Learning from Irena Sendler, the Shoah—and Our Jewish Critics
Days ago, a Jewish reader wrote to me about Irena Sendler—the Polish Catholic woman who rescued some 2,500 Jewish children from the Warsaw Ghetto by smuggling them out in sacks, toolboxes, and ambulances, then burying their real names in jars under an apple tree.
Her email stopped me cold.
She thanked God their lives were saved… and then she wrote this haunting line:
“Their lives were saved, but lost to Judaism—
the ultimate purpose and results for millenniums of pogroms, inquisitions, and Holocausts.”
She explained, churches and adoptive families after the war did not just protect children—they also erased their Jewish identity, blocked surviving relatives from finding them, or baptized them without consent.
She wasn’t speaking in abstractions. She was naming a second wound.
To be clear, Irene Sendler herself was not the one erasing Jewish identity. She risked her life to rescue children and kept careful lists of their real names so they could be reunited with family after the war. But in the wider Church context, promises were not always kept. In some convents and Christian homes, children rescued from death were later kept from their people—a second wound that still grieves our Jewish neighbors today.
As a Christian woman who loves Israel, I can’t argue with her grief or anger, I have to listen—and then I have to ask:
When hatred rises, where was the Church then, and where is it today? And where are we—the Esthers of this generation?
When the Church Was Late to Stand with the Jews
Historians have documented how, by the time Hitler rose to power, Christian antisemitism was deeply woven into European culture—centuries of sermons, laws, and attitudes that treated Jews as “Christ-killers” and outsiders. That spiritual soil made it easier for Nazi hatred to take root.
Research on churches in places like Hungary and other parts of Europe shows a pattern that should trouble us: many church leaders failed to offer a clear, public stand when Jews were stripped of rights, ghettoized, and deported. Some helped; many remained quiet or “neutral” while trains rolled east.
After the war, in some cases, Jewish children who had survived in convents, monasteries, or Christian homes were not returned to their people—even when family members came looking.
So when my correspondent says these children were “saved, but lost to Judaism,” she is not exaggerating. She is putting words to a deep, generational ache.
Scripture Leaves No Room for Contempt
The Bible we read every day is unambiguous about God’s heart for Israel and the Jewish people:
“I will bless those who bless you…”
— Genesis 12:3 (NIV)
“…salvation is from the Jews.”
— John 4:22 (NIV)
“Do not boast over those branches… you do not support the root, but the root supports you.”
— Romans 11:18 (NIV)
“Rescue those being led away to death; hold back those staggering toward slaughter.”
— Proverbs 24:11 (NIV)
And of course, our beloved story of Esther:
“…who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?”
— Esther 4:14 (NIV)
The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob has not changed. His covenant with Israel has not expired. Jesus Himself was—and is—a Jew, the fulfillment of promises given to Israel, not the cancellation of them.
If we really believe these Scriptures, then antisemitism is not somebody else’s issue on the evening news.
It is a Church issue. It is a discipleship issue.
“Daughter of Abraham”: When Jesus Breaks the Rules
In Luke 13, Jesus is teaching in a synagogue when He notices a woman who has been bent over for eighteen years.
“When Jesus saw her, he called her forward and said to her, ‘Woman, you are set free from your infirmity.’ … Immediately she straightened up and praised God.”
— Luke 13:12–13 (NIV)
She doesn’t ask for healing. She doesn’t perform a heroic act of faith. She is simply there, suffering.
Jesus sees her.
Jesus calls her.
Jesus touches her.
And then the synagogue leader is furious—because Jesus did it on the Sabbath. The rule, the rhythm, the religious boundary has been broken.
Jesus answers:
“You hypocrites! … Then should not this woman, a daughter of Abraham… be set free on the Sabbath day from what bound her?”
— Luke 13:15–16 (NIV)
“Daughter of Abraham.”
Jesus publicly claims her as part of the covenant people. Her dignity, her freedom, her Jewish identity are more important than the comfort of the rule-keepers.
Jesus is willing to break cherished human rules when they stand in the way of freeing a Jewish person who is bound.
Too often in our own history, parts of the Church did the opposite—clinging to their “rules” and respectability while Jewish children rescued from death were kept from being returned to their own people.
If this is how our Lord acts, what does it mean for Christian women when Jewish neighbors are threatened today—on campus, at synagogue, online?
God’s Silence… and the Church’s Silence
Christians and Jews alike wrestle with the silence of God during the Holocaust—and even during October 7.
We don’t have neat answers.
But there is another silence we can examine: the silence of the Church.
As Nazi power rose, centuries of Christian antisemitism made it easier for many believers to look away. Too many leaders chose institutional safety over prophetic witness.
And yet—there were lights in the darkness: Corrie and Betsie ten Boom, Irena Sendler, Pastor André Trocmé in Le Chambon, the Danish resistance. They broke Nazi laws, social expectations, and sometimes even their own church’s instructions—not because they rejected God’s commands, but because they embraced God’s higher law of love.
They looked at Jewish neighbors and quietly said in their hearts:
“Sons and daughters of Abraham… they must be set free.”
Our calling as Christian Women For Israel is not to sit in judgment over the past, but to learn from it and refuse to repeat its failures.
Antisemitism Now: Not Just “Back Then”
We might hope the horrors of the past are gone. The data says otherwise.
Recent audits of antisemitic incidents in the United States record thousands of acts of harassment, vandalism, and assault each year—the highest levels since tracking began, and several-hundred-percent increases over the last decade. Surveys show that more than half of American Jews say they have experienced antisemitism in the past year, and many report changing their behavior out of fear.
On campus, Jewish organizations are tracking record levels of antisemitic incidents since October 7—threats, “from the river to the sea” chants, and intimidation so common that one leader warned: “We cannot allow this level of antisemitism to feel normal.”
State commissions on antisemitism are sounding alarms about K–12 education, college life, and the workplace. In some cities, graffiti and online threats have forced schools and synagogues to call in law enforcement and increase security.
And yet, even in this, there is courage. Many Jewish communities are not retreating; they are speaking out, organizing, and taking action to confront antisemitism rather than disappear from public life.
Jewish communities are once again bent under a heavy weight—but they are standing.
The question is whether Jesus’ followers will stand with them.
When Love Calls Us to Break the “Rules”
Jesus asked, “Should not this woman, a daughter of Abraham, be set free…?”
The rule said, “Wait until tomorrow.”
Love said, “Now.”
Irena Sendler broke Nazi laws to rescue children.
Corrie and Betsie ten Boom hid Jews and ended up in Ravensbrück.
Countless unnamed believers forged papers, lied to authorities, and opened their doors.
They were rejecting unjust human rules that stood in the way of saving Jewish lives.
As modern-day Esthers, you and I are not usually asked to forge passports or hide families in our attics. But we are being asked to break other “rules”:
The rule of staying quiet so we don’t upset friends, pastors, or church leaders.
The rule of keeping our faith “private,” even when Jewish safety is at stake.
The rule of avoiding hard conversations about the Church’s past and present failures.
Sometimes breaking the unspoken rules of comfort and silence looks simple and brave:
A Christian mom who emails her child’s school about an antisemitic incident, asking what will be done.
A Bible study group that shows up at a synagogue vigil, just to say, “We’re glad you’re here, and we are praying for you.”
A college student who refuses to join in chants that demonize Israel and instead befriends the lone Jewish student in her dorm.
These are “small” acts in the world’s eyes, but heaven measures them differently.
A Call to the Esthers of This Generation
Christian Women For Israel, this is our moment to be better than the Church of the 1930s and 1940s.
In a world where antisemitism is rising, you can be a woman who:
Teaches her children and grandchildren that the Jewish people are not a problem to solve, but the root that supports our faith.
Reaches out to the local synagogue and asks, “How can we pray for you in this season?”
Writes pastors, school boards, and university leaders when antisemitism is brushed aside or excused.
Refuses to pass along conspiracies, half-truths, or slurs about Jews or Israel—online or in conversation.
Prays regularly for Israel and for Jewish communities where you live—and lets them know you are praying.
You do not need a title, a microphone, or a big platform to do this. You simply need a willing heart, a Bible, and the courage to say, “Here I am, Lord—use me.”
We cannot answer every mystery of God’s silence. But we can decide, with clear eyes and full hearts, that the Church will not be silent again.
“And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?”
— Esther 4:14 (NIV)
Today’s Prayer
Lord, forgive the Church where we have been slow to love the Jewish people as You do. Heal the wounds our silence and complacency have caused. Open our eyes to the daughters and sons of Abraham who are bent under fear today. Give us the courage of Esther, the compassion of Jesus, and the willingness to break the rules of comfort and respectability when love requires action.
Let it never be said that our generation was silent.
In Jesus’ name, amen.
