innuendo they are made to be somehow less. First of all less than “us”; ultimately less than human. That makes their persecution all the easier and less troubling. This all has to be done in the abstract of course. It helps if “they” don’t really look like “us”. This is usually tricky because, when it comes down to it, we all look pretty similar. Hence the need for caricature, some of which goes beyond superficial differences like skin tone or facial appearance. But even although certain features or claimed attitudes and behaviors might be emphasized, it’s the depersonalized idea that is highlighted, rather than real individuals. It helps if the group in question can be segregated, lest “we” actually get to know some of “them”, for then the barriers might break down before they can be built up.  All of this takes effort. The tragedy is that humanity seems willing from time to time to make such an effort.

But for much of history it seems, Jewish people have been a particular target of such efforts. And there is no avoiding the fact that in my corner of the world those called “Christians” have occasionally been at the forefront of such efforts. While being called a Christian and actually being a Christian are two quite distinct things, it’s the irony that is so much starker than the distinction. You cannot begin to understand what a Christian is, even what the word entails, without an understanding and respect for the Jews and their history. A Christian is a Christ follower, and Christ is not a name, it’s a title. It’s simply the Greek way of saying Messiah, God’s servant promised in the Old Testament to His people the Jews. It is true that what divides Jews and Christians is a disagreement over the identity of the Messiah. But the debt that any nominal or actual Christian owes the Jews, and the obligations that flow from it, is incalculable.

Consider. It goes without saying that, notwithstanding centuries of European art, Jesus was a Jew, as were the twelve Apostles (thirteen, including Paul). It’s a profoundly odd view that says this is all just historically contingent and accidental detail. This was God’s choosing and doing, and is therefore significant. The New Testament story of the Church, post the pivotal events of Pentecost (itself a Jewish feast not a Christian invention) begins with Jews, who initially made up the overwhelming majority of Christians at the beginning. As Jews, they saw their new-found Christian faith a fulfillment of, rather than a repudiation of, what their Old Testament (simply “the Scriptures” to them) taught, and had taught them to expect. Indeed this belief was firmly based on what Jesus Himself had taught them; He had taken two of them to task for not taking their Scriptures seriously enough (you’ll find the story in Luke 24:13-35). Even when a parting of the ways came, with some elements of organized Judaism opposing the growing Gentile church, Paul reminds particularly Gentile Christians that they have been ingrafted into “the nourishing root of the olive tree” (Romans 11:17) and not to be arrogant or proud where God’s ancient people were concerned. Paul had a burning and intense desire that his own people might come to recognize Jesus for who He was, and that there might be no division between Jew and Gentile.

In early Church history there were those who sought to divorce Christianity from its Jewish roots, notably Maricon and his followers. But they were quickly identified as not teaching Christianity at all. There is also still a popular idea that the Bible somehow teaches two Gods opposed to, or at least different to, each other: the Old Testament nasty God, and the New Testament fluffy one. But this can only be maintained by not reading and taking seriously what the Bible, Old and New Testaments actually teaches. For my own part, I do feel debt to those Old Testament saints, the likes of Abraham, Moses, Samuel, David, Elijah, Nehemiah, Malachi, and many more beside. And not as just figures from someone else’s ancient history. They tell me about me, and us about us. Without wanting to be proprietorial about it, I do feel that I belong to them and they belong to me, and that we all belong to Christ. That even today some of their human descendants should be identified and abused for simply that reason (i.e. that they are Jews) is both appalling and revealing. We dare not forget where it can lead.