In the canon of Holocaust literature, there is a vast litany of authors that one could choose from. From Primo Levy, Cynthia Ozick, Tadeusz Borowski, Imre Kertész and Eliz Wiesel to Isaac Bashevis Singer and W.G. Sebald and onward and onward, each of these authors and even those numerous others not mentioned, have a singular and powerful voice that offer a universal cry for those of the past and present whose cries went unheeded or were violently silenced. And sadly enough, Holocaust authors are so rare indeed, writers whose voices are the clarion call for the global community to wake up and say, Never again. One such author is Jona Oberski, author of Childhood, a novella of such stark simplicity it belies the graphic horror of what he is writing about. Told from the point-of-view of a four-year-old boy with a simple, inexperienced and naive outlook, he bears traumatized witness of the evolution from his joy-filled and carefree life to the fathoms of human hell that are beyond description.
Happily living life with doting parents who give all of themselves for the sake of their little one’s happiness, Oberski’s young protagonist has all that a very young life could possibly want; he is coddled and protected and is the apple of his parent’s watchful and tender eyes. He has comfort, security, food, toys and above all, love. But as the story unfolds, darkness begins to filter in to the tranquility of family life. Hushed whispers and concerned looks soon replace the smiles, warmth and joviality. Ordinary clothing suddenly gets adorned with the yellow Jewish Star of David. People get taken away. The young boy accepts this with resigned curiosity, for he is still too innocent to understand what lies ahead. And in looking up to his parents, he senses that what he is experiencing is only a small unpleasant annoyance which has come in to all their lives, but it hasn’t dominated them, at least not yet. Emigration out of Amsterdam to Palestine is still on the schedule. When that happens, all will be well, and he can revert to the way things formally were. That does not happen, however, for at night they get taken away and transported to the nightmare of their imagination: Bergen-Belsen. At first, the cramped train ride and the camp itself just seem to be matters of gloomy inconveniences, if one can call them that; yet, when it is perceived from the eyes of a child, I do believe that that is how it is assimilated into his being: annoyances, aggravations. The camp is filled with depressed and shell shocked souls. But as the story progresses, the horrors soon become manifest and an understanding of why the prisoners are depressed and shell shocked soon becomes revealed. Oberski’s young protagonist hangs tight to his mother but eventually follows the protocol of the camp. His separated parents do occasionally get to see each other, and when they do, the child is exposed to other matters that are of a grown up nature: sex. Within the confines of this new grim life, he grows alongside the horrors. However, he keeps the atrocities at bay and is still able to maintain-through what I would call, delayed-stress syndrome, his normal inner self. He does, however, break the rules of the camp-with the prodding of the other youths who are interred there along with him. He does so not against the Nazis or Nazism in general but to fit in with the other kids, to belong. The dare that they impose upon him in order to belong is unspeakable, and it gets worse for him after that.
Childhood is unlike any work of literature on the Holocaust that I’ve read before; it is new, in a sense, because the story, the mindset, the perspective, comes from that of a child. It does not convey the adult sense of understanding, but rather, maintains the fragility of youthful innocence, an innocence that has been corrupted by the dark evil that is trying to overcome the visceral purity of the child. An inner battle has been planted within the him. Sanity versus insanity. By the novel’s end, the boy is fighting to maintain the remnants of his childhood, despite his numerous losses. His future life is about living a death that is unseen, and it makes you just ache for him.
The novella is simple, streamlined and disturbingly clear. There too is an aloofness about the work. The voice is not dictating how the reader should feel, because the protagonist is too young and undeveloped to be preachy or filled with a fiery advocacy against the evils that he is experiencing. His childhood is the lesson; as a reader, you’re just walking along with him and intellectually and humanely absorbing the trauma that he can’t fully grasp. You are the adult for him. A superb read!