John Cardinal O'Connor Archbishop of New York

It is always nice for me to come to a place where all the men dress like I do. [Gesturing to his keepo] It is also beautiful to see a couple holding hands in a synagogue. They were in my residence earlier this evening for a reception and told me that they are soon getting married. They did not have to tell me that. They look so radiant.

Although it is my great privilege to present to Rabbi Rene-Samuel Sirat, it is first my obligation to warn you about Cardinal Lustiger-despite all of these lovely things said of him. The warning is simple and straightforward. A few years ago we invited Cardinal Lustiger to come and give an address on Erasmus at the Union League in New York. The Union League had a fire so the address had to be held in a Church. Most of you know that this event was originally scheduled to take place at the Central Synagogue which recently burned down. I will never, never invite Cardinal Lustiger to St. Patrick's Cathedral. I am always humbled when I am in your presence, Cardinal Lustiger, and I say that with deepest sincerity. I was not only humbled but also profoundly moved by Dr. Pisar's eloquent introduction of you, my very good friend.

I would like to ask Dr. Pisar to see if the way that he quoted the Pope was in fact what the Pope said or what journalists said about the pope. It seems to me that this was what a journalist quoted about the Pope. So much good has been said about this Pope. Admittedly, I am prejudiced. Not only because he is the Pope and I am a cardinal-although, that is a pretty good reason to be prejudiced-you know you do not buy these things in any store [pointing to his keepo]-but because of my deep love for him and respect for him. He is always deeply pained when he is interpreted as saying something that would be justifiably considered offensive. I will be in Rome in a couple of weeks and I will be audacious enough to ask the Holy Father's clarification of this.

This has little to do and much to do with the award to be presented to Rabbi Rene Samuel Sirat. Little to do with it because he himself is a man of very little, if any, prejudice. Much to do with it because he is a man who has spent his life seeking understanding, seeking clarification, and trying to transmit his own insights-especially to students. His biographical data is illustrious and extensive. Time would not permit, nor would it be necessary to go beyond these few notations.

Rabbi Sirat is married and has three children. He was educated at the rabbinical school at France, the National School of Oriental Languages and at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. He was surely called by God to do what he has done. His rabbinical career and vocation has included being professor at the Rabbinical School of France, Chief Rabbi of France, and president of the Conference of European Rabbis, from which he has now retired for about a year. He was Chief Rabbi of France when Cardinal Lustiger became Cardinal of Paris.

He may consider himself an aging man but I consider him a rather young man. He was born in 1930. As one who was born in 1920 I do not want to offend him by calling him a youngster. It reminds me that in 1995, when I was 75 years of age, as is required by Church law, I submitted my resignation to John Paul II. I told him that I was 75 and that I had been very happy and that I would be more than willing to accept his mandate, which I assumed was retirement. A handful of weeks later I received a message which said, "Don't call me, I'll call you."

Earlier this year when I was having lunch with him I said, "Holy Father, you recall in January of 1995 I told you that I was 75 and now I am 78." He said, "So am I."

Rabbi Sirat's decorations and honors are multitudinous including the Education Prize given by the president of the State of Israel in 1981 and the Legion of Honor given by the French government in 1982. But it is his academic career which is most important to me. He has been consistently a professor, a teacher. It is impossible to be involved in Jewish-Catholic relations without knowing of the Chief Rabbi of France. He has been, above all, a teacher. And it is as a teacher that I would like to personally honor him very briefly by a Hassidic tale told by professor Ellie Wiesel, another eminent teacher.

Rabbi Hananiah Ben Turadian was one of the ten martyrs of the faith in Roman times. In those days to teach the Torah or to study it meant capital punishment. Rabbi Hananiah decided to teach the Torah, not clandestinely, but in the market place. Naturally, he was arrested. The Romans sentenced him to be burned. They wrapped him in the Torah, in the scrolls, and lit the fire. As he was burning his disciples said, "Rabbi, tell us, what do you see." "What do I see?" he said, "The parchments are burning, but the letters remain alive. The letters are indestructible!"

When I read this story as a child I would cry. First, because it was Yom Kippur and then because of its beauty that the Jewish spirit is invincible and indestructible; the tale of the Jewish people cannot be destroyed. Jews may be killed but not the story of the Jewish people. I love this story. But when I re-read the story I became terribly annoyed with the students who, while their teacher is suffering, suddenly become journalists. They want to know what he sees. One almost expects them to ask next, "What is your opinion of Roman politics?" Was this the time for such questioning?
When I re-read it the third time I made my peace with it because I read it as a teacher. Suddenly it made sense. Here was a dying man. His disciples were gathered around him. When he suffered, they also suffered. What greater gift could they bring him, what truer offering could they give him than the feeling that he was still their teacher? They asked him a question and he answered them. With his last breath, with his last words, he is a teacher making one of the most beautiful statements in Talmud; words do not disappear. It is as a teacher that he leaves them.

Rabbi Sirat, it is as a teacher that I presume to ask you to accept this Nostra Aetate Award. 

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