Holocaust – Page 28

A grandfather’s sins

Prof. Roger Frie’s Not in My Family rises above the merely personal (image from cenes.ubc.ca)

Forty-three years ago, at Vancouver’s first Holocaust Symposium, for which I was the chair, the keynote speaker was the Lithuanian partisan fighter Leon Kahn. His presentation to a large group of high school students described, among other things, how he watched, in hiding, while his mother and sisters were raped and murdered by members of the Einsatzgruppen – the murderous “task forces” mandated to kill Jews by gunshot (the so-called “Holocaust by bullets”) in German-occupied countries. Approximately two million Jews were murdered by the Einsatzgruppen.

After Leon was finished speaking, a tall, blond, blue-eyed boy walked slowly up to the podium. He was, he said, of German origin, and wanted to apologize to Leon. His face revealed how devastated he was. Leon shook his hand and told him, “Look, it wasn’t your fault. Now go on and live your life.”

That was my first experience with deutsche Schuld, German guilt.

There are literally hundreds of books and websites approaching deutsche Schuld from every angle. The author of Not in My Family: German Memory and Responsibility After the Holocaust (Oxford University Press, 2017) is Roger Frie, a Simon Fraser University professor and locally practising psychotherapist who is a third-generation German-Canadian. Based on his profession, he addresses the issue of German guilt in the present book from a personal psychological perspective, using his fear of being exposed as a “bad German,” along with his experience with inherited guilt, as his templates.

Frie’s Not in My Family was triggered, he says, by his mid-life discovery, long hidden by his family, of his beloved grandfather’s Nazi past. The book invites us to follow him as he slowly builds up the courage to go to the archives in Berlin to find the documentation revealing his grandfather’s Nazi membership and wartime activities.

“Opa” was hardly a high-ranking Nazi functionary, it turns out: he was “an ordinary German,” who operated, for all intents and purposes, as a minor motorcycle repairman. (Frie writes more about this apparently apolitical “motorcycle club” later in the book, but one is still left to wonder how the author, already heavily burdened with inherited guilt, would have felt if his Opa were discovered to have been say, a camp guard, or a member of the Totenkopfverbaende, the infamous Death’s Head Units.)

Ironically, Frie has professionally analyzed children of Jewish survivors, and some of his most intimate reflections arise from his wrestling, during these sessions, as to whether or not to reveal that he is himself of German heritage.

Constantly throughout Not in My Family, Frie reiterates that he “has an obligation to remember the past” and, while remembering, he has many sincere reflections on post-Holocaust German guilt and responsibility, complicity, prejudice, cowardly denial and “shameful silence” of past issues, as well as, of course, the “need for redemption” and “the problematics of trauma,” especially of his own, rooted in a questionable notion of vicarious perpetration, three generations down the line.

On this last point, clearly, there was a therapeutic dimension for the writing of Not in My Family: it reflects on every page. But the book rises above the merely personal. For example, Frie is brutally honest in rejecting the moral camouflage of the “Germans suffered too” ilk, and on the need to be suspicious of Germans who feel “deluged” with the Holocaust.

Near the end of Not in My Family, Frie reflects that “writing can be a form of discovery, of examining life and making sense of the past.” This book, for him, he admits, was “personally meaningful” and “emotionally draining.” But if, as he puts it, the book “creates a space for dialogue and reflection on the nature of German memory and the Holocaust,” it is a valuable contribution to an ever-growing body of knowledge about how the greatest crime in human history came to be perpetrated by, among others, affectionate, family-loving, probably not dogmatically antisemitic, minor motorcycle repairmen.

Graham Forst, PhD, taught literature and philosophy at Capilano University until his retirement and now teaches in the continuing education department at Simon Fraser University. From 1975 to 2010, he co-chaired the symposium committee of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre.

A sapling grows in Jerusalem

A sapling seeded by Anne Frank’s horse-chestnut tree in Amsterdam is growing at Yad Vashem, near its International Institute for Holocaust Research. (photo by Gil Zohar)

treJerusalem and its environs have many historic trees, including the grove of gnarled olives in the Garden of Gethsemane, under which Jesus may have sheltered two millennia ago; the looming cypress planted by Godefroy de Bouillon, today the site of Hôpital Saint Louis, but where French knights camped in 1099 during the first Crusade; and the 700-year-old Kermes Oak that stands alone in Gush Etzion, south of the city. And now, there is another – a sapling seeded by Anne Frank’s white horse-chestnut tree in Amsterdam, which is growing at Yad Vashem, near its International Institute for Holocaust Research.

Initially, Yad Vashem was concerned that the chestnut tree would not acclimate to Jerusalem’s long, dry summers, but it is doing well.

For more than two years until her arrest on Aug. 4, 1944, Frank (1929-1945) hid in her family’s secret annex at Prinsengracht 263-265. Through a window in the attic that was not blacked out, she admired the chestnut tree, planted around 1850, that stood in the courtyard of a neighbouring residential block, at 188 Keizersgracht just north of the landmark Westerkerk. The tree was her only connection to the outside world and the changing seasons.

Frank wrote about the tree three times in her diary. On the last occasion, on May 13, 1944, she observed: “Our chestnut tree is in full bloom. It’s covered with leaves and is even more beautiful than last year.”

A month earlier, on April 18, 1944, she wrote: “April is glorious, not too hot and not too cold, with occasional light showers. Our chestnut tree is in leaf, and here and there you can already see a few small blossoms.”

The first reference was on Feb. 23, 1944, when Frank noted: “The two of us [Peter van Pels and Frank] looked out at the blue sky, the bare chestnut tree glistening with dew, the seagulls and other birds glinting with silver as they swooped through the air, and we were so moved and entranced that we couldn’t speak.”

For decades, the storied tree was cared for by Amsterdam’s Pius Floris Tree Care at the behest of the city’s Central Borough Council. In 2005, it was determined that the tree was ailing, and valiant efforts were made to save it.

In the meantime, Anne Frank House asked permission of the tree’s owner to gather and germinate chestnuts. The saplings – grown and cared for by Bonte Hoek Nurseries – were donated to schools around the world named after Anne Frank, and other organizations. In 2009, 150 saplings of the tree were donated to Amsterdamse Bos woodland park.

A sapling was recently planted in Vienna’s 2nd district – a neigbourhood that had many Jewish residents before the Anschluss in 1938. Another was planted in Ajaccio, Corsica, to honour the Righteous Among the Nations there. And 11 chestnut trees are growing in the United States, including one at Manhattan’s Liberty Park commemorating 9/11, thanks to the sapling project of the New York-based Anne Frank Centre for Mutual Respect.

As for the original tree, in 2008, the Support Anne Frank Tree Foundation placed iron struts around it to prop it up, hoping the tree would remain standing for further decades. But it was already too rotten. During a violent rainstorm on Aug. 23, 2010, the tree collapsed together with the girders supporting it, leaving a one-metre high stump.

On its website, the Dutch-based Support Anne Frank Tree Foundation responds to the question, was the battle to save the tree all for nothing?

“The answer is a resounding no!” they say. “The tree and the struggle to preserve it … has fulfilled an important task in an extraordinary manner: the reawakening of the world’s collective memory of the Holocaust and a call for tolerance and mutual respect. The seedlings planted all over the world will continue to spread the message, a grand and dignified final stage in the life of this tree. This would not have happened were it not for the battle for its preservation.”

Gil Zohar is a journalist based in Jerusalem.

Finding the future in the past

Left to right: Michael Rubenfeld, Mary Berchard and Katka Reszke in We Keep Coming Back, which plays March 13 and 14 as part of the Chutzpah! Festival. (photo by Jeremy Mimnaugh)

At first, we expected the piece to focus mainly on the past and how sad the absence of Jewish life in Poland is. After going and also spending more time in Poland, we now propose that it is through focusing on the present and future, with an aim at building positive perspectives, that will ultimately lead to transformation and genuine healing,” said Michael Rubenfeld about We Keep Coming Back, which plays at the Chutzpah! Festival March 13 and 14.

Rubenfeld created the multimedia work with Sarah Garton Stanley, as well as his mother, Mary Berchard, and filmmaker and translator Katka Reszke. Rubenfeld and Garton Stanley are co-directors of Selfconscious Theatre. We Keep Coming Back is based on a trip that Rubenfeld and his mother took to Poland in 2013.

“It was always our intention to make a piece of theatre and the trip was connected to a desire to explore intergeneration trauma and, also, more specifically, the problems in my relationship with my mother that stem from unresolved trauma and disconnect from our family’s roots in Poland,” said Rubenfeld. “So, the trip was an experiment of sorts; to see if going to Poland with my mother, visiting her mother and father’s hometowns and going to Auschwitz, would give us the opportunity to mourn together, which might also bring us closer together.”

According to a blog on Selfconscious Theatre’s website, after surviving the Holocaust, “Berchard’s family moved from Poland to Sweden, where she was born. They then immigrated to Canada in 1951, where she grew up and eventually had a son, Michael.”

Rubenfeld and Berchard were in Poland for about two weeks. “My mother has since been back three or four more times, and I now have a home in Poland with my wife,” said Rubenfeld – the couple lives in both Krakow and Toronto. “We’ve toured We Keep Coming Back to Poland three times,” he added.

The project has worked to bring mother and son closer.

“It’s been really nice for us to have a piece that we do together,” said Rubenfeld. “It gives us an excuse to spend time together to do something we know we’re going to enjoy. It’s also given us commonality, which has been really essential for our relationship.

“My mother has always been very supportive, though we don’t always have a lot in common. This project has changed that. We also now have Poland in common, and our mutual interest. My mother really loves it in Poland. She’s also become quite interested in uncovering more about our history and has started researching and archiving our family tree. It’s brought her a lot of happiness and has been a really healing thing – which, in general, has been good for our relationship as well.”

We Keep Coming Back “speaks so openly and honestly about what it means to love a parent, or to be loved by a child, and how so many of the resources for a good and enduring love were torn apart by the Holocaust and all of the horrors, throughout the generations that linger,” said Garton Stanley, who is also associate artistic director of English theatre and interim facilitator for indigenous theatre at the National Arts Centre in Ottawa.

“Honestly, as someone on the ground since the get-go, I was most curious about Michael’s developing love for Poland and how, over the course of the play’s creation, he not only fell in love with a Jewish woman from Poland but that he now lives there,” she said. “Michael and I are very interested in the line between fiction and reality and the space for realizing possible worlds through dramatic form. Michael now speaks some Polish. He’s making deep-rooted reconnections and helping contribute to a vibrant Jewish life in Poland.”

Garton Stanley and Rubenfeld met just over 10 years ago, after she saw him in a show. “He was performing in it with my partner at the time,” she said. “He was amazing. We became fast friends shortly thereafter.”

At Selfconscious Theatre – which they started together – the two have also co-created The Book of Judith; Mother, Mother, Mother; and The Failure Show.

For We Keep Coming Back, Garton Stanley is not only co-creator but the director. “My co-creation,” she explained, “was part facilitator, part conceiver, part devisor, part writer, part mediator, part friend and always enthusiast.”

How Reszke became involved in the production is a little more circuitous and fortuitous.

“Once we decided to take the trip to Poland, we connected with a producer named Evelyn Tauben, who was doing research around contemporary Jewish Poland,” explained Rubenfeld. “Through Evelyn initially, we started learning about the renaissance of Jewish culture in Poland, which, at the time, I knew nothing about. Once learning about it, we determined that it was important to us that we engage with it on our trip, and that’s when Katka came into the picture.

“We knew we needed a translator to join us, and we also knew we wanted to document the process. We joked that it would be incredible if we could find someone who could both translate, film and be a Polish Jew who might want to collaborate with us artistically. On a lark, we Googled ‘Polish, Jewish, filmmaker,’ and that’s how we discovered Katka. We sent her an email, and one thing led to another.”

“Mary Berchard and Katka Reszke,” added Garton Stanley, “are fascinating performers and neither of them has any training in this area. Their stories and their curiosity combine with Michael’s to create a new family. And this feels like one of the piece’s hidden successes.”

As for what has most surprised her about the project, she said, “That we are still doing it and learning from it. And learning from the audiences whose histories intersect with Michael’s, Mary’s and Katka’s own generational challenges and traumas. And that the piece resonates as deeply as it does. It has a beautiful heart and this is always surprising, in the best way.”

“I believe that, in our desire to never forget what happened during the Holocaust, we have also forgotten that Poland was one of the most important contemporary homelands for the Ashkenazi Jewish people for over 500 years,” said Rubenfeld. “So much of our contemporary culture was bred in this land, and we forget that the Jewish people were happy living in Poland before the war. We are raised to think of Poland as only the place of tragedy. While I understand why, I think that it’s essential to remember and celebrate a time when there was such vibrant Jewish culture. Most was destroyed because of the war, and it’s impossible to not feel sad. But, as we move into the future and the pain continues to recede, it is just as important to remember the incredible prewar Polish Jewish world of Poland. It was very profound.”

For tickets to We Keep Coming Back at the Rothstein Theatre, and for the full Chutzpah! schedule, visit chutzpahfestival.com.

Music to say thank you

Anna Levy (photo from Yarilo Contemporary Music Society)

My mother’s maiden name was Levy, my dad’s surname was also Levy. My story is about life. None of my family was killed during the Holocaust. I am alive because I grew up in a small European country, Bulgaria, that – despite being Nazi-aligned – managed to save all its Jews during the Second World War. And I – and many others – will be saying thank you through music this spring in a major concert marking the 75th anniversary of this historic series of events, for which we are so grateful.

During the Holocaust, Bulgaria had a complex record. While it is responsible for deporting 11,000 Jews from Bulgarian-occupied territories, most of whom were murdered at Treblinka, it defied Hitler and saved all 50,000 of its Jews, among which was my family.

In 1943, the complicated diplomatic manoeuvres of the Bulgarian parliament, led by Dimitar Peshev, along with civil disobedience and the strong official opposition of the Bulgarian Orthodox Church, resulted in the cancellation of the deportation that was planned for March of that year.

In June 1943, then German ambassador to Bulgaria, Adolf Heinz Beckerle reported to Berlin, “The Bulgarian society doesn’t quite understand the real meaning of the Jewish question … so the racial question is totally foreign to them,” and he complained that the Bulgarian people lacked “the ideological enlightenment that we [Germans] have.”

In 1996, Jewish National Fund named a forest in honour of Bulgaria, with memorial plaques dedicated to Peshev, the Bulgarian Orthodox Church and to King Boris.

This year marks the 75 years since the salvation of Bulgarian Jews during the war and preparations are underway in Bulgaria, Israel and in other countries to mark this anniversary.

In Vancouver, on May 27, Project Tehillim will take place at the Orpheum Annex. Twenty-three professional musicians will participate in the program featuring Tehillim, which was written by one of the most famous living Jewish American composers, Steve Reich. This event should occupy a central place in Metro Vancouver’s cultural life, as the work is unique, rarely performed and difficult to put together.

“Tehillim,” explains Reich, “is the original Hebrew word for Psalms. Literally translated, it means praises, and it derives from the three-letter Hebrew root ‘hey, lamed, lamed’ … which is also the root of halleluyah.”

In his notes on the website of classical music publishing company Boosey & Hawkes, Reich also writes, “One of the reasons I chose to set Psalms as opposed to parts of the Torah or Prophets is that the oral tradition among Jews in the West for singing Psalms has been lost. (It has been maintained by Yemenite Jews.) This meant that I was free to compose the melodies for Tehillim without a living oral tradition to either imitate or ignore.”

That said, he notes, “The rhythm, of the music here comes directly from the rhythm of the Hebrew text and is, consequently, in flexible changing meters.”

Tehillim is deeply rooted in ancient Hebrew traditions from biblical times. This is not music of contemporary daily life, but instead conjures the timeless and eternal. This work is a deep reflection of Jewish tradition presented in a modern way.

The budget for this large-scale project is more than $20,000: for musicians’ fees, theatre rental, scores, instrument rentals and other expenses. To help raise these funds, the Yarilo Contemporary Music Society – of which I am co-artistic director with Jane Hayes – is holding the concert Lest We Forget, on Sunday, April 8, 3 p.m., at Pyatt Hall, with the support of the Peretz Centre for Secular Jewish Culture.

The fundraising concert features classical masterpieces. The centrepiece of the program – which will be performed by Angela Cavadas (violin), Rebecca Wenham (cello), Johanna Hauser (clarinet) and me on piano – is Tchaikovsky’s Piano Trio in A Minor, written in memory of his Jewish friend Nikolai Rubinstein. In addition, there will be music by Jewish composers Srul Irving Glick (Suite hébraïque) and Ernest Bloch (Prayer).

Both concerts – Tehillim and Lest We Forget – highlight the spiritual qualities of the Jewish people. In the words of the non-Jewish author Milan Kundera about the importance of Jews in Europe: “Indeed, no other part of the world has been so deeply marked by the influence of Jewish genius. Aliens everywhere and everywhere at home, lifted above national quarrels, the Jews in the 20th century were the principal cosmopolitan, integrating element in Central Europe: they were its intellectual cement, a condensed version of its spirit, creators of its spiritual unity. That’s why I love the Jewish heritage and cling to it with as much passion and nostalgia as though it were my own.”

I love the Jewish heritage with a passion, as well, and it is “our own.” I hope that other members of the Jewish community will become Yarilo’s partners, and help us make Project Tehillim a worthy thank you. To contribute to the project, visit gofundme.com/2018-my-jewish-story-is-for-life; the campaign includes a third concert, which is planned for October. For tickets to the April 8 fundraising performance at Pyatt Hall, visit yarilomusic.com.

Reflections on first meeting

This academic year marks the second session of Writing Lives, a two-semester project at Langara College, coordinated by instructor Dr. Rachel Mines. Writing Lives is a partnership between Langara, the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre and the Azrieli Foundation. Last fall, students learned about the Holocaust by studying literary and historical texts. In January, students began interviewing local Holocaust survivors and will write their memoirs on the basis of the interviews. Students are keeping journals of their personal reflections on their experiences as Writing Lives participants. Students used their most recent journal entry to reflect on their first meetings with the survivor with whom they are partnered. Here are a few excerpts.

Prior to meeting our survivor partner, one of our group members spoke to him on the phone, and she described him as a person “who doesn’t let anything past him.” It seems he’d tested her on her ability to say the word “Holocaust” without shuddering an apology.

It is clear that our partner refuses to spend his time telling his story to anyone who cannot handle it. On one hand, his attitude is a comfort; I believe we will be able to show him that not only are we unafraid to hear his story, but also that we care deeply about helping him tell it authentically. On the other hand, this adds to the building anxiety about our interviews and our worries about writing the memoir. Producing a memoir that our survivor is 100% proud of is my biggest goal and also my biggest fear. I feel that telling the story of another person’s life is a tremendously huge responsibility, and I do not take it lightly.

– Chelsea Riva

We actually met D. before our first meeting: he came to our class to give a talk last semester. Our first interview was arranged at his home, and D. was as warm and friendly as before. So was his wife, and they took good care of us. They helped us with our coats and insisted that we did not have to take our shoes off. D. said we must have walked a long way, and it was the shoes that kept us walking comfortably; therefore, we should not take them off. I immediately recalled what Primo Levi wrote in his book Survival in Auschwitz. Yes, shoes are of the utmost importance, and D. has experienced that. However, we quickly realized that the house was immaculately clean, and so was the light beige carpet that we were stepping on with our shoes! Anyway, while I was worrying about the carpet, the meeting began.

– Bonnie Pun

When I first met D.S., I was apprehensive. The culmination of the past four-and-a-half months was finally at hand, and I was set to be the lead interviewer for our group – not a task that fell lightly on my shoulders.

Moira and he came into the room and she introduced him (she had met him previously). D.S. smiled so widely that his eyes crinkled, and he shook each of our hands in turn. When we were done, D.S. said a few words about himself and then quickly launched into a very compressed, detailed story about his life.

We had been expecting a more casual, getting-to-know-you first interview, and none of us had been expecting to take in such a massive amount of information – although, in hindsight, I’m glad we did. At the end of the interview, after D.S. had given us advice about meeting deadlines and making sure we had enough time to edit and rework parts of his story, we breathed a sigh of relief – it had gone well.

The opportunity to have a question-and-answer session with a person who has survived such great personal trauma is incredible. D.S. is a wonderful storyteller, and the interviews so far have been a continuously rewarding experience.

– Susan Scott

Some of the stories that D.S. shared with us at that first meeting were hard to absorb. I think I didn’t really want to understand what he was saying, as a way of protecting myself, so I wouldn’t show I was affected while I was in the room with him. It was only after I listened to the recorded interview that I could even start to imagine the events that he had endured. It sunk into me that this was a real thing that had happened to a real man, one who sat in front of me, ready to share his pain and perseverance with us. For that, I am grateful and honoured.

What D.S., the other survivors, the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre, the Azrieli Foundation and Langara College are doing through the Writing Lives program is so immensely important – something I have come to understand on a new level after that meeting. I think the point is to affect others in the way that this one meeting affected me. It’s to try and understand people’s suffering as best we can, though we will never feel their pain, and to use that understanding to become better people, and not be complicit in others’ suffering in the future.

– Moira Henry

A new foundational resource

The book The More I Know, the Less I Understand (Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum, 2017) summarizes the findings of University of British Columbia students in various fields of Holocaust research and the implications of Nazi German crimes committed in Central and Eastern Europe.

It is often claimed that, since the events of the Holocaust took place more than 70 years ago, most of the available information has already been collected and there is little chance of gaining new knowledge about what happened. This claim, often made without substantial questioning, has been debunked by, among others, a group of UBC students who traveled to Poland on the Witnessing Auschwitz Program from 2014 to 2016.

The young scholars conducted extensive fieldwork and consulted with world-class experts in Holocaust studies at the Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum, the Emanuel Ringelblum Jewish Historical Institute and other organizations; they also used primary-source archival documents. Each of the student essays in The More I Know, the Less I Understand is accompanied by footnotes prepared by experts in the field. The essays show that many complexities of human life and politics, and historic processes associated with the Holocaust and the Second World War, remain understudied. Over the course of the Witnessing Auschwitz Program, the students found more questions to ask with every answer they were able to uncover.

The uniqueness of this volume and its substantial contribution to the market of knowledge rests on the comprehensiveness of the analysis – largely resulting from the diverse areas of expertise of the individual scholars. Furthermore, the authors in the book write on various subjects that have largely remained untouched in Canadian academia: the profitability of the work camps for the German economy; the artistic expression of prisoners; moral dilemmas, such as betrayal of others for the sake of survival; and complex emotions such as love.

Importantly, various authors in this volume critique the methods by which the contemporary public is educated about events that took place before and during the Holocaust. For example, a common misconception exists, often reinforced through the education system and media, that the rationale for the crimes committed by the Nazi German regime was primarily rooted in ideological conviction. The essays in The More I Know, the Less I Understand collectively show that the motivations behind Nazi German actions prior to and during the Second World War were far more complex.

In early chapters, a number of the scholars correctly point out that the state of the economy was a major motivator for the leadership of the Third Reich. For example, Maria Dawson, in her chapter, “The Role of Food in the Development and Implementation of Nazi German Policies,” writes that the ethnic cleansing of Poles, commonly tied to the ideological motives of Nazi Germany, was substantially rooted in the perceived need of the Nazi regime for agricultural land to support their war effort. Joe Liu, in his chapter, “Deciphering Business Relationships in Nazi German-occupied Europe,” notes that the collection of data on prisoners entailed the development and modernization of mass data collection technology, particularly aided by IBM. The More I Know, the Less I Understand is full of such details, which are often surprising. The book not only breaks common misconceptions about the Holocaust, but provides a comprehensive picture of some of the real reasons behind Nazi crimes.

Because educating Canadian scholars and the public at large about the Holocaust will continue to be important for future generations, the methods of education on the subject must evolve. Helena Bryn-McLeod writes that, because of its importance in our daily environment, the Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum recently joined various dominant social media networks. Since more people are using the internet than are reading books, social media is, as Bryn-McLeod identifies, “a new mode of remembering.”

Social media can also be an effective tool for the storage and capture of memories in an environment where there are fewer and fewer remaining survivors and other primary carriers of Holocaust memories. Moreover, Bryn-McLeod notes that social media conveys information to readers in similar ways as traditional forms of representation, such as journals and books – through photographs and other visuals – so little content will be lost with the transition to this new mode of memory. However, she acknowledges that, with the internet, new concerns have emerged, such as visitors taking offensive photographs in front of memorial sites and posting them. So, while the rise of fast-access media enables educators to reach a broader audience, Bryn-McLeod warns that ethical issues will continue to arise.

The More I Know, the Less I Understand holds valuable lessons. Notably, it highlights the dangers of adopting radical ethno-nationalistic positions, which, historically, have yielded catastrophic results. In his writing, Mark Twain brilliantly noted that “history does not repeat itself, but it does rhyme.” With the rebirth of populist political discourses in the West and elsewhere, the collection of works in The More I Know, the Less I Understand stresses that it is our responsibility, as a society, through education and awareness, to prevent certain chapters from history to rhyme with future chapters. Ultimately, this unique publication should be a foundational resource in Canadian scholarly environments – and elsewhere – where the subjects of the Holocaust and the Second World War are covered.

Dani Belo is a PhD student at the Norman Paterson School of International Affairs (NPSIA) at Carleton University in Ottawa, specializing in international conflict analysis and resolution. He is the editor-in-chief of the Paterson Review of International Affairs, associate editor at iAffairs Canada and contributing author in various publications for the NATO Association of Canada and the Canadian Global Affairs Institute. His area of research is international security, evolution of Russia-NATO relations, and inter-ethnic relations in the post-Soviet region.

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The More I Know, the Less I Understand can be purchased at the UBC Bookstore or from the Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum.

Denying facts not a solution

For years, Poles have bristled at terms like “Polish death camps” or “Polish concentration camps.” Rightly so. Places like Auschwitz-Birkenau were Nazi German camps on Polish soil. Calling them Polish camps was misleading and imputed the murder of millions of Polish Jews (and many other Poles) to Poles themselves. This is a linguistic formulation that should be avoided.

But it should not be illegal. There are few, if any, words that should be illegal, in our judgment. But the Polish government thinks otherwise and has passed a law that penalizes any suggestion that Poland was complicit in the Holocaust. So, anyone who uses such terminology as “Polish death camps” could face fines or up to three years’ jail time.

However, while the camps were German, there has never been any question about the willing complicity of plenty of Poles in the extermination of most of their Jewish compatriots. Many Poles were conscripted into the Nazi killing program, but others willingly advanced the mission. Notably, the murder of Jews in Poland did not end with the Nazis’ defeat. There were many instances of Holocaust survivors returning to their homes after the war only to be murdered by their former neighbours, the most notorious example being the Kielce pogrom of July 1946, in which about 40 Jews were killed and as many injured. To utter these facts in Poland now is presumably illegal. On the other hand, it is presumably not illegal to state the fact that many Poles risked their lives to save the lives of Jewish Poles.

The dreadful and confusing new law has been condemned by the American and Israeli governments, among others. Israel’s criticism hit a particular nerve with Andrzej Zybertowicz, an advisor to the Polish president and a sociology professor at Nicolaus Copernicus University. He suggested that Israel’s response to the law resulted from a “feeling of shame at the passivity of the Jews during the Holocaust” and he accused Israel of “clearly fighting to keep the monopoly on the Holocaust.” He went on to say: “Many Jews engaged in denunciation, collaboration during the war. I think Israel has still not worked it through.”

The irony is as stark as it is distressing, that Zybertowicz could accuse Israel of failing to work through its Holocaust history when his own country has just codified its own refusal to do just that.

Conversely, Germany has just announced that it will acknowledge as Holocaust survivors Jews who lived in Algeria under the Nazi-collaborationist Vichy French regime. This means about 25,000 people will be eligible for some compensation under the Conference on Jewish Material Claims Against Germany. This is a positive development, no matter how late it has come.

These two very different present-day actions, 73 years after the liberation of the camps, are but two examples of how we are still navigating the facts of the Holocaust. We are still determining, among much else, who are to be included among the perpetrators and who among the victims. And these are not even the much more difficult, perhaps impenetrable, moral questions and issues raised by the Holocaust. We have not come close to understanding the patterns of antecedents, the human and historical prerequisites that allowed the Holocaust to happen – and which permit genocides to continue happening.

Survivor shares story

Holocaust survivor David Ehrlich speaks on Jan. 25. (photo by Pat Johnson)

David Ehrlich grew up in a small city in Hungary, sleeping in the kitchen of the family’s three-room house – “not three bedrooms, God forbid, three rooms” – and it was through the kitchen curtains early one morning that he saw three bayonets before he heard a knock at the door.

“I opened the door, they came into the kitchen and they said to me in German – there were two Hungarian gendarmes and one German soldier or officer or whoever he was – ‘I want you to bring in the family into the kitchen.’”

Young David gathered his parents, sister, three brothers and grandmother and they assembled in the kitchen, where they were told to be on the street in 30 minutes to prepare for deportation to a work camp.

Ehrlich shared his story Jan. 25 at a commemoration marking International Holocaust Remembrance Day (which was Jan. 27). The afternoon event, which took place at the University of British Columbia, was presented by the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre, Hillel BC, the department of Central, Eastern and Northern European studies at UBC (CENES) and the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs, with support from the Akselrod family in memory of Ben Akselrod.

After two weeks in a makeshift ghetto on a local farm, the 7,000 Jews were forced onto trains, said Ehrlich. Seventy people were pushed into each car.

“These were not cattle cars,” he clarified. “I wish they had been cattle cars because [cattle cars] are ventilated.” There was one little hole at the top of the car, covered with barbed wire, and a child would occasionally be lifted up to look out to see if the signs outside were in Hungarian, German or Polish.

“But, soon enough, the train stopped,” he said. “They opened up the door … and there were some signs and some smells and some visions that I’ll never forget as long as I live. The place had electric lights … barbed wire all over in all directions.

“Little people – I thought they were little, but they were prisoners – came up to the train and said leave everything there, stand in line, five abreast. And we did that and walked over to this man with a stick in his hand and he was doing the selection. Who is going to live, who is going to die.… They played God. About 10 minutes or so later, we were separated from our family.”

While he was receiving his uniform, Ehrlich got his first lesson in what this place – Auschwitz – was all about.

“Did you say goodbye to your family?” the man asked Ehrlich.

“I said, why should I? I’m going to see them probably this afternoon. He said, while you were taking a shower, your family was gassed and, while we talk here, their bodies are probably being burned in the crematorium.”

Ehrlich’s brothers were almost immediately sent on to Melk, a sub-camp of Mauthausen, in Austria.

Because Hungarian Jews were among the last to be deported to the camps, the Soviet army was already advancing from the east by the time Ehrlich arrived at Auschwitz and the prisoners were sent on a death march westward. He, too, ended up in Melk and found someone from his hometown who knew the fate of his brothers. They had been sent to the hospital a few days earlier. Ehrlich knew that the hospital was a farce and that being sent there meant certain death.

“That was probably my lowest point in the whole deal because I always felt that I’d meet up with my brothers someplace,” he said. “I did, only a week too late.”

As the Russians kept on moving westward, the Nazis marched Ehrlich and the others further, this time to Ebensee, Austria.

“One day – it was a nice sunny day – we went outside and the loudspeaker came on and the president of the camp said, I’ve got good news for you. I have received orders from the Reich that we are to take you into the mine and blow it up with you in it. But I’m not going to do that – that’s the good news. For the first time since I’m in the services of the Third Reich, I’m going to disobey this order.”

He told the prisoners that they were free. The next day, they heard tanks on the cobblestone streets.

“And a guy that was probably 20 years old – like a kid, he looked like me – got out of the manhole and said to us in Yiddish, ‘Ich bin ein Amerikaner Jude,’ ‘I am an American Jew.’”

After liquids, then vitamins, eventually solids, Ehrlich regained some of his health. After two months, he still weighed less than 100 pounds, but he was ready to go home.

“But going home for Holocaust survivors, whether it was to France or to Germany or to Poland, it was the same thing,” said Ehrlich. “Canadian soldiers, American soldiers came back from the war, they came back to their community, to their parents and to their country. We went back and there was nobody there. My sister [who had been liberated in Lithuania] was there but we lost everybody else.”

Ehrlich wasn’t going to stay behind the Iron Curtain. He and a friend wanted to see Paris, planning eventually to head for pre-state Israel.

“But, while we were waiting in Paris, there were rumours that Canada was looking for orphans to go to Canada,” he said. “I went to work as soon as I came to Canada. I was going on 19. I went to work and I’ve been paying taxes ever since.”

The story has a good ending, Ehrlich told his audience.

“I married a wonderful girl – she’s right here, the little grey-haired girl – 65 years ago and we’re still together and we brought up three wonderful sons.”

Rabbi Philip Bregman told the survivors: “We are tremendously aware of how precious you people are who lit these candles and came in today as personal witness.”

The commemoration also featured Prof. Uma Kumar, of CENES, who said the Holocaust is a contemporary issue because antisemitism is a contemporary issue. “For this reason,” she said, “it is everyone’s duty to reflect on what happened.”

אתגרי הביטחון

לאור אתגרי הביטחון השונים הג’ואיש פדריישן של אזור מטרו ונקובר מינתה לאחרונה את דניאל היידנריך, לתפקיד מנהל הביטחון של הארגון. (צילום: jewishvancouver.com)

אנטישמיות בקנדה: גם בית כנסת בוויקטוריה קיבל מכתב שנאה

לרשימת בתי הכנסת ברחבי קנדה שקיבלו מכתבי שנאה מצטרף גם בית הכנסת קהילת עמנואל בוויקטוריה. לפי הערכה למעלה מאחד עשר בתי כנסת ברחבי קנדה קיבלו עד כה את מכתבי השנאה האנונימיים המדוברים. מחלקות פשעי שנאה של משטרות קנדה בערים השונות, פתחו בחקירה לבדוק את זהות שולחי מכתבי השנאה לבית כנסת ברחבי המדינה בחודש האחרון. עד כה ידוע שהמכתבים נשלחו למוסדות היהודים בערים הבאות: טורונטו (ארבעה בתי כנסת), מונטריאול (שני בתי כנסת), אוטווה, המילטון, קינגסטון, קלגרי, אדמונטון (שני בתי כנסת) וכן כאמור ויקטוריה.

המכתבים כוללים ציור של צלב קרס על מגן דוד צהוב עם דם נוטף, בצרוף הסלוגן “היהודים חייבים במיתה” גן כן עם דף נוטף. בשלב זה לא ברור האם קמפיין השנאה היה קשור לחג החנוכה שחל באותם ימים, או להכרזתו החד צדדית של נשיא ארה”ב דונלד טראמפ, כי ירושלים היא בירת ישראל, או שמדובר בפעילות אנטשימית “רגילה”.

ראש ממשלת קנדה, ג’סטין טרודו, אמר בתגובה לפרשה החמורה: “למעשי שנאה ואנטישמיות אלה אין מקום במדינתנו ואנו לא נסבול זאת”. לפי נתוני הלשכה המרכזית לסטטיסטיקה מכלל פשעי השנאה ברחבי קנדה כשלושה עשר אחוז מתבצעים כנגד הקהילה היהודית המקומית.

בבני ברית קנדה מציינים כי בשנת 2016 נרשמה עלייה משמעותית בהיקף של עשרים ושישה אחוז בפשעי שנאה נגד יהודים במדינה (1728 מקרים בסך הכל), לעומת השנה החולפת (2015). בבני ברית מוסיפים עוד כי 2016 הוותה שנת שיא בפעולות האנטישמיות מתוך 35 השנים האחרונות, שבהן הארגון מנהל רשום בנושא.

מכחישת שואה קנדית נעצרה בגרמניה

משטרת גרמניה עצרה לפני מספר ימים את מוניקה שייפר, מכחישת השואה שגרה בעיירה גא’ספר שבאלברטה. המשטרה המקומית חוקרת את שייפר לאור טענותיה שהשואה לא התקיימה – דבר הנחשב לעבירה פלילית בגרמניה. שייפר הגיעה למינכן כדי לתמוך במכחישת שואה אחרת סילביה סטולץ, שמשפטה מתנהל בימים אלה. סטולץ שימשה בעברה עורכת דין הורשעה כבר על הכחשת השואה. לטענת שייפר (שהיא בת להורים מגרמניה) השואה היא השקר העיקש ביותר בתולדות העולם. היא מציינת כי לא נהרגו בשואה שישה מיליון יהודים והיא אומרת בפשטות כי זהו שקר השישה מיליון.

לראשונה: מנהל ביטחון בפרדציה היהודית של ונקובר

לאור אתגרי הביטחון השונים הג’ואיש פדריישן של אזור מטרו ונקובר מינתה לאחרונה את דניאל היידנריך, לתפקיד מנהל הביטחון של הארגון. בתוכנית של עדיפויות אסטרטגיות ל-2020 נקבע כי יש צורך למנות מנהל מיוחד לעניניי ביטחון.

היידנריך שמכהן בתפקיד מאז חודש אוקטובר האחרון, הספיק להיפגש עם ראשי למעלה מעשרים ארגונים שונים שפועלים בקהילה, כדי לעמוד מקרוב על צרכי הביטחון שלהם, שיבואו לידי ביטוי בבקשותיהם לקבלת תקציבים כספיים מהממשלה הפדרלית. במקביל נעשה מאמץ לחזק את הקשר בין הארגונים לבין כוחות הביטחון המקומיים.

בתפקידו בפדרציה היידנריך מתמקד בשלושה תחומים עיקריים: אבטחה שוטפת של הקהילה היהודית והמוסדות השונים המסונפים אליה, קיום סדנאות מקצועיות כדי לסייע ולהדריך את הארגונים היהודים בנושא רמת הביטחון הנדרשת לאבטחתם, הפעלת רשת מתנדבי ביטחון לסייע למערך הביטחון של הארגונים השוינם ובעיקר באירועים.

היידנריך שירת במשך כעשרים שנה בצבא הבריטי. לאחר מכן שימש במשך כשלוש עשרה שנים יועץ לענייני ביטחון בארגונים שונים בעולם (בהם בעיראק ואפגניסטן, קפריסין ודרום אפריקה). בוונקובר הוא שימש בין היתר ראש האבטחה של קניון אוקרידג’ ולאחר מכן מנהל הביטחון של מלון הדירות טראמפ ונקובר.

Perpetrators offers new insights

Who could shoot at close range two million children, women and men who were standing at the sides of graves they had just been forced to dig? And then, when this process proved inefficient, who could herd four million more into cement bunkers and drop cyanide pellets on top of them? Were they monsters?

“Monsters do exist,” Primo Levi once said, “but they are too few in number to be truly dangerous. More dangerous are the common men, the functionaries ready to believe and act without asking questions.”

Christopher Browning, in his famous 1992 study of Holocaust perpetrators, Ordinary Men, came to the same appalling conclusion: the killers were simple, middle-class working men, “believing Christians” from all walks of life (including thousands of priests and seminarians), just witlessly and anxiously “following orders” and blindly obeying peer pressure, not, in most cases, virulent antisemites.

The controversial nonagenarian scholar Guenther Lewy, the author of Perpetrators: The World of the Holocaust Killers (Oxford University Press, 2017), and son of a camp survivor, begins his new study of Holocaust perpetrators with the same question: “How could such terrible deeds happen in the heart of Christian Europe and among a nation known for its poets and thinkers? What had converted so many seemingly ordinary people into killers, willing participants in what is the worst crime in modern history?”

Lewy’s study is the first English-language volume to make use of the 49-volume collection of 929 German trial records of Holocaust perpetrators recently published by the University of Amsterdam (it is not made clear why the records were not published in Germany). He also draws upon an enormous accretion of “previously untapped” sources such as the 50,000 letters and diaries of Wehrmacht soldiers recently released by German archives, as well as victim recollections and, most importantly, hundreds of trial records of Nazi functionaries, beginning in Nuremberg in 1945 and continuing to the present day. Of the 1,200 citations in the 25-page bibliography and the 600 footnotes, by far most of them are from the late 1990s to the present.

Lewy’s conclusion is similar to Levi’s and Browning’s: the perpetrators were not characteristically sadists or psychopaths, or even necessarily antisemites, but simply obtuse followers of orders, vassals to peer pressure, or simply “ordinary people” trying to advance their careers.

Lewy’s graphic details and conclusions will be familiar to readers of Saul Friedlander’s monumental Nazi Germany and the Jews, 1939-1945: The Years of Extermination (2007), but Lewy’s access to the most recent documentation brings some new and important facts to light.

First, the whole notion of a “clean Wehrmacht” can now be dismissed. Lewy proves conclusively that there was close contact between the Wehrmacht and the SS and particularly the 38 “Totenkopf” (“Death’s Head”) divisions of the Waffen-SS: new evidence shows that Jews were “squarely in the crosshairs of the Wehrmacht” and that the number of members of the Wehrmacht who took part in the murder of Jews “is in the tens of thousands.”

Second, Lewy’s close study of the new material available allowed him to conclude that “not a single person who asked to be relieved [from duty in the killing squads] was tried by a military court” and, in fact, “most of their requests were granted.” Lewy found 85 cases of Wehrmacht soldiers who refused to shoot civilians: all were simply transferred to other duties. The significance of this finding, of course, is that it puts the lie to the excuse frequently made by the killers that they “had no choice” and “had to follow orders.” (Lewy points out, significantly, that Yad Vashem has in fact recognized 45 Wehrmacht soldiers as “saviours of Jews.”)

In the sixth chapter of Perpetrators, “Flawed Justice,” Lewy makes his most significant mark. Here, Lewy reveals that, of the 200,000 or so former Nazi killers who, through 2005, were investigated by German authorities, fewer than 10% had charges brought against them; and, of these, only half were convicted. Light sentences were the norm; and only eight of the 2,000 former members of the Einsatzgruppen investigated received life sentences. Most of these examples of “flawed justice,” Lewy concludes, had to do with the fact that so many judges were “tainted” as former party members, and that German law (unlike Canadian law) distinguished between perpetrators and accomplices, usually finding the latter innocent, as they were “only following orders,” that they were only “tools” or were not “unseemingly zealous” in their murderous actions. (Two years ago, German courts finally adopted Canadian/American style “common design,” sharing the guilt between perpetrators and accomplices.)

In his final chapter, “Explaining the Holocaust,” Lewy concludes that nobody, ultimately, can simply give up his freedom. Situation, genetics, conditioning are all significant, but “they do not dictate or determine character.” In fact, recalling how anxiously in 1945 the Nazis strove to cover up what they had done led Lewy to conclude that “even Hitler and the members of his immediate entourage probably knew deep down that they were doing wrong.”

And, as Lewy concludes, in his last sentence, “The fact that so few avoided evil orders remains an ineradicable blot on an entire German generation and a cross that their descendants continue to bear.”

Perpetrators is a valuable addition to a long story, one which may never be conclusively told.

Graham Forst, PhD, taught literature and philosophy at Capilano University until his retirement and now teaches in the continuing education department at Simon Fraser University. From 1975 to 2010, he co-chaired the symposium committee of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre.