During my stay in France, I heard through my friends that a new Journal, written in the 1942-44 by a young student, H. Berr, was on everyone's lips. A TV documentary had been dedicated to her life.
It was about a life lost in the hands of the brute forces of the time. Her life today is transcended through the power of her exceptional sensitivity. The tour de force is that today, her sensitivity hold authority on brute force.
It was about a life lost in the hands of the brute forces of the time. Her life today is transcended through the power of her exceptional sensitivity. The tour de force is that today, her sensitivity hold authority on brute force.
This journal, written a few weeks before her life would slowly be absorbed by the shades of darkness, 'was her most valuable possession'
It is not another book about the holocaust - I have read enough of them when I was a teenager and I just can't read any more of them without thinking that I get more damaged than empowered with knowledge out of more readings. It goes beyond, it is unique because it is about a young woman fighting darkness with light. She grabs light in every corner of her life.
'j'ai eu une crise de depression avant le diner .... dont l'origine était le chagrin de voir finir cette journée merveilleuse, d'être brusquement séparée de son atmosphere'
(I had a moment of depression before diner ... whose origin was the pain to see such beautiful day come to an end, to be suddenly separated from its atmosphere)
When she gets a book dedicated by her favourite author, she says
'je suis rentrée à pieds, avec un petit sentiment de triomphe à la pensée de ce que les parents diraient, et l'impression qu'au fond l'extraoridinaire était le réel'
(I came back on foot, with a swift feeling of triumph to the thought of what my parents will say, and knowing that the extraordinary could be real)
If only those who killed her could only grasp the beauty of one unique life, like we can when we pause and take the time to be absorbed and sensitised by what is not related to our immediate 'us'
In her own words, not only life but every memory is precious - she uses the word 'sacred'
'Lorsque je pense à lui, c'est presque comme une chose sacrée que je ne veux plus toucher'
(When I think of him, it is like a sacred thing that I don't want to touch anymore)
'il n'y a pas de joie pour moi que celle que je puisse communiquer à un autre'
(there is no joy for me but joys that I can communicate to an other human being)
Yet, she is far from being self indulgent
'on n'a pas le droit de ne penser qu'à la poésie sur la terre; c'est une magie, mais elle est suprêmement égoiste'
(we don't have the right to only think of poetry on this earth; it is a magical thing, but a supremely egoistic one as well)
'Mais ils ne laissent pas tout le monde jouir de la lumière et de l'eau'
(But they don't let everyone enjoy light and water)
This book is a rare occurrence of the triumph of sensitivity over brute force.
Published only in 2008 'because the man she loved and to whom her Journal was dedicated' did not want it published, partly in order to protect his own reconstruction and out of respect for his newly found love - that is how I understood his reluctance to have the book published earlier, but if you read at the end of the book his own letter explaining his decision to finally publish it after his wife died, you may come to your own conclusions. This fact is important because it is the mark of exceptional people, him as well. Being able to love again after ALL THAT, is the ultimate triumph of good over evil.
Today, an amphitheatre in the Sorbonne where she was shaped to size and appreciate English Literature bears her name. A name !!! ... not a number like the one tattooed on her arm when she died. One of the women who survived her from the camp said of her: she is the only one whose last name I remember, she insisted on being called 'Helene Berr'
She never wanted to be famous, she was a woman of substance, but she thought she had a duty, an almost compulsive duty to tell at any price, even 'hâtivement' (quickly)
« Je note les faits, hâtivement, pour ne pas les oublier, parce qu'il ne faut pas oublier. »
(I take hasted notes, as not to forget, because one should never forget)
She also talks about those who chose to 'close their eyes'. On that front, nothing has changed today
«tout ce qui obscurcit et empoisonne (le Paris de l'été 1942) demeure pourtant invisible à ceux qui sont absorbés par leurs soucis quotidiens ou ceux qui ont choisi de fermer les yeux»
(what darkens and poisons everyday life in Paris 1942 remains invisible to those absorbed by their daily concerns or those who have chosen to close their eyes)
In 2013, in the midst of environmental catastrophes to come, the Syrian conflict, and brutal neo liberal forces, so many of us 'chose to close our eyes'.
The stakes are still high, if anything, higher
'Il y a des hommes qui savent et qui se ferment les yeux, ceux-là, je n'arriverai pas à les convaincre, parce qu'ils sont durs et égoîstes, et je n'ai pas d'autorité. Mais les autres, ceux qui ne savent pas, et qui ont peut-être assez de coeur pour comprendre, ceux-là, je dois agir sur eux. Car comment guérira-t-on l'humanité autrement qu'en lui dévoilant d'abord toute sa pourriture, comment purifiera-t-on le monde autrement qu'en lui faisant comprendre l'étendue du mal qu'il comet? Tour est une question de compréhension' (p.185)
Note: someone send me an email asking about where I got the information about the fact that HB like to be called by her full name while in the camps. Since other people may be interested, the information comes from a letter written in 1993 by Nadine Heftler,
who met HB in Auschwitz in 1944.
EN 'it is the only person whose last name I remember,
because Hélène liked to say she was called Hélène Berr' (translation for you)
Cited p.304 in Hélène Berr Journal (2008) Editions
Tallandier, in the second part of the book Hélène Berr, une vie confisquée by
Mariette Job
Further reading: Book from Nadine Heftler, Si tu t'en
sors, Paris, La Découverte, 1992.
I hope this helps.
