MANILA, Philippines _ The words of a centuries-old prayer rose in the balmy air and echoed over the graves, hypnotic in the rhythms of ancient Aramaic but no less weighty in translation:
Glorified and sanctified be God's great name throughout the world.
The kaddish, the Jewish prayer of mourning, had rarely if ever been spoken at this vast American military cemetery in southern Manila, the final resting place of 17,058 U.S. soldiers from the Second World War.
Atop a quiet plateau, the names of young service members who lost their lives in the Philippines and South Pacific, oft-forgotten battlefields of the deadliest conflict in history, are etched on row upon row of identical white marble gravestones _ nearly all in the shape of the Latin cross, the symbol of Christianity.
But not all the Americans laid to rest here are Christians.
At least five Jewish soldiers were buried under a cross when they were entitled to a Star of David on their gravestones. Many of their relatives, living halfway around the world, had no idea. The U.S. military blames clerical errors, miscommunication with families or incorrect information in the records of the soldiers, some of whom may have concealed their faith.
The mistakes stood for decades _ until a group of Jewish scholars and researchers launched a project to correct the record at U.S. military cemeteries around the world. In solemn ceremonies Wednesday, five crosses in Manila were lifted from the emerald lawns and replaced with Jewish stars.
On them were inscribed the names of 1st Lt. Robert S. Fink of New York; Pvt. Allan C. Franken of Hartford, Conn.; Sgt. Jack Gilbert of New York; Pvt. Arthur Waldman of Detroit and Pvt. Louis Wolf of Philadelphia.
"Anyone visiting these cemeteries should recognize that Jews have been part and parcel of America, have been committed to America, have loved America, have volunteered to fight for America _ and have made the ultimate sacrifice for America," said Rabbi Jacob J. Schacter, a historian at Yeshiva University in New York and co-founder of the project, Operation Benjamin.
Vicki Katz, a lawyer from Torrance, Calif., stood under a broad tree beside the grave of Pvt. Waldman, her great-uncle. Her mother and grandmother had barely spoken of him over the years. Katz eventually learned he'd been captured by Japanese forces and survived the Bataan Death March across the Philippines, only to starve to death at a Tokyo prison camp in 1944.
But no one in the family had seen where he was buried until now.
"My entire family is grateful to Operation Benjamin for giving us the opportunity to get to know Arthur," Katz told the gathering, "and to honor his service by correctly marking his grave."
Hands clasped over a blue patterned dress, Katz and her husband, Rich, watched as Philippine cemetery workers hauled away the old gravestone and planted the new one in its concrete saddle, drawing a string atop the star to place it in line with the neighboring crosses.
An Air Force chaplain led the mourners in reciting the kaddish:
Blessed be He, beyond all the blessings and hymns, praises and consolations that are ever spoken in the world.
"Amen," they responded.
For soldiers buried in a distant land who never received a memorial service _ certainly never a Jewish one _ the ceremony restored a connection to their faith that had been lost to history. The star is the physical affirmation, the kaddish the spiritual one.
"Arthur, on behalf of the Jewish people," Schacter said when the prayer ended, "we are honored to welcome you home."
