Almost every week, I meet with artist and writer Ava Kadishson Schieber (her book Soundless Roar is exceptional) to learn about her experiences and memories as a Holocaust survivor. Once, during our conversation, Ava compared herself to the wife of Lot (the nephew of Abraham). Despite the warning, the biblical woman could not resist looking back at the burning cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, causing her to be transformed into a pillar of salt.
Twice a year, Ava visits my classroom to share with my students her experiences as a teenager during WWII when she hid on a farm for four years, pretending to be unable to hear or speak. Her father, Leo, was murdered in Auschwitz. Her older sister, Susanna, disappeared forever, consumed by Hitler’s war.
“How old are you?” a student asks. “I am fifteen,” the eighty-something-year-old woman smiles. When Ava turns to look back at her traumatic past, she is confronted by a reality that, in many ways, kept her girlhood frozen in time.
I’ve always thought of the story of the pillar of salt as a warning against human bystanderism. If we’re not prepared to take action against atrocities, then we cannot look only to be voyeurs. If we choose to look at violent scenes, we need to do so for the right reasons.
As we stare in shock at violent images that play on repeat on our television and laptop screens, we must know why are we watching. Are we fulfilling our collective responsibility to bear witness, or are we satisfying a collective morbid curiosity?
The photographs and videos of the recent Syrian attacks on civilians are omnipresent and continue to make headlines. Children and adults shake uncontrollably or lie still on the ground, asphyxiated on the fumes of chemical weapons. And YouTube views climb.
Smart phones and cameras in the hands of the world produce countless images that can go viral in minutes. This is both a blessing and a curse. The amount of evidence and publicity of these crimes multiplies, yet victims and survivors are captured and catapulted into the media at their most vulnerable; in ways they may not want to be seen or remembered.
In the aftermath of the Holocaust, many survivors were told to keep their heads facing forward. To look back on and talk about past trauma was once synonymous with opening—and reinfecting—old wounds. But, in just a few decades, our ideas of therapy have changed dramatically. Today, we encourage survivors of any traumatic experience to reflect on and to confront their psychological injuries. And rightly so. Ava Kadishson Schieber and other survivors of atrocity recall their experiences and losses in order to rebuild their lives—and in order to teach.
As we dare to look—and encourage others to look—at very real violent images, we must be prepared to respond beyond hitting “like” or “share”—to email our political representatives, to sign petitions, to educate others, to voice our disgust loud and clear. Otherwise, what are we turning into?In the aftermath of the Holocaust, many survivors were told to keep their heads facing forward. To look back on and talk about past trauma was once synonymous with opening—and reinfecting—old wounds. But, in just a few decades, our ideas of therapy have changed dramatically. Today, we encourage survivors of any traumatic experience to reflect on and to confront their psychological injuries. And rightly so. Ava Kadishson Schieber and other survivors of atrocity recall their experiences and losses in order to rebuild their lives—and in order to teach.
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