This past Monday, April eighth, was Holocaust Remembrance Day. And today I am remembering.
I was eleven when I came upon Leon Uris’s Exodus on my parents’ bookshelf. (A voracious reader as a kid, I had already plowed my way through practically everything in the children’s room of the Wilmette Library and now had turned my attention to the grown up book section.) Nobody stopped me. Or warned me. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
Reading Exodus changed me forever. I was one person before I started that book. I came out the other side another. Now I knew what depravity and cruelty were. And that human beings practiced them on each other.
I’m sure my experience was not unique. The biggest best-seller since Gone with the Wind, I bet that book was in every Jewish home in the United States. It raised Jewish political consciousness- and much-needed money- for Israel at every turn of the page.
I am not going to do a book review. I know that many of you have read it. It is enough to say that, though I thrilled to the story of Jordana and David, and was proud of the exploits and daring of the handsome and courageous Ari Ben Canaan, I identified most closely with the little girl, Karen Hansen. If I had been unlucky enough to have been born in Europe a decade earlier, she could have been me.
But I was haunted by all their stories. The rape, mutilation and murder of Dafna, Ari’s fiancée, Dov Landau’s tragic ordeal in the Warsaw ghetto, the unimaginable terror and despair of concentration camps, Leon Uris brought these stories alive in vivid, haunting detail. He was on a mission and he spared no horrific detail. He wanted the readers to be outraged.
Imagine. I had never heard a word about any of this before. (Even though one paternal great uncle and his family had been wiped out during the war. My father just recently spoke of it to me. He said they had found out the same way so many families found out. There were letters, then there were letters that were cries for help, then there were no more letters.)
I had never heard of Bergen-Belsen or Auschwitz or Ravensbruck or Dachau. And now, here they all were right in my pre-teen, lilac bedroom. I doubt I had even heard the word “Nazi” spoken aloud back then in my safe, Beaver Cleaver 1950’s suburban utopia.
And then I opened the book. It was the end of my innocence.
I am remembering because CBS Sunday Morning just did a piece on the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. They, too, ran the story this past Sunday to commemorate Holocaust Remembrance Day.
To honor its twentieth anniversary, the Museum is holding a two-day tribute to Holocaust survivors and World War II veterans at the end of April. President Bill Clinton and founding chairman of the museum, Elie Wiesel, will be the keynote speakers at the event.
But in the CBS piece, they focused on the museum building itself and some of its exhibits. The reporter showed us how the museum has kept a sacred trust as they keep the cherished toys of so many murdered children. Thousands of memento mori. The detritus of the methodical asassination of millions of people. All mute witnesses now to what happened not very long ago and not very far away.
As long ago as just last Saturday morning, in fact. I happened to be reading the New York Times on Twitter- a post about Tom Hanks and his close friend, the late Nora Ephron. He is appearing on Broadway in Nora’s new (and last) play “Lucky Guy,” and last week, during his curtain speech, he was overcome with emotion when he spoke of her.
Readers of this blog already know how I feel about both of them. And to see their names coupled together, regardless of the melancholy reason, made me open the post and read it. It highlighted the touching tribute that Tom paid to his wonderful Nora, and the story that the Times had run about their relationship was elegiac and beautiful in itself.
And then I scrolled down to read the comments. I don’t know why. I don’t always. And there it was. The very first comment.
It said “who cares about one more dead jew? why waste any more space?”
I actually jumped. It made my skin crawl. There it was in black and white on my iPad. Not in some museum or in an old, grainy newsreel. I had it right in my hands- like I did when I read Exodus all those years ago.
Don’t bother looking for it. I’m sure that somehow it slipped though the editorial cracks and it was probably taken down shortly after I saw it.
But I am remembering.
Evil is alive and well, my friends.
And the writing’s on the New York Times’ Twitter wall.
Thank you Ellen for your very important and stunningly vivid post. I too, felt as horrified and mesmerized by Leon Uris’ Exodus. I read it on a trip and could concentrate on nothing else. The stories haunted me. And then I heard survivors share their stories of the horror they lived, stories of families who perished and of those who would not or could not speak of what happened to them and their loved ones.
Rickey and I will be at The Holocaust Museum to honor its twenty year anniversary along with many friends who have been involved with the Museum from its beginnings.
We will never forget – even though horrific atrocities have continued and it seems, always will.
Thank you, Joan. Both for your compelling comment and your unflagging support of humanitarian causes. You both are -and has always been- champions of right.
Very important words that I have posted on Facebook. I hope friends take the time to read. Thanks for this blog.
Thanks, ML. You -and your family- have always been so active in so many causes that offend justice. Thanks for your support in this battle.
Unfortunately- we can just scratch beneath the surface and find the hatred that has always existed- for many people that are “different” than themselves. This is such an important issue because it’s always been so pervasive in our history but also in the history of so many races and cultures. Thank you for reminding us for the need of speaking out against intolerance and working toward acceptance of others. great piece. Thank you- keep writing—Leslie
Thank you for pointing out that this is a widespread problem of hatred and intolerance. Not just a “Jewish” issue. We all need to remember that.
Thanks, Leslie. For this-and all your support.
Excellent. My father stopped reading books after graduating from the University of Michigan in 1922. The only book he read thereafter was EXODUS!
Well, if he had to pick just one at least he picked a good one. Thanks, Herbie, for this comment- and all of your support. It means so much.
I recently read anti-semitic incidents in Europe have climbed 30% year over year so your post unfortunately does not surprise me one bit! My Mother was a survivor, although rarely spoke of it. Her adopted parents, actually cousins, brought her to the US in 1937 at age 12 after which she never saw her actual parents or brother again who died respectively during Kristallnacht and at Auschwitz. My Father was a WWII veteran from the campaign in the Pacific. We are joining the 20th Anniversary of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington DC at the end of this month where my parents names will be permanently inscribed. Never again!!
Thank you, Rickey, for this most personal of stories. Your mother’s tragic loss- of family, home, peace of mind, everything that humans cherish, is a part of all of us now. I will be most anxious to hear of your visit to the Museum. And you -and your daughters- are your parents living memorial. We shall never forget.
We all have so many parallels here. I was 36 (now 61) when I learned from my father that he had reasonably close relatives (by consanguinity, not proximity) who were Holocaust victims. When I asked why I had never heard about them from him, his response was so simple and true: “Michael, it’s not something anyone wants to talk about.”
I read Exodus as a teenager and could not wait to pick up the next Uris book (Mila 18, Armageddon, and so forth) that elaborated upon the Jewish issues. My older brother read Exodus on nearly every college break for four years; I suspect he memorized it by the 10th or 12th reading.
I will now go back and read more of your blogs, but this one, forwarded by wife from Joan, is a wonderful reminder that there is someone — too many someones — out there who might actually like each of us to be “one more dead jew”. Sad, terrible, evil.
Michael, you have reminded me of something that I had forgotten. I, too, went on to read Mila 18, as well. Uris obviously struck such a chord within us that we were compelled to follow him. And he didn’t let us down. Mila 18 was great, too. Gee, I haven’t thought about it in years.
Thank you for this important, and obviously heartfelt comment. To think that after all the joy she had brought to millions of people, that Nora Ephron would be reduced to ” one more dead jew” is unbelievable.
If you’re serious about reading more of the blog, I suggest you start with the very first one last August. It’s called “Love Letter” and you’ll see why right away. It will help balance out this indignity.
Thank you. And thank your wife. I’ll thank Joan.
Ricky Freeman’s acknowledgment of a 30% rise in anti-Semitic incidents in Europe is SPOT ON! The void of Jewish citizens in Europe is being filled, and in many instances welcomed, by a growing populace of Muslims. A big reason I refuse to travel there and give my money to the anti-American, anti-Semitic LEFT of Western Europe.
Spend your money here, my friends!!!
I absolutely know that this commentary will ruffle some feathers, But, I don’t care.
Bernie, go ahead and ruffle away. This is a hot button issue, no doubt about it, but you are entitled to express your p.o.v. here. It comes as no surprise that you feel strongly. No one who know you would accuse you of apathy!
Thanks for adding to the discussion.