Deborah Feldman: I Need To Talk About Anne Frank - The Moth

Summary

Podcast Summary: Deborah Feldman – "I Need To Talk About Anne Frank"

Podcast Title: The Moth
Host/Author: The Moth
Episode: Deborah Feldman: I Need To Talk About Anne Frank
Release Date: July 1, 2014

Introduction

In this poignant episode of The Moth, Deborah Feldman shares her deeply personal journey intertwined with the legacy of Anne Frank. Told live in Northampton, Massachusetts, Deborah navigates her complex relationship with her Satmar Hasidic upbringing, the shadows of the Holocaust, and her quest for identity and forgiveness.

Growing Up in the Satmar Hasidic Community

Deborah begins by reflecting on her upbringing within the restrictive Satmar Hasidic sect, led by Holocaust survivors who viewed strict adherence to tradition as a means to prevent future atrocities.

“I was raised by a Holocaust survivor. My grandmother lost every living relative in the war...” ([02:36])

The community's harsh stance on assimilation and Zionism left Deborah feeling isolated and ostracized, particularly as a reminder of her parents' scandalous divorce.

“I was seen as a stain on my family, and I was considered an outcast by my peers.” ([02:36])

Despite this, her grandmother provided unwavering love and safety, becoming the cornerstone of Deborah’s emotional world.

“She made me feel loved. She made me feel seen, and she made me feel safe.” ([02:36])

Discovering Anne Frank

At ten years old, Deborah's curiosity about her grandmother led her to discover an English spy novel hidden among her grandmother's silk slips—a forbidden act in their community.

“In the Satmar community, English books are forbidden...” ([02:36])

This revelation coincided with her clandestine visits to the Brooklyn Public Library, where she was introduced to The Diary of Anne Frank. Reading Anne's heartfelt writings became a mirror for Deborah's own unspoken emotions and hopes.

“I fell in love with Anne, because who wouldn't fall in love with Anne?” ([07:15])

The diary's harrowing account of Anne's experiences in Bergen Belsen forced Deborah to confront the brutal realities her grandmother endured, leading to an emotional breakdown.

“I cried all the way home. It wasn't regular crying...” ([12:30])

Unable to articulate her trauma, Deborah fabricated a story to shield her grandmother from the truth, deepening the emotional rift between them.

Leaving the Community and Seeking Answers

At 22, feeling suffocated by the Satmar community’s constraints, Deborah left to forge her own path, severing ties with her past, including her beloved grandmother.

“When I left, I had to cut ties with everyone I ever knew, including my grandmother...” ([16:00])

Haunted by unanswered questions about her grandmother's resilience, Deborah embarked on a transformative journey across Europe to retrace her grandmother's footsteps and understand her survival.

Journey Through Europe and Meeting Marcus

Traversing concentration camp sites in Hungary, Deborah encountered numerous Germans, challenging the community's blanket vilification of the entire German population.

“Everyone of their grandparents were in the Resistance. None of them knew any anti-Semites. This is fishy, I thought.” ([10:45])

In Munich, she met Marcus, a German man whose grandfather was an SS officer—a revelation that shattered her preconceived notions and ignited a complex emotional response.

“He was very handsome in a typical Aryan way... and he was smart.” ([13:20])

Their ensuing relationship forced Deborah to grapple with her inherited hatred and the possibility of forgiveness, further complicating her emotional landscape.

“I realized my grandmother was there. She saw that. And I became filled with a tremendous, explosive rage.” ([15:00])

Confronting the Past with Marcus's Mother

The journey culminated in Frankfurt, where Deborah met Marcus's mother, a woman raised by Nazis. This encounter was pivotal in her quest to reconcile with the past and seek forgiveness.

“I want to let go of all that. I don't want this hate and this trauma to last forever.” ([18:45])

Marcus's mother shared her own struggles with guilt and forgiveness, highlighting the profound challenges victims and perpetrators face in healing historical wounds.

“It's easy for the victims to say they forgive. The guilty cannot forgive themselves.” ([19:10])

Conclusion: Embracing Forgiveness and Moving Forward

Deborah concludes her story by reflecting on the complexities of love, identity, and the enduring impact of history on personal relationships. Her relationship with Marcus ultimately faced insurmountable challenges, epitomizing the intricate dance between past traumas and present desires.

“I thought I had given up so much in my life to be free, to be 100% me. And I really needed to live a life where I could talk about Anne Frank.” ([22:50])

Final Thoughts

Deborah Feldman's narrative is a compelling exploration of intergenerational trauma, the search for personal identity, and the arduous path toward forgiveness. Her story underscores the profound ways in which history shapes individual lives and the enduring quest to reconcile with the past.

Notable Quotes:

“I became very invested in her future because it felt like being invested in my own future.” ([09:10])
“I wanted to murder somebody.” ([15:30])
“I didn't know if I believed myself, and I didn't know if I believed her either when we talked about that.” ([20:05])
“I have to think about that.” ([19:40])

Attribution:

Deborah Feldman’s moving recounting was facilitated by host Dan Kennedy, who contextualized her story within The Moth community's broader themes of not looking back. The episode not only highlights her struggles but also celebrates her resilience and quest for understanding.

Additional Information:

Following the story, Dan Kennedy introduced Deborah's memoir Exodus, which delves deeper into her journey post-Satmar community and her search for a personal, authentic Jewish identity.

For more stories like Deborah Feldman's and information on upcoming The Moth events, visit themoth.org.

Transcript

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Dan Kennedy (2:02)

Welcome to the Moth Podcast. I'm Dan Kennedy. The story you're about to hear by Deborah Feldman was told live in Northampton, Massachusetts. When we were up there earlier this year, I remember a lot of things about that night. I remember a very interesting bus ride that was slightly terrifying. But then after that I remember an amazing show at the Academy. I remember sitting in front of the stage and being deeply moved by this story. The theme of the night was don't look back. Here's Deborah.

Deborah Feldman (2:36)

I can't make jokes about the Holocaust, even though I've noticed that my generation has gotten really good at that because we have all this distance and supposedly it's our way of neutralizing it. But it's really close to home for me because I was raised by a Holocaust survivor. My grandmother who lost every living relative in the war and was liberated from bergen Belsen in 1945 Three years later, she came to the United States and joined the Satmar Hasidic sect. The Satmar Hasidic sect believed that the Holocaust had happened as a punishment for assimilation and for Zionism, and that the only way to prevent another one from happening again was for Jewish people to lead a very austere life of deprivation with fanatical adherence to ritual and tradition. That worked for a lot of Holocaust survivors who felt guilty. But strangely enough, it didn't work for my grandmother. She raised me because my parents arranged marriage had fallen apart when I was very young and my mother had left the community. Divorce was a tremendous scandal in the Satmar world. It didn't happen, and it affected the reputation of our family deeply. And because I was a reminder of my parents divorce, I was seen as a stain on my family, and I was considered an outcast by my peers. I spent my childhood feeling resented, as if no one wanted me around. Except my grandmother never made me feel that way. She made me feel loved. She made me feel seen, and she made me feel safe. And I clung to her. I spent time with her in her kitchen, and I watched as she cooked and baked very complicated foods. And I listened to her as she sang Chopin and Liszt. And I went down with her to the little garden that she kept in the backyard of our Brooklyn brownstone, where she grew beautiful pink climbing roses. And she was the source of everything that was beautiful and joyful in my life. And she is the reason that I am a redeemable human being. When I was 10 years old, I went through her lingerie drawer because I wanted to find out if she was hiding anything, because we never talked and I was so curious about her. And between her old fashioned silk slips, I found a spy novel in English. In the Satmar community, English books are forbidden, as is movies and music and radio and newspapers. And I thought, wow, my grandmother reads books. This was huge, because at that point, I had started sneaking out of the community to the Brooklyn Public Library, where I, too, was reading forbidden secular books. And the moment when I saw that spy novel, I realized that even though my grandmother and I could never talk about our shared secret, it was somehow okay. There wasn't anything wrong with me for reading. One day I went to the library, and the librarian, who knew me at this point and who knew that I shouldn't have been there, came over to me. And she didn't say anything because she knew I would have been scared. But she gave me a book. And the book was the Diary of Anne Frank. I had never Heard of Anne Frank. I thought it was a novel. I started to read it, and I fell in love with Anne, because who wouldn't fall in love with Anne? She's wonderful. Her voice was so full of hope and purity. And she commented on the injustice in the world around her and her hopes and dreams for her future, much in the same way I did in my little journals that I kept secret. And I became very invested in her future because it felt like being invested in my own future. And then Anne went to Bergen Belsen, and I stopped. And I realized this was real. I knew about Bergen Belsen. I didn't know what had happened there, but I knew the name. And I kept reading. And Anne witnessed the most tremendous inhumanity and suffering. And suddenly I realized that that was what my grandmother had endured and witnessed. And then Ann dies, and it was like a part of my grandmother had died. And I started to cry. And I cried all the way home. And it wasn't regular crying. It was the kind of crying that I can only describe as the crying a child will exhibit when they are dealing with a trauma that they are not equipped to process. Because you can't calm down. You can't stop. And so by the time I opened the door to our house and I walked in and I had to go past my grandmother, who was in the kitchen, to my room, I was bawling and I couldn't breathe. And of course, my grandmother noticed, and she followed me to my room and she wouldn't let me close the door. And she says, mamela, what's wrong? What happened? Why are you crying so hard? And I didn't know what to tell her because I couldn't tell her the truth. I couldn't tell her I'd been going to the library because everyone would find out and I would be in trouble. But I didn't know what excuse to give her because what would be plausible for this reaction? So I lied. I said I had been on the bus and somebody had left a copy of this book. And I picked it up, and it was the Diary of Anne Frank. And I said, bubby, now I know what you went through. I know, and I don't understand how to make it okay. I don't understand. I don't know how to stop crying. I don't know how to keep living. Please tell me something that will make it okay. Because I don't. I don't know how to live with this knowledge that this is what you went through. And she turned white and she shut the door and she didn't answer me, and we never talked about it again. When I was 22 years old, I left the Satmar Hasidic sect because it was a place where I felt confined and I couldn't be myself. I had to cut ties with everyone I ever knew, including my grandmother, who is the most precious thing that I have lost. But that question that I had asked her so many years ago, that was never answered, stuck with me. And it became much more urgent all of a sudden, as I had started over from scratch, not knowing where my new home would be or what kind of person I would be in the future. I needed to understand how she had been through something like this on a much grander scale, and how she had endured. So I embarked on a trip. I was going to go to Europe, and I was going to retrace her entire journey from the place where she was born until the port that she sailed to America from. And I did that. And I started in Hungary, and I worked my way along the concentration camp trail. And on the way, I met a lot of Germans. And I remembered that the one belief about the Satmar community that my grandmother had ascribed to was that all Germans were evil. And that secretly, even if they pretended to be nice to you, they wanted to kill me because I was Jewish. So I decided to test that theory. I would walk up to German people, and in a very hostile, aggressive way, I would ask them these probing questions about their ancestry. What did your grandparents do during the war? Are you an anti Semite? Invariably, all of their grandparents were in the Resistance. None of them knew any anti Semites. This is fishy, I thought. Then I met Marcus in a bar in Munich, and I asked him, what did your grandparents do during the war? Were they in the Resistance too? Actually, he said, my grandfather was in the ss. I remember my grandmother used to brag about kissing Hitler's hand. And I was not prepared for someone to say yes. And we talked, and suddenly I realized that he was very handsome in a typical Aryan way. And he was smart. And his German accent. It sounds so awful to say this, but it was really sexy. And he looked at me and he said, I didn't know people like you were real. I thought you were just in Woody Allen movies. And this was before the Woody Allen scandal, so I was only a little bit insulted. But anyway, an hour later, we fell into bed, and we stayed there for six hours. And then he traveled with me to the concentration camps. I went to Bergen Belsen. At Bergen Belsen, I saw a photograph. It was A photograph that the BBC had taken upon liberation. And there were piles of corpses in the photograph and women sitting up amongst the corpses. These indescribable expressions on their faces. And I looked at the photo when it was blown up in front of me. And I realized my grandmother was there. She saw that. And I became filled with a tremendous, explosive rage. I was so angry, I wanted to murder somebody. And of course, the best person to take all my anger out on was Marcus. Poor Marcus. He took it, though. He wouldn't abandoned me. And we went on with our trip from Holocaust site to Holocaust site, and somehow we just couldn't separate. And then at the end of our itinerary, he said to me, do you want to meet my mother? And I thought, the man I'm dating wants me to meet his mother. And then I thought, the man I'm dating wants me to meet his mother, who was raised by Nazis. And I said, yes. And we went to Frankfurt. And I was very nervous. And I practiced my greeting in German, which is really complicated because they don't just say, nice to meet you. They have a long series of verbs, one after the other, that basically translates to, it's nice to get to learn to know you. And I practiced and practiced which verb came first. And of course, I knocked on the door and she opened, and I said it all backwards, but it's fine. She was nervous, too. And I got into her apartment and it was beautiful and immaculate and there were knick knacks everywhere. My grandmother would have called them tchotchkes. And she took me out to her garden. And in her garden there were beautiful pink climbing roses, just like the ones my grandmother had grown. And I looked around at her place and I looked at her and I looked at her garden. I thought, I think they would have liked each other, my grandmother and this woman, except for the German thing. And then we sat down on her terrace and we talked. And I asked her about it. I said, how are you different? How is it that you were raised by these people and you're not this way? And she said, it's a good question. My parents were racist until their dying day. But you have to understand, I was part of a generation that wanted nothing to do with that. Everyone around me was rebelling. And I'm not special. It was just something that we didn't want to be a part of. And she looked very sad. And I asked her, what's wrong? Why are you so sad? And she says, you're the first Jew I've ever met. I'VE never had to really think about what my parents had done or what kind of impact their actions had had in the lives of others. But now that you're here, I have to think about that. And I said, no, that's not why I'm here. That's not what I want. I want to let go of all that. I don't want this hate and this trauma to last forever. I'm here to let go of that. I want to escape that, and it's okay. I just want my life to be filled with love and forgiveness. And she looked at me and she said, it's easy for the victims to say they forgive. The guilty cannot forgive themselves. And I didn't know if I believed myself, and I didn't know if I believed her either when we talked about that. But we wrapped up the trip and I went home and I stopped thinking about the Holocaust. 247 Marcus came to visit me in the States, and we weren't going to concentration camps. We were going to farmers markets. And it was normal. We were just a couple and. And I thought I was in love and that this was going to work. And then one day as he was leaving for the airport, he asked to borrow a book for the plane ride home. And I surveyed my bookshelves and I thought, what could I give him that I really like? And then I found something, and I pulled it from the shelf, and it was Nathan Englander's collection of short stories titled what We Talk About When We Talk About Anne Frank. And I gave it to him. And a few days later, we Skyped and I said, what did you think of the book? And he said, I'll be frank with you, it's a bit Jew overload for me. And I said, honey, Nathan Englander is Jew overload for you, but you're dating me. And I thought I had given up so much in my life to be free, to be 100% me. And I really needed to live a life where I could talk about Anne Frank. Thank you.