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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.
Discussion (9)
MODERATOR
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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.
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Good counsel, Rodin. I'm working toward finding that balance. It's much easier with the Oct. 7 incident to focus on the survivors.
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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.
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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!
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