Thursday, December 28, 2017
Thursday, December 14, 2017
1929 Greeting Card
This greeting card from 1929 sends blessings for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur from Mordechai Neumark and his wife in Oświęcim. The family owned a paint store at 1 Kościelna Street. Learn more about the AJC's artifacts and permanent exhibition here.
Volunteer Profile: Dorian Schiffer, 2017-2018
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| Dorian Schiffer (center) with current AJC volunteers |
What attracted you to the AJC?
Primarily the location. You can fulfill your Holocaust Memorial Service anywhere in the world, but here you are immediately confronted with the crime. And when I researched the AJC I was especially fascinated because it completely changed my perspective on Auschwitz. Before, I saw it as most people do: as the ultimate symbol of the Holocaust, but now I understood that Auschwitz is so much more. Oświęcim has a 500-year Jewish history! And so I decided to come here, to tell the story of Oshpitzin because if you don’t know what was lost, you cannot understand the loss.
What are you enjoying most about volunteering at the AJC?
Two things. First, I can train my English, talk in front of people, and learn how to handle groups. Also I simply like explaining, telling stories. I really enjoy the freedom we volunteers have at the AJC. We can start our own projects and use Café Bergson as a resource. This is just great!
How has volunteering affected you?
Well, honestly I still don’t know. I am here just for two months and have eight to go, so I cannot tell how this experience will change me. But it definitely will. Already I feel more comfortable talking in front of many people, and my knowledge concerning Judaism and the history of Poland and Europe skyrocketed.
What is the one thing you want others to know about the AJC?
Actually that it exists! I feel like most visitors to Oświęcim just go to the camp and that’s it. So they lack these crucial perspectives we provide here at the AJC.
As I Don a Kippah for the First Time
Kevin Sooraj Puri, 2017 AJC ASAP Alum
Growing up in an Indian family that practiced both Hinduism and Sikhism, there are many occasions where I remember an adult telling me to cover my head before I entered a holy space.
“Beta, apane sir ko dhako,” my mother said when we would enter the gurudwara, a Sikh house of worship, to which I would excitedly walk over to the basket full of orange and yellow handkerchief-sized cloths and pick my favorite orange one. As I ran to my grandfather to ask for assistance in tying and knotting the cloth around my head, I watched my mother, sister, and grandmother don their chunnis, or headscarves, as well, as they ascended the stairs to the holy space. Upon entering, we walked down the main aisle and passed by men sitting to the left and women to the right. As we walked down the aisle, we approached the Guru Granth Sahib, the holy book and last living guru of the Sikhs, covered in beautifully colored cloth and positioned on a dominant, raised platform with an ornately embroidered canopy overhead. We bowed, with our hands joined or folded together, and bent down to touch our foreheads to the floor, a sign of respect for the Guru Granth Sahib.
While in Warsaw, Poland, amid our first tour of a synagogue during the American Service Academies Program 2017, I chose a blue kippah out of a small wicker basket sitting outside the door and gently placed it on my head. I was entering a synagogue for the very first time in my life, yet the experience felt somewhat familiar and instinctive to me. I felt an almost elemental, deep-seated connection to the space and to the experience–as if I had been there before and as if I knew what I was doing. The Torah scroll is also positioned on a raised platform, just as the Guru Granth Sahib is. This platform is called a bimah, and serves as a podium upon which the cantor can pray. The Torah is covered in an embroidered cloth, to ensure it does not touch plain wood while being read. These striking similarities I witnessed between the gurudwara and the synagogue evoked a warmth inside me—the same warmth I feel spread around me when attending Akhand Path, a Sikh prayer service, at the gurudwara with my family.
“This synagogue,” our tour guide articulated, “also functions as house of study.” It is often referred to as a Beit Midrash, which translates to study hall. On the tall walls that surrounded us were several shelves, each holding a colorful collection of sacred Jewish texts. In this moment, I once again recalled the gurudwara of my childhood.
The pearly two-story building held a small room in the back that had a large painted banner hanging outside the room that read, “Khalsa School for Sikh Children.” As I peered through the sizable vertical windows that reveal the insides of the room, I saw shelves filled with books, a large table, and floor cushions for people to sit on. I saw Sikh children inside, all around my age, eagerly grabbing a cushion for themselves and placing it in a circle around an adult who I assumed to be their teacher. I never entered this room, as my parents had not enrolled me in these educational classes for Sikh children—most likely because both of my parents practiced Hinduism and the only person in my family to practice Sikhism was my grandmother. Yet, as I peered through the windows into this back room, I admired the delighted, jubilant faces of the children opening their books and listening to every word that passed from the instructor’s mouth with such fervor and earnestness. This room, I later came to learn, was the classroom of the gurudwara, and children would attend classes there every Sunday to further their understanding of the Sikh faith and heritage. In addition, they explored and learned about the gurbani, the teachings, compositions, and wisdom of the ten Sikh Gurus.
Our tour guide continued: “there are scheduled times during the week, here, during which people will study the Torah.” The Torah study does not simply focus on the absorption of the material, but also on a conversation and dialogue among the students, and even so, between the students and the text. As I gazed at the beautiful books on the walls, I imagined an assemblage of Jewish school children studying together, and instantly, I am reminded of those elated Sikh children I saw at the gurudwara.
“At times, this holy space functions as a gathering place–a town hall for matters to be discussed and a place for groups to meet for various religious activities,” the tour guide said as we continued to walk through the synagogue. I was reminded of the langar that followed the Sunday prayer at the gurudwara. Langar, the Sikh term for a community kitchen, was the time after the Sunday prayer was complete when all those in attendance for the prayer would go to a large room outside the gurudwara kitchen to serve and volunteer to serve free meals. The room contained several long carpet runners that ran from one end of the room to the other. Immediately after the completion of Akhand Path, people descended the stairs from the darbar, the upstairs prayer room, and methodically sat next to one another in drawn-out columns on the long carpet runners. It is a beautiful sight to see. All people at the langar, regardless of their actual religion, ethnicity, or economic status, sit on the floor, knee to knee, and share a free meal together. After they finish, many get up to help out in the kitchen or pass out food to others who have not eaten. As a child, I always thought langar to be a reward for sitting through a full hour of prayer—which it was for the time being, but I never lost sight of the beauty of this experience.
I admired the chairs and long benches I saw before me in the synagogue. I imagined groups of Jewish men and women sitting in these chairs and benches and sharing edifying religious meetings here. I imagined them gathering to participate in community service and to “dispense money and other items for the aid of the poor and needy within the community.”
A close investigation into the translation of the terms, synagogue and gurudwara, illustrates this collective, communal, and educational nature of these two holy spaces. Synagogue, a Greek translation of beit k’nesset means “a place of assembly.” However, there are many other terms used to describe a Jewish house of worship. The Orthodox and Chasidim utilize the Yiddish word, shul. Derived from a German word meaning “school,” the term affirms the synagogue’s function as a place for study and education. A literal translation of gurudwara is “door to the Guru.” This definition demonstrates the welcoming and open nature of the gurudwara. It manifests the idea that the Sikh holy space is a place that welcomes all to God. Just as the synagogue serves as a location for people to meet and assemble, the gurudwara provides a site at which people can congregate and take part in religious activities. The two spaces function as institutions for religious learning and allow for participation in community service and aiding others in and out of their respective religious communities.
Not only do Judaism and Sikhism share fundamental practices and structure in their respective houses of worship, the two religions also draw an important similarity at the core of their belief systems. Followers of the Sikh and Jewish faiths both recite mantras to express the sole and single nature of God. As part of the Mool Mantar, the first composition of the Guru Granth Sahib, Sikhs chant, “Ik Onkar Sat Naam,” meaning, “there is only one god, true is his name.” (“Ik Onkar – Translation and Lyrics”). As part of the Ten Commandments, people of Jewish faith adhere to the commandment that “You shall not recognize other gods before Me. You shall not make for yourself a carved image, or any likeness of what is in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the water under the earth.” (Exodus 20:3-4). The two maxims translate to the idea that “God is one,” and for me, this experience of visiting a synagogue for the time in my life was one with my formative childhood experiences
As I departed the synagogue with the ASAP group and removed the kippah from my head, I closed my eyes for a second and was reminded of my favorite orange handkerchief from the gurudwara.
Works Cited
“Ik Onkar - Translation and Lyrics.” Ardhamy. N.p., n.d. Web.
MJL Staff. “Studying Torah.” My Jewish Learning. N.p., n.d. Web.
Rich, Tracey R. “Synagogues, Shuls and Temples.” Judaism 101. N.p., n.d. Web.
Kevin Sooraj Puri is a second-class cadet at the United States Air Force Academy and is currently on exchange for the fall semester at the United States Coast Guard Academy. Cadet Puri is a biology major with a pre-medical track. He hopes to attend medical school after graduating from USAFA and aspires to serve as a physician and flight surgeon in the United States Air Force. Kevin is from Fairfax, VA and attended Fairfax High School and Chantilly Academy Air Force Junior ROTC. He serves a USAFA Emergency Medical Responder, a leader of the Arnold Air Society Falcon Squadron, and an Academy Student Ambassador. Additionally, Kevin is a first-stand violist in the USAFA Cadet Orchestra and is the Hindu Representative for the USAFA Cadet Interfaith Counsel. Last summer, he earned his Parachutist Badge for completing five solo free fall jumps out of a plane. Kevin is Indian-American, fluent in Hindi, has a sister who is an Ensign in the U.S. Navy, and has a husky named Panda.
Growing up in an Indian family that practiced both Hinduism and Sikhism, there are many occasions where I remember an adult telling me to cover my head before I entered a holy space.
“Beta, apane sir ko dhako,” my mother said when we would enter the gurudwara, a Sikh house of worship, to which I would excitedly walk over to the basket full of orange and yellow handkerchief-sized cloths and pick my favorite orange one. As I ran to my grandfather to ask for assistance in tying and knotting the cloth around my head, I watched my mother, sister, and grandmother don their chunnis, or headscarves, as well, as they ascended the stairs to the holy space. Upon entering, we walked down the main aisle and passed by men sitting to the left and women to the right. As we walked down the aisle, we approached the Guru Granth Sahib, the holy book and last living guru of the Sikhs, covered in beautifully colored cloth and positioned on a dominant, raised platform with an ornately embroidered canopy overhead. We bowed, with our hands joined or folded together, and bent down to touch our foreheads to the floor, a sign of respect for the Guru Granth Sahib.
While in Warsaw, Poland, amid our first tour of a synagogue during the American Service Academies Program 2017, I chose a blue kippah out of a small wicker basket sitting outside the door and gently placed it on my head. I was entering a synagogue for the very first time in my life, yet the experience felt somewhat familiar and instinctive to me. I felt an almost elemental, deep-seated connection to the space and to the experience–as if I had been there before and as if I knew what I was doing. The Torah scroll is also positioned on a raised platform, just as the Guru Granth Sahib is. This platform is called a bimah, and serves as a podium upon which the cantor can pray. The Torah is covered in an embroidered cloth, to ensure it does not touch plain wood while being read. These striking similarities I witnessed between the gurudwara and the synagogue evoked a warmth inside me—the same warmth I feel spread around me when attending Akhand Path, a Sikh prayer service, at the gurudwara with my family.
“This synagogue,” our tour guide articulated, “also functions as house of study.” It is often referred to as a Beit Midrash, which translates to study hall. On the tall walls that surrounded us were several shelves, each holding a colorful collection of sacred Jewish texts. In this moment, I once again recalled the gurudwara of my childhood.
The pearly two-story building held a small room in the back that had a large painted banner hanging outside the room that read, “Khalsa School for Sikh Children.” As I peered through the sizable vertical windows that reveal the insides of the room, I saw shelves filled with books, a large table, and floor cushions for people to sit on. I saw Sikh children inside, all around my age, eagerly grabbing a cushion for themselves and placing it in a circle around an adult who I assumed to be their teacher. I never entered this room, as my parents had not enrolled me in these educational classes for Sikh children—most likely because both of my parents practiced Hinduism and the only person in my family to practice Sikhism was my grandmother. Yet, as I peered through the windows into this back room, I admired the delighted, jubilant faces of the children opening their books and listening to every word that passed from the instructor’s mouth with such fervor and earnestness. This room, I later came to learn, was the classroom of the gurudwara, and children would attend classes there every Sunday to further their understanding of the Sikh faith and heritage. In addition, they explored and learned about the gurbani, the teachings, compositions, and wisdom of the ten Sikh Gurus.
Our tour guide continued: “there are scheduled times during the week, here, during which people will study the Torah.” The Torah study does not simply focus on the absorption of the material, but also on a conversation and dialogue among the students, and even so, between the students and the text. As I gazed at the beautiful books on the walls, I imagined an assemblage of Jewish school children studying together, and instantly, I am reminded of those elated Sikh children I saw at the gurudwara.
“At times, this holy space functions as a gathering place–a town hall for matters to be discussed and a place for groups to meet for various religious activities,” the tour guide said as we continued to walk through the synagogue. I was reminded of the langar that followed the Sunday prayer at the gurudwara. Langar, the Sikh term for a community kitchen, was the time after the Sunday prayer was complete when all those in attendance for the prayer would go to a large room outside the gurudwara kitchen to serve and volunteer to serve free meals. The room contained several long carpet runners that ran from one end of the room to the other. Immediately after the completion of Akhand Path, people descended the stairs from the darbar, the upstairs prayer room, and methodically sat next to one another in drawn-out columns on the long carpet runners. It is a beautiful sight to see. All people at the langar, regardless of their actual religion, ethnicity, or economic status, sit on the floor, knee to knee, and share a free meal together. After they finish, many get up to help out in the kitchen or pass out food to others who have not eaten. As a child, I always thought langar to be a reward for sitting through a full hour of prayer—which it was for the time being, but I never lost sight of the beauty of this experience.
I admired the chairs and long benches I saw before me in the synagogue. I imagined groups of Jewish men and women sitting in these chairs and benches and sharing edifying religious meetings here. I imagined them gathering to participate in community service and to “dispense money and other items for the aid of the poor and needy within the community.”
A close investigation into the translation of the terms, synagogue and gurudwara, illustrates this collective, communal, and educational nature of these two holy spaces. Synagogue, a Greek translation of beit k’nesset means “a place of assembly.” However, there are many other terms used to describe a Jewish house of worship. The Orthodox and Chasidim utilize the Yiddish word, shul. Derived from a German word meaning “school,” the term affirms the synagogue’s function as a place for study and education. A literal translation of gurudwara is “door to the Guru.” This definition demonstrates the welcoming and open nature of the gurudwara. It manifests the idea that the Sikh holy space is a place that welcomes all to God. Just as the synagogue serves as a location for people to meet and assemble, the gurudwara provides a site at which people can congregate and take part in religious activities. The two spaces function as institutions for religious learning and allow for participation in community service and aiding others in and out of their respective religious communities.
Not only do Judaism and Sikhism share fundamental practices and structure in their respective houses of worship, the two religions also draw an important similarity at the core of their belief systems. Followers of the Sikh and Jewish faiths both recite mantras to express the sole and single nature of God. As part of the Mool Mantar, the first composition of the Guru Granth Sahib, Sikhs chant, “Ik Onkar Sat Naam,” meaning, “there is only one god, true is his name.” (“Ik Onkar – Translation and Lyrics”). As part of the Ten Commandments, people of Jewish faith adhere to the commandment that “You shall not recognize other gods before Me. You shall not make for yourself a carved image, or any likeness of what is in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the water under the earth.” (Exodus 20:3-4). The two maxims translate to the idea that “God is one,” and for me, this experience of visiting a synagogue for the time in my life was one with my formative childhood experiences
As I departed the synagogue with the ASAP group and removed the kippah from my head, I closed my eyes for a second and was reminded of my favorite orange handkerchief from the gurudwara.
Works Cited
“Ik Onkar - Translation and Lyrics.” Ardhamy. N.p., n.d. Web.
MJL Staff. “Studying Torah.” My Jewish Learning. N.p., n.d. Web.
Rich, Tracey R. “Synagogues, Shuls and Temples.” Judaism 101. N.p., n.d. Web.
Kevin Sooraj Puri is a second-class cadet at the United States Air Force Academy and is currently on exchange for the fall semester at the United States Coast Guard Academy. Cadet Puri is a biology major with a pre-medical track. He hopes to attend medical school after graduating from USAFA and aspires to serve as a physician and flight surgeon in the United States Air Force. Kevin is from Fairfax, VA and attended Fairfax High School and Chantilly Academy Air Force Junior ROTC. He serves a USAFA Emergency Medical Responder, a leader of the Arnold Air Society Falcon Squadron, and an Academy Student Ambassador. Additionally, Kevin is a first-stand violist in the USAFA Cadet Orchestra and is the Hindu Representative for the USAFA Cadet Interfaith Counsel. Last summer, he earned his Parachutist Badge for completing five solo free fall jumps out of a plane. Kevin is Indian-American, fluent in Hindi, has a sister who is an Ensign in the U.S. Navy, and has a husky named Panda.
A Place of Growth
Dara Bramson, AJC Manager of Programs Abroad
It was early 2010 when I visited the Museum of Jewish Heritage for the first time. The sweeping views and beautiful building amazed me, but I was focused on my purpose there: an interview for the AJC Fellows Program. I had just begun studying sociocultural anthropology—that semester I was taking a museum anthropology course—so I was beginning to ask questions about memory and space in new ways. What is the role of museums in the formation of collective memory? How are exhibitions reflections of institutional missions and national narratives? Walking through the core exhibition, I recall my overwhelming eagerness to have the opportunity to be a Fellow; I knew it would offer me the engagement, knowledge, and experience I was seeking.
Becoming a Fellow offered me so much more. In the short-term, it guided my academic path; in the long-term, it changed my life. I had the opportunity to learn from the MJH staff in New York and AJC staff in New York and Poland, who later became my colleagues when I was hired full-time in 2011. Each one of them—particularly Shiri Sandler, Tomek Kuncewicz, and Maciek Zabierowski as well as a number of brilliant mentors—shed light on novel perspectives that contrasted with my previous experiences in Poland and served as invaluable resources professionally and academically.
The past seven years working for the AJC in Poland as Manager of Programs Abroad has been a formative time in my personal and professional life. Facilitating academic experiences for hundreds of students, particularly the Program for Students Abroad, Customized Programs, and the first Human Rights Summer Program, which I was fortunate to co-lead with Yael Friedman, enabled me to learn and grow exponentially as an educator and researcher. Editing the newsletter and academic journal shed light on the gravity of the AJC’s impact through reading hundreds of in-depth reflections. What I have gained through this experience is immeasurable. I am grateful to have been engaged in this meaningful work that allowed me to honor the memory of victims and foster dialogue to learn from the past. I look forward to remaining involved with the important mission of the institutions and keeping in touch with you all.
Thursday, August 10, 2017
Rudolf Haberfeld Banking House
This marble plaque is from the Rudolf Haberfeld Banking House established in 1906. Rudolf Haberfeld was a co-owner of the Jacob Haberfeld Liquor Factory and a member of the Town Council and the Kraków Chamber of Commerce. The plaque was made in Oświęcim by Jewish stonemason S. Wulkan.
Staff Profile: Ada Myśliwiecka
Hometown: Oświęcim
What attracted you to the AJC?
The first thing was the idea for the café. I thought it was a really good idea and the town needed a place like this. And of course all the people who work for the AJC.
What are you enjoying most about your experience?
Definitely the atmosphere! It’s great to work with really positive and nice people. Also it’s great because we can meet a lot of interesting people from all over the world!
How has working at the AJC affected you?
I think I am paying more attention to how people are treating each other. How they react to different cultures and things like that. I am in general a really open person and I would be really happy if all people would be like that!
What is one thing you'd like others to know about the AJC or think people don't know?
To be honest I think that the AJC is doing a great job with all the programs for students and the police. Maybe that’s one thing that not many people from the town know much about but with time I think that will get more attention.
The Upstander Effect: The Power of Singularity Against Adversity
Erin Zenger, 2016 ASAP Alum
When countless individuals agree that inhumane actions are justified and work to extinguish an entire population, do the actions of a single member of society matter? When an entire society, and seemingly the whole world, has turned their back on and shunned a “minority” population, can one person who stands in the name of justice change anything at all?
In grade school, many students come to believe that Adolf Hitler, a single man, was the sole cause of the Holocaust and that his charisma and ability to incite fear in the German constituency led to the unjustified deaths of millions. Unfortunately, this misperception permeates Holocaust education well beyond a student’s formative years and deviates only when one focuses their studies on the centuries of persecution and discrimination that fostered, supported, and helped to develop and enrich Nazi ideology in the twentieth century. However, if society has come to believe in the ability of a single man to act as the main catalyst for the Holocaust, shouldn’t society then also believe in the power of individual resistance and agency—the power of one person to stand against the norm and fight for humanity and justice?
During ASAP, cadets and midshipmen had the unique opportunity to speak with survivors of the Holocaust as well as Righteous Gentiles—selfless individuals who stood against the Nazi party to save the lives of strangers. Although all of their stories were very different, every story was the same in the fact that these speakers were able to highlight the power of individual decisions and choices. They spoke about either decisions that they themselves made or decisions that were made by strangers and have allowed them to share their stories. In taking a stand against Nazi ideology, standing up for themselves and their right to life and freedom of religion, or standing up for innocent victims, they practiced their rights to make an individual decision and stand up for what they thought was just—what they knew was moral and ethical. They did not fall prey to the ideology of Adolf Hitler and the Nazi party. They did not allow fear and unsettling threats directed at them or their families to disorient their moral compass. Instead, the following individuals survived due to the selfless actions of others or they themselves exercised their agency to stand against the Nazi regime and stand in the name of justice.
Without the help of neighbors, friends, and strangers, Sally Frishberg, a survivor of the Holocaust who spoke with cadets and midshipmen during ASAP, may not have the same stories to tell. In fact, she may not have a story to tell at all. Only five years old when World War II and the institutionalized hatred against the Jewish community began, Ms. Frishberg survived the Holocaust largely in part to the selfless actions of strangers; “good people” who quietly stood against the Nazi regime and risked their lives on behalf of justice. With food, clothing and other life sustaining supplies already rationed, the strangers like those who hid and protected the Frishberg family from the Nazi party sacrificed even more, as they provided for Jewish refugees who were hidden in attics, spare rooms, basements, and sometimes even out in the open, disguised as a distant relative.
Mirosława Gruszczynska, a Righteous Gentile, defined as a non-Jew who risked his or her live to save Jew(s) during the Holocaust, honored by Yad Vashem in Jerusalem, is one of the silent many who stood in the name of justice and joined her family as they risked their lives to save Miri, a stranger, a Jew. Though only a school-aged girl during the Holocaust, she, her sister, and her mother hid Miri in occupied Poland for over twenty months. When Miri first came to the Przebindowska (Mirosława’s maiden name) family, the understanding was that they would only hide Miri in their shed for a few days, a week at most, until Mirosława’s uncle was able to secure a different location for her. However, when Miri became sick, just a few days after coming to the Przebindowska home, they brought her into their home and cared for her, telling friends, neighbors, and Nazi soldiers that Miri was a distant relative who came to live with them as a consequence of the war. When the war was over, the Przebindowska family continued to support Miri and helped her find her brother and father, reuniting a family that thought they would never see each other again.
MAJ Andrzej Wiczynski, a veteran of the Warsaw Uprising in 1944, also made large sacrifices on behalf of the millions of innocent victims persecuted by the Nazi Party. At the age of thirteen, MAJ Wiczynski volunteered for the Polish Underground as a scout. By the time he was seventeen, he was the platoon leader of sixty-five boys, aged fourteen to sixteen, and rebelled against the Nazi party in the Warsaw Ghetto.
Through the American Service Academy Program (ASAP), cadets and midshipmen witness first and second hand accounts that illuminate the power, impact, and consequences of one person standing in the name of justice to protect their family, friends, neighbors, and even strangers. Individuals selflessly risked their lives and sacrificed during times of extreme hardship simply because it was the right thing to do. In focusing on the power that individuals have, not only in the catalyst effect of individual actions but also in the long term consequences, bystanders in today’s mass atrocities may find motivation to take a stand against inhumanity.
In 2009, Erin enlisted in the Army National Guard. After graduating from Alden High School in 2010, she attended Basic Combat Training in Fort Jackson, South Carolina. As a Military Intelligence Specialist, her Advanced Individual Training took her to Fort Huachuca, Arizona. As a member of the New York National Guard, Erin was assigned to the Intelligence Section of the 27th BSTB, which was deployed to Kuwait in 2012. During her time in Kuwait, Erin decided to transition to the Officer Corps and applied to West Point. As a cadet, Erin was the President of the Academy’s Phi Alpha Theta Chapter and also participated on the West Point Obstacle Course Team and the Gold Sandhurst Squad. Erin commissioned as an Engineer in May 2017 and is now at the Basic Officer Leader's Course in Fort Leonard Wood.
When countless individuals agree that inhumane actions are justified and work to extinguish an entire population, do the actions of a single member of society matter? When an entire society, and seemingly the whole world, has turned their back on and shunned a “minority” population, can one person who stands in the name of justice change anything at all?
In grade school, many students come to believe that Adolf Hitler, a single man, was the sole cause of the Holocaust and that his charisma and ability to incite fear in the German constituency led to the unjustified deaths of millions. Unfortunately, this misperception permeates Holocaust education well beyond a student’s formative years and deviates only when one focuses their studies on the centuries of persecution and discrimination that fostered, supported, and helped to develop and enrich Nazi ideology in the twentieth century. However, if society has come to believe in the ability of a single man to act as the main catalyst for the Holocaust, shouldn’t society then also believe in the power of individual resistance and agency—the power of one person to stand against the norm and fight for humanity and justice?
During ASAP, cadets and midshipmen had the unique opportunity to speak with survivors of the Holocaust as well as Righteous Gentiles—selfless individuals who stood against the Nazi party to save the lives of strangers. Although all of their stories were very different, every story was the same in the fact that these speakers were able to highlight the power of individual decisions and choices. They spoke about either decisions that they themselves made or decisions that were made by strangers and have allowed them to share their stories. In taking a stand against Nazi ideology, standing up for themselves and their right to life and freedom of religion, or standing up for innocent victims, they practiced their rights to make an individual decision and stand up for what they thought was just—what they knew was moral and ethical. They did not fall prey to the ideology of Adolf Hitler and the Nazi party. They did not allow fear and unsettling threats directed at them or their families to disorient their moral compass. Instead, the following individuals survived due to the selfless actions of others or they themselves exercised their agency to stand against the Nazi regime and stand in the name of justice.
Without the help of neighbors, friends, and strangers, Sally Frishberg, a survivor of the Holocaust who spoke with cadets and midshipmen during ASAP, may not have the same stories to tell. In fact, she may not have a story to tell at all. Only five years old when World War II and the institutionalized hatred against the Jewish community began, Ms. Frishberg survived the Holocaust largely in part to the selfless actions of strangers; “good people” who quietly stood against the Nazi regime and risked their lives on behalf of justice. With food, clothing and other life sustaining supplies already rationed, the strangers like those who hid and protected the Frishberg family from the Nazi party sacrificed even more, as they provided for Jewish refugees who were hidden in attics, spare rooms, basements, and sometimes even out in the open, disguised as a distant relative.
Mirosława Gruszczynska, a Righteous Gentile, defined as a non-Jew who risked his or her live to save Jew(s) during the Holocaust, honored by Yad Vashem in Jerusalem, is one of the silent many who stood in the name of justice and joined her family as they risked their lives to save Miri, a stranger, a Jew. Though only a school-aged girl during the Holocaust, she, her sister, and her mother hid Miri in occupied Poland for over twenty months. When Miri first came to the Przebindowska (Mirosława’s maiden name) family, the understanding was that they would only hide Miri in their shed for a few days, a week at most, until Mirosława’s uncle was able to secure a different location for her. However, when Miri became sick, just a few days after coming to the Przebindowska home, they brought her into their home and cared for her, telling friends, neighbors, and Nazi soldiers that Miri was a distant relative who came to live with them as a consequence of the war. When the war was over, the Przebindowska family continued to support Miri and helped her find her brother and father, reuniting a family that thought they would never see each other again.
MAJ Andrzej Wiczynski, a veteran of the Warsaw Uprising in 1944, also made large sacrifices on behalf of the millions of innocent victims persecuted by the Nazi Party. At the age of thirteen, MAJ Wiczynski volunteered for the Polish Underground as a scout. By the time he was seventeen, he was the platoon leader of sixty-five boys, aged fourteen to sixteen, and rebelled against the Nazi party in the Warsaw Ghetto.
Through the American Service Academy Program (ASAP), cadets and midshipmen witness first and second hand accounts that illuminate the power, impact, and consequences of one person standing in the name of justice to protect their family, friends, neighbors, and even strangers. Individuals selflessly risked their lives and sacrificed during times of extreme hardship simply because it was the right thing to do. In focusing on the power that individuals have, not only in the catalyst effect of individual actions but also in the long term consequences, bystanders in today’s mass atrocities may find motivation to take a stand against inhumanity.
In 2009, Erin enlisted in the Army National Guard. After graduating from Alden High School in 2010, she attended Basic Combat Training in Fort Jackson, South Carolina. As a Military Intelligence Specialist, her Advanced Individual Training took her to Fort Huachuca, Arizona. As a member of the New York National Guard, Erin was assigned to the Intelligence Section of the 27th BSTB, which was deployed to Kuwait in 2012. During her time in Kuwait, Erin decided to transition to the Officer Corps and applied to West Point. As a cadet, Erin was the President of the Academy’s Phi Alpha Theta Chapter and also participated on the West Point Obstacle Course Team and the Gold Sandhurst Squad. Erin commissioned as an Engineer in May 2017 and is now at the Basic Officer Leader's Course in Fort Leonard Wood.
Black & White
Natasha Caudill, 2017 HRSP Alum
“Nothing here is black and white,” our tour guide explained. “The world is very complicated.” He continued gesturing towards the rows of black and white faces lining the walls. This discussion of color or lack thereof continued throughout our tours of the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camps. In fact, everything we saw and did during the week of the AJC’s Human Rights Summer Program seemed to involve the debate of experiencing history in color or black and white. Our tour guide had not been wrong; except in the case that quite literally, everything is black and white for me.
I was born with Achromatopsia, a disorder that among its various vision impairments, is often defined by a lack of color vision. I have only ever seen the world in black and white and in shades of gray due to this. This lack of color is also how we must view most of history before the development and use of colorized media. For anyone who can see color, this impairment in viewing historical photographs and video is understandably unnatural. I have learned that many people see the black and white as a barrier that makes it hard to truly feel the impact of what is being seen. So, is the authenticity of viewing and experiencing history defined by seeing it the way it was originally presented to us or in the way that is most comfortable to our own standards? While this question would probably produce more debate than answers, I can at least offer my own literal view.
Seeing a gas chamber that aided the murder of 1.1 million people in black and white did not make it any less horrifying. Looking at a lake containing human ashes in black and white did not make the scene any less painful. Seeing the rows of faces of men and women who perished at Auschwitz I and Birkenau in black and white did not make me any less sad than anyone else. For me, there is no barrier that needs breaking when touring a site like this in person. In black and white or in color, we must first be grateful that we get to see and preserve it at all for the memory of those who suffered there.
Natasha Caudill is currently going into her sophomore year of college at Knox College in Illinois where she is pursuing a major in American studies and a minor in Marketing. She was adopted from Ukraine when she was younger but has grown up in Alabama and Tennessee. Her hobbies include harboring an ever-growing collection and shrine of history books, anything theatre related, film, and watching historical documentaries.
Friday, May 26, 2017
Reflections: 2016 Auschwitz Jewish Center Annual Alumni Journal
Click the image below to view the second issue of Reflections, the Auschwitz Jewish Center's Annual Alumni Journal.
Please contact DBramson@mjhnyc.org with questions and feedback.
Please contact DBramson@mjhnyc.org with questions and feedback.
Monday, April 24, 2017
Salomon Kupperman Documents
This document is a work identification that belonged to Salomon Kupperman, who was employed at the Chemical Plant in Oświęcim as manager of production planning. The Kuppermans lived on 1 Parkowa St. and Salomon worked in the local chemical factory as a clerk. As soon as the war started, Salomon, a member of the Hitahdut left Zionist party, escaped to the Soviet Union with his brother and remained in Siberia and Uzbekisthan for the duration of the war. In 1962, he emigrated to Israel with his wife Regina and daughter Elina. The item is on loan from Elina Shaked. Please click here to learn more about the family.
Volunteer Profile: Judith Althaus, 2016-2017
Hometown: Berlin, Germany
What attracted you to the AJC?
During my last year in high school I thought about what I would do next. I wanted to do a gap year between high school and university in Germany, like many young people. As a German, I don’t feel guilty about the Second World War, but I feel responsible to remember and support education about the Holocaust. I wanted to work in a museum and thought it would be interesting to do tours through the museum. I was also interested in Judaism in general, so the AJC seemed perfect.
What are you enjoying most about your volunteer experience?
I really like to lead tours in the museum and in the city of Oświęcim. I enjoy it when people are interested in the topic and especially when they ask questions. It happens sometimes that I can’t answer a question but this inspires me to do research and learn more. It is a great opportunity.
How has volunteering affected you?
I have learned so much about different topics: Judaism, the history of Poland and Galicia, and improved my teaching abilities. The educational work at the AJC is very interesting to me. I can imagine doing something similar when I study at university.
What is one thing you'd like others to know about the AJC or think people don't know?
The AJC has the perfect balance between history and present life. In the museum, visitors can learn about the past and present during workshops, especially the projects on prejudices and racism. There are always the questions: What can I take home? How will this information influence my daily and future life? In my opinion, that is very important.
What attracted you to the AJC?
During my last year in high school I thought about what I would do next. I wanted to do a gap year between high school and university in Germany, like many young people. As a German, I don’t feel guilty about the Second World War, but I feel responsible to remember and support education about the Holocaust. I wanted to work in a museum and thought it would be interesting to do tours through the museum. I was also interested in Judaism in general, so the AJC seemed perfect.
What are you enjoying most about your volunteer experience?
I really like to lead tours in the museum and in the city of Oświęcim. I enjoy it when people are interested in the topic and especially when they ask questions. It happens sometimes that I can’t answer a question but this inspires me to do research and learn more. It is a great opportunity.
How has volunteering affected you?
I have learned so much about different topics: Judaism, the history of Poland and Galicia, and improved my teaching abilities. The educational work at the AJC is very interesting to me. I can imagine doing something similar when I study at university.
What is one thing you'd like others to know about the AJC or think people don't know?
The AJC has the perfect balance between history and present life. In the museum, visitors can learn about the past and present during workshops, especially the projects on prejudices and racism. There are always the questions: What can I take home? How will this information influence my daily and future life? In my opinion, that is very important.
Hope: A Paradox
Robert Kishaba, 2016 American Service Academies Program Alum
Hope is powerful. Its existence is undeniable, and its intimate involvement in our lives is similarly strong.
In Man’s Search for Meaning, psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl articulates the necessity of hope through his time spent as a prisoner at various concentration camps during WWII. He supplied one particularly poignant example: between Christmas 1944 and New Year’s 1945 the camp’s sick ward experienced a death rate “beyond all previous experience,” not due to a food shortage or worse living conditions, but because, “the majority of the prisoners had lived in the naïve hope that they would be home again by Christmas.” When this hope was unmet, prisoners found no reason to continue holding on, nothing to look forward to. When a mind lets go, so does its body.
Philosophers have dealt with the idea of “hope” for centuries, disagreeing on subtleties or on the definition altogether. Aristotle, for example, once said that hope “is a waking dream” (Laertius). Plato identified hope as a pleasure. To him, once a belief “inscrib[es] words in our soul,” and once “these words concern the future they are hopes.” (Brittain). Not every philosopher stayed as abstract as the earliest ones, however. In a twentieth century work A Philosophy of Hope, for example, hope must meet six criteria, including that it be “difficult to obtain” and that it “lies beyond the control of the one who hopes” (Schumacher). Others include a spiritual component; St. Thomas Aquinas defined hope as “…a future good, difficult but possible to attain…by means of the Divine assistance…on Whose help it leans.” Hope is difficult to pinpoint, but on some level I think we know “hope” when we experience it.
According to Frankl’s observation regarding a higher death rate after Christmas, hope is a choice. Hope, it appears, is capable of sustaining life. While every external factor may root against you, one single act of internal defiance can counteract it all. Hope is powerful indeed. However powerful, the end result is never guaranteed. One can hope with the fiercest passion for something to occur (or not occur), but it gives no assurances. Choosing hope is inherently risky, because it can cause one to become attached to an idea that will never actualize.
Hope is curious in this way: on one hand, it can save your life, and on the other, it may have no bearing on the outcome. For having such varying effects, hope requires many things of an individual: an unquenchable thirst for whatever one hopes for, a stubbornness to reject any outcome other than the one desired, and a genuine belief that the hope will come to fruition. Hope has the power to save, yet at the same time it guarantees nothing. But that is just it: people recognize that hope does not guarantee a result. In fact, the uncertainty of the situation is the whole reason for them to hope in the first place. Hope is purely an internal shift. Hope relates to the well-being of the individual, not their external context.
Frankl’s text depicts the prisoners awaiting liberation from the Allies. Trusting in the Allied front and hoping that they break through the German defenses could have been a reasonable thing, depending on the point in the war. Hearing news of the eventual Allied progression must have inspired hope for many. But while some were fortunate enough to live to see the liberation of their camp, most did not see that glorious day. In this way, hope has no timeline. No one knew when they would be saved—or rather, if they would be saved. Hope is a disposition, and trusting in the Allies permitted this attitude. The Allied forces were both a symbol and a reality. They represented the idea of freedom and eventually followed through tangibly. But before the war ended, the prisoners had no assurance of this. Whether in the next moment, day, or year, they hoped that the Allies would eventually come. There was no certainty of eventual freedom, but they knew that someone somewhere was actively fighting for them, and that supplied some with everything they needed in order to hope.
The Nazis used hope as a means to an end. They deceived their prisoners because people respond to hope. It was a tool, and a very effective one—this is hope in its unnatural state. In a way, hope should remain undisturbed; let a man hope freely and fully. To be involved with a man’s hope is to be involved intimately with his life. One ought not to give hope only to tear it away—this is truly heartbreaking and potentially life-taking. Hope is powerful in this way.
Yes, hope is uncertain. No, the outcome cannot be guaranteed. Yet in the words of Frankl: “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to chose one’s own way.”
Robby Kishaba is currently a junior at the U.S. Air Force Academy. He is a Political Science major with a Philosophy minor. He is involved in the Swing Dance Club and the Triathlon Team. He was born in Eau Claire, Wisconsin and is the youngest of five children. Robby is currently a Cadet Squadron Superintendent and hopes to pursue becoming a pilot upon graduation.
Hope is powerful. Its existence is undeniable, and its intimate involvement in our lives is similarly strong.
In Man’s Search for Meaning, psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl articulates the necessity of hope through his time spent as a prisoner at various concentration camps during WWII. He supplied one particularly poignant example: between Christmas 1944 and New Year’s 1945 the camp’s sick ward experienced a death rate “beyond all previous experience,” not due to a food shortage or worse living conditions, but because, “the majority of the prisoners had lived in the naïve hope that they would be home again by Christmas.” When this hope was unmet, prisoners found no reason to continue holding on, nothing to look forward to. When a mind lets go, so does its body.
Philosophers have dealt with the idea of “hope” for centuries, disagreeing on subtleties or on the definition altogether. Aristotle, for example, once said that hope “is a waking dream” (Laertius). Plato identified hope as a pleasure. To him, once a belief “inscrib[es] words in our soul,” and once “these words concern the future they are hopes.” (Brittain). Not every philosopher stayed as abstract as the earliest ones, however. In a twentieth century work A Philosophy of Hope, for example, hope must meet six criteria, including that it be “difficult to obtain” and that it “lies beyond the control of the one who hopes” (Schumacher). Others include a spiritual component; St. Thomas Aquinas defined hope as “…a future good, difficult but possible to attain…by means of the Divine assistance…on Whose help it leans.” Hope is difficult to pinpoint, but on some level I think we know “hope” when we experience it.
According to Frankl’s observation regarding a higher death rate after Christmas, hope is a choice. Hope, it appears, is capable of sustaining life. While every external factor may root against you, one single act of internal defiance can counteract it all. Hope is powerful indeed. However powerful, the end result is never guaranteed. One can hope with the fiercest passion for something to occur (or not occur), but it gives no assurances. Choosing hope is inherently risky, because it can cause one to become attached to an idea that will never actualize.
Hope is curious in this way: on one hand, it can save your life, and on the other, it may have no bearing on the outcome. For having such varying effects, hope requires many things of an individual: an unquenchable thirst for whatever one hopes for, a stubbornness to reject any outcome other than the one desired, and a genuine belief that the hope will come to fruition. Hope has the power to save, yet at the same time it guarantees nothing. But that is just it: people recognize that hope does not guarantee a result. In fact, the uncertainty of the situation is the whole reason for them to hope in the first place. Hope is purely an internal shift. Hope relates to the well-being of the individual, not their external context.
Frankl’s text depicts the prisoners awaiting liberation from the Allies. Trusting in the Allied front and hoping that they break through the German defenses could have been a reasonable thing, depending on the point in the war. Hearing news of the eventual Allied progression must have inspired hope for many. But while some were fortunate enough to live to see the liberation of their camp, most did not see that glorious day. In this way, hope has no timeline. No one knew when they would be saved—or rather, if they would be saved. Hope is a disposition, and trusting in the Allies permitted this attitude. The Allied forces were both a symbol and a reality. They represented the idea of freedom and eventually followed through tangibly. But before the war ended, the prisoners had no assurance of this. Whether in the next moment, day, or year, they hoped that the Allies would eventually come. There was no certainty of eventual freedom, but they knew that someone somewhere was actively fighting for them, and that supplied some with everything they needed in order to hope.
The Nazis used hope as a means to an end. They deceived their prisoners because people respond to hope. It was a tool, and a very effective one—this is hope in its unnatural state. In a way, hope should remain undisturbed; let a man hope freely and fully. To be involved with a man’s hope is to be involved intimately with his life. One ought not to give hope only to tear it away—this is truly heartbreaking and potentially life-taking. Hope is powerful in this way.
Yes, hope is uncertain. No, the outcome cannot be guaranteed. Yet in the words of Frankl: “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to chose one’s own way.”
Robby Kishaba is currently a junior at the U.S. Air Force Academy. He is a Political Science major with a Philosophy minor. He is involved in the Swing Dance Club and the Triathlon Team. He was born in Eau Claire, Wisconsin and is the youngest of five children. Robby is currently a Cadet Squadron Superintendent and hopes to pursue becoming a pilot upon graduation.
A New Chapter
Yael Friedman, Senior Manager of International Fellowships
Since I took the position of Senior Manager of International Fellowships in December, time has flown by. As an Auschwitz Jewish Center Fellow alumna from 2013, I had been interested in working with the AJC ever since. I was, and continue to be, inspired by their important work to teach about the Jewish history of Oświęcim, examine the impact of the Holocaust on the town and in Poland, and fight contemporary discrimination. Having worked even more closely with the AJC since 2015, leading the American Service Academies Program and then the Fellows program as well the following year, this view has been solidified. It is even more rewarding to be part of the program planning process. It is a privilege to prepare and guide military cadets and midshipmen, college and graduate students, and adults, through meaningful engagement with the historical content as well as the personal and emotional experience of being in Poland.
The granddaughter of a Holocaust survivor and two Jews who left Poland during the interwar years, I have a personal connection to this history. My grandmother has regaled me with stories of life in Włocławek, Poland, both the happy memories and those that are deeply upsetting. It wasn’t until I traveled through Poland with AJC staff, my second trip to Poland, that I was able to see some beauty in Poland and develop a deeper understanding of its complex history. With every group, visiting sites related to Polish history, Jewish history, and the Holocaust, is a new and unique experience, and I’m looking forward to many more!
Over these past few months I have had the opportunity to connect with many of you, by phone and in person, and hope to meet many more. I look forward to working with you. Let me know if I can be of any help to you and stay in touch!
Since I took the position of Senior Manager of International Fellowships in December, time has flown by. As an Auschwitz Jewish Center Fellow alumna from 2013, I had been interested in working with the AJC ever since. I was, and continue to be, inspired by their important work to teach about the Jewish history of Oświęcim, examine the impact of the Holocaust on the town and in Poland, and fight contemporary discrimination. Having worked even more closely with the AJC since 2015, leading the American Service Academies Program and then the Fellows program as well the following year, this view has been solidified. It is even more rewarding to be part of the program planning process. It is a privilege to prepare and guide military cadets and midshipmen, college and graduate students, and adults, through meaningful engagement with the historical content as well as the personal and emotional experience of being in Poland.
The granddaughter of a Holocaust survivor and two Jews who left Poland during the interwar years, I have a personal connection to this history. My grandmother has regaled me with stories of life in Włocławek, Poland, both the happy memories and those that are deeply upsetting. It wasn’t until I traveled through Poland with AJC staff, my second trip to Poland, that I was able to see some beauty in Poland and develop a deeper understanding of its complex history. With every group, visiting sites related to Polish history, Jewish history, and the Holocaust, is a new and unique experience, and I’m looking forward to many more!
Over these past few months I have had the opportunity to connect with many of you, by phone and in person, and hope to meet many more. I look forward to working with you. Let me know if I can be of any help to you and stay in touch!
Monday, December 26, 2016
Chrzanów Bakery Advertisement
In 1941, the Gerstners were deported to the Chrzanów ghetto. Chaim Gerstner was hanged publicly with his father Israel, brother Shimshon, and four other Jews on April 29, 1942 in the ghetto. His oldest daughter, Rachel, was the only family member to survive. She immigrated to Palestine in 1947.
This object is part of the collection of the State Archive in Katowice branch in Oświęcim.
Volunteer Profile: Max Schwaiger, 2016-2017
I was drawn to the AJC because I liked the idea of having a museum in Oświęcim that deals with the Jewish life in this town, and not only with the Holocaust. It is important to show people how prosperous and important the Jewish communities used to be in this region, and honor their memory. I enjoy leading walking tours a lot, because there are so many different people who come here for different reasons so I get to meet many individuals from around the world. Since I arrived, I have learned so much about Jewish history and the religion through our trainings and discussions with individuals of all backgrounds. In my opinion, the AJC is a smaller but equally important counterpart to the Auschwitz Museum because it is the only museum dealing with the life of Jews in this region.
Learn more about AJC Volunteers here.
Questioning Professional Ethics
MIDN 1/C Jessica Miller, 2016 ASAP Alum
The Hippocratic Oath, the document that historically binds physicians to ethical standards, carries the following stipulation in its direct translation: “…I will abstain from all intentional wrong-doing and harm, especially from abusing the bodies of man or woman, bond or free.” A modern version of the Oath states that doctor “will remember that [they] remain a member of society, with special obligations to all . . . fellow human beings.” While this version was written in 1964, well after the events of World War II and the Holocaust, it carries the same intent as the original message: a physician’s first responsibility is to humanity, not to science.
As a result, exploration of medicine that harms human beings in the process is morally reprehensible. Doctors, Nazi sympathizers or otherwise, directly violated the tenets of their profession to carry out mass extermination of several populations considered “undesirable.” They did this through a strict doctrine of dehumanization—purposefully denying the humanity of their subjects.
Physicians willfully abandoned their patients’ humanity in order to conduct reprehensible experiments. Many medical advances came from Nazi doctors pushing their victims past their physical limits, violating professional codes (military, legal, etc.) for comparison. My desire to serve as a military physician means that I must consider the ethics of two different professions in my work.
While fear is certainly one of the most important circumstances that challenges individual loyalties to moral and ethical codes, German professionals also sacrificed their professional obligations out of greed or ambition. In any case, the Holocaust contains numerous case studies that demonstrate precisely how dangerous abandoning one’s professional ethos can be when that person is in a position of power. The history of the Holocaust—before, during, and after—includes enabling factors perpetuated by military members, physicians, educators, clergy, and financiers or bankers. For instance, instructors taught Nazi racial ideology and encouraged youth participation in organizations like the Hitler Youth and the League of German Girls, and Nazi industrialists seized and repurposed formerly Jewish factories.
Focusing on physicians and military officers, I consider the violation of these professional codes to be the most devastating throughout the course of the Hitler’s Germany because doctors and members of the armed forces are responsible for protecting human life and managing violence. Moreover, because I aspire to commission into the Navy Medical Corps upon graduation, the impacts these two professions can have directly impact human life. The ASAP trip included historical examples, case studies, and personal interactions with individuals who served in both capacities.
The most notorious examples of physicians violating their ethics come from the labor and mass-extermination camps throughout Europe. Prisoners were subjected to experiments from three categories: military survival techniques, pharmaceutical and procedural treatments, and studies that helped perpetuate Nazi racial and ideological ideas. Many experiments incorporated varied atmospheric and environmental conditions, including high altitudes, pressure shifts, and low temperatures. Scientists also tested methods of making seawater potable. The Nazi doctors were able to conduct these experiments because they considered their victims to be less than human. As far as the Nazi physicians were concerned, the people captured and tortured by the Nazis were akin to rats in a laboratory. By practicing this mentality, they could abandon their duty to the Hippocratic Oath. Similarly, doctors on the platform at Auschwitz who performed the Selektion—sorting the healthy from the weak, to make one group laborers and send the other to the gas chambers—simply herded the people like cattle, poking and prodding at them when required.
Dr. Josef Mengele, the most famous of the physicians involved in these atrocities, essentially capitalized on the abundance of “patients” at Auschwitz. The Angel of Death (a nickname given to him) exemplified the blatant lack of concern Nazi physicians demonstrated towards their patients—his most famous work involved twins, especially children. In this sense, he is one of the most reprehensible figures of the Holocaust. While visiting Auschwitz I, the ASAP participants heard the story of Block 10, where a majority of the gruesome experiments took place. Doctors also conducted sterilization procedures on adults. Other such medical knowledge derived from the atrocity includes how long a human can survive low temperatures, and exploration of infectious diseases like tuberculosis.
The experiments Nazi physicians conducted during the Holocaust were undeniably committed in direct violation of the oath, which the professionals swore to uphold upon their completion of military or medical school training. However, in the case of the doctors, the data that remains as a consequence of the experiments is another issue entirely. I believe that the tragedy of the Holocaust is magnified exponentially when the scientific community chooses to ignore the information absolutely. However, I believe that using such material also runs the risk of contributing to future human rights violations done in the name of science or improvement of the human condition. The “data” runs the risk of shrouding the human suffering—some victims still live as a testament to their abuse at the hands of Nazi scientists. The scientific validity of many experiments is highly questionable because, as in the racial studies, the data manifested as a self-fulfilling prophecy: the results were tailored to support Nazi racial theory and can be of no scientific value.
In my opinion, the most impactful speaker ASAP students encountered during the trip was Dr. Andrzej Wiczynski, who served as a platoon commander during the Warsaw Uprising in 1944. Dr. Wiczynski, who retired as a major and then attended medical school to eventually work as a trauma surgeon following World War II, was the lone military speaker during the program. Consequently, his experiences excited and astonished ASAP participants—many of us could not even begin to imagine the sacrifices Dr. Wiczynski made to protect his city and his people. He is an example of the power one individual has with regard to personal decisions, and worked as a servant leader in both the military and medical professions.
Dr. Wiczynski performed a number of staggering tasks during his time in the Polish Home Army. Some of these missions floored the midshipmen and cadets because we could not fathom having to take on the same level of responsibility. One such action involved Dr. Wiczynski having to arrest and execute the mother of five children because she spied for the Germans and betrayed many of her neighbors. He was not pleased at the prospect of having to bring her to justice because that involved orphaning the five children, but did so because it was his task. Dr. Wiczynski embodies a principle often taught to budding military officers, particularly those at service academies: “If not me, then who.” Dr. Wiczynski took on even the most unpleasant aspects of his work in order to fully support the mission of the Polish Home Army in expelling the Nazis from their city and eventually the entire country.
Even more shocking to the students was a fact that Dr. Wiczynski shared in a very straightforward manner: his age during several military milestones. He commanded a platoon of sixty-five 14 to 16-year old boys when he was 17. These numbers are so noteworthy because the thirteen ASAP participants are all 18 years of age or older—only one of us had any significant prior military experience, and nobody among us could imagine making decisions on the caliber of Dr. Wiczynski’s even as many approach graduation and full-fledged service in the Army, Air Force, Coast Guard, Navy, and Marine Corps. He demonstrated the deepest considerations for the moral and ethical codes that guided his work.
Dr. Wiczynski’s high regard for his professional codes is further reflected by his choice to pursue medicine after the events of the Warsaw Uprising and World War II. He became a trauma surgeon. When the ASAP participants asked him what his rationale was for this decision, the response was simple: he hoped to give back, and make some sort of restitution to society for the lives he took during his military service. Dr. Wiczynski doubly contributed to the chorus of voices that deepen the narrative of the Holocaust to one that includes hope—he fulfilled his professional codes and upheld ethical standards.
The ASAP experience taught me how pivotal my role as an officer will be for upholding the values and laws of the United States of America. Even as a junior officer or budding medical student still learning the ropes of my work, my decisions must fundamentally reflect a higher calling and code.
MIDN Jess Miller is a senior (Midshipman 1/C) at the United States Naval Academy. She is in 7th Company, serves as president and Editor-in-Chief of The LOG, the Academy’s satire magazine for AY17, and serves as Brigade Protocol Officer. She worked as a Regimental Honor Advisor during the Class of 2020’s Plebe Summer. Jess is from Chesapeake, VA, and is an Honors English major. She previously held the position of president of the Navy Medicine Club, works as a peer tutor at The Writing Center, and competes on the Navy Club Fencing Team. She has been blessed with the opportunity to pursue the Navy Medical Corps after graduation, and will attend the Uniformed Services University of the Health Sciences for medical school.
The Hippocratic Oath, the document that historically binds physicians to ethical standards, carries the following stipulation in its direct translation: “…I will abstain from all intentional wrong-doing and harm, especially from abusing the bodies of man or woman, bond or free.” A modern version of the Oath states that doctor “will remember that [they] remain a member of society, with special obligations to all . . . fellow human beings.” While this version was written in 1964, well after the events of World War II and the Holocaust, it carries the same intent as the original message: a physician’s first responsibility is to humanity, not to science.
As a result, exploration of medicine that harms human beings in the process is morally reprehensible. Doctors, Nazi sympathizers or otherwise, directly violated the tenets of their profession to carry out mass extermination of several populations considered “undesirable.” They did this through a strict doctrine of dehumanization—purposefully denying the humanity of their subjects.
Physicians willfully abandoned their patients’ humanity in order to conduct reprehensible experiments. Many medical advances came from Nazi doctors pushing their victims past their physical limits, violating professional codes (military, legal, etc.) for comparison. My desire to serve as a military physician means that I must consider the ethics of two different professions in my work.
The summary of the American Service Academies Program (ASAP) includes the following learning objective for participants: “to understand what can happen . . . when fear overpowers ethics.”
While fear is certainly one of the most important circumstances that challenges individual loyalties to moral and ethical codes, German professionals also sacrificed their professional obligations out of greed or ambition. In any case, the Holocaust contains numerous case studies that demonstrate precisely how dangerous abandoning one’s professional ethos can be when that person is in a position of power. The history of the Holocaust—before, during, and after—includes enabling factors perpetuated by military members, physicians, educators, clergy, and financiers or bankers. For instance, instructors taught Nazi racial ideology and encouraged youth participation in organizations like the Hitler Youth and the League of German Girls, and Nazi industrialists seized and repurposed formerly Jewish factories.
Focusing on physicians and military officers, I consider the violation of these professional codes to be the most devastating throughout the course of the Hitler’s Germany because doctors and members of the armed forces are responsible for protecting human life and managing violence. Moreover, because I aspire to commission into the Navy Medical Corps upon graduation, the impacts these two professions can have directly impact human life. The ASAP trip included historical examples, case studies, and personal interactions with individuals who served in both capacities.
The most notorious examples of physicians violating their ethics come from the labor and mass-extermination camps throughout Europe. Prisoners were subjected to experiments from three categories: military survival techniques, pharmaceutical and procedural treatments, and studies that helped perpetuate Nazi racial and ideological ideas. Many experiments incorporated varied atmospheric and environmental conditions, including high altitudes, pressure shifts, and low temperatures. Scientists also tested methods of making seawater potable. The Nazi doctors were able to conduct these experiments because they considered their victims to be less than human. As far as the Nazi physicians were concerned, the people captured and tortured by the Nazis were akin to rats in a laboratory. By practicing this mentality, they could abandon their duty to the Hippocratic Oath. Similarly, doctors on the platform at Auschwitz who performed the Selektion—sorting the healthy from the weak, to make one group laborers and send the other to the gas chambers—simply herded the people like cattle, poking and prodding at them when required.
Dr. Josef Mengele, the most famous of the physicians involved in these atrocities, essentially capitalized on the abundance of “patients” at Auschwitz. The Angel of Death (a nickname given to him) exemplified the blatant lack of concern Nazi physicians demonstrated towards their patients—his most famous work involved twins, especially children. In this sense, he is one of the most reprehensible figures of the Holocaust. While visiting Auschwitz I, the ASAP participants heard the story of Block 10, where a majority of the gruesome experiments took place. Doctors also conducted sterilization procedures on adults. Other such medical knowledge derived from the atrocity includes how long a human can survive low temperatures, and exploration of infectious diseases like tuberculosis.
The experiments Nazi physicians conducted during the Holocaust were undeniably committed in direct violation of the oath, which the professionals swore to uphold upon their completion of military or medical school training. However, in the case of the doctors, the data that remains as a consequence of the experiments is another issue entirely. I believe that the tragedy of the Holocaust is magnified exponentially when the scientific community chooses to ignore the information absolutely. However, I believe that using such material also runs the risk of contributing to future human rights violations done in the name of science or improvement of the human condition. The “data” runs the risk of shrouding the human suffering—some victims still live as a testament to their abuse at the hands of Nazi scientists. The scientific validity of many experiments is highly questionable because, as in the racial studies, the data manifested as a self-fulfilling prophecy: the results were tailored to support Nazi racial theory and can be of no scientific value.
In my opinion, the most impactful speaker ASAP students encountered during the trip was Dr. Andrzej Wiczynski, who served as a platoon commander during the Warsaw Uprising in 1944. Dr. Wiczynski, who retired as a major and then attended medical school to eventually work as a trauma surgeon following World War II, was the lone military speaker during the program. Consequently, his experiences excited and astonished ASAP participants—many of us could not even begin to imagine the sacrifices Dr. Wiczynski made to protect his city and his people. He is an example of the power one individual has with regard to personal decisions, and worked as a servant leader in both the military and medical professions.
Dr. Wiczynski performed a number of staggering tasks during his time in the Polish Home Army. Some of these missions floored the midshipmen and cadets because we could not fathom having to take on the same level of responsibility. One such action involved Dr. Wiczynski having to arrest and execute the mother of five children because she spied for the Germans and betrayed many of her neighbors. He was not pleased at the prospect of having to bring her to justice because that involved orphaning the five children, but did so because it was his task. Dr. Wiczynski embodies a principle often taught to budding military officers, particularly those at service academies: “If not me, then who.” Dr. Wiczynski took on even the most unpleasant aspects of his work in order to fully support the mission of the Polish Home Army in expelling the Nazis from their city and eventually the entire country.
Even more shocking to the students was a fact that Dr. Wiczynski shared in a very straightforward manner: his age during several military milestones. He commanded a platoon of sixty-five 14 to 16-year old boys when he was 17. These numbers are so noteworthy because the thirteen ASAP participants are all 18 years of age or older—only one of us had any significant prior military experience, and nobody among us could imagine making decisions on the caliber of Dr. Wiczynski’s even as many approach graduation and full-fledged service in the Army, Air Force, Coast Guard, Navy, and Marine Corps. He demonstrated the deepest considerations for the moral and ethical codes that guided his work.
Dr. Wiczynski’s high regard for his professional codes is further reflected by his choice to pursue medicine after the events of the Warsaw Uprising and World War II. He became a trauma surgeon. When the ASAP participants asked him what his rationale was for this decision, the response was simple: he hoped to give back, and make some sort of restitution to society for the lives he took during his military service. Dr. Wiczynski doubly contributed to the chorus of voices that deepen the narrative of the Holocaust to one that includes hope—he fulfilled his professional codes and upheld ethical standards.
The ASAP experience taught me how pivotal my role as an officer will be for upholding the values and laws of the United States of America. Even as a junior officer or budding medical student still learning the ropes of my work, my decisions must fundamentally reflect a higher calling and code.
MIDN Jess Miller is a senior (Midshipman 1/C) at the United States Naval Academy. She is in 7th Company, serves as president and Editor-in-Chief of The LOG, the Academy’s satire magazine for AY17, and serves as Brigade Protocol Officer. She worked as a Regimental Honor Advisor during the Class of 2020’s Plebe Summer. Jess is from Chesapeake, VA, and is an Honors English major. She previously held the position of president of the Navy Medicine Club, works as a peer tutor at The Writing Center, and competes on the Navy Club Fencing Team. She has been blessed with the opportunity to pursue the Navy Medical Corps after graduation, and will attend the Uniformed Services University of the Health Sciences for medical school.
In the Mountains
Shiri Sandler, Former AJC U.S. Director
After ten years with the Auschwitz Jewish Center and the Museum of Jewish Heritage, my last day was December 7. I have loved working with the AJC. I've worked with hundreds of students who have touched my heart and taught me so much about memory, history, and ethics. I've been honored to tell the stories of Holocaust victims and survivors, to curate an exhibition about Oświęcim that is now traveling the world, and to come to know so many of you and be trusted with your family histories.
I couldn't be prouder of what we've accomplished in ten years: expanded the American Service Academies Program (above, in 2013) and AJC Fellows Program, opened new opportunities like the PSA and police programs, and built Café Bergson in the rehabilitated Kluger House. I've been lucky to be in this position and work with such talented colleagues; anyone would be lucky to love their job in the way I have. Thank you for your support these past ten years.
I've been honored to work with you. Personally, this has been one of the most meaningful experiences of my life. I won't be going far, and I look forward to seeing all of you in the AJC family again soon.
Thursday, September 15, 2016
Artifact Spotlight: Challah cover
This challah (traditional bread baked for Shabbat) cover was sold to raise money for Kolel Chibas Yerushalayim (est. 1830), a charity that supported Jews who had emigrated to the Holy Land from Galicia, a former historical and geographical region in southeastern Poland and Ukraine. The cover features the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. Many Jewish homes in Oświęcim had special collection boxes to raise money for their brethren in Palestine. This challah cover was found in 1990s in a house on Berka Joselewicza Street in Oświęcim. Gift of Aleksandra and Tomasz Kuncewicz.
US Army Captain Benjamin Dratch
In June 2016, Captain Benjamin Dratch spoke at the annual AJC dinner. This is the text of his speech:
Ladies and gentleman, thank you very much for attending the Auschwitz Jewish Center Foundation Dinner and for supporting the American Service Academies Program. I would especially like to thank Shiri Sandler, the US Director of the AJC, for the opportunity to speak to all of you tonight.
Seven years ago, I attended this same function as a very different person. I was 19 years old, had just completed my freshman year at the United States Military Academy, and, despite a challenging first year at West Point, I still had a belief that I was almost invincible. My experience during the American Service Academies Program profoundly changed my worldview.
I am Jewish and my grandmother escaped Germany in 1936. My first visit to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum was when I was 15, and my grandmother walked me through the museum telling me how her life had changed as the Nazis came to power. She told me how her old friends started avoiding her and how being Jewish became increasingly stigmatized. If anyone in my generation was in a position to understand the plight of the Jews in the Holocaust, it was me. But yet, I did not. I thought I empathized with their struggle but I really could not imagine losing my life in a death camp. Somehow, I always believed that it would have been different for me; I would have managed to escape. I now see the error of the arrogance borne from my inexperience. As an able-bodied, white, middle-class, American male, it was incredibly difficult for me to imagine the powerlessness of those being held by the Nazis. There is something immeasurably moving about seeing first-hand the thick brick walls, tall watch towers, and rows of barbed wire surrounding the Auschwitz Death Camp. I finally realized, if I had lived in Germany during the early 1940s, I too would have likely lost my life in a place like Auschwitz. Just as I feel totally integrated into American society today, countless Jews felt connected to their respective cultures in Europe and were unable to imagine the fate that awaited them at the hands of the Nazis. It is easy to grow comfortable believing the world is destined to become increasingly peaceful and humane, but history will only repeat itself if we do not remain forever vigilant and combat hateful ideologies before they gain popular support.
So, you might be wondering, the American Services Academies Program teaches empathy to future military officers but how does that translate into action? This is where I believe the program is truly exceptional. During our visits to different museums and while listening to a variety of speakers, we learned about the many Righteous Gentiles who risked their own lives to help the oppressed. Hearing these stories, one thing in particular always stood out to me: all these heroes viewed their own efforts in relatively unheroic terms. They simply stated that helping others was the right thing to do, so they helped. And they didn’t see themselves as having done any single particularly courageous act, they just lived their daily lives in a moral way and when presented with an ethical challenge, like whether or not to help hide a family of Jews fleeing Nazi occupied territories, they acted in accordance with their deeply held values.
In Exodus 23:9, the Torah states that “you know the feelings of a stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Israel.” I have considered this quote often since first traveling to Auschwitz. During my first deployment to Afghanistan, I was initially in charge of many Afghan-born linguists and locally contracted workers who helped on the base. While technically I was in their country, the Afghans were definitely “strangers” who had limited power when working on an American Forward Operating Base. It was educational opportunities like the American Service Academies Program that prepared me to be able to relate and empathize with individuals from such a different background. Talking to many of the Afghans I worked alongside, I was always struck by the common humanity we shared. Just like the average American, the vast majority of Afghans dream of living in a country where their families are safe and they are able earn a living wage. My duties during that first deployment to Afghanistan, and even in my subsequent deployment to Iraq, were nothing that remarkable but I took a great deal of pride in them. I figured it was the little actions that mattered: attempting to do the right thing day-in-and-day-out. That is the way so many Righteous Gentiles approached life and is clearly the way many of you, here tonight, live your lives. All of you could be somewhere else, but you are here, supporting this incredible organization.
This program has given me, and so many other officers, a priceless learning experience that we will never forget. The world is a dangerous place, and the American Military will continue to play an important stabilizing role for decades to come. Your support of the American Service Academies Program helps ensure that future leaders, like the cadets seated here tonight, are prepared to take on the challenges that lay ahead. Thank you so much for your dedicated support of this program and our country.
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