The “always knowing” clings more tightly as a third-generation survivor, as the Holocaust has also always been a part of unconscious memory. I don’t recall a moment during a classroom lesson, watching a movie, or in conversation where I first acquired knowledge about this catastrophe—it is one that has always been with me, a specter of my past. My maternal grandfather’s survival story was ever-present in my childhood. It was a tale drenched in the heroism and bravery of a young man who fled Poland (now Belarus) by sea to Palestine in 1937, illegally jumped ship and joined the British army as a spy to fight against the Axis powers—forces that would be responsible for the deaths of so many of my other relatives. It never eludes me that my very existence, my ability to live freely and have endless opportunities in this country, is a result of his fortuitous escape. 

In some ways I am envious of those who have had the privilege to be introduced in a well thought out and planned way to this pivotal history. That there are those who can pinpoint a specific moment when they learned about the Holocaust, designating a before and after, a division of this time in their lives. These are people who have a mechanism to assess their perspective on humanity prior to knowing vs. now having the knowledge cemented, which can hopefully offer deeper reflection on the timeless lessons of this history. 

It's not that I don’t have memories about moments of witnessing, experiencing an awareness of the Holocaust, or that it wasn’t ever presented to me in a classroom setting, but they often are fraught with discomfort—it feels at times too personal. When I was 10 years old, I visited the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum and wandered through Daniel’s Story—on my own. I distinctly remember entering the concentration camp section of the exhibit, my lungs filling with a heavy cold air, a sudden suffocation of dread and panic, the thought of “this could have been me” creeping through my mind. I raced out of there as fast I could, wanting to shed whatever memory or passed down trauma I may have inadvertently absorbed. This is not because Daniel’s Story is one that should not be viewed by young people, but it does make me wonder if there are deeper considerations as to how a generational survivor might be impacted by certain Holocaust learning experiences. 

Despite the challenges of remembrance, there is the question of responsibility. What is my duty to share, uphold, the memories of a story, that isn’t really my own lived experience, but one that seems to reside firmly in my DNA? “Never Forget” has been, still is, and will always be a reverberating phrase in my consciousness. While there is no clear beginning to the memory, the not forgetting is the foundational tenet of my Holocaust education. I firmly believe in this notion, but over the years I have encountered a tension between the “knowing'' and the actions I am expected to take with this knowledge, particularly if it involves sharing my own ancestral trauma. Perhaps it’s because I don’t want myself or my family to be defined by tragedy, by the weight it inevitably carries. 

And yet, the work I do is a reminder that the action of remembrance can take different forms. I may not be openly sharing my family’s history on a regular basis, but it is because of my background that I feel an unexpected comfort, sense of ease even, in being one to support educators and students in learning about the Holocaust. I am contributing to a program that provides Holocaust education in a responsible and effective manner, which perhaps is my own way of moving “safely in and out”—an experience I severely lacked in my youth. And, with time, almost six years at this point, I am beginning to allow more of the personal to seep  into the  work, like seeing myself through Margaret, or through the multitude of visual history testimonies our program provides. It is perhaps through this ongoing experience, that at some point I will be able to move towards a greater security to openly share my family’s Holocaust story.

About the author: Talia Langman is the Media & Communications Specialist for Echoes & Reflections.

To prepare and guide our dialogue with our students, we must recognize, understand, and convey the power of symbols and symbolic language. As we have seen time and time again, both historically and in our present day, hate does not end with odious language and imagery. It has the real potential to cause increased harm by influencing more destructive acts–attacks on safe and sacred places: schools, places of worship, as witnessed by the attack in Colleyville, TX earlier this year, or cemeteries, just to name a few. It is clear these symbols of hate are influential, pernicious, and harm our entire communities, not just those who are targeted by their bigotry.  These are spaces that help create and develop our identities and thus an attack on them is a clear, direct, and simple message of “you don’t belong here.” They are unsettling, foundation-shaking, and evoke fear and uncertainty on both our present lives and our hopes for the future.

Discussing dangers of the appropriation of Holocaust Imagery and Jewish Trauma with Students

Along with the obvious symbols of hatred, poor analogies and inappropriate comparisons to the Holocaust and Nazism can do just as much damage, but again, why are they so ubiquitous? Adolf Hitler, Nazism and the Holocaust are universally known in our society. Yes, studies have shown that many don’t know a lot of the specific facts and figures about this era, but a majority do believe the Holocaust was the most evil event in human history, perpetrated by Hitler and the Nazis. When trying to describe something or someone as evil, it is a cheap, shallow, but sadly an effective tool to brand it as Nazism or as terrible as the Holocaust. 

Further, antisemitism is latent but ever-present in our society, and its hatred is rising and becoming increasingly overt. Because of this widespread bigotry, references that demean, delegitimize, and attack Jews and Judaism will continue to be effective until antisemitism is rooted out of our culture, our country, and our world. The politicians, world leaders, and adults who make these statements know what they are doing. It isn’t an accident. In an age of instant news and social media, there is an astute awareness that any inflammatory post or tweet will receive increased exposure. When this occurs, we should deconstruct this damaging rhetoric to help students understand the motivations and effects of these appalling statements. Using age-appropriate and constructive strategies to engage students, we can help them explore these incidents and understand the harm caused.

How do we address these issues when they happen in the classroom?

When confronted with an antisemitic comment or verbal attack, or presence of a symbol, be firm, direct, and give no leniency. This type of behavior is threatening, hateful, and completely unacceptable. The student(s) in question may backtrack their comments or actions and frame them as a joke or not important. Regardless, it is vital to convey to the student(s) that this is a serious matter and then invite them and all students to learn why.

After this point, we want to engage with our students to become critical thinkers, who examine images and statements with an analytical lens, seek truth and understanding of similar and opposing views, and ultimately be able to evaluate these actions in a rational manner. Echoes & Reflections’ pedagogy and approach centers student inquiry, utilizes tools such as graphic organizers and our Learn and Confirm Chart will help students navigate their way through difficult history. 

For additional guidance on how to comprehensively address incidents of bias and hate in schools, including specific examples of antisemitic behavior, view ADL Education’s resource on this topic. 

As we teach about the Holocaust, we obviously want our students to gain knowledge and learn the content, but we must not lose sight of the true purpose of education: To develop young people's characters and thinking processes, and ultimately make them engaged global citizens who will improve the world in which we live in today. Thankfully, we know that Holocaust education is a powerful tool to achieve these goals and it has been shown to foster social responsibility, civic efficacy, and a greater willingness to challenge intolerant behavior in others. 

And while we are seeing more and more hate-motivated  incidents — which should always be reported to the proper authorities—we know that educators can play a critical role in intervention, education, and ideally prevention of the escalation of antisemitism and hatred among students.  This is meaningful and transformative, yet challenging work. Echoes & Reflections is here to support  you with our resources, professional development, and our team of experts.

About the author: Jesse Tannetta is a former high school teacher who is now the Program Manager for Echoes & Reflections. He holds a master’s degree in Holocaust and Genocide Studies and is a current Ph.D. student beginning his dissertation on female concentration camp guard Hermine Braunsteiner Ryan.

Family

• Eric Richmond: Parents in Nazi-occupied Europe were faced with the unimaginable choice of keeping their families together or sending their children to unoccupied countries. Later on, parents were also faced with the choice of having their children smuggled out of ghettos and being hidden with non-Jewish families. Both of these circumstances present an inconceivable choice with no right or wrong answers. But hearing survivors talk about being separated from their parents – their parents who told them they would be reunited, their parents who tried to make this seem like a big, exciting adventure – is heartbreaking. Eric Richmond, who was sent on a Kindertransport from Vienna, Austria to England, begins talking about his experience looking directly at the interviewer. The more he remembers, the less he looks at her. He’s recounting the lifesaving decision his parents made, but he’s reliving the trauma of being separated from them. No matter how many times I watch his testimony, it always affects me. Knowing what his parents did out of love, and seeing his reaction fifty years later, is a reminder of the unconditional bond between parent and child.
• Fritzie Fritzhall: When Fritzie Fritzshall was forced to do slave labor in a factory—after her mother and brothers had been murdered at Auschwitz-Birkenau, after she had been separated from her aunt—she was the youngest in a group of 600 women, and now considered the other women her mothers. In her testimony, Fritzie remembers a promise she made the women to preserve their legacy, and discusses when she realized she had to tell her story to fulfill her promise. I’ve been working with Holocaust survivors for over fifteen years, and I know how hard it can be for them to tell and retell their story. I’m grateful that Fritzie was able to keep her promise, and that her story, and the story of her 599 mothers, can continue to survive.

Significant Others

• Kurt & Sonia Messerschmidt: Throughout the archive, there are beautiful stories that describe the moment survivors are reunited with their partners. Kurt and Sonja Messerschmidt were engaged before they were deported to Theresienstadt, where they were wed. However, in 1944, they were separated, and after the war, Kurt wasn’t sure if Sonja survived. In this clip, he describes the moment he realized she survived, and he discusses the significance of the date they were reunited.  I am inspired by how overcome with emotion Kurt becomes when describing what happened as it exemplifies the deep devotion he carried for Sonja.
• Gerta Weissman & Kurt Klein: Unlike Kurt and Sonja, Gerda Weissman did not know Kurt Klein before the war. However, neither she nor Kurt would forget meeting one another. Here, Gerda describes being liberated by Kurt, wondering what happened to the nice man who liberated her, and being reunited with him. The couple eventually married and immigrated to the United States. Their love is evident in both their testimonies (Kurt is also in the archive; you can hear his version of events here).
• Gad Beck & Manfred: Gad Beck had two strikes against him in Nazi Germany. He was Jewish, and he was gay. One night, when he went to pick up his boyfriend Manfred for a date, Gad learned that Manfred and some of his family members had been taken to a transit camp. Gad tells the story of what happened next in this clip. Gad’s love for Manfred was so great that he helped Manfred escape from the camp; Manfred’s love for his family led him to return to be with them. The first time I watched that clip, I didn’t expect the story to end the way it did. But I absolutely respect Manfred’s decision, even if it broke Gad’s heart. It shows the devastating complexities of the choiceless choices many Holocaust victims faced, having at times decide between one love over the other.

Friendships

• Herman Shine & Max Drimmer: Herman Shine and Max Drimmer were friends in pre-war Germany. During the Holocaust, they were reunited at Auschwitz, and the friends decided to escape. They were inseparable for the next sixty years – they had a double wedding with their wives, they immigrated with one another, and they lived close to each other in California. I am absolutely convinced that their friendship and love for one another is what got them through their hardest times.
• Bertram Schaffner & his Army Unit: After being drafted in October 1940, Bertram Schaffner worked as a psychiatrist in the U.S. Army. During World War II, when gay men were dishonorably discharged from the armed forces just because of their sexuality, Bertram – who himself was gay – helped enlisted men who he suspected were also gay by either keeping their records clean of anything that could be incriminating or honorably discharging those men who realized they did not want to serve under such discriminatory conditions. His empathy, decency and humanity shine through his entire testimony, and I’m grateful that he loved his fellow draftees to support them in extremely inequitable times.
• Roman Kent & Lala: Even pets played a strong role in offering love and devotion during the Holocaust. When Roman Kent and his family were sent to the Łódź ghetto, they had an unexpected visitor: their dog Lala. After the war, when Roman had children of his own, he used to tell them the story. In his testimony, Roman recalls Lala visiting the family every night, and reflects that “Love is stronger than hate.”

Whether through family, significant others, or friendship, it is clear that love endured and prevailed throughout the Holocaust. Let these testimonies be a reminder that love is a potent force that can inspire actions today that will build a better tomorrow.

About the author: Rachel Herman is the Content Management Specialist at USC Shoah Foundation and helps curate content for IWitness and other educational programs.  Rachel received her M.A. in Holocaust and Genocide Studies from Stockton University.