Holocaust
Memorial Day
The Power of Words
I would first like to thank you for the great honour
which I feel in standing here tonight addressing you on Holocaust Memorial Day.
The publicity for this event first called me a specialist, and then a scholar in
Catholic/Jewish relations. I am neither, but I have just spent three years
examining the Catholic Church’s documents from the past fifty years which speak
of Judaism. So, I suppose I am, if not a specialist or a scholar, then at least
a ‘something’.
I speak of honour. And with the theme of ‘the Power of
Words’ I use the term wisely. I feel honour tonight, honour which comes for
myself, that I have the privilege to stand and speak to you, as well as honour
in the occasion. As a Priest, week by week, indeed day by day, I stand in a
pulpit and preach, but only occasionally do I write down what I want to say. This
is usually because the subject I am going to talk about is tricky, or too
liable to be misinterpreted, or too important, for me to make mistakes. There
is always someone who will hear my slip of the tongue and say “but Father
didn’t you just say…”. I need to know that what I am saying is going to be
interpreted correctly, and that I can stand by it. Perhaps I should do that
every time I open my mouth. But you will notice that tonight I have notes, and
I want to tell you that this is not my normal way of addressing people. But, if
you like, it is a sign of honour. I do not want to be misinterpreted, I do not
want to make mistakes. The words are important. Not because you might
think me a fool (I really don’t mind about that – just say it behind my back
and not to my face), but because the subject, the holocaust, and the occasion,
this day, is too filled with unspoken meaning that just any old words will do.
The very title of this day shows us the power of words
– ‘Holocaust’ Memorial Day.
It is a ‘day’, and that is fine, we set aside one day
each year to commemorate and remember the horrors of the last century. And in
that sense, it is a ‘memorial’ – a memory, a reminder of something which
deserves not to fall out of human remembrance. And indeed, the object of this
day, this memorial, is the ‘holocaust’. But we are thinking about the power of
words, and the very title of this day begins to show us the power that a word
can have. It is this word, the word ‘holocaust’. In everyday usage people
really only think of one thing. Although it may refer to the destruction
brought about by some natural disaster, its primary meaning, its primary image
is the German/Nazi death camps. The ‘holocaust’ is the attempted destruction of
an entire people because of their race/religion. The ‘holocaust’ is the
combination of the ideology which dehumanised a people, and then the manner by
which it sought to eradicate them. It reminds us of the motivation, the means
and the object. Although other groups were caught up in the horror, and we
remember them also today, the object of this destruction, of this holocaust was
the Jews. There were others, of course, who had already been dehumanised (such
as the physical or mentally defective), there were those without state or blood
(such as the Romany or traveller), those who were politically subversive ( either
in religion or ideology), there were the morally defective – all of these were
rounded up and dealt with in the holocaust, and indeed at various times this
was attempted independent of the death camps, but the ‘holocaust’ as a word,
even though it may have included these groups, is filtered by and takes it
primary meaning from the experience of the Jews. The attempted destruction of
the Jews. The annihilation of the Jews.
And this is the power of words, even in the title of
this day. For ‘holocaust’ is not a new term coined for those horrors. Even if
for the majority of our contemporary world, it has only one meaning – this is
not the case. For a holocaust, is a sacrifice offered to God, burnt up totally
before Him, a pleasing odour to Him. A sacrifice offered and received. If our
modern term holocaust points to the death camps, for us of faith, in the Torah
or the Old Testament, a holocaust has a first meaning: a grounding, a foundation, which layers the later use of the
term. For us, this is no ‘holocaust’ in the religious sense, this is no
pleasing offering to God. This is ‘Shoah’, this is destruction, annihilation.
This Hebrew term, ‘Shoah’, is more descriptive, more fitting as a reference for
this day. And for the Jewish, and I would say, for the Christian community, this
is the word which should be used. But the power of the word cannot easily be
changed. The world knows the Holocaust. And I do not think the world has the
religious sensibility at present to understand the discomfort the word may bring.
Although we may not like it, we are perhaps tied to the term, for its greater
power, in reminding the world, is perhaps more important in the everyday, than
is its inexact nature with inappropriate levels of meaning.
But words are not the only way in which we
communicate, nor are they the only ways in which the past is brought before our
eyes. It is said that a picture paints a thousand words, and so it may be that
images rather than words would be best to help us to remember. And indeed, who
could not be but moved by images that we have seen. If you are tidying out a
drawer or an old box, and come across a picture album, then it captivates and
encompasses the mind and heart. If we were there, then we are transported back
to the moment when the picture was taken. And if it shows a loved one who you
have not seen for a while, or who is no longer with us, then our heart is swept
up in a tide of emotion. But images do not even have to be personal for them to
tug at our heart strings. Anyone who watches television adverts knows this to
be the case – “just ten pounds will provide clean water, will allow this child
to learn, will stop the torture of this animal.” The power of those adverts is
the shock of the image. And iconic images of our age, which conform to reality,
are seared onto our collective memory. We know the same pictures: the little
girl running for the horrors of atomic war, emaciated bodies marked for death,
but stubbornly clinging to life being liberated from the camps. But these
pictures evoke a response in us which is different from words. Words can also move
us, and can engage with our emotions, but the picture does it in a more
immediate way. We respond to the image before us, as if it were real. We are
transported to the moment when it was taken, or we place ourselves at the
viewpoint of the one taking the picture. We are there, we see, we hear, we
feel. But here, in its strength is also its weakness, because we cannot live that
moment over and over again with the same intensity, with the same feeling. The
emotions have that power over us because they take us by surprise. They appeal
to our senses first: to our empathy, to our compassion, and only secondarily to
our mind, to our reason. It is true that we cannot un-see what we have seen, and
those images are there, potentially, for all time, but the horror of the first
emotional response is by definition limited. We can deal with the emotions, we
can put them to one side. We can change and modify them, because they do not
hold the same power over us when we see them again. They do not reside in our
intellect. Words, on the other hand, are things which abide, words are the
things which change hearts, words can move the will in a way which is different
from an image or a picture, because words can appeal to our mind, to our higher
being. Words explain. They can give context and background. They can give
access to the mind of another, to the world view of another. Words can form our
own opinions in our minds, and then can express those opinions to others. They
can flatter and lie, of course, but they can also convict others of the truth.
Words can persuade and correspond to the reality of the world.
Words can give testimony.
As the last survivors of the death camps come to the
end of their lives, they testimony, their witness is being preserved in a most
wonderful way. It combines the word and the image. But this is not a picture or
a photograph, a flat two dimensional image, with text attached. No, it is
something which keeps alive the source of those words, those words which are so
powerful. The image and the message are kept together in true integrity. These
words are not just preserved in books, or writing, or even in spoken recording,
for now, through the wonderful technology of our age, they are preserved in the
witness of the very people themselves. These are the recordings of thousands of
answers to questions and statements, explanations and descriptions – thousands
upon thousands of words – but spoken by those who were there. The result is a hologram,
a virtual recording of a survivor of the holocaust, as it were living before
you for all time, speaking the words of testimony, as if they were responding
to questions which the person in front of them poses. In a hundred years, a boy
or girl will be able to ask, “What did you miss most, in those camps?”, “Were
you allowed to bring anything with you?”, “What did you eat or drink?”, “Did
any members of your family survive?” and they will receive the answer from a
human being, virtual, yes, but there. This extraordinary development keeps the
power of words in their true context, in the power of lives, in the power of
testimony, of witness. If words can give access to the lives of those who
experienced the sufferings and horrors which we need to remember, then how much
more powerful, how much more human, how much more (if I may dare say it) how
much more divine, is this development. The words, the testimonies are not
theoretical, they are not conjectures in a history book, they are not
manipulated records or events from one point of view or another – fake news is
not new – they are real because, the person says, ‘I was there, this happened
to me’. The truth of words in the lives of people is the most powerful thing on
earth, and if part of this day is to shape the future as well as remember the
past, then testimony, witness is the most powerful weapon we have. It happened
to you, and I see you, I hear you, I am in your presence and you speak to me,
to my mind as well as my heart.
Words have the power not only to depict or represent,
but also to persuade and explain. In this they are more powerful than images.
As human beings we are created to do more than simply react to stimuli around
us – to see an image and emotionally react to it. With out mind, with our
intelligence we must seek the truth of a situation, delve into it, and make
decisions, make judgements. In this way we will inform our will, that part of
us which is most like God, that ability to make decisions, to weight up good
and evil. In this a memorial, a remembrance is essential, for if we do not have
this then we do not have the data with which to come to a decision. We need
information to process, and then we need the ability to process that
information. As we grow older, and none of us are getting younger, what seems
normal for us, because it resides in our experience, and what does not need to
be said, for we can take it for granted, is different for a younger generation.
A few years ago, I was teaching mathematics in a school in France, and was
talking about exchange rates between currencies. I waxed lyrically about the
old ten Franc note. The boys were polite, but my words could never have the
same meaning for them. None of them were born when France had its own currency.
What I, as a member of my generation, could take for granted in my everyday
conversation, was not accessible to the youngsters. How can I make an appeal,
one way or another, about the beauty of a ten Franc note, the smell, the
texture, the excitement that it symbolised not just another currency but being
abroad, on holiday, in another country – to a generation for which it is not a
reality.
Some of these things are important and some are not,
but they need to be explained so that they can be understood. And in the realm
of the horrors of war, or torture and mutilation, then words need to convey not
just historical facts, but motivations, reasons, and descriptions, so that the
mind and the will can judge and resolve to turn from such actions. We must
learn that there are consequences to words, or thought patterns, or
assumptions, or actions. To realise that one thing leads to another is an
important stage in our development. And although it is not necessarily
inevitable, to realise that words, attitudes, and actions can make consequences
more likely to happen rather than less is a lesson for all people at all times.
In our present day, we must not think that we have
sorted out the past. The Jewish community, through the continued work of the
Ant-Defamation League, continues to be vigilant, and rightly so. Words continue
to be wielded for ill, as well as good. Although motivations may be good,
language may be slippery. Let me give you an example from the Catholic Church.
In his statement “We remember the Shaoh” of 1998, St John Paul II attempted to
make a distinction in Catholic history between anti-Judaism and anti-Semitism.
The latter he deplored, but the first he tried to explain in the context of
Christianity. I do not want to go into this document now. All I want to say, is
that while the distinction makes sense within the context of Catholic theology,
to the man on the Clapham omnibus, it is a little more stretched. What does it
mean, and what is the difference between anti-Semitism and anti-Judaism? Let me
say first of all that the Pope’s motives were blameless, but I want to point
out two other things. First there is a problem for those who simply do not
understand the distinction being made, and second there are those who
understand it perfectly well, and yet interpret it in a manner which is
contrary to its meaning. The words are spoken, some do not understand them, and
some misinterpret them.
We have become much more sensitive to the language
that we used to be. We know that it influences not only us who use it, but also
those around us. If you think for a moment of the kind of ‘banter’ of informal
talk that was acceptable fifty years ago, it is very different from what we
would think of as normal today. Just watch one of the re-runs of a television program
to see who much things have changed. And if it changes us, then it will most
definitely change the younger generation, especially those still in formation
in our schools. The names that we call people, both within our own communities
and without, are simply different. Perhaps we can say that ‘we didn’t mean any
harm, any offence’, but that only concerns me, what did I mean, how did
it affect me. The power of words to communicate means that there is also
someone else, the one to whom the word was directed, and also the way in which
is affected those around us. The demonising of a person, or a community is the
first stage in dehumanising them. They are no longer seen as an individual but
rather as a member of a collective, a collective who can then be branded in the
same manner The dehumanising of a group of people, reducing them from their
individuality to being a member of a group, and then that group being condemned
and vilified. Why should this group have the same rights and privileges as you
or me, when they are so different, so guilty, so culpable.
And so, although we have tried, successfully in many
cases, to clean up the language used our society, precisely because of the
power of words, we have to be honest and say that it will be a never ending
battle, because if there is a power to words, then they will always be used in
the power struggle, the battle between one group and another. We may say that
the horrors which lead up to the Shoah could not happen again, but any society
which says that ‘such a thing could no longer happen here’ is playing a
dangerous game, a game of complacency.
I just mentioned St John Paul’s distinction between
anti-Judaism and anti-semitism, and I would finally like to challenge one other
such distinction which is now often made, which I fear can fall into a similar
trap – namely one which may be morally neutral on the outside, but which can be
misunderstood or wilfully misunderstood, and I hope that it will both challenge
us, and also show us the continuing power of words.
The distinction this time, is not between
anti-semitism and anti-Judaism, but anti-semitism and anti-Israel. In our
political rhetoric we make a fine distinction between the national state of Israel,
a political body, and the Jews and Judaism as a cultural/ethnic/religious
group. We can criticism the political decisions and actions of any country, and
indeed we should do so, but I would say that we would do well to look deeply at
what the language that we are using is actually saying, and what audience is
picking it up and internalising it. Too often the language, subtle though it
is, is based around Palestine good/Israel bad – based in political reflection
and political decisions, but presented in a broad brush stoke. To the
subconscious, the unthinking base layer of our minds which connects words with
groups or things in the world or ideal, Israel means ‘the Jews’. And so,
putting aside the truth of a political situation or otherwise, what is presented
is Palestinian good/Jew bad. I would also say that I think Christian language,
action and rhetoric plays into this. It ignores, of course, the reality of
lumping a state with a religious people, and it gives Palestinians (a term
itself which is loaded with meaning and submeaning), an identity which may or
may not correspond to that group itself.
For the Christians, it means, oppressed Christians, for the Arab,
appressed Islam. But the dichotomy which it sets up, one group against the
other, is not, and cannot be morally neutral in the light of the Shoah. The
power of words demands that this situation is different, and should be dealt
with differently.
This is not a political statement that I am making,
and it is defending neither the actions of the Israelis nor the Palestinians, I
am simply saying that the words that we use find their meaning in the context
not only of the present, but also in history. The clever distinction which we
use uses words and is framed in words which have a historical meaning which
transcends them. Insamuch as such words influence and shape generations to
come, then we must be more circumspect and sensitive in the discourse that we
use.
It may be that we must use different language, more
subtle language around those involved in the Shoah, in the Holocaust, but that
it a task which I think we must perform. Words demand it, not of themselves,
but by their power to give meaning to and persuade individuals.
As I come to the end of this address, I would again
like to thank you for the honour which I feel here tonight, and want to point
out that although you may have judged me according to my dress, my face, my
appearance, the only important thing that I have done this evening is to speak
to you. I have given you words from my mind, my will and my heart, to convey
something to you. The power and force of my argument, or otherwise, is based on
those words.
We must, we can, never forget the power of words to
change the world, for good, or ill.
