I Forgot That Monday Was Holocaust Remembrance Day

My Jewish identity and the perils of assimilation

I’ve been thinking about my Jewish identity in the context of living an assimilated life with an assimilated last name, spending my time between Manhattan and East Hampton.

Assimilation does not mean an abandonment of my Jewish identity. Rather it means an ease, a lack of friction, a membership among mostly other Jews in what seems to be the dominant culture of the milieu I inhabit and the people I know.

The last time I was upset at being Jewish was at the age of five when my dream of being President met the reality that there had never been a Jewish President. Other than that, if I’ve encountered any anti-Semitism that has affected me directly, I’m unaware of it.

This past Monday was Yom HaShoah, known in English as Holocaust Remembrance Day. In Israel, by law, all places of public entertainment are closed, and at 10 am, sirens sound and everyone in the country must stop what they’re doing and be silent for two minutes.

Yom HaShoah is the abbreviated name of the legal holiday. It’s an unfortunate abbreviation as it does a disservice to the intention of the law, which is to honor not just the martyrs but also the heroes. The complete legal name is Yom HaZikaron laShoah ve-laG'vurah, translated into English as Holocaust and Heroism Remembrance Day.

I don’t observe most Jewish rituals so I forgot that Monday was Yom HaShoah. I’m more than a little ashamed about this because it’s disrespectful to the memory of those who perished and those who were saviors.

I’m well-read on the Holocaust, both its history and its literature. I’m well aware that October 7^th, 2023 was the most savage day for Jews since the Holocaust ended. And of course I’m aware of the intensity of the anti-Israel protests, with their anti-Semitic tropes, around the world and on campuses close by in New York City.

So really I had no excuse not to acknowledge Yom HaShoah, especially this year.

Since I generally don’t express my Jewish identity through observance of rituals, what’s left for me to deal with my shame over forgetting Yom HaShoah are knowledge and ethics.

Knowledge

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Because it was at hand, I turned to the Complete Works of Primo Levi. Primo is arguably the most intellectually influential and gifted writer on the Holocaust. He was also prolific. His Complete Works runs to almost three thousand pages.

I opened onto a random page and landed in the middle of an autobiographical vignette in a book called Lilith And Other Stories, a book new to me.

The vignette, based on a true story (although names may have been changed), takes place in Auschwitz on the eve of Yom Kippur. Primo’s fellow prisoner and devoutly Jewish friend Ezra wants to observe the 24 hour Yom Kippur fast from one sundown to the next. The purpose of the fast is to atone for one’s sins.

The person in charge of Ezra’s barracks and therefore Ezra’s fate is a political prisoner, a brawny German communist named Otto who had been part of the original crew that built the first Auschwitz barracks and thus one of the first “settlers” of Auschwitz.

Primo writes that Otto felt entitled to the respect that comes from being among the original gang in any community, whether a descendant of a Mayflower passenger or a prisoner branded with the spectacularly low tattoo number of fourteen.

But the prisoners’ respect for Otto actually came from his powerful fists and rapid reflexes.

To observe the Yom Kippur fast, Ezra makes an unprecedented request of Otto––a reverse Oliver Twist. As Otto is about to pour into Ezra’s bowl his daily ration of soup, Ezra asks Otto to put aside his soup for the next evening so that Ezra can observe the Yom Kippur fast without permanently forsaking precious calories. Here’s Primo:

“[Otto] had already scraped the ration of soup from the vat, and he stopped suddenly, with the ladle raised halfway: his jaw slowly lowered, without lurching, and his mouth hung open.” ¹

Primo writes that at that moment Otto is tempted to either laugh or strike out at Ezra. Instead Otto asks Ezra to come back later.

When Ezra returns, Otto demands an explanation of this fasting ritual, which is unknown to him. Ezra, being a cantor and a learned Jew, takes the opportunity to explain to Otto––at length––the various ins and outs of atonement and the Yom Kippur rituals, which include a strict prohibition against work.

Ezra assures Otto, however, that it’s okay for Ezra to violate the prohibition and work the next day because if he doesn’t work he’ll be killed, and in Judaism, life always takes precedence over ritual.

In terms of the prohibition against drinking and eating, Ezra offers a few intricate rabbinical rulings. For example, a Jew will not violate the fast if he eats food smaller than a date or drinks a quantity that can be held between one cheek and his teeth.

Otto’s interest is piqued. Remember, Otto’s a Marxist so he’s very much at home with details of abstruse doctrines.

Otto asks Ezra how he feels about drinking the soup cold the next day. Ezra points out two advantages of the cold soup. Theologically, it’s better for a Jew not to have any part in encouraging anyone, Jewish or otherwise, to light a fire on Yom Kippur. On a practical level, Ezra lets Otto know that the prisoners prefer the taste of the soup when it’s cold, because when it’s cold the soup tastes just a little less sour.

Otto pours an unusually generous portion of soup into Ezra’s bowl and secures it in a cabinet to keep it safe for Ezra to drink the next evening.

Primo writes:

“…[Ezra] observed the fast because of his personal heroic zeal, and I remember quite well he was not the only one.” ²

I don’t know what motivated Otto to comply with Ezra’s request. Perhaps he was impressed with Ezra’s “heroic zeal” to stay true to the doctrines of Judaism. I don’t know what it meant to Ezra to have the opportunity to teach Otto about Jewish traditions in a place built with the object of wiping out Jews and their traditions from the face of the earth.

Ethics

In wanting to balance the scales of my self-esteem as a Jew, knowledge alone won’t do. Ethics and their application in the world must come into play.

The ethics of Judaism are not unique, but they do have the merit of being among the oldest ethical precepts and the forebearer among the three Abrahamic faiths (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam).

Jewish ethics is aptly summarized in a single line from the prophet Micah:

“Do justice, love goodness, and walk humbly with your God.”

I’d supplement Micah with a line we repeat from the lovely ritual of the Passover seder, a tradition our family does observe.

“Love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”

Inscribed within my Jewish identity, impervious to assimilation, is the long history of Jews being seen as strangers unjustly treated through unequal laws, expulsions, and persecutions, a history that culminated in the Holocaust. ³

I’ve mentioned before that I spend time in East Hampton. There is perhaps nowhere else in America where the migrants who come to work during the summer season are treated more like strangers and where economic inequality is so stark and so brutal.

In the summer months, workers we don’t know and don’t typically acknowledge, make our lives function smoothly. They bus our tables, clean our homes, mow our lawns, prune our trees, and build our houses.

Many if not most of these workers are migrants, undocumented immigrants. In the winter months when most of their work disappears, these families struggle to survive. Some of them live in the woods in tented encampments. Their children will sometimes stay in cars if an apartment can’t be found.

One of the migrants’ encampments

I have an opportunity to do justice for these “strangers” because of the work of a woman named Marit Molin. Marit saw these migrants, saw how they were living, and did not look away. She started an organization in 2020 called Hamptons Community Outreach (“HCO”), which is making great early progress in bringing justice to this population.

Marit’s organization delivers donated food, uses volunteer labor to repair dwellings infested by black mold and other dangerous conditions, and enlists volunteers to help the migrant children live lives just a little closer to normalcy, closer to a simulacrum of the lives their classmates live. For example, the organization holds free art camps and purchased $140 tickets for the children of migrants to attend their senior prom.

Because such a large percentage of goods and services are donated to HCO, Marit is able to have an outsized impact with a small budget. Her dollars have a multiplier effect. And, but for Marit and her colleagues, this crucial help would not exist.

The work of HCO is deeply moving to my wife and me, and HCO is an organization we are grateful to support. ⁴

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I suspect that my forgetting Yom HaShoah was a willful act of avoidance. At this particular moment of Jewish history, Jewish persecution is more evident than at any other point in my lifetime. The protests, the vitriol against Israel, and the October 7^th attack make me angry. And anger is a feeling I try to avoid.

Avoiding anger may be fine, but failing to act is not. Reading Primo Levi’s vignette of the risk Ezra took to observe the Yom Kippur fast reminded me of the sacrifices that have been made to uphold rituals I don’t observe. The storing of the soup by the fearsome Otto reminded me of the importance of acts of kindness.

I feel called upon to study Jewish history, including the Holocaust, and to uphold Jewish ethics. These are necessary acts of gratitude to honor my ancestors who kept the rituals alive and to honor all the Jews who came before me, so many of whom suffered terribly just because they were Jewish.

Without their efforts and sacrifices, my assimilated Jewish life in America would simply not be possible.

Question for The Comments: How do you choose to express or honor your heritage, whether religious or secular?

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1. From the vignette The Cantor and the Veteran in Lilith and Other Stories by Primo Levi. Translated by Ann Goldstein.

2. Commentary, February 1986. Written by Primo in response to the article “Reading Primo Levi” by Fernanda Eberstadt published in the issue of October 1985.

3. For Jews and others who understand the long sweep of Jewish history, the chant of “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” is anathema. Consider the notorious and infamous Nazi phrase of “Judenrein,” free of Jews, which meant at first the exclusion of Jews from most aspects of German life and then eventually became the one word mission statement of the Final Solution.

4. I first heard about Hamptons Community Outreach last summer from my friend Marc Lowenberg who is on HCO’s Board. My interest was increased by seeing this NYT article last month about HCO that was featured by

Emily

on her Substack, FeedMe, a favorite of mine.