My ministry to the Jews

May, 1944

  Despair increases steadily as does the terrible hunger, the like of which mankind has never yet suffered. With complete assurance we may say that they have not left us even a jot of that which is called body or soul.

  In truth, the world deserves only that we spit in its face…Sudden death, hunger, deportation, interrogations, labor, queues, etc., etc. wreak havoc on the ruined vineyard of Israel, among the poor remnant. Will you O God, keep silent? How can you, having seen it?

July 31, 1944

  My…heart is cut to pieces when I perceive how terrible my little sister is tormented. She lost literally everything- no stockings, no clothes…no tenderness. O you poor orphan, and what you have to suffer by my unjust treatment, because of my destroyed nerves. You, poor being, must help yourself with substitutes: instead of stockings some rags, instead of boots some wooden contrivance…God seems to have abandoned us totally and left us entirely to the mercy of the heartless fiends. Almighty God, how can you do this?

August 3, 1944

  When I look at my little sister my heart is melting. Hasn’t the child suffered its part? She has fought so heroically the last five years. When I look on our cozy little room tidied up by the young, intelligent, poor being I am greatly saddened by the thought that soon she and I will have to leave our last particle of home.

  Oh God in heaven, why didst thou create Germans to destroy humanity? I don’t even know if I shall be allowed to be together with my sister. I cannot write more. I am resigned terribly and black spirited.

  That was a few entries from the diary of an unknown Jewish boy orphaned, along with his younger sister, by the Nazis. The children lived in the Lodz Ghetto in Poland where they were forced into slave labor. After the war his diary was found written in the margins of an old French novel. Both of the children were murdered.

  Even though the Jews were forced to live in the confines of the ghettos, people, often children, would sneak through the borders and scavenge for food to bring back to their families. The Gentiles (Goyim as the Jews called them) were not allowed to mingle or assist the Jews in their plight…but some did anyway.

  Imagine for a moment that this was happening in our country. Our Jewish population was being dehumanized and confined to bordered ghettos in YOUR city. Imagine that we lived in a country that taught us through the school system, media and court rulings that the Jews were not human like you or I because of their race. Evil propaganda spread like wildfire on the internet assuring us that annihilating the Jews was for the betterment of our civilized society. The Gentiles justified their murder by calling it “choice” and “rights.” Imagine also that 80% of your fellow Americans supported this discriminatory ideology.

  Can you picture it? You were born in a country this way. You aren’t even surprised anymore when you see the smoke rising from the crematoria. That’s how it’s always been…well, at least since you can remember. You are disgusted at the racist barbarism but just try not to think about it too often. During the elections you faithfully vote for the candidate you think will help make the Jewish people a bit more comfortable. You are satisfied with the fulfillment of your duty. You stand for what is right with your vote! I mean, just two months ago a provision was voted on in your state that allowed the elderly Jewish people 85 and older to live outside of the ghettos. Not only that but it actually passed! Life is good…or is it?

  Imagine once more that you need to head into town to pick up a few groceries. No big deal. You hop into the car and head strait for the supermarket. Your day is busy but this will only take a few minuets. Zipping absentmindedly around traffic you make a left turn and speed down 7^th Street. Less traffic down here. A long razor-wire fence stretches the length of the road, an ancient brick building looms beyond the boarder. Dark billows of smoke curl like a wicked smile from a blackened chimney. It’s the Ghetto hospital were the Jews go to get “taken care of.”

  Turning up the Christian radio station you try and ignore the place but are stopped short when two children dart from the curb and into the road. Quickly, you slam on the breaks and come to a screeching halt. The children are frozen in their tracks right in the middle of the road and stop to see what you will do. You know that they have just escaped from the prison-like ghetto.

  Reddened eyes stare back at you from swollen lids and tallow colored faces. Stained and tattered rags cling to the children’s sweaty, emaciated bodies. Hunger and fear are etched deep in their beings. Bitterness and resentment leap from the boy’s eyes. In one hand he holds his sister’s tightly and in the other an old book. Golden words grace the front of the hardback cover…are those french words? You don’t have time to figure it out.

  A piercing alarm rings out across the city. The children have been missed. A dog barks in the distance. A few shouts echo from beyond the ghetto fence. The children would never have a chance on their own. The city teems with police and people that are more than happy to turn over runaways for a promised reward.

  You love the Jews. You aren’t a racist. You see the “King of the Jews” in your mind’s eye with children sitting at His feet. You worship these young Jew’s Messiah. Startled, the children run to your window and plead with you to let them in. You can’t hear their faint, despairing voices over, “God’s so good” blaring from the stereo. Now you can really see their faces stained with tears. They beat on the window with their fists. Two guards appear on the hospital grounds, weapons raised. A German shepherd bounds forward with a menacing growl and slams his body into the fence just a few feet behind the children. Tension floods the air. Screams from the children, barking from the dog and curses from the armed men all scrambled into a chaotic frenzy. Your heart pounds against your chest in rhythm to the pathetic drumbeat of the Jewish children’s fists. Police units assemble on both sides of the streets.

  Oh, what was that? A faint sound hummed in your pocket. You look down. There is was again! Suddenly a burst of laughter irrupts from your mouth. Excitedly you whisk the phone from your pocket and glance at the screen. Incoming call. It’s Sammy! You answer, “Hey, what’s up?” A bouncy voice answers back, “Not much. And you?” You laugh and after a short pause look at the children. They’ve stopped screaming. The despondency in their eyes screams louder than their voices ever could.

“Um, nothing really…Just headed for the store.”

“Great! You have time for coffee?”

You look out your window and see the guards closing in.

“Yeah, I think so. I’ll meet you at Starbucks. Sound good?” You snap the car into gear and zoom off.

“Yep, sounds good. See you in a bit.”

You hang up the phone with a smile.

“Coffee sounds great right now.”

  You are free and it feels good to take a drive…even if you are busy. A few angry gun shots scream through the air but you don’t notice. You were just at the best spot in your favorite hymn and singing along.

  That would never happen, right? How could I ever be so hardhearted? If I saw another human in need I would stop and help, wouldn’t I? I would be brave like Corrie Ten Boom, Miep Gies, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

  After shopping you head strait to the coffee shop and meet your friend. You are having a wonderful time. Outwardly you chat about what is new and exciting in your life but inwardly you wrestle with accusing thoughts in your mind.

Should I have helped those children? Well, I am really busy this summer.

But you could have taken a bit of time out of your busy schedule to save a life.

They were going to die anyway and besides what could I do when thousands die everyday?

Don’t you think it is your moral obligation?

I know what you mean but that isn’t my ministry. I have never been led to help the Jews.

Do you have to be “led” to do what’s right?

Well…the Holy Spirit hasn’t given me a peace about it yet.

What about the peace of those children?

I’ll do it in my own way. I wouldn’t want to offend any of the guards.

They are murderers!

Jesus was loving and…

I know. So loving that He gave His whole life to save the lives of others.

But, that was Jesus!

Now it’s your turn.

  Nonchalantly you say good bye to your friend and drain the last drops of your mug. It was a long day and you hurry home. Out of habit you take 7^th again. The street is abandoned and lonely. In the center on the road you notice a small object. Is it a book? Gold letters gleam brightly in the sunlight of the evening golden hour. Carefully you pull alongside the book and open your door. The words are French on the cover. It is an old French novel. Your curious fingers reach down and scoop up the fragile book. Nothing extraordinary about it. Just an old book.

You gasp and recoil your hands in shock. The book falls, binding up, smashing the yellowed pages. Dark blood spots the back of the book. It is the boy’s blood. Hurriedly you slam the door shut and speed away from the sight of blood. The steering wheel feels sticky. No, it can’t be! There is blood on your hands.