See Ezekiel 18.
8. Birch, Let Justice Roll Down, 297.
9. Coles, Handing One Another Along, 196.
10. Mandolfo, “Perseverance,” 53.
11. Fretheim, “Interpreting the Prophets,” 104.
12. Mic 6:12.
13. Kast, Joy, Inspiration and Hope, 25–26.
14. Birch, Let Justice Roll Down, 300.
15. 1 Kings 22 will be explored in detail in chapter 7.
16. Williams, Writing in the Dust, 47.
17. Ibid., 57.
1
The Post-Shoah World
On the anniversary of the killing of Osama bin Laden, and in the midst of the politics and often politicizing of that moment, it was not unusual to hear the statement, “Of course if I were in power I would have made the same decision.” Perhaps for a little while, that statement will score political points with those who are supporters, and ideologically aligned with the speaker. But finally to have such a momentous event as the capture and death of a terrorist, where the decision was so extraordinary, to look in retrospect and use the language of “of course” is at best self-indulgent and self-aggrandizing. Indeed, I would argue that in seeking to show compassion, to listen intently, to console, etc. the vocabulary of “of course” should be stricken from our lexicon or used sparingly and with circumspection. Finally, one does not absolutely know. So then where does that leave us? Is this an implied suggestion that one cannot do anything; that one must have a particular experience in order to speak, console, show compassion? In a rather extraordinary document, Lawrence Langer in a prelude to interviewing Shoah survivors notes, “A statement like, ‘to understand, you have to go through with it,’ however authentic its inspiration, underestimates the sympathetic power of the imagination.”1
The Shoah evokes a redefining that permits and requires us to reread all else as fragment. It does not distort the Shoah nor does it trivialize to take the Shoah as the lens for reading the world of horror, abuse and violence everywhere all around, in forms of terrorism or in more institutionalized forms of capital punishment, and welfare reform and so on.2
The issues of understanding and memory are arguably no place more poignantly present and urgent, as in remembering and speaking about the Shoah. The ubiquitous statement “You have to go through it to understand” and the many variations, do have truth, but along the lines of Langer’s observation that in fact while absolute identification is not ever fully possible, the story nonetheless has to be told. One might say with some certitude that no two Shoah experiences are in fact identical; the experiences are also shaped by worldviews, internal capacity for faith, fortitude, religion, etc. Yet, the story must be told and personal identification cannot become a moment of silencing the voice or truncating the story. One must step away from the comfort and boundaries of lived experiences, and modes of thinking, and find a way of entering into the stories so that we might give voices to the memory. We must give voices, for we, unless we are survivors ourselves, cannot remember, and so we give voices to the memory of those who lost their voices, and those who have remembered and left us their memories. Listening to the voices of witnesses, we in turn become witnesses.
One of the most challenging ideas is that of the role of war as a means of punishment, or for injustices which often necessitates the resources for military power and might, over and against the need for bread. YHWH’s use of war and cosmic artillery in a variety of forms as punishment for a people who are involved in systemic and systematic injustices suggests two things. First, this level of violence and the magnitude of declaring war or cosmic cataclysm raises ethical questions, and the challenging prospects of reconciling the idea of God as one who is merciful and slow to anger with that of a God who launches a war and unleashes cosmic havoc on a people. Platitudes and clichès will not suffice here, nor will simple points of justification. Indeed, in large part this kind of challenge leads some to conclude that the “violent” and “warring” God is the God of the Old Testament and the God of Love is the God of the New Testament and with this comes salvation, redemption, etc. This kind of thinking creates an untenable and troubling dichotomy, and it is a variation of the flawed “promise and fulfillment” distinction that has for the most part been dismissed as indefensible. Second, one might argue that the issue of oppression and injustice is such that it transcends petty acts, but points to that which is systemic and systematic, and therefore must be met with a kind of punishment that is commensurate; hence war and acts of cosmic violence. Thus, with considerable reflection and circumspection one is compelled to ask: is genocide a proportionate response to injustice and idolatry? Janet Tollington has raised several pertinent and urgent questions in this regard. “‘Is war a divinely approved method of establishing justice, of settling territorial claims, of resolving power claims?’ ‘Is war divinely instigated and part of the overarching order between the nations?’ ‘Is war an inescapable fact of life and therefore understood as inevitable within Hebrew Bible traditions?’”3 The very questions in the context of injustices point to that which is significant in the lives and dynamics of the peoples’ lives.
One of the undeniable and unprecedented struggles that the victims of the Shoah face analogous to the experience of Jewish exiles in Babylon, is the loss of identity where not only are they stripped of their clothes and homes and land and temple, but are faced with the real possibility of death, family separation, and ongoing violence. There is also, in both instances, the real possibility of losing faith, whatever faith they might have had in God, and for that matter in humanity. In the Babylonian exile the Israelites are told that they will return home one day, and indeed God has plans for them. Yet, how could one realistically function in such a foreign and hostile society, and still maintain the level of faith, and believe that in fact God the architect of their exile, is the one who will deliver them, again. In both the Babylonian Exile and the Shoah is the fact that one could not quite fathom the new reality with the inherent questions. Certainly in the case of the Shoah it very quickly became apparent that staying alive was no longer a self evident reality but one had to reach into the recesses of one’s physical and mental strength, where it took all of the resources to simply stay alive. Langer suggests, “Once the impulse to stay alive begins to operate, the luxury of moral constraint temporarily disappears. Tainted memory then replaces judgment as it deposes guilt.”4
Rarely pursued is the issue regarding the prophets’ voice on behalf of the people to God. In this regard, Jeremiah and Amos are notable exceptions among the prophets, though Abraham, Moses, and Job also stand in the tradition of advocates though the divine responses vary. In the first instance the issue focuses on engaging God, but unlike Jeremiah and Amos, Isaiah is silent! God responded positively to Amos on both occasions, and Abraham stopped asking on behalf of Sodom and Gomorrah, not God. So, one is left to wonder about Isaiah’s silence.
Then I heard the voice
