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by Charles Colson



| Having accepted the possibility of death, Boris Kornfeld was now free to live. |

| ■ |

o reporters have visited the prison camps of So­viet Russia, unless they have gone as prisoners. So to this day we have little information about the millions who have lived, suffered, and died there, especial­ly during Stalin's reign of terror. Most will remain nameless for all time, remembered only in the hearts of those who knew and loved them. But from time to time, scraps of information have filtered out about a few. One of those few was Boris Nicholaye-vich Kornfeld.

Kornfeld was a medical doc­tor. From this we can guess a lit­tle about his background, for in post-revolutionary Russia such education never went to families tied in any way to czarist Russia. Probably his parents were social­ists who had fastened their hopes on the Revolution. They were al­so Jews, but almost certainly not Jews still hoping for the Mes­siah, for the name Boris and the patronymic Nicholayevich indi­cate they had taken Russian names in some past generation. Probably Kornfeld's forebears were Has-kalah, so-called "enlightened Jews," who accepted the philos­ophy of rationalism, cultivated a knowledge of the natural sciences, and devoted themselves to the

arts. In language, dress, and so­cial habits they tried to make themselves as much like their Russian neighbors as possible.

It was natural for such Jews to support Lenin's revolution, for the czars' vicious anti-Semitism had made life almost unendur­able for the prior two hundred years. Socialism promised some­thing much better for them than "Christian" Russia. "Christian" Russia had slaughtered Jews; per­haps atheistic Russia would save them.

A Cure for Communism

Obviously Kornfeld had fol­lowed in his parents' footsteps, believing in Communism as the path of historical necessity, for political prisoners at that time were not citizens opposed to Com­munism or wanting the Czar's re­turn. Such people were simply shot. Political prisoners were believers in the Revolution, social­ists or communists who had, nev­ertheless, not kept their allegiance to Stalin's leadership pure.

We do not know what crime Dr. Kornfeld committed, only that it was a political crime. Per­haps he dared one day to suggest to a friend that their leader, Sta­lin, was fallible; or maybe he was simply accused of harboring such




Kornfeld became appalled by the hatred he saw in his heart. It made the whole world a concentration camp.

thoughts. It took no more than that to become a prisoner in the Russia of the early 1950s; many died for less. At any rate, Korn­feld was imprisoned in a con­centration camp for political subversives at Ekibastuz.

Ironically, a few years behind barbed wire was a good cure for Communism. The senseless bru­tality, the waste of lives, the triv­ialities called criminal charges made men like Kornfeld doubt the glories of the system. Stripped of all past associations, of all that had kept them busy and secure, behind the wire prisoners had time to think. In such a place, thoughtful men like Boris Korn­feld found themselves reevaluat-ing beliefs they had held since childhood.

So it was that this Russian doctor abandoned all his socialistic ideals. In fact, he went further than that. He did something that would have horrified his forebears.

Boris Kornfeld became a Christian.

A Strange Alignment

While few Jews anywhere in the world find it easy to accept Jesus Christ as the true Messiah, a Russian Jew would find it even more difficult. For two centuries these Jews had known implacable hatred from the people who, they were told, were the most Chris­tian of all. Each move the Jews made to reconcile themselves or accommodate themselves to the Russians was met by new inven­tions of hatred and persecution, as when the head of the governing body of the Russian Orthodox


Church said he hoped that, as a result of the Russian pogroms, "one-third of the Jews will con­vert, one-third will die, and one-third will flee the country."

Yet following the Revolution a strange alignment occurred. Jo­seph Stalin demanded undivided, unquestioning loyalty to his gov­ernment; but both Jews and Christians knew their ultimate loyalty was to God. Consequent­ly people of both faiths suffered for their beliefs and frequently in the same camps.

Thus it was that Boris Korn­feld came in contact with a de­vout Christian, a well-educated and kind fellow prisoner who spoke of a Jewish Messiah who had come to keep the promises the Lord had made to Israel. This Christian—whose name we do not know—pointed out that Jesus had spoken almost solely to Jewish people and proclaimed that He came to the Jews first. That was consistent with God's

special concern for the Jews, the chosen ones; and, he explained, the Bible promised that a new kingdom of peace would come. This man often recited aloud the Lord's Prayer, and Kornfeld heard in those simple words a strange ring of truth.

The Jews and Jesus

The camp had stripped Korn­feld of everything, including his belief in salvation through social­ism. Now this man offered him hope—but in what form!

To accept Jesus Christ—to be­come one of those who had always persecuted his people—seemed a betrayal of his family, of all who had been before him. Kornfeld knew the Jews had suffered in­nocently. Jews were innocent in the days of the Cossacks! Inno­cent in the days of the czars! And he himself was innocent of be­traying Stalin; he had been im­prisoned unjustly.

But Kornfeld pondered what the Christian prisoner had told him. In one commodity, time, the doctor was rich.

Unexpectedly, he began to see the powerful parallels between the Jews and this Jesus. It had always been a scandal that God should entrust Himself in a unique way to one people, the Jews. Despite centuries of per­secution, their very existence in the midst of those who sought to destroy them was a sign of a Power greater than that of then-oppressors. It was the same with Jesus—that God would present Himself in the form of a man had always confounded the wisdom

MARCH 1985

of the world. To the proud and powerful, Jesus stood as a Sign, exposing their own limitations and sin. So they had to kill Him, just as those in power had to kill the Jews, in order to maintain their delusions of omnipotence. Thus, Stalin, the new god-head of the brave new world of the Revo­lution, had to persecute both Jew and Christian. Each stood as liv­ing proof of his blasphemous pre­tensions to power.

Only in the gulag could Boris Kornfeld begin to see such a truth. And the more he reflected upon it, the more it began to change him within.

A Victim of Hatred

Though a prisoner, Kornfeld lived in better conditions than most behind the wire. Other pris­oners were expendable, but doc­tors were scarce in the remote, isolated camps. The authorities could not afford to lose a physi­cian, for guards as well as prison­ers needed medical attention. And no prison officer wanted to end up in the hands of a doctor he had cruelly abused.

Kornfeld's resistance to the Christian message might have begun to weaken while he was in surgery, perhaps while working on one of those guards he had learned to loathe. The man had been knifed and an artery cut. While suturing the blood vessel, the doctor thought of tying the thread in such a way that it would reopen shortly after sur­gery. The guard would die quick­ly and no one would be the wiser.

The process of taking this par­ticular form of vengeance gave rein to the burning hatred Korn­feld had for the guard and all like him. How he despised his perse­cutors! He could gladly slaugh­ter them all!

And at that point, Boris Korn­feld became appalled by the ha­tred and violence he saw in his own heart. Yes, he was a victim of

hatred as his ancestors had been. But that hatred had spawned an insatiable hatred of his own. What a deadly predicament! He was trapped by the very evil he despised. What freedom could he ever know with his soul impris­oned by this murderous hate? It made the whole world a concen­tration camp.

As Kornfeld began to retie the sutures properly, he found him­self, almost unconsciously, re­peating the words he had heard from his fellow prisoner. "For­give us our trespasses, as we for­give those who trespass against us." Strange words in the mouth of a Jew. Yet he could not help praying them. Having seen his own evil heart, he had to pray for cleansing. And he had to pray to a God who had suffered as he had: Jesus.

Hopeless Tasks

For some time, Boris Kornfeld simply continued praying the Lord's Prayer while he carried

out his backbreaking, hopeless tasks as a camp doctor. Back-breaking because there were always far too many patients. Hopeless because the camp was designed to kill men. He stood in­effectively against the tide of death gaining on each prisoner: disease, cold, overwork, beatings, malnutrition.

Doctors in the camp's medical section were also asked to sign decrees for imprisonment in the punishment block. Any prisoner whom the authorities did not like or wanted out of the way was sent to this block—solitary con­finement in a tiny, dark, cold, tor­ture chamber of a cell. A doctor's signature on the forms certified that a prisoner was strong and healthy enough to withstand the punishment. This was, of course, a lie. Few emerged alive.

Like all the other doctors, Kornfeld had signed his share of forms. What was the difference? The authorities did not need the signatures anyway; they had many other ways of "legalizing" punishment. And a doctor who did not cooperate would not last long, even though doctors were scarce. But shortly after he began to pray for forgiveness, Dr. Kornfeld stopped authoriz­ing the punishment; he refused to sign the forms. Though he had signed hundreds of them, now he couldn't. Whatever had happened inside him would not permit him to do it.

Abuse of Power

This rebellion was bad enough, but Kornfeld did not stop there. He turned in an orderly.

The orderlies were drawn from a group of prisoners who cooper­ated with the authorities. As a reward for their cooperation, they were given jobs within the camp which were less than a death sentence. They became the cooks, bakers, clerks, and hospi­tal orderlies. The other prisoners




The persecuted Jew who once believed himself totally innocent was now saying that every man deserved his suffering.

hated them almost more than they hated the guards, for these prisoners were traitors; they could never be trusted. They stole food from the other prison­ers and would gladly kill anyone who tried to report them or give them trouble. Besides, the guards turned a blind eye to their abuses of power. People died in the camps every day; the authorities needed these quislings to keep the system running smoothly.

While making his rounds one day, Kornfeld came to one of his many patients suffering from pellagra, an all-too-common dis­ease in the camps. Malnutrition induced pellagra which, perverse­ly, made digestion nearly impos­sible. Victims literally starved to death.

This man's body showed the ravages of the disease. His face had become dark, one deep bruise. The skin was peeling off his hands; they had to be bandaged to staunch the incessant bleeding. Kornfeld had been giving the pa­tient chalk, good white bread, and herring to stop the diarrhea and get nutrients into his blood, but the man was too far gone. When the doctor asked the dying patient his name, the man could not even remember it.

Just after leaving this patient, Kornfeld came upon a hulking or­derly bent over the remains of a loaf of white bread meant for the pellagra patients. The man looked up shamelessly, his cheeks stuffed with food. Kornfeld had known about the stealing, had known it was one reason his patients did not recover, but his vivid memory of the dying man pierced him


now.   He  could  not  shrug his shoulders and go on.

A "Foolish" Complaint

Of course he could not blame the deaths simply on the theft of food. There were countless other reasons why his patients did not recover. The hospital stank of excrement and lacked proper facil­ities and supplies. He had to per­form surgery under conditions so primitive that often operations were little more than mercy kill­ings. It was preposterous to stand on principle in the situa­tion, particularly when he knew what the orderly might do to him

in return. But the doctor had to be obedient to what he now be­lieved. Once again the change in his life was making a difference. When Kornfeld reported the orderly to the commandant, the officer found his complaint very curious. There had been a recent rash of murders in the camp; each victim had been a "stoolie." It was foolish—dangerously so at this time—to complain about any­one. But the commandant put the orderly in the punishment block for three days, taking the com­plaint with a perverse satisfac­tion. Kornfeld's refusal to sign the punishment forms was becoming a nuisance; this would save the com­mandant some trouble. The doctor had arranged his own execution.

Free to Live

Boris Kornfeld was not an es­pecially brave man. He knew his life would be in danger as soon as the orderly was released from the cell block. Sleeping in the bar­racks, controlled at night by the camp-chosen prisoners, would mean certain death. So the doc­tor began staying in the hospital, catching sleep when and where he could, living in a strange twi­light world where any moment might be his last.

But, paradoxically, along with this anxiety came tremendous freedom. Having accepted the possibility of death, Boris Korn­feld was now free to live. He signed no more papers or docu­ments sending men to their deaths. He no longer turned his eyes from cruelty or shrugged his shoulders when he saw injustice. He said what he wanted and did

MARCH 1985

what he could. And soon he real­ized that the anger and hatred and violence in his own soul had vanished. He wondered whether there lived another man in Russia who knew such freedom!

Now Boris Kornfeld wanted to tell someone about his discovery, about this new life of obedience and freedom. The Christian who had talked to him about Jesus had been transferred to another camp, so the doctor waited for the right person and the right moment.

One gray afternoon he exam­ined a patient who had just been operated on for cancer of the in­testines. This young man with a melon-shaped head and a hurt, little-boy expression touched the soul of the doctor. The man's eyes were sorrowful and suspicious and his face deeply etched by the years he had already spent in the camps, reflecting a depth of spir­itual misery and emptiness Korn­feld had rarely seen.

So the doctor began to talk to the patient, describing what had happened to him. Once the tale began to spill out, Kornfeld could not stop.

An Incredible Confession

The patient missed the first part of the story, for he was drift­ing in and out of the anesthesia's influence, but the doctor's ardor caught his concentration and held it, though he was shaking with fever. All through the afternoon and late into the night, the doctor talked, describing his conversion to Christ and his new-found freedom.

Very late, with the perime­ter lights in the camp glazing the windowpanes, Kornfeld con-C fessed to the patient: "On the whole, you know, I have become convinced that there is no pun­ishment that comes to us in this life on earth which is undeserved. Superficially, it can have nothing to do with what we are guilty of

in actual fact, but if you go over
your life with a fine-tooth comb
and ponder it deeply, you will
always be able to hunt down that
transgression of yours for which
you have now received this
blow."                                      v.

Imagine! The persecuted Jew who once believed himself totally innocent now saying that every man deserved his suffering, what­ever it was.

The patient knew he was lis­tening to an incredible confes­sion. Though the pain from his operation was severe, his stom­ach a heavy, expansive agony of molten lead, he hung on the doc­tor's words until he fell asleep.

The young patient awoke ear­ly the next morning to the sound of running feet and a commotion in the area of the operating room. His first thought was of the doc­tor, but his new friend did not come. Then the whispers of a fel­low patient told him of Kornfeld's fate.

During the night, while the doctor, slept, someone had crept up beside him and dealt him eight blows on the head with a plasterer's mallet. And though his fellow doctors worked val­iantly to save him, in the morn­ing the orderlies carried him out, a still, broken form.

But Kornfeld's testimony did not die.

The patient pondered the doc­tor's last, impassioned words. As a result, he, too, became a Chris­tian. He survived that prison camp and went on to tell the world what he had learned there.

The patient's name was Alex­ander Solzhenitsyn. □

Taken from LOVING GOD, by Charles Colson. Copyright ©1983 by Charles W. Colson. Used by permission of Zondervan Pub­lishing House.

Editor's note from Loving God: All the stories in this book are true. In some, names have been changed; in others, edi­torial liberties have been taken to combine certain events for purposes of clarity or illustration. In one case, the use of allegory proved the most effective literary device to make the point. But in all instances the events underlying the stories are true. Background details have been researched as thoroughly as possible, although at times inferences were drawn from the limited facts avail­able. Where that is the case, it is made evident in the text.

Charles   Colson,

who was a spe­cial counsel to President Nix­on from 1969 to 1973, received Christ shortly before serving seven months in federal prison for his involvement in Watergate. Following his re­lease, he established Prison Fel­lowship, a ministry to inmates and their families. He has written three books, Born Again, Life Sentence, and Loving God.




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