I welcome the Chief Rabbi. Through the representatives of the Jewish community I convey the good wishes of the Fianna Fáil Party and Members on this side of the House to the Jewish community in Ireland.
This year is a painful reminder of the events of 1945 and before. I am honoured to be allowed to participate in this commemoration. I have walked through the gas chambers of Mauthausen, I have prayed at the memorial in Dachau and, as a member of a parliamentary delegation, I have been present at a wreath laying ceremony on behalf of this House in 1991 at the execution wall in Auschwitz.
I agree with Senator O'Toole's condemnation of the Polish President's actions on behalf, presumably, of the Polish people, who, despite their own wartime sufferings, which I do not wish to diminish in any way, indulged in appalling anti-semitism that stretched beyond the gates of Auschwitz when survivors of the Holocaust were shot by poles when they were repatriated to their homes. The rise of Fascism in Europe, and especially of anti-semitism in the former eastern bloc, is a cause of concern to us. Although I still have the slogan we heard earlier, "Never again", ringing in my ears from the death camp visitors' books, I cannot but cry in pain at the return of the Holocaust to former Yugoslavia and Rwanda, as referred to by the Tánaiste.
So much has been written about the Holocaust that any words of mine would be inadequate to attempt to describe the indescribable. The decision to destroy all the Jews of Nazi controlled Europe was discussed and finalised at a meeting summoned in december 1941 in the Wannsee suburb of Berlin. Those invited to Wannsee were senior officials from all the German Ministries, including the Ministry of Justice and the Foreign Office. The details of the conference were prepared by Adolf Eichmann, head of the special Jewish section of the SS. This detail is from Martin Gilbert's book Auschwitz and the Allies and I refer to it because people do not realise sometimes that the machine of death was a human invention. Nothing had been there before; it was all created and put in place by human endeavour. The killing machine was created by the minds of what might be otherwise described as good people.
The question has often been asked why Auschwitz was not bombed. The Jewish Agency had been asking for the bombing of Auschwitz. Martin Gilbert devotes a great deal of his book to this matter and he refers to it in these terms:
The test of the Allied response came in the summer of 1944, when the British and American policymakers were asked to bomb Auschwitz. At the time of this request the American Government possessed a great deal of information about Auschwitz, including both its location and its function, together with the technical ability to bomb both the railways lines leading to the camp and the gas chambers in the camp itself. The British policymakers had, in addition, Churchill's personal authority to examine a bombing scheme with a view to positive action. Yet even then, a few individuals scotched the Prime Minister's directive because, as one of them expressed it at the time, to send British pilots to carry it out would have then risked "valuable" lives.
I put that on the record to assuage Senator Neville and others. While I agree with the sentiments he expressed, we should not feel culpable that because of our neutrality we contributed the Holocaust. The Allies, who knew about it for a long time, had the means to do something.
In his book The Abandonment of the Jews, David S. Wyman, a Christian, says:
The Holocaust was certainly a Jewish tragedy. But it was not onlya Jewish tragedy. It was also a Christian tragedy, a tragedy for Western civilisation, and a tragedy for all humankind. The killing was done by people, to other people, while still other people stood by. The perpetrators, where they were not actually Christians arose from a Christian culture. The bystanders most capable of helping were Christians. The point should have been obvious. Yet comparatively few American non-Jews recognised that the plight of the European Jews was their plight too. Most were either unaware, did not care, or saw the European Jewish catastrophe as a Jewish problem, one for Jews to deal with. That explains, in part, why the United States did so little to help.
While I do not want to be a revisionist, I would like to address the controversy surrounding the role of Pope Pius XII during the war in the light of a recent programme on British television. I am grateful to my colleague, Senator Lydon, for posing such questions in an article. Ribbentrob, the German Foreign Minister, once declared: "I know that we had protests from the Vatican, that we had a whole desk full of protests". A question asked in this article is:
If Pius XII had protested, would Jewish lives had been saved? It was official Nazi policy to answer with reprisals. Prisoners came to dread such public statements.
Holland was the glaring example. When the Dutch bishops issued a condemnation, all Jews who had become Catholics were seized and sent to Auschwitz. Among them was the convert Edith Stein, Sister Benedicta of the Holy Cross in Carmel, later beatified by Pope John Paul II.
I can only put in context this awful part of a previous generation, a legacy which is still with us today, by referring to the foremost writer on the Holocaust, Primo Levi, a man who survived Auschwitz but who many years later could no longer live with the awful reality of it. It is important that we understand what it was about. In his book If this is a Man — The Truce, he talks about how they were put into cattle trucks and about arriving at Auschwitz in early morning.
The climax came suddenly. The door opened with a crash, and the dark echoed with outlandish orders in that curt, barbaric barking of Germans in command which seems to give vent to a millennial anger. A vast platform appeared before us, lit up by reflectors. A little beyond it, a row of lorries. Then everything was silent again. Someone translated: we had to climb down with our luggage and deposit it alongside the train. In a moment the platform was swarming with shadows. But we were afraid to break that silence: everyone busied himself with his luggage, searched for someone else, called to somebody, but timidly, in a whisper.
A dozen SS men stood around, legs akimbo, with an indifferent air. At a certain moment they moved among us, and in a subdued tone of voice, with faces of stone, began to interrogate us rapidly, one by one, in bad Italian. They did not interrogate everybody, only a few: `How old? Healthy or ill?' And on the basis of the reply they pointed in two different directions.
Everything was as silent as an aquarium, or as in certain dream sequences. We had expected something more apocalyptic: they seemed simple police agents. It was disconcerting and disarming. Someone dared to ask for his luggage: They replied, `luggage afterwards'. Someone else did not want to leave his wife: they said,`together again afterwards'. Many mothers did not want to be separated from their children: they said `good, good, stay with the child'. They behaved with the calm assurance of people doing their normal duty of every day. But Renzo stayed an instant too long to say good-bye to Francesca, his fiancée, and with a single blow they knocked him to the ground. It was their everyday duty.
In less than ten minutes all the fit men had been collected together in a group. What happened to the others, to the women, to the children, to the old men, we could establish neither then nor later: the night swallowed them up, purely and simply. Today, however, we know that in that rapid and summary choice each one of us had been judged capable or not of working usefully for the Reich: we know that of our convoy no more than ninety-six men and twenty-nine women entered the respective camps of Monowitz-Buna and Birkenau, and that of all the others, more than five hundred in number, not one was living two days later.