Simply Remembering the Holocaust is not Enough
Remembering, reflecting, and honoring survivors is sacred, of course. But if it ends there then the painful lessons that each survivor courageously brings to our awareness is for naught.
I learned this lesson from a beautiful and inspiring woman that I had the privilege of interviewing for my book. Her name is Rena Ferber Finder, and she is one of the last remaining Holocaust survivors from Schindler’s List.
Sitting in the presence of this amazing woman forced me to look deep inside myself to hear the subtle voices of prejudice, indifference, and apathy. I will forever be indebted to her for stepping back into a dark place and sharing her story so that we can become eyewitnesses to the danger of indifference and learn to actively live with the courage to stand up to injustice especially when it is NOT directed towards us.
When we read or hear stories about genocide and the Holocaust, our natural tendency is to see them as something terrible that happened in our past, in our history, or in areas of the world far removed from our daily lives.
So, why do we need to remember this terrible time in our history? For me, the answer is because it is not in our history –it is in us.
Our shared humanity reminds me that we all have the capacity to slide into a place of indifference, bias, and apathy which allows us to slowly turn away from our empathy. The very place where it all began.
“Indifference — we were seen as something separate and different from them, less than. That’s how they did what they did. They didn’t see us- even when they were looking at us.” Rena Ferber Finder
Indifference, disconnection, and lack of compassion for the “other” set the stage for millions of human beings to become invisible, unseen, and for the people around to stand by and emotionally disconnect from their empathy. For an invisible and silent line between good and bad, right and wrong, human and inhuman to form. The separation of “them” and “us” paved the way for humans to kill other humans.
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The room that Rena and I had been sitting in for many hours was getting dark. I reached over and turned off the camera. We sat in silence as the heavy feeling settled around us. Rena’s stories, her images, her thoughts — they were not words in a history book; they were memories of her actual experiences, and they still lived in her.
I looked at this elderly woman sitting in front of me as she rubbed her forearm and I wondered how she could continue to tell her painful stories and revive those nightmare images — again and again, and again. And why she would do it.
As I hugged Rena goodbye, the tears that I had been fighting back began to flow. She reached over and hugged me tight and what she said to me next has never left my conscious thoughts.
“Thank you for listening and hearing my story. Now, whatever you choose to do with it is up to you. For me, I know it was heard. You are now an eyewitness to what happened, and my story will have life in you.” Rena said.
Rena knew the blessing and burden of her message. She understood what I could not comprehend at that moment.
To be an eyewitness would require the courage to stand up to my fears and be fully present — to see, hear and know the hard and painful truths and then do what is right. It would take the most difficult and painful kind of courage: moral courage.
My commitment as an eyewitness is to honor Rena by not simply remembering the Holocaust but taking every seemingly small opportunity to stand up to hate, discrimination, and bias. To put the lessons from her life story into action.
I remind myself that “Few are guilty, but all are responsible.” Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel
