Yet, he was with us in Poland. His niece had called to tell him that she was going to be an leader for a group of March of the Living students and that they would be visiting parts of Poland close to his hometown. She suggested that he join the group and try to find information about his father. So on Shabbat, while we were in shul, he and his niece took a taxi to the village where Joe had been born. When they told the taxi driver where they wanted to go, he told them that he lived in that village. Uncle Joe mentioned his father’s name, but it was not familiar to the driver. However, the driver suggested that they visit his father, who was quite ill, but had many Jewish friends. Joe was pleasantly surprised to find that the older man knew Joe’s father; they had even been friends before the war. He also vividly remembered what happened to Joe’s father when he returned from Belgium. The Germans made the Jews dig a long line of trenches and then shot them and buried them in the trenches. He knew exactly where the massacre took place. Uncle Joe decided he wanted to visit that place and pay his last respects to his father. He took a candle with him as he remembered that Jews lit memorial candles and set out. It was late when he got there and very dark. As he lit the candle, he tripped over a monument. He read the words on the stone with amazement. It had been placed there by relatives of his father and honored his family members who were buried there. Uncle Joe looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “I came to find death, and I found the life of an extended family that survived.”
Uncle Joe concluded his story and explained why he asked to speak with me. “Rabbi Cohen,” he said “there are too many coincidences. It just happens that the taxi driver came from my father’s hometown. It was by luck that the driver’s father knew my father and where he was buried and was still alive to tell me. I just happened to note the monument of relatives who survived. Tell me this, Rabbi Cohen. Is God apologizing for taking away my father? Is God telling me that He is sorry?”
I looked him straight in the eyes and said, “Yes. God is apologizing to you. You must forgive Him. You must forgive God.” Uncle Joe cried out with all his strength, “I forgive God. I accept your apology. I forgive You, God.” As others heard him they gathered around to hear his story. He repeated it again and again; hundreds of children came forward to console him.
Two days passed. “Joe,” I said, “I have to ask you a question and I need an honest response. I’ve been thinking about your question to me the other day. You wanted to know whether God was apologizing to you. What would your response have been had I said that your question was an act of chutzpah and how dare you suggest that God should apologize to you. What would have been your reaction?”
Joe looked sternly at me and said, “I would have spit at you and never ever mentioned God again or had anything to do with Judaism.” We hugged and I thanked Hashem for guiding my original response. Uncle Joe, I am told, became a leader of his Jewish community and a devoted Zionist.
The March of the Living trip always ends in Israel. What a difference. After experiencing the anti-Semitism of Poland, everyone was so happy to be in Israel. The experience was so dynamically inspiring no one could understand why everyone was not a Zionist.
