Yom Hashoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day)

by Melissa Jacobowitz

“I believe in the sun even when it is not shining.

I believe in love even when not feeling it.

I believe in God even when God is silent.”

--Poem found on the wall of a cellar in Cologne where Jews were hiding during the Holocaust.

There are ghosts in the room. I look around and see men and women in black, solemn suits, and people of all ages in freshly printed Save Darfur t-shirts. People hug, smile, and shake hands. They laugh at how crowded the synagogue is, and move down the pews to make room for more strangers, more friends.

The Rabbi begins, welcoming us to his house of prayer on this “somber and holy occasion.” His voice is just the right pitch for the theme -- sober and wise, but cracking. He calls up a Hazzan to sing, and the Cantor’s voice is so strong and resounding, it sounds like he’s screaming. His voice fills the room and I feel as if my whole body is going to be lifted up and carried by the taut, massive sound. It isn’t, and the congregation sits down again at the wave of the Rabbi’s hand.

A survivor’s son gets up to speak, and reminds my generation that “we are a group of people who are possessed by a history we have never lived.” He’s right. All I really remember of Hebrew School is the map of concentration camps marked out by red X’s on our wall and the Holocaust films we’d watch several times a year. If I think hard enough, I swear I can hear the bawling and shrieking of Auschwitz. If I try even harder, I might even be able to remember the aching hunger, and what it felt like to be part of that breathing heap of dry bones.

We stand again, watching 6 survivors as they light tall, white candles in memory of the 6 million. We sit, as a graying woman with a thick, German accent reads us beautiful and burning poetry written by Holocaust survivors. I recognize the name Elie Wiesel as if he is my own grandfather.

Another Rabbi stands at the pulpit to speak. She reminds us that Passover has just ended a week ago, and that every Jew is obligated to see him or herself as personally coming up and out of Egypt. She recites a new dictum that has made its way into modern Passover rituals, and the recognizable word “Germania” rings in my ears. She says that nowadays, we are also all obligated to see, feel, and live as if we ourselves were saved from the Nazis. We bow our heads and pray, in this warm, crowded synagogue in mostly peaceful southwestern Florida. I try to remember what it was like when I was saved from the Nazis, and scenes from Schindler’s List play before my eyes. Sometimes, I’m not sure if my grandpa is a Holocaust survivor and I picture him in dirty white and black striped clothes. Usually, I remember that he was born in America.

The service ends with Hatikvah, Israel’s national anthem. Everyone stands looking at the white and blue flag, crying out the Hebrew words they are so proud to know by heart. The flag is wrapped around its pole as if it’s hiding, shy. I wonder why I and everyone else are here as we pledge our allegiance to that far away land.

The service ends, and elderly men and women crowd into the aisles. How can I even imagine what I am supposed to know through and through? I look at the crowd and try to imagine them emaciated, crying in a corner. I pass by a small girl and try to picture her being taken from her mother, a gun barrel digging into her back. I look down at my arm and try to see the black numbers carved in, their edges bleeding. I feel nauseous, and I can’t tell if this is sick or constructive.

As I walk outside into the windy night, I know there are ghosts here. Sometimes, I just don’t know if I, too, am one of them.

Melissa Jacobowitz is currently a second-year at New College of Florida. She is concentrating in Russian Language and Literature and is also fascinated by Judaic Studies and Political Science. She loves fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry. Even more, she loves blending all three genres into one. She works as a Student Writing Assistant in New College's Writing Resource Center and serves on the Executive Cabinet of NCF's student government. Last January, Melissa traveled to Israel on a 10-day Birthright trip, where she became inspired to work out her experiences through writing.