Life Goes Forward

February 20, 2009
Rabbi Seymour Rossel

      Honoring the 200th anniversary of Lincoln's birth last week I spoke about Lincoln's eloquence and the importance of words in our public and private life. Tonight, I have a few words about Lincoln's humanity.

      The White House was a friendly institution in Lincoln's time. Anyone could arrive and request to see the president; and the president spent whole days with citizens and senators, soldiers and governors.

      One time, a judge came to tell Lincoln about a soldier who had been convicted of cowardice under fire. In the middle of a battle, this soldier had thrown down his gun to hide behind a tree stump until the shooting was over. At his court martial, the soldier offered no defense. As the judge explained to Lincoln, the verdict was simple for the man had no living parents, no children, and, since he was also a petty thief, he even had no friends. How righteously this fellow deserved to be put to death. "He will serve the country as an example," the judge concluded, "better dead than living."

      Lincoln thought about this awhile, then he said, "Well, after all, Judge, I think I'll have to put this with my ‘leg cases.'"

      "Leg cases?" the Judge asked. "What do you mean by ‘leg cases,' sir?"

      "Why, Judge," said Lincoln, "do you see those papers crowded into those pigeonholes? They are cases that you call by the long name, ‘cowardice in the face of the enemy,' but I call them for short my ‘leg cases.' I put it to you, and I leave it for you to decide for yourself: if Almighty God gives a man a cowardly pair of legs, how can he help their running away with him?"

      Lincoln was so well-known for his merciful heart that many came to plead with him. The Civil War was the most terrible kind of disaster imaginable. Thousands were killed in some battles and hundreds of thousands died in the course of the struggle. Against this, Lincoln struggled to maintain his humanity, to preserve every life he could. Throughout the war, Secretary Stanton and the commanding generals complained bitterly that his many pardons threatened to undermine military discipline; and, at times, hard as it was for him, Lincoln tried to cooperate with the military and to be sympathetic to their point of view.

      One time, a rabbi came to the White House to plead for a young Jewish soldier about to be executed, along with a number of his friends, for desertion. Lincoln was in a cabinet meeting when the rabbi came, but the urgency was great, so the rabbi was allowed to send a Bible into the meeting room, marked at Deuteronomy 20:8, along with the request for a pardon for the Jewish soldier. Now, that verse from Deuteronomy reads "‘Absolve, O Lord, Your people Israel whom You redeemed, and do not let guilt for the blood of the innocent remain among Your people Israel.' And they will be absolved of bloodguilt."

      Lincoln soon came out of the Cabinet Meeting to greet the rabbi. He was chuckling, as he asked, "My dear rabbi, your request for a pardon and the passage you asked me to read beg the larger issue. Are you asking only on behalf of the Jewish soldier? Or shall I also have to pardon the Methodist, the Catholic, and the Lutheran, too?" Faced with the impossibility of undermining his general completely by pardoning every one of the soldiers condemned to die, Lincoln turned away the disappointed rabbi. But this was the exception, not the rule.

      A more typical example occurred when an old man asked Lincoln to grant his son a pardon. "I am sorry," Lincoln said, "I can do nothing for you. Just yesterday, General Butler sent me this telegram. Let me read it to you: ‘President Lincoln, I pray you not to interfere with the courts-martial of the army. You will destroy all discipline among our soldiers.'"

      Greatly disappointed, the old father's face fell. But when Lincoln saw his hopeless despair, he cried: "By jingo! Butler or not Butler, here goes!" He took his pen and wrote out an order and showed it to the old man: It said, "Job Smith is not to be shot until further orders from me. [Signed,] A. Lincoln."

      The father was still upset."Why, I thought you would write a pardon," he said. "According to this, you may order my son shot next week."

      "Dear friend," said Lincoln, "I see you do not know me well. If your son's death is to be delayed until orders come from me to shoot him, your son will live to be a great deal older than Methuselah."

      Another time, Thaddeus Stevens, a congressman from Pennsylvania who had often criticized Lincoln for granting too many pardons, brought a woman from his own state to the White House to plead the case of a boy condemned to death for sleeping at his post. Lincoln listened carefully, then he turned to Stevens. "Now, Thad," he said, "what would you do in this case, if you happened to be President?"

      Stevens knew he was cornered. He felt uncomfortable about all his past criticism of the president's many pardons, but he had to reply that, given the lad's age and the suffering of his mother, he would surely pardon the boy.

      Lincoln then reached for a piece of paper, wrote on it, and handed it to the woman. "Here, madam," he said, "is your son's pardon."

      Stevens escorted the grateful woman to the outer door of the White House, where she turned to him and exclaimed: "I knew it was a lie! I knew it was a lie!" "What do you mean?" asked Stevens.

      The woman explained: "When I left home yesterday, my neighbors told me that I would find Mr. Lincoln an ugly man. It was a lie; he is the handsomest man I ever saw in my life!"

      One last example is the case of a Jewish fellow by the name of David Levy, who was pardoned by Lincoln, but his pardon and the strange circumstances surrounding it did not emerge until after the war was over and the President had been deceased for 37 years! It happened like this:

      In 1902, Levy applied to the Pension Bureau for a Civil War pension. But the pension was refused because his name was on the books of the War Department as a deserter. The records indicated that Levy first enlisted in April of 1861 and served to July of the same year, when he was mustered out. He enlisted again in August of 1861, but was recorded as a deserter on February 22, 1863.

      When he received the notice that his deserter status kept him from claiming any pension, he wrote to the Bureau saying that he had been personally pardoned for his desertion by President Lincoln and he included in the envelope a small card, the kind that Lincoln habitually used for official business. The card was in Lincoln's well-known handwriting, dated January 12, 1865, and inscribed: "If David Levy shall enlist and serve faithfully for one year or until otherwise honorably discharged I will pardon him for the past. [Signed] A. Lincoln."

      So it came to pass, even as late as 1902, that Lincoln's mercy was still honored by the Commissioner of Pensions and David Levy's pardon was recognized and his pension was granted.

      When times get tough, the proverb goes, the tough get going. But it is not toughness that is best for bringing us through the hard times. It is the warmth and comfort we bring to those around us by keeping our eyes on the best we can do for our neighbors, our friends, and our families; and by not losing our humanity, our concern for one another. With Lincoln as a guide, we should always place our greatest concern on life itself. Lincoln himself once spoke some words to live by: "I am a slow walker," he said, "but I never walk backwards." And so may it be for all of us. No matter what pace we walk, may we ever walk forward with our lives. And let us say: Amen.