By Rabbi Shalom Awraham Soetendorp.   At the end of the book The Altruistic Personality, a penetrating study of the motives of rescuers of Jews in Nazi Europe, authors Samuel and Pearl Oliner write: “If we persist in defining ourselves as doomed, human nature as beyond redemption and social institutions as beyond reform, then we shall create a future that will inexorably proceed in confirming this view.” The rescuers refused to see Jews as guilty or beyond hope and themselves as helpless, despite all the evidence that could be marshaled to the contrary. They made a choice that affirmed the value and meaningfulness of each life in the midst of a diabolical social order that repeatedly denied it. Can we do otherwise? On April 16th, in the village Velp near Arnhem, a statue of a girl holding a doll was dedicated to the memory of those rescuers, amongst them Ria and Bertus van der Kemp, who saved my life. In May 1943, Ria, a 47 year-old German born mother of an adult son, had to make the life decision to open or close the door to an unknown baby with all the risks such a choice entailed. How much time do you think it took my foster mother to decide, I once asked a primary school class for the first time. A boy of eleven raised his hand, “No time, sir”: the wisdom of a child. Yes, these are the no-time decisions that truly make a difference. And only last year, the nephew of my rescuer, who is now 90 years old, was able to relate the story that characterises him. “I was seventeen years old when your foster father came home. He pulled up his sweater and showed me a large copper shield that covered his belly. Unscrewed, it turned out to be a delicate thin container in which he carried litres of milk smuggled from a farm.” He did so week after week for a period of two years. Thus Bertus, an ordinary man, used his talent as a coppersmith to keep up my strength and sustain another Jewish girl. On the day of liberation of Velp seventy years ago, he gave his life shielding me from a fire bomb. My wife and I belong to the minority of the Jewish community that survived. Out of a Jewish population of 140,000, over 100,000 were killed in concentration camps. It was Queen Beatrix who, in a moving speech to the Israeli parliament in 1995, expressed her feeling of shame that despite many acts of brave resistance, no more was done to help the persecuted. The situation in the Netherlands should however be placed in a more general historical context. The aforementioned study points out that the behaviour of people under cruel occupation witnessing the persecution of a minority in their midst follows a recurrent pattern. A majority collaborates completely with the persecutors. A minority shows empathy for the persecuted and is even prepared to risk its life to protect them. And the majority looks the other way, closes the doors and attempts to save its skin. The main difference is made in the classroom. The experience of having a good compassionate teacher who creates and maintains harmony, who teaches respect for others at all times, who fosters loving relationships helps the individual to make the fateful no time decision. This awareness has motivated me to work towards the teaching of compassion in schools. In the Netherlands, during the second week of November, a large number of schools were engaged in lessons and debates introduced by public figures, artists, policemen, politicians, etc. on how to show and receive respect. Education through respect has been adopted recently in the Philippines, Burundi, and the Congo. It is painfully clear in these turbulent days how vital this form of education is. It is my firm belief that anti-Semitism and other forms of discrimination are a curable disease. But it requires the united efforts of educators across borders, the alliance of interfaith and intercultural cooperation to contain the spread of hatred and violent fanaticism as well as protect the freedom to express one’s own identity. This should be one of the main concerns of the European Union in the coming years. Yes, on the one hand, there exists a tension between the absolute freedom of speech and on the other hand, the ultimate freedom not to be hurt in one’s deepest feelings. But fortunately, through discussion governed by mutual respect, we are able to diffuse this tension and find a beneficial modus vivendi. This ability is further strengthened by a quiet revolution that takes place in our midst. Different spiritual traditions, including humanism, move closer and closer towards each other. This extraordinary hopeful process is evidenced in the Hague by the interspiritual gathering that takes place annually on Prinsjesdag, in the Grote Kerk, hours before the reopening of Parliament. And rescuers forever point the way. Sira, my wife, and I belong to the dwindling number of survivors who have a physical connection to the Second World War and impart our life lessons to the next generation. When we were born, the chance of us ever becoming parents and grandparents was nonexistent. But today, we are the proud parents and grandparents of beautiful, joyful children and grandchildren because of the power of compassion. We are also part of the miraculous revival of Jewish life in The Hague and thus our belief is unshaken that the soft powers of compassion will triumph and your children and children’s children will live in a world filled with cooperation, love, truth, and righteousness. May The All Merciful One grant us the wisdom and courage to be able to draw strength from each other. For Information: http://www.soetendorpinstitute.org/