“I Will Never Open a Siddur Again”: The Untold Spiritual Crisis of Nazi Hunter Simon Wiesenthal

Following the liberation, Wiesenthal was taken to a recovery camp in Linz. In April 1946, when American liberators established a small synagogue and brought a Torah scroll from the United States for a dedication ceremony, Wiesenthal refused to attend.

"I told my friends I would not take part," he recalled. "I could not tell them that I never wanted to see a Rabbi again. I could not forget the greedy man who traded faith for food. I was finished with such people."

That night, Wiesenthal was visited by Rabbi Eliezer Silver, the President of the Union of Orthodox Rabbis of the U.S. and Canada, who had come to Europe to assist survivors. Dressed in an American military uniform with a flowing white beard, the 75-year-old Rabbi placed a hand on Wiesenthal’s shoulder.

"So, they tell me you are angry with God?" Rabbi Silver asked in Yiddish.

Wiesenthal replied that he wasn't angry with God, but with one of His servants. He then recounted the horrific story of the Hungarian Rabbi and the soup rations.

Rabbi Silver listened, his eyes glowing with kindness. "And that is all you have to tell me?" the Rabbi asked.

"Is it not enough?" Wiesenthal challenged.

"You fool," the Rabbi replied gently. "Why do you only remember the one bad man who took something from the good people? Why don't you remember the hundreds of good people who were willing to give up their life-sustaining food just to talk to God for five minutes?"

The realization hit Wiesenthal like a thunderbolt. He had focused on the darkness of the seller rather than the magnificent light of the buyers, the starving Jews whose thirst for holiness outweighed their hunger for bread.

The next morning, Simon Wiesenthal attended the prayer service. He spent the rest of his life remembering that there are always two sides to every story, "even if it is as difficult to see as the other side of the moon."