National Review
September 10, 2003
Laughing in Auschwitz
by Jay Nordlinger
http://www.nationalreview.com/impromptus/impromptus091003.asp
On Monday's Impromptus, I wrote of an extraordinary event: Three Israeli F-15 jets circled Auschwitz last week. Those jets were piloted by descendants of Holocaust survivors. They were paying tribute to the murdered. As the jets flew over, 200 Israeli soldiers on the ground at Birkenau — a part of the camp — stood at attention. One can hardly think of a more meaningful, more moving event.
But, for inane reasons, some at the Auschwitz Museum complained. They said the flyover was a "demonstration of Israeli military might" at "a place of silence." I retorted, Damn right it was a display of Israeli military might — and what could be more appropriate? Moreover, why should Auschwitz be a place of silence? Wasn't silence sort of a problem in the first place?
Forgive the repetition, but this is all leading up to something. I received a note from Jeff Jacoby, which I share with you now (with the author's permission, of course). Jacoby — for those who don't know him — is the award-winning columnist for the Boston Globe.
He writes, "As the son of a Holocaust survivor — my father was the only member of his family to leave Auschwitz alive — I am particularly involved in this question of silence in the face of Hitler's genocide. I thought you might like to see the last few paragraphs of a speech I gave for Yom Hashoa, the annual Holocaust remembrance day. They describe something that occurred during a visit I paid to Auschwitz in my father's company a few years ago."
Here are those paragraphs:
When we were in Auschwitz — in the huge section called Birkenau, the part of the camp where the trains pulled in, where the selection took place, where the gas was — my dad and I saw a large group of Israeli students. They had come on some kind of school program, and as we walked along a path near the crematoria, these Israeli kids overtook us. Like school groups everywhere, they were loud and boisterous, joking and laughing with each other.
I can't tell you how offended I was. "Shut up!" I wanted to tell them. "Have some decency! You're in Auschwitz. This is the biggest Jewish graveyard on earth. Don't you realize how many people were murdered here? How many Jews died just for being Jews? You're laughing here? In Auschwitz?"
And then, suddenly, I had a change of heart. And I said to my father: "Who do you think would be more appalled to know that all these Jewish kids are running around and laughing in this place — your mother? Or Adolf Eichmann? Who would be more revolted? Who would feel more defeated?"
On Yom Hashoa, we remember. We cry. We swear "never again." But we can also take heart. The most powerful nation in Europe set out to annihilate us. It drew upon every resource and tool at its command. It stopped at nothing. And yet Jewish children still laugh and play. Even in Birkenau, you can hear the laughter of Jewish children. We are still here, "am Yisrael chai" — Jews living Jewish lives, as we always have, as we always must.
September 10, 2003
Laughing in Auschwitz
by Jay Nordlinger
http://www.nationalreview.com/impromptus/impromptus091003.asp
On Monday's Impromptus, I wrote of an extraordinary event: Three Israeli F-15 jets circled Auschwitz last week. Those jets were piloted by descendants of Holocaust survivors. They were paying tribute to the murdered. As the jets flew over, 200 Israeli soldiers on the ground at Birkenau — a part of the camp — stood at attention. One can hardly think of a more meaningful, more moving event.
But, for inane reasons, some at the Auschwitz Museum complained. They said the flyover was a "demonstration of Israeli military might" at "a place of silence." I retorted, Damn right it was a display of Israeli military might — and what could be more appropriate? Moreover, why should Auschwitz be a place of silence? Wasn't silence sort of a problem in the first place?
Forgive the repetition, but this is all leading up to something. I received a note from Jeff Jacoby, which I share with you now (with the author's permission, of course). Jacoby — for those who don't know him — is the award-winning columnist for the Boston Globe.
He writes, "As the son of a Holocaust survivor — my father was the only member of his family to leave Auschwitz alive — I am particularly involved in this question of silence in the face of Hitler's genocide. I thought you might like to see the last few paragraphs of a speech I gave for Yom Hashoa, the annual Holocaust remembrance day. They describe something that occurred during a visit I paid to Auschwitz in my father's company a few years ago."
Here are those paragraphs:
When we were in Auschwitz — in the huge section called Birkenau, the part of the camp where the trains pulled in, where the selection took place, where the gas was — my dad and I saw a large group of Israeli students. They had come on some kind of school program, and as we walked along a path near the crematoria, these Israeli kids overtook us. Like school groups everywhere, they were loud and boisterous, joking and laughing with each other.
I can't tell you how offended I was. "Shut up!" I wanted to tell them. "Have some decency! You're in Auschwitz. This is the biggest Jewish graveyard on earth. Don't you realize how many people were murdered here? How many Jews died just for being Jews? You're laughing here? In Auschwitz?"
And then, suddenly, I had a change of heart. And I said to my father: "Who do you think would be more appalled to know that all these Jewish kids are running around and laughing in this place — your mother? Or Adolf Eichmann? Who would be more revolted? Who would feel more defeated?"
On Yom Hashoa, we remember. We cry. We swear "never again." But we can also take heart. The most powerful nation in Europe set out to annihilate us. It drew upon every resource and tool at its command. It stopped at nothing. And yet Jewish children still laugh and play. Even in Birkenau, you can hear the laughter of Jewish children. We are still here, "am Yisrael chai" — Jews living Jewish lives, as we always have, as we always must.
