Reprinted with permission from the Columbine Community Courier, Evergreen Newspapers, where it first appeared Aug 9, 2000:

Mission of Mercy

South Jeffco’s new B’nai Chaim rabbi brings lessons of compassion, experience to job

By James Nicodemus
Reporter

For 23 years, Col. Joel Schwartzman spent his days and nights enmeshed in the starch, spiff and severe regimen of the United States Air Force.

Ramstein Air Base in Germany, Hellenikon Air Base in Greece, Langley Air Force Base in Virginia, even sweating down at Keesler Air Force Base deep in Mississippi, Schwartzman has both barked out direct orders and listened compassionately to people all over the civilized – and sometimes uncivilized – world.

His newest assignment may be his most difficult. Schwartzman is the new rabbi at B’nai Chaim Reform Jewish Congregation in South Jeffco.

Schwartzman believes it may be as difficult as the first words he spoke to a ragged, tired and emotionally troubled group of people getting off of a plane at Ramstein, Germany. Newly-elected President Ronald Reagan had arranged for their release.

They were the Iranian hostages, recent captives who were eager to touch ground on land which represented the first, solid "free" ground they had seen after untold months in the hands of Iranian extremists.

"These five days were possibly the most important days for the mental and physical health of the hostages," said Schwartzman, who was uncertain of his ability to help.

"They had suffered torture, terror, only allowed to use the bathroom on request, even tied up for long periods of time," Schwartzman said. Some even had guns pointed at their heads, and triggers pulled to make death appear moments away.

As he talked to each of the hostages, Schwartzman failed to stave off his own uncertainties about how tough the job would be: just don’t do any more damage, he thought.

Even with a bachelor’s degree in philosophy and bachelor’s and master's degree in Hebrew Letters, Schwartzman wasn’t sure that he had the skills to help people with such profound trouble.

He felt the hostages already had enough pain. "With the wrong message, you could accidentally instill guilt, causing even greater difficulties," said Schwartzman. "It could lead to a catastrophe."

For many of the hostages, the ultimate result of their grueling captivity was an inability to make decision for themselves. While they were chained to walls with little or no hope, most decisions were left to their captors.

"These people were uncertain of themselves, their families, relationships, even deciding what shoes and color socks to wear," said Schwartzman. "They had to be reassured that they had the skills, and could go on."

Slowly, over the course of five days, Schwartzman found ways to reach the hostages. It was not easy, working in emotional minefields with shattered people who had been lied to and repeatedly told that President Carter and the American people had abandoned them.

One by one, working with chaplains of other religious denominations, Schwartzman affirmed a sensitive message of hope, helpfulness, and a return to normalcy. Almost fittingly, he found his previous rape crisis training particularly helpful.

"These people felt a tremendous sense of violation," said Schwartzman, " and needed to know that there were people, in fact an entire country, that supported and cared for them."

Not all of the hostages had fared so poorly. Schwartzman almost chuckles when he remembers one CIA agent, whose specialized training and experience made for an unusual turn of events.

"He actually came out stronger," wondered Schwartzman, noting that the same agent had been subjected to solitary confinement for over 250 days by the North Vietnamese Army.

But more practical problems also were at hand. Schwartzman wanted to take several of the Jewish hostages for services with his own congregation in a nearby town. The idea was nixed by higher ups in the armed forces, who wanted the opportunity to completely de-brief the hostages in a controlled environment.

Schwartzman offered to bring the congregation to Ramstein Air Base. His superiors agreed.

So, surrounded by a group of people immersed in Jewish culture and tradition, Schwartzman conducted services for hostages who had been deprived of every semblance of religious for almost two years.

"These were moments that you can never forget, that go to the heart of your faith," recollected Schwartzman.

A long way from Germany, Schwartzman has now set his sight on B’nai Chaim in South Jeffco, in a county almost 500,000 strong, with only a modest Jewish population. Schwartzman plans to make every effort to both lead his new congregation, and be a productive part of the community.

He hopes to take this wisdom and apply it to his new position, in a congregation deep in the heart of an area still raw with open wounds from the 1999 Columbine shootings.

After providing spiritual guidance to thousands of servicemen, women, and families around the world, Schwartzman understands that problems in the civilian world are often similar to problems in the armed forces. Strikingly similar.

"Home, family, sexuality issues, abuse, alcohol, the military probably has the same cross-section of problems as most people do," said Schwartzman. There are exceptions.

Schwartzman saw it in Desert Storm, and gives the chaplain core a lot of credit for work done arising from this Middle East confrontation.

"We saw a lot of frightened people who were facing imminent actions," said Schwartzman, which would prompt servicemen to sometimes turn to their faith for help and comfort. "It was hard for people to look ahead and possibly see their own death."

"And for every young, scared and hurt member of his congregation that he would see, Schwartzman tried to learn from his experiences, carefully chalking up lesson after lesson, hoping to never make the same mistake twice.

Sometimes these lessons can be easily extracted from the Torah; other lessons are much more difficult, often embarrassing moments which test Schwartzman’s faith to the core. Like issues of honesty and betrayal.

"I took a group of Jewish Air Force cadets to Israel, at the invitation of the Israeli air Force," noted Schwartzman, proud to be part of such a novel and groundbreaking program.

At the end of the tour, their Israeli hosts discreetly pointed out that several pillowcases had been stolen. Schwartzman demanded that the guilty U.S. Air Force cadet or cadets step forward. Nobody moved.

Finally, when he threatened to go through everyone’s luggage, piece by piece, two cadets admitted they had taken the pillowcases, which were emblazoned with Israeli armed forces insignia. Schwartzman was furious.

"I finally understood what it felt like to be a Bedouin chieftain," said Schwartzman. "I almost wanted to take them out in the back and shoot them!" he continued, though never seriously entertaining the idea.

The two cadets were thrown off the tour, left to find their own way home.

For every moment when life as an air Force chaplain pushed the limits of his faith, Schwartzman almost beams when he touches upon one of the pinnacles of his military career: giving the Invocation and Benediction at Arlington National Cemetery, in front of the most powerful politicians in the country and a television audience estimated at over 30 million.

"It was a heady experience," remembered Schwartzman, somewhat intimated by the prospect that President Clinton, the Secretary of Defense, Air Force Chief of Staff and others would be in attendance. He was anxious to get everything just right.

Minutes before the ceremony started, the top button of his uniform fell off. Schwartzman was beside himself, no needle and thread, without a spare uniform to use. The Director of Arlington National Cemetery jumped to his aid. A safety pin. It worked.

Retiring from the United States Air Force a full colonel on Sept 1, 1998, Schwartzman comes to B’nai Chaim after working as an associate rabbi at Temple Sinai, one of Denver’s most respected Jewish congregations.

Much like every new assignment in his military career, Schwartzman plans to undertake his new position in a careful, methodical way, getting to know the habits, traditions and ways that are important to his 75-family congregation.

And he will start the rewarding, time-consuming process of getting to know each and every member of his congregation, for the births, deaths, and every other trouble and joy that can afflict his fellow man. Tending to the needs of many, Schwartzman knows, begins with understanding the needs of individuals.

"It may sound hokey," said Schwartzman, "but I do believe in the old saying, ‘He who saves one life saves the entire universe.’"