It may seem incongruous to begin a discussion about the literature of the Shoah by raising theology or the practice of religion

as being germane to the subject. In general, in fact, most courses that seek to respond to the Shoah do so by assiduously avoiding mention of religion to concentrate on its historical and political aspects and yet, we know that the reason for 6 million murders was that the victims were Jews. It seems to me impossible to engage in any comprehensive discussion of the Shoah without also considering how faith might have informed both victims and survivors. One of the best-known survivors, of course, is Elie Wiesel, who wrote these words: Never Shall I Forget Elie Wiesel Never shall I forget that night, the first night in the camp which has turned my life into one long night, seven times cursed and seven times sealed. Theologians are not alone in knowing the significance of the number 7 in the Bible 7 days of creation, the 7th day blessed by God, a fallow year for fields every 7th year. Even Elie Wiesel, who freely admits that he lost his faith at Auschwitz, reiterates its importance. Wiesel goes on to say, Never shall I forget that smoke. Never shall I forget the little faces of the children whose bodies I saw turned into wreaths of smoke beneath a silent blue sky. Never shall I forget those flames which consumed my faith forever. Never shall I forget that nocturnal silence which deprived me for all eternity of the desire to live. Never shall I forget those moments which murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to dust.

Representations of the Holocaust University of Kings College Halifax, NS Bobbi Zahra bobbi@ns.sympatico.ca 18 November 2005

Perhaps most poignant are Wiesels last lines: Never shall I forget these things, even if I am condemned to live as long as God Himself. Never. Even when unbelief is asserted, it seems that it is not necessarily indisputable. Although literature is not theology, it frequently reflects what is authentic in human existence, as theologians argue that expressions of faith attempt to do. I believe that the literature of the Shoah invites a different kind of reader response and allows us to engage Hebrew scripture in a literary fashion. Primo Levi suggests that Holocaust literature might best be understood as stories of a new Bible, a clear recognition of its theological weight. Even as it was being created, then, Wiesel, Levi, and others, prolonged their arguments with God. What kind of knowledge do we acquire with the literature of the Shoah? What could we gain or what we might risk losing by engaging this work? Christians, no less than others, are inclined to pursue understanding of our own scripture and our own faith in works such as Chaim Kaplans Warsaw Ghetto Diary. In our attempt to understand these works, Christians must take care not to appropriate them to tell our own stories. If our daily lives are, indeed, imbued with religious expression, as theologians are inclined to believe, then the search for it in literature is not such a mystery. The further that we are willing to delve into the literature of the Shoah, and to consider it through its necessary theological lens, the more logical is Maurice Friedmans observation: It is the event itself (he writes) which again and again gives rise to religious meaning, and only out of that meaning, apprehended in our own history and the history of past generations that we have made present to ourselves, do religious symbols and theological interpretations arise. 1

The study of Holocaust literature through a theological lens demands first of all that we attend to the questions with which we must challenge any literature. Which authors should we

Friedman, Maurice. The Human Way: A Dialogical Approach to Religion and Human Experience, in Journal of the American Academy of Religion, Vol. 52, March 1983 (pp 67-77); p. 68
Representations of the Holocaust University of Kings College Halifax, NS Bobbi Zahra bobbi@ns.sympatico.ca 18 November 2005

study? How do we determine what it is that constitutes good literature and what is manipulative and exploitative? Has it any particular identifiable themes, styles, and genres? We must also investigate new questions: Is the only valid work about the Shoah created by survivors or in the writing that was preserved of those who died; or might there be real Holocaust literature written by people who were never there? From a theological perspective, two of the most important criteria to this study are these: Despite patterns of covenant, promise, and punishment in this literature, and some clear parallels to scripture, we should not expect to come to an understanding of the Shoah through scripture, nor of scripture through the Shoah, but only to hope for a more nuanced comprehension that recognises the weight of religion and theology. We must not begin with the idea of the religious tradition to which we individually adhere and seek literature to support what we believe we already know; rather, we should seek to find the place where religious tradition and literature meet, for here, we will see represented basic human attitudes that are well-reflected in both scripture and literature. It is unavoidable that individual accounts of the Shoah are highly emotional, and there is a definite challenge in acknowledging the moments of disconnect that most people feel when encountering this literature. Alvin Rosenfeld cautions that it is inherently almost too strong, and does not require any critical embellishments to accent its power, 2 yet does not suggest that readers hold ourselves aloof from our emotional responses. Much of the literature of the Shoah approaches the event from the perspective that God hid his face from humanity, as he did in the days of the prophets. Do we propose to bring this God to our study of the Shoah? Did God know and choose not to intervene, to save Jews? Was God, in fact, powerless to stop what was happening? If God is not beneficent, if God cannot intervene in history, then what is the point of faith? There is not one particular answer to these questions and they are, ultimately, theological concerns. What is important is that we ask the questions and that we are aware that from a theological perspective, there can
2

Rosenfeld, Alvin. A Double Dying Reflections on Holocaust Literature Indiana University Press, Bloomington, IN: p. 9
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Bobbi Zahra bobbi@ns.sympatico.ca

18 November 2005

be great risk in engaging the study. The fact that the answers we seek may be difficult and may even be unpalatable is not a basis from which to avoid the connection between theology and Holocaust literature. Christians must also grapple with the fact that the Shoah was rooted in and nurtured by Christian anti-semitism. Do we seek representations of Christian scripture here, a re-telling of our own part of the Judaeo-Christian story? Although we can certainly see the Hebrew Bible, I propose that from a religious or theological perspective, to 'see' Christian scripture there is once again arrogant and supersessionist (supersessionism refers to the long-taught dogma that everything in Hebrew scripture points to Christian scripture, where its prophecies were fulfilled, and in fact, that Christianity replaced and superseded Judaism. Thankfully, in more recent years, many Christian traditions have moved away from that view, in some instances, as with the Catholic Church, apologising for its error in teaching it). Truly, we are most likely to 'see' Christian scripture reflected in Holocaust literature only if we read work written by a Christian. Poet Jacob Glatsteins work may be recognizable to Christians as apocalyptic, familiar through Christian scripture in the Book of Revelation, but we must be careful not to relate Glatsteins work to Christian scripture in any way that suggests that Christian scripture represents the fulfillment of the prophets. If we hope to gain any theological insight from studying the literature of the Shoah, it seems more likely that there is an opportunity here to learn something about Jewish theology and tradition. The connection of the literature of the Shoah to religious expression is more overt in some work than in others, and while it is inaccurate even improbable to suggest that every poet of that era intended to re-write the psalms of Hebrew Scripture, it would be facile to dismiss the influence of the psalms evident in much of this work. The voice of the psalmist resonates through much Holocaust literature, and its place there is not accidental.

Representations of the Holocaust University of Kings College Halifax, NS Bobbi Zahra bobbi@ns.sympatico.ca 18 November 2005

As he imagined a world without Jews, a world in which Hitlers plans succeeded, poet Jacob Glatstein articulated clearly not only Jobs challenge to God but also a certain sense of sadness at what might happen should God fail to intervene: If we leave this world, the light will go out in your tent. Since Abraham knew you in a cloud, You have burned in every Jewish face and we can hear an echo of the Book of Exodus: The Lord went in front of them in a pillar of cloud by day, to lead them along the way. (13:21) There is much more to learn in Glatsteins work than the immediately recognized reference to the Shoah, more than the evident moral challenge a reader might discern when confronted with the fact of the Shoah. The wonder and challenge for a theologian in working with Glatsteins writing is that like Job, he has an intimate relationship with God. He accosts God and yet at the same time embraces, denounces, and even lashes the Divine. If we examine some of the work of Paul Celan, it seems clear that he intended his reader to be reminded of Scripture, in such work as Psalm, even apart from the very obvious association of its title. No one moulds us again out of earth and clay, no one conjures our dust. No one. Celan has taken pain to use words that recall the creation story. The speaker is frustrated with Gods behaviour and lack of action, and the poem is almost accusatory, particularly after one has read the second verse and realizes that Celans No One might well refer to God. Praised be your name, No one. For your sake we shall flower. Towards you.
Representations of the Holocaust University of Kings College Halifax, NS Bobbi Zahra bobbi@ns.sympatico.ca 18 November 2005

If this was his intent, then the first line of the poem speaks to belief: No One moulds us again out of earth and clay, / No One conjures our dust The Books of Job, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Lamentation all give us this same character, someone who wants to believe but who is frustrated. Biblical imagery of God as potter, and creation as clay, reverberates throughout the Hebrew Bible, known to Christians as the First, or Old, Testament. German poet and 1966 Nobel laureate in literature Nelly Sachs exemplifies a tradition in which it is theology that binds her works together. There is evident in her writing the influence of Orthodox Hasidic myth, some of which is obvious, such as the worldencompassing Baalshem vision of her Mystery Play. Depending on the lens through which we read poetry, there are tender footprints of Sachs own tradition and arguably others that do not loom quite so large. In fact, it is because Eli is rife with theological memory that I do not attend to it much in this exposition. Rather, we shall consider some of the less overt theology to be found here. In Chorus of the Rescued, Sachs wrote, All that binds us together now is leavetaking. From a theological perspective, this is particularly significant. Genesis 22:9 describes the binding of Isaac by Abraham, who was willing to sacrifice his only son to prove his faithfulness to God. (When they came to the place that God had shown him, Abraham built an altar there and laid the wood in order. He bound his son Isaac, and laid him on the altar on top of the wood. Then Abraham reached out his hand and took the knife to kill his son.) The importance of binding is reiterated in Deuteronomy, which introduces the Shema, an affirmation of Judaism and a declaration of faith in one God. In Chapter 6, verse 8, we read, Bind them as a sign on your hand and further, in Proverbs 6:21, Bind them upon your heart always These and other passages speak to the importance of binding in Jewish tradition, but Sachs poem takes this Biblical binding and turns it inside out; binding spoke of promise and covenant, but here, the promise is an abandonment not necessarily by God, but certainly before God.
Representations of the Holocaust University of Kings College Halifax, NS Bobbi Zahra bobbi@ns.sympatico.ca 18 November 2005

Before Europe flowered with concentration camps, Sachs is known to have had an interest in early Christian mysticism, and we might consider whether her mention in The glowing enigma II, of being in strange parts/protected by the 8 might have been influenced by the 8 beatitudes of Christian scripture. Sachs writes in the same verse, Pull over oneself/sleep the blanket of the seven sleepers, and while we know that the number 7 is significant to both Jews and Christians, it seems entirely possible that Sachs referred here to the 7 sleepers of Ephesus, heroes of a famous legend affirming the resurrection of the dead, that had a lasting popularity in all Christendom and in Islam during the Middle Ages. According to the story, during the persecution of Christians under the Roman emperor Decius (CE 250), seven Christian soldiers were concealed near their native city of Ephesus in a cave to which the entry was later sealed. There, having protected themselves from being forced to do pagan sacrifices, they fell into a miraculous sleep. During the reign of the Eastern Roman emperor Theodosius II some 2 centuries later, the cave was reopened, the Sleepers awoke to explain the profound meaning of their experience, and died, whereupon Theodosius ordered their remains to be enshrined. This myth is not a generally well-known part of the Christian story, but its appeal to someone who was interested in mysticism is obvious. Sachs, like other writers of her era, does not merely observe through a theological lens. She challenges, as well, and in Scene XI of the Mystery Play, she writes what is surely a somewhat altered Shema, saying, Hear O Israel. He our God, He the One The Shema, of course, begins, Hear, O Israel, The Lord, The Lord our God is one By the simple elimination of a verb is Sachs is very nearly accusatory in this passage in which she describes how the smoke of murdered Jews rises through the chimney. Is God the one who allowed this to happen? The writer provides no answers but raises provocative questions.

Representations of the Holocaust University of Kings College Halifax, NS Bobbi Zahra bobbi@ns.sympatico.ca 18 November 2005

Dan Pagis, too, alerts a reader to scriptural manifestations in much of his work. He writes of a different kind of creation in his poem Testimony, No, no: they definitely were human beings: uniforms, boots. How to explain? They were created in the image. I was a shade. A different creator made me. And he in his memory left nothing of me that would die. And I fled to him, rose weightless, blue, forgiving I would even say: apologizing - smoke to omnipotent smoke without image or likeness. In these few lines, Pagis illustrates the dilemma of Christian anti-Judaism: the people who wore the uniforms were evidently created in the right image, and the I was someone lesser, someone made by a different creator. Christianity has never argued that there are two Gods one for Jews, one for Christians and yet, Pagiss words tell us that this is precisely the effect of the theology that Christianity has promoted. From a Christian perspective, the expression of supersessionism in this simple poem is actually quite painful is that what 2 centuries of Christian supersessionism has taught Jews about Christianity? Zvi Kolitz, a Lithuanian Jew, who fled to Jerusalem early in the war years, wrote a piece called Yossel Rakover Talks to God, his contribution to a special Yom Kippur edition of a Yiddish newspaper, in which he sought to answer the fundamental question of belief despite all that was happening, was it possible to retain faith in a just God? Throughout the brief work, Kolitz attends to Gods covenant with Israel, and a reader familiar with the prophets and their arguments with God will recognize them here. Kolitz wrote: It is impossible to be released from being a Jew. That is our Godly attribute that
Representations of the Holocaust University of Kings College Halifax, NS Bobbi Zahra bobbi@ns.sympatico.ca 18 November 2005

has made us a chosen people. Those who do not understand this will never understand the higher meaning of our martyrdom. If I ever doubted that God once designated us as the chosen people, I would believe now that our tribulations have made us the chosen one.3

The diarist will believe in God and in the covenant, because to assert unbelief now would mean not only that the entire history of the Jewish people might be nullified but also that if God existed, then this was not a just God, but a murderous God who took the side of the tormentor. You are not, You cannot possibly be after all the God of those whose deeds are the most horrible expression of ungodliness! he wrote. 4 Like Job, the diarist challenges God and demands to know what sin could justify the punishment of the Shoah, but he goes further and demands to know whether the tormentors will be punished to the extent that their sin and their crime deserve. Kolitzs diarist is not blessed with a life renewed, as was Job, and yet could say, I die peacefully, but not complacently; persecuted, but not enslaved; embittered, but not cynical; a believer, but not a suppliant; a lover of God, but no blind amen-sayer of His. 5 Finally, much like Job, he says, these are my last words to You, my wrathful God: nothing will avail You in the least. You have done everything to make me renounce You, to make me lose my faith in You, but I die exactly as I have lived, a believer! 6 Kolitzs words might have found their birth in Job, Chapter 27: 2-6,
2

As surely as God lives, who has denied me justice, the Almighty, who has made me

taste bitterness of soul, 3 as long as I have life within me, the breath of God in my nostrils, 4 my lips will not speak wickedness, and my tongue will utter no deceit. 5 I will never admit you are in the right; till I die, I will not deny my integrity. 6 I will maintain my righteousness and never let go of it; my conscience will not reproach me as long as I live.
3 4

ibid; p. 396 ibid; p. 397 5 ibid; p. 399 6 ibid

Representations of the Holocaust University of Kings College Halifax, NS Bobbi Zahra bobbi@ns.sympatico.ca 18 November 2005

In an interesting juxtaposition of two traditions, the diarist exits with the Shema Shema Yisrael Adonai eloheinu Adonai ehad (Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One;), and a phrase certainly familiar to readers of the Christian Gospels, Into your hands, O Lord, I consign my soul. 7 The greatest similarity between scripture and Holocaust literature is that both seek to probe the depths of faith in the midst of suffering both seek not so much to make sense of suffering, or to understand it in some way, but rather, to find a way to make sense of a continued faith in the face of unending torment. Although the Jewish people were precious to God, still, Gods covenant assured punishment as much as continuity. Writers and poets know this; theologians do not ignore the connections; and those engaged in serious study of the Shoah should not ignore them. From a theological standpoint, studying the Shoah in all its representations allows us to refute Emil Fackenheims belief that the Shoahs very radicalism diminishes the likelihood of a response. the Jews of the Holocaust, except for a small remnant, are dead. 8 Undertaking this study in a serious and intentional manner may also offer some hope that Christians, with our supersessionist history, might work at tikkun, at repairing the world that we have helped to fracture. It is certain if we do not continue to study the Shoah in all its representations that we will repeat what many believe are arguably Christianitys and humanitys darkest years. For post-Holocaust generations, in a world in which there are fewer survivors every year, studying the literature of the Shoah is the only way remaining to us to bear witness, and the only way to honour diarist Chaim Kaplans final question, If my life ends, what will become of my diary? 9

ibid., p. 399 Fackenheim, Emil. Midrashic Existence After the Holocaust: Reflections Occasioned by the Work of Elie Wiesel, pp 99116 in Confronting the Holocaust (A. H. Rosenfeld & Irving Greenberg, Eds.). University of Indiana Press, Bloomington, IN: 1978. P. 100 9 Kaplan, Chaim. The Scroll of Agony: Warsaw Ghetto Diary. P. 400
8

Representations of the Holocaust University of Kings College Halifax, NS Bobbi Zahra bobbi@ns.sympatico.ca 18 November 2005