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The Lost: A Search for Six of Six Million
In this rich and riveting narrative, a writer's search for the truth behind his family's tragic past in World War II becomes a remarkably original epic--part memoir, part reportage, part mystery, and part scholarly detective work--that brilliantly explores the nature of time and memory, family and history.
528 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2006
About the author
Daniel Mendelsohn
43 books400 followersDaniel Mendelsohn is a frequent contributor to The New Yorker and The New York Review of Books, where he is Editor-at-Large. His books include The Lost: A Search for Six of Six Million, An Odyssey: A Father, a Son, and an Epic, and, most recently, Three Rings: A Tale of Exile, Narrative, and Fate.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 788 reviews
September 1, 2014
The two teenage girls at the right in the back row in this picture are my paternal grandmother and her sister. Their parents and grandfather are in the front row. The picture was taken around 1900. A few years later, my grandmother, rebellious and politically inclined, left the small town in Poland and came, alone, to the United States. She was one of the very few members of her family to escape the Holocaust.
Like many American Jews, I don't know precisely what happened to my relatives. Daniel Mendelsohn didn't know what happened to six members of his family who he heard spoken of in hushed tones as a child. His effort to find out took many years and took him all over the world in a frantic effort to interview eyewitnesses before they died.
The story he tells in this book is both personal and common to millions of people. It is beautifully written, sometimes tedious, often suspenseful, always heartbreaking and indispensable in commemorating what has been lost.
October 12, 2018
This is listed as being a “New York Times Bestseller.” One would think that I should have had my fill of Holocaust stories, but apparently not, as this one jumped into my hand at Borders even though I hadn’t known of its existence. It’s not an easy read. Mendelsohn never used one comma in a sentence where he could insert three or four. I was often lost in sentences wandering through parenthetical phrase after parenthetical phrase until I had to back up and take them out in turn in order to tack the beginning of the sentence onto the end and make some sense of the thing.
It also included large sections in italics which expounded on Jewish history and religion, and where Mendelsohn apparently endeavored to draw parallels between his story and legendary Jewish lore. I say endeavored because I soon gave up on reading them. I found the interruption of these units intolerable in a story that was moving all too slowly to begin with, what with its innumerable musings on history and the psychology of remembrance. Besides, I find it difficult to read great blocks of italics.
This book had a fascinating story to tell, but the author badly needed an editor. The path to finding out what happened to his great uncle when he was killed by the Nazis was a long one, with many doublings-back and crisscrosses, enough to confuse and tire even the most persistent reader. He had many interesting things to say about the nature of memory and stories, but I tired of hearing him say them again and again, and again.
It also included large sections in italics which expounded on Jewish history and religion, and where Mendelsohn apparently endeavored to draw parallels between his story and legendary Jewish lore. I say endeavored because I soon gave up on reading them. I found the interruption of these units intolerable in a story that was moving all too slowly to begin with, what with its innumerable musings on history and the psychology of remembrance. Besides, I find it difficult to read great blocks of italics.
This book had a fascinating story to tell, but the author badly needed an editor. The path to finding out what happened to his great uncle when he was killed by the Nazis was a long one, with many doublings-back and crisscrosses, enough to confuse and tire even the most persistent reader. He had many interesting things to say about the nature of memory and stories, but I tired of hearing him say them again and again, and again.
October 6, 2023
The Lost: A Search for Six of Six Millionis the story of Daniel Mendelsohn's relentless search for information on his ancestors, his grandfather's brother, his wife and four daughters murdered during this horrible time in history. Daniel Mendelsohn grew up in a family haunted by the disappearance of six relatives during the Holocaust. He is on a mission to find out how his ancestors died but more importantly to explore the lives of these people who were not just a number in the massacre of the Jewish from Bolechow, but his relatives who had personalities and contributed to their community in Bolechow.
Daniel spends years giving his relatives back their rightful places in the family history books. He wants to know their stories before the war and his meticulous research certainly leaves no stone unturned. His travels and interviews unearths an amazing amount of information that must be so rewarding for him and his family.
I am fascinated by family history research so this book was a perfect fit for me. Its a slow burn, very detailed and descriptive which may be over the top for some readers. I do understand the amount of research he has done over the years that he wants to include every single detail in this book as is his right.
There were a couple of aspects of the book that didn't work for me as a reader. There were pages and pages of biblical digressions which I eventually skipped through as they made for tedious reading.
I also found the authors interviews with survivors sometimes quite condescending. These people had suffered so much and had lost brothers, sisters and whole families in the Holocaust. Telling their own stories must have been so heart-breaking and painful for them. I felt the author came across in the book as pushy and sometimes condescending when interviewing people, especially the ones who didn't remember much about his family but still had their own stories to tell.
However I did like the book enough to give it 4 stars but think it would have benefited with a great deal of editing.
Daniel spends years giving his relatives back their rightful places in the family history books. He wants to know their stories before the war and his meticulous research certainly leaves no stone unturned. His travels and interviews unearths an amazing amount of information that must be so rewarding for him and his family.
I am fascinated by family history research so this book was a perfect fit for me. Its a slow burn, very detailed and descriptive which may be over the top for some readers. I do understand the amount of research he has done over the years that he wants to include every single detail in this book as is his right.
There were a couple of aspects of the book that didn't work for me as a reader. There were pages and pages of biblical digressions which I eventually skipped through as they made for tedious reading.
I also found the authors interviews with survivors sometimes quite condescending. These people had suffered so much and had lost brothers, sisters and whole families in the Holocaust. Telling their own stories must have been so heart-breaking and painful for them. I felt the author came across in the book as pushy and sometimes condescending when interviewing people, especially the ones who didn't remember much about his family but still had their own stories to tell.
However I did like the book enough to give it 4 stars but think it would have benefited with a great deal of editing.
January 20, 2021
There may just be a vertical hierarchy in our popular understanding of the Holocaust. At the top, however uneasy, are the Survivors: it is through their testimony that we know to never forget. Their achievement, their survival is also a measure of merit in having outwitted or simply survived the minatory machinations of the Nazis. Below them are the victims, particularly present, they are too commonly discussed in terms i.e. when the doltish ask "why they went like sheep, why they didn’t fight back, why they didn’t heed the signs in the 1930s?" Below that mound of evidence is the nefarious albeit ambiguous mass of perpetrators, willing executioners, ordinary men, the devil incarnate and the betrayers.
If only life was that fucking simple.
Mr. Mendelson constructs a marvelous investigation sixty years after the fact. His training as a classicist lends a unique angle to his research. The idea of using Dido as an apt metaphor is astonishing: victim and exile, she prospers from her wits only to kill herself. If ever an example anticipated the Survivor, then this is it.
If only life was that fucking simple.
Mr. Mendelson constructs a marvelous investigation sixty years after the fact. His training as a classicist lends a unique angle to his research. The idea of using Dido as an apt metaphor is astonishing: victim and exile, she prospers from her wits only to kill herself. If ever an example anticipated the Survivor, then this is it.
April 30, 2022
4.5, dar ce contează o notă când cartea asta o să facă de-acum parte din memoria mea afectivă?
Chiar și când voi uita numele celor 6 - Shmiel, Ester, Lorka, Frydka, Ruchele și Bronia - și împrejurările în care a dispărut fiecare dintre ei. Când voi uita despre micul shtetl ba în Polonia, ba în Ucraina - Bolechow. Când voi uita legătura dintre fiecare parashah din Facerea și istoria concretă: Bereishit (începutul) / geneza familiei Jäger; Cain și Abel / naziștii, ucrainenii, polonezii și evreii; Noach / potopul Holocaustului; Lecha lecha! ("Pleacă! - Abraham și Canaanul promis) / cei salvați și Israelul (ori alte refugii); Vayeira ("Acolo s-a arătat" Domnul lui Abraham) / sacrificarea fiului iubit. A poporului ales.
Când voi uita toate astea, o să îmi amintesc că polonezii și ucrainenii au ucis cu cea mai crâncenă bestialitate, dar au si salvat, riscându-și viața. Că a existat poliția evreiască, dar au existat mai ales frați, surori, părinți, prieteni, iubiți. Că fiecare dintre cei șase milioane de evrei pieriți în Holocaust sau cinci (sau șase sau șapte) milioane de ucraineni uciși prin înfometare a avut pe cineva care l-a iubit. Că nu suntem aici pentru a judeca, ci pentru a cunoaște. Și nu dispărem decât când nu mai e nimeni care să ne caute povestea.
Povestea lui Mendelsohn se ridică in mijlocul unui șantier de arheologie a memoriei. Iți trebuie răbdare să ii urmărești munca, totuși mult mai puțină decât i-a trebuit lui să sape printre poveștile supraviețuitorilor, vecinilor, urmașilor. Uneori ești frustrat de toată mecanica căutarilor lui, frustrat ca atâtea detalii ar putea îngropa povestea atât de fragilă a celor șase. Dar schelele se ridică încet din aceste detalii, apoi începi sa vezi zidurile și la final deja ești în casa Jägerilor, îi vezi, le-ai memorat fețele din poze, le-ai descoperit și caracterul, sunt de-ai tăi. Sunt vii. Urmașul lor nu le-a documentat doar moartea, așa cum iși propusese inițial, ci i-a adus la viață.
Chiar și când voi uita numele celor 6 - Shmiel, Ester, Lorka, Frydka, Ruchele și Bronia - și împrejurările în care a dispărut fiecare dintre ei. Când voi uita despre micul shtetl ba în Polonia, ba în Ucraina - Bolechow. Când voi uita legătura dintre fiecare parashah din Facerea și istoria concretă: Bereishit (începutul) / geneza familiei Jäger; Cain și Abel / naziștii, ucrainenii, polonezii și evreii; Noach / potopul Holocaustului; Lecha lecha! ("Pleacă! - Abraham și Canaanul promis) / cei salvați și Israelul (ori alte refugii); Vayeira ("Acolo s-a arătat" Domnul lui Abraham) / sacrificarea fiului iubit. A poporului ales.
Când voi uita toate astea, o să îmi amintesc că polonezii și ucrainenii au ucis cu cea mai crâncenă bestialitate, dar au si salvat, riscându-și viața. Că a existat poliția evreiască, dar au existat mai ales frați, surori, părinți, prieteni, iubiți. Că fiecare dintre cei șase milioane de evrei pieriți în Holocaust sau cinci (sau șase sau șapte) milioane de ucraineni uciși prin înfometare a avut pe cineva care l-a iubit. Că nu suntem aici pentru a judeca, ci pentru a cunoaște. Și nu dispărem decât când nu mai e nimeni care să ne caute povestea.
Povestea lui Mendelsohn se ridică in mijlocul unui șantier de arheologie a memoriei. Iți trebuie răbdare să ii urmărești munca, totuși mult mai puțină decât i-a trebuit lui să sape printre poveștile supraviețuitorilor, vecinilor, urmașilor. Uneori ești frustrat de toată mecanica căutarilor lui, frustrat ca atâtea detalii ar putea îngropa povestea atât de fragilă a celor șase. Dar schelele se ridică încet din aceste detalii, apoi începi sa vezi zidurile și la final deja ești în casa Jägerilor, îi vezi, le-ai memorat fețele din poze, le-ai descoperit și caracterul, sunt de-ai tăi. Sunt vii. Urmașul lor nu le-a documentat doar moartea, așa cum iși propusese inițial, ci i-a adus la viață.
April 20, 2018
Bello, bello, bello, ed anche tanto doloroso.
Se dovessi fare un parallelo fra un libro ed un film, questo sarebbe paragonato a "Il pianista" di Polanski, dove vedi, anzi "senti" tutto l'orrore della Shoah senza vedere cadaveri nudi ammucchiati nei campi, come nei documentari russi, americani o inglesi.
L'autore, Daniel, e'un americano di religione ebraica che vuole sapere che fine ha fatto il fratello del nonno, di cui si sussurra appena il suo nome e quello della sua famiglia: ovviamente si intuisce che sono stati tutti ammazzati dai nazisti ma dove e quando?
Daniel quindi parte alla ricerca di informazioni e si spostera' in Europa, in Israele e fino in Australia per sapere qualche cosa di piu' sui parenti, e scoprira' ovviamente tante cose orribili.
La scrittura di Mendelsohn e' fluida e piacevolissima, in effetti il libro si legge come fosse un giallo e personalmente non riuscivo a staccarmene: mi sentivo quasi in colpa perche' mi sembrava di mancare di rispetto a tutti i morti della Shoah poiche' stavo leggendo troppo avidamente, non so se riesco a spiegare quello che voglio dire.
Da far leggere nelle scuole.
Se dovessi fare un parallelo fra un libro ed un film, questo sarebbe paragonato a "Il pianista" di Polanski, dove vedi, anzi "senti" tutto l'orrore della Shoah senza vedere cadaveri nudi ammucchiati nei campi, come nei documentari russi, americani o inglesi.
L'autore, Daniel, e'un americano di religione ebraica che vuole sapere che fine ha fatto il fratello del nonno, di cui si sussurra appena il suo nome e quello della sua famiglia: ovviamente si intuisce che sono stati tutti ammazzati dai nazisti ma dove e quando?
Daniel quindi parte alla ricerca di informazioni e si spostera' in Europa, in Israele e fino in Australia per sapere qualche cosa di piu' sui parenti, e scoprira' ovviamente tante cose orribili.
La scrittura di Mendelsohn e' fluida e piacevolissima, in effetti il libro si legge come fosse un giallo e personalmente non riuscivo a staccarmene: mi sentivo quasi in colpa perche' mi sembrava di mancare di rispetto a tutti i morti della Shoah poiche' stavo leggendo troppo avidamente, non so se riesco a spiegare quello che voglio dire.
Da far leggere nelle scuole.
August 3, 2008
So, I just officially finished my book, The Lost, yesterday (big cheers for me!) and thought I’d let you know what I thought about it...I will start with what I didn’t like. It was long (500 pages – a lot for me at this point in my life!) and as I mentioned earlier a little slow at the beginning. There was a lot of detailed discussion on various stories of the Torah which was interesting at first but by the last 50 pages I had begun skipping over to go straight to the actual storyline. Overall, however, I found the book quite fascinating. I thought it was amazing that at such an early age the author became so obsessed with his family history. He wrote letters to distant aunts and uncles and had a running letter correspondence with his grandfather trying to find out what they remembered about his uncle and his family (who as I mentioned before all he really knew at first was “had been killed by the Nazis”), and interestingly enough he still didn’t find out all he could have before many of them died because he didn’t yet know what questions to ask. The curiosity eventually becomes a quest to know everything he can know about this family (his Uncle Shmiel, Aunt Ester and their 4 daughters) and takes him all around the world searching out the surviving Jews from the small town of Bolechow (he mentions how many had survived the Holocaust and I believe it was only around 30) to interview and try to piece the story of their lives back together again. One of my favorite thoughts coming from the book was toward the end when the author describes what we tend to think of losing as the result of these mass genocides or of any death really...”We tend, naturally to think first of the people themselves, the families that will cease existing, the children that will never be born; and then of the homely things with which most of us are familiar, the houses and mementoes and photographs that, because those people no longer exist, will stop having any meaning at all. But there is this too: the thoughts that will never be thought, the discoveries that will never be made, the art that will never be created. The problems, written in a book somewhere, a book that will outlive the people who wrote down the problems, that will never be solved.” The author did an excellent job at presenting his story in a way that makes you think about the Holocaust from a totally different perspective that we are used to and for that I would recommend it...just don’t give up after the first 50 pages!
June 14, 2021
Liniștit pot spune că este cea mai bună carte citită anul acesta deși am citit multe cărți foarte bune dar întotdeauna ultima este cea mai. Istorie, memorie, detectivistică și jurnalism de investigație, disertație despre cărțile Thorei, jurnal de călătorie și ceea ce se cheamă spirit central european. Bolechowul descris de Mendelshon din amintirile locuitorilor săi seamănă izbitor cu oricare târg al copilăriei mele în ceea ce privește multitudinea de etnii, culturi, limbi,ficare cu sărbătorile, gastronomia și obiceiurile sale. Univers policrom, bucolic în existența sa pașnică. Apoi a venit războiul. Mai întâi primul care a remodelat complet harta europeană , apoi al doilea care a anihilat orice urmă de umanitate în acest spațiu. Și totuși din cei 6000 de evrei ai Bolechowului au supraviețuit 48 pentru ca la distanță de 70 de ani să recompună povestea celor 6 rude pierdute ale scriitorului, unchiul Shmiel, mătușa Esther, verișoarele Frydka, Lorka,Ruchele și Bronia.
October 26, 2019
Scoprire, capire, riflettere, colmare quel vuoto che sente sin da piccolo.
E’ ciò che Daniel Mendelsohn, autore e protagonista, vuole fare compiendo un’odissea di cinque anni lungo il mondo, dall’America alla Polonia passando per la Danimarca, l’Ucraina, Israele, e persino l’Australia, per scoprire che fine ha fatto suo zio Shmiel, fratello del padre, e del quale si sono perse le tracce in una piccola cittadina polacca, Bolechow, durante l’occupazione nazista.
Di lui restano solo dei racconti un po’ confusi fatti dal nonno, riuscito invece ad emigrare, negli anni bui del Nazismo, in America, e qualche informazione incerta e frammentaria.
Shmiel, stimato macellaio di Bolechow, aveva una moglie e quattro figlie, tutte probabilmente morte durante l’Olocausto.
Ma di preciso, come, dove, quando?
Daniel Mendelsohn cresce tormentato da queste domande, alle quali non può dare risposta, nonostante i continui interrogatori al nonno e al padre. Soprattutto ora, che il nonno non c’è più.
Un po’ come osservare il proprio albero genealogico e scoprire, smarriti, che alcuni rami sotto a noi, toh, non ci sono. E provare un senso di incompletezza, di vuoto.
E’ accaduto anche a me, lo confesso.
Quando è venuto a mancare mio padre, in una fase di debolezza in cui ancora elaboravo il lutto (fase terminata?) mi sono ritrovata a fare domande a mia madre sul mio nonno paterno, mai conosciuto, e su altri parenti di parte paterna, per me volti vuoti, mai visti. Volti vuoti, rami mancanti. Chi erano, dov’erano, dove sono? I nostri familiari fanno parte di noi, e viceversa, inutile negarlo. E il fatto che sentissi di volere delle risposte proprio allora, dopo la morte di mio padre, risposte in realtà mai avute (perché, rispetto a Mendelsohn non mi sono mai messa a indagare) mi ha fatto molto riflettere. E ancora oggi, nonostante nella vita non mi sia mai mancato nulla (è davvero così o mi piace crederlo?), sento che qualche ramo è ancora assente, e se vi aggiungessi un nome e un volto, beh, per quanto mi riguarda tale resterebbe.
Per Mendelsohn la faccenda è stata ancora più dolorosa e complicata. Perché quei sei fantasmi che l’hanno tormentato sin dall’infanzia, zio, zia e quattro figlie, hanno vissuto nel periodo più buio in cui degli ebrei come loro potevano vivere. L’Olocausto. E nell’insanguinata Polonia, nella quale tutto è cominciato.
Così, durante quest’odissea di cinque anni, Mendelsohn ricerca e contatta quei pochissimi ebrei di Bolechow sopravvissuti all’Olocausto che avevano conosciuto i suoi parenti, e cerca di capire che cosa sia effettivamente accaduto.
Contatti, lettere, telefonate, interviste gli forniscono, con una serie di informazioni, un quadro dapprima confuso, ma poi sempre più chiaro, dolorosamente chiaro, di quella che è stata la fine di questi parenti scomparsi.
Concordo con quella recensione qui letta che descrive la scrittura di Mendelsohn come fluida e piacevolissima, fin troppo piacevole per un argomento del genere: un mattone di dolore che si legge con l’avidità di un giallo, vien quasi da sentirsi in colpa.
A pensare a questa cittadina, Bolechow, le cui poche migliaia di ebrei sono stati tutti sterminati (ne sono tornati una quarantina) viene tanta, tanta rabbia.
Cinque stelle per la prosa generosa ma leggera, per il carico emozionale trasmesso, per le riflessioni potenti che ne sono scaturite. L’unica cosa che avrei evitato sono le digressioni sui temi e i personaggi della Bibbia e della Torah, che inframezzano le pagine illuminando su temi e personaggi importati ma con un tono che poco si sposa a quello della narrazione della storia.
E’ ciò che Daniel Mendelsohn, autore e protagonista, vuole fare compiendo un’odissea di cinque anni lungo il mondo, dall’America alla Polonia passando per la Danimarca, l’Ucraina, Israele, e persino l’Australia, per scoprire che fine ha fatto suo zio Shmiel, fratello del padre, e del quale si sono perse le tracce in una piccola cittadina polacca, Bolechow, durante l’occupazione nazista.
Di lui restano solo dei racconti un po’ confusi fatti dal nonno, riuscito invece ad emigrare, negli anni bui del Nazismo, in America, e qualche informazione incerta e frammentaria.
Shmiel, stimato macellaio di Bolechow, aveva una moglie e quattro figlie, tutte probabilmente morte durante l’Olocausto.
Ma di preciso, come, dove, quando?
Daniel Mendelsohn cresce tormentato da queste domande, alle quali non può dare risposta, nonostante i continui interrogatori al nonno e al padre. Soprattutto ora, che il nonno non c’è più.
Un po’ come osservare il proprio albero genealogico e scoprire, smarriti, che alcuni rami sotto a noi, toh, non ci sono. E provare un senso di incompletezza, di vuoto.
E’ accaduto anche a me, lo confesso.
Quando è venuto a mancare mio padre, in una fase di debolezza in cui ancora elaboravo il lutto (fase terminata?) mi sono ritrovata a fare domande a mia madre sul mio nonno paterno, mai conosciuto, e su altri parenti di parte paterna, per me volti vuoti, mai visti. Volti vuoti, rami mancanti. Chi erano, dov’erano, dove sono? I nostri familiari fanno parte di noi, e viceversa, inutile negarlo. E il fatto che sentissi di volere delle risposte proprio allora, dopo la morte di mio padre, risposte in realtà mai avute (perché, rispetto a Mendelsohn non mi sono mai messa a indagare) mi ha fatto molto riflettere. E ancora oggi, nonostante nella vita non mi sia mai mancato nulla (è davvero così o mi piace crederlo?), sento che qualche ramo è ancora assente, e se vi aggiungessi un nome e un volto, beh, per quanto mi riguarda tale resterebbe.
Per Mendelsohn la faccenda è stata ancora più dolorosa e complicata. Perché quei sei fantasmi che l’hanno tormentato sin dall’infanzia, zio, zia e quattro figlie, hanno vissuto nel periodo più buio in cui degli ebrei come loro potevano vivere. L’Olocausto. E nell’insanguinata Polonia, nella quale tutto è cominciato.
Così, durante quest’odissea di cinque anni, Mendelsohn ricerca e contatta quei pochissimi ebrei di Bolechow sopravvissuti all’Olocausto che avevano conosciuto i suoi parenti, e cerca di capire che cosa sia effettivamente accaduto.
Contatti, lettere, telefonate, interviste gli forniscono, con una serie di informazioni, un quadro dapprima confuso, ma poi sempre più chiaro, dolorosamente chiaro, di quella che è stata la fine di questi parenti scomparsi.
Concordo con quella recensione qui letta che descrive la scrittura di Mendelsohn come fluida e piacevolissima, fin troppo piacevole per un argomento del genere: un mattone di dolore che si legge con l’avidità di un giallo, vien quasi da sentirsi in colpa.
A pensare a questa cittadina, Bolechow, le cui poche migliaia di ebrei sono stati tutti sterminati (ne sono tornati una quarantina) viene tanta, tanta rabbia.
Cinque stelle per la prosa generosa ma leggera, per il carico emozionale trasmesso, per le riflessioni potenti che ne sono scaturite. L’unica cosa che avrei evitato sono le digressioni sui temi e i personaggi della Bibbia e della Torah, che inframezzano le pagine illuminando su temi e personaggi importati ma con un tono che poco si sposa a quello della narrazione della storia.
October 28, 2007
My cousin, who I have never been close to, lent me The Lost: A Search for Six of Six Million
on her recent visit to France. At the time, she had no idea how interested in this book I would be.
The memoir recounts Daniel Mendelsohn’s search for information about the lives and deaths of his great uncle and his family. His journey starts with only one sure fact: his Uncle Shmiel and family were killed during the Nazi occupation of eastern Poland (now Ukraine).
As a Ukraine-phile, I was particularly interested that from his childhood, Mendelsohn’s grandfather (Uncle Shmiel’s brother) teaches him that Ukrainians are the worst people alive—much worse than the Nazis themselves. Yet, when he returns to his family’s ancestral village, Mendelsohn discovers the Ukrainians there are kind and gracious.
These sections resonate with me as I, too, struggle with similar feelings (though, of course, not on such a personal level as Mendelsohn). How can I love Ukraine so much knowing many Ukrainians collaborated with the Nazis?
I had an epiphany as I read Mendelsohn’s hypothesis that both Ukrainians and Jews, at this time, are at the bottom of the food chain. As such, the two groups struggle to gain ground on each other. For example, when the Russians are in power, the Jewish community is relieved because they alleviate some of its suffering. Yet, the Ukrainians are tortured at the Russian’s hands. Conversely, when the Germans take over, the Ukrainians are happy, while the Jews suffer unimaginably.
I read this section, had my epiphany, on a flight from Slovakia to France and found myself weeping on the plane.
Yet, the book also includes graphic accounts of Ukrainian abuse that is simply irreconcilable. I found myself constantly shaking my head as I read descriptions of torture—of children smashed against rocks and men’s eyes cut out. I instinctively tried to shake these images from my mind.
Although the book is long, over 500 pages, and often meanders and is repetitive, I found myself completely invested in knowing for myself what happened to Uncle Shmiel, his wife, and four daughters.
Yet, I also had a sense that Mendelsohn is disingenuous in some of his writing. For example, he shares a family narrative about his great aunt being sold into marriage. Yet, in an earlier book, Mendelsohn writes about discovering this family story is not true. He never shares this fact with the readers of The Lost. I finished the book, then, wondering if what Mendelsohn left out of the book is just as important as what he includes.
on her recent visit to France. At the time, she had no idea how interested in this book I would be.
The memoir recounts Daniel Mendelsohn’s search for information about the lives and deaths of his great uncle and his family. His journey starts with only one sure fact: his Uncle Shmiel and family were killed during the Nazi occupation of eastern Poland (now Ukraine).
As a Ukraine-phile, I was particularly interested that from his childhood, Mendelsohn’s grandfather (Uncle Shmiel’s brother) teaches him that Ukrainians are the worst people alive—much worse than the Nazis themselves. Yet, when he returns to his family’s ancestral village, Mendelsohn discovers the Ukrainians there are kind and gracious.
These sections resonate with me as I, too, struggle with similar feelings (though, of course, not on such a personal level as Mendelsohn). How can I love Ukraine so much knowing many Ukrainians collaborated with the Nazis?
I had an epiphany as I read Mendelsohn’s hypothesis that both Ukrainians and Jews, at this time, are at the bottom of the food chain. As such, the two groups struggle to gain ground on each other. For example, when the Russians are in power, the Jewish community is relieved because they alleviate some of its suffering. Yet, the Ukrainians are tortured at the Russian’s hands. Conversely, when the Germans take over, the Ukrainians are happy, while the Jews suffer unimaginably.
I read this section, had my epiphany, on a flight from Slovakia to France and found myself weeping on the plane.
Yet, the book also includes graphic accounts of Ukrainian abuse that is simply irreconcilable. I found myself constantly shaking my head as I read descriptions of torture—of children smashed against rocks and men’s eyes cut out. I instinctively tried to shake these images from my mind.
Although the book is long, over 500 pages, and often meanders and is repetitive, I found myself completely invested in knowing for myself what happened to Uncle Shmiel, his wife, and four daughters.
Yet, I also had a sense that Mendelsohn is disingenuous in some of his writing. For example, he shares a family narrative about his great aunt being sold into marriage. Yet, in an earlier book, Mendelsohn writes about discovering this family story is not true. He never shares this fact with the readers of The Lost. I finished the book, then, wondering if what Mendelsohn left out of the book is just as important as what he includes.
September 8, 2007
The best thing I read last year. It took me many months to finish this book as I would get overwhelmed by the detail, but I always felt compelled to pick it back up after a breather and continue. This book made the holocaust real for me in a way nothing else, including the Washington D.C museum, has. Brilliant the way Mendelhsson addresses the vast scale of the holocaust while at the same time narrowing it down to individual people who are not heroes or villians, but a regular family like anyone else.
August 5, 2007
This books takes patience and is not a quick read, but it is well worth the effort. The author makes fascinating use of the Torah to help us understand his journey into his family's past. It is a book that leaves you exhausted-- this wasn't easy to write, and I have great respect for that. The title suggests that it's about searching for the fate of 6 specific Holocaust victims, but it's about so much more than that-- memory, human nature, knowing and history, surviving after Surviving, family, how we "know" those around us. Again, fascinating.
September 23, 2016
"Estar vivo é ter uma história para contar. Estar vivo é, precisamente, ser o herói, o centro de uma história de vida. Quando não se pode ser mais nada além de uma personagem secundária na história de alguém, isso significa que se está verdadeiramente morto." (Pág. 480)
“Os Desaparecidos – À procura de seis em seis milhões” é um livro de não-ficção escrito pelo jornalista, crítico e escritor norte-americano Daniel Mendelsohn (n. 1960), editado em 2006 e que recebeu inúmeros prémios literários, com destaque para o National Book Critics Circle Awrad.
”Há algum tempo, teria eu seis, ou sete, ou mesmo oito anos, podia acontecer-me entrar numa sala e certas pessoas começarem a chorar.”, assim começa o livro “Os Desaparecidos – À procura de seis em seis milhões”, com o jovem Daniel Mendelsohn, a ouvir os sussurros ”desses velhos e velhas” judeus ”Oh, ele parece-se tanto com o Shmiel!”. ”Deste Shmiel, claro, alguma coisa eu sabia: irmão mais velho do meu avô, que com a mulher e as suas quatro lindas filhas fora morto pelos nazis durante a guerra. Shmiel. Morto pelos nazis.” (Pág. 25)
"... Shmiel (...): irmão mais velho do meu avô, que, com a mulher e as suas quatro lindas filhas fora morto pelos nazis durante a guerra. Shmiel. Morto pelos nazis." (Pág. 25)
Daniel Mendelsohn pretende construir ou reconstruir a história sobre o passado da sua família, em particular, sobre o seu tio-avô Shmiel, a sua mulher Ester, e quatro filhas, Lorka, Frydka, Ruchele e Bronia - “Os Desaparecidos – À procura de seis em seis milhões”, um desejo, um fascínio, uma obsessão, que começa por fragmentos de “histórias” e “segredos” murmurados, por um conjunto de fotografias antigas e por um pequeno maço de cartas que o seu avô deixou após a morte, numa pesquisa e numa investigação que começa na pequena aldeia de Bolechow ou Bolekhiv, na Polónia ou na Ucrânia, e que o leva a Israel, à Austrália, à Dinamarca e à Suécia.
Com base em entrevistas e depoimentos de inúmeras testemunhas, nem sempre coincidentes, incluindo, familiares e amigos, sobretudo, os últimos bolechowitas, com quem se encontrou e conversou, partilhando “momentos” e “memórias” dolorosas sobre acontecimentos dramáticos, profundamente perturbadores, Daniel Mendelsohn, escreve um livro com um rigor histórico inquestionável, num contexto narrativo que vai avançando quase como numa investigação “policial”, procurando pequenos indícios, algumas pistas, surgindo algumas coincidências que são determinantes nessa pesquisa, para resgatar a uma obscuridade o passado, comovente e trágico, dos seus seis familiares, conseguindo “individualizar” o seu martírio e a sua morte, num enquadramento catastrófico de genocídio étnico dos seis milhões de judeus durante a Segunda Guerra Mundial.
Ester, a sua mulher, Bronia, a sua filha, Sam (Shmiel)
“Os Desaparecidos – À procura de seis em seis milhões” é um excelente livro de não-ficção de Daniel Mendelsohn, com fotografias do seu irmão Matt Mendelsohn , sobre um dos períodos mais conturbados e dramáticos da história Mundial e Europeia, o genocídio de cerca de seis milhões de judeus, num extermínio étnico liderado por Adolf Hitler e pelo Partido Nazi, que ocorreu em inúmeros territórios ocupados pelos alemães durante a Segunda Guerra Mundial.
"Compreendo, ao reler estas cartas, que o que as torna tão assustadoramente comovedoras é o tratamento na segunda pessoa. Todas as cartas, realmente, são dirigidas a um "tu" - "Despeço-me de ti e beijo-te do fundo do meu coração", é a frase de despedida de Shmiel - e é por causa disto que se torna tão difícil, ao ler as cartas, mesmo as dirigidas a outras pessoas , não nos sentirmos implicados, não nos sentirmos vagamente responsáveis. Ao ler as cartas de Shmiel, quando as encontrei, foi a minha primeira experiência de estranha proximidade com os mortos que, no entanto, conseguem sempre permanecer fora do nosso alcance." (Pág. 119)
“Para mim Auschwitz representa o oposto do que me interessava e – como comecei a constatar no dia em que de facto fui a Auschwitz – da razão pela qual tinha feito aquela viagem. Auschwitz, agora, tornara-se no símbolo de uma só palavra, gigantesco, na generalização grosseira, estenográfica, para o que acontecera aos judeus da Europa (…) Mas mesmo que aceitemos Auschwitz como símbolo, pensava eu enquanto andava naquele chão tão estranhamente pacífico e bem tratado, há problemas. Tinha sido para salvar os meus parentes de generalidades, símbolos, abreviaturas, para lhes restaurar as suas particularidades e características próprias que eu fizera esta viagem bizarra e árdua. Mortos pelos nazis - sim, mas por quem, exactamente?
A pavorosa ironia de Auschwitz, (...) é que a extensão do que mostra é tão gigantesca que o colectivo e o anónimo, todo o âmbito do crime, estão constantemente, paradoxalmente, expressos à custa de qualquer sentido da vida individual.
(…)
E assim, enquanto andava por Auschwitz, debatia-me com a pergunta sobre o motivo por que uma pessoa vai como turista a lugares como este. Não, de uma forma geral pelo menos, para aprender o que aí sucedeu; pois quem quer que vá a Auschwitz e a muitos outros lugares como esse já sabe o que lá se passou. E também não certamente para ficar com uma ideia melhor sobre "como era aquilo"..." (Pág. 132 - 133)
“Os Desaparecidos – À procura de seis em seis milhões” é um livro de não-ficção escrito pelo jornalista, crítico e escritor norte-americano Daniel Mendelsohn (n. 1960), editado em 2006 e que recebeu inúmeros prémios literários, com destaque para o National Book Critics Circle Awrad.
”Há algum tempo, teria eu seis, ou sete, ou mesmo oito anos, podia acontecer-me entrar numa sala e certas pessoas começarem a chorar.”, assim começa o livro “Os Desaparecidos – À procura de seis em seis milhões”, com o jovem Daniel Mendelsohn, a ouvir os sussurros ”desses velhos e velhas” judeus ”Oh, ele parece-se tanto com o Shmiel!”. ”Deste Shmiel, claro, alguma coisa eu sabia: irmão mais velho do meu avô, que com a mulher e as suas quatro lindas filhas fora morto pelos nazis durante a guerra. Shmiel. Morto pelos nazis.” (Pág. 25)
"... Shmiel (...): irmão mais velho do meu avô, que, com a mulher e as suas quatro lindas filhas fora morto pelos nazis durante a guerra. Shmiel. Morto pelos nazis." (Pág. 25)
Daniel Mendelsohn pretende construir ou reconstruir a história sobre o passado da sua família, em particular, sobre o seu tio-avô Shmiel, a sua mulher Ester, e quatro filhas, Lorka, Frydka, Ruchele e Bronia - “Os Desaparecidos – À procura de seis em seis milhões”, um desejo, um fascínio, uma obsessão, que começa por fragmentos de “histórias” e “segredos” murmurados, por um conjunto de fotografias antigas e por um pequeno maço de cartas que o seu avô deixou após a morte, numa pesquisa e numa investigação que começa na pequena aldeia de Bolechow ou Bolekhiv, na Polónia ou na Ucrânia, e que o leva a Israel, à Austrália, à Dinamarca e à Suécia.
Com base em entrevistas e depoimentos de inúmeras testemunhas, nem sempre coincidentes, incluindo, familiares e amigos, sobretudo, os últimos bolechowitas, com quem se encontrou e conversou, partilhando “momentos” e “memórias” dolorosas sobre acontecimentos dramáticos, profundamente perturbadores, Daniel Mendelsohn, escreve um livro com um rigor histórico inquestionável, num contexto narrativo que vai avançando quase como numa investigação “policial”, procurando pequenos indícios, algumas pistas, surgindo algumas coincidências que são determinantes nessa pesquisa, para resgatar a uma obscuridade o passado, comovente e trágico, dos seus seis familiares, conseguindo “individualizar” o seu martírio e a sua morte, num enquadramento catastrófico de genocídio étnico dos seis milhões de judeus durante a Segunda Guerra Mundial.
Ester, a sua mulher, Bronia, a sua filha, Sam (Shmiel)
“Os Desaparecidos – À procura de seis em seis milhões” é um excelente livro de não-ficção de Daniel Mendelsohn, com fotografias do seu irmão Matt Mendelsohn , sobre um dos períodos mais conturbados e dramáticos da história Mundial e Europeia, o genocídio de cerca de seis milhões de judeus, num extermínio étnico liderado por Adolf Hitler e pelo Partido Nazi, que ocorreu em inúmeros territórios ocupados pelos alemães durante a Segunda Guerra Mundial.
"Compreendo, ao reler estas cartas, que o que as torna tão assustadoramente comovedoras é o tratamento na segunda pessoa. Todas as cartas, realmente, são dirigidas a um "tu" - "Despeço-me de ti e beijo-te do fundo do meu coração", é a frase de despedida de Shmiel - e é por causa disto que se torna tão difícil, ao ler as cartas, mesmo as dirigidas a outras pessoas , não nos sentirmos implicados, não nos sentirmos vagamente responsáveis. Ao ler as cartas de Shmiel, quando as encontrei, foi a minha primeira experiência de estranha proximidade com os mortos que, no entanto, conseguem sempre permanecer fora do nosso alcance." (Pág. 119)
“Para mim Auschwitz representa o oposto do que me interessava e – como comecei a constatar no dia em que de facto fui a Auschwitz – da razão pela qual tinha feito aquela viagem. Auschwitz, agora, tornara-se no símbolo de uma só palavra, gigantesco, na generalização grosseira, estenográfica, para o que acontecera aos judeus da Europa (…) Mas mesmo que aceitemos Auschwitz como símbolo, pensava eu enquanto andava naquele chão tão estranhamente pacífico e bem tratado, há problemas. Tinha sido para salvar os meus parentes de generalidades, símbolos, abreviaturas, para lhes restaurar as suas particularidades e características próprias que eu fizera esta viagem bizarra e árdua. Mortos pelos nazis - sim, mas por quem, exactamente?
A pavorosa ironia de Auschwitz, (...) é que a extensão do que mostra é tão gigantesca que o colectivo e o anónimo, todo o âmbito do crime, estão constantemente, paradoxalmente, expressos à custa de qualquer sentido da vida individual.
(…)
E assim, enquanto andava por Auschwitz, debatia-me com a pergunta sobre o motivo por que uma pessoa vai como turista a lugares como este. Não, de uma forma geral pelo menos, para aprender o que aí sucedeu; pois quem quer que vá a Auschwitz e a muitos outros lugares como esse já sabe o que lá se passou. E também não certamente para ficar com uma ideia melhor sobre "como era aquilo"..." (Pág. 132 - 133)
July 13, 2008
This book is sad and beautiful and riveting. The story itself isn't unusual since the fate of this family was the fate of many European Jews in the Holocaust. But the author pursues the story with such loving care, and the uncovering of what happened is handled almost unbearably well. I also enjoyed how the author wove in philology/etymology and biblical reference. I loved it. I cried all over it. I forced it on my mother.
April 22, 2015
“A toda essa distância, ao fim de todos aqueles anos e ali estava ela, sentada à mesa comigo, ali estava ele, a conversar comigo ao telefone, ali estavam eles, ali andavam eles se soubéssemos onde encontrá-los: recordando-os.” (P.167)
Ester, Bronia e Schmiel Jäger
February 4, 2018
Dare un'ultima occhiata
Al termine delle sue settecento pagine, degli anni di ricerche, dei viaggi lontani, frequenti, ripetuti nel tentativo di carpire qualche brandello della storia svanita dello scomparso suo prozio, Mendelshon scrive:
"Da una parte esiste l'infinita gamma di possibilità dovute al caso, al tempo, allo stato d'animo, l'inconoscibile e sterminata massa di eventi che costituiscono la vita di un individuo o di un popolo; dall'altra in questo incredibile e illimitato universo di fattori e possibilità, si intersecano la personalità e la volontà individuale, le decisioni, la capacità di operare distinzioni, quindi di creare, perseverare; l'impulso costante di tornare a dare un'ultima occhiata (...) Al mondo esiste una sconfinata massa di cose e l'atto della creazione opera una scissione attraverso di esse, separando i fatti dalle supposizioni. [...] Perché tutto, infine, va perduto: (...) ogno cosa andrà irremediabilmente perduta, le gambe ben tornite, la sordità, l'incedere deciso con cui quella persona scendeva dal treno con una pila di libri di scuola, i segreti di famiglia e le ricette dei dolci, degli stufati e del gotaki, la bontà e la malvagità, le azioni di coloro che salvarano vite e di coloro che tradirono: alla fine tutto, assolutamente tutto naufragherà nell'oblio, come la civilità degli egiziani, degli incas, degli ittiti. Eppure, nel breve periodo qualcosa può essere salvato, se solo, di fronte all'immensità dell'esistenza, qualcuno deciderà di guardarsi indietro, di dare un'ultima occhiata, di cercare tra le rovine del passato per recuperare il possibile, incurante di ciò che è andato perduto."
Da queste parole trarrò la perseveranza, la forza di volgere quell'ultimo sguardo, quello che trasforma in statua di sale chi si lascia ammaliare dalla nostalgia e in testimone chi cerca, scava, riporta, racconta quello che ha intravisto.
Al termine delle sue settecento pagine, degli anni di ricerche, dei viaggi lontani, frequenti, ripetuti nel tentativo di carpire qualche brandello della storia svanita dello scomparso suo prozio, Mendelshon scrive:
"Da una parte esiste l'infinita gamma di possibilità dovute al caso, al tempo, allo stato d'animo, l'inconoscibile e sterminata massa di eventi che costituiscono la vita di un individuo o di un popolo; dall'altra in questo incredibile e illimitato universo di fattori e possibilità, si intersecano la personalità e la volontà individuale, le decisioni, la capacità di operare distinzioni, quindi di creare, perseverare; l'impulso costante di tornare a dare un'ultima occhiata (...) Al mondo esiste una sconfinata massa di cose e l'atto della creazione opera una scissione attraverso di esse, separando i fatti dalle supposizioni. [...] Perché tutto, infine, va perduto: (...) ogno cosa andrà irremediabilmente perduta, le gambe ben tornite, la sordità, l'incedere deciso con cui quella persona scendeva dal treno con una pila di libri di scuola, i segreti di famiglia e le ricette dei dolci, degli stufati e del gotaki, la bontà e la malvagità, le azioni di coloro che salvarano vite e di coloro che tradirono: alla fine tutto, assolutamente tutto naufragherà nell'oblio, come la civilità degli egiziani, degli incas, degli ittiti. Eppure, nel breve periodo qualcosa può essere salvato, se solo, di fronte all'immensità dell'esistenza, qualcuno deciderà di guardarsi indietro, di dare un'ultima occhiata, di cercare tra le rovine del passato per recuperare il possibile, incurante di ciò che è andato perduto."
Da queste parole trarrò la perseveranza, la forza di volgere quell'ultimo sguardo, quello che trasforma in statua di sale chi si lascia ammaliare dalla nostalgia e in testimone chi cerca, scava, riporta, racconta quello che ha intravisto.
January 21, 2018
I've been meaning to read this book for a decade now, ever since it came out and my European history professor from college emailed me. "I highly recommend this book," he said, "if you think you can get through it. Don't push yourself; the book can wait. But it is THAT GOOD." He wasn't insinuating that I didn't have the ability to read the book, that the vocabulary would be too much for me to grasp or that I wouldn't be able to make it through six hundred pages. Instead, he was concerned about my emotional ability to handle the content.
At that time, I was in the middle of conducting my own search - a search for twelve, all who perished in the Shoah (Holocaust), my grandmother's entire family. Only my grandmother "survived," although she hates being called a "survivor" because, as she says, she wasn't there. She had been sent away by her twice-widowed mother to England, a part of the Kindertransport, where she would stay until the end of the war, mostly (and, perhaps, blissfully) unaware of what was happening to her family, until the end, when it became brutally clear that she was the only one left. (She did manage to find a few cousins who survived and later moved to Israel, and another cousin who survived and decided to stay in Germany, and one of her uncles, her father's much older brother, whom she met once, emigrated to America before the war happened. But, essentially, the rest of her family was completely wiped from the face of the earth.)
So, yes, my former college professor was right to caution me, in his ever-exuberant way. He was the one, after all, who helped me with my search in college and afterward. So for years the book sat upon my shelf, and I always said "this year, I'm going to read it." But I never did. There was too much going on; I was too depressed to find out about another Jewish family, unrelated to mine and yet had suffered a similar fate; I was done with Shoah memoirs for a while, maybe forever (that'll never happen, no matter how many times I tell myself that "this one is the last one"); I wanted to read something that wasn't a tragedy.
And then, suddenly, it was the right time. It's been several years since I found any new information about my family; the trail has long gone cold, and although I do a half-hearted search every so often to see if anything new has popped up, I don't put my whole self into it anymore. They're all dead. I will never know them. And the nightmares that inevitably come when I think about them a great deal are...unpleasant, shall we say.
And this book did produce nightmares; don't get me wrong. But it was rather cathartic, in a way, to read this book, to cry and rage and feel all of the feelings.
Mendelsohn's grandfather left Bolechow, Poland before the war (and subsequent near-annihilation of Polish Jewry). He had one brother, Schmiel, who had also emigrated to America but had, unlike Mendelsohn's grandfather, returned to Bolechow. There he married and had four daughters, while he brought the family's butcher shop back to prominence. None of Schmiel's family survived the war.
Growing up, Mendelsohn heard varied stories of "the lost," of Schmiel and his family. But the stories were different and almost impossible to track down, at that time. As the author grew older, the need to know what happened to Schmiel and his family grew, until he found himself crossing the globe in search of answers, from America to Australia to Poland to Denmark to Sweden. Along the way, he finds much more than he ever expected to find, as well as coming to the realization that finding all of the details about what happened is impossible, especially with so few survivors who are still living.
Mehndelsohn's writing style is different. He tends to be rather "poetic," I suppose I would say, and he is damned fond of run-on sentences. He also expresses, early in the book, a love for how the Greeks (and how his grandfather) told stories - long and winding, with lots of asides in between that, eventually, make sense, but it might be a long way down the road. There were times that I had to read paragraphs several times (often the "paragraph" was just one long run-on sentence) in order for them to make sense. But the story is worth it, and I urge you to persevere.
If you need absolute closure, where you know everything about the major players introduced in the book, once again, this probably isn't for you. It always amazes me when I talk to people about the Shoah, how most think that we have a date and a time and a method of execution for every family member. Some even believe that we had bodies to bury! No, there are still numerous unexcavated mass graves in Poland, the Ukraine, etc, etc. And many bodies were burned, so they are only ashes now. As you can see from my own list of family members who died in the Shoah (below), I only have years. Only for one (my great-grandfather, who was the only NOT killed because of his ethnicity, although he was also Jewish) do I know, in so many words, exactly what happened to him. And the same holds true for Mendelsohn - he knows some details, and he can make some educated guesses, but in the end, what happened is so hazy. As numerous survivors told him, if we KNEW what exactly had happened, we wouldn't be here to talk to you, because we would be dead too.
Another thing that Mendelsohn talks about is the near absolute destruction of Polish (and European) Jewry. I remember talking to someone while I was in college and she was like, "well Hitler didn't win, the Jews are still around!" And yes, we are still around. But we are, for the most part, not "around" in places where, a hundred years ago, there were thriving, close-knit communities in Europe. We are in Israel, America, Australia, etc. Mendelsohn spoke to a few "last Jew of [insert town]," where one lone man or woman is the last living Jew in that area. The Nazis (and their local collaborators, who were numerous) managed to wipe out 90% of Polish Jews. Just imagine that. 90%. And the 10% of survivors? Well, most of them didn't want to return to the area where they had once lived, with their families murdered and their murderers often being the very neighbors that they had once smiled at in the streets and, perhaps, even been friends with, once upon a time. One of the most moving "scenes" for me, I think, was when Mendelsohn visits Prague and the "New Jewish Cemetery," which was a vast tract of land purchased before the Shoah, next to the "Old Jewish Cemetery." The Old Jewish Cemetery is packed with graves, so much so that it motivated the city's Jewish population to buy land to expand it (hence being the "New" Cemetery). That New Jewish Cemetery is virtually barren. There are very few graves there. Why? Because most of the Jews who had expected to be buried there were buried in unmarked mass graves or shipped off to concentration and extermination camps. And their descendants, if they survived, are mostly not in Prague any longer, and will have no need of a cemetery in a foreign land.
As Mendelsohn wrote, "It makes you realize that the Holocaust wasn't something that simply happened, but is an event that's still happening." The repercussions from the Shoah are like so many rings in a pond after you've thrown in a stone. Six million were killed, yes. But many more millions were never born because their would-be parents were murdered. Imagine the art, the books, the literature, the scientific breakthroughs that are missing now from the world. The recipes, the family stories, the picture albums of long dead relatives - all gone, or nearly so. My grandmother, for example, for decades, has been having me try to find a recipe for a dish her mother used to make. I've found a few online, but they don't taste exactly like what she remembers. That recipe is gone. And the family stories, the lullabyes that would have been passed along to my grandmother's children (and perhaps to me), the inside jokes...those are gone, too. I feel that missing piece in the world whenever I think about it, about them.
So yes, for those of us who are descendants of survivors, the wound can still burn. For the survivors themselves? The wound is still raw and bleeding for many of them. I look at my grandmother, who was sent away so young that she barely remembers her half-brothers and half-sister. She has one memory of her father, who was killed when she was barely four. There are "personality traits" that she has - her diagnosed OCD, her absolute need for order and lists, the emotional distance that she has with nearly everyone in her life - that I wonder would be there if she had grown up, happy and carefree, with her siblings and both living parents (or even her mother), instead of at the mercy of strangers (who, she will freely admit, were nothing but kind to her, and whom she kept in regular contact until their deaths; and she kept in touch with their children, as well, until their deaths) where the world that she knew, as she felt, could be taken away from her in an instant. And there is her almost hatred for the French and the Poles (never trust a Pole, I remember her saying to me when I was a small child, they'll stab you in the back AND front), which feels strange, I must admit, considering that she doesn't share the same hatred for Germans (I'm German, she'll proclaim when I question her idiosyncrasy, I can't hate myself. [Her father was German and her mother was Polish, although my grandmother was born and raised in Germany. She did, however, make a few trips to visit her much-older half-siblings, all of whom still lived in Poland except for the youngest, David, who was still a teenager when his mother married my great-grandfather, and moved to Germany.]) Mendelsohn addresses this in the book, too; it seems that it's not just one of my grandmother's "quirks," but something that is not uncommon with survivors.
I'd highly recommend this book, but do be prepared for an emotional rollercoaster.
May their memories be a blessing:
My great-grandfather, political prisoner (Communist), murdered in 1933
My great-grandmother, deported from France in 1942 (where she fled, probably feeling that she would be safer there than in Germany), presumably gassed immediately upon arrival at Auschwitz due to age/health
My great-uncle David, deported from France in 1942 (who fled from Germany to France with his mother), presumably gassed or otherwise killed in Auschwitz, exact year unknown (perhaps 1942, perhaps later)
My great-uncle Josef, as well as his son and daughter, deported to Warsaw Ghetto in 1942, presumably all deported to Treblinka (if they survived the Ghetto and deportation), where they would have been gassed upon arrival, in 1942
My great-uncle Wolf (or Rolf), last known location in 1939 of Lodz (Poland), fate unknown
My great-aunt Malke, husband Yitzhak, and their four children, deported to Warsaw Ghetto in 1942, presumably all deported to Treblinka (if they survived the Ghetto and deportation), where they would have been gassed upon arrival, in 1942
At that time, I was in the middle of conducting my own search - a search for twelve, all who perished in the Shoah (Holocaust), my grandmother's entire family. Only my grandmother "survived," although she hates being called a "survivor" because, as she says, she wasn't there. She had been sent away by her twice-widowed mother to England, a part of the Kindertransport, where she would stay until the end of the war, mostly (and, perhaps, blissfully) unaware of what was happening to her family, until the end, when it became brutally clear that she was the only one left. (She did manage to find a few cousins who survived and later moved to Israel, and another cousin who survived and decided to stay in Germany, and one of her uncles, her father's much older brother, whom she met once, emigrated to America before the war happened. But, essentially, the rest of her family was completely wiped from the face of the earth.)
So, yes, my former college professor was right to caution me, in his ever-exuberant way. He was the one, after all, who helped me with my search in college and afterward. So for years the book sat upon my shelf, and I always said "this year, I'm going to read it." But I never did. There was too much going on; I was too depressed to find out about another Jewish family, unrelated to mine and yet had suffered a similar fate; I was done with Shoah memoirs for a while, maybe forever (that'll never happen, no matter how many times I tell myself that "this one is the last one"); I wanted to read something that wasn't a tragedy.
And then, suddenly, it was the right time. It's been several years since I found any new information about my family; the trail has long gone cold, and although I do a half-hearted search every so often to see if anything new has popped up, I don't put my whole self into it anymore. They're all dead. I will never know them. And the nightmares that inevitably come when I think about them a great deal are...unpleasant, shall we say.
And this book did produce nightmares; don't get me wrong. But it was rather cathartic, in a way, to read this book, to cry and rage and feel all of the feelings.
Mendelsohn's grandfather left Bolechow, Poland before the war (and subsequent near-annihilation of Polish Jewry). He had one brother, Schmiel, who had also emigrated to America but had, unlike Mendelsohn's grandfather, returned to Bolechow. There he married and had four daughters, while he brought the family's butcher shop back to prominence. None of Schmiel's family survived the war.
Growing up, Mendelsohn heard varied stories of "the lost," of Schmiel and his family. But the stories were different and almost impossible to track down, at that time. As the author grew older, the need to know what happened to Schmiel and his family grew, until he found himself crossing the globe in search of answers, from America to Australia to Poland to Denmark to Sweden. Along the way, he finds much more than he ever expected to find, as well as coming to the realization that finding all of the details about what happened is impossible, especially with so few survivors who are still living.
Mehndelsohn's writing style is different. He tends to be rather "poetic," I suppose I would say, and he is damned fond of run-on sentences. He also expresses, early in the book, a love for how the Greeks (and how his grandfather) told stories - long and winding, with lots of asides in between that, eventually, make sense, but it might be a long way down the road. There were times that I had to read paragraphs several times (often the "paragraph" was just one long run-on sentence) in order for them to make sense. But the story is worth it, and I urge you to persevere.
If you need absolute closure, where you know everything about the major players introduced in the book, once again, this probably isn't for you. It always amazes me when I talk to people about the Shoah, how most think that we have a date and a time and a method of execution for every family member. Some even believe that we had bodies to bury! No, there are still numerous unexcavated mass graves in Poland, the Ukraine, etc, etc. And many bodies were burned, so they are only ashes now. As you can see from my own list of family members who died in the Shoah (below), I only have years. Only for one (my great-grandfather, who was the only NOT killed because of his ethnicity, although he was also Jewish) do I know, in so many words, exactly what happened to him. And the same holds true for Mendelsohn - he knows some details, and he can make some educated guesses, but in the end, what happened is so hazy. As numerous survivors told him, if we KNEW what exactly had happened, we wouldn't be here to talk to you, because we would be dead too.
Another thing that Mendelsohn talks about is the near absolute destruction of Polish (and European) Jewry. I remember talking to someone while I was in college and she was like, "well Hitler didn't win, the Jews are still around!" And yes, we are still around. But we are, for the most part, not "around" in places where, a hundred years ago, there were thriving, close-knit communities in Europe. We are in Israel, America, Australia, etc. Mendelsohn spoke to a few "last Jew of [insert town]," where one lone man or woman is the last living Jew in that area. The Nazis (and their local collaborators, who were numerous) managed to wipe out 90% of Polish Jews. Just imagine that. 90%. And the 10% of survivors? Well, most of them didn't want to return to the area where they had once lived, with their families murdered and their murderers often being the very neighbors that they had once smiled at in the streets and, perhaps, even been friends with, once upon a time. One of the most moving "scenes" for me, I think, was when Mendelsohn visits Prague and the "New Jewish Cemetery," which was a vast tract of land purchased before the Shoah, next to the "Old Jewish Cemetery." The Old Jewish Cemetery is packed with graves, so much so that it motivated the city's Jewish population to buy land to expand it (hence being the "New" Cemetery). That New Jewish Cemetery is virtually barren. There are very few graves there. Why? Because most of the Jews who had expected to be buried there were buried in unmarked mass graves or shipped off to concentration and extermination camps. And their descendants, if they survived, are mostly not in Prague any longer, and will have no need of a cemetery in a foreign land.
As Mendelsohn wrote, "It makes you realize that the Holocaust wasn't something that simply happened, but is an event that's still happening." The repercussions from the Shoah are like so many rings in a pond after you've thrown in a stone. Six million were killed, yes. But many more millions were never born because their would-be parents were murdered. Imagine the art, the books, the literature, the scientific breakthroughs that are missing now from the world. The recipes, the family stories, the picture albums of long dead relatives - all gone, or nearly so. My grandmother, for example, for decades, has been having me try to find a recipe for a dish her mother used to make. I've found a few online, but they don't taste exactly like what she remembers. That recipe is gone. And the family stories, the lullabyes that would have been passed along to my grandmother's children (and perhaps to me), the inside jokes...those are gone, too. I feel that missing piece in the world whenever I think about it, about them.
So yes, for those of us who are descendants of survivors, the wound can still burn. For the survivors themselves? The wound is still raw and bleeding for many of them. I look at my grandmother, who was sent away so young that she barely remembers her half-brothers and half-sister. She has one memory of her father, who was killed when she was barely four. There are "personality traits" that she has - her diagnosed OCD, her absolute need for order and lists, the emotional distance that she has with nearly everyone in her life - that I wonder would be there if she had grown up, happy and carefree, with her siblings and both living parents (or even her mother), instead of at the mercy of strangers (who, she will freely admit, were nothing but kind to her, and whom she kept in regular contact until their deaths; and she kept in touch with their children, as well, until their deaths) where the world that she knew, as she felt, could be taken away from her in an instant. And there is her almost hatred for the French and the Poles (never trust a Pole, I remember her saying to me when I was a small child, they'll stab you in the back AND front), which feels strange, I must admit, considering that she doesn't share the same hatred for Germans (I'm German, she'll proclaim when I question her idiosyncrasy, I can't hate myself. [Her father was German and her mother was Polish, although my grandmother was born and raised in Germany. She did, however, make a few trips to visit her much-older half-siblings, all of whom still lived in Poland except for the youngest, David, who was still a teenager when his mother married my great-grandfather, and moved to Germany.]) Mendelsohn addresses this in the book, too; it seems that it's not just one of my grandmother's "quirks," but something that is not uncommon with survivors.
I'd highly recommend this book, but do be prepared for an emotional rollercoaster.
May their memories be a blessing:
My great-grandfather, political prisoner (Communist), murdered in 1933
My great-grandmother, deported from France in 1942 (where she fled, probably feeling that she would be safer there than in Germany), presumably gassed immediately upon arrival at Auschwitz due to age/health
My great-uncle David, deported from France in 1942 (who fled from Germany to France with his mother), presumably gassed or otherwise killed in Auschwitz, exact year unknown (perhaps 1942, perhaps later)
My great-uncle Josef, as well as his son and daughter, deported to Warsaw Ghetto in 1942, presumably all deported to Treblinka (if they survived the Ghetto and deportation), where they would have been gassed upon arrival, in 1942
My great-uncle Wolf (or Rolf), last known location in 1939 of Lodz (Poland), fate unknown
My great-aunt Malke, husband Yitzhak, and their four children, deported to Warsaw Ghetto in 1942, presumably all deported to Treblinka (if they survived the Ghetto and deportation), where they would have been gassed upon arrival, in 1942
May 31, 2008
A beautifully written, evocative book. Dense, full of tangents, and telling the story of several generations across several continents.
Mendelsohn is the self-appointed family historian who, after an entire childhood of listening to his grandfather's stories, decides to find out what happened to the family members who were left out - his grandfather's brother, his wife, and their four daughters, who were "killed by the Nazis". With little more to go on (when he begins his search, he was unsure even of the daughters' names and birth order), his five year investigation into the lost branch of his family took him all across Europe, to Australia, Israel, and back.
He did a wonderful job telling not only the story of the lost family members, but also his grandfather's story, the story of a small town in Eastern Poland, the story of the early chapters of the Torah, and, finally, his own story of how they all intertwine. He writes the book to reflect his grandfather's style of "Chinese box" storytelling, where a broad, meandering tale slowly comes into focus, just in time for the punchline or the tragedy that brings it all together.
Part memoir, part biography, part biblical study, part history, part mystery, part tragedy, it's a powerful, non-judgmental look at a complicated time in our history and what it meant for his family.
Mendelsohn is the self-appointed family historian who, after an entire childhood of listening to his grandfather's stories, decides to find out what happened to the family members who were left out - his grandfather's brother, his wife, and their four daughters, who were "killed by the Nazis". With little more to go on (when he begins his search, he was unsure even of the daughters' names and birth order), his five year investigation into the lost branch of his family took him all across Europe, to Australia, Israel, and back.
He did a wonderful job telling not only the story of the lost family members, but also his grandfather's story, the story of a small town in Eastern Poland, the story of the early chapters of the Torah, and, finally, his own story of how they all intertwine. He writes the book to reflect his grandfather's style of "Chinese box" storytelling, where a broad, meandering tale slowly comes into focus, just in time for the punchline or the tragedy that brings it all together.
Part memoir, part biography, part biblical study, part history, part mystery, part tragedy, it's a powerful, non-judgmental look at a complicated time in our history and what it meant for his family.
March 14, 2007
A friend of mine gave me her copy of this book, telling me I should read it because of the intimacy my own life has had in recent years to the Holocaust. My boyfriend's grandparents were both Holocaust survivors who emigrated to the US after the war.
The book focuses on one man's search to find out more about 'the lost,' six members of his family (an aunt, uncle, and four cousins) who perished in the war, but no one knows exactly how. He travels to multiple countries over several years interviewing Jews from his family's tiny town in what is now Ukraine. The similarities between this man's family and what I know of the experiences of my boyfriend's family were in many cases eerily and s unsettlingly similar.
You have to work at reading this book -- it's nearly 600 pages -- and the subject matter and prose can sometimes make you feel like you're hardly making any headway. It's not a quick read, but by the end you feel an intimacy with the author. You wish you could just call him up and talk to him about his experiences. I think anyone who is interested in the Holocaust, or can appreciate the journey of trying to discover more about your family and your heritage, will enjoy reading this book.
The book focuses on one man's search to find out more about 'the lost,' six members of his family (an aunt, uncle, and four cousins) who perished in the war, but no one knows exactly how. He travels to multiple countries over several years interviewing Jews from his family's tiny town in what is now Ukraine. The similarities between this man's family and what I know of the experiences of my boyfriend's family were in many cases eerily and s unsettlingly similar.
You have to work at reading this book -- it's nearly 600 pages -- and the subject matter and prose can sometimes make you feel like you're hardly making any headway. It's not a quick read, but by the end you feel an intimacy with the author. You wish you could just call him up and talk to him about his experiences. I think anyone who is interested in the Holocaust, or can appreciate the journey of trying to discover more about your family and your heritage, will enjoy reading this book.
November 15, 2016
Είμαι υπερβολικός το ξέρω, αλλά είναι αριστούργημα. Πρίν 5 χρόνια όταν το χα ξαναξεκινήσει, με είχε κουράσει, και το παράτησα. Τώρα, με την δίκαιη ανακατανομή που δίνει ό χρόνος, μου δίνει το δικαίωμα να το λατρέψω. Καταρχήν σου δίνει την ψευδαίσθηση ο,τι είσαι εκεί δίπλα κι ακούς, κι οχι ο,τι διαβάζεις. Επειτα, σου μιλάει για τη ζωή σου. Για τη μνήμη, που είναι κάρβουνο και με λίγη καλή θέληση, γίνεται διαμάντι. Για τους ανθρώπους που δεν αλλάζουν, οσο κι αν το προσπαθήσουν, κι ο,τι για ολα φταίει το παρελθόν που δεν αλλάζει, οσο κι αν το ρετουσάρεις, και τέλος το πιο σημαντικό: αυτό που σου ανήκει, ερχεται με ενα μαγικό τρόπο και σε βρίσκει. Αρκεί να χεις μάτια ανοιχτά για να το δείς.
November 24, 2019
Τέλος μιας συγκλονιστικής αναγνωστικής περιπέτειας!
Από τα παιδικά του χρόνια ακόμα ο Daniel Mendelsohn γνωρίζει από τις οικογενειακές ιστορίες που ακούει συχνά πυκνά από τον παππού του, -σημειωτέον είναι εξαιρετικά ταλαντούχος αφηγητής σε σημείο που ο εγγονός του να τον παρομοιάζει με τον Όμηρο- πως ο αδελφός του τελευταίου, ο Σμιλ, μαζί με τη γυναίκα του και τις 4 κόρες τους, κάτοικοι μιας μικρής εβραϊκής πολίχνης της τότε ανατολικής Πολωνίας (σημερινής Ουκρανίας) δολοφονήθηκαν από τους Ναζί κατά τη διάρκεια του Ολοκαυτώματος. Μεγαλώνοντας μελετά και ξαναμελετά τις γεμάτες απόγνωση επιστολές του θείου Σμιλ προς τους συγγενείς του στην Αμερική τις παραμονές της καταστροφής και, πολύ αργότερα, 60 χρόνια μετά το Ολοκαύτωμα, με τον αέρα του "ιστορικού της οικογένειας" και με το βλέμμα ενός κλασικιστή που αντιλαμβάνεται τον κόσμο μέσα από το έπος και την τραγωδία, αποφασίζει να διατρέξει τον κόσμο με τις παλιές οικογενειακές φωτογραφίες υπό μάλης (Αυστραλία, Ουκρανία, Ισραήλ, Σουηδία, Δανία και πάλι από την αρχή), αναζητώντας τους ελάχιστους εναπομείναντες μάρτυρες που θα τον βοηθήσουν να ζωντανέψει τα πρόσωπα των συγγενών του και να μάθει τι ακριβώς τους συνέβει. Με σημείο εκκίνησης την παιδική του ηλικία (μέσα της δεκαετίας του '60) και τις πρώτες αναφορές που μπορεί να ανακαλέσει στη μνήμη του, στο συγκεκριμένο βιβλίο κατορθώνει να περιγράψει αυτήν την ερευνητική οδύσσεια που κορυφώνεται και τερματίζει 40 χρόνια αργότερα, βουτώντας στα πέλαγα της Ιστορίας, της Μνήμης και της Λήθης, όχι για να λειτουργήσει ως κριτής και να αποδώσει ευθύνες αλλά καταρχήν για να κατανοήσει τόσο τους θύτες όσο και τα θύματα. Πρόκειται για ένα αριστούργημα τόσο από πλευράς αφηγηματικής τεχνικής όσο και από πλευράς φιλοσοφικού στοχασμού, που εκτείνεται σε 580 πυκνογραμμένες σελίδες μεγάλου μεγέθους και είναι δομημένο πάνω στις 5 βασικές περικοπές του βιβλίου της Γενέσεως: Εν αρχή (Δημιουργία), Κάιν και Άβελ, Νόαχ (Ολοσχερής Αφανισμός), Έξελθε (Αναζήτηση της Γης Χαναάν), Το Δέντρο της Εδέμ (Σόδομα και Γόμορρα και Η Θυσία του Ισαάκ). Οι περικοπές αυτές δεν δανείζουν μόνο το όνομά τους στα αντίστοιχα κεφάλαια, αλλά αναλύονται και σχολιάζονται σε σύντομα ιντερμέτζα που διακόπτουν μεν τη ροή της αφήγησης, έχουν όμως στόχο να αναδείξουν και να αποσαφηνίσουν τις πιο κεντρικές της έννοιες.
Ας έλθω όμως σε ένα από τα αποσπάσματα που με συγκίνησε περισσοτερο: αφορά τη σχέση του θεατή με τη φωτογραφία, τη φωτογραφία η οποία κρατά πρωταγωνιστικό ρόλο σε αυτό το βιβλίο και μάλιστα με δύο τρόπους. Αφενός είναι οι παλιές οικογενειακές φωτογραφίες που κατ' αρχάς εκκινούν την παιδική περιέργεια του ερευνητή-συγγραφέα για τους χαμένους συγγενείς, και είναι πάλι οι ίδιες φωτογραφίες που θα σταθούν αρωγοί και θα τον συντροφεύσουν πολλές δεκαετίες αργότερα στα ανά τον κόσμο ταξίδια του προς αναζήτηση μαρτύρων και μαρτυριών. Αφετέρου δε, μάρτυρες και ταξιδιωτικοί προορισμοί φωτογραφίζονται συστηματικά πότε από τον αδελφό του, Matt Mendelsohn, που είναι επαγγελματίας φωτογράφος και που τον συνοδεύει στα περισσότερα ταξίδια, πότε από τον ίδιο ελλείψει του αδελφού του. (Μια ιδέα των φωτογραφιών που εμπεριέχονται στο βιβλίο μπορείτε να πάρετε από το εξώφυλλο.) Η φωτογραφία είναι λοιπόν για τον συγγραφέα ερευνητικό και -στην πορεία- αφηγηματικό εργαλείο. Η χρήση της όμως στα πλαίσια της έρευνας θα τον προβληματίσει και θα του δημιουργήσει ενοχές, όταν θα συνειδητοποιήσει πόσο διαφορετικό -σε σημείο διαστροφής- είναι το βλέμμα με το οποίο προσλαμβάνει την εκάστοτε φωτογραφία από εκείνο των διασωθέντων εβραίων συμπολιτών του θείου του Σμιλ. Και για άλλη μια φορά είναι η εξοικείωσή του με τα κλασικά κείμενα και με την έννοια του τραγικού, που θα τον βοηθήσει να κατανοήσει την οπτική του άλλου:
"Συνειδητοποίησα με πόση ελαφρότητα, ακόμα και απερισκεψία, ταξίδευα ανά τον κόσμο και μιλούσα με εκείνους τους επιζήσαντες, οι οποίοι είχαν γλυτώσει κυριολεκτικά μόνο το πετσί τους, και τους έδειχνα την πλούσια συλλογή των φωτογραφιών που είχε η οικογένειά μου στην κατοχή της για χρόνια, όλες εκείνες τις φωτογραφίες που κοιτούσα και που, αργότερα, με έκαναν να ονειροπολώ, όταν ήμουν μικρός, εικόνες προσώπων που για μένα δεν είχαν καμιά πραγματική συναισθηματική σημασία καθευατά, αλλά που στους ανθρώπους στους οποίους τα έδειχνα, ασκούσαν μια δύναμη, μπορούσαν να τους ξαναφέρουν μεμιάς στο μυαλό έναν κόσμο και μια ζωή που τόσο βίαια είχαν στερηθεί πριν από τόσο πολύ καιρό. Πόσο ανόητος, πόσο αναίσθητος είχα φανεί! Τη στιγμή που η κυρία Γκρόσμπαρντ είπε "Αυτοί ήταν οι γονείς της" , συνειδητοποίησα ότι δε μου επιβεβαίωνε απλώς την ταυτότητα των ανθρώπων στη φωτογραφία. Συνειδητοποίησα ότι κατά κάποιον τρόπο μου έλεγε ότι αντίκριζε πρόσωπα που είχε εξήντα χρόνια να τα δει, ακόμα και να ονειρευτεί πως τα έβλεπε, πρόσωπα που ξαναζωντάνευαν και τη δική της χαμένη εφηβεία. "Αυτοί ήταν οι γονείς της φίλης μου". Σκεφτόμουν ότι θα της φαίνεται άδικο να έρχεται ξαφνικά ένας νεαρός Αμερικάνος και να επεμβαίνει έτσι στη ζωή της, να πιάνει σαν να ήταν τραπουλόχαρτα κάμποσες φωτογραφίες ανθρώπων που ποτέ δεν είχε γνωρίσει ο ίδιος και να της ζητά να διαλέξει μια, φωτογραφίες των γονιών της φίλης της, τη στιγμή που εκείνη δεν είχε ούτε μια φωτογραφία των δικών της γονιών. Κι έτσι η φωτογραφία που της έδειξα εκείνη την Κυριακή, μια φωτογραφία που εγώ είχα δει αμέτρητες φορές από τότε που ήμουν μικρός, με έκανε να καταλάβω για πρώτη φορά πόσο παράξενη είναι η σχέση μου με τους ανθρώπους από τους οποίους έπαιρνα συνέντευξη, ανθρώπους πλούσιους σε αναμνήσεις αλλά φτωχούς σε αναμνηστικά, ενώ εγώ ήμουν πλούσιους σε αναμνηστικά, αλλά χωρίς τις αναμνήσεις να τα συνοδεύουν.
Η σημασία των εικόνων - το πώς μπορεί μια εικόνα να αποτελεί, στην ουσία, ψυχαγωγία για έναν άνθρωπο, να έχει απρόσμενο αλλά βαθύ συναισθηματικό αντίκτυπο σε έναν άλλο, να γίνει ακόμα και τραυματική- είναι το θέμα ενός από τα διασημότερα κομμάτια της κλασικής λογοτεχνίας. Στο έπος του Βιργιλίου, την Αινειάδα, ένα ποίημα με ιδιαίτερη σημασία για όσους έχουν επιζήσει ολοσχερών αφανισμών, ο ήρωας, ο Αινείας, είναι ένας νεαρός Τρώας πρίγκιπας, ένας από τους λιγοστούς επιζήσαντες της καταστροφής της Τροίας (ο Τρωικός πόλεμος ήταν το θέμα της Ιλιάδας του Ομήρου, με τις σπειροειδείς της αφηγήσεις). Με την πόλη του ρημαγμένη, με τον πολιτισμό της διαλυμένο, με όλους σχεδόν τους φίλους του και συγγενείς του σκοτωμένους, ο Αινείας ταξιδεύει ανά τον κόσμο αναζητώντας έναν τόπο να εγκατασταθεί και να ξαναρχίσει από την αρχή. Ο τόπος αυτός θα είναι, τελικά, η Ρώμη, η πόλη που θα ιδρύσει. Προτού όμως φτάσει στη Ρώμη ο ψυχολογικά τραυματισμένος Αινείας, μένει για λίγο σε μια πόλη με το όνομα Καρχηδόνα, στη βόρεια Αφρική η οποία (όπως μαθαίνουμε στο Πρώτο Βιβλίο της Αινειάδας) είχε επίσης ιδρυθεί από έναν άνθρωπο κατατρεγμένο, απελπισμένο, εξόριστο: από μια γυναίκα ονόματι Διδώ, την οποία σύντομα ο Αινείας θα ερωτευτεί και αργότερα θα εγκαταλείψει, πληγώνοντάς την. Όταν ο Αινείας πρωτοφτάνει με έναν σύντροφό του στην πολύβουη νέα πόλη, τριγυρίζουν στους δρόμους θαυμάζοντας τα νεόδμητα κτίρια και τα μνημεία της. Ξαφνικά, μέσα σ' έναν μεγαλοπρεπή ολοκαίνουργιο ναό, οι δυο άντρες παγώνουν μπροστά σε μια τοιχογραφία με εικόνες από τον Τρωικό Πόλεμο. Για τους Καρχηδόνιους, ο πόλεμος δεν είναι παρά ένα διακοσμητικό θέμα, κάτι που ομορφαίνει τον τοίχο του καινούργιου τους ναού. Για τον Αινεία, βέβαια, σημ��ίνει πολύ περισσότερα, κι όπως στέκεται και κοιτάζει την εικόνα, μια εικόνα από τη ζωή του, ξεσπάει σε κλάματα και προφέρει μια πονεμένη λατινική φράση που έγινε διάσημη και συνυφάνθηκε τόσο πολύ με τον δυτικό πολιτισμό, ώστε να εμφανίζεται, πραγματικά, παντού: ως όνομα μουσικού συγκροτήματος και τίτλος μουσικού έργου, ως ονομασία για site και blog, ως τίτλος μυθιστορήματος φαντασίας και άρθρου σε εφημερίδα και επιστημονικού συγγράμματος. Αυτό που λέει ο Αινείας αντικρίζοντας τη χειρότερη στιγμή της ζωής του να κοσμεί τον τοίχο ενός ιερού σε μια πόλη όπου οι άνθρωποι ούτε τον ξέρουν ούτε και είχαν καμιά σχέση με τον πόλεμο που κατέστρεψε την οικογένεια και την πόλη του, είναι το εξής: sunt lacrimae rerum. "Έχουν δάκρυα τα πράγματα". [σελ.211-212]
Από τα παιδικά του χρόνια ακόμα ο Daniel Mendelsohn γνωρίζει από τις οικογενειακές ιστορίες που ακούει συχνά πυκνά από τον παππού του, -σημειωτέον είναι εξαιρετικά ταλαντούχος αφηγητής σε σημείο που ο εγγονός του να τον παρομοιάζει με τον Όμηρο- πως ο αδελφός του τελευταίου, ο Σμιλ, μαζί με τη γυναίκα του και τις 4 κόρες τους, κάτοικοι μιας μικρής εβραϊκής πολίχνης της τότε ανατολικής Πολωνίας (σημερινής Ουκρανίας) δολοφονήθηκαν από τους Ναζί κατά τη διάρκεια του Ολοκαυτώματος. Μεγαλώνοντας μελετά και ξαναμελετά τις γεμάτες απόγνωση επιστολές του θείου Σμιλ προς τους συγγενείς του στην Αμερική τις παραμονές της καταστροφής και, πολύ αργότερα, 60 χρόνια μετά το Ολοκαύτωμα, με τον αέρα του "ιστορικού της οικογένειας" και με το βλέμμα ενός κλασικιστή που αντιλαμβάνεται τον κόσμο μέσα από το έπος και την τραγωδία, αποφασίζει να διατρέξει τον κόσμο με τις παλιές οικογενειακές φωτογραφίες υπό μάλης (Αυστραλία, Ουκρανία, Ισραήλ, Σουηδία, Δανία και πάλι από την αρχή), αναζητώντας τους ελάχιστους εναπομείναντες μάρτυρες που θα τον βοηθήσουν να ζωντανέψει τα πρόσωπα των συγγενών του και να μάθει τι ακριβώς τους συνέβει. Με σημείο εκκίνησης την παιδική του ηλικία (μέσα της δεκαετίας του '60) και τις πρώτες αναφορές που μπορεί να ανακαλέσει στη μνήμη του, στο συγκεκριμένο βιβλίο κατορθώνει να περιγράψει αυτήν την ερευνητική οδύσσεια που κορυφώνεται και τερματίζει 40 χρόνια αργότερα, βουτώντας στα πέλαγα της Ιστορίας, της Μνήμης και της Λήθης, όχι για να λειτουργήσει ως κριτής και να αποδώσει ευθύνες αλλά καταρχήν για να κατανοήσει τόσο τους θύτες όσο και τα θύματα. Πρόκειται για ένα αριστούργημα τόσο από πλευράς αφηγηματικής τεχνικής όσο και από πλευράς φιλοσοφικού στοχασμού, που εκτείνεται σε 580 πυκνογραμμένες σελίδες μεγάλου μεγέθους και είναι δομημένο πάνω στις 5 βασικές περικοπές του βιβλίου της Γενέσεως: Εν αρχή (Δημιουργία), Κάιν και Άβελ, Νόαχ (Ολοσχερής Αφανισμός), Έξελθε (Αναζήτηση της Γης Χαναάν), Το Δέντρο της Εδέμ (Σόδομα και Γόμορρα και Η Θυσία του Ισαάκ). Οι περικοπές αυτές δεν δανείζουν μόνο το όνομά τους στα αντίστοιχα κεφάλαια, αλλά αναλύονται και σχολιάζονται σε σύντομα ιντερμέτζα που διακόπτουν μεν τη ροή της αφήγησης, έχουν όμως στόχο να αναδείξουν και να αποσαφηνίσουν τις πιο κεντρικές της έννοιες.
Ας έλθω όμως σε ένα από τα αποσπάσματα που με συγκίνησε περισσοτερο: αφορά τη σχέση του θεατή με τη φωτογραφία, τη φωτογραφία η οποία κρατά πρωταγωνιστικό ρόλο σε αυτό το βιβλίο και μάλιστα με δύο τρόπους. Αφενός είναι οι παλιές οικογενειακές φωτογραφίες που κατ' αρχάς εκκινούν την παιδική περιέργεια του ερευνητή-συγγραφέα για τους χαμένους συγγενείς, και είναι πάλι οι ίδιες φωτογραφίες που θα σταθούν αρωγοί και θα τον συντροφεύσουν πολλές δεκαετίες αργότερα στα ανά τον κόσμο ταξίδια του προς αναζήτηση μαρτύρων και μαρτυριών. Αφετέρου δε, μάρτυρες και ταξιδιωτικοί προορισμοί φωτογραφίζονται συστηματικά πότε από τον αδελφό του, Matt Mendelsohn, που είναι επαγγελματίας φωτογράφος και που τον συνοδεύει στα περισσότερα ταξίδια, πότε από τον ίδιο ελλείψει του αδελφού του. (Μια ιδέα των φωτογραφιών που εμπεριέχονται στο βιβλίο μπορείτε να πάρετε από το εξώφυλλο.) Η φωτογραφία είναι λοιπόν για τον συγγραφέα ερευνητικό και -στην πορεία- αφηγηματικό εργαλείο. Η χρήση της όμως στα πλαίσια της έρευνας θα τον προβληματίσει και θα του δημιουργήσει ενοχές, όταν θα συνειδητοποιήσει πόσο διαφορετικό -σε σημείο διαστροφής- είναι το βλέμμα με το οποίο προσλαμβάνει την εκάστοτε φωτογραφία από εκείνο των διασωθέντων εβραίων συμπολιτών του θείου του Σμιλ. Και για άλλη μια φορά είναι η εξοικείωσή του με τα κλασικά κείμενα και με την έννοια του τραγικού, που θα τον βοηθήσει να κατανοήσει την οπτική του άλλου:
"Συνειδητοποίησα με πόση ελαφρότητα, ακόμα και απερισκεψία, ταξίδευα ανά τον κόσμο και μιλούσα με εκείνους τους επιζήσαντες, οι οποίοι είχαν γλυτώσει κυριολεκτικά μόνο το πετσί τους, και τους έδειχνα την πλούσια συλλογή των φωτογραφιών που είχε η οικογένειά μου στην κατοχή της για χρόνια, όλες εκείνες τις φωτογραφίες που κοιτούσα και που, αργότερα, με έκαναν να ονειροπολώ, όταν ήμουν μικρός, εικόνες προσώπων που για μένα δεν είχαν καμιά πραγματική συναισθηματική σημασία καθευατά, αλλά που στους ανθρώπους στους οποίους τα έδειχνα, ασκούσαν μια δύναμη, μπορούσαν να τους ξαναφέρουν μεμιάς στο μυαλό έναν κόσμο και μια ζωή που τόσο βίαια είχαν στερηθεί πριν από τόσο πολύ καιρό. Πόσο ανόητος, πόσο αναίσθητος είχα φανεί! Τη στιγμή που η κυρία Γκρόσμπαρντ είπε "Αυτοί ήταν οι γονείς της" , συνειδητοποίησα ότι δε μου επιβεβαίωνε απλώς την ταυτότητα των ανθρώπων στη φωτογραφία. Συνειδητοποίησα ότι κατά κάποιον τρόπο μου έλεγε ότι αντίκριζε πρόσωπα που είχε εξήντα χρόνια να τα δει, ακόμα και να ονειρευτεί πως τα έβλεπε, πρόσωπα που ξαναζωντάνευαν και τη δική της χαμένη εφηβεία. "Αυτοί ήταν οι γονείς της φίλης μου". Σκεφτόμουν ότι θα της φαίνεται άδικο να έρχεται ξαφνικά ένας νεαρός Αμερικάνος και να επεμβαίνει έτσι στη ζωή της, να πιάνει σαν να ήταν τραπουλόχαρτα κάμποσες φωτογραφίες ανθρώπων που ποτέ δεν είχε γνωρίσει ο ίδιος και να της ζητά να διαλέξει μια, φωτογραφίες των γονιών της φίλης της, τη στιγμή που εκείνη δεν είχε ούτε μια φωτογραφία των δικών της γονιών. Κι έτσι η φωτογραφία που της έδειξα εκείνη την Κυριακή, μια φωτογραφία που εγώ είχα δει αμέτρητες φορές από τότε που ήμουν μικρός, με έκανε να καταλάβω για πρώτη φορά πόσο παράξενη είναι η σχέση μου με τους ανθρώπους από τους οποίους έπαιρνα συνέντευξη, ανθρώπους πλούσιους σε αναμνήσεις αλλά φτωχούς σε αναμνηστικά, ενώ εγώ ήμουν πλούσιους σε αναμνηστικά, αλλά χωρίς τις αναμνήσεις να τα συνοδεύουν.
Η σημασία των εικόνων - το πώς μπορεί μια εικόνα να αποτελεί, στην ουσία, ψυχαγωγία για έναν άνθρωπο, να έχει απρόσμενο αλλά βαθύ συναισθηματικό αντίκτυπο σε έναν άλλο, να γίνει ακόμα και τραυματική- είναι το θέμα ενός από τα διασημότερα κομμάτια της κλασικής λογοτεχνίας. Στο έπος του Βιργιλίου, την Αινειάδα, ένα ποίημα με ιδιαίτερη σημασία για όσους έχουν επιζήσει ολοσχερών αφανισμών, ο ήρωας, ο Αινείας, είναι ένας νεαρός Τρώας πρίγκιπας, ένας από τους λιγοστούς επιζήσαντες της καταστροφής της Τροίας (ο Τρωικός πόλεμος ήταν το θέμα της Ιλιάδας του Ομήρου, με τις σπειροειδείς της αφηγήσεις). Με την πόλη του ρημαγμένη, με τον πολιτισμό της διαλυμένο, με όλους σχεδόν τους φίλους του και συγγενείς του σκοτωμένους, ο Αινείας ταξιδεύει ανά τον κόσμο αναζητώντας έναν τόπο να εγκατασταθεί και να ξαναρχίσει από την αρχή. Ο τόπος αυτός θα είναι, τελικά, η Ρώμη, η πόλη που θα ιδρύσει. Προτού όμως φτάσει στη Ρώμη ο ψυχολογικά τραυματισμένος Αινείας, μένει για λίγο σε μια πόλη με το όνομα Καρχηδόνα, στη βόρεια Αφρική η οποία (όπως μαθαίνουμε στο Πρώτο Βιβλίο της Αινειάδας) είχε επίσης ιδρυθεί από έναν άνθρωπο κατατρεγμένο, απελπισμένο, εξόριστο: από μια γυναίκα ονόματι Διδώ, την οποία σύντομα ο Αινείας θα ερωτευτεί και αργότερα θα εγκαταλείψει, πληγώνοντάς την. Όταν ο Αινείας πρωτοφτάνει με έναν σύντροφό του στην πολύβουη νέα πόλη, τριγυρίζουν στους δρόμους θαυμάζοντας τα νεόδμητα κτίρια και τα μνημεία της. Ξαφνικά, μέσα σ' έναν μεγαλοπρεπή ολοκαίνουργιο ναό, οι δυο άντρες παγώνουν μπροστά σε μια τοιχογραφία με εικόνες από τον Τρωικό Πόλεμο. Για τους Καρχηδόνιους, ο πόλεμος δεν είναι παρά ένα διακοσμητικό θέμα, κάτι που ομορφαίνει τον τοίχο του καινούργιου τους ναού. Για τον Αινεία, βέβαια, σημ��ίνει πολύ περισσότερα, κι όπως στέκεται και κοιτάζει την εικόνα, μια εικόνα από τη ζωή του, ξεσπάει σε κλάματα και προφέρει μια πονεμένη λατινική φράση που έγινε διάσημη και συνυφάνθηκε τόσο πολύ με τον δυτικό πολιτισμό, ώστε να εμφανίζεται, πραγματικά, παντού: ως όνομα μουσικού συγκροτήματος και τίτλος μουσικού έργου, ως ονομασία για site και blog, ως τίτλος μυθιστορήματος φαντασίας και άρθρου σε εφημερίδα και επιστημονικού συγγράμματος. Αυτό που λέει ο Αινείας αντικρίζοντας τη χειρότερη στιγμή της ζωής του να κοσμεί τον τοίχο ενός ιερού σε μια πόλη όπου οι άνθρωποι ούτε τον ξέρουν ούτε και είχαν καμιά σχέση με τον πόλεμο που κατέστρεψε την οικογένεια και την πόλη του, είναι το εξής: sunt lacrimae rerum. "Έχουν δάκρυα τα πράγματα". [σελ.211-212]
December 24, 2011
This is one of the most excruciatingly haunting books I've ever read. It is marvelously told, the story of Daniel Mendelsohn searching for details -- specifics! -- on how six members of his family were "killed by the Nazis" during the Holocaust -- "killed by the Nazis" being about the only information he started with. This is so much more than a detective story. It's an Odyssey. Mendelsohn is a classicist by profession, and his storytelling is a loving adaption (adoption?) of Homer. But it's also more than that. There are stories within stories within stories, twists and turns, seemingly endless tales and endless sentences, and toward the end, a page turner that delivers a final knockout punch. One of those stories is the one about the grandfather he loves, whose story telling style Mendelsohn replicates in the structure of the book. It took me a long time to click into the story because the first part winds and winds and doesn't seem to make much progress. But somewhere in the second half, things pick up, and it becomes clear why the set-up was as long-winded as it was. Did I say there is a parallel, Biblical story line embedded within the detective Odyssey? Without giving too much away, the moral questions in the Biblical sections dovetail with the moral questions that come up -- some of which are too unbearable even to mention so Mendelsohn doesn't, but they are there nonetheless -- in thinking about who did what to whom and why during the Holocaust. A very large theme is what family members do to one another, and considering that some of it is every bit terrible on a small scale as genocide is on a large scale, what is the meaning of family anyway? There also is a subtext about Mendelsohn himself and a long suppressed childhood event that seems to have launched him on his quest to always look back.
I had this book on my shelf also for family reasons. My maternal grandmother was from the same part of the world -- Gallicia -- that the people Mendelsohn was searching lived and died. This is most likely the reason my aunt picked up this book and recommended it to me. So this tale is close to home in a distant kind of way. In any event, this is well worth the time and perseverance it may take to wind through the briars to get to the promised land.
I had this book on my shelf also for family reasons. My maternal grandmother was from the same part of the world -- Gallicia -- that the people Mendelsohn was searching lived and died. This is most likely the reason my aunt picked up this book and recommended it to me. So this tale is close to home in a distant kind of way. In any event, this is well worth the time and perseverance it may take to wind through the briars to get to the promised land.
January 24, 2013
Reading this book was an utterly absorbing experience for me, and I recommend it highly. It's engrossing and personal and kept me fully engaged for several weeks. The narrative alone would be enough to make a good book; how the author used a few scant facts & clues from family stories plus a lot of careful investigation, to reconstruct the final days and months of his great-uncle and family in a then-Polish village. The father, a butcher, his four daughters and wife all were "lost" in the Holocaust, but this book brings them back to life, as the author figures out what happened to each of them. This book offers more than a simple, dramatic story because the author embeds the account with a gentle, philosophical approach, while perceptively describing his own experiences (family dynamics, visits to the village, interviews with elderly Jewish people in Australia & Denmark, etc.) during the search.
Focusing on one family makes the Holocaust seem personal and possible, rather than remote, monolithic and unimaginable. I loved how the many small details extracted from fading memories, compiled together with historical research, made these lives and deaths feel real. The writing is personal and anecdotal, casual and rambling, and deeply felt.
So in the end this book is a memoir, a history, and a drama all rolled into one.
Focusing on one family makes the Holocaust seem personal and possible, rather than remote, monolithic and unimaginable. I loved how the many small details extracted from fading memories, compiled together with historical research, made these lives and deaths feel real. The writing is personal and anecdotal, casual and rambling, and deeply felt.
So in the end this book is a memoir, a history, and a drama all rolled into one.
December 23, 2007
Wow, what a moving read. This book totally reminded me of my own family history, and my own desire to re-connect with and reconstruct a world that has been almost completely lost with the generation of people who lived through the Holocaust. But this is not just another book about the Holocaust -- it's a book about the nature of memory and storytelling, about how our history determines who we are in the present and who we will become in the future. Nevertheless, I can imagine that this is not necessarily a book that will appeal to everyone -- there are a lot of references to Jewish religious tradition and culture that takes a certain kind of interest, or the patience to learn about it. Still, this love that went into researching and writing this book is so evident, and that, I think, can touch just about anyone.
June 29, 2021
Daniel Mendelsohn ma cucerise deja cu « O odisee » asa incat, de cand a aparut, entuziasmata, m-am grabit sa am si sa citesc « Cei disparuti ».
O carte-document complexa, care m-a impresionat in totalitate, frumos construita prin intrepatrunderea a trei planuri ce se completeaza unul pe celalalt si capteaza interesul.
Mai intai sunt dorinta puternica si vointa imensa a lui Daniel Mendelsohn de a afla ce s-a intamplat cu unchiul Shmiel, sotia si cele patru fiice ale lor, ramasi in targul ucrainean Bolechow (in timp ce marea majoritate a celor din familie se refugiase in America), despre care se stia doar ca au fost « ucisi de nazisti », motivatie care i-a dat puterea sa parcurga « distante imposibile in timp, de limbaj si memorie » si sa afle detalii pierdute, ce nu credeai ca vor mai fi putea fi deslusite vreodata.
Bolechow-ul atat de rustic inainte de macel, cu amintirile, obiceiurile si oamenii sai, trezit la viata de o incursiune in trecut a unui simplu om, in cautarea unor alti simpli sase din cei sase milioane de evrei napastuiti…
« …eram nerabdator sa o intalnesc pe mama prietenului meu, pe aceasta doamna Begley care locuise atat de aproape de unchiul, matusa si verisoarele mele, morti cu totii. Nu pentru ca as fi crezut ca pot afla ceva de la ea ; vroiam doar sa vorbesc cu o persoana care provenea de acolo – mi se parea incredibil ca mai exista cineva care sa fi mers pe aceleasi strazi ca si rudele mele. Atat de obisnuit era sa gandesc ca ei, ca toti cei care apartineau aceleiasi epoci, apartineau total si iremediabil lumii negre, albe si cenusii a trecutului. »
Al doilea plan este cel al mereu tulburatoarelor si zguduitoarelor, nicicand putand a fi intelese atrocitati ale Holocaustului, pentru care nu se vor gasi niciodata cuvinte potrivite sa ne exprime revolta.
« Cand ne gandim la mari tragedii, la ce se pierde prin decimarea unor populatii intregi – un million si jumatate de armeni macelariti de turci in 1916, 5-7 milioane de ucrainieni morti de foame sub Stalin in 1932 si 1933, 6 milioane de evrei ucisi de Holocaust, doua milioane de cambodgieni ucisi de regimul lui Pol Pot in anii 1970 si asa mai departe – tindem, fireste, sa ne gandim mai intai la popoarele in sine, la familiile care vor inceta sa existe, la copiii care nu se vor mai naste ; apoi la lucrurile obisnuite, cu care cei mai multi dintre noi suntem familiarizati, casele suvenirele si fotografiile care, fiindca acei oameni nu mai exista, vor inceta sa mai aiba vreun sens. Dar mai este ceva : gandurile, descoperirile care nu vor mai fi facute, arta care nu va mai fi creata. Problemele scrise intr-un caiet, undeva, un caiet care le va supravietui celor care au trecut problemele in el, probleme care nu vor fi rezolvate niciodata."
« Caci totul, in timp, dispare : …zambetele, frustrarile, rasetele si groaza celor sase milioane de evrei ucisi in Holocaust sunt disparute acum sau vor disparea curand, fiindca oricate carti s-ar scrie, indiferent cat de bune ar fi ele, nu ar putea sa le includa pe toate, fiindca nu vor fi si nici nu pot fi scrise ; toate acestea vor disparea, picioarele lor frumoase, surzenia lor si mersul vioi cand coborau dintr-un tren cu un teanc de manuale, ritualurile secrete de familie, retetele de prajituri, tocanite si golabki, bunatatea si rautatea, salvatorii si tradatorii, salvarea lor si tradarea lor ; aproape totul va disparea intr-un tarziu, la fel cum a disparut cam tot ce a insemnat viata egiptenilor, a incasilor, a hititilor. Pentru o vreme insa, o parte poate fi recuperata doar daca, confruntat cu vastitatea a tot ce este si a fost vreodata, cineva hotaraste sa priveasca inapoi, sa arunce o ultima privire, sa caute o vreme prin resturile trecutului si sa vada nu doar ceea ce a disparut, ci si ceea ce mai poate fi gasit. »
Iar ceea ce le uneste pe cele doua sunt pasajele-metafora extrase din Tora evreiasca, atat de minutios si adanc explicate, cum Mendelsohn a facut-o si cu « Odiseea » lui Homer in "O odisee".
« porunca ingerului ca familia lui Lot sa nu priveasca inapoi, spre oras, in timp ce fuge de acolo si transformarea sotiei lui Lot intr-un stalp de sare. Caci daca pentru tine Sodoma este frumoasa – devenind si mai frumoasa fiindca trebuie sa o abandonezi si sa o pierzi pentru totdeauna, la fel cum rudele moarte acum sunt intotdeauna mai frumoase si mai bune decat cele care inca mai traiesc – este clar ca porunca ingerului ca Lot si familia lui sa nu se uite inapoi nu trebuie luata ca o pedeapsa, ci ca o masura de prevedere : fiindca regretul dupa ceea ce am pierdut, dupa trecutul pe care trebuie sa il abandonam, de multe ori otraveste orice incercare de a incepe o viata noua, ceea ce trebuie sa faca Lot si familia lui acum, cum a trebuit sa faca si Noe cu familia lui, cum fac toti cei care supravietuiesc unor teribile incercari de anihilare. La randul ei, aceasta explicatie ne ajuta sa intelegem forma pe care o ia pedeapsa aplicata sotiei lui Lot – daca a fost o pedeapsa, ceea ce eu nu cred, fiindca pentru mine aduce mai mult ca un proces natural, rezultatul inevitabil al caracterului ei. Pentru cei care nu sunt obligati, prin natura lor, sa se uite mereu inapoi la ceea ce a fost, in loc sa priveasca inainte, spre viitor, marele pericol sunt lacrimile, plansul de neoprit despre care grecii, daca nu chiar si autorul Facerii, stiau ca este nu numai o durere, ci si o placere narcotica : o contemplare indurerata, atat de fara de cusur, atat de cristalina, incat, pana la urma, te poate imobiliza. »
Autorul este un apreciat profesor universitar, critic literar si eseist, un analist desavarsit. Scrie cu suflet si, chiar daca uneori amanuntele abunda si se repeta, am inteles ca a facut-o ca sa sublinieze idei la care tine, sentimente ce nu i-au dat pace, intrebari la care a vrut raspunsuri.
« Sa descopar daca, chiar si atat de tarziu, ar mai putea fi si alte indicii, alte fapte si detalii la fel de valoroase precum si cele pe care le ratasem fiindca, desi oamenii care le stiau inca mai erau in viata, pentru mine inca nu sosise momentul sa pun intrebari, sa vreau sa stiu. »
« …am crezut si cred in continuare , dupa tot ce am vazut si am facut, ca daca te incumeti sa te masori cu acest imens numar de lucruri, sa cauti printre ele, daca pornesti in cercetare, prin insasi aceasta actiune vei face sa se intample ceva ce altfel nu s-ar fi intamplat, vei gasi ceva, cat de mic, ceva ce cu siguranta va insemna mai mult daca nu te-ai fi apucat sa cauti, daca nu i-ai fi pus nici o intrebare bunicului tau. Invatasem, in sfarsit, lectia pe care o stiam de la Minnie Spieler si Herman Barbierul, morti de atatia ani. Nu exista miracole, nici coincidente magice. Exista doar cautarea si, intr-un tarziu, descoperirea a ceea ce a fost mereu acolo. »
« Pana la urma intelegem atatea lucruri gresit nu fiindca nu suntem atenti, ci fiindca timpul trece, lucrurile se schimba, nepotul nu poate fi bunicul sau, oricat de mult ar incerca; fiindca nu putem fi decat noi insine, prizonieri ai timpului nostru, ai spatiului nostru, ai imprejurarilor. Oricat de mult am vrea sa aflam, sa stim, nu putem vedea lucrurile decat cu ochii nostri, nu putem auzi decat cu urechile noastre, iar felul in care interpretam ceea ce vedem si auzim depinde, in ultima instanta, de cine suntem si ceea ce credem déjà ca stim sau ca vrem sa stim. »
Minunata carte, cata munca in spatele ei, scrisa cu duiosie, pe alocuri cu haz, despre amintiri, durere, despre locuri, obiceiuri si oameni ce au fost si nu vor mai fi vreodata.
O carte-document complexa, care m-a impresionat in totalitate, frumos construita prin intrepatrunderea a trei planuri ce se completeaza unul pe celalalt si capteaza interesul.
Mai intai sunt dorinta puternica si vointa imensa a lui Daniel Mendelsohn de a afla ce s-a intamplat cu unchiul Shmiel, sotia si cele patru fiice ale lor, ramasi in targul ucrainean Bolechow (in timp ce marea majoritate a celor din familie se refugiase in America), despre care se stia doar ca au fost « ucisi de nazisti », motivatie care i-a dat puterea sa parcurga « distante imposibile in timp, de limbaj si memorie » si sa afle detalii pierdute, ce nu credeai ca vor mai fi putea fi deslusite vreodata.
Bolechow-ul atat de rustic inainte de macel, cu amintirile, obiceiurile si oamenii sai, trezit la viata de o incursiune in trecut a unui simplu om, in cautarea unor alti simpli sase din cei sase milioane de evrei napastuiti…
« …eram nerabdator sa o intalnesc pe mama prietenului meu, pe aceasta doamna Begley care locuise atat de aproape de unchiul, matusa si verisoarele mele, morti cu totii. Nu pentru ca as fi crezut ca pot afla ceva de la ea ; vroiam doar sa vorbesc cu o persoana care provenea de acolo – mi se parea incredibil ca mai exista cineva care sa fi mers pe aceleasi strazi ca si rudele mele. Atat de obisnuit era sa gandesc ca ei, ca toti cei care apartineau aceleiasi epoci, apartineau total si iremediabil lumii negre, albe si cenusii a trecutului. »
Al doilea plan este cel al mereu tulburatoarelor si zguduitoarelor, nicicand putand a fi intelese atrocitati ale Holocaustului, pentru care nu se vor gasi niciodata cuvinte potrivite sa ne exprime revolta.
« Cand ne gandim la mari tragedii, la ce se pierde prin decimarea unor populatii intregi – un million si jumatate de armeni macelariti de turci in 1916, 5-7 milioane de ucrainieni morti de foame sub Stalin in 1932 si 1933, 6 milioane de evrei ucisi de Holocaust, doua milioane de cambodgieni ucisi de regimul lui Pol Pot in anii 1970 si asa mai departe – tindem, fireste, sa ne gandim mai intai la popoarele in sine, la familiile care vor inceta sa existe, la copiii care nu se vor mai naste ; apoi la lucrurile obisnuite, cu care cei mai multi dintre noi suntem familiarizati, casele suvenirele si fotografiile care, fiindca acei oameni nu mai exista, vor inceta sa mai aiba vreun sens. Dar mai este ceva : gandurile, descoperirile care nu vor mai fi facute, arta care nu va mai fi creata. Problemele scrise intr-un caiet, undeva, un caiet care le va supravietui celor care au trecut problemele in el, probleme care nu vor fi rezolvate niciodata."
« Caci totul, in timp, dispare : …zambetele, frustrarile, rasetele si groaza celor sase milioane de evrei ucisi in Holocaust sunt disparute acum sau vor disparea curand, fiindca oricate carti s-ar scrie, indiferent cat de bune ar fi ele, nu ar putea sa le includa pe toate, fiindca nu vor fi si nici nu pot fi scrise ; toate acestea vor disparea, picioarele lor frumoase, surzenia lor si mersul vioi cand coborau dintr-un tren cu un teanc de manuale, ritualurile secrete de familie, retetele de prajituri, tocanite si golabki, bunatatea si rautatea, salvatorii si tradatorii, salvarea lor si tradarea lor ; aproape totul va disparea intr-un tarziu, la fel cum a disparut cam tot ce a insemnat viata egiptenilor, a incasilor, a hititilor. Pentru o vreme insa, o parte poate fi recuperata doar daca, confruntat cu vastitatea a tot ce este si a fost vreodata, cineva hotaraste sa priveasca inapoi, sa arunce o ultima privire, sa caute o vreme prin resturile trecutului si sa vada nu doar ceea ce a disparut, ci si ceea ce mai poate fi gasit. »
Iar ceea ce le uneste pe cele doua sunt pasajele-metafora extrase din Tora evreiasca, atat de minutios si adanc explicate, cum Mendelsohn a facut-o si cu « Odiseea » lui Homer in "O odisee".
« porunca ingerului ca familia lui Lot sa nu priveasca inapoi, spre oras, in timp ce fuge de acolo si transformarea sotiei lui Lot intr-un stalp de sare. Caci daca pentru tine Sodoma este frumoasa – devenind si mai frumoasa fiindca trebuie sa o abandonezi si sa o pierzi pentru totdeauna, la fel cum rudele moarte acum sunt intotdeauna mai frumoase si mai bune decat cele care inca mai traiesc – este clar ca porunca ingerului ca Lot si familia lui sa nu se uite inapoi nu trebuie luata ca o pedeapsa, ci ca o masura de prevedere : fiindca regretul dupa ceea ce am pierdut, dupa trecutul pe care trebuie sa il abandonam, de multe ori otraveste orice incercare de a incepe o viata noua, ceea ce trebuie sa faca Lot si familia lui acum, cum a trebuit sa faca si Noe cu familia lui, cum fac toti cei care supravietuiesc unor teribile incercari de anihilare. La randul ei, aceasta explicatie ne ajuta sa intelegem forma pe care o ia pedeapsa aplicata sotiei lui Lot – daca a fost o pedeapsa, ceea ce eu nu cred, fiindca pentru mine aduce mai mult ca un proces natural, rezultatul inevitabil al caracterului ei. Pentru cei care nu sunt obligati, prin natura lor, sa se uite mereu inapoi la ceea ce a fost, in loc sa priveasca inainte, spre viitor, marele pericol sunt lacrimile, plansul de neoprit despre care grecii, daca nu chiar si autorul Facerii, stiau ca este nu numai o durere, ci si o placere narcotica : o contemplare indurerata, atat de fara de cusur, atat de cristalina, incat, pana la urma, te poate imobiliza. »
Autorul este un apreciat profesor universitar, critic literar si eseist, un analist desavarsit. Scrie cu suflet si, chiar daca uneori amanuntele abunda si se repeta, am inteles ca a facut-o ca sa sublinieze idei la care tine, sentimente ce nu i-au dat pace, intrebari la care a vrut raspunsuri.
« Sa descopar daca, chiar si atat de tarziu, ar mai putea fi si alte indicii, alte fapte si detalii la fel de valoroase precum si cele pe care le ratasem fiindca, desi oamenii care le stiau inca mai erau in viata, pentru mine inca nu sosise momentul sa pun intrebari, sa vreau sa stiu. »
« …am crezut si cred in continuare , dupa tot ce am vazut si am facut, ca daca te incumeti sa te masori cu acest imens numar de lucruri, sa cauti printre ele, daca pornesti in cercetare, prin insasi aceasta actiune vei face sa se intample ceva ce altfel nu s-ar fi intamplat, vei gasi ceva, cat de mic, ceva ce cu siguranta va insemna mai mult daca nu te-ai fi apucat sa cauti, daca nu i-ai fi pus nici o intrebare bunicului tau. Invatasem, in sfarsit, lectia pe care o stiam de la Minnie Spieler si Herman Barbierul, morti de atatia ani. Nu exista miracole, nici coincidente magice. Exista doar cautarea si, intr-un tarziu, descoperirea a ceea ce a fost mereu acolo. »
« Pana la urma intelegem atatea lucruri gresit nu fiindca nu suntem atenti, ci fiindca timpul trece, lucrurile se schimba, nepotul nu poate fi bunicul sau, oricat de mult ar incerca; fiindca nu putem fi decat noi insine, prizonieri ai timpului nostru, ai spatiului nostru, ai imprejurarilor. Oricat de mult am vrea sa aflam, sa stim, nu putem vedea lucrurile decat cu ochii nostri, nu putem auzi decat cu urechile noastre, iar felul in care interpretam ceea ce vedem si auzim depinde, in ultima instanta, de cine suntem si ceea ce credem déjà ca stim sau ca vrem sa stim. »
Minunata carte, cata munca in spatele ei, scrisa cu duiosie, pe alocuri cu haz, despre amintiri, durere, despre locuri, obiceiuri si oameni ce au fost si nu vor mai fi vreodata.
June 30, 2019
Un livre très émouvant. Même si je connaissais forcément le dénouement final, je n'ai pas pu m'empêcher d'espérer une découverte miraculeuse.
August 4, 2009
I would have given this 5 stars if only the author had used quotation marks!
Did the author think he's above quote marks, or did his editors talk him into this fiasco because it’s the latest "cool" trend? This stupid trend leads to complete reader confusion.
The author is searching for information about his six relatives who were killed in the Holocaust. He travels to Poland, Australia, and Sweden to interview elderly Holocaust survivors. It’s utterly engrossing…until he begins relating the interviews he conducted. Did he say that aloud? No, wait, that was in his head. Did he actually say the next thing? Oops, no, he’s providing background information. Aaargh, I’m completely out of the story now! I’ve lost my way in the book! Here are two examples from the book:
1. But what were people expecting from the Germans? I asked. How much did they know at that point?
My brain absorbs “But what were people expecting from the Germans” before realizing that he spoke it aloud; I don’t find that out until the end of the sentence. So what I thought he said in his head, I have to reconfigure and picture him saying out loud. But what about the next sentence? That could go either way. Did he ask that aloud too? We don’t know.
2. Klara said, I do not know much about him, just that he wanted to save her. And he died because of it. So why doesn’t she want to talk about it? She paused for a moment, and then said, Meg is very careful with every word.
My first pass through, I thought the author was asking in his head, about Klara, Why doesn’t she want to talk about it? My second pass through, I thought the author said this out loud to Klara, about Meg. Finally, I realized Klara actually said that out loud to the author. But did she also say, “She paused for a moment,” speaking of Meg? No, wait, that’s the author saying that Klara paused.
What is the point of this??
If you spend years researching and writing and spending money completing a book, and then undergo the extreme stress of finding a publisher and dealing with the publishing process, wouldn’t you want the finished product to be as clear and problem-free as possible? Don’t you want people to understand your book as easily as possible? Stop the nonsense! Replace the quote marks!
Did the author think he's above quote marks, or did his editors talk him into this fiasco because it’s the latest "cool" trend? This stupid trend leads to complete reader confusion.
The author is searching for information about his six relatives who were killed in the Holocaust. He travels to Poland, Australia, and Sweden to interview elderly Holocaust survivors. It’s utterly engrossing…until he begins relating the interviews he conducted. Did he say that aloud? No, wait, that was in his head. Did he actually say the next thing? Oops, no, he’s providing background information. Aaargh, I’m completely out of the story now! I’ve lost my way in the book! Here are two examples from the book:
1. But what were people expecting from the Germans? I asked. How much did they know at that point?
My brain absorbs “But what were people expecting from the Germans” before realizing that he spoke it aloud; I don’t find that out until the end of the sentence. So what I thought he said in his head, I have to reconfigure and picture him saying out loud. But what about the next sentence? That could go either way. Did he ask that aloud too? We don’t know.
2. Klara said, I do not know much about him, just that he wanted to save her. And he died because of it. So why doesn’t she want to talk about it? She paused for a moment, and then said, Meg is very careful with every word.
My first pass through, I thought the author was asking in his head, about Klara, Why doesn’t she want to talk about it? My second pass through, I thought the author said this out loud to Klara, about Meg. Finally, I realized Klara actually said that out loud to the author. But did she also say, “She paused for a moment,” speaking of Meg? No, wait, that’s the author saying that Klara paused.
What is the point of this??
If you spend years researching and writing and spending money completing a book, and then undergo the extreme stress of finding a publisher and dealing with the publishing process, wouldn’t you want the finished product to be as clear and problem-free as possible? Don’t you want people to understand your book as easily as possible? Stop the nonsense! Replace the quote marks!
September 13, 2016
rigoroso. exigente.doloroso. meigo. às vezes desgastante.
August 1, 2019
"Alla fine tutto, assolutamente tutto, sarà perduto. Eppure, per un attimo, qualcosa può essere strappato all'oblio, se solo, di fronte all'immensità di quel che è e di quel che è stato, qualcuno deciderà di guardarsi indietro, di dare un'ultima occhiata, di cercare tra le rovine del passato per vedere non solo ciò che è andato distrutto ma quanto ancora è rimasto intatto."
Gli scomparsi è un saggio di Daniel Mendelsohn, scrittore e critico letterario statunitense molto conosciuto per le sue opere in bilico tra saggio e memoir. E' il mio approccio con questo autore di cui ho sentito parlare benissimo e che mi ha sempre attirato per i temi che tratta. Ho scelto di iniziare con questo volume perchè parla di Shoah, di memoria e di famiglia. Temi che come sapete, se seguite almeno da un po' il blog, mi interessano molto. Volendo riassumere in poche parole la trama di questo libro, potremmo dire che si tratta di un romanzo che racconta di una ricerca durata anni.
L'autore ricorda bene quando, da bambino, entrava in una stanza dove si trovavano dei parenti anziani. Ricorda sopratutto la reazione che scatenava in alcuni: lacrime, pianti, ricordi dolorosi. Dicevano che avesse lo stesso sguardo del povero Shmiel, il fratello del nonno, morto ucciso dai nazisti insieme alla moglie e alle quattro bellissime figlie. Una volta cresciuto, il giovane Daniel ha iniziato a chiedersi cosa ne fosse stato di quei parenti perduti per sempre, di cui la famiglia conservava solo qualche foto sbiadita. Ma quando ha iniziato a fare domande serie sulla questione, tutti quelli che avrebbero potuto rispondergli erano ormai morti, incluso il suo amato nonno.
E' proprio per trovare risposte alle sue domande, e anche per ricostruire parte della storia della sua famiglia che è andata perduta, che Daniel inizia una ricerca che lo impegnerà per oltre 5 anni e che lo porterà poi a scrivere e pubblicare questo romanzo. Il racconto si concentra proprio su questa ricerca, sui numerosi viaggi fatti dall'autore insieme a fratelli o semplici amici che sono interessati quanto lui a scoprire il velo che il tempo ha posto su quella storia. Dall'America, patria di adozione per gli Jäger, fino ad arrivare a Bolechow, il piccolo villaggio polacco da cui provengono. Tra l'uno e l'altro viaggio diversi step intermedi: Israele, Svezia, Scandinavia, ancora Polonia e addirittura l'Australia. Un viaggio alla scoperta delle origini, ma sopratutto del destino di 6 ebrei su 6 milioni.
Ho divorato questo volume di quasi 600 pagine in poco meno di due giorni, ho macinato pagine su pagine come non mi succedeva da un po' e, con un continuo groppo in gola, ho letto della storia della famiglia dell'autore, sopratutto della storia di 6 componenti di quella famiglia che il nazismo aveva cancellato apparentemente per sempre. La storia degli Jäger, in particolar modo la storia di Shmiel e della sua bella famiglia, sono state un colpo al cuore, e questo nonostante sapessi perfettamente quale sarebbe stato l'epilogo.
L'autore ha saputo coniugare perfettamente i ricordi di famiglia, i racconti dei sopravvissuti e la sua stessa storia ad un'altra parte del volume che è dedicata invece alla disamina, che prosegue in parallelo con il racconto, dei primi racconti contenuti nella Genesi. Questo volume è un mix perfetto tra saggio, memoir e biografia. Nonostante la mole e il tema principale del racconto, il volume si lascia leggere con una facilità impressionante. Rimarrete colpiti dalla storia che riuscirà a trascinarvi in un mondo che non è poi tanto lontano da noi. Io mi sono persa nei mille racconti dei sopravvissuti intervistati da Mendelsohn, mi sono commossa insieme a loro quando rievocavano persone che non c'erano più, quando qualcuno ricordava di aver conosciuto gli Jäger, di ricordare la bravura di Shmiel, l'eleganza e la gentilezza di sua moglie Ester, la serietà della primogenita Lorka, l'esuberanza di Frydka, la storia di Ruchele e quella della piccola Bronia.
Speravo che riuscissero in quell'impresa che sembrava impossibile, ricostruire degli eventi avvenuti decenni prima attraverso i racconti e i ricordi di chi all'epoca era solo un ragazzo. Parte importante del volume sono infatti le numerose testimonianze dei sopravvissuti, degli ebrei di Bolechow; di quei pochi, tra i soli 48 ebrei sopravvissuti al rastrellamento dei nazisti in quella città, ancora vivi per testimoniare le terribili vicende che accaddero tra il 1941 e il 1942.
Mendelsohn ha uno stile molto elegante ma comunque scorrevole e mai pedante. Nonostante si tratti di un'opera di saggistica, questo libro riesce ad arrivare dritto ai sentimenti del lettore. Ogni parte di questo libro è profondamente evocativa, perchè si parla di cose realmente accadute, di persone reali. Il libro si divide in varie parti che scandiscono la ricerca della verità dell'autore.
La memoria è il tema ricorrente di questo volume. Viene sottolineato più e più volte quanto sia importante ricordare e allo stesso tempo quanto sia pericoloso invece dimenticare e permettere che persone e fatti cadano nell'oblio. La memoria viene analizzata sotto il punto di vista emotivo e viene messa in relazione con la ricerca, con uno sforzo. Spesso inoltre, come avviene allo stesso autore, cerchiamo di ricordare quando ormai non c'è più nessuno che può aiutarci a farlo. Nonostante ciò, per quanto sia tanto difficile ricordare, sopratutto se parliamo di tragedie come la Shoah, è importantissimo continuare a farlo, perchè citando le parole dell'autore "qualcosa può essere strappato all'oblio, se qualcuno deciderà di guardarsi indietro".
Ho amato tutto di questo libro, ogni singolo particolare, ogni vicenda narrata. Non posso dirvi che si tratti di una lettura leggera, estiva, non potrei mai dirlo. E' un pugno allo stomaco, come ogni libro che si concentri sul tema Shoah e sulla persecuzione degli ebrei. E' doloroso, ma è un dolore necessario perchè la memoria è un bene prezioso che va preservato a tutti i costi. La generazione protagonista di queste pagine è stata cancellata in pochi mesi, ma noi possiamo farli tornare in vita continuando a ricordarli.
Gli scomparsi è un saggio di Daniel Mendelsohn, scrittore e critico letterario statunitense molto conosciuto per le sue opere in bilico tra saggio e memoir. E' il mio approccio con questo autore di cui ho sentito parlare benissimo e che mi ha sempre attirato per i temi che tratta. Ho scelto di iniziare con questo volume perchè parla di Shoah, di memoria e di famiglia. Temi che come sapete, se seguite almeno da un po' il blog, mi interessano molto. Volendo riassumere in poche parole la trama di questo libro, potremmo dire che si tratta di un romanzo che racconta di una ricerca durata anni.
L'autore ricorda bene quando, da bambino, entrava in una stanza dove si trovavano dei parenti anziani. Ricorda sopratutto la reazione che scatenava in alcuni: lacrime, pianti, ricordi dolorosi. Dicevano che avesse lo stesso sguardo del povero Shmiel, il fratello del nonno, morto ucciso dai nazisti insieme alla moglie e alle quattro bellissime figlie. Una volta cresciuto, il giovane Daniel ha iniziato a chiedersi cosa ne fosse stato di quei parenti perduti per sempre, di cui la famiglia conservava solo qualche foto sbiadita. Ma quando ha iniziato a fare domande serie sulla questione, tutti quelli che avrebbero potuto rispondergli erano ormai morti, incluso il suo amato nonno.
E' proprio per trovare risposte alle sue domande, e anche per ricostruire parte della storia della sua famiglia che è andata perduta, che Daniel inizia una ricerca che lo impegnerà per oltre 5 anni e che lo porterà poi a scrivere e pubblicare questo romanzo. Il racconto si concentra proprio su questa ricerca, sui numerosi viaggi fatti dall'autore insieme a fratelli o semplici amici che sono interessati quanto lui a scoprire il velo che il tempo ha posto su quella storia. Dall'America, patria di adozione per gli Jäger, fino ad arrivare a Bolechow, il piccolo villaggio polacco da cui provengono. Tra l'uno e l'altro viaggio diversi step intermedi: Israele, Svezia, Scandinavia, ancora Polonia e addirittura l'Australia. Un viaggio alla scoperta delle origini, ma sopratutto del destino di 6 ebrei su 6 milioni.
Ho divorato questo volume di quasi 600 pagine in poco meno di due giorni, ho macinato pagine su pagine come non mi succedeva da un po' e, con un continuo groppo in gola, ho letto della storia della famiglia dell'autore, sopratutto della storia di 6 componenti di quella famiglia che il nazismo aveva cancellato apparentemente per sempre. La storia degli Jäger, in particolar modo la storia di Shmiel e della sua bella famiglia, sono state un colpo al cuore, e questo nonostante sapessi perfettamente quale sarebbe stato l'epilogo.
L'autore ha saputo coniugare perfettamente i ricordi di famiglia, i racconti dei sopravvissuti e la sua stessa storia ad un'altra parte del volume che è dedicata invece alla disamina, che prosegue in parallelo con il racconto, dei primi racconti contenuti nella Genesi. Questo volume è un mix perfetto tra saggio, memoir e biografia. Nonostante la mole e il tema principale del racconto, il volume si lascia leggere con una facilità impressionante. Rimarrete colpiti dalla storia che riuscirà a trascinarvi in un mondo che non è poi tanto lontano da noi. Io mi sono persa nei mille racconti dei sopravvissuti intervistati da Mendelsohn, mi sono commossa insieme a loro quando rievocavano persone che non c'erano più, quando qualcuno ricordava di aver conosciuto gli Jäger, di ricordare la bravura di Shmiel, l'eleganza e la gentilezza di sua moglie Ester, la serietà della primogenita Lorka, l'esuberanza di Frydka, la storia di Ruchele e quella della piccola Bronia.
Speravo che riuscissero in quell'impresa che sembrava impossibile, ricostruire degli eventi avvenuti decenni prima attraverso i racconti e i ricordi di chi all'epoca era solo un ragazzo. Parte importante del volume sono infatti le numerose testimonianze dei sopravvissuti, degli ebrei di Bolechow; di quei pochi, tra i soli 48 ebrei sopravvissuti al rastrellamento dei nazisti in quella città, ancora vivi per testimoniare le terribili vicende che accaddero tra il 1941 e il 1942.
Mendelsohn ha uno stile molto elegante ma comunque scorrevole e mai pedante. Nonostante si tratti di un'opera di saggistica, questo libro riesce ad arrivare dritto ai sentimenti del lettore. Ogni parte di questo libro è profondamente evocativa, perchè si parla di cose realmente accadute, di persone reali. Il libro si divide in varie parti che scandiscono la ricerca della verità dell'autore.
La memoria è il tema ricorrente di questo volume. Viene sottolineato più e più volte quanto sia importante ricordare e allo stesso tempo quanto sia pericoloso invece dimenticare e permettere che persone e fatti cadano nell'oblio. La memoria viene analizzata sotto il punto di vista emotivo e viene messa in relazione con la ricerca, con uno sforzo. Spesso inoltre, come avviene allo stesso autore, cerchiamo di ricordare quando ormai non c'è più nessuno che può aiutarci a farlo. Nonostante ciò, per quanto sia tanto difficile ricordare, sopratutto se parliamo di tragedie come la Shoah, è importantissimo continuare a farlo, perchè citando le parole dell'autore "qualcosa può essere strappato all'oblio, se qualcuno deciderà di guardarsi indietro".
Ho amato tutto di questo libro, ogni singolo particolare, ogni vicenda narrata. Non posso dirvi che si tratti di una lettura leggera, estiva, non potrei mai dirlo. E' un pugno allo stomaco, come ogni libro che si concentri sul tema Shoah e sulla persecuzione degli ebrei. E' doloroso, ma è un dolore necessario perchè la memoria è un bene prezioso che va preservato a tutti i costi. La generazione protagonista di queste pagine è stata cancellata in pochi mesi, ma noi possiamo farli tornare in vita continuando a ricordarli.
July 28, 2020
Daniel Mendelsohn je više od četiri godine istraživao okolnosti umorstva svojih šestoro rođaka u Bolechowu, gradiću u Galiciji na padinama Karpatskoga masiva. Mesar Shmiel Jeager, njegova supruga Ester i četiri kćeri Lora, Frydka, Ruchele i Bronia ubijeni su u II Svjetskom ratu zajedno sa 6 milijuna Židova Starog kontinenta. Bez namjere da ikome sudi, autor traga za istinom o njihovoj smrti, ali i tome kako su živjeli, kakvi su bili ljudi, pokušavajući žrtvama vratiti dio njihova dostojanstva. U potrazi na četiri kontinenta autor otkriva i mnogo toga o sebi i svojoj obitelji i o teretu kojeg nose preživjeli, traumama, strahu, osjećaju odgovornosti, grizodušju. Ovo je knjiga koja je vrlo intimna, ali opet univerzalna u svojoj poruci.
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