Why do we even have to say what is so obviously true? Because far too many people at least tolerate the hatred of Jews.
I emceed an event this week on antisemitism in Washington, D.C. It had nothing to do with anything on social media. It had been scheduled months ago because this week is the 60th anniversary of Nostra Aetate (“In Our Time”), the Second Vatican Council’s document that most notably made clear that antisemitism is evil.
(National Review alumna Katie Yoder wrote about the event here.)
Honestly, every time I read the document, which is more broadly about interreligious relations, I feel awful that it even must be said. It should be obvious.
Because I did that event and posted what should have been uncontroversial moments from it, at a time when antisemitism is in the news again, I got questions such as: “Define antisemitism.” The answer is: Hatred of Jews. This isn’t about foreign policy. This is about the fact that there is evil that takes root in human hearts. This is about the fact that people hate Jews, and all too often the hatred of Jews is tolerated by way too many of us.
Why am I saying all of this in a pro-life newsletter? Because, as I said at the conference, hating Jews is not pro-life.
The conference I was emceeing was co-sponsored by the Philos Project and the John Paul II Shrine in Washington, D.C. It seemed quite obvious to me to make the pro-life point, even though I tend to be allergic to litanies of political issues that people insist you speak out on if you are going to say abortion is evil. Antisemitism is not another political issue. It’s not a political issue, period. It’s evil. Full stop.
In a Christian context, it is clearly a sin.
And honestly, I cannot think about the Holocaust without thinking about abortion. While that’s no doubt a controversial statement, opening a can of worms, it’s also true. What does “never again” mean? It means look at the evil that men did. Look at what hatred can lead to. Do we even need to say this? Jewish people are human beings. And in the Holocaust, chambers were built to kill human beings. Why? Predominantly because they were Jewish.
Men. Women. Children. I think one of the most important things on social media is the X feed of the Auschwitz Memorial. Every day it shows faces of people who were murdered there. Read the name. See the face. Real people who were born and were brought to the concentration camp to be killed. And so many children. To see their adorable innocence and know what was done to each and every one of them is important — crucial for conscience and the future of civilization. Occasionally, one of those posts is about a survivor — someone who was brought to Auschwitz but who was not killed. Every once in a while, there is a post about a person exterminated there who was not Jewish, such as Maximillian Kolbe, the Catholic priest who gave up his life for a Jewish husband and father. But his name is well known because he was not in the majority there. The one time I went to Auschwitz, it was a brutally hot summer day. So appropriate. I was there with the Sisters of Life, among others. They are Catholic nuns whose charism is about protecting human life. Their founder, Cardinal John O’Connor, got his inspiration for the religious community while at Dachau, contemplating the evil that men are capable of against other men.
I noticed that many of our speakers — including me — began the daylong conference this week quoting something or another from Pope John Paul II’s visit to Yad Vashem, the Holocaust museum in Jerusalem. We were all drawn to it because of the clear sense of contrition he communicated. The man was weeping in his posture, in his prayer, begging God and the Jewish people for forgiveness for the evil of antisemitism. For the evil that is a filthy blot on contemporary human history. No words are strong enough to capture the depths and extent of the evil. Cardinal O’Connor, who was beloved by Jewish leaders because he got it — he understood the evil and what hurt and distrust it sowed — talked about putting his hand into one of the ovens in Dachau. I almost wish every human being could do that. Maybe especially this week. But there was another “this week” and there will be another this week. Two years ago, the Philos Project sponsored an event at the Franciscan University of Steubenville on antisemitism, launching the Coalition of Catholics Against Antisemitism. We had Catholic and Jewish leaders there. It had been on the calendar for months. Then the October 7 attacks happened, and the conference looked like it was the timeliest thing in the world. But odds are, there is always going to be something pointing back to the evil of antisemitism in the news.
Today is Halloween. And so I cannot help but think of little Ariel Bibas. He’ll forever be little, because he was murdered along with his little brother and mother after they were taken from their home at the Nir Oz kibbutz. He loved Batman, and so we have multiple photos of him in Batman costumes. I’m not into adults dressing up for Halloween, but it wouldn’t be inappropriate if we were dressed in Batman costumes as we opened the door to little trick-or-treaters tonight. The kids might get a kick out of it, and some of the adults might appreciate it for what it is — an honor and a rallying cry.
By the way, Nostra Aetate said:
True, the Jewish authorities and those who followed their lead pressed for the death of Christ; still, what happened in His passion cannot be charged against all the Jews, without distinction, then alive, nor against the Jews of today. Although the Church is the new people of God, the Jews should not be presented as rejected or accursed by God, as if this followed from the Holy Scriptures. All should see to it, then, that in catechetical work or in the preaching of the word of God they do not teach anything that does not conform to the truth of the Gospel and the spirit of Christ.
Furthermore, in her rejection of every persecution against any man, the Church, mindful of the patrimony she shares with the Jews and moved not by political reasons but by the Gospel’s spiritual love, decries hatred, persecutions, displays of anti-Semitism, directed against Jews at any time and by anyone.
Besides, as the Church has always held and holds now, Christ underwent His passion and death freely, because of the sins of men and out of infinite love, in order that all may reach salvation. It is, therefore, the burden of the Church’s preaching to proclaim the cross of Christ as the sign of God’s all-embracing love and as the fountain from which every grace flows. . . .
We cannot truly call on God, the Father of all, if we refuse to treat in a brotherly way any man, created as he is in the image of God. Man’s relation to God the Father and his relation to men his brothers are so linked together that Scripture says: “He who does not love does not know God” (1 John 4:8).
And at Yad Vashem, John Paul II said:
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.
He continued:
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.
Read it all here. We need to feel in our bones sorrow for and conviction against antisemitism.
I confessed at some point during our conference this week that I may have become an adult before I realized that people hating Jews is a thing. I was born and raised in New York City. Catholics and Jews are the most natural friends and allies. Cardinal O’Connor wrote a book, His Eminence and Hizzoner, with the beloved Jewish mayor of New York, Ed Koch. In fact, the last time I saw Ed Koch alive, we were both waiting in a taxi line outside the Waldorf Astoria after an Al Smith dinner — the annual Catholic charity event. I thought Jew-hating was mostly the stuff of history. I thought the Holocaust set us straight. But it was only from some of my Hasidic friends that I fully appreciated that walking while Jewish can be dangerous, even in New York. Mothers with their children are met with hostility and even violence simply because they are Jewish. That should make every pro-life American stand at attention against antisemitism. No disclaimers about Israeli policy necessary. Just say antisemitism is evil, because it is. As George Weigel emphasized at our event, antisemitism is a grave sin. That’s fires-of-hell territory for Catholics. It’s not just another tweet, just another political issue, just another foreign-policy view.
On weeks like this, I just want to say I’m sorry to my Jewish friends. After October 7, I did say I’m sorry to complete strangers who were obviously Jewish. I first felt awkward, but enough Jewish men and women told me how much they appreciated it.
It seems wrong to talk about anything else in a pro-life newsletter this week. I’m going to leave it there. Even though stating that antisemitism is evil and hating Jews is not pro-life will still be timely next week, we will resume our usual newsletter covering abortion and assisted suicide and other threats against innocent human life then. Antisemitism is a threat against innocent human life, an attack on our most precious commodity. So this is right and just. Even though it shouldn’t need to be said, because it is so obviously true.