(A previous version of this text was published on this blog in Portuguese under the title "De palavras, símbolos e resistência")
Several years ago, I visited a religious temple in the Chicago area, where I was startled to find a design carved into the walls that strongly resembled a swastika. When I questioned the person guiding our tour of the space, I was informed that this design had been a religious symbol long before it was appropriated by the Nazis as the emblem of their party. lthough I understood the guide’s explanation, it was difficult to grasp how, in that building—whose construction had been completed in 1953—the widespread and painful meaning that this symbol had acquired in the twentieth century had not been taken into account, and thus avoided in the decoration of the walls.
Just like graphic symbols, words can also take on a life of their own, as poets have long attested. In some contexts, words are chosen precisely because of their double meanings, sometimes creating humorous situations; in others, they are avoided for fear of being misunderstood.
This week’s parashah, Tsav, returns to the theme of animal sacrifices, their contexts and regulations. One type of offering made to God was the olah, in which an animal was entirely burnt on the altar. The term was translated into Greek as holokauston—a concept already familiar in Hellenistic religions—meaning complete (holos) burning (kaustos), and it was later rendered into English as “holocaust”.
By the late nineteenth century, the word holocaust began to be used by the American press to refer to large-scale massacres, such as the Armenian genocide of 1915–1917. After the Second World War, when the full extent of the Nazi atrocities began to be revealed, Holocaust—now written with a capital ‘H’ and often preceded by the definite article—came to refer specifically to the near-extermination of the Jewish population of Europe through the brutal and systematic murder of six million people.
Just as I was startled to find a swastika in a religious temple, many people are shocked to encounter the word holocaust in a translation of the Torah—especially when referring to a religious practice. The systematic murder of human beings and the disposal of their bodies in crematoria stands in complete opposition to the pursuit of a relationship with the Divine. For this reason, many reject the term Holocaust to describe this tragic chapter of Jewish and world history. Among the alternative terms proposed, Shoah—a biblical word meaning “catastrophe”—has become the preferred term in Jewish contexts when referring to these events.
While the Shoah was still ongoing, a group of young activists from Jewish-Zionist youth movements led an uprising against the Nazi forces emptying the Warsaw Ghetto and deporting its residents to extermination camps. On the eve of Pesach in 1943—which this year will fall tomorrow (11 April)—when SS forces entered the Ghetto, they were met with armed resistance from Jewish fighters, who managed to hold out for nearly two months. This act of defiance was extraordinary in the face of a far larger, better-trained, and better-equipped army. Commenting on the meaning of the uprising, one of its leaders, Itschak Cukierman, said:
“I do not believe it is really necessary to analyse the Revolt in military terms. This was a war of fewer than a thousand people against a mighty army, and no one doubted the outcome. This is not something to be studied in military academies. (...) If there is a school for studying the human spirit, this should be a central subject. What truly matters was the inner strength demonstrated by Jewish youth after years of degradation—to rise up against their destroyers and choose how they would die: Treblinka or Revolt.” [1]
May this Shabbat bring us the strength to reclaim the power of words, the meaning of symbols, and the control over our own narratives—to cherish life and the resilience shown in its defence.
Shabbat Shalom and Chag haCherut Sameach, happy Holiday of Freedom!
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