The Village ILWIDIot

Walt Wiltschek

“Honor the prayers of the foreigner so that people all over the world will know who you are and what you’re like and will live in reverent obedience before you, just as your own people Israel do.” —1 Kings 8:43b, MSG (from Solomon’s prayer of dedication for the Temple)

Recently, I read (or re-read) Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel’s classic memoir, Night, in which he recalls in graphic detail the ordeal that he and his family experienced in 1944-1945 Europe. It’s a difficult but important book to read, a reminder of the horrors humanity can inflict on one another and of the danger when much of the rest of humanity turns the other way.

From the time I was a child, I’ve had an interest in learning about the Holocaust, likely driven by the scraps of stories I heard about the fate of my own family, which came from Jewish descent in Eastern Europe and later in Austria and Germany. Nobody talked about it often, both due to language barriers and, I expect, the pain of remembering.

But it drove me to learn more—books, movies, visits. On one trip to the US Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, DC, I did some research and found columns of Wiltscheks (with various spelling permutations) listed among those who had perished in the death camps. It’s helped me to remember, something that many survivors have said is the most critical thing to do.

Too many other episodes of history share echoes of those times: Japanese internment camps in the US, the Trail of Tears, slavery and Jim Crow laws, genocides in Rwanda and Armenia, and various others. The recent debate around immigration and undocumented individuals, and the vitriolic language that has often accompanied it, rings a bit too close to those less-than-proud parts of our past. It hits especially hard when it affects our neighbors, including other members of our own denomination. 

Immigration is a complex issue. National borders certainly require security. A system needs to be in place so that services and resources aren’t overwhelmed. Violence can’t be tolerated, whether from citizens or not. Laws generally exist for a reason. Yet what do we do in the face of great suffering and need? I definitely don’t have all the answers. I feel fairly certain, though, that indiscriminate scapegoating isn’t one of them. And compassion has to be part of the answer, especially for those who have established a life here, sometimes over generations.  

To be clear, this isn’t a new issue. Past administrations of both parties have enacted restrictions and carried out deportations, some in larger numbers than what we are now seeing. But the current level of rhetoric, the near-total closure of refugee admissions, some of the tactics being reported, and the elimination of protections for churches, schools, and other “sensitive locations”—which recently led the Church of the Brethren to join more than two dozen other faith groups in a lawsuit against the government—is new, at least in our era.

Iris de León-Hartshorn of Mennonite Church USA, one of the partners in the suit, said the actions “call us to step up as we recognize that our practice of loving our neighbor outweighs our traditional stance of non-resistance.” Church of the Brethren general secretary Dave Steele said it was a reminder that, “God’s love is our greatest command.” It’s hard to ignore that biblical mandate, along with more direct guidance about how we treat immigrants and foreigners.

For those congregations directly affected by these events, either through their own members or via their community programs and connections, some resources are noted below. Know that our prayers are with you, and please reach out if the rest of us can help. For those less directly affected, be aware and learn what you can, see what needs might exist in your community, and advocate and speak up for those who need it.

“Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented,” Wiesel said in his acceptance speech for the 1986 Nobel Peace Prize. “Sometimes we must interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy, national borders and sensitivities become irrelevant. Wherever men and women are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must—at that moment—become the center of the universe.”

And as he said two decades later, speaking to the United Nations General Assembly: “Yes, the past is in the present, but the future is still in our hands.”