May 8, 2005

Alison on Aliyah:  A Special Yom HaShoah

            Three days ago Israel observed Yom Ha’Zikaron La’Shoah V’L’Gvurah (Day of Remembrance for the Holocaust and Heroism, or as it is commonly called, Yom HaShoah).  I left Be’er Sheva early in the week, as part of my year-old but life-long promise to myself to spend every Yom HaShoah in Jerusalem.  There is something inexpressible about what happens to the city on days like these, days filled with remembrance and sadness and utterly respectful solemnity.  It is as if the pulse of the city beats just a little louder, and just a little stronger, when all of its inhabitants are focused on it with just a little more intensity.

I planned my morning so as to be in the Machane Yehuda open-air market when the siren sounded at precisely 10am, and I watched intently as the entire population in front of me stopped what they were doing, got out of their cars and came out of their stores, and stood totally motionless, heads bowed in reverence.  It was as if someone had yelled, “Freeze!” and the entire country obeyed.  I don’t know when I will stop being totally overwhelmed with emotions during moments like these, but I do hope it won’t happen anytime soon.

For me, the past week has been spent thinking incessantly about the Holocaust.  This is in no small part due to the mass influx of emails and phone calls I have received in response to my last article.  The article was also picked up by a number of online news magazine sites, and I was asked to participate in a radio interview to explain my position as well.  The topic has clearly captured the interest and emotion of many, and I have been simply blown away by the response.  I must express my deep gratitude to all of you who have taken the time to answer my “poll,” and I will apologize in advance, in public, for my inevitable lateness in responding to all of you personally.  I will do so soon, but for now I wanted to synthesize here the comments I received.

Many wrote in to remind me of the prohibitions against tattooing and other forms of bodily desecration in Jewish law, or Halacha, and to express their concerns about my failure to discuss this in my first article.  Amongst those who were opposed to the bartender’s action, this was the primary reason.  Some suggested other forms of memorialization that can be “worn” on the body, such as henna tattoos, bracelets, or armbands.

One man from Kiryat Arba wrote, “I emphatically support the motivation behind the young man’s decision…but to me, as a traditionally observant Jew, it makes no more sense to perpetuate this violation of religious law than it would for descendants of the Conversos to eat pork publicly as their ancestors were forced to do.”  One particularly articulate woman wrote, “To revive the numbers that were used to humiliate Jews, to mark them for death, is an insult.  The millions of Jews tortured and murdered would be sickened to learn that anyone would carry out the humiliation and fear the numbers signified… The numbers are not family heirlooms, like wedding rings and prayer books.  Nor is this man honoring his grandmother.  He dishonors her and all Jews by bearing the numbers of shame.  This is exactly what Hitler wanted.”

Many, many others­—Jews and non-Jews alike—were emphatically in favor of the bartender’s decision, expressing their own willingness to memorialize Holocaust survivors in a similar way.  One woman suggested using concentration camp records to access more numbers in order to facilitate some sort of mass “adopt a victim” program.  One man, before voicing his concerns regarding the Halacha violation, wrote, “I thought that there was a tremendous dual message being sent by that young bartender.  A message of love, and remembrance…I thought that wearing the numbers his beloved grandmother bore on her arm was a truly honorable way to present those messages to others and evoke thoughtful questions from those who meet him.”  Another woman wrote that although she was “taken aback” when she first read about the bartender’s actions, “As I thought more about it, I realized that his action is a vast honor and a statement of deep love—for his grandmother, certainly, and for the Jewish people and their survival as a whole.”

Some wrote in to say that they fit in with my initial findings according to age, while others wrote in to say that they showed the exact opposite pattern.  Even one of my (non-Jewish) college professors emailed to tell me he was inspired and fascinated by the idea.  Meanwhile, in just the past week, many of my friends here in Israel took it upon themselves to do their own polling.  A friend of mine led a discussion on the topic with her 7^th grade class.  Another friend posted the issue on an online discussion forum of which he is a part.  Friends of friends of friends are starting to write back to me regarding their own findings.

The results are clearly far from unanimous, but one thing is clear:  there is something about this question that truly touches something in people.  I don’t think I’ve ever had so many impassioned discussions in such a short time.  Of all of them, however, one has stuck with me.  On the eve of Yom HaShoah, I attended a ceremony at which the father of a friend of mine, a Holocaust survivor, gave his own testimony.  As I was driving him home, I asked him what he thought about the young bartender from Be’er Sheva.  His eyes lit up immediately, and for the first time that night, he smiled.  “I love it,” he exclaimed, “and I would be absolutely honored if someone in my family would be interested in doing that for me.”  Later, I mentioned the conversation to his 16-year-old grandson, and watched his face light up in the same way.  “I loved it too,” he told me, “and in a few years I hope to do that for him.”