Queensborough Community College of The City University of New York seeks an Assistant Director for its Harriet and Kenneth Kupferberg Holocaust Research Center and Archives. Salary range: $38,801-$50,484. Details available here.
Just received an e-mail about a job available at the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum. The Silberman Foundation ITS Research Scholar is responsible, “under the supervision of the Director of the Center’s Visiting Scholar Programs and in consultation with the Center Director, for planning and implementing research workshops, symposia, seminars, and other outreach activities that guide, encourage, and enhance scholarly investigation of the more than 100 million digital images of documentation held by the International Tracing Service (ITS) that are being transferred to the Museum. These activities may involve cooperative efforts with other research and educational institutions or with ITS itself. The incumbent will also undertake assigned research and publication projects utilizing the rich documentary resource that the ITS archives represent.” For more information, click here.
An essay bearing a subtitle that reads “A Childhood Obsession with the Holocaust” doesn’t exactly promise loads of laughs. But laugh I did, at given moments, as I read this piece by Rachel Shukert on Nextbook today.
Here’s an excerpt:
“We need to talk,” said my mother. The ballet car pool had just dropped me at home.
I wriggled impatiently, anxious to fix some microwave popcorn and return to my copy of Nuremberg Diary. “Um, not now, okay?”
“I got a call today from Mrs. Finkel.”
“The librarian. You know, at the Jewish Community Center. She’s friends with Grandma—”
“I know who she is. How did she get this number?” I demanded.
“What do you mean, how did she get this number? Probably she got it out of the Hadassah directory, the same way I would get her number.”
Nearly every Jewish woman and girl in the country belongs to Hadassah, the Women’s Zionist Organization of America. The local chapter directory is a veritable who’s who of area Jewish females. Earlier that week, I had casually mentioned to my mother that we might consider terminating our association with the organization and withdrawing our names from its records, as when They came for us, the Hadassah directory would likely be the first place They’d look.
“Mrs. Finkel told me that you tried to check out all four tapes of Shoah this afternoon.”
“So? You’re allowed to check out all four tapes! They come as a set! It’s like checking out one tape!”
She was still making that damn face. I hated that face. “She told me it was the seventh time you’ve tried to check it out in the past three weeks.”
“So what? She kept saying it was reserved.”
“It’s on the thirteen-and-over list, honey.”
“Meaning you have to be thirteen or over to check it out. That’s the rule.”
“That’s the first I’ve heard of any such rule.”
“Sweetie, that’s the rule.”
“IT’S A BULLSHIT RULE!”
My mother’s shrill temper flared at last. “And when were you planning to watch all NINE AND A HALF HOURS OF SHOAH, HUH? Were you going to take a night off from whatever weird fucking shit you’re doing to the walls of your room when the normal people are asleep?”
Never content to let a long period of insomnia pass unproductively, I had kept myself busy in the restless wee hours cutting out pictures of famous Jews from magazines and sticking them on the walls of my bedroom with bits of chewed gum, where they acted as talismans warding off the unspeakable evil that lay in wait. The resemblance to Anne Frank’s famous bedroom wall in the Secret Annex, touchingly adorned with colorful postcards and newspaper ads picturing film stars and babies, was not lost on me; however, I reasoned, if poor Anne had only been a bit more judicious, a little more ethnocentric in her selections, things might have turned out differently. The Gestapo wasn’t going to get me, not with that giant picture of Henry Kissinger on the wall.
I have to confess that there are aspects of this essay that really resonate for me. To some extent, the Holocaust “obsessed” me, a grandchild of refugees from Nazi Germany, during childhood, too. And it took me years (and, frankly, some therapy) to work through this obsession. I’m also convinced that writing fiction that might be labeled “post-Holocaust” fiction helped as well.
I had the honor of participating in one of Arnost’s fiction workshops at the 2004 Prague Summer Program. It was during my time in Prague as well that I read his extraordinary novel, Lovely Green Eyes. If you are going to read just one of his books, read that one.
Have you been following the discussion of French President Nicolas Sarkozy’s new plan? As reported in The New York Times on Saturday, Sarkozy has “surpris[ed] the nation and touch[ed] off waves of protest with his revision of the school curriculum: beginning next fall, he said, every fifth grader will have to learn the life story of one of the 11,000 French children killed by the Nazis in the Holocaust.”
I have to confess that as much as I promote Holocaust awareness (and as intriguing as I’ve found Sarkozy to be), I’m not exactly enthralled with this idea. The Times article sets forth several sources for disagreement, but the one that resonates most with me, given my own childhood Holocaust-related nightmares, comes from Simone Veil, a prominent Frenchwoman and Holocaust survivor, who is quoted as saying: “You cannot inflict this on little ones of 10 years old! You cannot ask a child to identify with a dead child. The weight of this memory is much too heavy to bear.”
It’s a heavy weight, I suspect, even for grownups. When I first heard about this plan, I thought immediately about Dora Bruder, a book by one of my favorite French authors, Patrick Modiano. In Dora Bruder, Modiano essentially does exactly what Sarkozy wants the fifth graders to do: He researches the life story of one of the 11,000 French children killed by the Nazis in the Holocaust. Dora Bruder is a powerful book, one very much in keeping with Modiano’s entire œuvre. (See Jean Charbonneau’s AGNI review for a good English-language summary.)
I know that I’m not quite up to Modiano’s level–my own family background, Ph.D. in history, and M.F.A. in creative writing notwithstanding. It’s unlikely too many French fifth graders are. Let’s leave this particular task to the Modianos of the world, and use their work to teach the fifth graders–when they’re a little older.