During the Shoah, the biblical word for ‘the destruction”, and today, the standard Hebrew word for The Holocaust, the Nazi’s progress towards the Final Solution was aided and abetted by governments, armies, auxiliaries, officials, and individuals in the many countries that fell under the Axis thrall between 1939 and 1945. But there were also many, many people of goodwill and extraordinary courage from all walks of life who risked their lives and often, those of their families and friends, to protect Jews from persecution, and to save them from capture, deportation and extermination. Untold numbers perished along with their charges. Many survived, as did thousands of Jews.

As of January 1, 2024, 28,707 individuals from 51 countries have been recognised by the Yad Vashem World Holocaust Remembrance Centre. These are The Righteous Among the Nations.

Oskar Schindler was born on April 28, 1908, in Zwittau, Moravia (Austria-Hungary, now Svitavy in the Czech Republic) to a middle-class Sudeten German Catholic family. He was an industrialist and member of the Nazi Party and, during the Holocaust, used his connections, influence and considerable personal resources to save the lives of approximately 1,200 Jews. Initially motivated by commercial opportunity rather than any particular humanitarian conviction, Schindler gradually became increasingly committed to protecting the Jewish workers in his factories, repeatedly risking his own safety and fortune to keep them from deportation and almost certain death. His story, brought to worldwide attention by Thomas Keneally’s Schindler’s Ark and Steven Spielberg’s film Schindler’s List, is a reminder that even within a machinery of organised brutality, individual choices could make a difference. He was recognised by Yad Vashem as Righteous Among the Nations in 1963, an honour bestowed on non-Jews who risked their lives to save Jews during the Holocaust.

When we visit Jerusalem, we make a point of visiting his grave in the Roman Catholic cemetery on Mount Zion, just south of the Old City. It lies on the third and lowest level of this quiet, little-visited graveyard, overlooking the Palestinian suburb of Silwan. His grave is easy to find: at the edge of a pathway, it is the only one covered with small stones, placed there by Jewish visitors in accordance with the custom of remembering the dead. Unlike flowers, stones do not wither or disappear. They are a small, enduring affirmation of remembrance, saying, quite literally and figuratively, “we were here”.

On our last visit, there were four other visitors: two elderly couples, one from Austria and the other from Czechia, ostensibly Christian, although one of them had a personal connection to one of Schindler’s Jews. There was something quietly affecting about this small gathering, so far removed from the Election Day excitement of the city immediately above us. Schindler’s grave is not a grand memorial, nor does it need to be. Its significance lies in the lives saved, the people who remembered him, and the generations who like ourselves continue to make the journey to leave a stone.

For Oscar Schindler, Raoul Wallenberg, and the ‘Righteous Gentiles’.
In the words of the Talmud, “he who saves a life, saves the world entire”

We said “the worst is over”,
When the laws began to bite,
And our people crouched in silent fear
That fiery crystal night.
When they burned down the synagogues
And made Jews wear the star.
“this madness will not last”, we said,
“Nor reach us where we are”.

And we said “the worst is over”,
Bought the optimistic line.
We shared the hopes of millions,
Prayed for peace in our own time.
And we listened to our elders,
And we kept our fears controlled.
And we thought the worst was over.
Until the panzers rolled.

Then we thought the worst was over
When our army laid down arms.
And we went back to our daily lives,
Dismissed as false alarms
The rumours that these conquerors
Would wipe us from this earth.
It didn’t take us long to learn
What such false hope was worth.

Still, we thought the worst was over
When they made us wear the star,
And gathered all our people
From their townships near and far.
And they forced into ghettos
And set guards upon the gates.
We had seen worse persecution
In the history of our faith.

But we knew the worst still to come
As we watched the trucks appear.
And whispered talk of death camps
Gave dark substance to our fear.
When they sent in dogs and soldiers
To cull those trapped inside,
The ghetto was a station
On the road to genocide.

In the world beyond the wire
None could hear our people crying
As silence like a curtain fell
And cloaked a nation’s dying.
The ears of men were stricken deaf,
The eyes of men were blind
As the free world’s incredulity
Built the wall we died behind.

But we believed that at the hour of death,
When all our hopes had gone,
From the ranks of Gentiles
A just man would soon come.
He would part engulfing waters
With bold deeds and sleight of hand.
He would lead a tortured people
To a safe and promised land.

And, we believe
That when all doors are bared against us,
He will come.
When all hands are raised against us,
He will come.
When no man will defend us,
He will come
Into our darkest day.
He will walk up to our sepulcher
And roll the stone away.

Yes we believe
That in the hour of our worst torment,
He will come.
Like an angel in the darkness,
He will come.
When all our hope is dying,
He will come.
And in our blackest day,
He will walk up to our sepulcher
And roll the stone away.

Featured Image, from Yad Vashem, the World Holocaust Remembrance Centre