COLUMN THE HARVARD BENEATH OUR FEET An Ode to Kirkland Basement

ed a 20 percent increase in violent crimes targeting Jews from 2020 to 2021. According to the American Jewish Committee’s 2021 annual survey, nearly 40 percent of American Jews have reported changing their behavior in fear of being victimized, a trend that makes sense given the multiple recent mass shootings targeting the Jewish community. Meanwhile, over the past few years, several public figures have used language easily construed as antisemitic. From former President Donald J. Trump’s comments arguing that Jews who vote against him are disloyal to statements from Democratic Representative Ilhan A. Omar that both Republicans and Democrats criticized for playing into antisemitic tropes (although she did later apologize), politicians on both sides of the aisle have played a part in cultivating an antisemitic climate. Other celebrities contribute as well — like Kanye West, who notoriously tweeted that he would “death con 3 on JEWISH PEOPLE,” even while claiming that he “actually can’t be Anti Semitic.” Antisemitism is not the only kind of hate that increases when we forget the Holocaust. A primary lesson of the Holocaust was how easily society can slip into an authoritarian and genocidal state. Before the Nazis took over, Germany was a promising democratic republic and a center of arts and culture. Remembering the Holocaust can help us recognize history repeating itself — including, scarily, the mass genocides that are still taking place today. Growing up, the Holocaust was just a fact of my life, and thinking about it was like thinking about my parents’ childhood — nothing in my community would make sense without it. The oft-repeated mantra “never forget” seemed so inane that it bordered on meaningless. After all, how could one possibly forget such an atrocity?

Today, that rallying cry no longer appears so trivial.

In 2020, Morton Friedman died. He can no longer share his story with others. Slowly, recollection of the Holocaust is passing from eyewitness stories to the domain of history textbooks. The challenge our generation faces is establishing how we can “never forget” when those with lived memory are nowhere to be found. One truth is obvious: In order to never forget, we must always remember.

On an intellectual level, remembering is easy — a history textbook is a sufficient resource for those seeking to understand exactly what transpired. But sometimes it takes more extreme measures to truly comprehend the Holocaust.

The concentration camps where Jews were forced to do hard labor, and then brutally murdered and cremated in mass ovens, are kept in their original condition so that visitors can be impressed by the stunning cruelty of the Nazi regime. Film and literature produced by victims, as well, can provide a visceral perspective. And this potential for a visceral connection was why we — Harvard Hillel — brought a replica of a Nazi cattle car into Harvard Yard.

It is true that films and artifacts are disturbing — but that is precisely the point. The memory of atrocity fades when it is reduced to descriptions or images. Sometimes it takes seeing an actual object, or watching a vivid account, to experience the revulsion that the memory of the Holocaust should evoke.

While taking a class about the Holocaust is educational, seeing a cattle car where Jews were packed like sardines, and transported for days without food or water and only a bucket for excrement, is unforgettable. Touring a concentration camp where Jews were brutally suffocated in specially built gas chambers is very different from reading the number six million.

Those of us who have heard survivors share their experiences aren’t likely to forget the terrors of the Holocaust soon. But our societal memory is flickering, and we are feeling its result. Antisemitism, and hate writ large, can only be combated properly when we remember the past.

I will miss talking with Morton Friedman, but I will carry his memories with me. I hope you will too.