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I was recently going through my late father’s papers from his Army Air Force service in World War II and came across an envelope postmarked Wichita Falls, Texas, Dec. 9, 1943 (one month before his 20th birthday).
It was addressed to Mrs. Elias Atlas, my grandmother, in Shreveport, Louisiana. The printed return address said, “Chaplain Albert S. Goldstein, Sheppard Field, Texas.”
My father had been stationed at that base for training before shipping off to the Aleutian Islands, where he spent the duration of the war serving as a firefighter on a crash crew.
When I turned the envelope over, to my astonishment, I discovered that it had never been opened. I have no idea why my grandmother didn’t open it or why my father had it in his possession. I opened the envelope and withdrew a letter that looked like it was typed yesterday, not over 82 years ago.
Written on Chaplain Goldstein’s letterhead, it read as follows:
“My Dear Mrs. Atlas:
“I thought you would like to know that I have had the pleasure of meeting your son, Raphael.
“It is my hope that I may be helpful to him in his adjustment to his new environment and in maintaining welcome relations with other Jewish soldiers on this field and with the civilian Jewish community of Wichita Falls.
“I am always at his service and yours,” signed Albert S. Goldstein, Chaplain, USA.
This never-read letter to a mother from an Army chaplain, promising to look after her son, underscores how important both faith identity and the Chaplain Corps are to the American military.
Reading the letter brought back memories of my own. I entered Army basic training at Fort Dix, New Jersey, in late 1987.
Every Sunday morning, the drill sergeants would have us fall in and see who wanted to go to church services.
Those who said yes were formed into three groups: Catholics, Mormons, and “all other Christians,” who were then informed that they were Protestants. Those who didn’t want to go to church, including me, remained in the barracks and were given light duties.
I knew that the Jewish High Holidays (Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur) were coming up, and I went to the head drill sergeant to ask if I could go to services. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but he was thrilled and arranged a car to take me each day.
Those services, led by a Jewish Army chaplain who, like me, was wearing camouflage battle dress, remain among the most moving of my life.
Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth recently cut the number of recognized faith identities in the military from over 200 to just 31 and categorized the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints as non-Christian. The angry backlash from Mormons in Congress led Hegseth to reclassify LDS as a Christian faith.
Hegseth has a record of animosity toward religious diversity in the military, openly favoring evangelical Protestantism. In a Bulwark essay denouncing Hegseth’s firing of the Army chief of chaplains in April, retired Gen. Mark Hertling explained why both chaplains and religious inclusivity should not be undermined:
“The Army Chaplain Corps exists within a uniquely American framework grounded in the First Amendment, which guarantees both the free exercise of religion and the prohibition against its establishment by the state. … Chaplains help leaders and soldiers hold [the high] ground — not by elevating one belief above others, but by ensuring that every soldier has the right guidance when they wrestle with questions of faith, doubt, duty, and purpose.”•
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Atlas, a political scientist, is a senior lecturer at the Paul H. O’Neill School of Public and Environmental Affairs at Indiana University-Indianapolis. His opinions do not necessarily reflect those of Indiana University. Send comments to [email protected].
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It seems you worked awfully hard to make what could have been an honest mistake, something more nefarious. I’m glad the military services respect religious beliefs.