A Correction

In the posting immediately below I speak of a lecture I attended on the topic: Did Primo Levi ever forgive the Germans for their bestial treatment of the Jews and others. I then use that as a jumping off point to discuss whether contemporary American policies re: tortures are something for which we will have to ask forgiveness in the future. Some who support the administration's policies in Iraq took offense, as is their right, but one pointed out what I now acknowledge is an error in typing, though not in judgment. I wrote, from the perspective of someone who did not suffer the agonies of Auschwitz, "Is it time to forgive the Nazis? Levi asked. I ask if it’s time to forgive ourselves. Maybe in the first case the answer is yes; the Nazis are dead. In the second, only if we want to avert our eyes, like the good Germans." My mistake was in conflating Germans and Nazis. I intended to ask, as Levi had, "Is it time to forgive the Germans" but instead of writing "Germans," I wrote,"Nazis." To the question is it time to forgive the Germans, I stick with my original emphatic "maybe"; to the question I didn't intend to ask, "Is it time to forgive the Nazis" I respond with "NO, never!"

I was originally thinking of editing the piece as it appears on this blog, so that people would never know of the gaff--but that, it seemed to me, was too much in imitation of the way Winston Smith earned his meager subsistence in 1984, so I leave the original error and ask the reader's forbearance.

On Primo Levi, forgiveness and dangers of complacency

Last week I attended a lecture in Salomon Hall on the campus of Brown University. The lecturer was Alvin Rosenfeld whose talk was on Primo Levi, the Italian Jewish chemist caught up in the Nazi Holocaust who managed to survive Auschwitz and write several books about the experience, most notably but not exclusively Survival in Auschwitz. The question Rosenfeld addressed is whether forgiveness is possible for someone who has undergone Auschwitz, specifically whether Levi ever forgave his tormenters. It’s a good question, but it’s insufficient. If we only ask about forgiveness by others of others we ignore the value of history and literature as predictive mirrors of our lives.

I write from memory, not from notes, but my impression is that Levi started out despising Germans, not only Nazis who he saw as microcosms of the whole. The worst Nazi crime was to deny him his humanity by stripping him of reasonable alternatives, of creating a Kafkaesque world. But over time he tried to understand them, even going so far as to learn German so as better to communicate with any Germans who might be so inclined. With the exception of one who died just before a promised meeting, the interviews never took place. In the end, Levi could not forget, could not forgive. Despairing of coming to grips with the destruction of his soul, he may have committed suicide in 1987. He left no note, but Rosenfeld does not doubt that the fall down a flight of stairs was deliberate.

As I listened, I wondered. First I asked myself if is time for those of us who never endured the Nazi horror to forgive, but then my thoughts wandered to a more pressing issue. Suppose we are guilty ones who will be asking our descendents to forgive us. Do we deserve it? Was Walt Kelly right? Have we met the enemy…and he is us? What have we allowed in our name as we have ignored what has been imposed on us and the world by those who claim to reflect darkly our attitudes, in the process perverting our ideals. Nazis took a country that was in the forefront of human cultural development and dragged it down with them into the slime of Auschwitz. Is this Act II of the same crime?

The following Sunday I began my day, as I always do, by opening up Frank Rich’s column in The New York Times. He begins with this broadside “‘Bush lies’ doesn’t cut it anymore. It’s time to confront the darker reality that we are lying to ourselves.” He then discusses torture. That’s done in our name, folk, but denied in our name as well. All of which goes to show that George Orwell’s dystopia is alive and well and living in Washington, DC. Rich reminds that the claim is made that we don’t torture we engage in “enhanced interrogation” techniques. We knew that. What we (I) didn’t know is that the term is from the Gestapo who called it Verschärfte Vernehmung which means “enhanced interrogation.” (And who knew that when Richard Nixon was speaking about the “Great Silent Majority” which supported his war on Vietnam he was inadvertently quoting from Homer who referred to the great silent majority as those who have died? I did!) Rich holds our feet to the fire for countenancing Abu Ghraib and now for turning our backs on the scandal of outsourcing to fight our wars in our names so that we don’t pay attention when Blackwater mercenaries indiscriminately kill Iraqi civilians. In our name. He doesn’t even mention the illegal detentions in Guantánamo, but he does compare our methods with those used by American interrogators of Nazi prisoners. “We got more information out of a German general with a game of chess or Ping-Pong than they do today, with their torture,” says one. Another “recalled that he ‘never laid hands on anyone’… adding ‘I am proud to say I never compromised my humanity.’”

Rich concludes with this: “Our humanity has been compromised by those who use Gestapo tactics in our war. The longer we stand idly by while they do so, the more we resemble those good Germans’ who professed ignorance of their own Gestapo.”

Is it time to forgive the Nazis? Levi asked. I ask if it’s time to forgive ourselves. Maybe in the first case the answer is yes; the Nazis are dead. In the second, only if we want to avert our eyes, like the good Germans.

Yom Kippur reflections (2)

After tempers had cooled (see column below that was not published) I submitted this, which was.

Yom Kippur is one of those Holy days that does not sneak up on us on velvet paws, catching us unawares. Granted, Rosh Hashannah (and Passover) are proverbially always early or late but never on time, with Yom Kippur there's plenty of warning—ten days after Rosh Hashanna, comes Yom Kippur. Like clockwork. You can't miss it.

This year, on the day of Kol Nidre, this newspaper, for the first time in a year and a half, appeared with no column from The Old Olivetti. In response, the Jewish community wept, beat its breast and fasted. Or maybe that was because it was Yom Kippur. It's hard to say. This much I do know, that it was gratifying to be stopped on the street by strangers: “Aren't you the Old Olivetti?” “Yes,” I admitted. “How come no column? I look forward to it.” Well, therein lies a tale.

There was a column, of course, but it wasn't published. It was written as a critique of the newspaper's decision to charge for obituaries, a policy I and others had opposed in its discussion phase. We'd lost that battle but once letters of criticism started to arrive, once the Board of Rabbis unanimously condemned the decision, I took the opportunity to put forth my opinion in print. Editors thought the piece was too abrasive and contained errors of fact. It was toned down, the facts were checked, but at the last moment it was decided to postpone publication until memories were clarified. I was outraged, but losing an argument is as much a part of life as the occasional victory. And, in fact, there was a sort of victory. In response to the letters, in response to the rabbis, possibly in response to my unpublished article, the policy of charging for obituaries was suspended pending a review. It's now again safe to die without the newspaper offending the sensibilities of the Old Olivetti.

Readers might ask: What's so awful about charging for obituaries? The ProJo does it, so do other Jewish newspapers. To which I respond, the ProJo’s obituary section is not a community service and if other Jewish newspapers err, that's a reason not to follow their example. And Yom Kippur is exactly the wrong time of year to start imposing a fee, even a nominal one. ($45 is nominal to me, but it might not be to a poor person. One of the facts in dispute concerned whether the poor would have to pay; “no” was the official answer, but this did not appear in the announcement of the impending charge.)

And how does Yom Kippur heighten sensitivity? In traditional Jewish fashion I'll answer that question with questions of my own. Is Yom Kippur merely an exercise in self-restraint demonstrated by fasting? Is it merely a superficial show of ritual breast-beating remorse for sins? (Here's my confession: I didn't actually do any of those things I confessed to. I wouldn't even think of doing most of them. But, still, ritualistically I rose and recited; I beat my breast with the congregation around the world. Somebody had done those things. In case he was busy and couldn't make it to shul, I asked for him to be forgiven.)

On Yom Kippur we read from the book of Isaiah. To me that's the highlight of the day (that and the special tunes sung only in the penitential seasons, tunes that linger still in my mind as I drive to school, shop at the grocery, walk the dog, write this column).

“This is My chosen fast: to loosen all the bonds that bind men unfairly, to let the oppressed go free, to break every yoke. Share your bread with the hungry, take the homeless into your home. Clothe the naked when you see him, do not turn away from people in need...If you put yourself out for the hungry and relieve the wretched, then shall your light shine in the darkness and your gloom shall be as noonday.” It's thoughts like those that define a Jew as a Jew, that produce a Samuel Gompers, an Abe Cahan, an Andrew Goodman and a Michael Schwerner. Having been oppressed for centuries, Jews have always championed the little guy; charging his family to recognize his life and achievements is simply wrong.

As I sat in shul on Yom Kippur I did ask for forgiveness—Avenu Malkenu, Our Father our King, forgive us for even thinking of trying to balance our budget on the backs of our grieving Jews.