Fr. Jarek Kurek: Good Samaritans. At the end of February this year, we had the joy of welcoming to Glenstal the chief chaplain of the Polish community in Ireland, Fr Stanislaw Hajkowski. Many of the monks still remember him — an energetic, well-built man in his late sixties. At the time of his visit here, he was about to travel to the continent to collect the relics of the Ulma Family — the relics we have with us today. It was Fr Stanislaw’s deep desire to bring the relics to Ireland and to share the tragic, yet uplifting, story of this Polish family with those he had lived among for a long time.
Fr Stanislaw never made it back. He died in the evening on the day he collected the relics. But the relics were brought to Ireland and are briefly here in Glenstal. As we gather to celebrate the death and resurrection of Christ at Mass, the presence of the relics here today helps us to reflect on how this mystery was also played out in the story of the Ulma Family – their life and death – during the horrible time of World War Two.
But before we look at them more closely, let me tell a story. It may ring some bells, though the ending may strike you as different…There was once a man going about his business, trying to live his life peacefully and without offence to those around him. One day, as he went about his life, a group of men set upon him. They robbed him, stripped him, and left him by the side of the road for dead.
Presently, along came an educated, God-fearing man, known for his generosity and charity. He saw the man who had been beaten and robbed, but he crossed over the road and carried on his way. Shortly after, a priest came along — a well-respected man of wisdom and learning. Seeing his neighbour in distress, he too crossed over to the other side. After all, he would not be seen helping a Jew.
And so the Jew lay in the gutter, waiting for the good Samaritan. But there was no good Samaritan. Not this time.
The Ulma Family, in 1942, were seemingly ordinary people — he in his forties, his wife, pregnant with their seventh child, just turned 30. The times were very challenging — for everyone, it goes without saying — but especially for all the Jews being hunted by the Nazis and their collaborators in every country.
It became crystal clear to Józef Ulma, the head of the family, that he could do nothing other than help the eight Jews who knocked on their door one day. He saw eight people in true distress, beaten and robbed of their right to live. In an instant, he felt that it was his family’s mission to be Good Samaritans — they could not turn their backs on those helpless Jews. For eighteen months, they kept them safe in the attic of their house. But not one of them made it through to the end of the war.
On the 24th of March 1944, the German police came and shot everyone — first all the hiding Jews, then Józef and his pregnant wife Wiktoria, and then, after some deliberation, also their six little children. There was no room for mercy — for anyone.
One could legitimately ask: was it worth trying to help those Jews, if ultimately it ended in utter failure? The answer must be one, and only one: a resounding yes.
As a certain wise man said, there are moments in our lives when we cannot act otherwise. Józef and Wiktoria Ulma didn’t save those eight Jews — but they did save Man. They saved Humanity — also for our sake.
The eight people they saved back then call out to us to respond to any stranger who stands in need of our help today, who, even voicelessly asks for our mercy.
It is for you and me to be — regardless of the outcome — truly humane, following the precepts of the Gospel in our dealings with them.
It is for us to be Good Samaritans, to be people of mercy. In today’s gospel Jesus calls us to become rich towards God. Being the Good Samaritan, like the Ulma family, does precisely that.