Feb. 21, 2012

An Indiana Daily Student Publication

Why the world isn’t ending in 2012 What IU and the Hunger Games have in common: Suzanne Collins How to ace IU’s toughest professors THE SURVIVAL ISSUE

Surviving memories Holocaust survivors overcome the past to educate the future

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THE SURVIVAL ISSUE VOLUME 6, ISSUE 3, TABLE OF CONTENTS

FROM THE EDITOR

FEBRUARY 21, 2012

People you’ll want to meet after reading this issue DEPARTMENTS

4

4 Curt Davidson scales 19,000-foot mountains just for kicks.

Sometimes, it takes some serious stamina (and caffeine) to survive as an IU student. But when we’re living in a world that revolves around exams and parties, it’s easy to forget about others who are dealing with so much more.

Inside found tips on surviving tricky college situations, from tough classes to hangovers. We met students who scaled mountains and escaped earthquakes. And we collected the stories of Holocaust survivors with IU connections.

This issue is about balancing stories of surviving the ordinary and surviving the impossible.

5 Kinsey Confidential blogger J. Bradley Blankenship tells you how to survive a night of sexile … and how to talk to your roommate about it afterward.

6 Philosophy professor Leah Savion might be tough, but she’s also willing to help you with your symbolic logic homework anywhere — even at the SRSC.

ONLINE ONLY AT IDSNEWS.COM/INSIDE Take an interactive survival quiz, talk to a martial arts maven, learn how to survive a social media mishap, and master the art of living on a budget.

8 Jim Canary brings 600-year-old books back to life at the Lilly Library.

Photo at right courtesy of Curt Davidson.

Cover photo by Chaz Mottinger.

Special thanks to Carson Day.

REC

Inside magazine, the newest enterprise of the Office of Student Media, Indiana University at Bloomington, is published twice an academic semester: October and November, and February and April. Inside magazine operates as a self-supporting enterprise within the broader scope of the Indiana Daily Student. Inside magazine operates as a designated public forum, and reader comments and contribution are welcome. Normally, the Inside magazine editor will be responsible for final content decisions, with the IDS editor-inchief involved in rare instances.

All editorial and advertising content is subject to our policies, rates, and procedures.

Readers are entitled to a single copy of this magazine. The taking of multiple copies of this publication may constitute as theft of property and is subject to prosecution.

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www.idsnews.com/inside

YC

VOL. 6, ISSUE 3

PLEA

INSIDE MAGAZINE STAFF SE

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Stephanie Doctrow ART DIRECTOR Biz Carson ASSISTANT ART DIRECTOR Danielle Rindler PHOTO EDITOR Chaz Mottinger COPY EDITOR Lauren Sedam WEB EDITOR Chrissy Ashack WEB ASSISTANT Melinda Elston

EDITORIAL ASSISTANTS Kamilla Benko, Christine Spasoff, and Hannah Waltz WEB REPORTER Erin Walgamuth ASSOCIATE EDITOR Maryjane Slaby MARKETING MANAGER Brittany Miller and Carly Garber IU STUDENT MEDIA DIRECTOR Ron Johnson

FEATURES EDITOR Alyssa Goldman FEATURES ASSISTANT Jessica Contrera DEPARTMENTS EDITORS Marc Fishman and Michela Tindera

NEWSROOM 812-855-0760 BUSINESS OFFICE 812-855-0763 FAX 812-855-8009

9 Astronomy professor John J. Salzer confronts our fears about the world ending in 2012.

21 Megan Rippey was in Tokyo during the 2011 earthquake.

FEATURES 10 Lindsey Erdody lost her hand in a car accident in 2009, but she didn’t lose her strength or her attitude.

14 IU graduate Conrad Weiner survived a twoweek death march and a Nazi labor camp in the Ukraine. Now he educates others by sharing his story.

INDIANA DAILY STUDENT

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Zach Ammerman MANAGING EDITORS Jake New and Bailey Loosemore ART DIRECTOR Jayne Flax WEB TECH SPECIALISTS Greg Blanton, Swathi Gurram, Vaibhav Nachankar, Anand Hegde, and Divya Dwarakanath ADVERTISING SALES MANAGERS Tim Beekman and Caity McNicholas MARKETING WEB DEVELOPER Ashlee Trainer

DEPARTMENTS ASSISTANT Caitlin Peterkin

www.idsnews.com/inside 3

CONFESSIONS

TIP JAR

BETTER YOU

KNOW-IT-ALL KNOW-IT-AL AL

May the odds be ever in your favor

ES ES ESSAY

BY KAMILLA BENKO

CONFESSIONS OF A MIDWEST MOUNTAINEER

BY KAMILLA BENKO PHOTO COURTESY OF CURT DAVIDSON

Curt Davidson is a contradiction: a mountaineer living in Bloomington. Davidson graduated from IU in 2006, and now he’s back working on his master’s in outdoor recreation adventure education. While he knows how to survive a plane crash in a jungle or days adrift at sea, his specialty is surviving on the top of the world in some of the most desolate places on Earth.

You’re a mountaineer based in Bloomington. How does that work out for you?

Bloomington is something like 800 feet above sea level. But the Red River Gorge in Kentucky offers some world-class climbing.

Every other week, a group of us go for a visit.

Not gonna lie though, sometimes it’s hard to turn the truck back around to Bloomington.

What’s the highest mountain you’ve climbed, successfully or unsuccessfully?

I have successfully climbed Mount Whitney in California, which is the highest point in the lower 48 states. Unsuccessfully, Cayambe in Ecuador. It’s about 19,000 feet high, but I got sick from the altitude before I reached the top. Cayambe is an extinct volcano, and there was a point when the smell of sulfur was really strong, and I lost all my breakfast. Extreme cases of altitude sickness can create water on the heart or brain. There is no cure except to get out of there.

So you have to worry about altitude sickness, but what about avalanches?

You walk in the night. Climbers normally 4 INSIDE MAGAZINE the survival issue

Davidson climbs the North Ridge of Mount Conness in Yosemite National Park.

wake up at midnight and start hiking at 1 a.m. During the day, the snow melts, but by midnight it has usually frozen and it’s firm again. You’re less likely to experience avalanches if you walk in the night.

CURT DAVIDSON’S ‘BIG SURVIVAL RULES’

What about skills that would help you live in the wilderness?

I mean, learning to purify water is important, but the will to survive is essential. Outward Bound programs at IU try to build resolve and help people handle stress.

2. Remember the rule of three. You can survive three minutes without oxygen, three days without water, three weeks without food, and three months without shelter.

You worked for the Forest Service in California, which means you spent a lot of time wandering alone in the backcountry in case hikers ran into trouble. What kind of training did you have to go through?

Becoming a medical-wilderness first responder is mandatory. You are taught how to keep someone alive long enough to get out of the backcountry. You also learn a lot of preventive measures. If you find yourself in a situation where you need to use your training, you’ve already done things really wrong. That guy in “127 Hours” who had to cut off his arm?

He did a number of things wrong. First off, he didn’t tell anyone where he was going. Outdoor people are kind of mad at the guy because he was being a bonehead, and people see him as a kind of hero.

Have you ever been in a crisis situation while climbing?

I was with a three-day weekend course to teach students how to rock climb. A student fell 15 feet, landing face first. When I climbed down, there were pools of blood on the rock,

1. If lost, stay put. It’s harder to hit a moving target.

3. Always keep a mirror handy. A reflective source would make it easier to find you.

and she had her hands over her nose. When I got her to move her hands, her nose was over her eye and there was a four-inch laceration.

Her right nostril was ripped open. We wrapped her with gauze, but it never really stopped bleeding until we got to the hospital.

What is it about mountain climbing that you like so much?

The camaraderie, the experience of being with people striving for a common goal. The types of bonds and relationships formed are not like any other friendship I’ve ever had before. Second, a strange curiosity. I have a burning desire to know what is up there, to see the world from that peak, to feel the wind. Most mountaineers feel that way. You go to obscure places, deserts that no one else has been to or heard of. It’s peaceful. It’s the dead of night, with millions of stars and you only hear your breath, your ice pick and steps on firm snow.

Before Suzanne Collins wrote her bestselling novel “The Hunger Games,” she was a college student in Bloomington.

Collins graduated from IU in 1985 with a double major in theater and telecommunications. She also met her future husband, Cap Pryor, while at IU. According to Sheila Everett, Scholastic’s senior publicist, Collins has fond memories of her time at IU but was unavailable for further comment due to her hectic schedule.

The entire “Hunger Games” series has sold more than a million copies since 2008.

Told from Suzanne Collins the view of 16-year-old Katniss Everdeen, the series features a future dystopia in which 24 children must kill each other each year in an event televised across the nation.

To write how her characters live in the wilderness and fend off murderers, Collins remembered her father’s stories about hunting in order to put meat on the table during the Great Depression. She also read a stack of wilderness survival guides.

English professor Raymond Hedin teaches the alumna’s book in both his children’s and young adult literature classes as the ultimate survival tale.

“Stories are driven by wishes and fears. The wish to succeed, the fear of death, it’s all found in ‘The Hunger Games,’” he says.

“The survival of the world hinges on Katniss. While we might not be in charge of saving our own world, we relate to her stress with the pressure to succeed we find in our own lives.”

CONFESSIONS

TIP JAR

BETTER YOU

KNOW-IT-ALL

ESSAY

WORST-CASE SCENARIO SURVIVAL GUIDE: IU EDITION

In their natural habitats, college students are bound to encounter many dangerous situations. From walking into the wrong class to walking into your ex, it’s a jungle out there. Inside tells you how to survive — and prevent — three tricky scenarios.

BY STEPHANIE DOCTROW AND CAITLIN PETERKIN ILLUSTRATIONS BY BEN WADE

Your last class just ended, and you’re heading home to study for your A215 exam. Opening the door to your dorm room, you hear heavy breathing coming from your roommate’s bed — turns out he’s already studying some basic human anatomy. what to do • Make a swift exit. Locate shelter until it is safe to return to your residence.

• Having a conversation while your roommate is occupied probably isn’t the best idea. Wait until the next day, when you’ve cooled off and your roommate isn’t as ... distracted.

• The next day, have a conversation face-to-face— not through texts or Facebook chat. It’s easier to control your emotions when you’re looking right at your roommate instead of your computer screen.

• Stay away from talking about sex and focus on talking about the real issue: respecting shared space.

• Avoid calling your roommate anything derogatory.

Even if you do think he’s trashy, judging his actions only makes the situation worse. preventive measures • Create a communication system with your roommate. Symbols like a tie on the door invite your neighbors to know your business. Be more cryptic with a coded note on the door that says something like “I’m studying” to keep the rest of the world out of the loop.

• Schedule times in advance you and your roommate can have private time in the room, though that isn’t always a solution for last-minute hookups.

Source: J. Bradley Blankenship, Ph.D. candidate in higher education, sexual health educator and blogger for Kinsey Confidential

Your 20-page poly-sci paper is due tomorrow by noon. So far you’ve written four pages, but it turns out you don’t have superpowers. what to do • Relocate. Pulling an all-nighter in your apartment, near your bed and TV, sets you up for failure. The Information Commons in the Wells Library and the Indiana Memorial Union are open 24/7.

• Sit up and get serious. That couch might look comfortable now, but it won’t be doing you any favors when you pass out on your laptop.

• Bring change or dollar bills for vending machines. Admit it, you’ll be drinking at least three Diet Cokes before the night is over.

• Set the alarm on your phone to go off every hour in case you doze. preventive measures Don’t act like you don’t have time to start studying for your K201 exam until the night before ... we see you watching “Kourtney & Kim Take New York” reruns. Get in some quality study time all week long at these secret spots: • Wells Library, Media/Reserves section: smaller studying area = less chance you’ll run into friends and be distracted.

• Wells Library, West Tower, 3rd floor: recently renovated to feature cushy seating, booths, and tables with lots of laptop plug-ins.

• Fine Arts Library, reading room: an amazing view of Showalter Fountain and lots of light and tables.

Source: Carrie Donovan, head of teaching and learning for IU libraries

After a week of fighting with your girlfriend and working on I-Core, you find yourself drowning your stresses in one too many Solo cups, waking up hunched over the toilet, and debating whether it’d be better to swallow some aspirin or the hair of the dog. what to do • Drink water. Alcohol dehydrates the body, causing the headache typically associated with a hangover. Also try drinking sports drinks or water with electrolytes to get your body back in balance.

• Eat greasy foods. From bacon to burgers, foods laden with grease and fat are a favorite in helping students recover from a night of drinking.

• Rest. The only guaranteed way to cure a hangover is to give your body time.

• If you have a friend that has been vomiting for a while or is passed out, it might be a sign of alcohol poisoning.

Call for emergency assistance. preventive measures • Keep track of your drinks and try to limit yourself to one per hour.

• Drink a glass of water with every alcoholic beverage you consume.

• Make sure to designate a “sober buddy” to keep the group together, help you stick to your limit, and get everyone home safely.

• Eat a good meal beforehand.

• Don’t drink if you’re tired, depressed, or taking medication.

• If you’d like more information on developing healthier drinking habits, contact the Office of Alternative Screening and Intervention Services (OASIS) at 812856-3898.

Source: Jackie Daniels, social worker for Office of Alternative Screening and Intervention Services www.idsnews.com/inside 5

CONFESSIONS

TIP JAR

BETTER YOU

KNOW-IT-ALL

ESSAY

SURVIVING THE MOST DIFFICULT PROFESSORS ON CAMPUS You’ve spent hours on RateMyProfessor.com reading every comment and trying to figure out how to avoid your required class’ hardest professor. But before you click ‘enroll,’ why not hear it from some of the professors themselves? RateMyProfessor.com could just be full of bitter students seeking vengeance, after all.

BY MARC FISHMAN | PHOTOS BY CHAZ MOTTINGER EASINESS RATIN G

2.5/5.0

PROFESSOR

JAMIE PRENKERT EASINESS RATING

2.4/5.0

L 201 — LEGAL S-L SBUS B

Professor Leah Savion

O OF BUSINESS ENVIRONMENT

PROFESSOR

PETER OLSO EASINESS RATIN G

phil-p 250 — sy mbolic logic

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2.3/5.0

HARDEST PART “People are constantly surprised by the level of rigor in this course. If students go to a 200-level math course, they expect it, but when they take a philosophy course, it scares them.”

NO. 1 RESOURCE FOR STUDENTS “I meet people everywhere. I meet people in the SRSC, and we work out together and we do logic. People come to my dance group. If you are willing to work, I will be there to look over your shoulder.”

WHY LOGIC IS IMPORTANT “The whole social structure of our existence is based on the assumption of rationality. Knowing how to make correct inferences is a serious of chunk of being rational.

At the individual level, you become a lot smarter, a lot sharper. And at the societal level, we get better. This is what you get in a logic class. You get people to think.”

GRADE DISTRIBUTION FALL 2009 20 15 10 5 0

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Bs

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6 INSIDE MAGAZINE the survival issue

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HARDEST PART “The students find learning a new way of speaking difficult. The language is very precise in law and some words have particular meaning, and the way you use those words makes a difference. So that makes the reading somewhat dense. We also have to get through a lot of stuff in the class, so it’s a heavy workload.”

NO. 1 RESOURCE FOR STUDENTS “They have to go see their professor.

And that’s a mistake I think sometimes students make. They have that resource, and they don’t take advantage. They think, ‘My professor doesn’t want to see me or they don’t have time for me.’”

WHY BUSINESS LAW IS IMPORTANT “People who went to law school like to talk about ‘thinking like a lawyer’ but it’s really just more thinking in ways that can keep competing ideas in your head at the same time and sort of driving toward the best argument. And I think that’s a really valuable tool for anybody, whether they’re talking about law or anything else.”

GRADE DISTRIBUTION FALL 2005

ECON-E 201 — INTRO

TO MICROECO NOMICS

HARDEST PART “Economics tends to be more demanding than some other courses because even at the intro level, it’s quantitative, analytical thinking, rigorous methodology. A lot of people don’t have much experience with that kind of approach to human behavior.”

NO. 1 RESOURCE FOR STUDENTS “We have a collaborative learning component that all of us who teach E201 in the large lectures offer. Students get together in a group of 30, and in smaller groups they work on solving problems.

We talk it through, and it forces us to use the language of economics and to

work collaboratively. Economics is like math in that it’s a problem solving-based course. Students need to practice in order to develop this approach to solving problems that economists use. And we give them plenty of opportunities to practice.”

PET PEEVES “I always wish that students would study more. And they don’t believe me when I tell them they need to learn this in an incremental way, that cramming for an econ exam is far less likely to be effective than cramming for many other exams.”

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WHY ECONOMICS IS IMPORTANT “We live in a system that is largely a price system, so if you don’t understand how market processes work, it can be very frustrating. Economics can help people understand market processes in the system that we live in and not see it as a mysterious process or some kind of conspiratorial process that works against them.”

GRADE DISTRIBUTION FALL 2011 120 100 80 60 40 20 0

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CONFESSIONS

TIP JAR

BETTER YOU

KNOW-IT-ALL

ESSAY

Preserving the Lilly Library’s treasures Jim Canary and his staff help rare books and other artifacts survive

BY MICHELA TINDERA | PHOTO BY CHAZ MOTTINGER

I

t’s a Thursday afternoon in January. Wool scarves pulled tight, students hurry by Showalter Fountain on their way to or from class.

On the sixth floor, in a room that is precisely 68 degrees Fahrenheit with 47 percent humidity, Jim Canary is bent over a book of hours — a type of prayer book — hand-written and illustrated in the 15th century, cleaning two 600-year-old pieces of leather.

As head of conservation at the Lilly Library, Canary has worked for 26 years fighting the decay of the 450,000 books and 7.5 million manuscripts stored at the Lilly.

“It’s like your car,” Canary says. “You just have to keep up on it all the time.”

ONLINE ONLY AT IDSNEWS. COM/INSIDE View a step-by-step slideshow of how to make a “clam shell.”

BOOKMARKS: THE LILLY LIBRARY BY THE NUMBERS 450,000 number of books, plus 7.5 million manuscripts, stored at the Lilly Library.

6,400,000 number of bound volumes the Ruth Lilly Auxiliary Library Facility can hold.

16,000 number of miniature books housed in the Lilly’s collection.

24 maximum number of hours it takes for any book to be retrieved from the ALF.

Here are just some of the techniques and tactics the Lilly Library takes to restore these books. light The UV component of light can cause books’ fibers to become brittle or their dyes and inks to fade over time.

Five “foot-candles” is the ideal amount of lighting the Lilly uses for documents in iron gall ink or hand-colored illustrations, which are especially susceptible to fading. A footcandle is a unit of measurement equal to the light produced by one candle from one foot away. re-binding Japanese tissue is a thin paper that is dyed using acrylics or watercolors and pasted on the outer and inner binding depending on what’s necessary. It can be used on leather, cloth, paper, or vellum.

“I wouldn’t want to throw this in the book drop, but it’s a perfectly adequate repair,” says Canary.

STORAGE Any books that seem loose or fragile are kept in a handmade box or “clam shell.” Anything less than half an inch thick is kept in an envelope.

Canary holds up a book of hours — a type of prayer book — written and illustrated by hand in 15th century Netherlands. He plans to resew the binding, and the entire repair process will take about 10 hours of uninterrupted work.

pages To clean stains, a book can be de-acidified, or alkalized, by either applying an alkaline solution to a dry page or submerging it in an alkaline solution bath. However, because these repairs change the chemical composition of the paper, they are a last resort. when in use While anyone can use the books, they must be kept in the designated Reading Room. Inside, they are placed atop cushions that support each tome’s spine and binding. Instead of having patrons hold down a page with their hands, strings with weights on them are used.

Preservation and access are two key values in the library’s functionality.

“We still are a functioning library,” Canary says. “Books are meant to be used.”

It’s that simple.

IDS Housing Guide www.idsnews.com/housing

304 DAYS UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD? F

BY HANNAH WALTZ rom Harold Camping’s endless predictions of the Rapture to the Mayan calendar ending in 2012, there’s no shortage of predictions of how the world will end. But astronomy professor John J. Salzer says, most of these theories are scientifically impossible. Rest easy, Hoosiers, Inside is here to bust these 2012 myths once and for all.

‘2012’

PREDICTED DOOM Mutated subatomic particles and increased solar flares will cause increased seismic activity, displacing the Earth’s crust. Megatsunamis will ensue and consequently flood the Earth.

REALITY Y There’s one tiny flaw in this theory: these particles, called neutrinos, do not interact with matter. So, the effect is impossible.

‘MELANCHOLIA’ PREDICTED DOOM A large blue planet approaches Earth for a “fly-by” that will cause no harm. But the planet unexpectedly falls into a “slingshot orbit” and collides with Earth.

REALITY A celestial ball colliding with Earth defies the orbital dynamics of the solar system. Because of the gravitational relationships between the planets in our solar system, scientists would be aware of a hiding planet because it would affect the orbits of Mars and Venus.

“Neutrinos are produced by the sun every second. Millions are passing through our bodies right now,” Salzer says. “But even if you change the neutrino flux, which is impossible without changing the laws of physics, you wouldn’t notice it because neutrinos don’t interact with matter.”

“The premise that there’s a planet in such an orbit behind the Sun is physically impossible,” Salzer says. “The physics of the slingshot effect would actually move the planet further away.”

PREDICTED DOOM Global warming will usher in a new Ice Age on Earth. After the disruption of the North Atlantic current, torrential downpours of ice, hail, snow, and rain create super-storms, freezing everything and everyone in their way.

Hollywood-style dramatic storms are possible, entering a new Ice Age is extremely unlikely.

“Because global warming is putting more energy into the atmosphere, the winters would be harsher, but so would the summers,” Salzer says.

Additionally, Salzer says scientists know the h physics h i off the h S Sun very wellll — wellll enough to be certain that its activity would not change that dramatically any time soon. The Sun goes through cycles of sunspot minimums and maximums every 11 years. Although there is a sunspot maximum scheduled for 2012, it won’t be any more extreme than it was in 2001 or 1990.

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ONLINE ONLY: VIDEO A look at my everyday life without my hand, including how I use my new prosthetic one, and my battle with the insurance company to get it.

4 INSIDE MAGAZINE the relationships issue

living one with

BY LINDSEY ERDODY | PHOTOS BY CHAZ MOTTINGER

M

y 3-year-old cousin walks over and touches the scar at the end of my left arm. She stares, eyes wide, head tilted.

“Where’s your hand?” she asks.

“I lost it in a car accident.”

Her eyebrows scrunch as she tries to work out what that means.

“So it’s in your car?” she says.

It takes more explaining before she starts to understand that my hand isn’t coming back, that it’s not out there somewhere, waiting for me to bring it home. Her uncensored curiosity is refreshing. Most adults, I’ve learned, avoid such blunt questions out of fear of being impolite.

My young cousin has asked me the same questions repeatedly for years, but she’s still trying to make sense of it, just like I was at first. My accident happened three years ago, but it will always be with me everytime I button my shirt or type an email.

This isn’t the story of how I survived the crash.

It’s the story of how I found my way through all the days since then.

“My car was upside down on the right shoulder of the highway, and my window was crushed, leaving only inches of space. I unsnapped my seat belt, fell onto the dashboard and tried to escape ... My eyes wandered, and then I saw it — the end of my left coat sleeve with no hand lying outside it.”

A

A few more miles, I thought, as my eyes tried to focus on the empty highway.

A few more miles, and I’ll stop for caffeine.

A few more miles, and I’ll get a break.

A few more miles, and I’ll be fine.

It was almost 8 a.m. on Sunday, Feb. 8, 2009, and I was driving south on Interstate 65, heading back to Bloomington after a conference in Michigan. I started driving at about 3 a.m. and slept at a rest stop earlier, but it wasn’t enough. Blinking couldn’t keep me awake, and soon I drifted off to sleep.

My eyes snapped open after I felt my car bumping across uneven pavement. My 1999 white Chevy Blazer was drifting into the median near the 215-mile marker, just before the Rensselaer, Ind., exit. In a panic, I threw my steering wheel to the right. Too hard. I tried to turn it back to the left, but my car started to slowly tip to the right, as if it was happening in slow motion. I

felt my head scraping against the ceiling and my skin peeling away. I heard the metal of my car’s roof sliding across the pavement and the driver’s window bursting.

I smelled burnt rubber and blood.

Then it all just stopped.

My car was upside down on the right shoulder of the highway, and my window was crushed, leaving only inches of space. I unsnapped my seat beat, fell onto the dashboard and tried to escape.

A semi rumbled past me as I screamed for help. I thought no one was coming.

My eyes wandered, and then I saw it — the end of my left coat sleeve with no hand lying outside it.

A bloody piece of my thumb dangled, unattached to anything. I saw bits and pieces of other fingers scattered around me, but my mind couldn’t comprehend it. I told my hand to move and could feel those fingers wiggling.

As I continued screaming for help, a woman appeared at the side of my Blazer. She saw the SUV on the side of the road and had stopped to help. When she bent down to talk to me, her face was only inches from my bleeding head and arm.

“Can you hear me?” she asked.

“Yeah, get me out of here!”

She told me her name was Sarah and that she was driving to a bridal convention in Indianapolis. She had already called 911 and wanted to keep me awake until help arrived, so she kept asking questions.

“What are you studying?”

“Journalism.”

“Where do you go to school?”

“IU.” Sarah asked for my mom’s phone number, but I refused to give it to her. I didn’t want to upset my family.

She persisted, and I eventually caved. www.idsnews.com/inside 11

My prosthetic is the closest thing to a replacement hand, but it still isn’t the same. I can’t wear it all the time because of how heavy it is and how easily my muscles get tired. When I’m not wearing it, it’s usually on the charger.

We talked for what seemed like hours, even though it was only minutes until the ambulance pulled up. It took the Jaws of Life to open my passenger door, and I had to roll over onto my back before the EMTs could drag me out.

“Wait,” I mumbled. “My hand ... You need to make sure my hand comes with me.”

They didn’t know what I was talking about.

“My hand ... ” I rolled to the left and dragged the remaining attached fragments of hand onto my stomach. The EMTs stopped talking.

Ignoring their silence, I tried not to look at it.

Now that I was out in the open, the cold

My eyes opened to chaos in the emergency room at Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis. Doctors and nurses whipped back and forth around my gurney. People on both sides of me ran scissors across my body, cutting my clothes off. As an IV was hooked up to me, I was pushed and shoved to a bed.

T

The news from the surgeon confirmed the worst.

“I have to amputate your left hand,” he said.

For the first time that day, I cried.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

He showed me the X-ray and asked if I wanted to see the photo he had taken on his phone. I said no, but he showed me any-

still feel the muscles in my arm working as if I were moving my fingers.

Then I felt my head. It was wrapped in the same kind of bandage. All of my shoulder-length hair was gone.

By now, my parents and two older sisters had arrived. When my mom and dad saw me, they burst into tears.

“Stop crying,” I said. They cried harder.

I slept for most of that day, randomly waking up and listening to my family’s conversations. They wanted me to drop out of IU. I wanted to stay enrolled. They wanted me to come home to recover. I wanted to get back to Bloomington as soon as I could.

They thought my good attitude was a cover up. They were waiting for me to break down. Throughout the week they

My sister Shannon, a physical therapist, had seen many amputees through the years. My attitude, she said, was unusual. After losing a limb, most people get mad, hate the world, and sink into depression. air stung. I was shivering. My teeth chattered.

“I think she’s having a seizure,” an EMT said.

“No ... I’m ... not ...,” I tried to say. “I’m ... just ... cold.”

They loaded me onto the ambulance and told me they were taking me to a helicopter to fly to Indianapolis.

T

The helicopter ride was peaceful.

Warm blankets were wrapped around me, and an oxygen mask helped me breathe. I felt safe and oddly comfortable.

It still felt like my hand was there. I could move my muscles to open and close it, but I wasn’t sure if it was working. I convinced myself that because I could feel it, my hand would be okay.

I let myself sleep.

12 INSIDE MAGAZINE the survival issue

way. I guess he felt I needed proof.

The surgeon was right. My hand wasn’t a hand. It was crushed bones and looked like it had gone through a blender.

The bad news continued as he talked about my head injuries. Close to 40 percent of my scalp had been scraped away.

He said they were going to try and stretch the remaining scalp to cover it, but additional surgery would be necessary.

He held the clipboard for me as I signed the consent forms. I cried as I agreed to the operations because I knew I didn’t have any other choice.

A

After the surgery, I woke up and immediately looked at my arm. It was wrapped in a thick white bandage and rounded off where my hand used to be. Even seeing it, I didn’t believe it. If I closed my eyes, I could

A

An occupational therapist visited one afternoon to orient me to my new life. I wanted to sleep, but she had other plans.

We started with a diagram on tying shoes with one hand. I grabbed a tennis shoe and thought the technique was easy.

Then she showed me how to button jeans and shirts and zip pants, practicing on clothes the therapist had brought with her.

It seemed simple enough, in theory.

But on the morning I was getting ready to leave the hospital, I struggled with my jeans. The one-handed method I’d practiced was much harder when the clothes were actually on me.

M

asked if I needed to speak with a therapist, but I always said no.

My accident had happened. My hand was gone. I needed to adjust. There was nothing I could do about it except deal with it, so I took the practical approach.

My sister Shannon, a physical therapist, had seen many amputees through the years. My attitude, she said, was unusual.

After losing a limb, most people get mad, hate the world, and sink into depression.

I didn’t want to waste time. I needed to learn to be independent and adjust to this new way of life, and the sooner I figured it out, the better. I wasn’t always like this though. A cut or a bruise used to result in complaints for days. But this time, it wasn’t a scar that was going to fade away. This was permanent, and the sooner I faced it, the sooner I could get back to my life.

My sister Nicole was responsible for driving me home to Bay City, Mich. She said she would only feel safe if she was the one driving me, and I trusted her.

Even so, I was nervous. The closer we got to the car, the more I started shaking.

I wanted to leave the hospital, but I didn’t want to get in a car. Thinking about being on a highway again was a nightmare.

As we drove away, I tried not to look out the windows. I laid down and fell asleep.

Months later, I learned the reason I’d passed out so quickly — my family had asked the hospital to give me something before we left. As irritated as I was when I found out, I understood the reasoning. I wasn’t ready for that drive yet. Nicole and I weren’t driving past where my accident was, but it was still a highway, and it was still scary.

That night, back home in Michigan, my dad told me he was determined to never let me get hurt again. He said he wanted to bubble wrap me and the house, so the family would be safe. I laughed, knowing he was kidding, mostly.

When he wasn’t plotting how to keep me safe, my dad was worrying about my

future. He called news outlets looking for someone to reassure me that I didn’t need two hands to be a journalist.

I appreciated it, but knew I’d be fine.

I was right handed so I knew I could still write, and that was all I needed.

Me with local TV anchor Katie O’Mara at home the week after the accident.

before I began to feel comfortable again, or as comfortable as I could be doing everything differently.

T

The first anniversary of the crash, February 8, 2010, crept up on me. It was like a time machine had taken me back to that morning on the highway. It was the one day of the year I gave myself permission to feel sorry for myself. I didn’t want to see anyone or be social. I didn’t want to drive.

The next anniversary was the same. I didn’t want to be positive. For 24 hours, I dropped the can-do attitude.

But then February 9th came, and I was back in the present where I was focused on moving forward.

T

The next week at home was my trial and error period. I couldn’t open the “get well soon” cards easily; I couldn’t cut chicken with a knife; I couldn’t tie things; I couldn’t put eyeliner on the same way.

Getting in and out of the car felt different, opening bottles or jars wasn’t the same, putting in my contacts took longer than usual, holding my purse became an annoyance.

I also had trouble taking care of my injuries. I had to work hard to wrap my arm, and my mom had to wrap my head.

The first time I looked in the bathroom mirror at my head without the bandages, I thought I was an extra in a zombie movie. I didn’t cry. I just stared. Stitches crisscrossed everywhere, and blood oozed from areas that hadn’t formed scabs yet. Almost all of my hair was gone. It was a bloody, gushy mess, and I still wasn’t ready to try wrapping it myself.

I wasn’t used to doing things slowly or asking for help. I didn’t like it.

A

After one week at home, I was ready for IU. I needed to go back and prove to myself and my family that I could survive.

The first class I went back to was a lab for my introduction to computing class.

I sat down and faced my first problem. To log in to IU computers I needed to press control, alt, and delete at the same time on the keyboard, but those three keys are relatively far from each other. I tried once, didn’t get it. I tried twice, still nothing. I tried again, getting frustrated.

Just before I asked for help, I gave myself a short pep talk. I could figure this out.

I couldn’t give up now. I tried again, slowly making sure I had a finger on each key.

I felt a short burst of happiness that faded when I had to peck my five-word passphrase. The single finger approach was way too slow, so I knew I needed to learn a new method.

The University offered me help for

W taking notes and typing homework, but I shrugged it off. I didn’t see the point in not learning to do it myself. I wasn’t going to be dependent for the rest of my life.

I learned the best way to take notes in class was on a big notebook that didn’t move easily. For typing, the easiest approach was to keep my hand centered on the keyboard and to use all five fingers. After a couple months, I was back at what felt like full speed.

My classes were the least of my worries. I still had to carry my meals through the Read dining halls and find some way to pick off the pepperonis from my pizza.

I hate pepperoni.

The therapist had offered me things that could help, like curved knives that rolled back and forth so having the fork to steady the food wasn’t needed, or sticky material that kept jars and bottles in place so unscrewing caps was easy. But I declined.

I went to an IU basketball game, and when the Hoosiers scored I raised my arms to clap.

The next few seconds were confusing.

I learned to clap in my own way by hitting my leg with my right hand, or when appropriate, just cheering.

This new life required more adjustments than I had realized. It was months

When I started thinking about getting my left hand back, I never imagined I would have to drive past the place I lost it.

But if I wanted the best prosthetic, I needed to be at the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago, and to get there, I didn’t have a choice. Mile marker 215 stood in my way.

I’ve driven past it more than 20 times.

Almost every time, I think about how this must be some cruel karma — in order to get my new prosthetic I have to drive past the exact spot where it all began.

Sometimes when I drive past it I remember that day and cry. Sometimes I’m on the phone or singing to the radio, and it goes by without my notice. Sometimes I wonder what it was like to see my car rolling across the highway.

Two months before the three-year anniversary, I’m driving past it again on my way to Chicago. As I go through this part of Indiana and see the exit I could have stopped at, I get angry. It was only a few hundred yards away. If I had only kept my eyes open for a few more seconds, it could have made all the difference.

On this day, I’m mad, but after I drive past it, I shake the negative thoughts out of my head and keep my eyes on the road.

No matter where I’m driving or how long I’m driving for, this will always keep me awake. It might not always be on my mind, but I can always feel it. I can feel the tingles up and down my arm when I think about moving it. I lost my left hand, but it will always be with me.

First I put a special lining on my arm. In order for the prosthetic to work, I have to make sure the magnetic pieces on the lining match up with the appropriate muscles on my arm. These magnetic washers pick up on the signal from my muscles and send it to the hand.

When I put the prosthetic on, I have to get the magnets on the lining to attach to the magnets inside the arm socket.

When the magnets click together, that's how I know it’s on right. There is also a screw on the end of the lining that locks into a hole in the socket.

Once it’s on, I send "open" and "close" signals to my muscles. The magnets pick up the movement from my muscles and send the signal to the hand. I literally think "hand open” and "hand close.” It’s easy to do because of phantom pains — my brain thinks my arm is still there.

COURTESY PHOTOS

Just before leaving for IU, my family had a small birthday party for me.

Regaining what I lost Today, I use a myo electric prosthetic.

It is the most realistic option in terms of physical appearance and functionality.

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Holding on to the past,

surviving the present.

T

he Holocaust happened 67 years ago. It happened across an ocean. But it happened to our professors, our grandparents, our neighbors.

For these survivors, this six-year period is still part of everyday life.

It prevents them from sleeping at night, from watching horror films, from trusting others with their stories. It shaped their childhoods, their careers, their outlooks on life, and their reasons for coming to Bloomington.

But with every passing day, their stories fall further back into history.

“The longer we move away in time from the Holocaust, the more difficult it is for people to find relevance,” says Jacob Bielasiak, professor of a class on the Holocaust and politics.

It was imperative for this issue to include survivors of one of the world’s greatest tragedies — especially since they are living in our community. Our generation is the last to hear their stories firsthand.

By sharing their experiences, these five survivors challenge us to keep the memory of the Holocaust alive.

16 INSIDE MAGAZINE the survival issue

CHAZ MOTTINGER

Mimi Taylor

BY JESSICA CONTRERA

M

iriam “Mimi” Taylor, wife of a retired IU professor, was 3 years old when the ordinance was issued that all Jews must be moved to the ghetto of Chernivtsi .

Mimi’s father had a close friend whose sister lived in the area that later became the ghetto. The woman allowed Mimi and her parents, as well as 18 others, to stay in her apartment.

The ordinance declared that after the Jews were concentrated in the ghetto, they were to be deported to Transnistria, an area controlled by the Nazis and Romanians during the War. Transnistria was, more or less, an unorganized Romanian concentration camp for the extermination of Jews.

Her family eluded deportation through the unexpected kindness of a Romanian man — Traian Popovici, the mayor of Chernivtsi.

Popovici asked that the Jews not be deported so that the city would not come to a standstill. The dictator of Romania allowed him to give out approximately 15,000 permits, which gave a person permission to stay in Chernivtsi. Mimi says he forged about 4,000 more permits.

Mimi’s family was given one of those permits. It was enough to keep them safe and alive for most of the war — but for her grandmother, great aunt, cousin, and friends, there was no salvation.

The trauma that most affected Mimi didn’t occur until after the war.

“As I got older, I understood better,”

she says. “For years, I heard about the absolutely horrible things that happened.

At a very young age, I decided that if I ever had to live through another war, I would commit suicide.”

Today, Mimi preserves the memory

COURTESY OF MIMI TAYLOR

Residence permit belonging to Taylor’s grandmother, Scheindel Reiner.

of her family, her heritage, and her city.

She has digitized all of her family’s photos and documents from the time of the war and contributes to an online forum with others who once lived in Chernivtsi.

Mimi has organized past preservation projects including rehabilitating a Jewish cemetery in Chernivtsi and installing a memorial plaque of Popovici, the mayor who saved so many Chernivtsian Jews from deportation. Currently, she’s working on having the stories of the forum’s members published.

“When I come across new information about the city or the Holocaust, I try and make it known,” Mimi says. “We should never forget our history.”

photography: Matt James

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Paula*

BY ALYSSA GOLDMAN

P

aula*, an 86-year-old former student and employee at IU, lived with uncertainty during her three-month detainment in Auschwitz Concentration Camp.

As a Jewish French citizen, Paula spent many of her teen years moving around from town to town hoping to avoid Nazi persecution.

In March 1944, Paula decided to go to a friend’s art studio. She was part of “The Resistance,” an underground movement that aimed to free Europe from Nazi power. Paula’s group of friends was responsible for producing anti-Nazi leaflets. She walked into the apartment without knocking and when she stepped inside, she found three French policemen pointing their guns in her direction.

Paula spent time in French and German prisons for three months before being transported to Drancy, an internment camp that was used as a “holding place” before prisoners were deported to extermination camps. On July 31, 1944, she started her threeday journey on a cattle car to Auschwitz.

“In hindsight, we gained time from March to July,” Paula says. “If we were sent to Auschwitz

earlier, I might not be alive now.”

With little access to water and food, she arrived to Auschwitz dazed and confused.

The prisoners were shaved, forced to undress, and tattooed with their designated numbers. Paula was No. 16,749. Their clothes, shoes, and other belongings were taken from them and thrown into a pile. Then they had to pick from a pile of other prisoners’ clothing that had been disinfected. Paula chose a skirt, shirt, shoes, and a slip. She possessed nothing with any connection to her identity.

“I picked up a slip since there were no actual toilets, just a big box where everyone did their business, with no toilet paper,” Paula said. “Little by little the slip began to shrink, until there wasn’t a slip anymore. I just didn’t want to be dirty.”

Paula washed her hair whenever possible since lice was a threat to prisoners’ lives.

“It was a matter of luck if you didn’t catch typhus,” she said. “If you didn’t catch typhus, you had a chance of survival. If you had typhus, you died.”

In November, Paula was inspected by the camp “doctor” — the person who decided who lived and SEE PAULA, PAGE 22

*Paula is a pseudonym. She asked to remain anonymous.

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COURTESY OF ZHANNA ARSHANSKAYA

Peter Jacobi

BY ALYSSA GOLDMAN

B

eing born to a Jewish mother and an outspoken father didn’t bode well for School of Journalism Professor Emeritus Peter Jacobi in 1930s Berlin.

In the beginning stages of Nazi rule, Peter’s caretaker stole several items from the family’s household.

His father reported her to the authorities. The police spoke with her and suggested his father drop the charges because she claimed to have heard anti-Nazi speech used at the dinner table. If he pressed charges, his father would suffer more than the caretaker.

“Musicals like ‘Cabaret’ and the ‘Sound of Music’ aren’t far off in terms of a society in which people changed,” Peter says. “Former friends would become enemies, and you had to watch yourself — watch how you acted and watch what you said.”

Life as a “half-Jew” was difficult and confusing.

Although Peter’s parents wanted him to attend a private Jewish day school to escape Nazi propaganda, the German government wouldn’t allow him to attend since he was not quite Jewish enough. However, he was still discriminated against at school.

“I had some teachers who were old German disciplinarians that beat up everybody,” Peter says.

“But then I had some Nazi teachers who were selective of who they bothered.”

Although his father was not Jewish, his deli was graffitied with “Jude” and Stars of David. Eventually, SEE PETER, PAGE 22 TOP PHOTO BY CHAZ MOTTINGER, AT LEFT COURTESY OF PETER JACOBI

At left, Peter Jacobi stands with his parents.

COURTESY OF ZHANNA ARSHANSKAYA

Zhanna Arshanskaya

BY ALYSSA GOLDMAN

Zhanna Arshanskaya, an 84-year-old former professor at the Jacobs School of Music, fled the death march at Drobitsky Yar, a ravine near Kharkov, Ukraine. Her father had a pocket watch buried in his winter jacket and used it to bribe one of the Ukrainian guards. Before 14-year-old Zhanna went into the world to fend for herself, her father placed his heavy winter jacket onto her shoulders and said, “I don’t care what you do — just live!”

In the distance, Zhanna saw some older women watching the procession. She tried to blend in with the other onlookers, and pretended to be caught within the tangled, ragged barbed wires.

Somehow Zhanna’s younger sister, Frina, also escaped the death march. They spent five years in hiding and depended on the kindness of righteous gentiles, or “angels,” as she calls them.

Their survival tactic: performing.

As students of Kharkov’s music conservatory, they were taught by renowned pianists and performed throughout the Ukraine. Their success in the music

world made hiding even more difficult. Zhanna and Frina took on the identity of orphan daughters of an on-duty officer in the Russian army and a mother killed in the bombing of Kharkov.

Their musical talents were later discovered and they were hired as performers in a theater troupe.

But they had to perform for German soldiers — the people they were so desperately trying to escape. And because Zhanna was the main talent and received the best pay and the most praise, she became the target of much animosity.

The troupe’s ballet dancers claimed the sisters were Jewish. This rumor made its way to the Nazi commandants — twice. The commandants questioned a woman whose son was once their classmate. On two separate occasions, she told the Nazis she knew their parents and was certain the sisters weren’t Jewish.

“It was a miracle of some proportion that angels were willing to sacrifice themselves,” Zhanna says.

“She chanced her and her son’s life. Just imagining the courage it takes to do this is mind boggling.”

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COURTESY OF THE CENTER FOR HOLOCAUST AND HUMANITY EDUCATION

Conrad Weiner

BY ALYSSA GOLDMAN

C

onrad Weiner, a 74-year-old ’66 IU graduate, had an encounter with death before he even reached double digits.

For Conrad, the Holocaust is a vague memory pieced together by other family members and his own research. At age 3 and a half, he, his uncle, and his mother had to leave their home in Bucovina, a part of Romania at the time, and were forced to march to the Ukraine’s Budi Labor Camp.On the side of the road, his family thought they saw branches covered with snow and mud. What they actually saw were dead bodies.

Dying during the two-week march was not only plausible — it was likely. His uncle had military experience, so his family would arrange sleeping shifts to ensure that no one would die of the freezing temperatures.

It was in the labor camp that Conrad fell extremely ill. Unable to hold any food down, fellow prisoners told his mother to let him die in peace.

“Fortunately, she didn’t COURTESY OF CONRAD WEINER listen to them,” he says with a Conrad stands with his mother Adele and laugh. At the risk of her own life, aunt Zunia in 1946 in Arad, Romania. she would climb up the cherry trees to retrieve stems and twigs and from that would make tea. His mother’s concoctions and her bravery ultimately helped him regain strength.

It wasn’t until 2007 that Conrad decided to share his story with the world. While substituting for a 10th grade class, a student asked him if he ever met Hitler. Conrad responded, “Europe is a large continent, and Hitler and I traveled in different circles.” When Conrad explained that he spent three years in a concentration camp, the student asked, “What were you concentrating on?”

In that moment, Conrad decided he must share his story with the younger generations. When he publicly spoke of his experience for the first time, he was upset with his son for bringing his granddaughters to the presentation. His 10-year-old granddaughter, Alex, later wrote the poem, “The Survivor.”

One of its stanzas read, “His memories are filled with hardships. But his heart was filled with hope. He hoped to find light, and reader: There was light on the way. ... He knew it with all his heart.”

20 INSIDE MAGAZINE the survival issue

CHAZ MOTTINGER

Jacob Bielasiak

BY JESSICA CONTRERA

T

he Holocaust not only impacts those who lived it; it affects those who grew up around its stories, its legacy, and the pain and suffering it caused.

Political science professor Jacob Bielasiak’s parents never directly talked to him about the Holocaust, but they didn’t have to.

“It penetrated everything, like osmosis,” Jacob says.

“As a child of a survivor, you learn very quickly that certain subjects are taboo. You learn you have a responsibility to make your parents feel comfortable.”

Jacob’s parents survived multiple concentration camps, including Auschwitz. His father lost his first wife and daughter. His mother lost every member of her family.

It wasn’t until the 1980s, after he had been teaching at IU for nearly 10 years, that Jacob realized he had a calling to teach about the Holocaust. He teaches both Y352: The Holocaust and Politics and Y348: The Politics of Genocide.

“I do talk about my personal experience from time

SEE JACOB, PAGE 22

COURTESY OF JACOB BIELASIAK

Bielasiak’s parents, Rywka and Gerszon, survived multiple concentration camps, including Auschwitz.

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People crowd the streets in Tokyo after the 9.0 magnitude earthquake struck Japan on March 11, 2011.

COURTESY OF MEGAN RIPPEY

Shaken by the aftermath of Japan AS TOLD TO LAUREN SEDAM

The images of Japan’s devastating earthquake and tsunami on March 11, 2011, will forever be ingrained in our consciousness. Most of us were just onlookers.

IU senior Megan Rippey, however, was there, and she shared her story of that day with Inside.

T

he morning dawned perfectly, eerily clear. Every other day my dad and I had spent in Tokyo that week had been cold and cloudy, but that day the sky stretched on, a vivid, crystalline blue.

I didn’t know that day would change everything.

“You know earthquakes are common here, Megan,” my dad had told me on the plane. He had been traveling to Japan for work for as long as I can remember. This time, I got to tag along.

“Yeah, I know,” I said.

“I just don’t want you to panic,” he said. “It’s kind of a weird feeling, but it’s only about 10 seconds.”

I’d listened to him then, but I didn’t know how much I would need his advice.

Later that day, I’d be caught in the shock of a nation fighting for survival.

That morning, my dad left for work.

We were going to meet for dinner later, and I was left to explore on my own. After I showered, I went to look for souvenirs for my friends at home.

In the Ginza shopping district, I discovered a golf shop. Inside, I wandered over to a wall of golf balls. They were stacked three in a box, stretching over my head. As I was looking, they started to shake. One by one in their tiny cases, they rattled, the plastic pock marks clinking against each other.

Had I bumped into it? I looked around the store. Across the room, a mannequin fell. The women who were working realized I was nervous. My red hair and

freckles gave me away as a visitor, and they reassured me it was OK. It was just an earthquake, like normal.

They were all used to it, like my dad said.

But as I looked longer, I saw their faces start to falter. One of the women opened her mouth and screamed.

Someone tugged me from behind, pulling me into a corner. They gave me a helmet, and I put it on. I wanted to stand, but everything was shaking with me. The balls fell from their shelf, and outside the store front, I could see cars bouncing on the streets of Tokyo.

When the shaking stopped, we all sensed it was something big. Slowly, we peeled ourselves off the floor and started SEE JAPAN, PAGE 22

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JAPAN FROM PAGE 21

PAULA FROM PAGE 18

filtering into the streets. We looked to see what damage had been done, to see if it was real.

I joined a stream of people headed toward my hotel, the safest place in the city. Blank TVs were blaring instructions and updates in Japanese, but I couldn’t understand anything.

All I could do was watch the faces of the people around me.

People would come up to me and tell me, in English, it would be all right.

The aftershocks kept rolling in, and we would all duck into the nearest buildings as they hit.

Eventually, I made it to the hotel. We had to stay in the lobby, but I was allowed to get some essentials from my room.

In the silence of my room, I could finally hear my breathing.

I was hyperventilating.

I collected my things quickly and went back to the stairwell.

Where was my dad? How would I get home? I couldn’t even speak the language.

From three stories up, I heard people speaking English.

I decided then that no matter who they were, I was sticking with them. They were my ticket home.

I descended flight after flight, coming closer to the voices.

who died. The doctor looked at their frail, nude bodies and decided who would be sent to work in a Czechoslovakian factory and who would be sent to the gas chambers.

Paula was told she would be transported to Czechoslovakia, but she was commanded to shower prior to departure. She had no choice but to comply, not knowing if gas or water would emit from the sprinklers. Luckily for Paula, it was the latter.

COURTESY OF MEGAN RIPPEY

Megan Rippey was visiting Japan when the earthquake hit.

When I turned the last corner, I saw my dad and fell down the rest of that flight into his arms.

As a 21-year-old woman, I didn’t want to need my dad. But I did.

I couldn’t control it anymore, and the tears ran down my face.

Seeing him — knowing he’d take care of us — was the first relief I had all day.

Getting home was a challenge. We booked eight flights right away, on anything going to America. We walked for miles and finally caught a crammed train to the airport.

When we cleared security, we got on one of the last flights out via Singapore Airline .

Flying over the towns and villages we’d visited just days before, I couldn’t help but think of the people we’d met.

We’d eaten in their restaurants, shopped at their stores.

They’d taken us in. Now, there was no way to know what happened to them, if they were even still alive.

When we landed in Los Angeles for our layover, I saw the damage on TV for the first time. It was everywhere, and I couldn’t look away.

No one knew we had been there. Had I even been there? It felt like something from a book.

For reasons none of us can understand, we were there that day.

But I won’t remember that day because of the earthquake.

It was the spirit of the nation and its intrepid humanity that will live on in me, clear and bright as that morning in March.

PETER FROM PAGE 19 he had to close his shop.

Life in Germany was becoming too much to bear for the Jacobis. In 1936, his father went to the U.S. for what he called a “business trip” to visit Peter’s uncle, an ac-

JACOB FROM PAGE 20 to time so that it doesn’t become just reading about some abstract things,” Jacob says. “It’s difficult, but I consider it my own personal memorial to my parents and to those who suffered and survived.”

Jacob says he believes there is a large gap between where we are today and what went on during

Today, Paula’s mind races at night: What could she have done differently? How could she have been a better person? It doesn’t help that people have trivialized her experience. She has been asked if it was as horrific as its portrayal and believes society no longer cares. By revealing her name, Paula thought readers would think she was complaining or could react with antiSemitism. To younger people, Paula assumes the story of the Holocaust is just that, a story.

countant for some prominent figures in the music industry. These important individuals wrote affidavits for the family, and they fled from Berlin to the U.S. in 1938.

“Fortunately,” Peter says, “we never had to find out what could have been.” the Holocaust.

“We can read about it and see documentaries and movies, and I can tell personal stories about it, but ultimately, that gap remains,” Jacob says.

That’s his biggest challenge as a professor: closing that disparity, even if only by a small amount, so that the Holocaust becomes real to our generation.

Start your spring semester with passion, decC eit, intrigue, magic, and everywhere . . . love.

By Christopher Hampton

Adapted from the novel by Choderlos de Laclos

February 3, 4, 7-11, 2012

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