Auschwitz & Biblical Studies
- James Collazo
- Feb 20, 2021
- 11 min read
Updated: 4d
Introduction
What does Auschwitz have to do with Jerusalem—or with Cambridge, Chicago, Collegeville, Downers Grove, Grand Rapids, London, Minneapolis, Nashville, New York, Oxford, Philadelphia, San Francisco, Wheaton, or any other city that hosts a major Christian or Jewish publisher? I loosely echo an older question posed by Tertullian of Carthage (c. AD 155–220): "What indeed has Athens to do with Jerusalem?" (Prescription Against Heretics 7).
Auschwitz is the German name for the Polish town of Oświęcim, which dates back to the twelfth century and has a population of about 40,000 today. Yet we remember only five short years—1940 to 1945—of its long history. During that time, an estimated 1.5 million people died at the Auschwitz-Birkenau (Polish: Oświęcim-Brzezinka) concentration camp—90 percent of them Jews. The camp alone held roughly 35 times the town's current population. Auschwitz has become a symbol of the Holocaust (Hebrew: Shoah, H7724b, "Destruction") and of what Adolf Hitler (1889–1945) and the National Socialists called the "Final Solution of the Jewish Question" (German: Endlösung der Judenfrage).
Jerusalem was the undisputed center of early Christianity and has always been the most sacred city in Judaism. The disciples of Jesus spread the gospel across much of the Mediterranean, launching their mission from the Jewish Christian church in Jerusalem. Most importantly, the city symbolizes where God meets humanity in the physical world—both in the ancient temple and in the person of Jesus. If Jerusalem shows God's faithfulness to all people, Auschwitz stands as a stark symbol of humanity's most significant rebellion against him. It is one thing for elitist Judean priests or imperial Roman authorities to crucify Jesus. However, it is something else entirely for people claiming Christ to destroy God's image through mass murder. Yet, this reflection is not about despair alone; it is also about the insights and renewal that emerged from the deep soul-searching after World War II.
Antisemitism in the Early Church
The image at the start of this section shows a bas-relief of Roman soldiers carrying the Second Temple's sacred furniture through the streets of Rome. Most prominent is the menorah (H4501), the seven-branched lampstand. This relief is part of the Arch of Titus, erected by the emperor Domitian (r. AD 81–96) to honor his predecessor, Titus (r. AD 79–81), for his siege of Jerusalem in AD 70, including the destruction of the temple. Importantly, this act was not an antisemitic hate crime but a wartime conquest.
Roman persecution of the Jews might have ended as the empire became increasingly Christian—especially after Constantine (r. AD 306–337) legalized Christianity in AD 313—but it did not. Between the second and fifth centuries, early church leaders increasingly warned against Judaizing, which required Gentiles to follow the Law of Moses. While this was a legitimate concern Paul addressed in Galatians (Gal. 2:15–21), many early church fathers moved beyond objecting to Jewish religious practices and developed outright hostility toward Jews as an ethnic group. For example, the Greco-Judean apologist Justin Martyr (c. AD 100–165) voiced the following religious objections:
For the circumcision according to the flesh, which is from Abraham, was given for a sign; that you may be separated from other nations, and from us; and that you alone may suffer that which you now justly suffer; and that your land may be desolate, and your cities burned with fire; and that strangers may eat your fruit in your presence, and not one of you may go up to Jerusalem (Dialogue with Trypho 16).
When the Council of Nicaea settled the Quartodeciman controversy in AD 325, the Roman emperor Constantine addressed the council members with these words:
It was, in the first place, declared improper to follow the custom of the Jews in the celebration of this holy festival because—their hands having been stained with crime—the minds of these wretched men are necessarily blinded. By rejecting their custom, we establish and hand down to succeeding ages one that is more reasonable and which has been observed ever since the day of our Lord's sufferings. Let us, then, have nothing in common with the Jews, who are our adversaries. We have received this from our Savior in another way (Theodoret, Ecclesiastical History 1.9).
Later in the fourth century, the Greek archbishop John Chrysostom (AD 354–407) wrote a series of eight sermons called Against the Jews (Greek: Kata Ioudaiōn, G2596 / G2453). This collection was one of three writings in a genre known as Adversus Judaeos, Latin for "Against the Jews." Chrusostomos, whose nickname means "golden mouth" (G5552 / G4750), preached these choice words:
Jews are dogs, stiff-necked, gluttonous drunkards. They are beasts unfit for work . . . the Jews had fallen into a condition lower than the vilest animals . . . the synagogue is worse than a brothel and a drinking shop; it is a den of scoundrels, a temple of demons, the cavern of devils, an unlawful assembly of the assassins of Christ. . . . I hate the Jews because they violate the law . . . it is the duty of all Christians to hate the Jews (Against the Jews, Homily 1).
Antisemitism in the Medieval Church
The antisemitism of early church leaders from the second to fourth centuries (the ante-Nicene period) shaped the thinking of later church leaders well into the sixteenth century and even influenced attitudes in the twentieth century. Today, we still call figures like Justin Martyr and John Chrysostom "early church fathers" and describe their writings as "patristic," meaning fatherly. While these leaders contributed significantly to understanding Jesus' identity, defining the Trinity, and forming the New Testament canon, we cannot ignore their antisemitism. They defended apostolic teaching, but they also developed a false doctrine called replacement theology, or supersessionism—the belief that the Christian church replaces the Jewish people as God's chosen.
This idea appears in medieval Christian art, such as the Ecclesia et Synagoga motif, which depicts two women: Ecclesia, crowned and holding a cross and chalice, representing the church under the new covenant, and a blindfolded Synagoga, clutching a broken lance, representing Jews as "Christ-killers"—even though a Roman soldier pierced Jesus with a spear (John 19:34). Paul warned Gentile Christians against this error in his letter to the Romans (Rom. 11), but many early church leaders ignored his teaching and fostered harmful attitudes toward the Jewish people.
The antisemitism of the medieval church extended beyond theology into violence and economic prejudice. During the First Crusade (1095–1096), crusaders killed over five thousand Jews. In response, Pope Calixtus II (c. 1065–1124) issued a charter called Sicut Judaeis ("Thus to the Jews"), forbidding Christians from harming Jews or their property. Yet this protection proved temporary. In the early Middle Ages, most European nations prohibited citizens from charging interest, following a literal interpretation of Deuteronomy (Deut. 23:19–20). Ironically, the scripture forbade Israelites from charging interest only to other Israelites, not to Gentiles. Despite this, Jews who lent money within these rules faced growing suspicion, and the restriction contributed to the longstanding stereotype of Jews as greedy.
The antisemitism of the medieval church directly influenced later atrocities, including Nazi Germany's Kristallnacht, the "Night of Broken Glass," when paramilitaries destroyed Jewish shops and sent 30,000 Jews to concentration camps on November 9–10, 1938. Centuries earlier, the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215 issued canons 68 and 69, forcing Jews to wear distinctive clothing and barring them from public office. These decrees quickly spread antisemitic policies across Europe, eventually requiring Jews to wear yellow or white badges marking their identity. Under Pope Innocent III (c. 1160–1216), this council fueled widespread fear and suspicion, giving rise to false accusations like ritual murder of children ("blood libel") and desecration of communion wafers. However, these claims had no basis in reality.
About three centuries later, the Christian church had a chance to change its stance on Judaism during the Protestant Reformation, which sought to correct longstanding errors in Catholic teaching. German pastor Martin Luther (1483–1546) led this movement from the Castle Church in Wittenberg, beginning in 1517. At first, Luther welcomed Jews into his new church. However, when they resisted conversion under his leadership, he turned against them. Luther grew up during a time of widespread antisemitism: in 1492, when he was nine, Spanish monarchs Ferdinand II of Aragon (r. 1479–1516) and Isabella I of Castile (r. 1474–1504) expelled Jews from Spain during the Inquisition (1478–1834). They funded Christopher Columbus's voyages to the Americas. Luther's later writings, particularly On Jews and Their Lies (1543), spread his hostility toward Jews, and the Lutheran church in Germany inherited much of this antisemitism. Here is an excerpt illustrating his view of the Jewish people:
And so, dear Christian, beware of the Jews . . . you can see how God's wrath has consigned them to the devil, who has robbed them not only of a proper understanding of the scriptures, but also of common human reason, modesty, and sense. . . . Thus, when you see a genuine Jew you may come with a good conscience cross yourself, and boldly say, "There goes the devil incarnate" (1948, p. 36).
From Wittenberg to Nuremberg
The link between Luther and Kristallnacht is not a rhetorical flourish or literary device. In sections 11–13 of On Jews and Their Lies, he gave German believers advice that foreshadowed Kristallnacht and anticipated many elements of the Holocaust with chilling accuracy. To conclude this section, consider the 1946 testimony of Nazi politician Julius Streicher (1885–1946), founder of the antisemitic newspaper Der Stürmer, during his Nuremberg trial for genocide:
I did not intend to agitate or inflame but to enlighten. Antisemitic publications have existed in Germany for centuries. . . . In the book On the Jews and Their Lies, Dr. Martin Luther writes that the Jews are a serpent's brood and one should burn down their synagogues and destroy them. Dr. Martin Luther would probably sit in my place in the defendants' dock today if the prosecution had considered his book.
Reconciliation After Auschwitz
World War II and the Holocaust could have deepened the divide between Jews and Christians well into the twentieth century. Yet, from the ashes arose something remarkable. This development does not minimize the horrors of Auschwitz or the centuries of antisemitism that led to it. God, as he often does, transformed what the Nazis intended for evil into a force for good, preserving a great nation (cf. Gen. 50:20). In 1948—just three years after the Allies defeated Nazi Germany—the Jewish people courageously established the independent State of Israel. Awareness of the Holocaust inspired Western nations to support Israel in cultural, financial, military, political, and religious ways.
The awareness of the Holocaust also reshaped biblical studies in Western universities. Before World War II, much scholarship reflected a supersessionist bias. For example, scholars often labeled Jesus with Gentile categories such as "cynic" or "philosopher," echoing the way medieval Christian art depicted him as a European king with pale skin. After the war, scholars began to recognize that Jewish sources offered essential context for both the Old and New Testaments. The discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls in 1946 revealed a Jewish setting for the gospels previously considered Hellenistic. Theologians also explored the "Jewishness of Jesus" and developed a "new perspective on Paul," portraying both as faithful leaders within their communities rather than outsiders. A striking development was the rise of Messianic Judaism, in which Torah-observant Jews accept Jesus as the Messiah. In the latter half of the twentieth century, Christians increasingly recognized that Jewish commentaries, such as the Talmud, clarified obscure passages and resolved apparent contradictions. They also realized how Jewish feasts connected with Jesus' life and teachings (see "Calendar of the Church").
In the fall of 2015, Saint Joseph's University in Philadelphia unveiled a new statue titled Ecclesia and Synagoga in Our Time. Unlike the medieval art tradition, both women have crowns and sit beside each other. They learn together, sharing the scrolls of Judaism alongside the bound scriptures of Christianity.
This artwork symbolizes the reversal of the "parting of ways," a term used by biblical scholars to describe the historical separation between Christianity and Judaism (see "Jew & Gentile: Parting Ways"). Today, theologians and parishioners employ the historical-grammatical method to examine the historical context of first-century Judea and the authors' intended meaning. Christians are discovering the Mishnah, while Jews reflect on the four gospels.
This phenomenon fulfills what God told us through the prophet Zechariah:
In those days, ten people from all languages and nations will take firm hold of one Jew by the hem of his robe and say, "Let us go with you, because we have heard that God is with you" (Zech. 8:23).
Conclusion
The contrast between Auschwitz and Jerusalem highlights the extremes of human history and faith. Auschwitz, a site of immense suffering and genocide during the Holocaust, reveals the depths of human cruelty and moral failure. Jerusalem, sacred to Jews and Christians, embodies hope, divine faithfulness, and the possibility of renewal. Asking, "What has Auschwitz to do with Jerusalem?" calls us to face humanity's darkest actions while seeking meaning, redemption, and the hope that even in tragedy, God remains faithful.
Auschwitz exposes humanity at its most faithless, while Jerusalem reveals God's grace and offers the possibility of spiritual renewal. Studying Auschwitz's horrors alongside Jerusalem's enduring faith teaches us vital lessons about human sin and divine mercy. By facing both the depths of cruelty and the heights of God's love, we must work to create a world where such atrocities never happen again, and where compassion, justice, and reconciliation shape our actions. In doing so, we honor those who perished in Auschwitz and recognize Jerusalem as a lasting symbol of hope and redemption for all people.
Prayer
Blessed are You, LORD our God, King of heaven and earth. You made us in your image and call us to honor every human life. As we remember Auschwitz, stir us to reject hatred, especially toward Jews, and to seek peace and justice. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
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