Mutual respect is a true gift in the holiday season

Christmas cards that come from readers are all deeply appreciated here, but the one that most touches the heart is the one that no longer arrives, not since Eric was buried in New Eng- land’s premier Jewish cemetery, Sharon Memorial Park, which he designed.

Born in Austria, he was as Jewish as King David and as generous as Santa Claus. The files at Combined Jewish Philanthropies will attest to that.

But long before he found freedom and prosperity in America, Eric would experience the darkest side of humanity as a prisoner in the Nazi concentration camps at Dachau and Buchenwald.

It was in Dachau where his faith distinguished him on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, a day of fasting.

“There was discussion in the camp,” he recalled. “Should we eat? Can we eat? When a rabbi in our group noted our faith allowed for eating if eating were essential for sustaining life, the others ate.”

Eric did not, choosing to forego the morning’s crusty piece of bread and the evening’s watery bowl of soup. His faith meant that much to him.

By the time our paths crossed he was 87. At the end of that first meeting, when he was thanked for taking the time to talk, he said, “No, I thank you! You don’t know what it means to someone like me to tell my story to someone like you, because now I know that when I’m gone there’ll be one more person who heard it from an eyewitness.”

That’s when Eric became a staple of this column because the sharing of his story, especially at Passover, the celebration of freedom, felt like a sacred trust. Every time he’d read a piece telling of his passion for freedom, he’d send an elegant necktie.

He was 97 when he died 13 years ago, but those columns have never stopped.

What was just as moving as Eric’s story were the Christmas cards that began arriving from him in 1994. They were festive, bearing scenes from Bethlehem, featuring angels, wise men and shepherds, while cards mailed to him from here bore brightly illuminated menorahs.

We exchanged them every year around this time.

What did they represent? Mutual admiration? Certainly. But most of all, it was an unspoken understanding that we don’t have to agree on everything to share mutual respect. What a timeless lesson.

As for honoring seemingly different faiths — it was also a mute reminder that the God who made the oil last was the God of the manger, too.

Happy Hanukkah. And Merry Christmas.