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Obsessed with Tragedy
For many years, I was intrigued with the tragedies of the Jewish people. My obsession began in grade school, when I heard stories and read books about the Holocaust: the camps, the torture, the medical experiments, the transport trains. Once I entered college, and afterward, my preoccupation with stories continued and intensified after studying in Israel for one year (1967-1968), between the Israeli wars. I rode on the buses listening to the reports that military jets had returned safely. While I was there, there were bombings and ongoing military action. And on my way home from Israel, I visited Dachau, one of the concentration camps—an unbelievable visit. All of these experiences have been central to who I have become as a woman, a Jew and a human being.
But there was one question that I could never answer for myself. Since I didn’t take a scholarly approach to learning about these tragedies, what was my fascination about? Why was I called to watch movies about the Holocaust? About the Warsaw ghetto? About Treblinka? About Auschwitz? What motivated me to read Elie Wiesel’s Night, or Yaffa Eliach’s, There Once Was a World, along with endless other books? Did I get some sort of sick satisfaction from learning about the suffering of others?
Why did I continue to read and watch and contemplate these testimonies and events?
As I sit here at my desk, I realize there is a part of me that feels as if I must carry the wounds of the people who suffered and died. I must be their testament to the horror that human beings can inflict upon one another. I must bear witness to the stories of pain, the nightmares, the tragedies that Jews and others who were punished by the Nazis endured. I refused to give up on trying to understand how such evil could exist.
At one point, about ten years ago, I paused my active engagement in this topic. I was saturated. Overwhelmed. Nauseated. Angry. I quit a book club because most of the books they read were about the Holocaust; they couldn’t understand my unwillingness to participate.
I don’t remember the last time I saw a movie or read a book about the Holocaust. But then, the October 7 Holocaust occurred. It was not a movie I could turn away from, or a story I could read about from an emotional distance. For some reason, the call to bear witness spoke to me once again. So, I read some of the books of survivors of October 7, mostly personal stories from people who were in the kibbutzim. I never did watch the Hamas videos of their heinous acts of rape and murder. And recently I had the opportunity to watch a movie called October 8, and I let that one pass me by.
At 75 years old, I think I have seen the last movie and read the last book I will take in about the Holocaust. I feel as if I can no longer live my own blessed and fortunate life unless I store these stories in a safe and treasured psychic archive.
The wounds will still be present for me, but I can choose to embrace life in the memory of all of those victims.
Published in General
The layers of sorrow if applied persistently becomes a crushing weight that no one can stand. That is the impetus behind “gallows humor” — a psychic relief from tribulation. Also, focusing on the survivors rather than the sacrifice of the dead dishonors no one. Memory can only persist as a collective, as otherwise it is eventually extinguished. Do not take on more than “your share” and do not apportion that share too generously.
Good counsel, Rodin. I’m working toward finding that balance. It’s much easier with the Oct. 7 incident to focus on the survivors.
I first became aware, really aware, of the Holocaust when watching Thames Television’s “The World at War” with my dad. That sparked a reading frenzy, devouring everything I could find about the subject. I was particularly interested in the resistance, both Jewish and especially non-Jewish. Corrie Ten Boom, Raoul Wallenberg, people who could have stood to one side, but didn’t. Some of them paid for their actions with their lives. I was curious as to exactly when they made that fateful decision, and what drove it.
I remember one elderly Eastern European couple being interviewed about their activities. The interviewer was on the same vein I found myself on.
Paraphrased from an always suspect memory:
Interviewer: “You were in incredible danger, yet you undertook this realizing that you could be arrested at any time.”
Wife: “We hadn’t really thought about that, I guess…”
Husband: “Yes. It was a very foolish thing to do.”
Then they looked at each other, and started to giggle.
I wish I could find that interview again.
I read Corrie Ten Boom’s book, too. And recently I did see a movie about Wallenberg. (We picked it at random on Prime Video, so I didn’t know what I was getting into!) Ten Boom and all the righteous gentiles were amazing people, and we have many we can be grateful to. Thanks!
And I would love to see that interview, too!
For some reason, my Facebook page recently started sending me “Auschwitz Memorial” posts. Basically pictures and stories of individuals who were interned there; some survived, most perished of course. Most are heartbreaking to read, but necessary IMHO.
I’m glad you see that as worthwhile, Old Phil. We want to make sure that people never forget.
Your note is a helpful observation about how things change. Museums, especially war related museums fascinated me for years. More and more when I go to them and see the weapons designed to rip human bodies to shreds or burn them beyond recognition I am sickened. Why do we create these things to maim each other?
Because other people have them and use them. Ours should be scary enough to keep them from trying. If not, they should be effective enough to dissuade them. With alacrity.
You remind me that after visiting Yom HaZikaron in Israel, their Holocaust Museum, I’ve never been to a Holocaust Museum. After the pictures at Dachau, it was enough.