Memories Stirred by Pope's Apology

0 Comments | Insight on the News, April 17, 2000 | by Suzanne Fields

When I was a little girl, I envied my Roman Catholic friends. They worshipped in churches with beautiful stained-glass windows and high ceilings that seemed to reach all the way to God. At Easter they dyed hard-boiled eggs and hunted for them and didn't even have to eat them.

They wore exotic ashes on their foreheads on Ash Wednesday every year. But more importantly, they could do bad things and be forgiven upon confessing them to a priest.

I once persuaded a friend of mine to take me to her church for confession. All the way there I recited, "Forgive me, father, for I have sinned." Over and over again the prayer fell from my lips all the way to the church, but I didn't know whether courage would fail me when the moment arrived. My friend said I had to mean it when I asked for forgiveness. I had to understand how awful the thing was that I did. I couldn't be forgiven just because I thought I had done something wrong. I had to believe it was wrong and that I was very sorry for it.

By the time we got to the church I was terrified. Would it count if the priest forgave a Jewish girl? We walked very slowly up the steps of the church and, when we got to the front doors, we both turned around and ran, giggling nervously. We were scared out of our wits. If I was the imposter, my friend was participating in the lie, too. But she was luckier than I because she could confess it the next day and my confession would still be stuck in my throat.

I no longer was envious of Catholics when I grew older and learned that many Catholics believed that Jews killed Christ. My Catholic friends were too discreet to say anything about it to me, but I once heard a teen-age boy on the school playground scream "Christ-killer" at a "Jew boy." I winced. The voice pierced like a knife. I can still hear the epithet in my head today.

In high school when girls divided into sororities according to religion, I didn't see my Catholic friends much any more. As I grew older I thought I detected a vague anti-Semitism in some Catholics I met. I learned that, before Pope John XXIII changed the Good Friday liturgy, a prayer referred to "perfidious" and "blind" Jews. Pope John XXIII changed the phrase to "our brothers and sisters the Jews." But if we no longer were perfidious, we still were considered blind. How could it be otherwise? If we weren't responsible for Christ's death, we nevertheless remained blind to seeing him as the Messiah. Some Catholics seemed to consider that license to treat us with contempt.

That's why I appreciate, in a deep and profound way, the apology Pope John Paul II and his cardinals offered during the solemn Day of Pardon Mass at St. Peter's Basilica. Perhaps, as the chief rabbi of Jerusalem says, he could have been more specific about the Holocaust. I hope he will be. But he sent a strong message.

Like the Jews who, on recalling the Holocaust, cry "never again" the pope asked forgiveness on behalf of his church for a long list of sins committed over 2,000 years and vowed they would never be committed again. "Never more," he recited five times.

His apology for sins against the Jews were emphatic: "Let us pray in recalling the sufferings endured by the people of Israel throughout history; Christians will acknowledge the sins committed by not a few of their number against the people of the Covenant."

I appreciated the acceptance of wrongs committed against women, too, though I wish he had been more specific there as well. Feminist tracts are hard on Catholic doctrine, and there are many excruciating examples of misogyny among the Catholic Church Fathers put forward. The confession of wrongs toward women is nevertheless a bold beginning, as articulated by Francis Cardinal Arinze, the president of the Pontifical Council for Inter-religious Dialogue (some say he is a strong candidate to be the next pope). He confessed that "sins have injured the dignity of women" and that "too often, women are humiliated and cast into the margins."

As we consider this mea culpa, Jews should recall the many Christians who, at the risk of their own lives, rescued Jews during the Holocaust. These heroes were ordinary men and women in "holy anonymity" who drew on hidden reserves of bravery and courage. No one, on reading of their humility, their humanity, their moral courage and their faith, can fail to be moved by their example. Thousands of Christians -- "righteous gentiles" -- have been honored at Yad Vashem, the memorial in Jerusalem that documents the Holocaust.

We will never know how many more gave their lives trying to rescue Jews. Even as the pope atones for Catholic shortcomings, Jews once more can express our heartfelt gratitude to those brave and righteous men and women.