Reviving a Bygone Era: Poetry

Once upon a time, I wrote a lot of poetry. For ages, I was convinced I was going to be a poet. I went into university as an English major set on the idea of being an intellectually advanced poetry-composing artist. My dreams were swept under the rug after a visit to my dentist. Yes, during that visit I saw an English diploma hanging on her wall, and, after asking her about it, I decided that I absolutely was not going to go down the path of a wasted degree (but honestly, a necessarily evil, they're all pretty much wasted these days).

I did my best to continue writing, doing slam poetry, trying to keep my mind nimble, but somewhere along the line (during my first marriage) I fell out of love with it. I miss poetry, I miss being able to sit down and the words just flowing like they were already out there in existence and I was merely recording them (think: the Oral Torah) for future generations.

On that note, here's an oldie but a goodie that I once penned in the days when I was generically Missouri born and Nebraska grown Amanda Edwards, shortly before my Reform conversion.

Shmutzik

I fill the shoes of a Jew, and the

wind that floats by your face may be a piece of

me.  but I am no longer in a ghetto.  for now,

they say.  I am in the shul, next to you where you ponder

how history has repeated itself.  I feel like

repetition, with your fingerprint on my history.

northern Africa, Poland, Germany … history moves like

water in its cycle.  changing, but always coming

back to it’s primary form.

and you walk past me as if you can smell it on me,

like fresh matzo or kosher wine.

perhaps I have the nose, the nose that seems to run,

everyone thinks, in centuries of g-d’s chosen.

or maybe you smell on me gelt, centuries

of money lenders and bankers. used and tossed

aside as needed and beckoned upon by kings and

other gentiles. you know it’s christianity’s history

that swore Jews to the money trade.

but it is merely the badge I wear on my arm,

this g-d forsaken yellow badge.  the chutzpah

of the goy who invented such a symbol, a mark

of some kind of chaye.  centuries after it was

created it is stapled to the skin of everyone who

was promised the holy land, who cherishes the

Sabbath and lives respectfully for and of life.

i didn’t kill your g-d.  Jesus was a liberal Jew.

do you notice that for centuries my community

has wanted nothing more than to live in peace?

and we are created and destroyed by being moved,

expelled, killed, murdered, our precious objects

of Passover and holy days stolen and ruined.

my halakah has been forked by your history.

museums are the resting place for my history, my

blood, my memories are kept in plastic boxes

with little cards and dates that mean nothing but to

say this is when a branch broke, a leaf fell, a vine

was ripped from it’s place and made to forget.

my torah, your book, my Talmud, your prayer,

your weapon, my words. my death, your hand.

my mother tells me I am merely a luftmensh, blind

to what will happen to my people someday. she

says to me, ‘my little bubbala, you know that

history has murdered a memory, soon the memory

will be murdered as well.’  we are all g-d’s chosen.

fershtay? do you understand? there is no rachmones

for anything my history has done for your present.

but history has learned nothing of itself, and I remember

everything of it, as it is in my blood, my eyes, my nose,

my fingers.  i breathe and sigh history’s mistakes everyday.

so let us lomir redn mamaloshn.

12 million voices, half murdered.

ashes to ashes, dust to dust, dirt to shmutzik.

you or I, it makes no difference.

little key:

shmutzik: dirt

shul: school

matzo: the bread made during Passover

gelt: money

gentiles: non-Jews

chutzpah: nerve, gall

chaye: beast

halakah: path (in Judaism)

Torah/Talmud: key Jewish books

luftmensh: someone with their head in the clouds

bubbala: darling

fershtay: do you understand?

rachmones: compassion

lomir redn mamaloshn: literally, “let’s talk Yiddish” or “get to the point”

Curious George: The Documentary!

Curious George turns 75 years old this year, and filmmaker Ema Ryan Yamazaki has created the first-ever mixed-media documentary about Curious George: Monkey Business. 

The question is: Are you aware of the epic background of the creators of Curious George? Let's just say it involves a narrow escape from the Nazis and the Shoah (Holocaust) on makeshift bicycles across Europe with the yet-to-be-published Curious George manuscript in tow! 

If I've piqued your interest, make sure you donate a few dollars to the Kickstarter in support of the documentary: http://bit.ly/curiousgeorgedoc. Ema Ryan Yamazaki tells the story of Hans and Margret Rey in this exciting look at one of Asher's favorite characters. 

Not only are you supporting the telling of a vital part of history and the background of one of the world's most beloved monkeys and his creators, you'll also get some exclusive Curious George swag in the process. 

Support Monkey Business: http://bit.ly/curiousgeorgedoc

A Yom HaZikaron Tribute: Chaviva Reich

I could have sworn that, at some point in the past, I wrote about her. The paratrooper who shares my name. When my blog started taking off her name dropped further and further down in the results and I felt a huge guilt in that. So I thought I wrote about her on Yom HaZikaron, but looking through the archives it appears that she got an ever-so-brief mention on a post where I donated some money to the Friends of the IDF.

Where to begin? I chose the name Chaviva for myself prior to my Reform conversion in April 2006 after a conversation with my rabbi about naming. He picked up a book of names and we explored options that were similar in meaning to my birth name, Amanda, and he came up with Aviva, Ahava, Chaviva, and so on. I chose Chaviva because I like that throaty guttural sound -- it really makes you work for the name. It was a few years before I realized that there was someone particularly unique with the name Chaviva out there and that she had done more for Am Yisrael than I could ever do. I don't remember exactly how I stumbled upon her name or her story, but once I did, I knew that if I ever went to Israel I'd have to see her grave on Har Herzl and pay my respects to someone who honors the name in such a unique way.

I'd forgotten about this special Chaviva until my Birthright group was walking through Har Herzl in late December 2008. There, in the middle of this separate space, were the graves of several paratroopers. And there, amid those paratroopers, was the grave of Chaviva Reich (Haviva Reik). The group was rushing through the area, but I insisted on stopping, placing a stone, taking a picture, and thanking her for what she did for Israel. Thinking about it now even makes me emotional. I don't know why I feel such a strong tie to this woman who died more than nearly 70 years ago defending the Jewish people's right to survive.

-------------------

Chaviva Reich was born on June 14, 1914 as Marta Reick in Nadabula, Slovkia and grew up in the Carpathian Mountains. As a child, she joined the HaShomer Hatzair youth movement and subsequently made aliyah in 1939 where she joined Kibbutz Ma'anit. Later, she joined the Palmach, the elite strike force of the Haganah underground military organization.

She then became one of 32 or 33 Palestinian Jewish paratroopers sent by the Jewish Agency and Britian's Special OPeration Executive (SEO) on military missions in Nazi-occupied Europe.

Reich joined the Women's Auxiliary Air Force (WAAF) as "Ada Robinson" and then joined SOE for specialist training, including a parachuting course. After a short time, she assumed another name for her mission: "Martha Martinovic" and was promoted to sergeant.

On August 28, 1944, the Nazis began to start occupying Slovakia in order to eliminate an uprising, and it was during this time that Reich and three others waited in Bari, Italy, to be parachuted into Slovakia. There was a bump in the road when the British refused to fly a woman behind enemy lines for a military operations, so Reich hitched a ride with a group of American pilots who were flying there. After Reich and the three other parachuters and an additional parachuter convened in as-yet unoccupied Banska Bystrica, Slovakia, they set up relief and rescue activities, organizing a soup kitchen and community center for refugees. They also facilitated the escape of Jewish children to Hungary and on to Palestine.

Then, on October 27, 1944, German troops occupied Banska Bystrica. Reich and the other parachutists escaped with about 40 other Jewish partisans and community leaders to build a camp in the mountains. They were, however, captured a few days later by Ukrainian Waffen SS soldiers.

Less than a month later, the Germans and their Slovakian collabortors shot most of the captive Jews, including Reich, and buried them in a mass grave in the village of Kremnicka. Two of the other parachutists were deported to Mauthausen and later killed. Only one of the parachutists -- Haim Chermesh -- escaped and returned to Israel. Chaviva Reich was only 30 years old.

After the war ended, in September 1945, Reich's body was exhumed and buried in the Military Cemetery in Prague. Then, in September 1952, her remains were moved and buried in the Har Herzl Military Cemetery in Jerusalem along with the famous Hannah Szenes. Today, Kibbutz Lahavot Haviva, the Givat Haviva institute, a small river, a gerbera flower, a big water reservoir, an Aliyah Bet ship, and numerous streets in Israel are named after her.

Book Review: Crossing the Borders of Time

I meant to write about this last week, but, well last week was peculiar for me, so I'm just getting to this book review now. The kind folks at OtherPress sent me Crossing the Borders of Time by Leslie Maitland,  a "True story of war, exile, and love reclaimed."

I'm not done with the book yet, but I'm about halfway through and I'm perfectly keen on writing this review before I finish it because it's absolutely amazing. A can't-put-it-down kind of read, which I attribute to the author's background as an investigative journalist. I find that journalists make the best book authors, because their talent is simply stretched out over hundreds of pages rather than across a broadsheet.

The book tells the true story of the author's maternal ancestors and their experiences prior to, during, and after the Holocaust. The family hails from the fine line between Germany and France, Maitland's mother grows up bouncing back between two worlds until they are no longer welcome in France as Germans and no longer welcome in Germany as Jews. Their journey from Europe to Cuba and on to the U.S. is harrowing, shocking, and Maitland describes it in vivid detail. And the entire story is told through a lost-love narrative between Maitland's Jewish mother and her Alsatian Catholic love. A few times I had to stop and sit back to remind myself that Maitland herself wasn't there; her storytelling is that good.

I've learned some shocking things about the experience of Alsatians, French and German Jews, and those caught between France and Germany during Hitler's reign. Did you know that when the Nazis went to France, they basically walked straight in to Paris without firing a shot? That they turned the clocks of France to German time? (So much for time zones, eh?)

Also: There are some outstanding pictures and documents in this book, thanks to Maitland's family's penchant for holding on to important, meaningful family paperwork. It really makes the story come to life.

If you appreciate a good storyteller, if you appreciate history, if you appreciate love lost and found, then I definitely suggest you find a copy of this book and get to it. It's hard to put down, I guarantee you that, so make sure you find a long, nice day to curl up outside with the book and some coffee.

Book Review: "Heir to the Glimmering World"

If you've never read something by Cynthia Ozick, then you're seriously missing out. My first encounter with Ozick was in the last class of my last year of my undergraduate career -- American-Jewish Fiction with one of my favorite professors who I wrote about recently because he passed away. In that class, we read Ozick's The Shawl, which offered a portrait of the survivor's mentality and subsequent destruction therein. It is an incredibly short read, but an incredibly powerful read that will have you in tears.

When I was back in Nebraska last month, I picked up a ton of delicious used books at A Novel Idea, and one of them happened to be a Cynthia Ozick book I was neither familiar with nor had read -- Heir to the Glimmering World. I'm happy to say that this is one of those books that's incredibly hard to put down, and since it was my bedside table, pre-bed book, it made it hard to get through.

The narrative features Rosie, an 18-year-old whose father's curious past leaves her in an interesting place when he passes. She ends up living with her "cousin" Bertram, but when he takes up with a radical named Ninel (Lenin backwards!), Rosie is off to new frontiers, which leads her to the home of a family of refugees. The bulk of the book takes place in the 1930s when Rosie is in the home of the Mitwissers in The Bronx, where she is something of an assistant to the elder Mitwisser, a once-prized professor in the old country. The family has been affected in strange ways by the changes in Germany in the 1930s, and each of the family members handles things differently. Having been of the German elite, the family now relies on their benefactor, James A'Bair, who has his own strange, obscure background that left him "in the money." Rosie plays a greater role in the family than she can ever imagine, and Heir to the Glimmering World, and the book is unexpected in where it begins and where it ends.

I was incredibly pleased with this book, and it definitely had Ozick's balance of light and darkness in storytelling. The glimpses of hope and despair are so perfectly balanced, and unlike so many stories of refugees from the 1930s and 1940s from Europe, this story doesn't follow the typical trend. Judaism doesn't play a major role in the book, despite the elder Mitwisser being an aficionado on the Karaites.

Ultimately, this is a book about crushed dreams, new realities, a loss of security, and moving on with life when you lose everything and have to start fresh. It was a truly powerful read, and I highly recommend it!

A Jewish Funeral Experience

It's been around 13 years since I attended a funeral. At least, that's the last one I remember. It was my Uncle David, who wasn't really my Uncle David. I wrote a poem about it in college, recollecting the man who was more of a grandfather figure to me than anything else. Uncle David was my father's step-mother's family, distant, but oh-so-close to my father and to us kids. From the poem, "Uncle David Stole My Nose" ...

When I think about the funeral,
I remember looking into the casket
and seeing Uncle David’s face.
I remember, at that awkward age between
childhood and becoming a young woman,
wondering why he wasn’t smiling.
I remember telling my father, as we
left the burial site after crying and hugging
and holding relatives close, that Uncle
David’s lips should have been curved up.
Smiling as he always was.
Because that’s how everyone knew him,
that’s how I knew him,
when he was alive. ... 

I’ve try to forget the funeral and the burial,
while trying to keep Uncle David as
he was the last time I saw him before
he looked so sad in that big black box.
But I continue to recall driving past the Big Boy
where we’d eat with Uncle David every
now and then when we visited.
I remember crying and thinking about how
empty my dad was, because he’d
lost a father figure. But I know I cried
mostly because I’d lost a
Grandfather, and my nose would stay put
and I realized I was no longer
a child.

That funeral took place during a bizarre weekend where there was a wedding and a funeral. Emotional ups and downs were extreme. But this is my memory of funerals -- Christian funerals. 

Until this past week, I had not been to a Jewish funeral. I've written about paying shiva calls and the difficulty of really coming to terms with that tradition, but nothing could have prepared me for this week. I was, in plain words, an emotional wreck graveside. 

At my Uncle's funeral, it began with service at the funeral chapel, there were Bible verses read, the mood was depressing and morose, and seeing my dead uncle in the box put a forever-image in my head. We all took off to the graveside service afterward, where, everyone, dressed in black, huddled around the plot that had been carved out. The beautiful casket was held on props while words were said, words from the Bible were read, and then we departed. Only after that was the casket lowered -- we didn't watch the casket go down. We left knowing that he was still floating somewhere above the service. 

At Roszi's funeral (I blogged about her passing here) -- as I assume is true at all Jewish funerals -- the casket was lowered simply in its wooden-box form into the space in the ground. A rabbi related Roszi's life to those of us huddled under umbrellas in the cold rain, and then, then the men took a shovel and heaved dirt onto the wooden casket. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

And I lost it. I don't know why, but my tears just streamed -- and as I write this, my eyes are welling ... and I just don't know why. The sound of dirt -- dirt to dirt -- hitting a simple wooden casket was something I hadn't expected. Something that, to be honest, would never have happened at a funeral back home, back in my old life. The sounds ruptured something deep within me, emotions for a woman who I had barely known and who had not known me at all. 

"How many times did you even meet Roszi?" my husband asked after the funeral. 

I suppose that this is the purpose of such a visceral display of Jewish burial. It is participatory, permanent, and real. In a way, I suppose it seals the truth and the reality of what has happened. As people started to walk away, people were chattering and smiling and everyone except for the immediate family and I seemed to be unshaken by the events. 

I started to wonder: Have I become a softy? Overemotional? Or was it simply my neshama crying out for the loss of a soul so tortured for absolutely no reason.

Baruch Dayan ha'Emet.

That's Roszi, on the left. Probably taken in the early or mid-1930s.

I've known for some time that the generation of Holocaust survivors has been disappearing. Old souls are finding their way to shamayim, and in some way, are finding their way to peace after facing some incredible horrors. But -- as someone who in the past struggled to tie herself into the memory of the Shoah -- the reality of the passing of a generation never truly hit home.

Until now.

I've been meaning to write for such a long time about my husband's family and all of the amazing things we've found out about those who perished in the Holocaust. Tuvia's been cleaning out the home of one of his great-aunts and his great-uncle, and he's found some amazing things, including a document of donation to a British Mandate organization that supported a Satmar Hungarian community in then-Palestine, as well as the only surviving photo of Tuvia's maternal grandmother's family.

Tuvia's family hails from one of those places in Europe that switched hands a million times from Hungary to Romania to Austro-Hungary to ... you get the picture. They lived in Viseu-de-Sus, and we're fairly sure that's where the older siblings -- three sisters -- were born. When anti-Semitism started up, they move to Oradea, Romania, where the only surviving photo we have was taken. The family was shuttled off to the ghetto there, which was the second largest in Hungary, and were taken from the ghetto to Auschwitz in May 1944. The yartzeits (anniversary of death) for two parents and four siblings is in May 1944, because that's the last time the three surviving sisters saw their kin. (The parents and three of the four siblings are in the photo above -- a younger child was born after this picture was taken.)

After that, the sisters took a horrible journey that I will not detail here. My intent is to someday write the full story down, but the problem is that the stories are muddled and only one sister recorded her version. Records are impossible, the family stories are many, and ultimately the conclusion is that the Sisters Berkowitz journeyed to hell and back.

For one of the sisters -- Roszi -- that journey ended Saturday night.

From what we know from the one recorded history, Roszi suffered the worst of the sisters, both during and after the Shoah. After the war, Roszi lived in Sweden and then in Israel, and in one of the last legal documents by President John F. Kennedy, signed just days before he was murdered, he declared that Roszi was to be brought to New Jersey to be reunited with her family.

When I heard that she passed, all I could think was that she finally has her peace. I've spent simchas with Roszi, but I'm sure she never recognized me. Her mind was tired, and her soul was tired. Baruch dayan ha'emet. 


It's real now for me. The memory is slipping away. I can feel it, like sand through fingertips. What will happen when all of our memories -- the survivors of the Shoah -- have grown tired and faded away? I'm scared, really. I'm scared that history will repeat, and sooner than we anticipate we'll return to the earth as dust.

Unlikely BFFs: West Germany and Israel

I've become utterly fascinated (as I often do with academic topics) with the "special" German-Israeli relationship that came about in the wake of World War II and the Shoah, as I mentioned in yesterday's post. I had no idea that there was such a relationship, and when I heard about it and started reading about it, the relationship seemed absurd. After all, Germany was responsible for the destruction of so much of world Jewry. How, so soon after the war ended, could Israel develop a mutually beneficial relationship with a country that had acted, well, evil?

German Chancellor Konrad Adenauer

Before World War II was even over, American Jewish organizations were calling for reparations from Germany to the Jewish people (Nahum Goldmann of the WJC was the first). There was no necessarily formal effort, and as the war came to a close, the U.S. wanted no part of an endorsement or push for Germany to pass funds to Israel as it became a state in 1948. The situation for West Germany (as the state was split into Communist East and Democratic West) was one that sought expiation of guilt, but also the rehabilitation of the state's reputation in the West following the tragedies of WW II. For Israel, by 1950, the state was in a dire situation: unemployment was high, there were bread lines, they were recovering still from the 1948 war, and they needed financial support and arms. And in the U.S.? Anti-German sentiments ran rampant among the Jewish and Jewish Zionist communities. How quickly that changed ...

For West Germany, there was one country and one people that could rebuild their reputation and for Israel, there was one country that owed them -- big time. Thus enters the "you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours" situation that defined Israel-West Germany relations.

(As an interesting aside ... David Ben-Gurion, in the autumn of 1950 actually wanted to retroactively declare war against West Germany for their inability to step up to the idea of reparations. Luckily, his foreign ministry said "no way, Jose.")

In 1951, the Israeli government sent a letter to the four occupying powers in Germany demanding restitution -- $1 billion from West Germany and $550 million from East Germany. The Western powers responded by recommending direct talks, which Ben-Gurion later endorsed, but the Soviets didn't answer until a year later, saying the only way Israel would get reparations was if there was a united Germany with a peace treaty. Of course, this wasn't going to happen, so East Germany stayed out of reparations situation.

In April 1951, there was a meeting in Paris where talks began between Israel and West Germany. The result over the next year were violent protests in Israel, with outcries about taking "blood money" and acknowledging the Nazi party from the right (Herut) and the left (Mapam). Officials in West Germany also spoke out privately and publicly about the deal, suggesting that the country should focus on rearming and repaying its wartime debts. However, the illustriously awesome Chancellor of West Germany, Konrad Adenauer, held firmly to his belief that both morally and politically, the deal was best for everyone involved -- for Adenauer, the influence of American Jews was huge, and to please American Jews, who were largely Zionistic, you had to give a little love to Israel.

(Another amusing aside ... In March 1952, West German Finance Minister Schaffer suggested an international loan from the U.S. Jewish community to finance West German restitution payments, believing it would limit Israel's direct claims on their generosity ... genius idea. No one would figure that one out, right.)

Signing of the Luxembourg agreement. Surprised there's not more press!

Finally, in September 1952, Adenauer and Foreign Minister Moshe Sharrett signed the Luxembourg Agreement for $3.45 million (marks) to start in 1953. By 1957, Shimon Peres (IDF) and West German Defense Minister Strauss met to discuss a "secret military cooperation" to exchange a large amount of arms, for free. There were no formal diplomatic or defense ties between West Germany and Israel, because West Germany feared (rightly so) that if they were open about their relationship with Israel that the Arab nations would endorse Communist East Germany, so things were on the down low until around 1964 when "someone" revealed to The New York Times and another paper that there were armaments being transferred. Talk about story of the year.

(An aside that isn't so amusing ... the German New Left and Arab critics argued that the agreement was the result of pressure from the U.S. and that the funds being paid to Germany via the Marshall Plan were being used to pay reparations. Unfortunately, there's no evidence for this, and the U.S. was extremely adamant about staying out of everything, which is why they told Israel and West Germany to talk on their own originally.)

The relationship between West Germany and Israel was so strong that  in November 1956, when Israel invaded Sinai, that Adenauer refused to suspend reparations shipments to Israel at the demand of the United States. Yes, folks, Adenauer was devoted to his relationship with Israel. Good man, right?

The meeting at the Waldorf. "I hear your back itches, need me to scratch it?"

In 1960, Adenauer and Ben-Gurion met at the Waldorf Hotel in New York to discuss a bevy of things about their relationship (as states, of course). It was a huge press moment for the both of them -- Germany looked good because they were doing their moral part to help Israeli infrastructure and Ben-Gurion assured American Jews that the new Germany was not the old Germany. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours!

Between 1963-1965, a few things happened. There were German scientists working in Egypt, which had the world a'flutter

And we all lived happily ever after ... or not. After the 1960s, the relationship between Israel and Germany deteriorated, and even more so after the reunification of Germany. Once Adenauer was out of office, each of the new chancellors seemed more and more disengaged with support of Israel. My focus for my research/presentation is on the 1940s-1960s, so that's where I stop.

I have a few questions about it all, however.

• I mean, Adenauer saw American Jews as having huge "economic" influence in the West, which was one of the many reasons he gave for choosing the Israel reparations plan over paying off debts and rearming. Was he working on the function of stereotypes? Or was he playing to the German people's understanding of the Jews as a financially savvy people? He also played the moral card a lot -- stating that it was Israel's moral obligation to receive reparations and that it was Germany's obligation to pay them out. 

• I also wonder who got the better end of the deal -- Israel or West Germany? The latter got the benefit of the Jewish people's endorsement as being "changed," and after the horrors of the Shoah, that was huge. Beyond huge. Imagine if that hadn't of happened? Would Germany still be fighting for legitimacy today?  On the other hand, Israel wouldn't have been able to support itself financially without the reparations from Germany, and there might not have been an Israel today, at least not a habitable one. 

I honestly can't imagine how many people had to bite their tongues and go with it ... because, really, the war ended in 1945, Israel was established in 1948, and by 1952 Germany and Israel were BFFs. Today, when I think about this, it's absolutely unfathomable. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the issue. Would you have been able to handle this? If you were in Ben-Gurion's shoes, would you have seen the positives over the negatives? Would you have been able to make a decision that in the long term made sense and in the short term was completely mad?

Readings on this topic focused largely on whether the relationship between Germany and Israel was bilateral or trilateral (influence of U.S. Jews), the role of the Holocaust in the creation of Israel and its influence on the German-Israeli relationship, and whether what exists between the two countries was a special relationship, tied completely to a unique historical and psychological relationship that exists nowhere else -- ever. If you're interested in the readings, let me know, and I can send you PDFs. And if you got this far, mazal tov!

The Germans, Israel, and de-Judafication

The portion of Shabbos that I wasn't sleeping, I was busy reading -- everything. Shabbos is my big reading day, so I sit down with The New York Times Magazine, whatever magazines have come in the mail (this week it was Cooking Light), whatever book I happen to be reading (there's usually three of them), and, of course, whatever reading is laying around for class.

German Chancellor Konrad Adenauer and Israeli Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion at the Waldorf Hotel in 1960.

I'm prepping right now for a Monday presentation in my Israel in the 1960s class on the "special relationship" between Israel and West Germany in the wake of World War II and the Shoah. There's a lot to say about the issue, of which I'm now considering myself a "pro," but I wanted to quickly post something that I read and get a reaction from my readership before I go into the long and interesting relationship that existed between Israel and Germany, specifically from the early 1950s through the mid-1960s.

Part of one of my readings (Eternal Guilt? Forty Years of German-Jewish-Israeli Relations by Wolffsohn) examined the "use" of the Holocaust as a political strategy -- both in a post-WW II environment and even today. The chapter discusses the "de-Judafication of the Jewish people" and how the essential loss of tradition and religion among a great deal of the Jewish population, particularly in Israel, causes a huge problem when it comes to our historic and biblical claims on the State of Israel (an interesting point I hadn't thought of, but sort of validates the right-wing push in Israel if you ask me -- better a religious state that can claim the land than an irreligious state with no claims on the land).

The author argues, and I would agree, that the Jews of the world, and Israel in particular are becoming "people" just like any other, with their unique identity based on the "peculiarities of their history rather than on Jewish tradition" (80). The argument is that post-Shoah, we became obsessed with our history rather than our uniqueness, traditions, and religion. Past atrocities were blamed on G-d, the Shoah blamed on Nazis. We went from the non-physical to the physical and in the process lost ourselves. I don't agree that blaming G-d would solve anything or make us feel better about the Shoah, but it's thought-provoking. Thus, regarding the state of Israel and our uniqueness, as "the people of the book" we no longer cleave to the book, thus the "Jewish claim is rendered historical and, like all things historical, it becomes relative rather than absolute" (81). We were called to be a light unto the nations, but we're becoming more like other nations (is the argument).

Anyhow, here's something that the author wrote that gave me pause, and I can't decide how I feel about it. Thus, I was wondering what you guys think about it -- as well as everything I wrote above.

Whether in Israel, the United States, or elsewhere, Holocaust memorials are really highly un-Jewish. The creation of such images is a violation of the prohibition in the first commandment. Put even more sharply, Holocaust memorials are an indication of the de-Judafication of the Jewish people (75). 

If you don't know about the German-Israel relationship in the wake of the Shoah, I'll be posting about it tomorrow, so stay tuned. It's a highly interesting issue that, well, shocked me. I didn't realize how much we needed (West) Germany or how much (West) Germany needed us ... stay tuned!

The Long-Promised Slam Video

I was elated to win the jDeal.com ambassadorship with my words of poetry, so, inspired by that, I decided to hit up a local slam poetry thing in Teaneck that I happened to spot on Twitter of all places. It turned out to be more of a poetry "reading" than a slam, but the girl before me did the serious memorized slam thing that I'm used to, and I got up and did my paper-read slams the best I could. I did two poems, and I give you one here. I used to have the first one I did memorized, and this one, in the video, as I mention, hasn't been read before. This is probably the fifth incarnation of the poem, but I think it went really well.

My next goal? Hitting up some slam poetry venues in New York City, where slam has been alive in well since 1989. Wish me luck!




Chavi Goes Slamming from Chaviva Galatz on Vimeo.

Spoiler Alert: Harry Potter, a Modern Holocaust Narrative?

Tell me this doesn't look like partisans running for dear life circa World War II ... 

So, there I was, sitting in the movie theater, at the 8:10 showing of Harry Pottery and the Deathly Hallows, minding my own business, and there's this woman, sitting a few rows up and over, telling some extravagant story, with her hands motioning wildly in the air. People are shushing here, telling her to be quiet, and there she goes, hands a'go in the air. So, being the mature adult that I am, I threw some ice at her. This stopped her talking, of course, and the rest of my time in the theater was excellent. I'd intended on writing a blog post on the premise that I like my movie theaters like I like my synagogues (quiet, quiet, quiet), but as the movie progressed, I realized there was something more interesting and pressing to write about.

The Holocaust.

I wrote in the title that this is a spoiler alert. I'm only saying that because I'm going to offer some details of the movie that might give things away. But I can't not write this blog post. It will eat away at me until you all go see the movie (or not), and maybe this will prompt some of you to head to your nearest theater. So let's begin.

I haven't read the Harry Potter books, but I've seen all of the movies. Up until this edition of the series, I hadn't really caught on to the overarching and ever-present looming Holocaust narrative. But this part of the series was ripe with Holocaust imagery, from propaganda to arm tattoos and more. The Deathly Hallows begins with a violent regime change, putting those of pure-blood wizard/witch status in full power. Muggles, that is to say, normal folk without any powers, are viewed as vermin, the lowest level of life form, and propaganda is dispersed about how to spot a muggle and what makes them vile. They must be registered, and ultimately are hunted down like animals. Harry Potter and his two BFFs make their way to the woods, where they hide out for much of the movie, running from Snatchers (people who seek out muggles and half-bloods) and trying to figure out how to save themselves and the world. There is a scene toward the beginning of the film where a woman is on trial, accused of not being a witch, and the woman -- I kid you not -- is styled perfectly with the 1940s, from her house dress to her pin-curl hair. Toward the end of the film, during a particularly heart-wrenching scene, Hermoine -- a half-blood -- is tattooed on her left arm with "Mudblood" by one of the major supporters of the violent regime change.

Wow. I know, right? It goes on and on and on. Here's a list of some things that I spotted that pretty much map out how this fits with the Holocaust narrative.

• Muggles = Jews
• Witches/Wizards = Nazis
• Harry Potter + His Band of Noble Witch Friends = Righteous Gentiles, who fight partisan style from the woods
• Hermoine = a half-Jew who has escaped to fight with the partisans
• Voldimore = Hitler
• And, I'm guessing, Dumbledor will come back Churchill style and save the day. 

I am still marveling at how this turned into a Holocaust narrative. And all of these examples are but mere, well, examples. There was a whole lot more. Harry Potter and Friends disguising themselves to pass as part of the regime, for one. Anyhow, the Holocaust narrative is strong with this flick. The righteous fighting for the safety of those not like themselves, while also trying to save the righteous who are fighting the just cause. And the arm tattoo!? Seriously!? And this was only Part 1 of the two-part final installment of the Harry Potter franchise. Personally, I'm razzle-dazzled to see how it's going to end. 

Did any of you see the movie yet? Did you pick up on this? Did it blow your mind like it did mine? 

[Singing] It's Shabbos Now!

But modestly, of course. Because, after all, this is the interwebs and I am an Orthodox Jewess. So pretend I'm in a closet, and no one can hear me. (I am in the Poconos, and it's quiet here. Oh, except for the five burly construction workers banging and sawing and talking about women while putting up the new windows. It's cold. Very cold. Because there are holes in the wall where windows go. But back to our regularly scheduled blog post ...)

Just a note that in a month and a couple days, I'll be rocking Shabbos in Jerusalem. That's the appropriate way for a Chaviva to rock Shabbos, in case you didn't know. Every day, I grow weaker, I think, being here. Almost a feeling of detachment from the world. In Israel? I feel alive. So I'm super stoked to be heading toward Jerusalem soonish. Let's just hope I can survive the coming weeks. (Hat tip to Elianah for her inspiring Israel ROCKS Shabbat post.)

Speaking of the coming weeks, I have a lot in store as far as blog posts go. I just have to get all of my schoolwork done so I can write the blog posts. In no particular order are ...

• TWO, yes, TWO cookbook giveaway contests. There will be some action involved (get your chef's hats ready) and two lucky winners will receive (one person for each book) Jamie Geller's new Quick & Kosher: Meals in Minutes or Susie Fishbein's Kosher by Design: Teens and 20-Somethings. There will be two contests, two blog posts, two winners. The first will start on Wednesday, October 27. 
• A blog post on the hair situation. Yes, hair covering. These happen to be some of my most-read posts, so I'm eager to write another one now that I'm nearly five months into being married and covering. Have I piqued your interest? I might also go all mikvah on you!
• An interesting thing happened in class last week. It involves a class full of Jews with varying observance and self-identification, a kugel, a gefilte fish, and some kale. I know, right? I'll be asking your advice. Feel free to guess where I'm going with this. 
• Tuvia's been helping organize his great aunt's and great uncle's house, and he's found some serious gems of photography and memory. Me, being obsessed with genealogy, took on the task of looking into the photos, the people, the locations, and more. I am looking forward to letting you all know the details, including an interesting revelation about Tuvia's mom's family maybe being Sephardic! As a teaser, here's the photo that got me really going. I believe (and through a variety of checking with living relatives and others) this is Evan's grandmother's immediate family in the early or mid 1930s in Oradea, Romania. This, folks, is a gem, and if it's what we all think it is, it's probably the only surviving photo of a family that (save three sisters) perished in the Shoah. 

Such a seriously good looking frum Jewish family, right?!

So keep your eyes peeled. I promise I'm going to get to these. I have to. This blog is my life force, and maybe that's why I've been feeling so dead and detached lately. Poke me. Prod me. I'll get to it.

Until then? A gut Shabbos. Shabbat Shalom. Peace, health, and lots of cholent to you!

Without Words: The Book Thief

This might be my shortest post ever. I finished reading "The Book Thief," by Markus Zusak, and I'm mostly speechless. I can offer only a series of words to describe the book. After that, I suggest you find the book and read it. Don't be turned off by the first 10 or 15 pages -- keep reading. You'll be entranced and taken by the story. The words?

Beautiful.
Tragic.
Horrifying.
Inspiring.

Have you read this book? Let's talk. I'm curious what your reaction is. There have been a flurry of books from the perspective of the "active" participants of the Shoah, or those who were not "active" but were bystanders during World War II, and I'm intrigued by this. It seems that there's a push for the story of the righteous gentiles and their efforts. In both books I've read recently with this theme, I've felt an undertone of sympathy (note that the other book I'm speaking of is The True Story of Hansel and Gretel by Louise Murphy).

Nu?