Martin Herskovitz, "Son of the Shoah: Poems from a Second-Generation Holocaust Survivor" (McFarland, 2025)

Summary

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Podcast Summary

Podcast: New Books Network
Episode: Martin Herskovitz, "Son of the Shoah: Poems from a Second-Generation Holocaust Survivor"
Host: Rora Arousi
Guest: Martin Herskovitz
Date: December 26, 2025

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Episode Overview

This episode features a profound conversation between host Rora Arousi and poet Martin Herskovitz about his book Son of the Shoah: Poems from a Second-Generation Holocaust Survivor (McFarland, 2025). The discussion delves into Herskovitz's personal and collective journey as a child of Holocaust survivors, exploring inherited trauma, memory, the burdens of silence, and the role of poetry in processing intergenerational grief. The episode also examines the evolving meaning of Holocaust remembrance for second-generation survivors, with Herskovitz reading select poems illustrating these themes.

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Key Discussion Points & Insights

1. Introduction & Context

• Martin Herskovitz's Background:

  • Born in the USA, made aliyah to Israel at 30.
  • Began confronting the impact of being a second-generation Holocaust survivor in his mid-40s ([02:43]).
  • Turned to poetry after realizing the impact of unspoken trauma and the silence prevalent in survivor families.

• Poetry as Connection:

  • Poetry became a vital tool for Herskovitz to reach into his family’s past, especially when spoken words were absent:

    “So I used poetry as a means of connecting to my past and connecting to the Holocaust memory.” ([03:58])

2. The Book's Title and Its Evolution

• Original Hebrew Edition:
  • First written and published in Hebrew as Shnot Dor, a wordplay on "second generation," with deep biblical resonance ([04:31]).
  • English title changed to Son of the Shoah for explicit Holocaust reference—a choice emphasizing the shaping force of the Shoah on his identity:

    “Who I am now is... because of the Shoah, and I’m very much a product of the Shoah.” ([06:19])

3. The Concept of “Second Generation”

• Herskovitz reflects on being born “to repair and to fill the vacuum the Shoah left” ([06:57]).

• Judith Baumel Schwartz’s foreword highlights the implied continuity in “second generation”—a concept of inherited trauma, connection and dependence ([06:19]–[06:57]).

• On Burden and Identity:

  "When you’re born in order to repair a world that was destroyed, it’s almost an impossible task." (Herskovitz, [07:55])

• On Naming and Responsibility:

  “A child of Holocaust survivors seldom has a life of their own. We’re almost always named for someone or, more usually, more than one person… brought into the world to replace those other souls.” (Arousi citing the book, [07:55]–[08:29])

4. Themes of Silence and Mourning

• Parental Silence:
  Herskovitz recounts his mother’s refusal to discuss her Holocaust experiences, protecting her unique “silence” ([11:23]).

  Notable Quote:

  “My mother has never spoken of what happened during the war. Her silence unsullied. Just look on the Internet, she says. It is full of stories no different than mine. Only silence is truly hers.” (Poem “Silence”, read at [11:23]–[11:48])

• Inadequacy of Conventional Mourning:

  “I truly feel that my parents never mourned for the family that died... They made themselves busy with reinventing the world and repairing the world... the silence is unfair to those who were murdered.” ([08:41]–[09:57])

  • Herskovitz’s poetry serves as a private and communal act of mourning, striving to fill the void left by his parents’ silence.

5. Intergenerational Trauma & Rebellion

• Rebellion Deferred:

  “My poetry is some sort of my adolescent rebellion, 40 years later.” (Herskovitz, [11:13])

• Feeling of Failure and Responsibility:

  “I was born in order to cure my parents, to make them feel better. And I failed… I’ve grown up with the feeling that I never was able to make my parents full.” ([10:00])

6. Tension Between Sadness and Renewal

• Poem: “Renewal” ([13:18])
  • Vivid imagery of almond trees blooming in frost reflects both renewal and cruelty in being born into trauma.
  • Herskovitz expresses ambivalence about hope:

    “No, I don’t see it as hopeful at all... I don’t think I’m here in this world to be happy. If I can help people with my pain and with my poetry, then that’s why I’m here.” ([14:18]–[15:50])

7. Complexities of Bearing Witness

• Limits of Second-Generation Testimony:

  • Herskovitz is candid about the difference between inherited and lived trauma:

    “What does a second generation testify? ... They have the inherited story, but then they have their own story also.” ([19:56])

  • Poem: “Testimony” ([19:56]):

    “When my turn came to tell my family’s Holocaust story, I could only remember the lonely boy in the yard. I could only remember the disappointment in her eyes as I told my memories from Auschwitz.” ([20:45])

  • The emotional burden is compounded by a sense of inadequacy and alienation from direct experience, yet an internalization of grief.

8. God, Theodicy, and Faith After Catastrophe

• The Role of God:

  • Herskovitz’s poems “Theology” and “God’s Wrath” grapple with the absence or incomprehensibility of God post-Shoah:

    “Either God was able to prevent their deaths and chose not to… then I see no reason to thank him… Alternatively, if God was helpless and incapable… then I don’t have any reason to be on his good side…” (“Theology”, [22:09])

    “God stays in his room and I’m in mine… he does not huddle next to me in the safe room... at night he snores and keeps me awake.” (“God’s Wrath”, [26:10]–[27:03])

  • This struggle reflects both rational and emotional attempts to process suffering and injustice within faith traditions ([23:30]–[24:41]).

9. The Image of the Memorial Candle

• On Remembrance:

  • Herskovitz considers himself a "memorial candle," responsible for mourning and keeping memory alive, especially for relatives never commemorated ([27:34]).

  • His poems “Names” and “Mints” poignantly enact this remembrance:

    “My mother’s father was named Mordechai Kleinbart... Mordechai Kleinbart is the single name I have, and it alone is carved into stone... All other names exist only in memories long interred or in pages yet unwritten.” (“Names”, [28:00]–[30:07])

    “No one really mourns my grandfather. No one really mourns my uncles who died as children, except me a little bit.” ([29:00])

• Purpose of Poetry:

  • Through these poems, Herskovitz attempts to "process the trauma" by restoring memory and initiating mourning, both personally and for his community ([27:34]–[30:07]).

10. Rethinking Holocaust Memory and Commemoration

• Toward More Personal Remembrance:
  > “One of my goals … is to change the way we commemorate the Holocaust… it’s very little about remembering and mourning the people who died… If I can change it to be more like the Soldier’s Remembrance Day, I’ve done something.” ([30:19]–[31:06])

• Herskovitz advocates for more individualized mourning, moving away from ideological approaches toward emotionally resonant memorialization.

11. New Projects

• Herskovitz previews an upcoming book in collaboration with the Finkler Institute and Prof. Judy Baumel, focusing on the evolution of Holocaust memory—from ideology to emotional resonance ([31:12]–[32:15]).

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Notable Quotes & Memorable Moments

• On Jewish Intergenerational Identity:

  “When you’re born in order to repair a world that was destroyed, it’s almost an impossible task.” ([07:55])

• On the Role of Silence:

  “Only silence is truly hers.” (Poem, [11:48])

• On Mourning and Memory:

  “When I read those poems, I remember them and I mourn them and I deal with the trauma. So that’s why I wrote this book.” ([29:00])

• Struggle with God:

  “God stays in his room and I’m in mine… And on Shabbat in the synagogue, I look for him, but I cannot find him. But I know that he exists because at night he snores and keeps me awake.” (Poem “God’s Wrath”, [26:10])

• Herskovitz’s Vision for Commemoration:

  “If I can change it to be more like the Soldier’s Remembrance Day, I’ve done something.” ([31:06])

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Timestamps for Key Segments

• Guest Introduction & Motivations: [02:43]
• Book Title & Hebrew/English Differences: [04:31]–[06:19]
• Definition of Second Generation: [06:19]–[07:55]; [08:29]
• Discussions on Mourning & Parental Silence: [08:41]–[11:23]
• Reading: “Silence”: [11:23]–[11:48]
• Personal Reflection on Rebellion & Trauma: [11:13]; [10:00]
• Reading & Reflection: “Renewal”: [13:18]–[15:50]
• Testimony and Transmission of Trauma: [19:56]–[20:45]
• DNA Memory / Epigenetics: [20:56]
• God, Theodicy, Theology: [22:09]–[27:03]
• Reading & Reflection: “Names” and “Mints”: [28:00]–[30:07]
• Call for Change in Remembrance Culture: [30:19]–[31:06]
• Upcoming Projects: [31:12]–[32:15]
• Closing Reflections on Duty and Mourning: [32:21]–[32:42]

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Conclusion

This episode offers a moving exploration of second-generation Holocaust survivor experience as seen through Martin Herskovitz’s poetry. The conversation skillfully traverses personal memory, inherited trauma, questions of faith, and the evolving landscape of Holocaust remembrance. Herskovitz’s openness and the evocative reading of his poems invite listeners—regardless of background—into a space of reflection, communal mourning, and renewed understanding of survival and legacy.

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Transcript

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The New Books Network.

[A]

Hello and welcome to the New Books Network Jewish Studies Channel. I am your host, Rora Arousi, executive director of Unity through Diversity Institute, where we explore the future of our heritage. Today, we are truly delighted to speak with Martin Hershkovitz about his book Son of the poems from a second generation Holocaust survivor, published by McFarland & Co. Press in 2025. Thank you so much for joining us here today. I am really excited about this because this is something outside of what we normally talk.

[B]

About.

[A]

Okay. At Jewish Unity through Diversity, we usually go to the Middle east, to North Africa. And I'm excited to talk since this is closer to my family's heritage and we're Unity Through Diversity. So we want to make sure. So I'm glad that we agreed to do this. Thank you. Today we're talking about Martin Hershkowitz's book, Son of the Shoah Poems from a Second Generation Holocaust Survivor. So thank you first for joining and I thought it'd be interesting to have a conversation. Second generation, third.

[B]

Generation.

[A]

Okay. And obviously you need to share some of your poems. So let's begin. First, introduce yourself. Tell us a little about who you are and why you're doing.

[B]

This. Okay. My name is Martin Herskovitz. I was born in the United States. I made aliyah to Israel when I was about 30. When I was about 45, I sort of felt that my life wasn't really going the way I wanted it to. And I suddenly came to the realization that maybe the fact that I'm a son of a survivor, silicon survivor, has something to do with it. And I started reading about Second Generation, and I saw a lot of my problems that I thought were just mine is basically pretty much generic in a lot of the second generation. And I started reading up about it. And one of the books I read was called Memorial Kansas by Dina Vardy. And she said that if you really want to deal with the trauma being a second generation, you have to try and connect to your roots and try to find out about your family, which was difficult for me because my family never spoke. And so I used poetry as a means of connecting to my past and connecting to the Holocaust.

[A]

Memory. And you help other people to connect to their memories through poetry as.

[B]

Well. I hope so. That's, you know, you write for yourself and hopefully that if it touches someone, then, you know, I'm very heartened by the way people react to my poetry.

[A]

Yes. Yeah. People who I've been speaking to have just said how they see themselves in it. And I also saw. I saw my parents in it, but some of it spoke to me as well. And it's interesting we're going to get into all of that, but let's start first just with the title of the.

[B]

Book.

[A]

Okay. Was this your idea? Was this your publisher's.

[B]

Idea? I started writing my poetry in English. And then in the middle of 2000 or whatever, around 20, 15, 16, I started writing in Hebrew. I started taking. I went back into writing poetry again, but I wrote this time I went to workshops in Hebrew. So I have. Half my poems were in English and half of it was in Hebrew. I really feel that I can do more good in Hebrew because I really feel that there's a lot of trauma here in Israel. And I think that my poetry, especially the way we remember the Holocaust, a very traumatic way of remembering it. And I really felt that I could help in Hebrew. So I published my book in Hebrew first, and I called it Shnot Dor, which is a play on Second Generation. It's a verse in Tehillim Binu Shnot Dor Vador, but it's also a play on Dor Shedi, which is second generation. That's what I called it. And I said, well, how do I translate it into English, and I called it A Generation on my publisher said that's not overtly Holocaust enough. So they changed the name to the Son of a Shoah. And in many ways, I feel that I'm a son of a Shoah because I am certain that if it weren't for the Shoah, my parents never would have met and never would have married. They would have met because they're cousins, but they never would have married, and my whole family dynamic would have been completely different. And so who I am now is pretty much is because of the Shoah, and I'm very much a. A product of the.

[A]

Shoah. Yeah, it comes across very powerfully in the book. But before we delve into it, I still want to touch upon one more thing, because in the foreword, Judith Balmel Schwartz talks about the evolution of the term second generation. And you've been throwing that around back and forth. And she says, and I'm going to say second implies continuity, a continuation of survivor trauma, albeit in a different form. It also implies a connective chain and degree of dependence, as there's no second without a first. To me, that's really powerful. Can you talk about that a little and how that affects you and what you want to.

[B]

Affect? I very much feel connected to the Holocaust and connected to the first generation. I mean, to the survivor generation. I feel that I was born in order to repair and to fill the vacuum that the Shoah left, that the Holocaust left. And so a lot of my existence is I reference to the Holocaust, and most of the book deals with it. I mean, if you ask me to introduce myself, one of the first things I say, well, I'm a poet in a second generation. So that's. I mean, my identity as being someone who was born in order, in reference to the first generation, to the surviving generation. But when you're born in order to repair a world that was destroyed, it's almost an impossible.

[A]

Task. Yeah. And you say a child of Holocaust survivors seldom has a life of their own. We're almost always named for someone or more usually more than one person. We're brought into the world to replace the. Those other souls. I mean, I myself am named after people, two people who were killed in the Holocaust. So I understand this need to. This is our future. This is the next generation. So is this helping to work through that? That you have to give this over as it's your.

[B]

Responsibility? Almost. I feel that my book fills two purposes. First of all, I truly feel that my parents never mourned for the.

[A]

Family that died in that.

[B]

Time. They didn't want to. They couldn't. I don't think that the trauma was too great. And to touch onto the trauma and there was less knowledge about trauma. So they really couldn't. They made themselves busy with reinventing the world and repairing the world and trying to create a new world out of the world that was destroyed. So I really feel. And a lot of my poems deal with how the silence is unfair to those who were murdered. How we have it, mourn them. And so the first thing is I try to give them some sort of memory and try to mourn them. So that's the first thing that I do, is by creating memory, this memory, I'm able to mourn them. And the second part is that when you're born, in order to fill a vacuum of trauma, unless you deal with the trauma, you can't really. You're never going to be able to fill the vacuum. And so, you know, I was born in order to cure my parents, to make them feel better. And then. And I failed. And so my feeling is. You didn't fail.

[A]

Huh? You didn't fail. The curve.

[B]

Failed. Well, if, you know, children or children feel that, it's their fault. I've grown up with the feeling that I never was able to make my parents full. And so I feel that I'm a failure. And part of my way of dealing with this is by talking about the trauma of growing up, the inherited trauma, and trying to process it so that I could feel a little bit better about myself, you know, and so, you know, when your parents go through Auschwitz, you really can't blame them and you can't really get angry at them. And so I, you know, as a second generation, where, you know, a lot of the second generation say how they never rebelled as adolescents. Part of the thing of being an adolescent is you rebel when you're an adolescent, and you don't rebel when you're an adolescent because your parents suffered so much. And so my poetry is some sort of my adolescent rebellion 40 years.

[A]

Later. There's something to that. But you were talking about silence. I think we need to get into a poem now, if you would. Page 22. You have your poem Silence. I think.

[B]

It'S. Yeah, this is about. By po. My mother's silence and how she felt that. That. That she didn't need to talk. My mother has never spoken of what happened during the war. Her silence unsullied. Just look on the Internet, she says. It is full of stories no different than mine. Only silence is Truly.

[A]

Hers. And she never spoke throughout her.

[B]

Own. She. We have a few stories. My aunt made a video for Spielberg, so we have that. But I mean, whenever we would ask questions, she would. The next, you know, I would hear her in the middle of the night, you know, up and around. And she said she didn't sleep because we asked her questions. So you learn very quickly not to ask.

[A]

Questions. Right. You know, now I know my grandparents only started to talk when I was born. I'm the first granddaughter, grandchild. And that's when they started to.

[B]

Talk. So my, I don't think my mother ever spoke to her grandchildren either or whatever. I don't think she felt the need or whatever. And also my father didn't like when she spoke and it bothered him a lot. So she would be very cautious about talking about it. But I'm surprised at how little my children and my nieces and nephews know about my parents.

[A]

Story. Yeah, something we have to deal with. And we're dealing with all kinds of traumas today as well. And we're balancing between new traumas and old traumas. But as you say, there's a flower in the frost. So before we get too deep into sadness, and I'd love for you to read the poem renewal from page.

[B]

35. Jerusalem after the snow, almond trees blanketed in frost. I watched their branches swirl in the gusts, showering petals to the ground that could not hold fast. It is cruel to bloom in the winter when one SAP is turgid and sour, exposing small translucent blossoms just born to the shivering sleet. What fruits will be brought from these thick, husked and bitter, no doubt. And when the stillness comes, of what do these blossoms dream of? Warm summer breezes and shimmering red flowers. And hummingbirds craning their sparkling necks to sip their fragrant nectar? Perhaps. But theirs is to bloom when the hummingbirds sleep, impelled by some impassive force of nature bent on renewal, to put forth these tiny pale flowers in the midst of the.

[A]

Maelstrom. When you're reading that now, or even when you wrote it, did you see that as.

[B]

Hopeful? No, I don't see it as hopeful at all. I mean, the backstory of the poem is that I was meeting an Amcha I was going to meet, which deals with the trauma of the survivors in the second generation. And I had a meeting with them about an evening that we were going to do where we would read the second generation, would read their poetry. And on the way there it was in February, a couple months before Yom Hashoah the Holocaust Remembrance Day, which is in April usually. And in February there's often a storm. Then there was a storm. And the almond trees, they bloom usually in January. We have a holiday called Tu bishvat of the trees. The song there is the shkedi aporachat. The almond trees are blooming. They bloom around Tu bishvat in January. But when you're going through an ice storm and you see these tiny white flowers and being buffeted by the storm, it just seems so cruel. I mean, it seems that it's better to bloom in the spring and the same thing I feel about my own life or whenever. I understand why my mother had the need to try to repopulate the world and needed a family to replace the family that she lost. But she was under the terrible strain of trauma and I don't know think that if she had thought about it, it's something that. I don't think any parent who is suffering from trauma should have children or whatever. And so I understand that she was impelled by nature to have half me, but I'm not happy about it. But I don't think I'm here on this world to be happy. If I can help people with my pain and with my poetry, then that's why I'm here in this world. I'm not here to be happy. Close your eyes. Exhale. Feel your body relax and let go of whatever you're carrying.

[A]

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[B]

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Apply. Yeah, but you say that somebody who has trauma might, might not, should not possibly have children, but they didn't know the concept of trauma. Right. There wasn't this psychological.

[B]

Awareness. No, there wasn't. And I don't. You know, when you have, you know, you have this anger because there's a lot of pain in intergenerational trauma, but you really can't be angry. I can't be angry at my. I mean, I Try. I mean, that's part of the reason I write the poetry, is to express the anger. But it's very difficult to express the anger because, you know, it's not their.

[A]

Fault. Yeah. It's things we didn't know. And so you talk, and I want you to read a few poems. I'm just gonna keep taking you back there. But there's, I think, speaks so much more than our discussion. But although I enjoyed this as well, you talk about the inner tension, about bearing witness, but you can't really bear witness, and that it's this tension inside of you, and you express it in Testimony on page 74. At least that's the way I read it. Of course, whoever, you know, well.

[B]

There'S a backstory to this or whatever. Because Holocaust remembrance is so important to me. I volunteer for Zikarn Basalod, which is every Holocaust Remembrance Day. Instead of having a large community commemoration, they have intimate stories about the Holocaust in people's living rooms. And people invite 20, 30 people to hear a survivor or second generation talk about their family story. And they have a preparation, a day of preparation. And they were talking about the fact that because there are so few survivors left, the second generation needs to speak. And then one of the people who hosts the salon said, well, the problem is that I brought a second generation. And all he talked about was his own problems and not the problems of his parents or whatever. And so I thought that was quite humorous. And I, I, you know, but I also understood what. What he was saying. So, you know, this is the story behind the. What page is it.

[A]

On?

[B]

74. 74, yeah. Testimony. So the question is, is that. Is that what does a second generation testify? Because, you know, they have the inherited story, but then they have their own story also. So what is my testimony from Auschwitz? My memories from Auschwitz began in the crib with a bottle that she propped against the side so she wouldn't have to hold me as she busied herself with more important things. Then the banishment to the backyard at age 3 when I disturbed the silence. And so on through the years. I have read all the books. I have heard all the testimonies. But when my turn came to tell my family's Holocaust story, I could only remember the lonely boy in the yard. I could only remember the disappointment in her eyes as I told my memories from.

[A]

Auschwitz. Sorry. Sometimes we have to take a breath after it. And there's something. I don't know if we had discussed this before, but there's DNA, memory.

[B]

Epigenetics.

[A]

Yes. Yeah. And a friend of mine is a descendant of somebody who. Her ancestors were burnt in the Inquisition and she says she smells smoke sometimes. And I know I've had these dreams. I used to have nightmares and. Doesn't make any sense again. Third generation, it doesn't. But there is something to that. It's in us. So thank you for sharing that. We're going to change topics a little bit. Let's get into God a little bit. Can't have a Holocaust conversation without Ali Wiz. Alright, so I'm just going to mention he said that he. When somebody asked him how could you believe in God if you went through the Holocaust? And he said he needed to believe in God because you have to be angry with somebody or something. And what are you going to be angry with if there's no God? And you bring up this topic of God in your poems as well. So you have two poems that I chose, but you're welcome to choose. I chose Theology or God's wrath on 77 and 79. So I don't know if you want to first talk about why it's important to bring God into this conversation or first you want to read.

[B]

Them. I'll read them. And yeah, I'll read all three because I think they. Okay. 127 members of my family were murdered in the Holocaust. Not one of them deserved it. So how do I see it? There are two possibilities. Either God was able to prevent their deaths and chose not to, despite the unwarrantedness, then I see no reason to thank him or to sing his praises. Alternatively, if God was helpless and capable of coming to their aid, then I don't have any reason to be on his good side if he isn't any help. But perhaps I am misguided. So I pray from time to time to keep in touch on the off chance that my name will show on his caller ID when I call. So I sent my poem theology to a friend and he called me. Listen, he says there is another possibility that killing your family is not a cruel act, but God's positive deed. And you are simply incapable of understanding his divine plan which necessitated the death of your family. I was silent for a second. Then I hung up, incensed, and went to eat a whole bag of chips, never thinking that it was a.

[A]

Salad. That one I have to tell you, I really related to. But you can continue.

[B]

Sorry. No, it's all right. We'll talk. So talking about God, I mean, I was raised religious and Judaism is a very personal religion where you have to feel Some sort of relationship with God. And so this is something that I think that, as part of faith, is something you deal with and you think about and you read as a son of a Holocaust survivor, you think about why all these innocent people died. And my uncles were, you know, my oldest uncle who died was 15, and my youngest was maybe 2 years old. You know, so you think about, you know, what did they do? You know, what sort of justice is this? You know, this past week, we read as far as God says to Abraham. You know, Abraham says to God, you know, look at the king of the world. He cannot. He will not do. The judge of the entire world does not do justice. And, you know, you read that and you say, well, how did God not do.

[A]

Justice? He's putting it in context, in the context of Sodom. So that he wanted to. He said, how can you kill a whole community or a whole.

[B]

City? Yeah. But then he turns around, and In Hungary in 1943, he kills hundreds of thousands of people who did not deserve it. So you have to think, okay, how do I deal with these things together? And there are all sorts of answers. And you have to find an answer for yourself of how much God micromanages this world or how much does he give man free. Free will to work within this world. And there are very many answers. And so this is something that I dealt with. But as far as. That's the rational part. So those two poems are more rational or whatever. And then you get to the idea of the emotion. And October 7 and October 7 fell out a year in 1920, 24, a year after it started. It fell out like a day before Yom Kippur. And Yom Kippur is a time, the Day of Atonement, where you think about. You think about your relationship with God. And so it brought me back to the whole idea of the Holocaust in October 7th. And I wrote God's Wrath because my feeling was, is that how I'm supposed to feel the presence of God? And how much I felt that God was absent God's wrath. God stays in his room and I'm in mine. And because he does not eat, he never goes out to the kitchen. And because he does not pee, he never goes to the bathroom. And because he doesn't need the air conditioner, he doesn't sit with me in the living room. And he knows everything. So he doesn't sit with me to watch 60 Minutes when the missiles fall, he is in no danger. And he does not huddle next to me in the safe room. And on Shabbat in the synagogue, I look for him, but I cannot find him. But I know that he exists because at night he snores and keeps me awake.

[A]

Again. Very powerful. And I think everybody's. You can even pause it if you need when you're listening to it. But so then afterward, you talk about the paradoxical world of the second generation and those who have been raised with little direct knowledge of the Holocaust, like you were saying about the silence that's in your home. But they're meant to serve as memorial candles. And I think, in a way, many of us feel ourselves that way. But the image of a candle to me is very strong and powerful. And I don't know if there was something behind your image of the.

[B]

Candle. It was important to me to process the trauma. And one of the ways to process trauma is to born. And to born, you need a memory. And so that's basically why I wrote my poetry, is to create a memory that I can mourn. And so I have poems, like names or mints that every time I read it, and I love to read them, because I feel that I'm fulfilling my duty as a grandchild to my grandfather, to mourn him. And I would like to be able to read the poem. Names, please do. Names. My mother's father was named Mordechai Kleinbart, but maybe because he was the eldest son, his mother called him Patele, and his father probably called him Mordche, like my father called me. His sisters and brother called him perhaps Moti, except for the baby sister who called him Momo even after she grew up. His wife's cousins at the winery may have called him Kleiny, and his children surely called him Tati, as did his wife. Except late at night, alone in the bedroom, she would maybe call to him with Yiddish familiars and a soft, erotic lilt. Or maybe not, because Mordechai Kleinbart is the single name I have, and it alone is carved into stone and molded into bronze. All other names exist only in memories long interred or in pages yet unwritten. Mints. When I asked about her grandfather, my mother said he gave his grandchildren mints. Then silence. Not if the mints were azure blue or pinwheel red and white. Not the peppery scent of their breasts, not of the toddler's cries, because he would not get just mints. It is left for me to imagine my uncles crunching impatiently the hard candy when they tired of letting it dissolve, as I would a generation on. So no one really mourns my grandfather. No one really mourns my uncles who died as children, except me a little bit. When I read those poems, I remember them and I mourn them and I deal with the trauma. So that's why I wrote this book. And hopefully other people will think about their family and mourn them when they read my.

[A]

Poems. Yeah. And it's a communal almost mourning also. After that, we can take this. And even though you start with those very personal. But it's a very universal.

[B]

Message. Yeah. But one of my goals in my life, and hopefully I'll be able to change a little bit of it, is to change the way we commemorate the Holocaust. Because Holocaust Remembrance Day is very much about antisemitism and about the desolation and about the destruction, and it's very little about remembering and mourning the people who died. And this is why I write my poetry, is that perhaps that there be a little bit more remembrance, a little bit more mourning on Holocaust Memorial Day like there is on the Soldiers. Remembrance Day a week later is much more about mourning. And so if I can change it to be more like the Soldier's Remembrance Day, I've done.

[A]

Something. I completely agree. Thank you. I always have to ask, what's your next.

[B]

Project? So I speak a lot about creating memory, and that's my poetry. And I've done a lot of projects on it. And I'm collaborating with the Finkler Institute for Holocaust Memory in Bar Ilan and Professor Judy Baumel on a book that's called Creating Memory and about how academically and how Holocaust memory is being evolving from something that was very much didactic and ideological into something that's more emotional. And it's going to be coming out in February or March next year. And it has academic from all sorts of forms of education and Holocaust memory and also some of the projects that I've done with Holocaust Memorial. So I'm looking forward to.

[A]

It. Thank you. I'm looking forward to that, too. It sounds like an important piece. So thank you and thank you for taking the time to talk with.

[B]

Us. Thank you. Any chance I have to feel that I'm mourning and remembering my family and fulfilling my duty as a memorial candle just makes me feel better and feel like more worthwhile. So thank you for this opportunity to talk about the trauma and memory cause it's important to.

[A]

Me. Oh, I'm honored to have been part of it. Thank you.

[B]

Again. Thank.