Editor’s Note: Tal Bahar will discuss her Reflector article on April 9. Community members are invited to the program. For details, see a graphic at the end of the article with a link to RSVP.
By Tal Bahar, Jewish Agency Israeli Emissary, At the Jewish Community Federation of Richmond
What was the first ghetto uprising?
Before you continue reading, please take your eyes off the page for a moment while choosing an answer.
Thank you. You may come back now!
If you haven’t studied Holocaust history or have never been asked about the first uprising, I would guess the answer that came to mind is “Warsaw Ghetto Uprising.”
It’s likely that when you hear the phrase “ghetto uprising,” you immediately think of the uncompromising heroism of the rebels from the Warsaw Ghetto.
But the correct answer is actually, the Krakow Ghetto Uprising. Why is the Jewish community of Krakow, with its vibrant history, not talked about the way the Jewish community of Warsaw is?
“Memory” is an interesting concept.
It reminds me of Hanna Senesh in another way. Senesh, the paratrooper, the heroine, the beloved, the admired. Many know her as the only female paratrooper from that period. But she was not the only one. Haviva Reik was also a paratrooper. Reik was also executed. But not many know the name Haviva Reik, and the name Hanna Senesh was chosen to be the synonym for heroism and patriotism of that period and even to this day.
This kind of memory shaping can even be found in the Bible, as it’s sometimes possible to identify from the writing’s style which tribe the author belonged to.
You know what, even more so, the story of Masada, where archaeology tells one story and the writings of Josephus Flavius tell another.
A story that went from a failed revolt to a foundational myth in the history of Zionism. Why? One important reason among many is the narrative that opinion makers and ideologists wish to create for culture, based on what is deemed correct for the memory image they want to construct.
In the case of many nations in Europe, for example, it might be the stunning nature, and in our case, the story must be compelling, courageous, powerful.
History writers back then, as well as contemporary historians, journalists, and storytellers, each hold different experiences, interests, and wear different glasses when observing reality and accordingly, in how they tell the story, as people are walking narratives.
That narrative will determine which lines will be highlighted in the history books of our people, what will become folklore, since, “history is written by the victors.”
And so, the Warsaw Ghetto took the “honorary seat” of heroism, while the Krakow Ghetto was placed in a seat slightly behind, or in the case of North Africa all the way in the back.
The question of memory is vast and fascinating—what and how we choose, or fail to choose, to remember and remind. How much influence each of us has, if at all.
Setting the date for Yom Hashoah in Israel sparked a debate in the Jewish community about the nature of the Holocaust in history.
According to the prevailing approach in the Zionist movement, which emphasized the ethos of the “Jewish fighter” and minimized the memory of “the Galut (exilic) Jew” of pre-state Israel, the date of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, which broke out on April 19, 1943, 14th of Nisan, and was the largest Jewish uprising against the Nazis, was proposed as the most suitable date for Holocaust and Heroism Memorial Day in Israel.
The narrative of heroism and strength, the Jewish warrior, remember? For years, the attitude toward Holocaust Survivors in Israel was that of passive victims, those who “went like sheep to the slaughter.”
Only in later decades did a national approach emerge that also recognized the heroism of the Jews of that time, whether or not they held weapons, whether they endured the horrors of war and survived or were coldly murdered simply for being Jewish, those who sanctified life and did everything possible to survive.
In any case, the Chief Rabbinate of Israel had difficulty accepting this proposal because, according to Jewish law, it is forbidden to recite a prayer of supplication, declare a public fast, or hold a eulogy in the month of Nisan, which is referred to as the “month of redemption.”
Therefore, the Chief Rabbinate decided that the Tenth of Tevet, one of the established days of mourning for the destruction of the Temple, would also serve as the “General Kaddish Day” to remember the victims of the Holocaust.
Despite the decision of the Chief Rabbinate before the establishment of the State of Israel, in 1951, the proposal of MK Mordechai Nurock was accepted to set Holocaust Memorial Day on the 27th of Nisan, six days after the conclusion of Passover and a week before Memorial Day for fallen soldiers of the IDF.
The 27th of Nisan served as “Heroism Memorial Day” in the Jewish community in the Land of Israel even before World War II, to commemorate the fallen of terror and battles in Israel, with its date being set on the Hebrew date of the outbreak of the Great Arab Revolt, the 27th of Nisan 1936 (April 19, 1936).
Since this date was already established as a well-known and accepted day of remembrance within the community, and due to the decision that the date of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising was not appropriate for such a memorial day, the choice was made to be the 27th of Nisan.
This period of time, between the eve of Passover and Yom Ha’atzmaut, which includes Yom HaShoah and Yom HaZikaron, has become a symbol of Israeli and Jewish identity. Part of our DNA. Part of our memory. These events span thousands of years on the timeline of our nation.
And now, a very short story.
About five years ago, my siblings and I wanted to watch a movie together at night. We searched for a movie suitable for the three of us (back then ages 7, 15, 19).
The options in front of us on Netflix ranged from “The Queen’s Corgi” to romantic comedies with age restrictions, which immediately fell out of the running.
We couldn’t decide. And suddenly, in the spirit of the days leading up to Passover, “The Prince of Egypt” came to me.
My siblings, who thought this was such a boring movie, were convinced after my long explanation about its importance (or maybe they were just too tired to argue with me).
The three of us sat on inflatable mattresses we placed in the living room, watched The Prince of Egypt, and tears began to flow from my eyes.
That night, it was the first time I felt pain for the lives of our Israelites ancestors in Egypt. Not from reading the Haggadah every year of my life, not from the times I listened and read contemporary things interpreting the horrific 210-430 years of slavery (depending on where you read and who you ask), but rather from watching an animated children’s movie.
The bitter truth is that even that night, the great pain I felt was not really so great compared to the terrible tragedy that took place then.
A tragedy that is beyond human comprehension, a tragedy far greater than the years of slavery, but really an attempt to annihilate our people, which has been fused with the stories of the Exodus itself and the entry into the Land of Israel, and therefore its end is engraved in our minds as good and positive.
As many do, I often wondered about the relative and inevitable cliched question: will the memory of the Holocaust turn into the memory of the Exodus from Egypt in the future?
The mitzvah “And you shall tell your son on that day,” another exciting reason for a family gathering, a delicious and elaborate meal, and as I learned here from you, my American friends: “they try to destroy us, we persevered, we eat.”
Although, the terrible Holocaust occurred in modern times, and thankfully, there is a wealth of materials that make denial (almost) impossible. There are videos, and photos, and now there are still Survivors testifying to their encounter with the devil on Earth, but what will happen when these testimonies are generations away?
In high school, I was exposed to a text by Joseph Bau and Nathan Gross from the Krakow ghetto. After the war, they recreated the “parody” they wrote about the Passover Haggadah in October 1942.
The text was published over the years. Aside from the fact that the conceptual text is fascinating, it became an inseparable part of the discourse on the atrocities for me.
And therefore, over the years, every time we approach the period between Passover and Holocaust Remembrance Day in Israel, I “entertain” myself with the thought of whether, in 300 years or more, it will be the Haggadah we read for the story of the Exodus from Europe?
And here are selected parts of it, not hard to recognize references from the Passover Haggadah:
“A tale of Rabbi Yehoshua
It is told about Rabbi Yehoshua, Rabbi Elazar, Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Tarfon, who sat for so long uncomfortably closed in a bunker, obstinately silent and praying quietly, until their disciples came from Bnei Brak and said:
Gentlemen, the promotions are already over.”
“Ha Lechma Ania
Here is the bread of the ration cards, which our ancestors ate in the ghetto. He who is hungry should come in and taste, and will lose his appetite.
Whoever needs it should go to a neighbor, who has police acquaintances and he brings a lot of goods to the ghetto.
This year we are still slaves – next year we will be free.
This year in the ghetto – next year in the next world.”
“We were slaves
We were slaves to Hitler in the ghetto, and a ghetto policeman took us out of there with a strong hand and a threatening fist and put us in a car. And if he didn’t take us out, we would have perished as well, and our children and our grandchildren would never have been born.”
In the past, we were sure that Never Again was a global agreement. A written contract, as well as an unwritten one. But today, especially in light of the current reality, many new questions arise.
I hated and still hate the question: can the Holocaust happen again? But today, I don’t blame those who ask it.
On October 7th, we learned that the existential threat has not passed over our heads, and it will likely never pass.
Like memory, trauma is also in our DNA— but hatred is in the DNA of our enemies. It has taken many forms over the years: slavery and the throwing of every male child into the Nile, Amalek, exiles from all corners of the earth, a million Jews slaughtered by the Romans, the Crusades, blood libels and antisemitism, swastikas and crematoriums, screams of hate in Arabic abusing the name of Allah that signify attacks, murder, disaster, kidnapping, and hate, along with deep ignorance, and so on.
It’s so confusing, because on the one hand, our memory is long, even when it seems the world suffers from short-term memory.
We strive to take on the task of remembering and spreading the word, not only on the self-evident “days of tears,” On the other hand, when the good exists, the vail sometimes disappears.
Perhaps it’s some kind of self-defense mechanism, preferring to eat good food, search for the afikoman, and feel that in doing so, each generation sees itself as if it had come out of Egypt, preferring to fly the Air Force planes over Hassan Nasrallah’s funeral and ignoring the fact that hundreds, if not thousands, came to escort this wicked man, one of the Haman figures of our time, on his final journey.
And maybe all this actually lives together.
I invite you, once again, to meet with me on April 9, 7-9 p.m., at the Federation Office, for another Tal’s Take, which you I’m sure, as last time, will make fascinating. Together, we will read the humorous Haggadah by Joseph Bau and Nathan Gross, discuss the space between Passover night and Holocaust Remembrance Day, and ask about the concept of memory. Looking forward to continuing the conversation with you all!
To RSVP, visit – www.jewishrichmond.org/calendar/jcfr-tals-takeapril
