My Holocaust Journey.
2000; SAGE Publishing; Volume: 81; Issue: 7 Linguagem: Inglês
ISSN
1940-6487
Autores Tópico(s)Jewish Identity and Society
ResumoIf his study of the Holocaust taught him anything, Mr. Glanz says, it is that each of us in our own way must do something. Whether it entails becoming more religious, studying martial arts, becoming more politically active, confronting racism and bigotry directly, or teaching others about the Holocaust and its consequences, we must do something. MY FATHER, Eliasz David Glanz, was a survivor of the Mauthausen concentration camp, which was located in Austria. He was held captive there during that shameful period of human history known as the Holocaust. As his only son, born five years after the end of World War II, I witnessed the tortured moments he spent attempting to put aside the memories of his horrific experiences. I saw him do this on a daily basis. I can recall waking in the middle of the night to hear his groans. Oy vey is mir. (Oh woe is me.) The next morning, I asked my American-born mother, Is daddy all right? She responded timidly, He's okay. He had just a bit too much to eat last night. I silently wondered how a man who was not at all heavy could continually complain about eating too much. During the first 15 years of my life, my father never spoke about his experiences. Many years later, I discovered that he was silent because he wanted to spare his children from knowing about his pain and suffering. (I have one sister who is four years my junior.) I vividly recall being left alone one Sunday afternoon while my parents attended a wedding. My father had previously warned me, Macht nischt oif des shif ladel. (Roughly translated, Don't open the top drawer of the armoire.) Although I had always heeded such admonitions in the past, this opportunity was too tempting for a 14-year-old to ignore. Under pairs of socks, I found a large brown manila envelope bursting at its seams. I poured the contents of the envelope onto the bed and was astonished as I gazed at pictures too horrific to describe. Aside from photos of emaciated, emasculated corpses, I saw photographs of a wraith whom I could only presume to be my father. He was just faintly recognizable, given his gaunt, almost ghostly appearance. After gazing at these photographs for nearly half an hour, I hurriedly placed them back in the envelope and returned it to the drawer beneath the socks. I wondered what those pictures were all about, but I never mentioned a word to anyone. Within the past 15 years or so, survivors of the Holocaust have become more inclined to talk about their suffering under the Nazis. I believe that my father's willingness to discuss his experiences was prompted by Steven Spielberg's epic film Schindler's List. After he saw this moving and accurate portrayal of the experiences of some of the victims of the Holocaust, he began to discuss openly what he had witnessed and experienced. I learned more about my father's early life while listening to the stories he told to my children than I had in all the years of growing up in his household. I believe his reminiscences were a catharsis for him. Not all survivors, however, can be as open. Both my in-laws are survivors of Auschwitz. They refuse to say anything about that era other than to explain, It was all too horrible. Words can't describe Enough . . . we are in America now. Although I respect their refusal to share their experiences, I also believe that those who are willing to discuss what happened immeasurably benefit those who search desperately for meaning in this dark chapter of our recent history. I am not yet a scholar of Holocaust studies, but I am a professor of education, and I have been inevitably drawn to those tragic times. For the past few years, I have been trying to apply whatever expertise I have developed to teach about the Holocaust to teachers. I hope that these teachers can and will teach others about this period in world and Jewish history. Perhaps they can relate the Holocaust to the universality of human suffering and oppression. …
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