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The words of the ancient Psalm, rise from our hearts: ``I
have become like a broken vessel. I hear the whispering of many - terror on every side
- as they
scheme together against me, as they plot to take my life. But I trust in you,
O Lord: I say, 'you are my God.''' (Psalms 31:13-15) In this place of memories, the mind and heart and soul feel
an extreme need for silence.
Silence in which to remember. Silence in which to try to make
some sense of the memories which come flooding back. Silence because there are
no words strong enough
to deplore the terrible tragedy of the Shoah.
My own personal memories are of all that happened when the
Nazis occupied Poland during the war. I remember my Jewish friends and neighbors, some
of whom perished, while others survived. I have come to Yad Vashem to pay homage
to the millions of Jewish people who, stripped of everything, especially of human
dignity,
were murdered in the Holocaust. More than half a century has passed, but the
memories remain.
Here, as at Auschwitz and many other places in Europe, we
are overcome by the echo of the heart-rending laments of so many. Men, women and children,
cry out to us from the depths of the horror that they knew. How can we fail to heed
their cry? No one can forget or ignore what happened. No one can diminish its scale.
We wish to remember. But we wish to remember for a purpose,
namely to ensure that never again will evil prevail, as it did for the millions of
innocent victims of Nazism.
How could man have such utter contempt
for man? Because he had reached the point of
contempt
for God. Only a godless ideology could plan and
carry
out the extermination of a whole people.
The honor given to the `just Gentiles'
by the state of
Israel at Yad Vashem for having acted heroically to save Jews, sometimes to the point of
giving their own lives, is a recognition that not even in the
darkest hour is every light extinguished. That is why the Psalms and the entire Bible, though
well aware of the
human capacity for evil, also proclaims that evil will not have
the last word.
Out of the depths of pain and sorrow, the believer's heart
cries out: ``I trust in you, O Lord: 'I say, you are my God.''' (Psalms 31:14)
Jews and Christians share an immense spiritual patrimony,
flowing from
God's self-revelation. Our religious teachings and our spiritual experience demand that we
overcome evil with good. We remember, but not with any desire
for vengeance or as an incentive to hatred. For us, to remember is to pray for peace
and justice, and to commit
ourselves to their cause. Only a world at peace, with justice
for all, can avoid repeating the mistakes and terrible crimes of the past.
As bishop of Rome and successor of the Apostle Peter, I assure
the Jewish people that the Catholic Church, motivated by the Gospel law of truth and
love, and by no political considerations, is deeply saddened by the hatred, acts of persecution
and displays of anti-Semitism directed against the Jews by Christians at any
time and in any place.
The church rejects racism in any form as a denial of the image
of the Creator inherent in every human being.
In this place of solemn remembrance, I fervently pray that
our sorrow for the tragedy which the Jewish people suffered in the 20th century will lead
to a new relationship
between Christians and Jews. Let us build a new future in which
there will be no more anti-Jewish feeling among Christians or anti-Christian feeling
among Jews, but rather the mutual respect required of those who adore the one Creator and
Lord, and look to Abraham as our common father in faith.
The world must heed the warning that comes to us from the
victims of the Holocaust, and from the testimony of the survivors. Here at Yad Vashem the memory
lives on, and burns itself onto our souls. It makes us cry out: ``I hear the whispering
of many - terror on every side - but I trust in you, O Lord: I say, 'You are my God.'''
(Psalms 31:13-15)
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