Winter 1984 - 1985 - Quarterly Review

HESCHEL'S SIGNIFICANCE
others—if, in other words, they are not totally "other" to us. How are
we to explain Heschel's use of the word in this context? It seems to me
that, for him, the failure of the church is not simply failure of the
church, but threatens faith everywhere; it is a warning to all who
would call themselves religious, a sign that we all have lost our ability
to be shocked at the monstrous evil all about us. It was this that made
Auschwitz possible; we must regain our moral sensitivity. And so he
continues, in the very next sentence; "Let there be an end to the
separation of church and God , . ., of religion and justice, of prayer
and compassion."
The Holocaust raises the issue of the complicity and silence of the
churches as no other event in Western history does. This has become a
scandal for Jews and, I am glad to say, for many Christians as well. For
some Jews, the scandal is so great that they refuse all dialogue—I can
understand them. Others are willing to enter into conversation with
Christians, but wonder whether Christianity has lost its credibility since
Auschwitz. I can understand them also—some Christians have raised
the same question. Heschel's reaction, however, appears different to
me. Here he is, at the Liturgical Conference, speaking in very strong
terms of the failure of the Roman Catholic Church. Yet his words are not
so much an accusation directed at Catholics as a warning to religious
people, to religious institutions, everywhere. What could so easily and
understandably have become yet another wall between us becomes
instead a source of anguish at human frailty, a frailty from which none
of us—not Jews, not Christians—are exempt. "We have no triumph to
report except the slow, painstaking effort to redeem single moments in
the lives of single men, in the lives of small communities. We do not
come on the clouds of heaven but grope through the mists of history."
Notice the "we," again a matter of terminology/ seemingly small
perhaps, yet so significant. Heschel's concern with the plight of being
human, with the tragedy of the human condition, cuts across all
religious creeds. We are all sinners, Jews and Christians alike.
Perhaps it is this awareness, this deep sense of "we-ness," that
enables him to refrain from condemning Christians. I at least do not
feel condemned as I read him, nor do I feel that my church is
condemned by this man—not even when he points to our sins during
the Holocaust. Indeed, I have heard some Christians speak much
more harshly of Christianity's failure at that time; I have spoken of it
much more harshly myself. Is there not some deep font of compassion
in Heschel for all human creatures, everywhere, without exception, a
compassion which is somehow lacking—or at least diminished—in
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