THE CONVERSION

THE CONVERSION
Based on a true story.
Irwin Garfinkle, 8/31/2004

A few years after World War II, William Erlickman, a 38 year old, devout Jesuit priest, taught theology at a Catholic University in Covington, Kentucky, a town across the Ohio River from Cincinnati. He was not only a respected theologian, a learned scholar who spoke, wrote and read eight languages, but also a sensitive and caring person, who was interested in most every person he met. He was knowledgeable not only about Catholicism, but also the university’s expert in Torah and Talmud.
He was at his desk preparing a lecture for an undergraduate class when he got a telephone call from a man identifying himself as Philip Rubin. Rubin said he was a patient at the Cincinnati Jewish Hospital. He had been on his way by car from his home in Pittsburg to a meeting in Louisville when he was involved in an automobile accident on interstate 75.. Rubin said his injuries were not life threatening, but he needed extensive surgery to put his shattered leg back together. Doctor Olson, head of orthopedics, estimated the he would be in traction for the next few weeks.
“Yes, Mr. Rubin, that’s awful, but why are you calling me? How can I help you?”
“Well,” Rubin answered, “you were recommended to me by Mary Kerry, a nurse at the hospital. She said you had been her theology professor. She really sang your praises, and said that you would be the best priest to help me.”
“I remember Mary; she was one of my best students, although she does tend to exaggerate. But what kind of help did she say I could be to you?”
“I’m Jewish, and I want to convert to Catholicism. She said you are a wonderful teacher.”
“Well, as I said, Mary does exaggerate. But conversions are something I ‘m qualified to help you with, Mr. Rubin, but why do you want to become a Catholic? Have you had some kind of a revelation? You know a conversion requires a lot of study, and then a commitment. So, what are your reasons?”
Rubin thought for a moment, “First of all, I am going to be laid up in this hospital for at least three weeks, so that I have time to study.”
“Well, having the time is not a very compelling reason. There has to be more. You have to believe in the Lord, Jesus Christ. You have to believe that Jesus is your savior, your Messiah. Is that your reason?”
“No, I really hadn’t thought of that. Actually, I’m not very religious, Jewish or otherwise. I know that Orthodox Jews believe that the Messiah has not yet come. To me that was just superstition and myth. I never did have a belief in a Messiah, Jewish or Christian. You see, the problem is that my wife and children are Catholics. I love them very much, and I want to convert for them.”
“Well, Mr. Rubin, how do your wife and children feel about this”
“I haven’t mentioned it yet, but I’m sure they’ll be delighted.”
“Okay, Mr. Rubin, to be candid with you, I think at this point, you’re not a very good candidate for conversion, but I do have to call on a few patients at the hospital this afternoon. I’ll stop by at about 3:30 and we can discuss this more fully. What is your room number?”
When Father Erlichmann walked into his room at 3:25, Rubin was ready to tell his reasons. “I have a pretty successful business. I have a beautiful wife Susan whom I met in graduate school. It was love at first sight, and after a whirlwind courtship, we married and we had three beautiful daughters who are being raised as Catholics by Susan, my Catholic wife. .
“My parents were Orthodox Jews. They sat “Shivah”* for me when I married Susan. My mother died without ever having met my daughters. My father did not speak to me at her funeral. I’m not religious, but I continue to maintain my Jewish identity. You know, I contribute to Jewish organizations. I pay my temple dues, and on the high holy days I attended reform services. Of course, I support Israel, but I never considered myself to be a good Jew, but” he added quickly, “I am a Jew.”
“It sounds to me that you are a pretty good Jew. I have many Jewish friends with similar convictions. Converting to Catholicism won’t change that. To be a Catholic, there are many matters of faith. As I told you when you called this morning, you have to sincerely believe in Jesus Christ as your savior. You have to believe that Jesus was the Son of God and the he died on the cross for the benefit of all mankind.”
“I don’t know what I believe. I don’t even know if I believe in God, let alone his son. I certainly don’t know very much about what Catholics believe. What I do believe is that not being a Catholic is coming between me and my family. Can I be a sincere Catholic? I don’t know, but I’ll give it a try. I figure that it’s your job to convince me.”
“Well, I don’t know if I can do that. I can only teach you what I know, and from all the Biblical facts, you have to make a leap of faith. That’s not an easy thing to do. Do you know what your wife thinks about this?”
“Yes, she was here this morning. She said she would love me as a Catholic or a Jew.”
“Alright, Mr. Rubin, I’ll see you tomorrow morning at 10, and we’ll start with the basics.”
Phil had only one other visitor the next morning. That was Rabbi Avrom Solomon, the chief Orthodox rabbi of Cincinnati, who was performing his rabbinical duty making hospital calls to sick Jews. He found Philip Rubin listed as a Jew in the hospital patients’ directory, and he put him on his visiting list. Rabbi Solomon was a Hungarian holocaust survivor who came to the United States via Dachau and a D.P. camp in Germany. He was a devout orthodox Jew, a Talmudic scholar. As he walked into Phil’s room at about 10:30, he introduced himself as Rabbi Solomon, and then he saw Father Erlichmann. “Good morning Father. I didn’t expect to see you with a Jewish patient. Is Mr. Rubin a friend of yours?”
“Well, I hope so, but I’m here because Mr. Rubin asked me to give him lessons in Catholicism. He says he wants to convert.”
Turning to Rubin, the Rabbi demanded to know if that was the truth.
“Rabbi, my parents sat Shivah for me when I married a Catholic. My wife raised three beautiful daughters who are Catholics. They attend Catholic schools. They go to Catholic Church every Sunday. We have a very happy marriage, but I can’t share their religious experiences with them. I don’t go with them to church. I don’t participate in their Sunday school activities. I’m an outsider when it comes to many of my family’s activities.”
“Well, you can participate without converting. You will still be a Jew, no matter what you do. How many “Christians” who had a single Jewish grandparent went to the gas chambers with the Jews/”
“I know rabbi, but this is America. There are no gas chambers.”
“No, not yet. It could never happen in America?”
“Rabbi, I am a Jew only on the High Holy Days. That is why I am studying with Father Ehrlickman.”
“No, you are a Jew. I understand what your parents did. I don’t approve of your marriage, but whether your parents were right or wrong, you are still a Jew. It was bad enough that you married a Goy; it’s bad enough that your daughters are Catholics, but it is worse still if you convert. Our martyrs went into the flames saying the Schema, rather than convert.”
“I know what you’re telling me, Rabbi, but ...”
Before Phil could finish his thoughts, the Rabbi turned to Father Ehrlichman, “Father, how can you do this? How can you be converting one of our flock when you know what happened to six million of our people just a few years ago? How can you be taking one more when you know what happened during the Holocaust?”
“Rabbi, Phil has asked me to help him learn about Catholicism so that he can consider conversion. I am doing only what the man asks of me. I know he wants to convert because of his love for his wife and children. I see no wrongdoing on his or my part.”
“Father, but the Holocaust....”
“Rabbi, I know about the holocaust. My people suffered in the Holocaust, too. My roommate and best friend from my days at the seminary was sent to teach in a seminary in Czechoslovakia and because he spoke up against the Nazis, he was arrested and sent to Dachau.”
“I’m sorry about your friend. Did he survive?”
“Let me tell you what happened. I learned about his fate from a Jewish survivor right here in Cincinnati. He told me about a Catholic priest, Father Robert Fabian, and American who had been teaching in Czechoslovakia. That was my roommate. He had been in Dachau for about two months. Conditions were dreadful. Killing Jews was just a sport to the guards.”
“Yes, I know, I know,” the rabbi moaned.
“There was a disturbance in the camp. He didn’t know what it was, but it didn’t take much for the Germans to hand out punishments. As the Jews stood assembled in the freezing cold, a German officer, singled out one Jew to teach the rest a lesson. The man was to be hung in front of the assembled group.
“My friend intervened. ‘Captain, the Jew you have chosen is a rabbi. He tends to his flock and maintains order here. His people need him. Punish me instead.’
“The captain was amused by the man’s heroics. He made the substitution and hanged my friend and classmate... So you see, Rabbi, I don’t know all, but I know some of the pain of the Holocaust.”
After several moments of silence, Rabbi Solomon whispered, “May God forgive me! I was that rabbi”. With tears in his eyes the rabbi quietly left the room.
Phil continued with his lessons until he was out of traction, on his feet with crutches, and ready to check out of the hospital, when Father Erlichmann came to his room to say goodbye to a student, with whom, over a period of three weeks, he had developed a close friendship. “What are your plans Phil? Have I been a convincing teacher?”
“Yes you have been a wonderful teacher, but I can’t in good conscience convert. I now understand the Catholic beliefs of my wife and daughters, and that will be very helpful to me. For that I shall always be very grateful to you, but I can’t make an honest commitment. I can’t become a Catholic. I am a Jew”. Father Erlichmann took Rubin’s hand and then the two men embraced until the orderly arrived with a wheel chair to take Rubin out to be greeted by his wife and children in a waiting car to take him home.
* A Jewish ceremony for mourning the dead.