Won't You Be My Neighbor?
Those who died at the hands of the Nazis remind us what happens when neighbors look the other way.
In March 2013, I sat with Ita Gordon of the Shoah Foundation, discussing general matters regarding German resistance. Our conversation centered on those who claimed to have been part of the resistance, but who were not. Those age-old “what ifs” resurfaced.
What if every German who said they rescued a Jewish family had done so? What if every student had protested when the person sitting next to him in class had been kicked out of school for being Jewish, or Jehovah’s Witness, or gay, or - gasp - a Socialist? What if every baker had continued selling bread to Jewish citizens? What if every clothing store owner had kept on providing socks and shirts to Jewish customers, or to other Others? What if every landlord had ignored Hitler’s unconstitutional laws and left Jewish-German tenants in their homes? What if German families had shouted the loudest NO possible when the T-4 program proposed to ‘euthanize’ their loved ones whom the Nazis deemed ‘useless eaters’ - those with physical and mental handicaps - and had blocked the transports to the killing zones?
What if neighbors had banded together against Storm Troopers who showed up to collect Jewish neighbors on Kristallnacht, or had stepped in when rabbis were beaten senseless that awful night? What if neighbors had visited Jewish Germans who had been falsely accused of unspeakable crimes, and imprisoned though innocent, in a show of solidarity? What if everyone had built Ernst Wiechert’s famous “wall of love” around neighbors who were Jewish, Roma/Sinti, Jehovah’s Witness, gay, Russian, Polish, or Socialist?
Thousands upon thousands stand around my house, a dark, loyal, steadfast wall. They demand nothing, they ask nothing. They are simply there so I will know that they are there. So that my house shall not be hemmed in by alien territory, solitude, or bitter desolation.
Not a wall built of power or authority, but a wall of love.
The Shoah would have been stopped dead in its tracks if neighbors had looked out for neighbors.
Dr. Armin Ziegler - a German historian of German resistance - noted in the early 2000s that none of his fellow countrymen could claim they did not know. They could possibly claim they did not know details about the KZ-Lager, the extermination camps. A New York Times article entitled The Holocaust Just Got More Shocking renders that argument implausible. Eric Lichtblau reports that there were approximately 42,500 “ghettos, slave labor sites, concentration camps and killing factories” in 1940s Europe, including one in the very neighborhood where the White Rose students lived and worked, Munich-Schwabing.
Ziegler stated that regardless of what his fellow German citizens knew about the extermination camps, they could not claim they did not know about the persecution of their Jewish neighbors. Ziegler was sixteen when the war ended. He recalled that they saw the prohibitions against Jewish neighbors sitting on park benches. They knew that Jewish students were no longer allowed to attend school with them. They lived through Kristallnacht and witnessed Jewish neighbors dragged from their homes - German neighbors who happened to be Jewish. He stated that no one can say they did not know, when they could not have failed to notice that Jewish German friends suddenly were gone, overnight. And Ziegler grieves: ‘We did nothing. We were deaf and mute in the face of injustice, but not blind.’
Dr. Ziegler’s comments bring us full circle to the conversation with Ita Gordon, in fact, past it to our current era. What if every one of us would determine that when injustice befalls our neighbor, we will act? It is good and right and proper to worry about genocide in Darfur or Rwanda, about gross injustices on the streets of Ferguson, Missouri or Louisville, Kentucky, but if I fail to act when a person in front of my face is treated unjustly…?
What if we all committed to acting like neighbors? Fred Rogers’ song may be corny, but corniness does not render his sentiment invalid. I’ve always wanted to have a neighbor just like you. I’ve always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you. So, let’s make the most of this beautiful day. Since we’re together we might as well say: … Won’t you be my neighbor?
It’s not easy. It will require a certain amount of inconvenience. Speaking for myself, I can be an outright coward when I am asked to leave my comfort zone.
But 12,000,000 to 15,000,000 Jewish German and Jewish Europeans, Poles, Russians, Roma, Sinti, Jehovah’s Witness, LGBTQ, Socialists, Communists, and conscientious objectors remind us what happens when neighbors look the other way.
Talk about this:
Compare this to an earlier post, The Hillelian Imperative - where Rabbi Michael Singer wonders if he would have risked his life to rescue others. How can you process what Armin Ziegler says, versus the idea of being a “worthy” person?
How have you dealt with injustice you have personally witnessed?
Does your willingness to act change when the injustice is perpetrated by someone with a weapon, or who is much larger than you?
How do we balance protecting our own families, versus sticking up for neighbors?
Do you know anyone who has risked his or her life for someone else, because of an injustice? Tell us about that person.