Kristallnacht - The Excuse Behind the Glass

Kristallnacht; like all things; has a beginning. We know the end result; the looting and burning of Jewish synagogues and businesses by ordinary Germans. These are the people who later said they knew nothing; kind of like Sgt. Schultz in the TV sitcom “Hogan’s Heroes”.

But the people doing the looting and burning that night were not in uniforms, and some may not have even really embraced the Nazi ideology. So how then did they wind up with bricks and bats in hand, smashing windows, looting and burning; beating people in the street who they merely suspected of being Jewish?

Many "reasons" have been manufactured over the years as to just what triggered Kristallnacht. Excuses have been invented to explain away the sudden outburst, which grew from something else which had been brewing. The following is the story of the actual incident which served as the spark which ignited Kristallnacht.

As it turns out, the incident; which served as that spark; took place only hours earlier, in Paris. It serves to remind us all that everything we do, no matter our intentions, must be undertaken with a look to the unintended consequences of our actions.

Kristallnacht was an abhorent display of hatred. Make no mistake about it, with or without this incident, the Holocaust which grew from it was going to happen anyway. This night was merely a taste of what was to come.

So, the following is not an excuse, nor an explanation. It's just the story of what happened in Paris which ignited the already noxious gas in the air that night back home in Germany.

Here then, is the story.

In 1938 the Germans began to deport Jews who were not born in Germany. “Germany for Germans!” was the cry. But there was a snag; the Jews being deported by the German government were refused entry back into Poland; which had not yet been conquered by the Nazi’s. That would be the next year. You have to marvel at the fact that the Polish people seemed to agree with Hitler’s stance against Jews, but when he conquered Poland one year later, he became evil incarnate.

Anyway, a Jewish man in Paris; Herschel Grynszpan, born of Polish-Jewish parents who lived in Germany; was outraged at the thought of his parent’s being involved in this game of political football. Moreover he decided to do something about it. His parents names were Riva and Sendel Grynszpan.

Taking himself to the German Embassy he asked to see someone; anyone. Now, that should have been a clue. But when you’re a member of the “master race” you don’t really think anyone is going to hurt you, so he was ushered in to see a low level attaché; a man named Ernst Vom Rath, who had spoken up in defense of the Jews before.  The young Jewish man living in Paris knew nothing about this German official and shot him dead.

Back in Germany the Brown shirts were grinning from ear to ear. Now the Jews weren’t only taking jobs away from the German people; they were killing them! They were killing them in foreign countries! They were killing even the moderate Germans who supported them! No longer could the people afford to wait. They must act now! They must send a clear and decisive message that the world would never forget.

Of course the irony is that; although the world would never forget; after the war was over you couldn't find a single person in that city who remembered where they were on the night of Kristallnacht. Like Sgt. Schultz; they knew nothing.

"The Great Fire" by Lou Ureneck (2015)

I’m not exactly sure why both the media and historians have chosen 2015 to commemorate the Armenian Massacre as the first Genocide of the 20^th Century.  The first of the killings began in 1912 as the Ottoman Empire continued to crumble from lack of new lands to conquer and tax. This trend had begun in the 1800’s and by the early part of the 20^th Century the Ottoman Empire; as such; was doomed. But the massacres began before 1915 and continued on through 1922 and the events at Smyrna; in present day Izmir. This book is chiefly about the massacre at Smyrna; though the author also does a masterful job of giving the reader the entire historical context which led up to it.

Nothing ever really changes in reference to the Middle East and Islam. The lines change; the names change; but the killings go on. IN this masterfully written account of the Massacre at Smyrna in 1922 author Lou Ureneck does a masterful job at bringing to life one of the most awful historical events of the early 20^th century. That he does so in such a way as to leave the reader more informed about the present day political situation in regards to ISIS and ISIL makes the book even more remarkable.

They say that the only thing new is the history you don’t know; and this book serves to prove the point. When the First World War came to an end for most of the world, the Greeks and Turks were still fighting. The Ottoman Empire had been scaled back and the Turks were fighting to keep all of the land that they could. 

Mustapha Kemal; who is known more widely as Ataturk, would become the man who would lead Turkey into the 20^th Century and remake the nation as a secular one. That struggle continues today with the Turkish government doing a tightrope walk between the secular principles established by Kemal, and the pull of radical Islam in the form of ISIS.

The Greeks were fighting the Turks for several reasons; chief among them being that King Constantine was deemed at fault for losing the war to the Ottomans and he was also being opposed by Greek Nationalists, who would eventually remove him in the days following the events at Smyrna. 

The heroes of this book are a sickly missionary named Asa Jennings; and 2 feisty young American naval Lt. Commanders named Halsey Powell and J.B. Rhodes. Together these 3 men bucked a callous and unfeeling Admiral named Mark Bristol and essentially formulated their own foreign policy in order to save almost a million people from being slaughtered on the Quay in Smyrna.

Against the wishes of the Turkish government; and under the most severe of conditions; these 3 men organized a relief effort to remove the helpless Armenian Christians to a safer haven. How they did this, in the age before instant communication, is an unbelievable story of human compassion and the will to do what is right.

This book will do more to inform the reader of the current situation in the Middle East than a month of reading today’s newspapers. Between these covers lay the history of the Ottoman Empire and how it has grown and ebbed in the past; providing a window to the present for those who will take the time and thought to make the connections.

The following excerpts are from Ernest Hemingway’s “On the Quay at Smyrna” and are quoted by the author in the book. They will do more to move you than anything I can hope to write. I offer them here as an inducement for you to read this masterfully written account by Mr. Ureneck.

“The strange thing was,” he said, “how they screamed every night at midnight. I do not know why they screamed at that time. We were in the harbor and they were all on the pier and at midnight they started screaming. We used to turn the searchlight on them to quiet them. That always did the trick. We'd run the searchlight up and down over them two or three times and they stopped it.”

“The worst,” he said, “were the women with dead babies. You couldn't get the women to give up their dead babies. They'd have babies dead for six days. Wouldn't give them up. Nothing you could do about it. Had to take them away finally…”

Also consider this quote from page 243 of the text; 

“At 4AM on May 26, 1908, the drill struck oil, and it gushed 50 feet over the rig. A young British Lieutenant who was present, along with 20 rifleman to protect the operation against bandits, sent the news back to the British government in code; “See Pslam 104 Verse 15 third sentence.”  The passage read; “And wine that maketh glad the heart of man, and oil to make his face shine…”

“Gusher followed gusher, and the Near East oil industry was born. In 1909, the British syndicate was reformulated under as the Anglo- Persian Oil Company; later to be named BP, British Petroleum.”

“All this, by way of a winding road, led to World War One, the breakup of the Ottoman Empire, Smyrna, and (Admiral) Bristol’s inexcusable response to a humanitarian disaster.”

"I Am an African" - Dumi Senda (2011)

Poetry is the balm which holds our souls together in times of trial. No poet captures that spirit as beautifully as Dumi Senda, who wrote this piece about returning to Africa, and the land of his birth. The video above was posted by Mr. Duma, and I believe that is his voice reading his own work, capturing every nuance of the words. The African experience of Diaspora parallels that of the Jewish people, and the poetry which comes from both of these experiences illustrate the passion, and sorrow, of two vastly different people; in separate places, and separate times; turning to the soothing resilience of poetry to make it through their ordeals.

This is the 2nd poem by Dumi Senda which I have posted on Rooftop Reviews. The words to this poem are reprinted below. Note how Mr. Senda uses sound and voices to help convey the sense of what Africa is; a collection of people, all with the same wants and needs for the basic necessities of life.

And here is that other poem "I Am Coming Home". It reflects the Jewish Diasporo more directly than "I Am an African"; which is a statement of identity. In "Coming Home" the poet reflects more on the hopes and dreams of returning to his native land; much in the way the refugees returned to Palestine at the close of the Second World War.

Mr. Senda has said of that poem; "This is a poem I have performed at many events over the years. I always find that a lot of people relate with the words, emotions and the story the poem carries and conveys. It’s a story that has told itself in millions of us, especially Africans in the 20th century with the emergence of the so-called diaspora generation. And one theme that runs common in many a sub theme is that of returning home one day or at least dreaming to!"

Here is that poem;

I AM AN AFRICAN

Now then

Do you see, now and then?

The furrows of history's whip

On my skin

And what I am to this pain attribute?

Do you heed the harrowing cries?

Of generations wallowing

Not only my being

But my seed that rebukes?

When you peek at the clouds

Are they dark enough to mirror my face?

Is there a silver line on the heaped cloud's edge?

Mocking like clowns at a fete my fate?

I am an African

Listen to the wind whistle the confirmation

And lithe trees like servants bowing before the Kings

Listen to the sounds of the seas 

Do you hear them hissing?

Listen to the valleys and the gullies

And the orchestral cricket in the night 

That will not be denied a say

I am an African

When you look at me

Why do you despair?

I'm the wave at sea drifting free

The menace in a lion's roar 

Thunder when lightning strikes

Spine of the earth's core

I'm the prance in a Zulu dance

Yes the dabble in dabbling sharks

I am African, no denying it

Ask the slow moving turtle ever so polite

Ask the leaping Nile ever so proud

Ask the trumpety moving mound, the breeze, the lion

And yes the land we ply on

Ask it in Swahili or Kinubi for 

I am in every language

I am an African.

For more about Mr. Senda, and his poetry, please visit his website at;

http://home.dumisenda.com/

"The Boy in the Striped Pajamas" with Asa Butterfield and David Thewlis (2008)

This is a film about the unthinkable. This is also a very intense film; although not at first. It is only after the stage has been set that you realize where this film might be heading; and then, even when you do, there is still a doubt as to what will actually transpire.

An SS officer and his family move into a beautiful home somewhere in the countryside. The home is part of Commandant Ralf’s assignment as the commander of a German facility of some kind. That is al his son knows. There is a Jewish servant in striped pajamas who does all sorts of work about the house. His mistreatment at the hands of young Bruno’s father is the first clue that boy has that something is not quite “normal” about his new home.

Bruno; played by Asa Butterfield; is an intelligent little 8 year old with a precocious 12 year old sister named Gretel; played by Amber Beattie. She is mostly concerned with acting older than her age and is a very insensitive person; not at all like Bruno. Their mother, Elsa; played by Vera Farmiga; is more like Bruno. She is a sensitive and kind woman who doesn’t understand her husband’s hatred and fanaticism.

Bruno discovers a back wall to the house garden and this leads him to the edge of the wooded area surrounding his new home. What he sees when he emerges into a clearing puzzles him. It is a bleak looking collection of wooden barracks surrounded by barbed wire fencing. Inside are people who look haggard and worn out. Bruno spots a boy, about his own age, loitering by the fence. He is wearing striped pajamas, just as the servant in his home. His father has told him that these people are not human beings at all, and they are to be despised. Bruno approaches the fence and the boy, who is named Shmuel; played by Jack Scanlon; and the two become sort of friends.

One day Bruno comes home to find Shmuel in his home cleaning the crystal glasses. His fingers are just the right size for the work; which is the only reason he has been selected. Bruno is happy to see him there and offers him some of the food from the table. When his father’s aide comes in and sees this he is enraged. Bruno is too frightened and confused to admit that he gave the food to Shmuel, and the boy is taken away.

Days later Bruno meets him again at the fence and is shocked to see that Shmuel has been beaten. He apologizes for not owning up to his act of kindness, explaining that he was scared. Bruno forgives him and enlists his aid in finding his “missing” father in the camp. In a scene reminiscent of “The Prince and the Pauper” Bruno dons an extra set of pajamas provided by Shmuel and joins him inside the compound to look for the missing man.

As luck would have it the two boys are caught up in a group headed to the “showers”. At the same time as these events are occurring Bruno’s mother notices that he is nowhere to be found. Summoning her husband and his soldiers they look for the boy, only to discover open gate in the backyard wall leading to the compound.

As the search intensifies Bruno’s parents realize the possibility that he has entered the camp; prompting a furious search to discover him before the unthinkable happens. Sparse direction and incredibly underplayed acting make this film one which you will be thinking about long after the final credits have rolled.

"Beyond the Gates" with John Hurt and Hugh Dancy (2005)

Rwanda; and the Genocide which was allowed to persist there in the 1990’s; was the point at which I stopped believing in the United Nations as the cure for anything. In spite of my own experiences in supplying the so-called “Peacekeeping” forces in Beirut during the early 1980’s I had still held out hope that the UN might be able to do something useful in this world. Rwanda dashed all of that hope for me.

How was it possible for the massacre between Hutu and Tutsi to continue while well-armed UN Peacekeepers were in country facing enemies armed with machetes? The official policy was to observe; and shamefully that is just what they did.

As diplomats spoke over lunch and politicians made speeches, the Peacekeepers were left with no clear directive of what to do when the mass killings began. And, as the killings progressed and the bodies piled up, the officers and men of the Peacekeeping Forces did their job and so did nothing.

In this beautifully made movie which takes place in 1994, just after the Hutu President’s plane has been shot down, the Hutu’s and Tutsi’s come to war over allegations that the plane was shot down by the Tutsi’s. The Hutu’s are more numerous and have every advantage of being the governing tribe in Rwanda. The airplane crash serves as a pretext for the killings to begin.

The film centers around a local school run by a Priest named Father Christopher, played by John Hurt. He is assisted by Joe Connor, played by Hugh Dancy. They have forged a community with the Tutsi’s of the area and introduced them to western style education and Christianity. There are also some Hutu’s living at the school as employees, which makes you think that there is hope for peace between the two tribes; at least in the school itself.

Father Christopher and Joe are able to shelter 2,500 men, women and children at the school as the violence rages just outside the gate and the corpses pile up. The Belgian Peacekeepers assigned to protect them find themselves under siege and a deadly game of cat and mouse ensues; the only question being how long it will take for the Hutu’s to realize that the UN Peacekeepers are under orders not to shoot; under any circumstances.

As the situation spirals way out of control, Father Christopher begins to question whether he has done any good for the students in his charge. They recite the prayers, they eat the wafers of the sacrament; but do they really understand Christianity? But just as he is judging them he and Joe face the larger ethical question of what they should do as individuals. Do they stay and share the fate of their refugees? Or do they flee with the Peacekeepers, leaving them to the fate of the Hutu’s?

Directed brilliantly and performed with intensity, this film will make you look with even more disgust at the United Nations. Having seen the UN in action close hand in Lebanon, I can tell you that this film does nothing to stretch the truth.

The Night of Broken Glass

Growing up in Brooklyn, New York in the 1950’s and 1960’s was like growing up in the shadow of the Second World War. To know about the Holocaust is one thing, but to live amongst people who were affected by it; either by a friends family members, who were left behind in Europe and never made it through the war, or the many survivors; or refugees as they were known; who bore the blue inked numerical tattoo affixed to their wrists, was quite another. That tattoo identified them as survivors of the death camps, and these persons were revered, as they had looked death squarely in the eye and lived.

Today is the 75^th anniversary of Kristallnacht, or the “Night of Broken Glass”. This photo shows the shock and fear on the faces of the little boy and his mother, prompting me to wonder if they were Jewish. Most likely they were not; as any sane person of Jewish heritage would have been indoors when this photo was taken after the first night of killing and burning had ended. But shock and fear know no ethnic boundaries, and these 2 people may just be reacting to the world having gone mad; seemingly in an instant; although the storm had been gathering since about 1933. Like Katrina in New Orleans, most people hoped the big storm would never arrive, changing everything.

The toll from the Night of Broken Glass was written up in terms of how many buildings destroyed, how many lives lost and the like. But all of those figures can never do justice to what was really lost in that night of Nazi fueled hatred. The 267 synagogues, stores, and homes destroyed that night at the direction of the Nazis, along with the vandalism of 7,500 Jewish businesses, and the killing of almost 100 Jewish people were just the tangible portion of the damage.

The events of November 9-10, 1938, while police and firemen stood by and watched; or turned a blind eye; signaled the selling of the German soul. And the judgment for that would be severe.

Kristallnacht marked the point of the Third Reich in which vulgar political rhetoric became vulgar acts of criminality. These acts would grow into the largest attempt ever made to annihilate any particular group of people. And that is the point of marking this grim anniversary. In our country today, we have so many hate groups, all engaged in violent and inhuman rhetoric. And that’s how it starts. With a bit of talk, leading people to become jaded in the face of veiled racism and prejudice.

And, what happens later, when it all spirals out of control? You wind up walking down a street scarred by once seemingly innocuous words; windows broken and holding your child’s hand in fear for the loss of everything you have ever known. Especially your own self-respect.

"38 Nooses" by Scott W. Berg (2012)

Abraham Lincoln was one of the busiest Presidents this country has ever known. Not only did he preside over a fractured nation at war with itself, the result of which abolished slavery, he also was present at several battles during that war; most notably the Battle of Hampton Roads; which re-captured the city of Norfolk in 1862. His Gettysburg Address still stands as one of the greatest speeches ever made by any leader in history. These are some of his key accomplishments, for which he is rightfully remembered. But in the area of Indian Affairs he remains very much overlooked.

Author Scott W. Berg has changed that with this highly charged account of one the lesser known accomplishments of the Lincoln Administration; his handling of the war along the Minnesota border in August of 1862, as the Dakota Indian nation battled with settlers and federal troops over the non-payment of gold which had been promised them in payment for giving up tribal lands east of the Mississippi River. When those payments stopped, largely due to the war back east; and the Indians were issued paper money in lieu of that gold; a spark was lit which ignited the powder keg that had long been festering.

Already bogged down with the Civil War; and a recalcitrant General McClellan, who seemed unwilling to press the military advantages as directed by the President; the last thing which Lincoln needed was an Indian uprising in the West. That uprising, when it occurred in August of 1862, took on every nuance of the greatest dramas ever written.

Led by Little Crow, the Dakota were a group of tribes which existed first on the east side of the Mississippi, until they were herded to the western side for “re-settlement”, an politically correct term for stealing land. Through many broken treaties and promises they waited patiently for the “great white father” in Washington to bring them justice. When that justice did not appear, the Dakota began to strike back, and the results would be anything but pretty.

Little Crow himself is worthy of an entire book on his own. A contradiction in all manners; including his manner of dress; he seemed to straddle both the white world as well as the world of his ancestors and tribesman. But no man can stand with two legs apart and not take sides for long, and that is exactly the fate which befell Little Crow.

From the opening chapters of this book, which take place in Minnesota and Washington, D.C., and on through the Dakotas flight toward Canada; where they hoped to gain the recognition of the British Government, the book reads like the finest western ever written.

Relying upon the rift between the North and South as they engaged in their “civil” war, Little Crow and the Dakota never really had a chance. In one of the most poignant moments of the book, when Little Crow is confronted by his fellow tribesmen, who are eager to go to war with the “whiteman”, Little Crow delivers one of the finest speeches ever made as he warns them of the path they are about to embark upon. He tries to tell them that a war would mean a complete loss of their way of life, and after blackening his face in mourning he retires to his teepee. When he is called a coward by his one of his own braves, he re-emerges from the teepee, reluctantly agreeing to lead them to war, while still arguing against the wisdom of his braves.

And so begins a 6 week odyssey of Indian raids, US Cavalry reprisals, hostage taking, and even a bit of international intrigue as Little Crow attempts to find a new home for his tribe. When all of those plans fail; as he predicted they would; he is forced to surrender. Almost 300 of the Indians were charged with various crimes and all set to hang for them when the President; still busy with his prosecution of the war, and General McClellan; stepped in, pardoning 265 of the condemned men. That still left 38 Dakota to hang, and hung they were, in the largest single government execution ever held.

A fascinating book, which leaves no stone unturned, the author has carefully examined every resource available in order to present the story as accurately as possible. The result is history come to life as you follow the Dakota tribe from their first dealings with the white settlers in the late 18^th century, until the last of their battles with the cavalry and the executions of the 38 braves who were not pardoned.

There is a brief section at the end of the book in which the author follows up on the fate of some of the principal characters in this sweeping, and true, drama. And, winding up the book is a very thorough, chapter by chapter listing of the sources which the author referenced in order to write the history of one of the lesser known tragedies that spelled the end of the Dakotas, and their way of life.

Two Books - Two Views

There are 2 books which have had more influence on events in the Middle-East than all of the diplomats and peace plans of the last 100 years combined. One, “The Seven Pillars of Wisdom” is an observation by T.E. Lawrence “of Arabia”, and gives insight into the fragility of the unity amongst the Arab tribes. It is also his personal observation of his experiences in the First World War as a liaison officer working with the Arabs against the Turks in the destruction of the Ottomon Empire in 1916-1918.

He took the title from the Book of Proverbs 9:1: "Wisdom hath builded her house, she hath hewn out her seven pillars.” Before the war had begun, Colonel Lawrence had begun a book on the 7 great cities of the Middle East, and their place in history. The finished version is actually the third version; the first having been abandoned by the outbreak of the war; the second having been stolen while on a train in England. (Wouldn’t you love to find that at a yard sale?)

“The Seven Pillars” is actually a rock formation located in Wadi Rum, or, what is present day Jordan. This is where he was based while serving with the British Forces in North Africa. Authorized by Emir Faisal he prepared attacks on the Ottoman Turkish forces from Aqaba in the south to Damascus in the north (present day Syria).

The dedication is one of the most debated in literature, with many believing it was dedicated to the young boy who acted as his aide-de-camp and was named Selim Ahmed, hence the dedication to “S.A.” Others believe the book was dedicated to the unity of the entire Arab race. Here is that poem;

I loved you, so I drew these tides of
Men into my hands
And wrote my will across the
Sky and stars

To earn you freedom, the seven

Pillared worthy house,

That your eyes might be
Shining for me
When I came

Death seemed my servant on the
Road, 'til we were near
And saw you waiting:
When you smiled and in sorrowful

Envy he outran me

And took you apart:
Into his quietness
Love, the way-weary, groped to your body,

Our brief wage

Ours for the moment
Before Earth's soft hand explored your shape
And the blind

Worms grew fat upon

Your substance
Men prayed me that I set our work,
The inviolate house,
As a memory of you

But for fit monument I shattered it,

Unfinished: and now
The little things creep out to patch

Themselves hovels

In the marred shadow
Of your gift.
 

The most unusual thing about this book is that T.E. Lawrence, who was an admirer of the Arab cause to be free of western influence, was the first cousin to Colonel Orde Wingate, the unsung hero of Burma during the Second World War, where he took on the Japanese with no outside support, constituting a third front and diverting valuable Japanese materials, and manpower to the area using tactics taken from the Old Testament, calling his 5 man groups the “Chindits” after the warriors depicted in the Bible. I have often wondered what dinner conversation was like between the two; what with one supporting Arab unity; while the other was an ardent Zionist.

The next book, “The Protocols of the Elders of Zion” or “The Protocols of the Meetings of the Learned Elders of Zion” was an anti-Semitic diatribe passed off as real. In it, it purports to verify a worldwide Jewish plan to take over the world financially. It was first published in Russia in 1903 under the supervision of Pyotr Ivanovich Rachkovsky, and then widely distributed in America by Henry Ford, who provided funding for 500,000 copies.  It was later used by Adolf Hitler to vilify the Jews in Germany and elsewhere in Eastern Europe. Many people today still read this book and believe it to be true.

If you are wondering about this post; what its purpose might be; there is none really, beyond calling your attention to these two books which represent a large part of how the Middle East of today became the Middle East of today.

Holocaust Homage?

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw this photo earlier this week. I really had to think about doing this post, as I do not want to offend anyone at all. I’m just confused. As a Jew, I am prohibited from marking my body, with the exception of circumcision, which is considered to be a mark of faith in God. We all know, or should know, the story of Abraham and Isaac, when God commands Abraham to kill his son in order to ascertain his faith in the Lord. At the last moment, Abraham’s hand was stayed by God, and Isaac lived as a sign of God’s mercy. Of course the Islamic religion claims that it was Isaac’s brother, Ismael, who received this mercy, but that is neither here nor there as far as this post goes.

If you believe in the Old Testament, then tattooing your body is clearly prohibited by Mosaic Law as espoused in Leviticus 19:28, which prohibits "cutting oneself for the dead" and "putting writing/drawings made by incision on yourselves“. So, it seems pretty clear to me what this young man’s responsibility to his religion is comprised of when tattooing is concerned. I am also sensitive to his desire to honor his grandmother, although totally befuddled by the method in which he chose to do it, as well as her apparent adoration of him for it.

During the Second World War, at Auschwitz, Livia Rebak was branded, or tattooed, with the number 4559. This was the way the Nazi’s dehumanized their victims; turning their names into numbers in a ledger, prior to annihilating them en masse. Now her grandson, Daniel Philosof, has the same tattoo. This has me very confused.

On the one hand, it is admirable that he would emphasize with his Grandmaother, almost as if he were cutting his hair in support of her undergoing radiation, or chemotherapy. I can understand the reasoning behind it. But, to mutilate yourself, in violation of your own religion; in effect acting in concert with the people who defiled your grandmother and her beliefs; makes no sense to me at all. It’s almost like handing Hitler a Victory lap, voluntarily scarring another generation of Jews with the same mark of inferiority and shame, simply for being Jewish.

My own feelings are that he would better serve in honoring his grandmother by wearing a big Star of David; proudly proclaiming to the world that he is here in spite of the tattoo which was forced upon his grandmother.

To be sure, this was a very personal decision which both Ms. Rebak and her grandson have made, and they have that right. But I just wish he would have opted to go with the Star of David instead. For, in my mind’s eye, I can see Hitler laughing.

Community School of Davidson - Holocaust Memorial Exhibit

This article appeared here 2 years ago and gave me quite a boost with the response I had from it. It was the first time I had ever gotten more than 35 “hits” in a day. I now average about 250. I was so impressed by the exhibit, and that these kids chose to take on such a topic as the Holocaust. The fact that it was being taught in school anymore was a real shocker to me. And, as a Jewish kid from Brooklyn, New York, the last place I ever expected to run into an exhibit like this was in North Carolina. So, I went in and took the tour. This is the original article from my 2010 visit. I plan on going tomorrow and see the newer, updated version of this accurate and sensitive portrayal of one of the darkest chapters in human history. That the Community School of Davidson chooses to shed light upon it brings great hope to a world that is seemingly crumbling all about us. Only through an understanding of the past can we hope to avoid the same mistakes. Harry Truman once said, “The only thing new is the history you don’t know.” Truer words were never spoken. Here is the original post;

I never know what I am going to do when I wake up each day. Aside from emergency situations that pop up here and there, I am largely at my leisure. When I read this morning’s paper I saw that the Community School of Davidson was having a Holocaust Memorial Exhibit for the next few days. It sounded intriguing so I figured I’d check it out.

To begin with, I was kind of surprised that the Community School of Davidson would be having this event. No real reason for my surprise, I just thought of them as an elite school and accordingly, and incorrectly as it turns out, to place no real emphasis on social issues. I love it when I’m wrong. Lesson learned.

These kids spent two weeks, or more, preparing the exhibit. Upon first entering you are given a guide, a 6th grade student at the school. These kids are animated and well informed in their presentations. The diagram shows the route and nature of the exhibits. The journey begins with Propaganda and moves onto Kristalnacht, the November 1938 “Night of Glass”, considered by many to be the beginning of the Holocaust.

From there the exhibit moves on to the Warsaw Ghetto, where in October of 1940 the Jews of Warsaw were restricted to a small area of the city and basically allowed to starve. The exhibit was done by creating a small alcove into a replica of a typical ghetto apartment. Remember, these kids were working with construction paper and magic markers, and yet the effect was claustrophobic. It was very effective work.

The Railcar was a particularly useful tool for realizing the cramped conditions and sheer inhumanity of the deportations. First there is a square foot marked off in the hall outside the exhibit into which you are asked to stand with 5 other people. That’s what the Jews experienced on their way to the concentration camps. It was unnerving for 5 minutes, think of the reality of it for an average of 2 days, without food or water. No sanitary facilities; stripped of all belongings except for the clothes on your back.

The Auschwitz Camp and Anne Franks’ hidden apartment were also displayed with great effect. The use of photographs and even laptops added to the availability of the presentations. The lighting was subdued and managed to add an appropriately tangible darkness to the subject.

There was a small exhibit about Oskar Schindler and Rabbi Gerber’s Red Shoes, as well as a section of children’s art depicting replicas of the art work done by the children interred at the Terezin Concentration Camp.

This exhibit was important in many ways, but chiefly it was comforting to know that the Holocaust will not be forgotten, it cannot be ignored. And these kids prove it. Many thanks to Davidson Community School for their efforts on behalf of tolerance. And thanks to the students who took their time to help create such an insightful tour. It was a job well done.

"Shanghai Diary" by Ursula Bacon

This is, quite simply, the most unusual account of the Holocaust ever penned by one of it's survivors. Though never a victim of the concentration camps, the author's story is yet another chapter in the long list of lives uprooted and forever changed by the war. Only, this story is a bit different. Beginning with the authors luck at having been born into a solidly middle class, secular, German Jewish family, and being able leave Germany just in time, let alone being able to stay together and make a life for themselves in the least expected of places, this story is nothing short of a miracle.

The most striking thing about this memoir is that Ms. Bacon was about the same age as Anne Frank during the war. But that is where any similarities in their lives end. Ms. Bacon, as I have said, was born into a solidly middle class German Jewish family. They were secular in their approach to religion, and like many Jews here in America, they even celebrated Christmas. As Hitler's noose began to tighten, the family made plans to leave. But they waited too long, not believeing that any of Hitler's threats would come to pass. And so, in 1939, after having waited a little too long, they were finally allowed to leave, taking with them only the clothes on their backs. And from this point on, the book takes a remarkable turn.

It has not been widely written about, but there was a thriving Jewish refugee community in China, notably in Shanghai, during the Second World War. They numbered about 20,000 or so, and the story of how they came to be there is as remarkable as the lives they built for themselves while in Shanghai.

The author was an only child. Her father was a printer before all the madness began. Their lives were upper middle class, with the author having a nanny and a tutor. But all that changed when Hitler came to power in 1933, and with the increasingly hostile environment towards even secular Jews rising out of control, the family was forced into exile. They initially left home by rail for Breslau, where they boarded a train for Genoa. From there they caught a German ship to Shanghai, China. This would be their home throughout the war.

Speaking no Chinese, and even less English, her parents were somehow able to tap into the refugee community, where they receive their first "housing." In a disease ridden slum dwelling the family resolves, within days of landing there, that they can, and must, do better if they are to survive.

With the help of a Chinese acquaintance, Vati, the author's father, is able to go into the painting business, where he does quite well, employing several men and always keeping busy. He puts all his money in the bank, where it will be safe. Meantime, his wife, Mutti, begins to sew and hem garments, even taking in work from women who can't finish a sweater after they have begun. Before long she has quite a pile of American money, which she keeps in an old stocking of the author's. She makes enough money that she eventually needs two stockings. Though the family teases her about her mistrust of banks, her decision proves to be a wise one when all the banks in Shanghai fail after the Japanese attack Pearl Harbor.

While all of this adult drama is going on, the author, who is 10 when the book begins, is growing up; and writing it all down in the 4 diaries which were given to her as gifts when the family left Germany. The diaries cover the years 1939- 1947, when the author was between the ages of about 9 and 17. Ms. Bacon, who was already studying English and French while in Europe, speaks English well enough to give lessons to the 3 "sisters" of General Yi, a local warlord who was fighting to retain control of his fiefdom, while at the same time attempting to repel the Japanese. The "sisters" were really concubines, and they taught the author many things that she probably shouldn't have known. And to keep up her education, her parents sent her to the best school available, a Catholic School. I told you this was an unusual book!

The family did have problems though, particularly in the last years of the war, when provisions became increasingly hard to come by. The Japanese were also a constant threat as they waged war in China. For some obscure reason, perhaps dating back to the Sino-Russian War of 1900, the Japanese never really went out of their way to signal out Jews for extermination. Perhaps they were just too busy killing everyone, to signal out any one group. But somehow the family escaped most of the ravages of the war, finally emigrating to the United States in 1947.

This book is a delightful surprise, concerning a usually dismal subject, but it carries a lesson. We make our own circumstances, at least to some extent. We are victims only to the depths to which we allow ourselves to be driven. This family was lucky in many regards, but still, they had to find a way to avoid falling into that despair which often accompanies the loss of home, friends and family, never to return to the place in which you were born. A very unusual book about a very unusual time and place, no picture of the Holocaust can be complete without this unique history.

"Judgment at Nuremberg" with Spencer Tracy, Richard Widmark, Marlene Dietrich and Judy Garland

This landmark film, made in 1961, the same year in which Israel was trying Adolf Eichmann for Mass Murder, is a stirring production concerned with the responsibility we all hold toward one another as human beings.

The Chief Judge, played by Spencer Tracy, (William Shatner plays his Aide) has never been in the war, and is shocked by the devastation and destruction that he sees when he arrives in Nuremberg, which had been the seat of the Nazi Party. He is tasked with judging the defendants, all of whom were judges in Germany prior to, and throughout, the war. They were responsible for implementing the laws enacted by the Nazi Party. These laws included forced sterilization, denial of race mixing and other social programs that were all part of Germany's plans to exterminite Jews, Gyspy's and any others who did not measure up to the standards set forth by law.

The War Crime Tribunal is of the opinion that these judges should have stood against these laws, even if it meant the ends of their careers, and possibly their lives. From the perspective of the Defendants this would only have resulted in other, more pro-Nazi judges being appointed, with no question as to how they would have acted in implementing these laws.

Burt Lancaster is the German judge who finally comes to realize the damage done by the collective silence of his fellow judges. Montgomery Clift is brilliant as a victim of forced sterilization. Marlene Dietrich plays the widow of a German officer who has been executed for his crimes in a previous trial. Her home is now the residence of the American judge played by Spencer Tracy. From one another they learn just what a person will do, and how far they will go, in order to protect what is theirs. Sometimes it is not an easy call to make.

As Tracy struggles to understand just how the German people allowed the Holocaust to happen, he is confronted by the spectre of our own shortcomings as "victors" in the war. The German Counsel for the Defense, played by Maximilian Schell, is very adept at bringing to light our own nation's sins against our fellow man. Quoting from Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes and the American Constitution's "Seperate but Equal" clause, and invoking the horror of our own experiments with "Eugenics" in the late 1930's, usually against blacks and people with low IQ's, he brings stunning reality to bear on the questions of who is right and what is wrong. Does morality change with time and circumstance? Is there ever a real reason to commit Genocide?

This film is timeless in it's subject matter. When Richard Widmark gives his impassioned speech about the brutality of the Nazi's and the futility of Appeasment, one cannot help think about the current debate concerning Islamic Fundamentalism. When does tolerance become foolish? What lengths are acceptable to employ in wiping out evil? And mostly, what are our responsibilities as individuals in standing up to the things that would destroy us all.

The tension of the courtroom scenes, and the sharp direction of a tightly written script, along with superb acting and a timeless question of morality all combine to make this a "must see" film.

God Sleeps In Rwanda by Joseph Sebarenzi with Laura Ann Mullane

How did all the troubles start in Rwanda? We all see and hear the stories of the Genocide that took place there- but how and why did it begin? And what is it really like to have experienced such an ordeal? How do you come to terms with it? Is there a reason to go on living in the face of such an experience? These are some of the questions I had when I started to read this book. And you know what? Mr. Sebarenzi answers them all in a beautifully arranged narrative of his own experiences.

Born into a Tutsi family in Rwanda Mr. Sebarenzi is sent across Lake Kivu to get an education in the city of Idjwi. His father has forseen the coming ethnic violence and wants his 3rd eldest son to go in order that someone from the family will survive. He hopes that armed with an education his son can someday work for change. This was a fortuitous decision.

Rwanda is a small country nestled beside the Democratic Republic of Congo and Uganda. The whole area was once under French and Belgium control. When the end of colonization came the people were basically unprepared for self rule. The conflict between Tutsi and Hutu dates back to about 1959 and the end of colonial rule.

Throughout the uprising of the Tutsi and Hutu tribes the author is constantly questioning why and how such things happen. He meets and marries a woman and they flee, he to Canada and she and their children to Uganda.

When the war ends he elects to return home with his wife and 2 children. He wants to see what has become of his native land and if there is anything he can do to help rebuild it.

When he returns he finds the Tutsi in control and the tables turned on the Hutus. But rather than rejoice at this victory he questions how people can justify these acts. He wonders how they can forgive and move on. When he meets the former Mayor of his village, a Hutu, now imprisoned, and realizes this man was responsible for the murder of his Mother, Father and most of his brothers and sisters, he is puzzled by his own lack of hatred. Instead of wanting revenge he feels sorry for him.

He now sees that the Hutus are in the same position as the Tutsi were and tries to understand how hatred breeds hatred in a never ending cycle. He recites the following story from an old Cherokee legend;

An old man was explaining to his grandson the nature of good and evil. "My son," he said, "there is a fight between two wolves inside us all. One is Evil. It is anger,envy, jealousy,greed, arrogance, self pity, resentment,inferiority, false pride and ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, faith,love, hope, humility,empathy, genorosity, truth, compassion and faith."

The grandson looked at his grandfather with fear in his eyes and asked, "Which wolf wins?"

The grandfather answers, "The one you feed."

With this valuable lesson he becomes active in church and then in politics. He eventually rises to the elected post of Speaker of Parliament. He works for change and reconciliation in his war ravaged homeland.

This book is a wake up call. It is an alert to extremism. Any extremism. The lesson here is that just because your side has the might it doesn't have the right. Those come from somewhere higher.

An enlightening read on a subject that gets too little attention, I can strongly recommend this book. And one final word, Mr. Sebarenzi's father was right- his third son lived to get an education and work for change. And that is a tribute to his father as well as to Mr. Sebarenzi.

Religious Tolerance - A Bygone Virtue

Why is it that otherwise sensible and intelligent people often check these two admirable qualities at the door, so to speak, whenever it comes to religion? What is so threatening about someone else’s beliefs that they would deliberatlely deface and debase the beliefs of another?

In Charlotte the talk has been about ways to retort to “God Bless You” when someone cares enough to say it after you sneeze. I always thought “Thank You” was appropriate but lately it seems to be in vogue to retort with something like “I don’t believe in that crap.” I figure if you are asking God to bless me it can’t hurt and is probably a way of saying I care or I love you. So what’s the big deal?

Of course the religious crowd has it’s own faults- let’s see- book bannings and burnings, torture, shunning etc are all excesses of a fringe element of the religious crowd- but I reject the premise that to deface or disrespect another’s beliefs will solve the problem.

The left is continually bashing religion in the name of smiting the over zealous and their belief in a Higher Power. The result is not pretty. With all the supposed intelligence and sensitivity they claim to posess, they tear down what they don’t believe in- and for what end? To stifle freedom of thought? Isn’t that what they themselves complain about as the bane of organized religion? I just don’t get it.

Rejecting religion out of hand and ridiculing others for their beliefs is as sane as the Christians who believe that they posess the only “Stairway to Heaven.” And let's not forget Hitler, who debased a particular religion in a vain attempt to commit genocide of a whole race!

In the final analysis both sides are wrong and do nothing to contribute to Global Harmony. After all, if we each shove back against every perceived threat to our own sensibilities then all we have left is a throng of non humanity, left with little consideration for others.

No one forces you to read a Bible- and no one should try to marganilze you for reading one. The key to the whole global condition is mutual respect. Without that, we are lost.