A caballo entre Polonia y el extremo occidental del Imperio Ruso, la ahora nebulosa región de Galitzia fue durante siglos un hervidero de etnias y culturas donde floreció una vibrante comunidad judía en contacto y fricción con sus vecinos cristianos. Allí, sin ir más lejos, impartió doctrina el místico Ben Eliezer, venerado fundador del jasidismo. Allí, dos siglos más tarde, nació Joseph Roth, uno de los bebedores más venerables de la literatura contemporánea. Pero aquel mundo fue arrasado por el imparable viento de la historia. Apenas quedan sus ruinas y una memoria exánime sepultada por el peso de las naciones inmaculadas. Ésa es la memoria que este libro busca bajo las piedras. “Borrados” es la fascinante crónica de un viaje al pasado (también el nuestro, si lo pensamos bien) y, al mismo tiempo, una secreta autobiografía familiar.
Omer Bartov is an Israeli-born historian. He is the Samuel Pisar Professor of Holocaust and Genocide Studies at Brown University, where he has taught since 2000. Bartov is a noted historian of the Holocaust and is considered one of the world's leading authorities on the subject of genocide.
Well, this was a depressing book. Behold, yet another review about Judaism because I am going through an identity crisis (again).
With detailed descriptions and plenty of photos, Bartov visits several Ukrainian towns, details Jewish history and analyzes their relationship to Judaism now. This style of writing where history is described through landmarks worked really well. it felt like taking a tour of both the present and the past. We get to see all that was lost through the eyes of what exists now.
In between, Bartov points out the way Ukrainians never took responsibility for cooperating with Nazis, for blaming Jews for the Soviet Union's crimes and for generally, hiding the extent of anti-semitism. Synagogues transformed to sport clubs, pools or just decaying, Jewish cemeteries uprooted, no signs for Jewish mass graves, memorials talking about Jewish deaths without mentioning that they were Jewish, constantly undermining Jewish loss in particular. Bartov describes it as collective amnesia of the Jewish life. He suggests the Ukrainian nationalism blocks modern day Ukrainians from truly acknowledging their role. The fight against the Soviet Union is perceived as heroic so the anti-semitism never gets recognition.
In some ways, it's fascinating to dig deep into how Jews lived back then. One side of my family can trace back roots to around this area since the 19th century and sure, learning about them is cool. Seeing how much of Jewish culture used to exist in those places was a highlight of Bartov's descriptions.
Of course, it was constantly shocking to hear of towns that had a population of 25,000 people, of which a third were Jews and then learn that now the Jewish population doesn't exist. Virtually entire communities gone. It made me wonder what it's like to grow up in a town with this knowledge, the idea that the population has shifted so dramatically. A Pakistani yesterday enthusiastically told me that there's a Jewish synagogue near his town and well, I never know how to feel about all that Jews have left behind.
For me, the most interesting part of reading this was questioning if any of this matters. Maybe an unpopular opinion, but I have zero expectations for Eastern Europe. Bartov seems to feel that if Lviv was filled to brim with signs commemorating Jewish deaths, it would be good but frankly, I don't care. As an Ashkenazi Jew, I feel so done with Eastern Europe, I do not expect Eastern Europeans to do anything for Jews. It sucks when Poland constantly pretends it was only a victim of the war but as I see it, there's nothing left for Jews in Eastern Europe, no matter how many plaques exist.
So why do those plaques matter? For whom do they exist? The Jewish life of Galicia may have a rich history but it doesn't seem to have a future at all (unlike the Jewish life in Berlin, for example). In many ways, the amnesia Bartov writes about seems to mostly exist for Jews as well. I don't feel like this is mine. Bartov points out that memorial sites are almost always funded by private Jewish donors or by Israel.
There's a recent trend of romanticizing Jews in the diaspora, especially in Europe. It seems to be common both among non-Jewish Europeans who highlight Jewish contributions to their country and among Jews who start exploring their family history in an attempt to reconnect. I see it as a countering movement to Zionism. Zionism discredited the diaspora and now, the opposite process is happening. Yiddish is (finally) cool again.
As I've gotten closer to diaspora Jews, I'm finding myself asking identity questions that Israelis around me aren't asking. Questioning whether there's any part of me that feels connected to Galicia, if I could ever feel warmly towards a place my grandparents escaped as refugees. The classic "what would have happened if the Holocaust didn't happen".
However, it feels like every time I look into European history regarding Jews, eventually it becomes depressing. It becomes clear that sooner or later Jews weren't welcome. And recognizing this, as an eternal optimist, is not easy. I so very want to let go of the Jewish trauma but it often feels impossible. Every city Bartov describes feels like yet another failed story of assimilation and acceptance.
To conclude, this time of the year always makes me more pensive than usual. Such a stressful time, I feel like an actual zombie. Bartov has written a fascinating examination of Jewish life in Galicia. Truly recommended for anyone who wants to learn more about this period of time!
What I'm Taking With Me - Anyway, happy independence day to Israel, studying politics has led me to forget that countries can do good too. Or, in other words, an exchange student told me, "Israel is a world leader in development, especially in agriculture in desert areas!" and I'm just here like, nah, have you seen the south? we do not know how to develop stuff nearly enough, check out the periphery of this country, everything is always bad and could be better. - We were reading a chapter of Intimate Violence: Anti-Jewish Pogroms on the Eve of the Holocaust and the authors make the argument that pogroms happened in places where Jews started to demand equal rights, especially national ones. Fun. -I still very much want to visit Ukraine
------------------- I need to stop reading sad books and then being surprised that they make me sad. Review to come
Es complicado encontrar las palabras para expresar qué se siente al leer este libro. Mientras lo hacía, no podía dejar de preguntarme cosas: ¿cómo se sentiría que borraran parte de la historia de mi familia? ¿Qué sucedería si fueran una página en blanco, si su tierra natal no la recordara apropiadamente? Supongo que estas preguntas también se las hizo Omer Bartov, historiador y autor de este libro.
Galitzia es una región ucraniana que a lo largo de los siglos estuvo en manos de varios países. Tiene una historia compleja. Durante la Segunda Guerra Mundial fue parte de Polonia (bajo régimen alemán) y de la Unión Soviética. Esos son datos a tener en cuenta a la hora de leer "Borrados", aunque Bartov se encarga de detallarlos para poder entender el contexto.
Bartov, cuya familia proviene de Galitzia, viaja hacia el lugar para observar de qué forma se conservó la memoria de las personas judías que fueron torturadas y asesinadas durante la guerra. En su recorrido por las ciudades encuentra que esa memoria o no se conserva o se conserva mal. Los judíos fueron literalmente borrados de las conmemoraciones, de las placas, de los monumentos, los cementerios. Incluso las sinagogas sufrieron la dejadez. Algunos están destruidos, no se mantienen y (lo peor de todo, desde mi punto de vista) no se lo nombra. Creo que en estos tiempos estamos de acuerdo en que lo que no se nombra, no existe, y es por eso que necesitamos replantear el lenguaje y algunos términos para poder visibilizar. A las personas judías les pasó lo mismo. En algunas placas sólo usan las palabras "víctimas" y "mártires" del genocidio, pero no aclaran que eran judías. Incluso en la conmemoración usan una palabra peyorativa para dirigirse a ellas.
Bartov recorre, toma fotos y documenta, haciendo hincapié en lo que no se dice. Y está muy bien. La verdad es que la lectura de "Borrados" me enseñó mucho sobre un tema que ignoraba simplemente porque no se toca en la literatura más comercial (y eso que hay miles de libros ambientados en la Segunda Guerra Mundial) o en las películas de Hollywood. Esa es otra forma de invisibilizar. Punto para destacar: a pesar de ser un libro de no ficción, no es acartonado. Bartov narra muy bien y, aunque presenta mucha cantidad de información, no marea. Así que lo recomiendo para quienes prefieren los libros sobre Historia cortos y concisos.
The cumulative quality of this book is effective. Bartov runs through each major town and city in Galicia, tracing their Jewish histories and decrying the lack of respect for the past shown in this area of what is now western Ukraine. He’s written a rather sad and pessimistic encyclopaedia. Synagogues fall into disrepair; Bartov argues that they will never be restored. Museums celebrate the Ukrainian partisans who suffered under Soviet rule, yet brush over their complicity in the Holocaust. Bartov writes admiringly of the rich Jewish heritage of the area, conjuring up long lost street scenes and shadows of the world that was so cruelly destroyed. I hope that the situation has improved since the early-2000s. Some of the sites Bartov discusses have in fact been restored, but many are still ruins.
The author is a professor of European history at Brown. The book is a travelogue through the towns of Jewish Galicia in what is now the Western Ukraine, prompted or inspired by the author's Mother's hometown, Buchach. He shows us around these relatively impoverished small towns with the purpose of indicating what remains of the Jews who lived there, how they have been forgotten, and how the local history has been written to emphasize Ukrainian nationalism. This is, of course, what most folk-history is - ask one of my neighbors who the Lenape were, where they lived and what happened to them. That aside, I enjoyed his travelogue and pictures from my ancestors' world that has vanished.
(To summarize the "true" history - the towns were Jewish, Ukrainian and Polish. The inhabitants probably got along to some degree unless there were external destabilizing circumstances. These circumstances were common in the 19th and 20th centuries. So, when the Soviets came, the Ukrainian nationalists were tortured and killed; then the Nazis came and the Poles and Ukrainians helped them torture and kill the Jews; when the Jews were gone the Ukrainians tortured and killed the Poles; then the Soviets came back and the Ukrainians were tortured and killed again. Now they are free Ukrainians and they skip the parts where they don't look so good.)
I appreciated this book because my ancestors left this area in the 1870's. I can only imagine that all my extended family was murdered. This isn't "trauma porn"...if you're looking for personal horrifying stories, this isn't the book for you. But if you are interested in a thoughtful, researched take on how Ukrainian national interests have made it nearly impossible to detect a once vibrant Jewish community in the country, I recommend it.
I picked up this book at the Holocaust Museum in Washington DC. I bought it because my son's great grandparents grew up in this part of the Ukraine in the interwar period and I am trying to bring their story to life. It is hard to believe the extent to which any traces of the rich Jewish culture in Galician Ukraine have been virtually snuffed out. We are fortunate that Omer Bartov has done such a great job of helping us to see what has been going on over there. The pictures are helpful, as are the frequent historical references and social values extracted from the interviews conducted. A useful and valuable book. My blurry understanding of this part of the Ukraine has become clearer.
“For ultimately, this is not only a story about exhuming bodies, but also about unearthing a past of destruction whose very objective was to bury the traces of its crimes and the identity of the murdered along with their bodies.” (201) So begins the conclusion of Omer Bartov’s book, Erased: Vanishing Traces of Jewish Galicia in Present-Day Ukraine. The book recounts Bartov’s personal experience as he traveled between towns and cities in East Galicia—“the borderland between the old Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth [...] and the empires and marauders from the east and the south: the Tartars, the Cossacks, the Turkish Ottomans, and later, the Russians and the Soviets'' (4)—tracing the sparse remnants of the Jewish populations, mostly dilapidated synagogues and buried graveyards, that once lived there before Wehrmacht killing squads, Ukrainian pogroms, and forced migration decimated their numbers. At its core, however, Erased is about identity; Bartov hopes to give both “perpetrators” and “victims” their humanity without obfuscating the atrocity. (xiii) He travels through a nascent Ukraine, a country struggling with a contentious national identity. He remarks, “those who stare at the past with eyes wide shut can only conjure fiction, legends, nightmares, and phobia, however much they seek a pure, good, cleansed identity. [...] We cannot understand ourselves and build a secure and confident identity without acknowledging where we come from and how we got to where we are today.” (201) However, by seeking a historical identity, especially with nationalistic roots, one is inevitably identifying themselves with individuals who lived in the past; today’s “Germans,” “Ukrainians,” or “Jews” are thus linked to past individuals by these titles. Of course, for many, Bartov included, that link includes direct and recent ancestry. Consequently, the issue of how that identity relates to crimes that past individuals committed is raised. As Bartov found in his travels, this issue can become a barrier to proper engagement with the past, especially in the case of highly public history, like the commemoration (or lack of commemoration) of the atrocities that Bartov discusses.
As a distinguished scholar, of European History at Brown University ,as well as a leading Holocaust historian, Omar Bartov delivers a comprehensive catalogue of the once vibrant Jewish communities of modern day Ukraine in his most prolific work, “Erased: Vanishing traces of Jewish Galacia in present-day Ukraine. Tracing the historical timeline as well as mapping out the physical and cultural landscape of his late mothers homeland, Bartov recreates a travelogue like no other. The result is much more than a commemoration of what existed before Nazis and local inhabitants murdered most of the Jewish population. It is in many ways a repudiation of the silence and erasures that seem to encompass the landscape. As the son of Holocaust survivors, Bartov’s work encompasses a personal journey of discovery, intergenerational memory, and loss , and erasures.. These silences and erasures are not without actors and names, Bartov clearly outlines these processes did not occur as a natural by-product of historical progression but in fact with actors as human agents. According to Bartov, these formulas of erasure were enacted by a growing tide of Ukrainian nationalism that was propagated by the government to blatantly erase the vestiges of murdered Jews who had lived in these towns and villages for centuries. Thus the history and the memory of the murdered Jews of Galacia were not merely forgotten as a case of historical amnesia, they were excised not only from the physical landscape but from the metaphorical landscape of history and memory.
No es un libro fácil de leer pero es una obra importante ha ser leída. No sólo conmueve y moviliza la desaparición de cientos de miles de judíos de la Región de Galitzia sino también el olvido impuesto en la contemporaneidad de su existencia en aquellos pueblos que recorre Bartov. Es más fuerte aún dimensionar el holocausto y la erradicación casi completa de la cultura ashekanzi cuando se lo cuantifica en el porcentaje de población asesinada en poblados de los que habían sido habitantes, y parte integra de su entramado social, desde hacía siglos, y mas espeluznante es leer cómo sus vecinos, amigos, compañeros de clase, clientes y socios se convirtieron en su verdugo más cruel.
Leer este libro en momentos donde hay un gobierno en Polonia que niega el colaboracionismo y el antisemitismo intrínseco de sus ciudadanos durante la Segunda Guerra Mundial, e incluso lo pena, y una Ucrania fragmentada donde los nacionalistas neo fascistas, amantes del legado de Bandera, vuelven a marchar por las calles de Kiev nos deja a futuro un legado complejo. Por eso este libro es importante.
Una obra a la que acercarse despacio, cargada de ilustraciones actuales como testimonio de lo que nos cuenta y con numerosas citas a pie de página donde ampliar la información de cada uno de los sucesos que relata, sabiendo que lo que nos cuenta es duro pero importante. Sólo apto para aquellos que quieran escuchar. No se trata de una historia más de un superviviente, es la historia de alguien que quiso volver para ver con sus propios ojos en qué se había convertido su memoria, en olvido. Opinión completa en... https://planetaeris.wordpress.com/201...