[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 154 (2008), Part 6]
[Senate]
[Pages 7605-7606]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




                         ROTUNDA COMMEMORATION

  Mr. STEVENS. Mr. President, today as this Congress commemorated our 
National Commemoration of the Days of Remembrance for 2008 in the 
Rotunda of the Capitol of our Nation, Joshua B. Bolten, the Chief of 
Staff of President Bush, delivered the keynote address.
  I note that Josh Bolten noted he will travel with President Bush 
later this month to Israel to commemorate the 60th anniversary of the 
founding of Israel, which he pointed out occurred just 3 years after 
the Holocaust.
  I ask unanimous consent that Mr. Bolten's remarks be printed in the 
Record.
  There being no objection, the material was ordered to be printed in 
the Record, as follows:

               [Remarks by Joshua B. Bolten, May 1, 2008]

                          Days of Remembrance

                    (United States Capitol Rotunda)

       I am deeply honored to be at this podium today, to speak 
     about anniversaries and the moral obligation of memory.
       Many who have stood here before me have spoken from their 
     own memory, telling their most personal of stories--the years 
     of suffering, the loss of loved ones, survival and the 
     anguish of haunting memories. I have no such stories to tell. 
     My Jewish grandparents left Europe before the Holocaust, 
     bestowing on my parents the gift of being born in this land 
     of freedom.
       But I do stand here as the proud son of a brave young 
     American soldier, decorated for the valor that led to his 
     capture by Nazi forces. Imprisoned in a German POW camp for 
     two years, he refused to hide the dog tag that bore the 
     letter H (for Hebrew). Twenty-five years later, working at 
     the White House near the end of a distinguished career of 
     national service, my father shepherded the work of the 
     President's Commission on the Holocaust and helped bring to 
     fruition the first of these National Days of Remembrance 
     ceremonies, and ultimately the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum 
     itself.
       We gather at this 29th Days of Remembrance ceremony in a 
     year and season of grim anniversaries. It has been almost 
     exactly 75 years since the Nazis organized a massive 
     nationwide boycott of Jewish businesses that inflamed anti-
     Semitism throughout Germany. 70 years since Kristallnacht, 
     the night of brutality that, as Fred Zeidman eloquently 
     described, exposed to the world Nazi intentions toward the 
     Jews. 65 years since the Warsaw uprising, as Joel Geiderman 
     reminded us, the best known of many episodes of heroic 
     resistance.
       Passover, which ended just a few days ago, commemorates the 
     liberation of Jews from slavery in Egypt thousands of years 
     ago. So 65, 70, even 75 years in our history is not so long a 
     time. But it is almost a lifetime. Had Mordecai Anielewicz, 
     the young commander of the Warsaw uprising, survived, he 
     would be almost 90 today.
       With the passage of time, the Rescuers, the Liberators, and 
     the Survivors--like those whom we're blessed to have with us 
     today--are naturally dwindling in numbers. Earlier this year, 
     we lost the beloved Congressman Tom Lantos (so well 
     remembered just now by Ambassador Meridor), whose experiences 
     as a Survivor gave extra gravity to his powerful calls to 
     conscience.
       We are transitioning from living memory to historical 
     memory, and that places a great burden of responsibility on 
     the rest of us. As the witnesses to the witnesses, we carry 
     the moral obligation of memory.
       And what is that obligation? Surely it is more than fixing 
     blame--for just as the generation of Survivors, Rescuers and 
     Liberators dwindles, so must the Perpetrators, Collaborators 
     and Bystanders. But why must we remember in such painful 
     detail?
       In his introduction to the presidential commission report 
     that my father helped shepherd, Elie Wiesel gave an eloquent 
     answer: First, Wiesel wrote, ``we cannot grant the killers a 
     posthumous victory. Not only did they humiliate and 
     assassinate their victims, they wanted also to destroy their 
     memory. They killed them twice, reducing them to ashes and 
     then denying their deed.''
       A Nazi guard once told Simon Wiesenthal that, in time, no 
     one would believe his account of what he saw. Many in this 
     room have devoted a lifetime to proving that prediction 
     wrong. Yet there are still those who challenge the facts 
     surrounding the Holocaust, or even brazenly deny its reality. 
     Whatever form it takes--from cartoons in a newspaper owned by 
     the Syrian government, to statements by leaders of Hamas, to 
     an international conference hosted by the President of Iran--
     we must stand against every attempt at denial. We have an 
     obligation to condemn these lies for what they are--and 
     remind people of the truth.
       Wiesel's second explanation for the moral obligation of 
     memory is that ``we cannot deny the victims the fulfillment 
     of their last wish . . . to bear witness.'' This wish is 
     captured in Emanuel Ringelblum's ``Oneg Shabbat'' project, 
     which Sara Bloomfield just described. When we read the 
     victims' stories in those long-buried milk cans, we relive 
     their suffering. We honor their defiance. And we fulfill 
     their request never to be forgotten.
       Third, and most important, Wiesel wrote, ``we must remember 
     . . . for the sake of our own humanity,'' because 
     ``indifference to the victims would result, inevitably, in 
     indifference to ourselves.''
       We saw this indifference on shameful display at the Evian 
     Conference, which also marks its 70th anniversary this year. 
     At that conference, powerful nations gathered in the heart of 
     Europe to consider the plight of Jews in Nazi Germany. Yet 
     they mustered only excuses for inaction, refusing to make the 
     changes in refugee laws that could have rescued millions of 
     Jews with a simple stamp on a paper. Five years later, with 
     the full horror of the Holocaust primed to unfold, nations 
     again gathered in Bermuda. This time, they produced a mere 
     joint statement--along with a bureaucratic report that 
     arrived long after the killing machines of Auschwitz and 
     Treblinka were operating at full force.
       Tragically, the international community has repeated this 
     indifference in the decades since the Holocaust. In Rwanda 
     and elsewhere, the innocent have paid the price.
       Our generation has an opportunity--and a moral obligation--
     to be different. When we say, ``Never again,'' we must mean 
     it. Not in our moment of history and responsibility. We must 
     call evil by its name, and confront it with purpose and 
     courage. We in government service especially must challenge 
     those who have become enamored with process that substitutes 
     for action and who shrink from the hard choices.
       This commitment is being tested in Darfur. President Bush 
     is the only world leader to call the killing there 
     ``genocide.'' He has ordered sanctions on those responsible 
     for violence. And he has pledged to provide training and 
     equipment to help African troops deploy to Darfur. Yet 
     America remains too lonely in this effort. In the past three 
     years, the United Nations Human Rights Council has passed 
     more than six times as many resolutions against Israel as it 
     has against Sudan. And despite repeated urging, the UN 
     peacekeeping force has yet to deploy. It is not too late to 
     set this right.
       In answering Wiesel's three calls--to deny the killers a 
     posthumous victory . . . to fulfill the last wishes of the 
     victims . . . and to affirm our own humanity--we uphold the 
     moral obligation of memory. And in our responsibility as 
     witnesses to the witnesses, we are blessed to have remarkable 
     assets.
       First, of course, are the Survivors themselves, who 
     comprehend evil with a clarity that comes only from direct 
     experience. As they share their stories, they do more than 
     deepen our knowledge of history--they advance the cause of 
     justice.
       We are also blessed with the efforts of individuals like 
     Father Patrick Debois. Going door to door, Father Debois has 
     collected the testimony of more than 700 witnesses and 
     bystanders to the Nazi terror in Ukraine. He has identified 
     the burial sites of countless victims shot execution-style in 
     what has been called the ``holocaust of bullets.'' Thanks to 
     this good priest's work, names and stories are replacing the 
     cold anonymity of mass graves. And witnesses who have held 
     these memories in their hearts for 60 years are finding 
     healing. Father Debois, we are honored by your presence 
     today.
       For generations to come, a lasting source of learning and 
     memory will be the museums. In the past year, I have had the 
     privilege to visit three with the President--Yad Vashem in 
     Israel, the Kigali Genocide Memorial Center in Rwanda, and 
     the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum here in Washington. These 
     museums commemorate loss in distinct ways. Yet they all 
     recognize that genocide is possible only by the denial of 
     individuality. And they recognize that the best way to 
     restore humanity is to retell the victims' stories, one by 
     one.

[[Page 7606]]

       At Yad Vashem, exhibits commemorate not only the victims 
     lost--but also the lives lived. They show loving homes and 
     cherished possessions--reminders of the richness of humanity 
     stolen away.
       At the Kigali Center, a communal grave holds nearly a 
     quarter million victims, and that number continues to grow as 
     Rwandan authorities gather remains from the 1994 genocide. 
     God only knows--literally, only God knows--the identities of 
     those who rest on the site. Yet inside the museum, exhibits 
     display vivid Polaroid photographs of individual victims, 
     most of them children. Beneath the photos are descriptions of 
     simple things like a favorite sport or food--personal details 
     that capture the uniqueness of each unfinished life.
       At the U.S. Holocaust Museum, each visitor receives the 
     identity card of a victim--the tragedy of the Holocaust on a 
     personal scale. Already, 27 million visitors there have 
     pursued their obligation of memory. Now and always, the 
     witnesses will far outnumber the victims.
       This year marks the 15th anniversary of the Holocaust 
     Museum. Later this month, I will travel with President Bush 
     to commemorate another proud anniversary--the 60th 
     anniversary of the founding of Israel. The birth of Israel 
     just three years after the Holocaust reminds us that the last 
     word need not be death and destruction. When Air Force One 
     touches down at Ben-Gurion airport, we will see the American 
     and Israeli flags waving side-by-side. And we will hear two 
     national anthems: the Star Spangled Banner, and ``Hatikvah'' 
     . . . ``The Hope.''
       Hope is at the center of Israel's existence. It is at the 
     center of the Jewish faith. And it is at the center of our 
     task during these Days of Remembrance. The Holocaust shows 
     that evil is real--but hope, goodness, and courage are 
     eternal. When we carry this truth in our hearts, we uphold 
     the moral obligation of memory. And we summon the strength to 
     meet our solemn pledge: Never again. Not in our moment of 
     history and responsibility.

                          ____________________