Reverence

In mentioning my recent visit with friends in L.A., I omitted the primary reason for my journey (not because it’s unworthy of mention, but because it required a greater time commitment than my typical entries demand).

As most of you are aware, my grandmother is an Auschwitz survivor. After decades of suffering in near-silence, Grandma Lida decided several years ago that it was time to discuss with her family and others what she endured and witnessed at the hands of the Nazis. Over the past 6-7 years, she has been speaking on the subject throughout Nevada (where she now lives), mostly to teenaged students and faculty. Speaking has become a passion of hers, a way to help ensure that no one (least of all impressionable youth) forgets what happened.

Last week, Lida took part in a larger-scale discussion at the Holocaust Education Conference, sponsored by the Governor’s Council on Education Relating to the Holocaust and the Las Vegas Jewish Federation. (Nevada is, sadly, one of only a handful of states making Holocaust education mandatory in public schools.)

Taking place at the Venetian Hotel, the conference assembled 500 middle school students and teachers for the purpose of educating them on the horrors of the Holocaust. Ordinarily fidgety, distracted teens sat engrossed when addressed by survivors (Lida included) telling their personal stories of life in Hitler’s carefully-designed and stringently-managed concentration camps. I was only sorry the students didn’t have the opportunity to hear the accounts of every survivor present.

Lida spoke graciously and frankly; behind her, a large screen projecting a grainy, black-and-white class photo from her grade school in Hungary, followed by a similarly grainy shot of her at sixteen, her head shorn, marching along with dozens of other terrified young women at Auschwitz. She bravely described being separated from her mother—my great-grandmother—and 13-year-old sister, neither of whom she saw again. Teachers wiped away tears. My mother, sitting beside me, dabbed her eyes. My sister videotaped the discourse.

I mostly observed the students, wondering what my own reaction to such a lesson would have been at their age. I recall being fascinated in Hebrew school to learn about Anne Frank, Golda Meir, and even Hitler and Himmler. Yet these kids were hearing about history from someone who actually lived it. Could they appreciate that? Or will they recognize the value of the lesson later? In my own life, just being aware of what my grandmother endured has made me far more appreciative of my good fortune; any time I feel depressed or even mildly discontented with my life, I need only to think of her. She has provided my will to live on those many occasions when it has been suppressed.

When she had finished telling her story, my grandmother tearfully thanked her cousins who'd flown in from Budapest for the conference. Then she introduced my mother, who offered a brief narrative of her own experiences as the daughter of survivors (my grandfather had been interned at work camps in Germany). Mom explained my grandparents’ long journey to Chile after the war, how they hurriedly learned Spanish and abandoned any practice associated with their religion. (What’s perhaps funniest about this bit of family history is that today, my grandparents are the most observant of us all.)

Over the years, Lida has amassed a respectable collection of literature relating to the Holocaust. She encouraged me to read the works of key voices like Elie Wiesel and Hannah Senesh. A decade ago, she conferred upon me a memoir, All But My Life, written by a Polish survivor who had lost her entire family and most of her friends in the Holocaust. The book sat on my shelf for years, amongst several other Holocaust-related paperbacks I’d accumulated, my own interest in the subject swelling as the number of survivors declines. Turns out the author of that memoir, Gerda Weissmann Klein, was the keynote speaker at last week’s conference, sharing her heartbreaking story with the entire conference. Even the majority of teenagers--no doubt drained after hours of such speeches—remained captivated, as evidenced later by the long lines they formed at the autograph tables.

Lida has several friends within the Jewish Federation, many of whom I met that evening and to whom I owe my gratitude for giving my grandmother an outlet not only to share her story but to feel as though she’s providing some benefit to today’s youth by educating them by means of an eyewitness account, rather than a textbook. In the final minutes of her speech, Lida always reminds young students that what happened 60 years ago still happens today. All that’s required for war and mass genocide to occur is hatred, which is as prevalent in societies like ours as it is in less-developed countries. She closes by encouraging kids to respond to hatred simply by shunning it, never accepting it even in its subtlest forms, as that only fuels its fire.

I must acknowledge the incredible generosity of Sheldon Adelson, owner of the Venetian Hotel, who kindly donated not only the space for the conference, but an excellent meal and staff necessary to conduct the event. Organizers provided paper on which attendees were encouraged to express their gratitude to the Adelsons, but, aside from writing them a personal letter (which I have), I’m open to suggestions as to how to properly thank a billionaire philanthropist for a gift that may seem minuscule to him but that meant the world to many.

P.S. I'm pleased to note that the aforementioned cousin J has linked to me! His blog is about as different from mine as can be, which is probably why I like it so much.

Posted by ayelet at March 24, 2005 02:11 PM