Thoughts on Holocaust Remembrance Day
My brother sent me the following. The first part is an email from an Israeli relative of ours; the second is his response.
Holocaust Remembrance Day was Thursday, but it doesn't really matter when we remember, just that we do.
Today is "Holocaust Remembrance Day" in Israel. All media programs are about this sad period in Jewish history, all newspapers are full of it, and a short while ago, at 10.00 o"clock, the sirens went off all over the country. No, it was not an air raid or terrorist action - it lasted for two minutes and all (most) movement in the country stopped. It was for remembering the six million dead during the holocaust, and cars stopped in the streets, people stood still wherever they were at this moment.
I was alone at home, but even so I stood up and tried to think of the millions of Jews so brutally murdered by the Nazis during World War II, but for some reason I could only think of my own immediate family - my parents, my elder brother and sister. And I tried hard to remember what they looked like, but I couldn't see their faces in my mind. I was a ten year old child when I last saw them, the only one in the family to survive the war - and suddenly I felt my eyes filling with tears. I felt so terrible about this, my own private sorrow. And I feel guilty that during those two minutes of silence my thought were not about the other 6 million murdered.
There is no other subject I can write about today, so will close my blog. Shalom from Irene
Dear Irene,
I will not speak to you about "survivor's guilt" and all of that; there has been much that has been written on the subject and I'm sure you've read and heard more than enough of it.
I will tell you, all the same, that you are blameless, in the focus of your sorrow on your own loss. The victims of the Holocaust are not only those who died, nor even those who were in the camps or in forced labor who survived to liberation. The victims number far more than six million, they include every person who lost someone she loved. They include every person who was born with a grandparent, or grandparents, who were already taken from us. They include every person who suffered, because someone close to him had been damaged in one way or another by this horrible plague. The victims include those who participated in the slaughter, and those who "learned" from this horror that such a thing is possible, and the victims of each new plague of hatred and murder, in Tibet, in Cambodia, in Bosnia, in Darfur, in far too many places. The victims even include those whose minds are so twisted by hate that they feel the need to deny that this monstrous campaign never happened.
Martin Buber wrote that, "In each person there is a priceless treasure that is in no other." Each life lost was, in its own way, irreplaceable; each priceless treasure cast into the flames impoverished many lives that could have shared it.
If there is anyone who can truly mourn for all of these victims, anyone who can really comprehend the enormity of the loss and at the same time feel and understand each individual loss, he or she is far, far more holy than I could ever hope to become.
So -- if my mourning focuses for the most part on the priceless treasures that were taken from my life -- in my case, before my life even began -- I will accept that my sorrow is less than "perfect," and that this is no more than human, and no less.
Shalom,
Barry
ETA: I found out who Irene is. She's the widow of my Mom's first cousin, whose father (my grandmother's oldest brother) died in a concentration camp.
I also wanted to give explicit permission for this to be shared, either by linking here or by copying to email.
Holocaust Remembrance Day was Thursday, but it doesn't really matter when we remember, just that we do.
Today is "Holocaust Remembrance Day" in Israel. All media programs are about this sad period in Jewish history, all newspapers are full of it, and a short while ago, at 10.00 o"clock, the sirens went off all over the country. No, it was not an air raid or terrorist action - it lasted for two minutes and all (most) movement in the country stopped. It was for remembering the six million dead during the holocaust, and cars stopped in the streets, people stood still wherever they were at this moment.
I was alone at home, but even so I stood up and tried to think of the millions of Jews so brutally murdered by the Nazis during World War II, but for some reason I could only think of my own immediate family - my parents, my elder brother and sister. And I tried hard to remember what they looked like, but I couldn't see their faces in my mind. I was a ten year old child when I last saw them, the only one in the family to survive the war - and suddenly I felt my eyes filling with tears. I felt so terrible about this, my own private sorrow. And I feel guilty that during those two minutes of silence my thought were not about the other 6 million murdered.
There is no other subject I can write about today, so will close my blog. Shalom from Irene
Dear Irene,
I will not speak to you about "survivor's guilt" and all of that; there has been much that has been written on the subject and I'm sure you've read and heard more than enough of it.
I will tell you, all the same, that you are blameless, in the focus of your sorrow on your own loss. The victims of the Holocaust are not only those who died, nor even those who were in the camps or in forced labor who survived to liberation. The victims number far more than six million, they include every person who lost someone she loved. They include every person who was born with a grandparent, or grandparents, who were already taken from us. They include every person who suffered, because someone close to him had been damaged in one way or another by this horrible plague. The victims include those who participated in the slaughter, and those who "learned" from this horror that such a thing is possible, and the victims of each new plague of hatred and murder, in Tibet, in Cambodia, in Bosnia, in Darfur, in far too many places. The victims even include those whose minds are so twisted by hate that they feel the need to deny that this monstrous campaign never happened.
Martin Buber wrote that, "In each person there is a priceless treasure that is in no other." Each life lost was, in its own way, irreplaceable; each priceless treasure cast into the flames impoverished many lives that could have shared it.
If there is anyone who can truly mourn for all of these victims, anyone who can really comprehend the enormity of the loss and at the same time feel and understand each individual loss, he or she is far, far more holy than I could ever hope to become.
So -- if my mourning focuses for the most part on the priceless treasures that were taken from my life -- in my case, before my life even began -- I will accept that my sorrow is less than "perfect," and that this is no more than human, and no less.
Shalom,
Barry
ETA: I found out who Irene is. She's the widow of my Mom's first cousin, whose father (my grandmother's oldest brother) died in a concentration camp.
I also wanted to give explicit permission for this to be shared, either by linking here or by copying to email.