Some Notes on the Historical Baggage of German-Israeli Relations: Exclusions in Mainstream Discourse / Yariv Lapid
by Yariv Lapid
During the second half of the 90′s, the youth exchange programs between
These figures exemplify the extent to which both states were, and are invested in the relationship they have developed with each other. Simply and bluntly put, this, as we all know, is,because of the Holocaust. Both states, for different reasons, have an interest in the relationship.
But at closer look, things get a bit perplexing. If one went to the homepage of the Israeli youth exchange council during those years, one would have found close to no mention of the predominance of the German – Israeli relations. Looking into the programs of the exchange groups, one would find a sightseeing program, not much different to a program offered to pilgrims arriving from, let’s say,
Speaking to the youth about their experiences, I discovered that any mention of the past occurred solely through private initiative, when a Jewish parent or grandparent of the hosting family addressed the issue over the dinner table. Relating to the Holocaust within the group, that is outside of the private sphere, would occur when the Israelis wanted to have a ceremony at a memorial site during their visit in
These discussions were – generally speaking – not initiated by the organizers, who were often overwhelmed by the situation. Asking those responsible for the activities on the Israeli side, why they do not address the past in the formal program, I received no decipherable replies.
The case exemplified through the youth exchange is that of an unsustainable tension between the relationship and the contents at its core -the tension between the serenity of cheerful youth on the one hand and the devastating images of naked people minutes before their murder on the other. The relationship cannot contain the images of brutality and mass murder. Where do these images go? Do they evolve into something else? What and where is their place? I leave these questions open for now, and I am not certain if I have an answer.
The last decades have seen a developing research into memory and trauma. It has shown that events of any kind do not get registered in memory precisely as they occurred; sensorial as well as individual consciousness create an individually unique filter. Moreover, the registration of traumatic events within consciousness is partial, fragmentary, and sometimes nonexistent. This does not say that everything traumatic is forgotten – by no means. It goes to say that as memory in general is fragmentary, the containment of traumatic events is much more so.
In my interaction with Holocaust survivors, I have often heard from them, that they have not spoken about what had happened to them for decades. The fact is, that a large segment of the survivors have not spoken of what had happened to them. Very rough estimations in “Amcha” speak of half of those who have not spoken. A friend of mine, a caring and sensitive social worker and son of a Czech Jew who survived the Holocaust, has described to me his attempts to persuade his father to tell him what had happened to him. He said that whenever the subject is raised, his father gets up and leaves the room. Interestingly, speaking to Germans of the second generation, I have heard similar depictions, describing frustrated attempts to hear from their parents about what had happened. This is the fact in other cases of trauma, such as rape. The learned assumption is that most rape cases are never reported.
The registration in memory, as well as the form of registration (what is remembered, and how the events are organized) are strongly related to the nature of the traumatic events. A possible notion is that the choice to speak out or not does not only have to do with the personality of the victim and the present context, but also with the nature of the traumatic event.
On the assumption, then, that it is very difficult for the survivor of a traumatic event to register and integrate his experiences in his consciousness; that on top of that it is very difficult to relay these experiences to others; and that it is very difficult to communicate the events within one’s own society, how exactly do we expect Jews and Germans to be able to communicate authentically? Is a normative and authentic relationship honestly conceivable, when at its base there exists a traumatic event of such proportions?
My second case is not to say, that a relationship between
We, the Israelis, have built this nation on the idea of the “New Jew”, who is the total negation of the Diaspora “Old Jew”. Little known outside of
There has been, to the best of my knowledge, much too little research on the consequences of being a German in post-Nazi world. The idea of a negative creation myth, that is, the idea that instead of the normal course of positive identity building a negative “big bang” is the moment of identity building, is to my knowledge far from being fully developed. The Germans among you may have heard of Harald Welzer’s (together with Sabine Moller and Karoline Tschuggnall) book, first published 2002, titled “Opa war kein Nazi” (Grandpa was no Nazi). Welzer, a social psychology professor at the
Another exceptional example is Malte Ludin and Iva Svakova’s film, “2 or 3 things I know about him…”. Malte Ludin, born in 1943, is the youngest son of the Nazi envoy to
In both
The case I am making here is to advocate the emotional impossibility of facing the traumatic imagery; it is to bring to our consciousness the destructive power of the exposure to the utter negation which NS routine presents. If we acknowledge this much, we can move on to ask ourselves, how difficult it must be to tell the story of NS and Holocaust in the context of a mutual relationship and reciprocity between the perpetrating entity and its victims. If it is so difficult to tell the story within our own German or Israeli society separately, how difficult must it be when we try to tell the story together? We need to acknowledge this difficulty, and search for tools which will support us in telling the story of that difficult past more honestly.Some Notes on the Historical Baggage of German-Israeli Relations:
Exclusions in Mainstream Discourse
During the second half of the 90′s, the youth exchange programs between Israel and Germany reached a peak, until the Intifada, beginning in 2000, changed the situation. During those years, some 360 groups from Israel and Germany visited each other per year. In comparison, the exchange between Israel and other countries was of no significance. One could say that the international youth exchange with Israel was an 80-90% German – Israeli exchange. During that time, the number of Germans spending time in Israel in the framework of voluntary services of different sorts was ca. 2000.
These figures exemplify the extent to which both states were, and are invested in the relationship they have developed with each other. Simply and bluntly put, this, as we all know, is,because of the Holocaust. Both states, for different reasons, have an interest in the relationship.
But at closer look, things get a bit perplexing. If one went to the homepage of the Israeli youth exchange council during those years, one would have found close to no mention of the predominance of the German – Israeli relations. Looking into the programs of the exchange groups, one would find a sightseeing program, not much different to a program offered to pilgrims arriving from, let’s say, New Zealand.
Speaking to the youth about their experiences, I discovered that any mention of the past occurred solely through private initiative, when a Jewish parent or grandparent of the hosting family addressed the issue over the dinner table. Relating to the Holocaust within the group, that is outside of the private sphere, would occur when the Israelis wanted to have a ceremony at a memorial site during their visit in Germany. In such cases, heated discussions among the Israelis and often with their German hosts suddenly developed. Can we Jews (synonym in this case for victims) commemorate together with Germans (synonym in this case for perpetrators)?
These discussions were – generally speaking – not initiated by the organizers, who were often overwhelmed by the situation. Asking those responsible for the activities on the Israeli side, why they do not address the past in the formal program, I received no decipherable replies.
The case exemplified through the youth exchange is that of an unsustainable tension between the relationship and the contents at its core -the tension between the serenity of cheerful youth on the one hand and the devastating images of naked people minutes before their murder on the other. The relationship cannot contain the images of brutality and mass murder. Where do these images go? Do they evolve into something else? What and where is their place? I leave these questions open for now, and I am not certain if I have an answer.
The last decades have seen a developing research into memory and trauma. It has shown that events of any kind do not get registered in memory precisely as they occurred; sensorial as well as individual consciousness create an individually unique filter. Moreover, the registration of traumatic events within consciousness is partial, fragmentary, and sometimes nonexistent. This does not say that everything traumatic is forgotten – by no means. It goes to say that as memory in general is fragmentary, the containment of traumatic events is much more so.
In my interaction with Holocaust survivors, I have often heard from them, that they have not spoken about what had happened to them for decades. The fact is, that a large segment of the survivors have not spoken of what had happened to them. Very rough estimations in “Amcha” speak of half of those who have not spoken. A friend of mine, a caring and sensitive social worker and son of a Czech Jew who survived the Holocaust, has described to me his attempts to persuade his father to tell him what had happened to him. He said that whenever the subject is raised, his father gets up and leaves the room. Interestingly, speaking to Germans of the second generation, I have heard similar depictions, describing frustrated attempts to hear from their parents about what had happened. This is the fact in other cases of trauma, such as rape. The learned assumption is that most rape cases are never reported.
The registration in memory, as well as the form of registration (what is remembered, and how the events are organized) are strongly related to the nature of the traumatic events. A possible notion is that the choice to speak out or not does not only have to do with the personality of the victim and the present context, but also with the nature of the traumatic event.
On the assumption, then, that it is very difficult for the survivor of a traumatic event to register and integrate his experiences in his consciousness; that on top of that it is very difficult to relay these experiences to others; and that it is very difficult to communicate the events within one’s own society, how exactly do we expect Jews and Germans to be able to communicate authentically? Is a normative and authentic relationship honestly conceivable, when at its base there exists a traumatic event of such proportions?
My second case is not to say, that a relationship between Israel and Germany should be ruled out. It is rather to say, that both societies have chosen to suppress the overwhelming emotions which are at the core of their relations; that the self evidence of this relationship is extremely misleading. In order to create a feeling of a self evident normalcy, both societies choose to exclude fragments of the puzzle, which will throw their narratives into disarray.
We, the Israelis, have built this nation on the idea of the “New Jew”, who is the total negation of the Diaspora “Old Jew”. Little known outside of Israel are the poems of Israel’s national poet, Haim Nachman Bialik. To the best of my knowledge, his work has never been translated into German (if so, then only lately). In his probably best-known poem, compulsory material at my school time, “The City of Slaughter”, he describes the behavior of these typical diasporic Jews in a Pogrom. The men search for hiding places, from which they watch their wives and daughters getting raped. After the deed is done, they do not run first to aid their ailing wives, but rather run to the synagogue, seeking out the Rabbi, to ask him if their wives are kosher. The “New Jew” had to be the opposite of all that, connected directly to the biblical heroes such as Joshua and David. In order to create this, the diasporic ancestry had to be firmly packaged and narrated, so as not to threaten the new creation. Probing about in the details of the traumatic event was much too threatening, and could create disarray. How can you create heroes if you expose them to the immensity of helplessness? The evolving Zionist discourse had to create a coherent story, leading to the creation of heroic Israelis, in the course of which parts of the story needed to be left out. The pre-Holocaust narrative remained basically unchanged. The Warsaw ghetto uprising became the model for the Zionist youth, and the complicated history was molded into a structured, meaningful narrative.
There has been, to the best of my knowledge, much too little research on the consequences of being a German in post-Nazi world. The idea of a negative creation myth, that is, the idea that instead of the normal course of positive identity building a negative “big bang” is the moment of identity building, is to my knowledge far from being fully developed. The Germans among you may have heard of Harald Welzer’s (together with Sabine Moller and Karoline Tschuggnall) book, first published 2002, titled “Opa war kein Nazi” (Grandpa was no Nazi). Welzer, a social psychology professor at the University of Essen, interviewed some 40 families, in over 200 interviews, to see what he called the tradition of the NS in German families. That is, what does the second and third generation conceive as their families’ involvement in NS. His bottom line is, that the third generation turn their grandparents into “Righteous among the Nations”, that is, underground heroes fighting the evil Hitler and saviors of Jews. He stresses, that in several cases the grandparents actually participated in murder, and still the fixed image held by their grandchildren was in total contrast to historical truth.
Another exceptional example is Malte Ludin and Iva Svakova’s film, “2 or 3 things I know about him…”. Malte Ludin, born in 1943, is the youngest son of the Nazi envoy to Slovakia. His father was convicted for war crimes in Slovakia after the war and executed. His film creates two parallel narratives, exposing the discrepancies and so the exclusions perfectly. The one narrative is exposed through interviews and discussions with his siblings and their children. The other narrative is exposed through the historical facts about his father’s actions. His family denies that the father had any knowledge of the Nazi war crimes, and at some instances goes as far as to depict the father as active in the underground. The parallel narrative shows Malte’s search through the archives, exposing the self-evident. As the highest ranking Nazi envoy in Slovakia his father was directly involved in implementing the Nazi murderous policy.
In both Israel and Germany, society tells itself a story, which filters out facts and distorts the complex events. This of course takes place in any creation of a narrative. A story, in order to create coherence, always filters relevant information, supporting its thrust. But let us not forget, again, that we are dealing here with a story which is very hard to hear Can one really listen to the immensity of day-in day-out years of brutal murder? Can one really encompass the depth of helplessness, humiliation, eradication and futility of human lives? The need to have it all mean something, to organize it into a preconceived plot seemed to make more sense
The case I am making here is to advocate the emotional impossibility of facing the traumatic imagery; it is to bring to our consciousness the destructive power of the exposure to the utter negation which NS routine presents. If we acknowledge this much, we can move on to ask ourselves, how difficult it must be to tell the story of NS and Holocaust in the context of a mutual relationship and reciprocity between the perpetrating entity and its victims. If it is so difficult to tell the story within our own German or Israeli society separately, how difficult must it be when we try to tell the story together? We need to acknowledge this difficulty, and search for tools which will support us in telling the story of that difficult past more honestly.
