I let a month go by without a blog post. How did that happen? Very simply: too much all at once. My summer class in Jewish Christian Relations demanded a hefty amount of time during those first two weeks of August. I spent those two weeks studying the Holocaust, not from the historical timeline that I’ve read a hundred times before but from reading survivors’ stories about life and faith in the camps. I also read the Jewish theological responses to the Holocaust. Had God allowed the Holocaust? Had He broken His Covenant? Abandoned the Jews? Finally, I had put together a narrative PowerPoint about the lessons we need to learn from the Holocaust and to do that meant not only reading more stories but combing through photos and watching video interviews, finding the material I needed. Those who know me best can tell you that if I’m reading or intently working on something, you can walk right up to me and I won’t even notice you. Coming out of an emotional Week of Guided Prayer and then immediately immersing myself into one of the worst horrors in history was really not a good recipe for sleeping well at night.
One of the things that hit me especially hard was an interview that I used in my presentation. Survivor Benjamin Meed spoke about escaping the Warsaw Ghetto during the uprising and blending into the crowd in a church as it was Palm Sunday. The priest did not even mention the ghetto burning right across the street. When church was over, the people took their children on the carousel in the park next to the church. Few people even mentioned the blazing buildings across the street or if they did it was to point out the Jews jumping from the rooftops. The apathy that this man witnessed still haunts him. And it was something I wrote about as I recounted how the then fledgling United Nations made a pledge: Never Again. That the world community would never again stand by and watch as events unfolded. But it has. Repeatedly. When I made up the list of genocides since 1945, I had to leave off a half dozen because they wouldn’t fit on the slide and I had a fifteen minute time limit. Cambodia, East Timor, Serbia and Croatia, and Rwanda were only a few. There are others, some ongoing.
The Jews who were liberated from the Nazi camps ended up in DP camps all over Europe. They couldn’t go home and no country wanted them. Many tried to flee by boat into British controlled Palestine. Some tried overland routes through Turkey. They were often caught and either imprisoned or returned to the camps. Many died in the attempt to reach Palestine before the creation of the state of Israel.
There are people now fleeing from the violence in the Middle East. They are desperate for the world to help them. And the apathy is no different in 2015 than it was in 1945. These people can’t go home and no country wants them. The world is watching and commenting. While Isis doesn’t have the organized camp system of the Nazis, they are systematically wiping out non-Muslims. Their violence and propaganda are well-documented. The world leaders debate and discuss. Meanwhile, people are dying.
This week the picture that shot around the world was of a little Syrian boy named Aylan who drowned along with his brother and his mother trying to cross the Mediterranean Sea. His father, who tried desperately to save his children, was the only one of the family left alive. When I first saw that photo, all I could see was my own sons lying face down in the waves while policemen stood by and took notes. My heart broke for his father, who lost his wife and his boys when all they wanted was a new life away from war and death. And I’d like to think that now that everyone around the world knows Aylan’s name and his sweet little face that maybe it would shake us out of this apathetic stupor to help those still stuck in refugee camps or those still journeying, trying to reach safe haven somewhere, anywhere. But I’ve read so much of history lately that I suspect, even now with our global news and our social media connections and our viral images, we’ll soon forget little Aylan.
School started this week. One of my sons had a bit of health scare this week and only made it through an hour of his first day of school. The other is deeply disappointed that his favorite teacher, the one he was so excited to have for homeroom this year, is leaving. They’ll have homework and projects due soon. So will I. So will all their friends. And life will go on. Those little bumps in the road will be forgotten. There was an urgent care clinic, an ultrasound, a good doctor and easy access to medicine. There are other teachers. There’s plenty of food and a roof over our heads. No one will kidnap or behead us for going to church this Sunday and no bombs are likely go off in my neighborhood this week.
We’ll soon be back to listening to men like Donald Trump rant about illegal immigrants and building walls to keep them out. We’ll be listening to men like Mike Huckabee talk about trampling of the religious rights of Kim Davis, who refused to issue marriage licenses to same sex couples as directed by her job description. We’ll follow the other stories about Black Lives Matter and Planned Parenthood and gun violence and Wall Street. After all there’s an election coming up next year. We’ll either snicker or express outrage about that story of a college girl in Texas who lost her license for DWI so is now driving herself around campus in a Barbie Power Wheels toy jeep.
And so we’ll forget. Little Aylan will fade from our collective memory and life will go on as usual. The next iPhone will be rumored and we’ll be asking Siri to give us a hint. Meanwhile, the refugees will still be in the camps or clinging to each other in the overcrowded boats or walking along the railroad tracks tomorrow or dying in trucks or drowning at sea next week and next month and the month after that.
Aylan, I am so very sorry. We failed you and your whole family. And I am afraid we will fail many others like you before the world wakes up.