Consider Roddie Edmonds and So Consider Your Mortality

(A Yizkor sermon delivered by Rabbi J.B. Sacks on May 27, 2023)

 On this Memorial Day weekend, I’d like to recall the life of Master Sgt. Roderick “Roddie” Edmonds from Knoxville, Tennessee, who enlisted in the United States Army in 1941 and served in the 106th Infantry Division.

During the Battle of the Bulge in December, 1944, Sgt. Edmonds was taken by the Nazis as a prisoner of war. The Battle of the Bulge was the Nazis’ last major offensive. For Americans, it was the bloodiest single battle in WWII, and the third deadliest campaign in U.S. history. In just six weeks toward the end of the war in Europe, Americans and Germans each suffered well over 80,000 casualties.

Roddie Edmonds was taken to a POW camp in Bad Orb, and later transferred to Stalag IX-A in Ziegenhain, about 135 miles north. As it turns out, Edmonds was the senior non- commissioned officer of the group, and, therefore, the leader of the American prisoners. Late in January, 1945, the Nazis realized that they were losing the battle and, with it, the entire war. The camp kommandant ordered Sgt. Edmonds to have all the Jewish American soldiers appear outside their barracks the following morning. The next day, all 1,275 American prisoners of war in the camp assembled outside the barracks.

The kommandant was furious, and held a gun to Sgt. Edmonds’ head, demanding that he identify the Jews. Edmonds, knowing that if he did so, he would be signing their death warrant, responded, “We are all Jews here.”

The Nazi kommandant, knowing that they could not all be Jewish, pushed him again to reveal the Jews. But Sgt. Edmonds knew that the Geneva Convention required that he give only name, rank, and serial number. So he declined to volunteer anyone’s religion, stating, “If you are going to shoot, you are going to have to shoot all of us, because we know who you are, and you’ll be tried for war crimes when we win this war.”

After 100 days in captivity, Roddie Edmonds returned home. A humble man; he never told anyone about this. but made a brief mention of it in an entry among his diaries. He later served again in the Korean War, after which he worked various jobs. He died in 1985. His widow gave his son Chris, a Baptist minister, several of his diaries. Chris discovered the entry, and managed to get in touch with a few of the Jewish American survivors of Stalag IX-A to uncover the whole story.

In 2015, Edmonds was posthumously honored by Yad Vashem as the fifth American, and only American active serviceperson, as one of the Righteous Among the Nations, the title bestowed on non-Jews who rose above the Nazi horror, putting their lives at risk to save members of our people. It is fitting that they did so. Our own country has not honored Edmonds; bipartisan legislation to do so continues to languish in committee hell.

But let’s stop to consider. If you imagine yourself in Edmonds’ place for a moment, you have to wonder:

• Could I have been so brave?
• Could I have done the same thing?
• Would I have dared the Nazis to kill me to save a few of my comrades?

Sgt. Edmonds certainly made the honorable choice. And he did so in a moment, under pressure. As we enter Yizkor, we’ll start remembering loved ones. Let us consider the honorable, decent choices our loved ones made for us. Some of these they made under pressure, and surely they made some choices at some cost to their own comfort and pleasure, and maybe even their well-being.

And let’s consider another aspect of this inspiring yet sobering story. At that moment, Sgt. Edmonds must have contemplated his own death. He must have thought, “I am ready to die to protect my Jewish fellow soldiers, who have put their own lives on the line for our nation. I will take this Nazi bullet if I have to, in order to save their lives and my own dignity.”

How many of us have thought about our own death? I certainly have. Not in a bad way, mind you, but more from the practical perspective. If, G!d forbid, I were to be taken from this world tomorrow,

• how would life change for my family?
• How would Steven manage?
• What would happen to Evan?
• What would my funeral look like?
• What would be my legacy on this Earth?
• Will somebody post something on my Facebook and LinkedIn profiles explaining that I will no longer be responding to direct messages?
• What will Steven do with my belongings?
• Will Evan remember me by reciting Yizkor prayers on the second day of Shavuot?

There is a Bhutanese folk saying that in order to be a happy person, you must contemplate your own death five times a day. They should know; studies have indicated that the residents of Bhutan are the happiest, or among the happiest, people in the world.

In order to enjoy the present, we have to remember that life is a finite gift. This is not only a Bhutanese truth, it is one that Judaism promotes, as we see from commended observances of yizkor and yahrzeit. We only have so many days on this Earth, and it is up to us to use them as best we can. We only have so many opportunities to connect with others, to share our love with family and friends, to do good works in our community and for the world.

When we remember that we are going to die, we can appreciate the precious few years we have been given, and can use our time for more important matters. As the Psalmist prays, “Teach me to count my days, so that I may attain a heart of wisdom.”

In a few minutes, we will recite one of the key passages of the Yizkor service:^[1]

שִׁוִּ֬יתִי ה’ לְנֶגְדִּ֣י תָמִ֑יד כִּ֥י מִֽ֝ימִינִ֗י בַּל־אֶמּֽוֹט׃ לָכֵ֤ן ׀ שָׂמַ֣ח לִ֭בִּי וַיָּ֣גֶל כְּבוֹדִ֑י אַף־בְּ֝שָׂרִ֗י יִשְׁכֹּ֥ן לָבֶֽטַח׃

God is always before me, at my right hand; I will not be shaken.

Therefore my heart is yet glad, my self-esteem is satisfied; my being can lie secure.

Yizkor is more properly called Hazkarat Neshamot, the remembering of souls. But yizkor is not only a recollection of those who are gone; it is just as much a recollection of our own souls; a reminder to those of us who are alive that we can be content now despite our mortality. Just like the Bhutanese, who derive their happiness from contemplating death daily, we Jews understand that life is meant to be lived deeply and richly, and that joy is heightened when we do so.

Taking in this passage from Psalms compels us to consider our mortality in a healthful way. And as we remember our parents and grandparents; spouses, siblings, and children; aunts and uncles and cousins; and dear friends whom we have lost, we have to remember the ways in which they used their time not only to give us life, but to make our lives better, to make the world better for us and others.

There has been, of late, a lot of public death and mourning in the news; over 50 mass shootings since May 1, and a great deal of soul-searching by some and of course a very great deal of talk about how to respond and, in other cases, a great deal of posturing to present oneself as caring while remaining committed to ensuring that nothing helpful ever gets done.

Perhaps the prayer for our country in our prayer book should be a prayer that we value our precious few moments of our collective life so much that we do everything in our power to prevent others from taking it away. I will know that G!d truly is at my right hand if, when we as a nation stumble, we remember that our first task on this Earth is to do no harm, and indeed to stop others from harming if we can.

Yet public deaths and commemorations, so often of young people, remind us that none of us know when the bell might toll, nor for whom. So, we turn to the service of Hazkarat Neshamot, of recalling souls, by reflecting on the ones who did well by us, who, like Roddie Edmonds, made difficult yet decent, even honorable choices for our well-being. Let a memory of their sacrifice and a memory of their love course through us now.

And, also like Roddie Edmonds, let us also take this opportunity to reflect on our own mortality, to remember the holy imperative of zochreinu l’chayim, to remember ourselves for life, to embrace the call to lead more compassionate, caring lives, more enriched lives, wherein each day counts, and finds us, more and more, bearing a heart of wisdom, calm, and joy.

Amen.

^[1] Psalm 16:8-9.