08 January 2017
International Holocaust Remembrance Day, which is observed on 27 January, is an international memorial day recalling the victims of the Holocaust, when six million European Jews as well as millions of other people were annihilated by the Nazi regime, including two million Romani people, 250,000 mentally and physically disabled people, and 9,000 gay men.
The day was designated by the United Nations General Assembly in a resolution in 2005, and the date was chosen because on 27 January 1945 the largest Nazi death camp at Auschwitz-Birkenau was liberated by Soviet troops.
This was the largest of the German concentration camps, and it was a network of Nazi concentration and extermination camps built and operated by the Third Reich in Polish areas annexed by Nazi Germany during World War II.
The gas chambers of Birkenau were blown up by the SS in an attempt to hide their crimes from the advancing Soviet troops. The SS command sent orders on 17 January calling for the execution of all prisoners remaining in the camp. But in the chaos of the Nazi retreat, the order was never carried out.
A few weeks ago, I spent a city break in Kraków in southern Poland, staying the old Jewish Quarter in Kraków. During that visit, I spent a traumatic day visiting the concentration camps in Auschwitz and Bikenau. There alone, about 1.5 million people were annihilated by the Nazis between 1940 and 1945.
My visit to Auschwitz and Birkenau challenged my thoughts for my sermon on Remembrance Sunday in Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin. But it took me some time before I could write about that visit.
So many of those images from Auschwitz and Birkenau are familiar to all of us, yet none of them prepared me for the ghastly reality of what we are capable of doing to each other in war, in the outworking of racism and religious hatred, in our demeaning of any part of humanity, in allowing political extremism to go unchallenged.
I walked into Auschwitz under one of those familiar images, the sign above the gate that proclaims with cynicism and sick satire: Arbeit macht frei.
The German phrase, meaning ‘work sets you free,’ is derived from the title of a novel by a 19th century German pastor, philologist and extreme nationalist, Lorenz Diefenbach, Arbeit macht frei: Erzählung von Lorenz Diefenbach (1873), in which gamblers and fraudsters find the path to virtue through labour.
The phrase was also used in French (le travail rend libre!) by Auguste Forel, a Swiss writer in his book Fourmis de la Suisse (Ants of Switzerland, (1920). In 1922, the Deutsche Schulverein of Vienna, an extreme right-wing group of Germans in Austria, used the slogan on their membership cards.
The slogan Arbeit macht frei was erected above the entrances to a number of Nazi concentration camps on the orders of an SS general Theodor Eicke, inspector of concentration camps and second commandant at Dachau.
The slogan was first used over the gate of a camp set up in an abandoned brewery in Oranienburg in 1933. This camp was later rebuilt in 1936 as Sachsenhausen. It was then used in other camps, although the slogan at Buchenwald was Jedem das Seine (‘to each his own,’ or ‘everyone gets what he deserves’).
The BBC historian Laurence Rees, in Auschwitz: a New History, which I bought at Auschwitz, says the sign at the entrance to Auschwitz was erected on the orders of the camp commandant Rudolf Höss. This particular sign was made by slave labourers in the camp.
Rudolf Höss regarded his decision to erect the motto so prominently at Auschwitz not as a gesture of mockery, nor did he even intend to have it interpreted literally, nor was it a false promise to camp prisoners of eventual release. Instead, he thought of it as some type of mystical declaration that self-sacrifice in the form of endless labour in itself brings a kind of spiritual freedom.
As I walked under that sign, I noticed how the lettering includes an upside-down letter ‘B.’ It is said that this was an act of defiance by the prisoners who made the sign.
The slogan can still be seen at the sites of several concentration camps as well as Auschwitz. However, the original sign at Auschwitz was stolen in December 2009, and when it was later recovered it had been broken into three pieces. Anders Högström, a Swedish neo-Nazi, and two Poles were jailed for the theft, and the original sign is now in storage at the Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum and a replica is now in its place over the gate.
Two Irish victims
In Birkenau, a series of memorials in a variety of languages commemorate the victims of the Holocaust who were murdered by the Nazis in Auschwitz and Birkenau.
Over 20 languages can be read on separate plaques, including English, Greek, Italian, Romanian, French, Russian, Hebrew, Polish and German. They represent the variety of languages spoken by and nationalities among the victims.
There is no plaque in Irish, however, although at least two Irish citizens died in Auschwitz – Ettie Steinberg and her son Leon.
The historian Conan Kennedy has researched the sad story of this mother and her child, and more recently her story has become the subject of a new play, Ode to Ettie Steinberg, by Deirdre Kinahan. The story begins in the former Czechoslovakia, where Ettie was one of the seven children of Aaron Hirsh Steinberg and his wife Bertha Roth.
In the 1920s, the family moved to Ireland, and they lived in a small house at 28 Raymond Terrace, in ‘Little Jerusalem’ off the South Circular Road in Dublin.
The seven Steinberg children went to school at Saint Catherine’s School, the Church of Ireland parish school on Donore Avenue, off the South Circular Road.
Ettie later worked as a seamstress in Dublin before her marriage. Her sister Fanny Frankel later recalled in Toronto that Ettie had ‘golden hands’ and that she was an excellent and creative seamstress. Other people who could remember Ettie said she was a ‘beautiful girl and tall and slim with wonderful hands.’
Ettie married Vogtjeck Gluck, originally from Belgium, in the Greenville Hall Synagogue on the South Circular Road in Dublin on 22 July 1937. They later moved to Antwerp, where Vogtjeck’s family was in business, and they set up home in Steenbokstraat 25 in Antwerp.
A year or so later, as World War II was looming on the horizon, they moved to Paris, where their son Leon was born on 28 March 1939. But they continued to move from place to place in France, and by 1942 they were living in an hotel in Toulouse.
When the Vichy puppet government began rounding up Jews in the south of France at the behest of Nazi Germany, Ettie, Vogtjeck and Leon were arrested. Back in Ireland, her family in Dublin secured visas that would allow the Gluck family to travel to Northern Ireland. But when the visas arrived in Toulouse, it was too late. Ettie, Vogtjeck and Leon had been arrested the day before.
Postcard to Ireland
As she was being transported to the death camps, Ettie wrote a final postcard to her family in Ireland and threw it out of the train window. A passer-by found it and posted it, and the postcard found its way to Dublin. It was coded with Hebrew terms and read: ‘Uncle Lechem, we did not find, but we found Uncle Tisha B’av.’
Ettie’s family understood her tragic message very well: Lechem is the Hebrew word for bread and Tisha B’Av is the Jewish fast day commemorating the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. The Steinberg family tried desperately to find out what had become of their daughter, their grandson and their son-in-law, writing desperately to the Red Cross and to the Vatican.
Ettie’s sister-in-law, Freda Steinberg, who had married Ettie’s brother Solomon, recalled some years ago: ‘In August 1947, Solly and I were in a kosher restaurant in Prague, where we met many survivors. One of them told us that they had escaped from Antwerp together with Ettie and family and made their difficult way to the south of France, where they slept in different houses most nights.’
There was a period of relative quiet at one time and so Ettie decided that she would stay where they were. Unfortunately, she did not heed the advice of friends.
Ettie, her husband and their son were taken first to Drancy, a transit camp outside Paris. The Glucks were then deported from Drancy on 2 September 1942 and arrived in Auschwitz two days later, on 4 September 1942. It is assumed that they were put to death immediately.
Ettie’s young brother, Joshua Solomon (Solly), went to school in Wesley College, Dublin, before going on to Trinity College Dublin. He graduated the same year his sister died in Auschwitz. Later he would move to Israel and become a professor in Haifa.
But there is yet another story from Auschwitz that is a challenge to any complacency we may have about that dread-filled and frightening place.
The Irish chargé d’affaires in Berlin at the time was William Warnock, who held strong anti-British views. In a breach of diplomatic protocol, he had publicly applauded Hitler’s triumphant Reichstag speech in July 1940. In a dispatch sent to Dublin that year, he also predicted with smug confidence that the Luftwaffe’s blitz of London would soon have a ‘shattering effect on the morale of the self-centred and self-satisfied British.’
Warnock also advised against seeking the release of James Joyce’s Jewish friend Paul Léon from Auschwitz. In 1940, Léon had rescued many of Joyce’s original manuscripts when Joyce fled the Nazi occupation of Paris. These manuscripts included the only known drafts of the ‘Ithaca,’ ‘Scylla and Charybdis’ and ‘Penelope’ episodes in Ulysses.
Warnock was asked by Dublin to intervene ‘in case there is danger that Léon be shot.’ But Warnock claimed that any intervention might affect Ireland’s ‘good relations’ with Nazi Germany. The authorities in Dublin deferred to his judgment, and Léon was executed in Auschwitz in April 1942.
Eventually, Dublin realised that Warnock’s sympathy for Hitler and the Nazis was damaging to Irish interests. In late 1943, he was replaced by Con Cremin, whose view of Nazism appears to have been more critical. Cremin sent reports back to Dublin of the Nazis’ genocidal treatment of Europe’s Jews, and even tried – albeit unsuccessfully – to rescue some of them.
Sixty years later, the Irish Government paid €11 million to acquire the Joyce manuscripts.
● The Holocaust Memorial Day Commemoration in Ireland takes place on Sunday 29 January 2017 in the Mansion House, Dublin 2, from 6 p.m. to 8 p.m.
Canon Patrick Comerford lectures in the Church of Ireland Theological Institute. This feature was first published in January 2017 in the ‘Church Review’ (Dublin and Glendalough) and the ‘Diocesan Magazine’ (Cashel, Ferns and Ossory.
Today is the First Sunday after the Epiphany [8 January 2017], and later this morning I am presiding at the Cathedral Eucharist in Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin.
Today, in the Church Calendar, we commemorate the Baptism of Our Lord, one of the three great Epiphany feasts, along with the Visit of the Magi and the Wedding at Cana. All three are regarded as various manifestations (or Epiphanies) of Jesus' divinity.
The preacher this morning is Canon Aisling Shine, and the setting is the Missa Brevis by the Italian composer Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina (1525-1594), sung by the Cathedral Choir.
The Communion motet this morning, Tribus miraculis, is a Latin text for Epiphany also sung to a setting by Palestrina. Tribus miraculis (‘For these three miracles so wondrous’) was first written as the Magnificat antiphon at Second Vespers of the Feast of the Epiphany:
Tribus miraculis ornatum, diem sanctum colimus:
Hodie stella Magos duxit ad praesepium:
Hodie vinum ex aqua factum est ad nuptias:
Hodie in Jordane a Joanne Christus baptizari voluit,
ut salvaret nos, Alleluia.
We solemnly observe this day ornamented with three miracles:
today the star led the Magi to the manger;
today wine was changed from water at the wedding;
today in the Jordan Christ desired to be baptised by John in the River Jordan,
so that he might save us, Alleluia.
The Italian Renaissance composer Palestrina had a lasting influence on Church music, and his work is often seen as the culmination of Renaissance polyphony.
He first visited Rome in 1537, when he became a chorister at the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore, and he spent most of his career in Rome.
From 1544 to 1551, he was the organist of the Cathedral of Saint Agapito in his home town of Palestrina. But in 1551 Pope Julius III, former Bishop of Palestrina, appointed him musical director of the Julian Chapel, the choir of the chapter of canons at Saint Peter’s Basilica.
During the next decade, Palestrina held similar positions in other churches in Rome, including Saint John Lateran (1555-1560) and Saint Mary Major (1561-1566), both of which I visited last Thursday [5 January 2017]. He returned to the Julian Chapel in 1571 and remained at Saint Peter’s for the rest of his life.
Palestrina left hundreds of compositions, including 105 Masses, 68 offertories, at least 140 madrigals and more than 300 motets. In addition, there are at least 72 hymns, 35 Magnificats, 11 litanies, and four or five sets of lamentations.
When he died in Rome in 1594, Palestrina was buried beneath the floor of Saint Peter’s in a plain coffin with a lead plate inscribed: Libera me Domine. His tomb was later covered and his not been located since then.
Before I move to my new appointment in the Rathkeale and Kilnaughtin Group of Parishes in Co Limerick and Co Kerry later this month, this is probably the last time I shall preside at the Eucharist in Christ Church as a canon of the Cathedral. However, I am back again to preach in the Cathedral next Sunday [15 January 2017].