One night, there was to be a catholic service in the compound´s chapel. A Bavarian guy I had met on the road from tel Aviv, Ralph, and I were the only young people around, and the Mother Superior invited us to Mass most cordially. I was reluctant at first. Being of Lutheran confession I didn´t want to participate and embarrass myself in a ceremony the rules of which I didn´t know. Ralph however, catholic to the core like all Bavarians, accepted no excuses. And so to church I went, subdued, half dragged, unsure of what to expect.

When we arrived we found a small congregation. All in all, there were no more than 20 people. A few pilgrims, a priest and two nuns visiting from a monastery in Germany, the nuns of the school staff, the two of us, and the head of the school, an old priest who can only be described as saintly. Pater ("Father") Düsing was his name. He was a tall, slender man in his late 70s then. He had long, silvery white hair and a beard of the same shining colour. Most of the tmes I had met him, this beard framed a heartfelt smile that would light up the things and people around him. When we had talked in the living room hall of the castle house one afternoon, I told him I was a soldier on temporary escape. He laughed and answered, yes, he knew what I meant. He had been a Feldwebel, a German non-commissioned officer, in the war.

We hadn´t fully arrived at the chapel that night when Pater Düsing stepped up to me and asked if I wouldn´t like to do the Reading. I had no real idea what that meant, but I knew I could read, so I said yes. As the service started, I kept an eye on Ralph and did what he did with two seconds delay. When the Reading was due, the Pater smiled and waved me close with his hand. I saw the book lying open, and with trembling voice I read aloud what was written there.

Then, afterwards, the Pater ascended the pulpit and began the sermon. He talked to us with the smile he always wore, and his voice was full of certainty. He didn´t speak about ideas or ideals - to be fair, I don´t remember what he actually spoke about, content-wise. But what he did and what I remember is that he transmitted the word of God, with an unfailing sincerity that gripped me by the throat. He spoke of God as if he had just met him at the bus stop. As if God was a close friend, a neighbour who we all knew and liked and who, more than anything, we all had met and seen many times. No ifs, no interpretations, not the shadow of a doubt.

I had never been part of a ceremony so beautiful and real. I have never been to this day. When I returned home, again, I was saved.