The Jewish Cardinal

Yesterday I watched *The Jewish Cardinal,* French with subtitles, a pretty good biopic about the life of His Eminence Jean-Marie Lustiger, the Jewish Holocaust survivor who became a Catholic and rose to the office of Cardinal Archbishop of Paris. I had always admired his courage, but knew few details of his life.In one powerful scene, he visits Auschwitz during the controversy of the Catholic nuns who had a convent on the grounds. As took in the terrible reality of the place, he fell to his knees, crying out over and over the plain facts of his mother's name, her murder there, and the date. His agony pierced my heart, and I began to cry. My granddaughter, Sophie, who was watching with me, asked what he was saying. I tried to explain, but I could hardly speak. "He's crying for his mother, who died there. During World War II, bad men killed many people . It's very sad." Then I lost control and had to wipe the tears away. Sophie hid her face behind a pillow. She'd never seen Grandma cry before. I almost never cry, in fact. Stoic, stiff upper lip, carrying on regardless, which makes me good in emergencies, but perhaps not so good at empathy. But this film grabbed me. Heartily recommended. On Netflix.