Der Schatz des Herrn Isakowitz
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Beschreibung
Beiträge
4.5 stars. This book combines two stories: that of a Jewish man from Sweden in search of his roots, and that of the uprooting of his family in the time of the Holocaust. To find his origins, the author goes on a roadtrip with his father and son, and these are the parts of the text that allowed me to read on and not stop and sob into my shirt-sleeve recklessly in many places. Because the family's uprooting is told through witnesses and, thus, receives a hauntingly, painfully personal twist. I could almost feel their perplexity about suddenly not being allowed to be respected citizens anymore, morphing into fear and horror when suddenly shop windows were smashed and synagogues were burning, and their very lives were in danger. My great-grandparents were the generation who would have done the hating, boycotting and window-smashing, and worse. And as much as the author's relatives weren't keen to speak about the time, mine weren't, either, as I'm told. I can hardly remember them myself. But as a teenager, I went on an excursion with school, to see one of the concentration camps which have been turned into memorials - it was horrible and depressing even then, decades later, and I found it hard to breathe, knowing what people had done to other people there. In the book, between all the horror, there is hope because somehow the people who had suffered so much managed to remain humane, in spite of it all, happy even in their new lives. Books like this one are important, especially now that the last witnesses of the terrors of Nazi Germany die and leave more room for those sick creatures who dare raise doubts about the monstrosities committed. Humankind must not forget, not in order to blame but to keep this from happening ever again.
Beschreibung
Beiträge
4.5 stars. This book combines two stories: that of a Jewish man from Sweden in search of his roots, and that of the uprooting of his family in the time of the Holocaust. To find his origins, the author goes on a roadtrip with his father and son, and these are the parts of the text that allowed me to read on and not stop and sob into my shirt-sleeve recklessly in many places. Because the family's uprooting is told through witnesses and, thus, receives a hauntingly, painfully personal twist. I could almost feel their perplexity about suddenly not being allowed to be respected citizens anymore, morphing into fear and horror when suddenly shop windows were smashed and synagogues were burning, and their very lives were in danger. My great-grandparents were the generation who would have done the hating, boycotting and window-smashing, and worse. And as much as the author's relatives weren't keen to speak about the time, mine weren't, either, as I'm told. I can hardly remember them myself. But as a teenager, I went on an excursion with school, to see one of the concentration camps which have been turned into memorials - it was horrible and depressing even then, decades later, and I found it hard to breathe, knowing what people had done to other people there. In the book, between all the horror, there is hope because somehow the people who had suffered so much managed to remain humane, in spite of it all, happy even in their new lives. Books like this one are important, especially now that the last witnesses of the terrors of Nazi Germany die and leave more room for those sick creatures who dare raise doubts about the monstrosities committed. Humankind must not forget, not in order to blame but to keep this from happening ever again.