P. Fernando Millán Romeral, O.Carm.
It is difficult to categorize the figure of Etty Hillesum. A Jewish woman, writer, law graduate, psychology and classical languages student, scribe of the Jewish Council in Amsterdam, a woman full of vitality and friendship, with many social relations, a woman who sought God, a mystic in a broader, yet authentic sense of the word. Deported first to Westerbork and later to Auschwitz, where she dies in November 1943. Anyone who reads her diary with a pure heart will find in this woman, despite the complexity of her life and the many turning points, a true teacher of prayer.
It is challenging to systematically describe Etty's spiritual experience, her search for God in the last years of her life, prematurely interrupted by Nazi power. Various obstacles arise: her Diary has not been translated into Spanish,1 but paradoxically the most important commentaries and analyses of her work (Evelyne Frank, Sylvie Germain, Paul Lebeau, Wanda Tommasi) have been translated; it is a personal, very subjective, and profound experience, sometimes full of contradictions, written under very specific circumstances – during the systematic deportation of Dutch Jews. It is often said that her spiritual experience is a process, a journey; yet this journey has not been smooth, homogeneous, or straightforward. Therefore, when any study of her experience appears too systematic, clear, and coherent, there is a danger of distorting the figure of Etty Hillesum. Etty's main work is the Diary (in which she gradually "discusses" with someone other than at the beginning, namely she increasingly speaks with God), where the individual periods do not follow one after the other in an orderly way, there is no clear and unequivocal path, but rather a colorful mixture of experiences, steps forward and backward, certainties and doubts – as well as freedom and grace. Moreover, this is an incomplete Diary, as we lack the last pages, the seventh chamber.2 For these reasons, many different interpretations of Etty's inner development are possible, almost all of which are true, yet none is solely valid and representative of her entire experience.
Etty Hillesum's life does not conform to traditional biographical forms; for many reasons, it's "strange": A Dutch woman of Jewish descent, on her mother's side, she came from Russian Jews;3 she led a peculiar family life and maintained emotional relationships with men much older than herself; she often read the New Testament at the prompting of a particular person, a German named Julius Spier, divorced from his first wife and engaged to another who awaited him in England, half a psychiatrist, half a chiropractor (engaged in palm reading); a woman who had very tense relationships with her parents (particularly with her mother), with whom she reunites in the Westerbork concentration camp in a situation that rather raised tension; a girl who dared to name God, turning to Him and showing her faith in Him and in the gift of life when everything urged rather towards despondency, doubts, and utter hopelessness; a woman who combines the best traits of Judaism and Christianity without adhering to either one or the other (debates often arise on the topic of her vague religious 'affiliation').
However, we do not wish to depict the intricate life of Etty, nor to describe (all) her spiritual journey. We are translating only several features of her experience of prayer to help us, enlighten us, and to learn to pray with Etty Hillesum. Thus, we select and briefly comment on the following five experiences that we can find in what she wrote about herself. (Although it would be possible to mention many others.)
1. Inner Self and Discipline
After Etty became acquainted with Julius Spier, she was captivated by the personality of this psychologist, a student of C.G. Jung, and felt deeply attracted to him. Their relationship was enriching for her, despite its ambiguity, excesses, jealousy, and periods when they did not speak; it prompted Etty to discover her inner self, to attempt to overcome a superficial and carefree life, and to uncover within herself a rich inner world, the place of encounter with God. Etty accepted this task and, with unwavering will, decided to meditate, to create silence within her, to discover herself. Every morning, along with her morning exercises, she dedicated half an hour to meditation during which she tried to "listen to her inner self." What initially might have seemed like a simple relaxation exercise or a psychological technique gradually transformed into true prayer, into an encounter with God who is more intimate than my inner self – intimior intimo meo (Etty was familiar with Augustine's Confessions, probably also thanks to Spier).
Initially, she meditated in the morning (unlike Spier, who preferred to meditate in the evening) and in complete solitude. She often resorted to the bathroom for full privacy and solitude. Gradually, this fruitful solitude, this meeting with her deepest self, occurred in various places, at various times and circumstances, so Etty, in the words of Catherine of Siena, creates a "cell within herself," or, in a more Carmelite language, she became aware that she lives in God's presence. Sometimes, this continuous presence of God is expressed through the image of the sky, which appears frequently in Etty's work (both the physical, astronomical sense of the sky and its spiritual sense). The sky is a homeland that transcends all human changes, a presence that overcomes and transcends all human barriers; it is a freedom that – through its Magnitude – reveals and demystifies (various forms of) apparent human greatness,4 which oppress and enslave us. This reality is beautifully illustrated by the image of a soldier with a helmet and weapon on guard at a lookout tower, whose silhouette stands out against the (freely) changing sky...
When Etty discovered her inner self, she began to value herself, sensed unimaginable treasures within herself (as E. Frank describes well5), and began to love herself, not narcissistically or selfishly, but as a being who needs love and is capable of loving. She discovered this gift (which she received from Spier or through Spier), but at the same time was aware that she had to care for it by all available means.
Although her texts may sometimes seem so, this inner self, which Etty joyfully discovered, should not be confused with mere psychological insight, a state of relaxation, self-control, or, in psychoanalytical terms, cleansing the psychological rubbish that we all carry within. Etty's inner self is all of this, but at the same time much more: it is the space where she meets God and from where He radiates through her. Above many others, this is beautifully expressed by her words:
“I have a deep well within me. God is in it. Sometimes He is accessible, but often the well is clogged with stones and debris, and then God is buried. He needs to be freed again...” (August 26, 1941) “Perhaps we can help you, oh God, to rise from the dead in the tortured hearts of others...” (July 12, 1942)
2. Learning Contemplation
Those who have approached the figure of Etty Hillesum from a psychological perspective (her Diary directly invites this in many places) point out bulimia, both physical and spiritual, in certain periods of her life. Etty wants to seize everything that surrounds her: beauty, flowers, her lovers, things, and beings. This compulsive need manifests sometimes as a desire to "eat," at other times in the form of emotional and sexual relationships, and sometimes as a need to write. All of these desires are, however, frustrating for her. She does not find a lover whom she can fully possess, nor words with which she can fully grasp reality, and even a glimpse of beauty leaves no lasting pleasure. Her writing activity also does not cease to disappoint her (at least in some periods). She cannot find words, phrases, or a suitable literary style. She is unable to assert herself as a professional writer. Therefore, the Diary serves as an excellent medium for her to express herself without being restricted by formal style. However, the main problem lay in the fact that she approached writing from the proprietary stance of a person who, by writing, attempts to seize the reality she describes. In March 1941, she mentions:
“Usually then the need to write, to poetize arose, but I could not find the right words and felt utterly unhappy...” (March 16, 1941)
All of this changes when Etty adopts a new perspective towards reality: when she begins to view it with gratitude and does not try to possess or dominate it. Then she feels free and truly rejoices at the beauty surrounding her. It is necessary to point out that this is not merely a new aesthetic view, more subtle and penetrating, or a greater ability to perceive beauty, but rather a new view of reality where God is central (her favorite image of the sky reappears here). In other words, Etty discovers beauty in a new, joyful way, because she sees it as a gift from Someone above us, she discovers it as a gift, not something that can be selfishly seized.
“With joy I perceived how beautiful God’s world is despite everything” (ibid).
And perhaps this new perspective leads her to proclaim that life is beautiful and worth living, regardless of the many hardships (and she had many). This thought is emphasized multiple times in her Letters and in the Diary. Just like director R. Benigni in his film Life is Beautiful, she shows that the human being is capable of finding what is indestructible, uncontainable, and perhaps eternal, even under the most desperate life circumstances, when one is rejected and destroyed.
Etty is capable of immersing herself in thoughts while looking at a flower, at a sunset, at a mother washing her child and hanging laundry on a line. Even if some see (and it is likely that she was criticized for it during her life) that there may be a danger of escape in this (which would, however, be understandable under the circumstances of that time), it is not escape, as we will see further, because this contemplation does not diminish her sensitivity and ability to perceive human problems; on the contrary, it leads her to a more genuine and purer compassion. She views everything with new, pure eyes. Just as Thérèse looks out at the beach at Trouville, or Ignatius turns to the flowers. The world becomes a message for Etty too. She learns not only to pick flowers, but her life path soon leads her to not fear monsters and to pass through (and how!) walls and to cross (separating) borders...
3. Encountering the Scriptures
Etty's father was a professor of classical languages, an educated man who could immerse himself in a book even in the harshest moments of life in a concentration camp, a man who knew the Scriptures well. He primarily knew the Old Testament, but as an assimilated, open Jew, he also read Christian writings and had a complete Bible at home. However, he never passed on the love of the Scriptures to his daughter. It was again Spier, a true mystagogue, who brought Etty closer to the Scriptures. She discovered them gradually but ever more profoundly. She slowly became familiar with the texts, claimed them as her own (she writes of "my psalms"), and they accompanied and enlightened her; they were a comfort in harsh times and a source of encouragement in doubts.
We can speak of lectio divina (meditative reading of the Scriptures) with Etty, of actual lectio continua (continuous, coherent reading), of ruminatio,6 which often led her to express herself in words of Scripture. She allowed herself to be enlightened by the Scriptures, but she also created her own bold images, often connecting the teachings of Scripture with Dostoevsky or her beloved Rilke, whose poetry she always kept on her bedside table or took with her while traveling. Sometimes, she expressed herself through the words of Scripture unconsciously when describing an event or searching for comfort in the words she took from the gospels or psalms, without being aware of it. In a moment of acute anxiety caused by the situation of her parents, she quotes a Scripture word by heart, which gives her strength: “If you love me, you must leave your parents.” This quotation is evidently not in the Bible and Etty seems to be drawing from Lk 14:26 or Lk 18:29–30, even though her favorite evangelist was not Luke, but Matthew. Identifying with the Scriptures might seem particularly audacious in its consequences. Similarly, when she reflects (in the already last pages of her Diary) on suffering and the comfort it offers to others (“If I suffer for the helpless, is it not also for the helpless that is within me?”), she dares to write:
“I broke my body like bread and shared it among men. And why not? After all, they were so hungry and had suffered for so long.”
And perhaps with the awareness of how far the meaning of this image can reach, she suddenly changes her style: “Over and over again I return to Rilke...” (October 13, 1942). It is hard not to see an echo here of the Gospel accounts about the institution of the Eucharist or the discourse on the bread of life from the 6th chapter of John's Gospel.
The Scriptures serve as a lamp guiding Etty's steps on her path of inner seeking, fully in accordance with the Jewish tradition. Etty is aware that she must discover herself. Spier provided her with some advice and tools, and the Scriptures serve as her light, even to the extent that in certain dramatic moments, physical contact with her little Bible (of which we know little) is crucial for her. When she touches it, she feels safe. The Bible infuses her with peace, comfort, tranquility. Therefore, in her last letter, written while already on the train during deportation, she mentions her Bible that she has with her.
4. The Girl Who Learned to Kneel
The Spanish writer Valle-Inclán, in a well-known interview from 1928, states that reality can be viewed in three ways: from the ground (a view inherent to ancient tragedy), where the characters appear as heroes, or face to face (Shakespeare's view), where they appear as our brothers, or from above (as Quevedo looked), and then they appear as caricatures. Etty underwent this process in reverse.
At a certain moment (September 15, 1941), this liberally-minded girl without reservation, who had (until then) almost rejected this gesture without specific reason, kneels. Some believe that such a rejection may have stemmed from her Jewish origin. This, however, does not seem likely, as Etty never rejected anything Christian merely because she was of Jewish descent. Those who have read her diaries know that this is not applicable. It also does not seem that she refused this gesture because it was foreign to Jewish piety. This gesture, while not entirely common in Judaism, is not unknown. According to some traditions, on the feast of Yom Kippur, everyone kneels when the high priest pronounces God's name. Etty's rejection of this gesture stemmed – entirely in line with modern sensibility – rather from a certain idea of human dignity. This notion prevents a person from humbling themselves, falling on their face, or surrendering before the Mystery.
Etty learned (in the opposite direction to the process Valle-Inclán describes) to see the greatness of others, to look upon them with mercy and tenderness; she learned to kneel in prayer and contemplation before the mystery and in the posture of service and total surrender (to kneel) before others (before the poor women of Westerbork, before sick, dirty, and terrified people ready to be loaded onto cattle cars for deportation...). She herself ironically referred to the girl who could not kneel (October 10, 1942) and even planned to write a novel with this title. We are reminded of a scene from the film Life is Beautiful, in which Guido bends almost to the ground as he learns to serve important personalities. His uncle scolds him for this, saying he should learn not to confuse service with servility. Service is the highest art, so dignified that it brings us closer to God (“God is the first servant...”7). Guido then embodies this reality throughout the second part of the film. Kneeling before the powerless does not humiliate us; instead, it grants us dignity and likens us to God.
Thus, for Etty, kneeling is an expression of faith, hope, and worship, typical attitudes of prayer, perhaps not so common among today's believers. (Without entering into liturgical debates,) we can express this in the words of the former Cardinal Ratzinger from his book on liturgy:
“Perhaps it is true that kneeling is foreign to modern culture – if it is, indeed, a culture that has distanced itself from faith and no longer knows the one before whom kneeling is the proper and inwardly necessary gesture. He who learns to believe also learns to kneel...”8
At the same time (and still mindful of both the bright and dark chapters of her journey), Etty feels the need to speak of God in a manner that resonates with echoes and bold images from Jewish tradition. In the time of “God's eclipse” (in the words of Martin Buber), when even the most pious souls turn to heaven and seek explanations, which is humanly understandable yet not commendable, Etty does not present a theodicy (theoretical defense of God permitting evil). Etty does not attempt to justify God; she seeks to save Him. With surprising boldness, she finds a weak and fragile God, a God whom we are instead to protect and help, rather than turn to Him seeking protection and assistance. This religious experience may seem unusual and for some narrow-minded individuals even scandalous, but it carries deep Jewish tradition of Kabbalah and Hasidism and simultaneously the best Christian tradition – the image of a God born defenseless in a manger and dying naked and broken on the cross.
Perhaps this is why we find not many petitions among Etty's prayers. When it comes to herself, such prayers seem even "childish" to her (to pray for oneself). To pious readers, accustomed to this way of praying, this attitude of Etty may seem strange and surprising. She asks for nothing and offers nothing for her own or her loved ones' salvation. However, even Etty presents a beautiful exception when compassion drives her to pray in this manner for someone particularly in need (“Lord, may they not suffer for long.”). Perhaps this small exception is the implicit acknowledgment of great souls that the Mystery surpasses our abilities, our established schemas, and our unwavering ideas...
5. I would like to be a balm for so many wounds...
Nearly everyone who writes about Etty Hillesum's work points out that in her spiritual experience in the last years of her life, from the meeting with Spier to deportation to Auschwitz, we can speak of something like a “second conversion” that opened the way to her third stage of spirituality (still considering the brighter and darker periods of her life and the excesses we mentioned at the beginning). In the first period, she lived carelessly and superficially, experiencing much suffering, unfulfilling relationships, and senselessness. Her encounter with Spier (her “birth,” as she once called it) gradually led her to discovering her own inner self (and her disciplined care for it). The Scriptures, which accompanied her and became increasingly closer, more vivid, and more personal, along with a different attitude toward things (less possessive and more contemplative), made her a more mature, deeper, and spiritual personality in the most beautiful sense of the word.
However, Etty takes another step, making it so that all of this renders her more human, warmer, more sensitive to the needs of others, more understanding of their shortcomings. This is almost an ethical phase or – in the words of J.G. Gaarland, the author of the introduction to the first edition of the Diary – an “absolute altruism,” or a heart according to the Gospel. To give one seemingly trivial example: when Spier once mentioned having received a “very beautiful” letter from his fiancée, Etty (in a fit of unabashed jealousy) humorously but also deeply writes:
“If I were a proper Christian, I would rejoice at that. But I am still more of a woman than a Christian...”
In Westerbork, the new Etty learns to look at her parents with new eyes, with whom she (previously) never had a good relationship. She praises their calmness, commends their resignation and ability to accept the given situation, and does what she can to make their stay in Westerbork more bearable. She feels an infinite and touching tenderness toward women trying to hide their children, toward those seeking a thousand ways to escape deportation, and even to those who have lost their dignity and shamefully submit to Nazi intentions. Etty learned to see with God's eyes. She learned first to love herself and then to love others.
This may surprise or disappoint those who have a mistaken notion of mystical life, of contemplation or spiritual journey – as something that distances people (from earthly reality), separates them, or ethereally elevates them into some ecstasy. True mystics have never been like this. A prime example can be found in the seventh chamber of Saint Teresa, where the saint describes that for souls who reach there, one of the hallmarks is the style of the Gospel; that is, to serve, to love, and to forgive enemies (“...without any enmity toward those who do them harm, or wish to do harm...”).9 In this spirit, the final, surprising sentence of Etty's Diary resounds: I would like to be a balm for so many wounds...10 Everything culminates in love and forgiveness in the purest spirit of the Gospel, simple and genuine.
You can sense even more in some hints in her letters the attitude of a victim, which, however, given her Jewish upbringing, is not unusual. It is not as pronounced as in Edith Stein (who was presumably in Westerbork at the same time11), but it seems that Etty too feels a need to sacrifice herself, to surrender entirely to the Mystery, to literally dissolve in it. Like the rain of roses of Thérèse of Lisieux, like the fiery chariot of Elijah, or like ashes in Auschwitz, Etty also feels called to dissolve in the beautiful sky she loved so much and from which she received so much comfort and hope. She feels called to be broken like bread and shared among the hungry...
* * *
In July 1943, Etty was forced to remain in Westerbork, the last stop before final deportation. Shortly thereafter, her parents and brother Mischa were also brought there. After several tense months, full of hope and fear and failed attempts at rescue, on September 7, 1943, all four were sent to Auschwitz, but their parents died on the way.12 From the train, Etty threw out a letter that an unknown passerby found and delivered to the post office. This message was the last sign of life, her farewell.
To Christine van Nooten.
At Glimmen, Tuesday, September 7, 1943
Christien, I am opening the Bible at random and find: “The Lord is my refuge and my fortress” (Ps 18:3). I am sitting in the midst of a full freight car on my backpack. Father, mother, and Mischa are a few cars away. The departure came unexpectedly. Suddenly, an order made especially for us from The Hague. We left the camp singing, father and mother very bravely and calmly. Mischa too. We'll travel for three days. Thank you for your care. Friends who remain will still write to Amsterdam; perhaps something will reach you. Even from my last long letter...
Goodbye from the four of us Etty
There were 987 people in the train, including 170 children. Some men were unloaded to work on clearing the now-infamous Warsaw ghetto. Eight people survived. According to official records from the Red Cross, Etty died on September 30, 1943. She was 29 years old. For such a short life, dramatically interrupted, she likely consciously (thus resembling Thérèse of Lisieux13) became a teacher of prayer, a mystagogue. She teaches us that we should delve deep into our inner selves and care for it (which is especially important in today's times of superficiality and immediacy), allow ourselves to be illuminated by the Scriptures, overcome prejudices, and kneel before life, before the Mystery, before God... in a posture of contemplation and service (if it is indeed possible to separate these two attitudes). She teaches us to hope for the victory of good and to fight for it without succumbing to the subtle temptation of evil:
“...against every crime additionally and every horror additionally, we must put a piece of love and goodness additionally (...). We may suffer, but we must not succumb. And when we survive this time with our skin intact, on our bodies as well as our souls, but mainly on our souls, without bitterness, without hatred, then we will also have the right to speak forcefully after the war...”14
I hesitated for a long time about which prayer to choose at the end to summarize and close everything that has been said. There are thousands of possibilities, all beautiful. I choose this one, written in a letter from Westerbork shortly before deportation:
Tideke,
(...) This afternoon I rested on the bunk and suddenly I must note the following in my diary, I am sending it to you:
“You have enriched me so much, my God, let me, in turn, be full of hands for sharing. My life has become a continuous conversation with you, a single great conversation. When I stand somewhere in the corner of the camp with my feet on your earth and my face turned toward your heaven, sometimes tears of inner emotion and gratitude begin to flow down my face, seeking a way out. Also in the evening, when I lie in bed and rest in you, my God, I sometimes shed tears of gratitude, and that is my prayer.” (August 18, 1943)15
Translated from Spanish by Jája Vanišová.
