French Connections

Two articles in yesterday’s New York Times really caught my attention.

First up is this profile of Samuel Pisar. I met the Pisar family back in 1990, when I was spending a semester in Paris. During my undergraduate years at Harvard, I held a termtime job in the admissions office, and while I was in Paris I was an unofficial “greeter” for local students who had just been admitted to the school. One of them was named Leah Pisar (Leah is multiply referenced and quoted in the article, too). Meeting her father, a Holocaust survivor, all those years ago made my subsequent reading of his harrowing memoir, Of Blood and Hope, all the more powerful.

Next, sadly, is a story of all-too-contemporary anti-Semitism in my beloved France. In the print edition, this appears on the same page as the Pisar profile. Which, for some reason, also affects me profoundly.

More on the Museum

This post appears today–in a slightly different version–on my Practicing Writing blog.

I am preparing this post on Wednesday night for posting early on Thursday. I have to be honest with you: I’m having a hard time focusing on anything but the terrible events that unfolded today at the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum.

As some of you know, much of my writing–in every genre–has been influenced by my identity as the elder granddaughter of German Jews who fled to the United States in the late 1930s. I visited the USHMM shortly after it opened. At the time, I was especially moved by “Remember the Children: Daniel’s Story,” an exhibit that was designed with children in mind. (The fact that in the exhibit, Daniel’s fictional sister is named “Erika” only added to the emotion of the visit.)

Although my sister’s two children are still too young to understand this part of our family history, someday we will need to explain to them why the great-grandparents for whom they are named left Germany. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’ve thought of bringing my niece and nephew to see the USHMM exhibit in Washington one day to help with that difficult task.

I am praying for the family of Stephen Tyrone Johns, the brave guard who stopped the shooter–and paid for that bravery with his life.

Horror at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum

From the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum’s Web site:

There are no words to express our grief and shock over today’s events at the Museum, which took the life of Officer Stephen Tyrone Johns. Officer Johns, who died heroically in the line of duty, served on the Museum’s security staff for six years. Our thoughts and prayers go out to Officer Johns’s family. We have made the decision to close the Museum Thursday, June 11, in honor of Officer Johns and our flags will be flown at half mast in his memory.

May Officer Johns’s memory be for blessing.

I can’t quite form other thoughts in words just yet.

Andre Aciman on "The Exodus Obama Forgot to Mention"

Of all the analyses that have followed President Barack Obama’s recent speech in Cairo, none has affected me as much as André Aciman’s op-ed in today’s New York Times:

The president never said a word about me. Or, for that matter, about any of the other 800,000 or so Jews born in the Middle East who fled the Arab and Muslim world or who were summarily expelled for being Jewish in the 20th century. With all his references to the history of Islam and to its (questionable) “proud tradition of tolerance” of other faiths, Mr. Obama never said anything about those Jews whose ancestors had been living in Arab lands long before the advent of Islam but were its first victims once rampant nationalism swept over the Arab world.

Nor did he bother to mention that with this flight and expulsion, Jewish assets were — let’s call it by its proper name — looted. Mr. Obama never mentioned the belongings I still own in Egypt and will never recover. My mother’s house, my father’s factory, our life in Egypt, our friends, our books, our cars, my bicycle. We are, each one of us, not just defined by the arrangement of protein molecules in our cells, but also by the things we call our own. Take away our things and something in us dies. Losing his wealth, his home, the life he had built, killed my father. He didn’t die right away; it took four decades of exile to finish him off.

Mr. Obama had harsh things to say to the Arab world about its treatment of women. And he said much about America’s debt to Islam. But he failed to remind the Egyptians in his audience that until 50 years ago a strong and vibrant Jewish community thrived in their midst. Or that many of Egypt’s finest hospitals and other institutions were founded and financed by Jews. It is a shame that he did not remind the Egyptians in the audience of this, because, in most cases — and especially among those younger than 50 — their memory banks have been conveniently expunged of deadweight and guilt. They have no recollections of Jews.

Read the full column here.

Stephen M. Flatow on Caryl Churchill’s "Seven Jewish Children: A Play for Gaza"

Stephen M. Flatow, whose daughter, Alisa, was killed in April 1995 by Palestinian Islamic Jihad in Gaza, shares his view on Caryl Churchill and Seven Jewish Children: A Play for Gaza: “If you think the play is about little Jewish children, about how they live and go about their lives, you would be wrong. As its subtitle strongly signals, Churchill’s take on the Palestinian-Israeli conflict isn’t balanced; one has only to read it to see the anti-Semitism disguised within its anti-Zionism.” Like Jeffrey Goldberg, Flatow disapproves of a Jewish theater company’s decision to stage a reading of this play: “Presenting innovative theater is one thing; assisting in the advancement of an anti-Semitic agenda is another. Absent balance and context, Seven Jewish Children is nothing more than cheap art; it belongs on the garbage heap.”