Lt. Nathan Baskind, z"l

This summer on our way back from Israel, Debbie and I made a stopover in France to celebrate our twenty-fifth anniversary. We had an amazing time biking the countryside, drinking red wine (not at the same time), stepping out of the pressure cooker of the year gone by, and anticipating the blessings of the years ahead. Historically speaking, the highlight of the trip was our visit to Omaha Beach. This summer, as many of you know, marked the eightieth anniversary of D-Day, June 6, 1944. My great uncle, for whom I am named, landed on those beaches, and I had never visited. We toured the terrain, learned about the battles that were waged, and honored the heroism of the Allied soldiers and the sacrifices that they made. Having taken it all in, we made our way up the bluff to the American Cemetery at Omaha Beach, which is breathtaking in its beauty and in the pristine manner in which it is maintained. A cemetery, yes, but really a monument to the young souls who made the ultimate sacrifice in defense of liberty and freedom. To stand there staring at the sea of ten thousand crosses and over one hundred and fifty stars of David, all the more so in a time such as this, was an awe-inspiring experience.

As our tour was winding down, Debbie and I excused ourselves from the group in order to visit one particular grave, that of First Lt. Nathan Baskind. I didn’t expect the experience to move me as it did, but as I recited the El maleh rahamim, the memorial prayer, at Lt. Baskind’s grave, I knew what I wanted to share with you this evening.

Who was Lt. Nathan Baskind? Nathan Baskind was a Jew born in 1916 to immigrant parents from Belarus who grew up in the Squirrel Hill neighborhood of Pittsburgh just blocks away from where Debbie was raised. Born into a working-class family, Baskind was employed in the family wallpaper business when he was drafted into the US Army in January of 1942. Commissioned a Second Lieutenant, Baskind was assigned to the 899th Tank Destroyer Battalion. At five foot five, he was the perfect height to be in a tank. Having survived the June 6 Normandy landing, Baskind went ahead of his men on June 23 to reconnoiter firing positions for his tank division. He was ambushed, severely wounded, taken prisoner by the enemy, and died in captivity shortly thereafter. 

Having perished in enemy hands, Baskind was listed as Missing in Action. His name, together with more than 1,500 others, was engraved on Omaha’s Wall of the Missing. In fact, Baskind had been buried seven and a half miles away in the Marigny German War Cemetery, together with fifty-two German SS soldiers. Let that sink in: a Jewish American soldier, buried in a mass grave, together with his Nazi captors and killers. 

And there our story sat for seventy-nine years and would have remained if not for a series of events which would finally and forever change the fate of this long dead soldier. In December of 2022, a genealogist from New Jersey was poking around the database of the Volksbund, the German War Graves Commission, when he stumbled on Baskind’s name. It struck him that “Nathan Baskind” was not a name that one would expect in an SS cemetery. After more poking around, the genealogist discovered that Nathan Baskind was also a name listed on Omaha’s Wall of the Missing.

The genealogist made a call to Shalom Lamm, who runs a not-for-profit organization called Operation Benjamin. To make a long story short, Operation Benjamin performs the sacred task of identifying Jewish American war casualties mistakenly buried under the sign of the cross and replaces the crosses with Stars of David. Proper burial is considered the highest mitzvah of our tradition, a kindness that can never be repaid. In caring for fallen American Jewish soldiers, Operation Benjamin takes this selfless mitzvah to another level. Over the years, Lamm and his colleague Rabbi JJ Schachter have been in touch with me when they have needed an introduction to a PAS descendant of a mis-interred soldier. A living descendant must grant them permission to process a case and sometimes a trusted rabbinic introduction is needed. World War I, World War II, Arlington, American cemeteries around the world – Lamm and Rabbi Schachter thought they had seen it all. But a Jewish kid buried in a Nazi mass grave under not just one but three crosses – this was something they never imagined. This was something they needed to do something about.

So how to repatriate the remains of an American soldier from a German cemetery? First step, as noted, get permission from a living relative. Lamm reached out to Nathan’s great-niece, Samantha Baskind. Knowing the story of her late Great-Uncle Nate, Samantha readily gave Lamm permission to proceed. The Germans, at least initially, were far less cooperative. Disturbing the grave of fifty-plus German soldiers in search of the remains of one American soldier was a bridge too far. It wasn’t, incidentally, just the German authorities who hedged, but the rabbinic ones as well; they needed to be convinced that the proposed reinterment was “kosher.” Fortunately, Lamm is not one to take no for an answer. He found a rabbinic workaround, and then, by way a backchannel introduction from the German ambassador to Israel, received permission to proceed from Dirk Backen, a retired Brigadier General in the postwar German army and the head of said Volksbund. 

In December of 2023, a team of French, German, and American anthropologists was assembled to exhume the German grave. Their work was neither clean nor easy. Seventy-nine years had passed. It was winter, the ground was either wet, frozen, or both. It was a mass grave, and all the bones were comingled. Fifty-three sets of bones multiplied by two hundred and six bones in a human body, and they were looking for one Jew. Fortunately, Baskind wasn’t just any Jew; he was a short Jew, a five-foot-five Jew buried with a lot of very tall Germans. By means of skeletal analysis, the anthropologists found five possible femur matches amid the over ten thousand bones. DNA samples were sent by diplomatic pouch to Virginia to cross-check with DNA from Baskind’s great-niece. Five weeks of agonizing waiting and finally, miraculously, lo and behold: a match! After seventy-nine years, Lt. Baskind’s remains had been found. Mission accomplished! An indescribable sense of relief for Lamm, who immediately shared the redemptive news with Samantha. 

At a certain level, our story could end here. But it is what happened next that I found to be the most moving part of all. Having removed Baskind’s remains, it was time to refill the grave in Marigny and reinter the bones of the SS soldiers. The crew had begun their work when the German authority in charge halted the proceedings. Fifty-two of his countrymen were about to be reinterred. “Lamm,” the German official asked, “Would you please honor them with a memorial service?” Lamm froze. A memorial service? How does an American Israeli with three sons in the IDF eulogize dead Nazis? 

Lamm had to say something, and his next words came out slowly and cautiously: “I am happy,” he began, “that you lost the war. But each of you had wives, parents, and children. The Talmud teaches that when the Children of Israel crossed the sea to dry land and the pursuing Egyptians were swallowed up by the sea that closed in on them, the angels began to sing in joy. God silenced their song. “The Egyptians, too,” God explained, “are my children. A song of joy has no place here.” Lamm’s eulogy continued, “At our seder tables, we remove drops of wine, knowing that our freedom came by way of the suffering of others. Each of you,” Lamm said, staring at the heaps of Nazi remains, “are those drops of wine. I commend your souls,” he concluded, “to the judgment of God.”

Shortly thereafter, on May 28 of this year, the German army formally handed over Lt. Baskind’s remains to the US Army. Soon after that, on Friday afternoon June 21, an assemblage of Baskind’s family, German officials, and invited guests gathered in Marigny one last time to pay their respects. In the same spot where Lamm had memorialized the fallen German soldiers just months before, Arne Schrader, the Director of the German War Graves Commission, invited everyone to hold hands and welcome the Sabbath by singing Shalom Aleichem. To this day, nobody is quite sure how this German general straight out of central casting knew how to sing both the words and melody of Shalom Aleichem. Two days later, on Sunday, June 23, the eightieth anniversary of Baskind’s death, he was formally reinterred at Normandy with full military honors in a Jewish service and reunited with his ancestral faith under the star of David, the marker of his people. Baskind was eulogized by Lamm, Rabbi Schachter, and his great-niece Samantha. But the most moving eulogy of all came from the aforementioned head of the German war graves commission, Brigadier General Dirk Backen. Now near the end of his life – reflecting over Baskind’s grave and undoubtedly over his national and perhaps familial history – Backen said he hoped that when he stands before God in judgment, this small gesture of bringing Nathan to his final resting place will be accounted to his favor. As had Lamm over the graves of long-dead Nazis, a decorated German general was now eulogizing a Jewish American soldier. The day concluded with Samantha Baskind adding a bronze rosette to her great-uncle’s name on Omaha’s Wall of the Missing, as is the custom for a soldier whose remains are identified and recovered. 

Knowing what I knew – everything I have just shared with you – I understood that when Debbie and I visited Omaha Beach just a few weeks later, we too would pay our respects. The grass had since covered over the grave, and the star of David stood proudly over it. I recited the El maleh rahamim memorial prayer. My thoughts turned to young Nathan, his heroism, how scared he and his fellow soldiers, my great-uncle included, must have been as they stormed the wet beaches of Normandy. The terror he experienced of being wounded, captured, and then killed in captivity. I thought of the ultimate sacrifice he made on behalf of cause and country, and my obligation both as an American and as a Jew to remember him and what he represented. I thought about Nate’s parents, Abe and Lena, who, having arrived in the United States as immigrants in search of a better life, then had to send their son back to Europe to fight a war. And then, to receive notice that their son was missing in action, his fate unknown to their dying day. I placed a stone on Nathan’s star of David, praying that his soul had finally ascended to heaven not only in the embrace of God, but the embrace of his family who could now, after eighty years, henceforth be at peace. Intellectually, it makes no sense – bones are just bones. But intellect has little to do with it. Be it the bones of the biblical Joseph being reinterred with his people, or the monumental efforts made by Israel today to retrieve their living and the dead, so too, Nathan. As Jews we don’t rest until our loved ones are brought back home. 

Focused as my thoughts were on Nathan, in that moment I realized that my thoughts were not only on Nathan, nor for that matter were my thoughts just thoughts; they were prayers. I prayed for my nephew presently serving in his tank unit in Gaza. I prayed for Rabbi Zuckerman’s son, presently serving in his tank unit in Lebanon. I prayed for all our young men and women fighting the battle of our time. A generational battle between good and evil, freedom and tyranny. Young Jewish soldiers asked to put their lives at risk in defense of cause and country. I have been to Israel several times in the past year and spent much of my summer there. Like many of you, I have visited the gutted kibbutzim down south, I have visited the site of the Nova festival massacre. I have met with displaced families, IDF servicemen, hostage families, and families of the bereaved. So many young lives taken in their prime and before their time. The acute pain compounded with the knowledge that it is located not just in the present, but will cascade into the generations to come. I prayed for all our brave soldiers, that they should win this war and come home safely from the front. I prayed that the bloodshed of Nathan’s time and of our time should come to a swift end.

And on that warm summer day, in the midst of my prayer, I was struck by the most unexpected feeling: hope. I was comforted, of course, by the knowledge of Nathan being repatriated with his fellow servicemen and women under the symbol of his faith. But it was more than that. I was comforted by the thought that from the darkness of war, a greatest generation can emerge, and maybe, please God, will again for the generation of my nephew, of Rabbi Zuckerman’s son, and so many others. Perhaps a greatest generation will arise from the other side and together we can all break this horrific cycle of war. After all, who would have ever imagined eighty years ago that the descendants of sworn enemies would work together to return a single soldier to his brethren? That a rabbi would eulogize Nazi soldiers? That a German general would welcome Shabbat leading Shalom Aleichem hand in hand with Jews? Maybe the same can be true eighty years from now. Perhaps not in my lifetime, or even in my children’s lifetime. But maybe in some distant time, hardened hearts will soften, we will recognize that we are all God’s children, that we all deserve a place to call home, and that the arc of history can bend towards peace. I was in a cemetery, but it was the first time in a long time that I felt the possibility of future promise. Hope that the horrors of our time need not last indefinitely. On more than one occasion since that July day, I have returned to my prayer at Baskind’s grave, as I do today, for comfort and inspiration. 

And it would seem it is not just me. When I returned to the States, I thought it would be appropriate to reach out to Lt. Baskind’s great-niece, that she would find comfort in knowing that a rabbi had recited a prayer at her great-uncle’s grave. A quick Google search revealed that Samantha is a professor of history, Jewish history, that she also grew up in Pittsburgh, and – wouldn’t you know it – has written on the Rapoport relief sculptures that adorn our synagogue exterior and the Gottlieb stained glass windows that decorate our synagogue interior. Professor Baskind couldn’t have been warmer in receiving my call. She shared her side of the experience, her time in Normandy, and her present research on the Confederate Jewish American sculptor Moses Jacob Ezekiel. She has a thing, not surprisingly, for the stories of Jewish American soldiers.

Samantha expressed gratitude for my interest in her GreatUncle Nate, going on to explain that moved as I was, it wasn’t just me. In the weeks, and now months since her uncle’s reinterment, a “Nate phenomenon,” as she described it, has emerged. More than the grave of Teddy Roosevelt Jr., more than the Niland brothers of “Saving Private Ryan” fame, Nate’s grave has become the most frequented grave in all of Omaha. Like visits to the Rebbe’s grave, like that old movie “Field of Dreams,” people are making the pilgrimage to visit her great-uncle’s grave in numbers that have never been seen by the staff of Omaha’s Battle Monument’s Commission. 

All of which begs the question, “why?” What is it about Nate’s story, I asked Samantha, that has drawn people in? Formidable a presence as she is, Samantha answered with great modesty, not presuming to speak for the choices others make. For her, Samantha explained, the repatriation of Uncle Nate was personal: it brought a chapter of family history to a close. A generational scar has been healed, at least partially. 

But the inspiration and message of Nate’s story, Samantha continued, goes beyond Nate and beyond her family. This year has been an excruciating one, as excruciating as any of us have experienced in our lifetime. As Jews, as Jewish Americans, as Zionists and as human beings, our belief in God, our belief in the goodness of humanity has been tested. The front lines in Israel, the front lines in America – we are all weary, we are feeling helpless, and we are feeling hopeless. Nate’s story inspires not just because it is a needle-in-the-haystack story. Nate’s story inspires because so many people had to work together, go the extra mile, and look beyond their own person to see the bigger picture. So many people had to say yes when it would have been so much easier to say no. A domino effect, like the song at the end of the Passover seder, except this one with a redemptive ending. Nate’s story is a reminder not just of the possibility that intractable problems can be a thing of the past. Nate’s story is an object lesson that things in this world don’t just happen, they are made to happen when people make them happen. When people choose vision over vengeance, forgiveness over retribution, compassion over fear, and activism over inertia, that is when things happen. That is when great things can happen.

Samantha, I wasn’t sure until this very moment that you would show up tonight. I am glad you did! It is a great thing that you are here, another stanza in a song still being written. Welcome. Samantha, your great-uncle’s story proves Shakespeare wrong. The goodness that men do need not be interred with their bones. Nate’s life, Nate’s goodness continues to give us hope to this day. In this dark hour, Nate reminds us that we can, if we so choose, step forward from darkness to light. Nate’s story teaches us that it is by way of hope and human agency that enmity gives way to empathy, bitterness to benevolence, and cruelty to kindness. 

In welcoming you, Samantha, we welcome and honor the memory of Lt. Nathan Baskind, Noach ben Avraham, into this sanctuary and into the hearts of the tens of thousands of people joining us from around the world. We remember him, just as we remember all those who gave their lives and continue to give their lives in defense of the freedoms we hold dear. We pray that that their souls find peace in the heavens. We pray that their families be comforted. We commit ourselves to honoring their sacrifices, just as we commit ourselves to taking agency for our world today. If, as tradition teaches, saving one life is akin to saving the world, then perhaps, in remembering this one life, we will be reminded of the world it is that we are seeking to save. 

May the memory of Lt. Nathan Baskind, Noach ben Avraham, be for a blessing, and may each one of us do everything in our power to bring peace in our world.