It has been called one of the great battlefield sermons to come out of World War Two. On this Memorial Day weekend, I share with you the words of Rabbi Roland Gittlesohn in a speech delivered in dedication of the 5th marine Cemetery on Iwo Jima, in March 1945.
Having recently watched the HBO Series on the war in the Pacific, these words carry even more weight as I read them:
Thus do we memorialize those who, having ceased living with us, now live within us. Thus do we consecrate ourselves the living to carry on the struggle they began. Too much blood has gone into this soil for us to let it lie barren. Too much pain and heartache have fertilized the earth on which we stand. We here solemnly swear: this shall not be in vain! Out of this, and from the suffering and sorrow of those who mourn this, will come–we promise–the birth of a new freedom for the sons of men everywhere. (see the full text at the link above)
My colleague, rabbi and chaplain Arnold Resnicoff recently recounted the back story behond Gittlesohn's famous sermon:
He was the first Jewish chaplain to be attached to a Marine division full-time, and served with honor with the Fifth Marine Division in Iwo Jima and elsewhere. He was chosen to deliver the sermon at the dedication of the cemetery -- but many Christian chaplains complained, saying in part that the number of Jews who died was small compared to those of other religions. His senior chaplain wanted to hold his ground, but Gittelsohn said he would step down, rather than create animosity at a time when all men there should be coming together -- so the compromise was to hold three separate dedication ceremonies, Catholic, Protestant, and Jewish, with Gittelsohn delivering his sermon at the Jewish ceremony. However, "the end of the story" (as Paul Harvey would have put it) was that some of the Christian chaplains were so incensed by the fact that Gittelsohn was not able to deliver that sermon at one ceremony, for all the men who had died, that they made copies of his speech, sharing it with all the Marines, who then shared copies with their friends and relatives at home. Slowly but surely, if it can be said that there was one sermon of WWII, this became that sermon -- written by a rabbi, but shared and made famous by his Christian colleagues.
Chaplain Resnicoff also reminds us that this would be an appropriate weekend to reflect on another heroic account from WW2, that of the four chaplains who who gave their lives to save others, going down with the ship, the USAT Dorchester, ministering to the wounded and dying until the very end, on the fateful morning of Feb 3, 1943. Two Protestant ministers, a Catholic priest, and a rabbi. In today's military, Resnicoff reflects, "I have no doubt but that there might have been other religions and faith groups represented in that group, side by side -- symbolizing as the Four Chaplains organization calls it, "Interfaith in Action." In a world with so many stories of religious fighting, I don't have to tell rabbinic colleagues how important stories are in terms of teaching us to keep faith in interfaith cooperation -- and to "keep faith in faith," believing that religion can still be part of the solution, not only (as so many believe) part of the problem. (I always remember the Maureen Dowd column after 9-11, that described a sentence scribbled on a building near the Pentagon: "Please God, protect us from those who believe in you.")"
We have come a long way in terms of interfaith cooperation in the military, thanks in large part to the service of individuals like the four chaplains of the Dorchester, and Rabbi Gittelsohn - and, may I add, Rabbi Resnicoff.
May this holiday be a time of meaningful reflection for all.
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The full text of Gittlesohn's sermon is below:
Eulogy by Lt Roland B. Gittelsohn, ChC, USNR at the dedication
of the 5th Marine Division Cemetery, Iwo Jima–March 1945
"This is perhaps the grimmest, and surely the holiest task we have faced since D-Day. Here before us lie the bodies of comrades and friends. Men who until yesterday or last week laughed with us, joked with us, trained with us. Men who were on the same ships with us, and went over the sides with us as we prepared to hit the beaches of this island. Men who fought with us and feared with us. Somewhere in this plot of ground there may lie the man who could have discovered the cure for cancer. Under one of these Christian crosses, or beneath a Jewish Star of David, there may now rest a man who was destined to be a great prophet–to find the way, perhaps, for all to live in plenty, with poverty and hardship for none. Now they lie here silently in this sacred soil, and we gather to consecrate this earth in their memory.
It is not easy to do so. Some of us have buried our closest friends here. We saw these men killed before our very eyes. Any one of us might have died in their places. Indeed, some of us are alive and breathing at this very monent only because men who lie here beneath us had the courage and strength to give their lives for ours. To speak in memory of such men as these is not easy. Of them too can it be said with utter truth: "The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here. It can never forget what they did here."
No, our poor power of speech can add nothing to what these men and the other dead of our Division who are not here have already done. All that we even hope to do is follow their example. To show the same selfless courage in peace that they did in war. To swear that by the grace of God and the stubborn strength and power of human will, their sons and ours shall never suffer these pains again. These men have done their jobs well. They have paid the ghastly price of freedom. If that freedom be once again lost, as it was after the last war, the unforgivable blame will be ours, not theirs. So it is we the living who are here to be dedicated and consecrated.
We dedicate ourselves, first, to live together in peace the way they fought and are buried in this war. Here lie men who loved America because their ancestors generations ago helped in her founding, and other men who loved her with equal passion because they themselves or their own fathers escaped from oppression to her blessed shores. Here lie officers and men, negroes and whites, rich men and poor–together. Here no man prefers another because of his faith or despises him because of his color. Here there are no quotas of how many from each group are admitted or allowed. Among these men there is no discrimination. No prejudices. No hatred. Theirs is the highest and purest democracy.
Any man among us the living who fails to understand that will thereby betray those who lie here dead. Whoever of us lifts up his hand in hate against a brother, or thinks himself superior to those who happen to be in the minority, makes of this ceremony and of the bloody sacrifice it commemorates, an empty, hollow mockery. To this, then, as our solemn, sacred duty, do we the living now dedicate ourselves: to the rights of Protestants, Catholics and Jews, of white men and negroes alike, to enjoy the democracy for which all of them here have paid the price.
To one thing more do we consecrate ourselves in memory of those who sleep beneath these crosses and stars. We shall not foolishly suppose, as did the last generation of America's fghting men, that victory on the battlefield will automatically guarantee the triumph of democracy at home. This war, with all its frightful heartache and suffering,is but the beginning our our generation's struggle for democracy. When the last battle has been won, there will be those at home, as there were the last time, who will want us to turn our backs in selfish isolation on the rest of organized humanity, and thus to sabotage the very peace for which we fight. We promise you who lie here: we will not do that! We will join hands with Britain, China, Russia in peace, even as we have in war, to build the kind of world for which you died.
When the last shot has been fired, there will still be those whose eyes are turned backward, not forward, who will be satisfied with those wide extremes of poverty and wealth in which the seeds of another war can breed. We promise you, our departed comrades: this too we will not permit. This war has been fought by the common man; its fruits of peace must be enjoyed by the common man! We promise, by all that is sacred and holy, that your sons, the sons of moners and millers, the sons of farmers and workers, the right to a living that is decent and secure.
When the final cross has been placed in the last cemetery, once again there will be those to whom profit is more important than peace, who will insist with the voice of sweet reasonableness and appeasement that it is better to trade with the enemies of mankind, than by crushing them, to lose their profit. To you who sleep here silently, we give our promise: we will not listen! We will not forget that some of you were burnt with oil that came from American wells, that many of you were killed with shells fashioned from American steel. We promise that when once again men profit at your expense, we shall remember how you looked when we placed you reverently, lovingly, in the ground.
Thus do we memorialize those who, having ceased living with us, now live within us. Thus do we consecrate ourselves the living to carry on the struggle they began. Too much blood has gone into this soil for us to let it lie barren. Too much pain and heartache have fertilized the earth on which we stand. We here solemnly swear: this shall not be in vain! Out of this, and from the suffering and sorrow of those who mourn this, will come–we promise–the birth of a new freedom for the sons of men everywhere. Amen."
Rabbi Gittelsohn was assigned to HQ, 5th MarDiv as the Jewish divisional Chaplain. He ministered to Marines and Sailors of all faiths. He was the first Jewish Chaplain ever to serve with the Marine Corps.
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