“Dad, why do you speak with this guy before every meal for so long?�
“David, he is unwell.�
“But what do you mean? He does not look sick. He is working “Dad, why do you speak with this guy before every meal for so long?�
“David, he is unwell.�
“But what do you mean? He does not look sick. He is working all day long. Every day?�
“Ach, David, he has headaches. (pause) All-day, every day, he has terrible headaches.�
“So, dad, why doesn’t he go home and rest?�
“David, this is his home. This is his rest.�
I look up at the tall man who my father speaks with and I see him running around this massive restaurant that seats over one thousand covers at a sitting. He is a big man, sturdy, strong. He is smiling, he is holding someone’s chair to be seated, he is helping a waiter bring a dish. He smiles at me as his compassion is evident to all the children in this dining hall.
â€Æಹ»å?â€�
“The war, David. The war.�
I am possibly a newish teen or an aging child. I am thinking this thing through on my own. I do not understand and yet, I do. I understand that there is no more discussion on this point.
We are here, in the Catskills, our Jewish ghetto, on vacation. My entire family is here and we visit this one hotel every year. I remember that head waiter from last year and the year before. As I remember Mordechai, the scientist from Lithuania who currently is a bellman, escorting our clothes and bags to our hotel room. My father always greets him warmly and tips him grandly. This scientist/bellhop is working hard for tips. The guy makes it his job to pretend that he remembers all the children coming in. He is surviving.
Somehow I know something of the atrocities of the Holocaust. But during this particular stay as I study the interactions of the adults I also realize that many of the tourists, the guests, other staff members have also had their stint in Dachau, Buchenwald, Theresienstadt.
These adults hide their pasts with aplomb. But they are bleeding all over the place. Many cannot see it but I can see the blood seeping from their eyes, dripping onto the floor, crying out of every sentence uttered, whirling through the vents. I can feel it.
But from a convenient place on the wall, any fly or insect would believe that this is nothing but a bacchanal, a people of fun and frolic. A veritable Sodom and Gomorrah. Ice skating in the afternoon, a hike in the morning, and lots and lots of food. In fact, more food than I have ever seen since. There is a reason for that we all now know.
And a ridiculous amount of unopened liquor that no one seemed to savor.
These people were the remnants of the second war with Germany. They were surviving. Who knew their daily grief? Who knew of their incessant physical pains? Who knew what it was to be a captive in Treblinka? Who knew if they had lost one member of their family or the entire lot? Who knew? And who wanted to recall the ceaseless horror of that unmentionable era?
And how do you explain this? There is little need. You feel it, sense it, touch it, caress it, get burned with it. You can recognize they who were affected by it. They know that you know and you know that they know but do not want to speak about it. There are no discussions on this subject. It reminds us of the current fragility, all the time.
A different generation. A different time. History departs as quickly as this sentence ends.
Czarny, you asked me once and I replied that Jews move from Shtetl to Shtetl, from the ghetto to ghetto. That was a true statement even now that most Jews do not understand. The resort was a ghetto. Israel is a larger ghetto surrounded by walls. The Jews are constant visitors and constantly unwelcome. It is accepted.
Lion, the author of this memoir of the 1940s in war-torn France was an established, successful German writer living in France at the time, although he had the pleasure of being interred also during the first German war twenty years prior.
This is his story and what it reveals is a strong and active mind that has little tolerance for all the waste of time and productivity some humans cause others to endure at everyone’s expense.
I am aware of the ‘noise� that throws me and my contemporaries off their productive focus. It does not stop. It is human. One’s dissatisfaction is another’s delight. A push here and a pull there, it is amazing some of us exist for more than a decade or two on this planet.
This book contains the observations of a writer and an educated man who is more involved with the philosophy or lack of essence than the facts of the conflict. An author interrupted by the folly of the masses. Another person affected by societal tomfoolery and evil which can spread to places like France.
This is not a book about Germany and its� concentration camps.
It is about this absurd world and those who do not see it that way.
It's amazing what we choose to see and what we choose not to see, regardless of its proximity.It's amazing what we choose to see and what we choose not to see, regardless of its proximity....more
Their purpose is to remind us that evil always remains extant. A nod to anticipate danger even in civilized contexts and oBad things never fade away.
Their purpose is to remind us that evil always remains extant. A nod to anticipate danger even in civilized contexts and ostensibly peaceful times....more
It takes enormous talent to integrate the horrors of the holocaust with a comic book format. To my mind's eye, this is a stellar account, and homage, It takes enormous talent to integrate the horrors of the holocaust with a comic book format. To my mind's eye, this is a stellar account, and homage, of and to his fathers' recollections....more
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