Emanuela's Blog

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  • Arc de Triomphe: Israel and the Holocaust Trauma

    This article was published in ReformJudaism.org

    The Arc de Triomphe, the grand monument at the heart of Paris, was build to celebrate victory. It honors those who fought and died for France in the French Revolution and in the Napoleonic Wars, but their memory is part of a happy moment of enjoying their achievements, a symbol of their victory.The many tourists that come to see the Arc every day are reminded that in spite of the many sacrifices, France won.

    The drive to celebrate a triumph in an act or gesture which has no practical aim other than demonstrating the joy of winning is part of our culture. It can be a collective act, like building a monument or throwing a grand ball, or it can be a personal expression, or decision. The Romans had Songs of Victory; in the Middle Ages rulers sometime celebrated a triumph with a popular fair. Military parades often follow a victory—in 1945 the Allied soldiers marched in the streets of Berlin in a victory parade. 

    As a child, I often wondered why my father smoked. When I asked him what had made him take the first cigarette he replied: when I heard that Nazi Germany had surrendered I felt a need to do something that would demonstrate that the constant oppressive strain of the war was over, so I lit a cigarette. Though unfortunately it was the source of an unhealthy habit, I could always imagine this moment of utter relaxation—the war is over, Germany was defeated, now is a time to smoke a cigarette.

    The need to celebrate the victory over the Nazis still exists in contemporary Israel. Various delegations travel to concentration camps, walking with flags of Israel and conducting ceremonies in memory of Holocaust victims. High schools, universities, the Israeli army – they all send hundreds of young men and women to Poland, mainly to Auschwitz.

     I always feel some resentment at this demonstratively triumphant walk in the concentration camps. I certainly understand its motivation; growing up in a Zionist home, I was often told by my parents that our true victory over the Nazis is the very existence of the Jewish state. But walking with Israeli flags next to the gas chambers seems to me unfitting.

    There are some instances in which speaking of victory is simply impossible, it is a categorical mistake. Any referral to the Holocaust in terms of a triumph is, in my opinion, completely erroneous. Victory is applicable to a struggle between two forces that even if not equal, are at least comparable. First there is a confrontation, then one side wins. The Allies defeated Germany in World War II. But in the case of the industrialized genocide of the Jewish people, men, women, and children were simply led to their death, with only a remote possibility of escaping the gas chambers. Thus, there is no room for a spiritual “Arc de Triomphe” in the concentration camps; it should evoke contemplation, and perhaps also tears.

    And also, if the triumph over the Nazis is to be celebrated, why there? Why in the concentration camps? If the true victory is the state of Israel, there is no point in celebrating it in Auschwitz. It is not a cemetery; the victims were not buried respectfully but murdered and cremated. If the collective memory is the purpose, the Yad Vashem museum in Jerusalem has an impressive collection of artifacts and documentation of the Holocaust. And as for education, one doesn’t have to travel around the globe to learn about historical events.

    After many deliberations on this matter, I believe that my resentment springs from a sense that the very need to come to Auschwitz reveals the depth of the trauma the Holocaust has created, even in young people, whose grandparents were possibly its victims Those ceremonies and flags seem to me more like an exposure of weakness than like a resounding victory. They are driven by a desire to prove to others, even if they are not physically present, that we prevailed.

    Youngsters and also adults often write about their experience in the concentration camps. They describe themselves clinging to each other, shivering as they see the horrors of the industry of death. Frankly, what each and every one of them is thinking is: what would have happened if I had been here? Would I have behaved differently? Would I have revolted? Would I have tried to escape? Would I have attempted to save my parents and siblings? Would I have died, like everyone else?

    It is here that a true victory is needed; and no ceremony in Auschwitz will grant it. This battle is an extremely difficult one. As the great English poet William Blake wrote: “Father, Oh Father, what do we here/ In this land of unbelief and fear?”

  • Female Body Image: The Mona Lisa

    Female Body Image: The Mona Lisa

    Many many years ago, I happened to be invited to the home of a huge cosmetic brand owner. We were sitting in his lovely dining room, and as a pleasant conversation flowed, he was asked what his fundamental marketing strategy was. It is very simple, he replied immediately without any hesitation, any product that we sell must convey the notion that the woman is not only purchasing a foundation, a lipstick, a mascara, but she is getting “a whole new you”. Sales would drop drastically, he explained, if women were interested only in the products themselves. They must be persuaded that the use of a new product will create a transformation; their older self, with all its flaws and blemishes, will be gone, and a new, better woman will emerge.

    This observation, articulated in a dispassionate and impartial tone, reveals an unbelievably simple truth: women are motivated by a profound need to cease to be who they are and to become someone else. One could described it, in terms of female body image, as a seed of self-hatred; I tend to think of it as self-rejection, or self-negation. The striving to be another person is so powerful that it nourishes huge industries.

    Of course, feminine embellishment in itself is not new. It is documented since the dawn of humanity, in all cultures, regardless of their time and place. But the modern age has altered its nature, as it has done with so many of our desires. The hunger to go beyond the limits, to reach a new pinnacle, has been the source not only of endless achievements, but also, unfortunately, of a deformed self-perception. If one is to constantly try and ameliorate oneself, then perhaps his or her self is faulty and poor. This is the psychological mechanism, not the rational analysis, and it is true for both character and appearance. And since women were traditionally more prone to invest in their exterior aspect, they were more affected by the constant drive to both find faults and correct them.

    Think, for example, of the Mona Lisa, created in the beginning of the sixteenth century. Let us ignore the many theories of her enigmatic expression and smile, and look at her simply as a woman modeling for an artist. Facing Leonardo Da Vinci, her countenance doesn’t reveal self-criticism but rather self-acceptance; and though she is modeling, her body seems relaxed, at most she is sitting erect. One could hardly imagine her trying to be anyone but herself. Could we imagine a contemporary model sitting like that in front of a camera, self-absorbed, perhaps indifferent to how she would look in the picture? Nowadays models always pose, either in a subtle manner or vulgarly, without concealing the attempt to please the spectator.

    The drive to look better, to fix flaws, to cover blemishes — with the profound dissatisfaction associated with it — is overpowering. Somehow, awareness of its destructive nature doesn’t abolish it. To escape it, people sometimes seek refuge in other cultures lacking this constant drive, which is both compelling and oppressive.

    Last summer I traveled for the first time to India. I spent the first day in Mumbai, touring the city with a friend. The first hours were overwhelming; a crowd huddling in muddy alleys on its way to a temple, children and elderly exhibiting their deformities as though they were treasures, foulness which is a pillow to rest one’s head on and fall asleep, starved dogs, and high society people dining at the fancy Taj Mahal Hotel. But in spite of the exhausting attempt to absorb it all, I immediately observed how Indian women walk gracefully in their traditional cloths, soft, colorful fabrics wrapped around their torsos, following the contour of the female body without forcing it into rigid forms. Rich or poor, full-figured or thin, young or old, they seemed at peace with themselves, so utterly remote from the Western inclination to constantly compare oneself to others, to try to be “a whole new you”. When I was leaving the Taj Mahal Hotel an elderly woman holding a basket of flowers approached me, her entire body covered yet her round belly bare, and she asked me in a soft voice: “Madam want flower?”

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