In the week we have been commemorating the 70th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz I have been trying to understand why I am so weary and wary of the Holocaust. Despite the undoubted emotional pull of the survivors' testimonies,
is there any lasting meaning be found in the ashes at Auschwitz? Should it even be looked for?I didn't always feel this way.
We recently moved house and a few weeks ago my older son and I were unpacking boxes of books and finding new homes for them. I noticed just how much reading I had done on the subject of the Holocaust, mostly more than twenty years ago.
I had straight histories like
The War Against the Jews by Lucy Dawidowicz and
Holocaust by Martin Gilbert. I'd read
Last Waltz in Vienna by George Clare, Elie Wiesel's
Night,
Europa, Europa by Solomon Perel and Primo Levi's
If This is a Man, and
The Drowned and the Saved. There were Art Spiegelman's graphic novels
Maus, where Nazis and Jews become cats and mice. Ghetto accounts such as
A Cup of Tears by Abraham Lewin and Marek Edelman's
The Ghetto Fights. I remembered being completely absorbed by Theo Richmond's detailed account of the destruction of one tiny shtetl village
Konin. I had the complete transcript of Claude Lanzmann's epic documentary
Shoah. Hannah Arendt's account of the Eichmann trial in Jerusalem in the 1950s. And of course, Anne Frank's diary, the fully annotated critical edition.
Comment: Police are now unable to determine any normal human behavior. Every incident requires a gun, or force.