The Big Conversations

It may have passed you by, but a few weeks ago was Holocaust Remembrance.  Honestly, it wasn't on my radar, but Jack got a lovely bird calendar for Christmas and there it was: April 7th, Holocaust Remembrance Day.  It was a Sunday night, and I was a little late getting the kids in bed.  They've been going through this "sleepover" phase, where they want to sleep together every night, and I was giving them a trial run in Jack's room.  We're on the floor, lumped together with some sleeping bags and blankets about to read Shel Silverstein and Jack sees the Calendar.  Since he is the king of questions, he asks it: What is the Holocaust?

How do you answer this question? As is often the case, I just did the best I could.  I try to be honest and simple and see what the next question will be.  I said the holocaust was years ago when a group in Europe, but Germany especially, decided that some people were genetically inferior, so they killed them.  I could relate the whole conversation, but the parts that really stick out for me were when Lila said, "Why didn't people just go to the police?" and I had to explain that the whole government was part of the killing.  Then Jack wanted to know why the Jewish people didn't just pretend to be Christian.  I talked about denying yourself and honor and faith.  Lila wanted to know how many bad people there were, and I talked about how some normal people, who might not have been all bad, did some really unspeakable things because they were following orders, not thinking for themselves, only doing what others around them were doing.  It was a horrible, horrible night for me.

The kids, however, seemed to take it in stride.  This disturbed me as much as anything.  Lila, sweet thing, has a really big heart.  She cries when she sees a puppy on television or a princess gets hurt in a cartoon.  How that can affect her and the Holocaust doesn't is a puzzle to me.  I think it is too big and she can't see it.  Jack was just more puzzled about HOW it could have happened.  Why didn't the Jews leave as soon as they knew what was happening?  Why didn't they take the stars off?  Why couldn't kids of Jews (like him, he said) just go to France?

So, as I turned off the light and closed the door, I was wondering what kind of dreams I had given my children that night.  I wondered if I had just taught them not to trust government officials, not to tell people they are half Jewish, to always question authority.  I hope I didn't make them afraid.  I hope I didn't destroy their faith in human kindness.  I took a moment outside their room to sniff up my tears and head downstairs to warn Josh about future questions.  It seems like there are always more questions.

But this time there haven't been.  I don't know what that says about them.  Maybe we talked about it just enough that I don't have to talk about it again for a very long time.  I hope they learned enough.