For nearly five decades, Aron Hirt-Manheimer helped shape the conversation around Jewish culture as editor of the former Reform Judaism magazine and as a writer at URJ. Now, in his exceptional new book, Sons of Survivors: Making Peace with Inherited Trauma, co-written with life-long friend, Marty Yura, he delves into a lifetime marked by his parents' experience of the Holocaust and the long shadow of inherited trauma across generations. I sat down with Aron in advance of International Holocaust Remembrance Day (commemorated on January 27, the anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau) to discuss the making of his second-generation memoir and what it can teach us.
What is the genesis of this book? Why a dual memoir?
In 2018, my long-time friend and fellow son of survivors, Marty Yura, told me about a "transformational" Zen Peacemaker's immersion retreat he joined at Auschwitz-Birkenau. I asked him to describe his experience in a blog post on ReformJudaism.org. A few months later, Marty said he was thinking of writing a book about how his family's Holocaust legacy had shaped his life. I said, "Let's do it together."
What form did you think the book would take?
We initially envisioned a conversation about two friends coming of age in the close-knit survivor community and how that legacy impacted us. Marty flew in for the weekend from Atlanta and we began recording, only to discover how little we knew about our families' Holocaust histories.
We were surprised to discover - after more than 50 years of friendship - that our fathers had lived in the same city in Poland and were both imprisoned in Auschwitz. Our mothers had been enslaved in the same concentration camp complex. We were even conceived in the same displaced persons camp in Germany! We realized our project would require a lot of research. During the six years it took to complete the book, we uncovered many painful truths. Thankfully, Marty and I had each other to lean on.
How did uncovering these painful truths affect the two of you?
Marty came to accept himself as "a mushy man." He was 20 years old before his parents told him anything about their Holocaust experience. But throughout his childhood, there was undeniable sorrow. Even if he didn't know the precise details of his parents' grief, he felt it. When they finally told him the truth, it was a shock.
For me, perhaps the greatest revelation was that I had never spoken to my father about . He didn't tell, and I didn't ask. It was enough to just read his body - the Auschwitz number tattooed on his arm, the scars on his chest and back where a bullet went through him, the permanent blue mark on his right knuckle where a kapo (Nazi concentration camp prisoner supervisor) caned him repeatedly.(Nazi concentration camp prisoner supervisor) caned him repeatedly.
Over the course of my 50-year career as an editor and writer, I had covered the subject of the Shoah extensively but never took the initiative in investigating what happened to my own family - until now.
There is humor in many of your stories. Do you think there's a place for that in Holocaust memoirs?
People often think of Holocaust books as sad, and many understandably are. But pathos and struggle can also have a lighter side. Our parents' attempts to navigate the new world weren't without pratfalls, such as when a man paid my father in pigeons in exchange for Yiddish lessons or when Marty referred to the heat in his Bronx apartment building as "the steam," much to his classmates' amusement. Laughter is a hallmark of Jewish storytelling, from the biblical story of Sarah's late-in-life pregnancy to the colorful adventures of two sons of survivors making their way in a strange new land.
You also learned that your family acted heroically in the face of the Nazi occupation. What happened?
The Nazis ordered the Jews of the city of Bedzin to report to a soccer field. They went through a selection process determining who would live or die. My grandmother was among the condemned and confined in a large building. Two of my father's brothers disguised as construction workers entered an adjoining building, bore a hole into the wall between the buildings, and rescued her. This story of courage belied the myth that Jews went like sheep to the slaughter.
Do you see yourself as having a special role to play as a son of survivors?
Yes. I see myself as following in the footsteps of the She'erit Ha-Pletah , the surviving remnant - the term liberated Jews in the displaced persons camps adopted to define themselves. They believed that once the world became aware of the inhumane horrors perpetrated by the Nazis, that antisemitism and hatred against other groups would never happen again. But their voices went largely unheard. As Elie Wiesel noted at the first World Gathering of Holocaust Survivors in Jerusalem in 1981, the task of bearing witness would fall to their children. With only about 30,000 survivors remaining in the U.S., including my 105-year-old mother, I feel duty bound to bear witness by keeping their stories alive. My greatest hope is that future generations of my family do the same, and this book is a step in that direction.
What did you learn about making peace with inherited trauma?
We learned that it doesn't matter how much information our parents imparted to us about what they endured during the Holocaust. Emotional trauma cannot be contained. Nor can it be outrun. But you can make peace with it by accepting that it is part of who you are.For many, inherited trauma can be debilitating and lead to dysfunction. For us, it has been empowering. Though Marty and I inherited our parents' pain, we are also heirs to the healing power of their love, kindness, and compassion.
Why is this book especially important now?
If survivor and second-generation testimonials can counter Holocaust distortion and conspiracy theories that drive antisemitism even in a small way, we will have at least honored the memories of the six million.
Related Posts
18 Jewish Reads for Tweens and Young Adults
Chutzpah in the Darkness: Finding Strength Through Jewish Resilience
