One night, my family and I were watching Fiddler on the Roof, one of my favorite musicals, and it occurred to me that even though I had grown up in a Jewish home in New York City, my family never discussed the persecution of the Jewish people: not the pogroms, not the Holocaust, not Israel, not the reason my stepfather’s relatives came to the U.S. So I did what one does—I looked it up on the Internet.
Surprisingly, I found very little on the Russian pogroms that inspired Sholem Aleichem to write the stories upon which Fiddler was based, but I did find a documentary on the three-year period between the end of the Holocaust and the founding of the modern state of Israel. I had never connected the two, and I was fascinated by the human stories behind this seldom-discussed era. The fact that survivors, after losing everyone they loved, made the seemingly illogical decision to get married and bring new children into the world—this seemed to me the absolute bravest act I had ever heard of. At the core of what it means to be human is the ability to choose not just to survive, not just to hope, but to love. A fire rose up in me to tell this story.
It started as a short story for my book project, accompanied by some blocky linoleum prints, just to experiment. But the printmaking process proved too stressful on my injured arm, so I tried ink wash, which has no physical resistance. I really connected to it; with this technique, I could better convey the delicacy of a love story, and it had a kind of newspapery feel to it. I started to take advantage of this to propel the story. We have all seen the newsreels and photographs of the horrors of the Shoah. Using a similar archival look, but with metaphorical, poetic imagery, allowed me to appeal to the heart—not just the mind—of the viewer.
“Under Roots.” First version in linoleum print (left); final version in ink (right).
My filmmaker husband and I were watching a lot of “slow cinema” at the time, directors like Tarkovsky and Tarr and Bergman, who reduced the speed of their shots and allowed them to rest in careful compositions that were like paintings. These black-and-white films, with their high contrast, were a huge inspiration to me. I had always worked in very bright colors, but working in black and white helped me to focus on the most important elements of the paintings—emotion, light, and silhouette—without getting caught up in color decisions. It completely changed the way I approached my work, and was a lot less strenuous on my injury, to boot. At this point, the writing had quickly evolved from an experimental short story to a full-fledged novel and was now my obsession. I was grateful to be in New York, where I had access to great libraries and museums. I could hold the archived papers of survivors, read their stories firsthand, and even spend time with some who had lived it.
Laying down many layers of ink for the roots in “Planting Hands.”
It became apparent that I needed to visit the places I had written about, and on my spring break, my friend Noelle and I rented a car and drove through three countries in five days. We started in Germany, where I was born, and traced Gerta’s journey: Würzburg, Bergen-Belsen, Terezín (Theresienstadt), and Auschwitz. I don’t have a lot of words to describe the experience. My friend and I simply tried to walk alongside my characters as much as we could. It felt like our arms were full of souls, and all we could do was hold them, and remember.
In Auschwitz, by one of the ruined crematoria, we came upon a Jewish youth group from England who were conducting a memorial service. In a wheelchair was a survivor whose entire family had been murdered in the very building in front of us. The rabbi invited anyone with relatives who had been killed in the Shoah to come up and give their relatives’ names. Most of the teenagers there rose to give a name, or several. These were recited loudly, with reverence. As I sang with them, I felt that whatever twists and turns my own journey had taken, it had been entrusted to me to bear witness in the way that I was equipped to do. I couldn’t do much, but I could write; I could draw. And I could invite others to remember with me.
Train tracks and crematorium in Terezín (left). The poplars reminded me of the trees I had been painting (right).
The talents I’d put so much stock in when I was younger didn’t have the same weight anymore, not for me personally; they became tools. My identity ceased to have much to do with abilities or labels. As Gerta’s character revealed herself, I became conscious of the ways in which each of us, myself included, is faced with an ever-unfolding series of quandaries about our identity—the theft of it; the shedding of it; the adoption of temporary ones; the resurrection of ourselves in new forms. When we emerge from the realization that there never was a script, does it upend us completely, or present new opportunities for growth? Can we become larger than ourselves? As Hélène suggests to Gerta, there is an essence of who we are that runs deeper than what we do or what we imagine ourselves to be.
Walking the direct path from train platform to crematorium in Auschwitz, taken by countless mothers and children.
When all is stripped away, who am I? When this question comes to you, which it did for survivors like Gerta, which it will for each one of us, it shows the foundation upon which you’ve chosen to build, your concept of who you are in the world. Even if our abilities are diminished or removed from us, there are deeper gifts we can give. We can love others with our very selves.
PRONUNCIATIONS
Gerta Rausch (GARE-tuh roush)
Lev Goldszmit (lev GOLD-shmit)
Maria Büchner (ma-REE-uh BOOSH-nur)
Klemens Rausch (KLEH-munz roush)
Rivkah Gottlieb (RIV-kuh GOT-leeb)
Michah Gottlieb (MEE-khah GOT-leeb)
Hélène (ay-LEHN)
Würzburg (VEERTZ-burg)
Köln (koaln)
Kielce (KYELL-tzuh)
Nahariya (na-ha-REE-uh)
TERMS USED IN THIS BOOK
À bientôt (French): “See you later.”
Ahnenpass (German): “Ancestor passport.” An official document in Nazi Germany showing Aryan lineage.
Arbeit macht frei (German): “Work makes you free.” An example of Nazi manipulation of language. This slogan hung over the entrances to several concentration camps in order to deceive prisoners into thinking that they were entering labor, rather than death, camps, or that they could earn back their freedom through work.
Aufwachen (German): “Wake up.”
Baruch Hashem (Hebrew): “Bless the name [of God].”
concentration camp: A facility, most notably during World War II, in which large numbers of prisoners are “concentrated” into a small area in order to be controlled. There were approximately 40,000 concentration camps in the territories occupied by Germany during the war. Some were “death camps,” which were specifically used to exterminate prisoners. Most were forced labor or transit camps. Auschwitz was a three-camp complex with forced labor and extermination components, while Bergen-Belsen was originally intended as a holding or transit camp; however, when the Nazis evacuated other camps at the end of the war, they often used Bergen-Belsen as a destination for their prisoners.
displaced persons camp: Known today as a refugee camp, it’s a place for those displaced by war to await resettlement. Bergen-Belsen concentration camp was transitioned into a displaced persons camp (using the SS military barracks nearby), and was the largest DP camp in Germany after the war. It remained open until 1950.
dramatischer Koloratursopran (German): “Dramatic coloratura soprano.” A term describing vocal range and quality in the German Fach system of operatic classification. Singers in this category have rich, full-bodied voices with great acrobatic ability.
Eretz Yisrael (Hebrew): “Land of Israel.” A term used to describe the biblical territory of Israel.
Goldszmit: Henryk Goldszmit was the actual name of Polish-Jewish pediatrician Janusz Korczak, who refused to leave the almost two hundred orphans in his care, and went with them to their deaths in Treblinka.
Haganah (Hebrew): “The Defense.” A paramilitary group in pre-state Israel. Part of their activities included smuggling refugees out of Europe to Pales
tine in a time of severely restrictive British policies.
“HaTikvah” (Hebrew): “The Hope.” Now the Israeli national anthem, its lyrics are adapted from a poem from the late 1800s that speaks of the hope of return to Israel.
Kaddish (Aramaic): “Holy.” A hymn of praise to God, used in Jewish liturgy. Specifically, the Mourner’s Kaddish, said for the deceased. The prayer makes no mention of death; rather, it extols God’s attributes, signifying that even in death, God is still deserving of praise.
Kapo (German): A fellow concentration camp prisoner, often chosen from the criminal element, given privileges in exchange for policing the other prisoners under his or her charge.
kibbutz (Hebrew): “Gathering.” A collective community, usually agricultural, in Israel.
Liebchen/Liebling (German): A term of endearment meaning “little love.”
maestra (Italian): The female form of “maestro”—“master.” “Maestro” would be used to address a conductor or musician of great renown.
Mazel tov (Hebrew): “Good luck.”
mein Herzchen (German): A term of endearment meaning “my little heart.”
mikvah (Hebrew): A Jewish ritual bath.
Palestine: The name of the region that today comprises the State of Israel and the Palestinian territories.
Sabbath: The seventh day of the week, on which observant Jews cease work for a day of rest and spiritual reflection.
Schnell (German): “Hurry.”
Schwein (German): “Pig.” Often used as a slur.
Shoah (Hebrew): “Destruction.” Another term for the Holocaust.
tallit (Hebrew): “Prayer shawl.” The tallit katan is a simple garment worn by men under the shirt. Tzitzit are attached to the four corners of the garment and typically worn outwardly. The tallit gadol is the large prayer shawl placed over the head and shoulders during prayer.
tichel (Yiddish): A scarf worn as a head covering by observant Jewish women as a sign of modesty.
tzitzit (Hebrew): Long, knotted tassels attached to a prayer shawl or a garment worn by observant Jewish men.
Żyd, brudny, nieczysty (Polish): “Jew, dirty, nasty.”
FILMS
The Boy in the Striped Pajamas (2008)
The Long Way Home (1997)
Schindler’s List (1993)
BOOKS
This is a suggested list of books readers can use to further their understanding of the Holocaust.
Frankl, Victor E., Man’s Search for Meaning
Konner, Melvin, Unsettled: An Anthropology of the Jews
Lasker-Wallfisch, Anita, Inherit the Truth, 1939–1945: The Documented Experiences of a Survivor of Auschwitz and Belsen (Lasker was a member of the Women’s Orchestra of Auschwitz.)
Volavkovà, Hana, Ed., I Never Saw Another Butterfly: Children’s Drawings and Poems from Terezin Concentration Camp, 1942–1944
Wiesel, Elie, Night
WEBSITES
chabad.org: (A wealth of information about Jewish beliefs and practices)
ushmm.org: United States Holocaust Memorial Museum
yadvashem.org: Yad Vashem, The World Holocaust Remembrance Center
PLACES TO VISIT
Auschwitz-Birkenau, Oświęcim, Poland
Bergen-Belsen Memorial, Lohheide, Germany
Theresienstadt, Terezín, Czech Republic
United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Washington, D.C.
Würzburg Residence Palace and Gardens, Würzburg, Germany
Yad Vashem, Jerusalem, Israel
MUSIC
This is a catalog of the music mentioned in this book, cited alphabetically by composer.
Bach, Johann Sebastian: “Erbarme dich” and “Kommt, ihr Töchter” from the St. Matthew Passion
Bach, Johann Sebastian: Wachet auf
Bizet, Georges: Carmen
Carissimi, Giacomo: “Vittoria, mio core!”
Imber, Naftali Herz, and Samuel Cohen: “HaTikvah”
Mahler, Gustav: “Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen” from Rückert-Lieder. (I especially recommend Jessye Norman’s moving performance.)
Mizzy, Vic, and Manny Curtis: “My Dreams Are Getting Better All the Time”
Puccini, Giacomo: Turandot
Schumann, Robert: “No. 1, Der Schmied: Ich hör’ meinen Schatz” from Im Schatten des Waldes
Schumann, Robert: “Träumerei,” “Hasche-Mann,” and “Von fremden Ländern und Menschen” from Kinderszenen
Warshawsky, M. M.: “Oyfn Pripetchik”
Any diligent student of the Holocaust leaves something of herself wandering in the wilderness, the soul rubbed raw in a way that may never heal, nor would she want it to for the sake of bearing witness. One cannot confront the world’s greatest evil and not be changed at one’s very foundation.
The two-and-a-half-year process of creating this book left me a different person. The work of being an artist and writer is, by nature, solitary, and isolation is a real occupational hazard, especially when dealing with dark subjects like this. After signing the contract for this book, I entered a period of profound loneliness that alerted me to the need for close relationships in advance of bringing the book into the public eye. I realized the importance of intentionally cultivating a close support network who know and accept me as I am, and who understand the nature of the work I do.
Chief among these are my husband, Ben Stamper, and my two children. They not only endured the two years of my grueling graduate school schedule, they did it with heaps of grace and encouragement. They were balm to my soul at the end of long days, and a reminder of love and hope.
My mother and stepfather, Eileen and Richard Braun, gave me the gifts of a Jewish upbringing, intellectual rigor, and early independence. My grandfather Ronald Young and grandmother Marge Young took me seriously when I said I would be an artist, and plunged headlong into that life with me. God placed me in just the right family, and I’m grateful.
This book began as a graduate project at the MFA Illustration as Visual Essay program at the School of Visual Arts in New York City. The assignment was to create an illustrated book on any topic of interest, and what began as a short story illustrated with twelve linoleum prints became this novel. My faculty, especially professors Marshall Arisman and Michele Zackheim, held my feet to the fire and patiently guided me as I was transformed in my approach to visual narrative. They challenged me never to settle for the expected, and to fully trust my voice.
My agent, Lori Kilkelly at Rodeen Literary Management, is a champion of my work and a woman of true generosity, a friend as well as a colleague. Every author-illustrator should be so lucky to have an agent like her.
My editor, Karen Greenberg, and art directors Stephanie Moss and Alison Impey, trusted me with creative freedom as we shaped the book together. Karen has a true gift of encouragement, in addition to her gifts in shaping stories. With Melanie Nolan, Jenny Brown, and Martha Rago, and my copy editors—Artie Bennett, Janet Frick, Amy Schroeder, and Judy Kiviat—I am blessed with an amazing team at Knopf.
Noelle Rhodes accompanied me, as few friends would, on a three-country road trip across Europe as we set foot on the sacred soil where millions perished. She served not just me, but this book. Both Noelle and Mary Hampson Patterson, PhD, lived it with me as we talked through the lives of the characters, who were as real to them as to me. Mary lovingly helped me with the deeper nuances of the book with her expert knowledge of the Holocaust, its causes and effects, and her rich understanding of human nature. Noelle and Mary’s love for me is woven through these pages. It is their book, too.
Renate Evers at the Leo Baeck Institute, Center for Jewish History, led me in my research and was a compassionate help to me as I started the project. Dr. R. Steven Notley guided my grasp of the history of the modern state of Israel and its unique dynamics. Katja Seybold and Klaus Tätzler at the Bergen-Belsen Memorial allowed me access to treasures and insights that could only be obtained in the place where these events happened.
Eli
sha Mlotek not only modeled for the character of Lev, but sat with me, listened to my personal history with Judaism, and offered deep answers to my tangle of questions about observance and the Jewish heart. It was he who proposed the question: “What do you want your Sabbath table to look like?” His band, Zusha, does gorgeous, modern expressions of niggunim, wordless Hasidic melodies that transcend and lift the soul heavenward. Check them out.
In addition to Elisha, Lea Fulton, John Mosloskie, and Suzanne Greene brought Gerta and Lev (and other characters) to life through their modeling. Lea and John were especially fearless as they physically embodied the characters.
Troy Bronsink provided me with spiritual direction in which I was able to allow myself to connect with Gerta’s struggle, and helped me better understand the embodiment of trauma. Peggy Gormley gently steered me away from entering too fully into Gerta’s life when it started to wear me down. As a seasoned actor, Peggy told me that it’s okay to give ninety percent—because those artists who truly give one hundred percent are the ones who lose their minds. (That’s good advice.)
Elena Berkovitz and Miriam Wolkenfeld Cohen survived against all odds to welcome their great-grandchildren into the world. They gave me their time, their trust, and their stories. Their lives continue to be miracles.
Lastly, I must acknowledge the generation of Holocaust survivors we are losing to old age. Your courage to share your stories, to choose life, and to pass on hope is a treasure for the world. I pray I have listened well enough to present a worthy testimony to the next generation.
KATRINA SORRENTINO
VESPER STAMPER was born in Nuremberg, Germany, and raised in New York City. Her family was an eclectic mix of engineers, musicians, and artists, who didn’t think Voltaire too tough for bedtime reading, Chopin Valses too loud for wake-up calls, or precision slide rules too fragile for playthings. She writes and illustrates at her grandfather’s old drafting table, in the pine woods of the Northeast, where she lives with her husband and children. Follow her on Twitter at @vesperillustrat and learn more at vesperillustration.com.
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