Dear Friends of The Last Album: Eyes from the Ashes,

I’m writing to you on the day that would have been my mother’s 91st birthday, if she had not died 18 years ago. And so I think it is fitting to share a memory of her with you today, and explain the connection to the letterhead, pictured above, from Italy’s University of Siena.

This heading begins a letter inviting me to speak at their Human Rights and Genocide conference taking place a few months from now in Siena, Italy. Unlike many other speakers who detail the inhumanity and barbarity of this period, I will, in contrast, speak about the kindness, compassion, and chesed (Yiddish, ‘acts of loving kindness’) that remains–after the people, themselves, are gone. And rather than speaking of Last Album photos, instead I will speak from my mom’s memory, with excerpts from her unpublished memoir, including many times she remembered kindness, even, and especially, in the midst of horror.

There is a whole dissertation written a few years ago, from University of Pennsylvanis, where many of her stories, as well as narratives of her extraordinary family, are shared. Here, I will share only one.

Lunia Backenroth Gartner Schafer Weiss*, despite experiencing life’s worst, always chose to emphasize life’s best. And that’s how she raised us–with hope, with optimism and with unconditional love–despite (or, in spite of, devastating losses and unspeakable brutalities. As Leon Wieseltier affirmed in his eulogy at her funeral, Lunia “never lost the idyllic feeling of her youth….perhaps the greatest gift that Lunia and Lonek … gave to Annie and Susie… : the gift of obstinacy of life.”

Leon Wieseltier & Ann, Washington, DC, 3-24-12, on day of Yehuda Leib’s birth in Israel

Beyond never surrendering to despair and her ‘obstinacy of life,’ Lunia chose to emphasize the good, in fact, she made a conscious choice to look for, not just the good, but the best that was possible. Never forgetting or glossing over the truth, no matter how brutal, she somehow managed to find something–or someone–for whom she was grateful.

In honor of her birthday, I share with you a memory of one of the many people for whom Lunia was grateful–Eliezer, the ghetto comedian. And as you’ll see, despite dire circumstances, she not only remembered him, but in sharing these memories with her children and grandchildren–and now with you, posthumously, Lunia makes it possible for us to remember Eliezer as well.

[Note: In this first person account of Lunia Backenroth Gartner Schafer Weiss, the “I” is Lunia, not Ann--and this narrative integrates Lunia’s written memoir with additional details recounted in our subsequent conversations. AW].

ELIEZER THE COMEDIAN

There was an old man, no one knew exactly where he came from, who appeared in the ghetto one day. There were other people we did not know, of course–but Eliezer was different. Everywhere Eliezer went, he brought laughter with him.

And after every deportation, when it was over, we would look around the ghetto to see who is still here. One day, the Nazis caught Eliezer. When finally he too was taken away, everyone cried like for a relative.

In stories like this, my mother managed to humanize a moment, and give us a glimpse of someone whom we would otherwise never have known even existed. We do not know Eliezer’s full name or the story of his life–but we do know this:

A comedian named Eliezer once lived, and before he died, he managed to lessen the horror for those around him, and for a few minutes, make them laugh. May his memory be for a blessing.

As I close, let me wish each of you, a sense of wonder as the world comes to life again, after this long, cold winter.

Ann Weiss

* NOTE:
Explanation of Lunia Backenroth Gartner Schafer Weiss’ name: Because I believe names are important, I am using all my mother’s family names, although it was not my mother’s practice to do so–in fact, to my knowledge, she never used all her names–but let me explain each name:

‘Backenroth’ was her mother’s family name, and her mother, Chana Backenroth, belonged to an illustrious Hasidic family who owned oil wells in the Carpathian Mountans, who did great chesed and there is even a book written about this famous family, titled Tightrope, which as author Michael Karpin (an Israeli political journalist, who is also a radio and television reporter) has subtitled, “Six Centuries of a Jewish Dynasty.”

‘Gartner’ is her father’s family name. They lived in Stryj, Poland (now Ukraine) where they owned lumber and steel mills. Also a Hasidic family (Boyaner), the Gartner’s were also great philanthropists, and built a new wing of the hospital in Stryj and a breathtaking theatre/performace space, where great performers and opera companies were come to perform. As my mother said, “They were come to Paris, Rome, Berlin, Vienna…and Stryj!! (because of the extraordinary beauty of that performance space!). The Gartners were also known as great Torah scholars, the Gartners–especially Shamei and Naftali (her grandfather and father).

‘Schafer’ is the name of my mother’s paternal grandmother. As she explained, “It was the custom to use the father’s last name in civic affairs and the mother’s last name in business,” hence Schafer was used in business.

‘Weiss’ is the surname of Leo (or Lonik, Yiddish), the man she married after the war, my dad, and with whom she traveled to Italy to begin a new life after learning that all her immediate and much extended family was murdered. Life in Italy involved both Lunia and Leo earning Ph.D.’s and involvement in the Bricha movement. These stories, and more…to be continued.

As I prepare for my return to Detroit, I want to share with you a story about Tola Gilbert.

Tola is a survivor, who stands not even 5’ tall, but whose stature is enormous in every way that matters. She is kind, she is happy and she is good. She smiles easily, despite many reasons not to, and she is someone who always tries to help. These days, she needs more help than she can give. Tola is one of a handful of survivors still alive from the hundreds I have interviewed over these past twenty five years, researching my book and exhibition. And Tola, now widowed and now living in an assisted care residence in a Detroit suburb, remains upbeat and has a ready smile.

I visited her recently with the help of my friend, Charlie Silow, who is a psychologist and son of survivors. I explained I wanted to thank Tola for what she did for me, by sharing her story so many years ago and the story of her Zionist youth group leader who inspired her so much as a young girl.

Ann with Charlie Silow and Tola Gilbert in Detroit, with section of The Last Album featuring Genya Gutfreund Manela.

Charlie explained that she will not remember me. Tola now lives in the Alzheimer’s unit. And I responded, “I am not coming so she will remember me. I am coming because I will never forget her. And I wanted to say thank you, one last time.”

And so we waited for the elevator. Charlie prepared me again: “Tola is very sweet, but she will not remember anything.” We found Tola in the dining room, seated at a table with three other women. I explained who I was and why I was there. And then I opened my book to the section which is all written in quotes–quotes directly from Tola Gilbert.

As soon as she saw the photo of her Zionist Youth leader, she began to squeal, “Look, this is Genya Gutfreund Manela!!!!! She’s my Zionist leader!” And as if that wasn’t enough, she continued, “From HaNoar HaTzioni!!!”

Everyone was astounded, Charlie included.

And so began one of the most touching visits. As Tola looked at the picture in the book which details the whole story, I began to read her own words to her.

Here is a taste of what Tola Gilbert told me many years ago, and what I read back to just recently from my book, when she described her inspiring youth group leader and the tenor of their meetings:

Here is Ann with Tola Gilbert, just after hearing her words read from Ann’s book.

Oy, look! look! This is my leader Genya. Isn’t she beautiful? She was just as beautiful on the inside as the outside! This is the very picture she gave us when she left Poland! Someone brought it to Auschwitz to remember her and be inspired.

She taught us about philosophy. We had discussions about great literature. I remember our discussions about great literature. I remember our dicussions about Ibsen’s Enemy of the People and many others. And she asked us to learn about ourselves and how to always be better people. She encouraged us, most of all, to find ways to try to improve the world by improving ourselves….

This is Genya Gutfreund Manela

I am so grateful to have seen Tola again.

Tola remembers, and feels the joy of her life before the war.

In a few months when I return to Detroit to open a four month run of the exhibition, The Last Album, I will take the stage, tell stories and read Tola’s words again. But this time, if we are lucky, very, very lucky, and if her health permits, Tola will accompany me on that stage. And then, not only will I, but everyone in that audience will have a chance to say what I want to say: Thank you.

Drexel President John Fry congratulates Ann Weiss on being chosen for “Service to the Community” Award, May 4, 2012

I have just returned from Israel where I was lucky enough to be in the country for three significant events, which take place in quick succession: Yom Hashoah (commemorating the Holocaust), Yom HaZikaron (commemorating fallen soldiers and victims of terrorism) and Yom Ha’atzmaut (celebrating Israel’s statehood 63 years ago). Add to that, a fourth significant event–the birth of my first daughter’s first baby! And as if that isn’t enough, just a ten weeks earlier, we celebrated the birth of my younger daughter’s first baby! Both Rebecca and Julia had little boys and both named their sons after my father, of blessed memory.

Leo in Chicago with his dad, Brian

Yehuda Leib in Jerusalem with his dad, Chaim Dovid

This is a time of both joy and sorrow, absence and presence. In Israel, the formal ceremony commemorating the Holocaust began at dusk, with speeches by Shimon Peres, Benjamin Netanyahu, and with flames punctuating the darkness lit by survivors whose moving stories were told in video format. The huge opening flame was lit by Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv, Reb Israel Meir Lau, himself a child during the Holocaust, whose miraculous story is as remarkable as his life. His father, who died in Treblinka, was the last Chief Rabbi of their Polish town; and Rabbi Lau is the 38th generation of rabbis in his family, with his sons following the tradition, making it now the 39th!

Next we marked Yom HaZikaron, which remembers not only soldiers who have fallen in battle, but also those many victims of terrorist attacks who have died. It is extraordinary to witness a whole country stop at the exact moment on the stroke of 11 a.m. as a siren sounds. All traffic stops; taxis screech to a halt, and people throughout the country–I was in Jerusalem at the moment–stand in silent respect for the memory of those who have died. In the United States, it would be as if all traffic on Times Square stopped at the same moment, and every driver got out of the car to stand in the street in silence. This is what I witnessed.

And then, as suddenly as it started, that’s just how suddenly it ended. The siren sounded and the throbbing pace of the city resumed. People got back in their cars; pedestrians walked, merchants went back to business–and life began again.

So too on the personal level. As I hold both little boys–each one so sweet and so wondrous–I cannot help but think what this miracle would have meant to my parents. New life is ALWAYS a miracle, but in the case of Holocaust families where there have been so many family members killed, such new life might have an extra measure of gratitude.

My daughters, Julia and Rebecca, were my parents’ only grandchildren and although geographic miles separated us, the fact is that nothing separated us in our hearts. The sun rose and set by Julia and Rebecca for my parents (If I’m honest, I’d have to admit, the same was true for my sister and me, as well).

I come from a family of many losses–and yet, we are still here. And as I see my daughters who are so wonderful and natural and gentle and loving (their husbands too) with their babies, and I am ever so grateful to witness this cycle of life repeating itself. When I look into the luminescent eyes of both Leo and his cousin, Yehuda, the generations that came before feel almost palpable. And even if my parents never held either baby, I can feel both their absence AND their presence in this time of joy and in this time of creation, and I feel the sense of being blessed, truly blessed.

The media giant whose famous ’64 Daisy ad is cited as a primary example–Tony Schwartz–was my mentor in grad school. And it was from him that I learned many important lessons. Here is one more.

[Following excerpted from article by Angela Martinez published in The Lamp/Projects on Media on Feb. 8, 2012]

Is Media Literacy the Study of Nothing?

 

I’ve been wondering–what makes media literacy such a powerful and tricky practice?

That’s when I realized that being media literate involves a whole lot of nothing. Literally, no thing. I don’t mean in a Buddhist “Everything is no thing” kind of way. (I wouldn’t go from zero to zen on our first blog trip together.) It’s that reading media messages requires noticing what’s not the thing we’re supposed to be noticing. What are you not seeing, hearing, reading? Who’s been left out? Or at least pushed to the sidelines? It’s much like the concept of negative space in art which… [is] “the area around the primary objects in a work of art is known…, while the space occupied by the primary objects is known as positive space” [Getty Museum].

In this iconic 1964 Lyndon B. Johnson presidential campaign commercial, the camera is trained on a little girl counting the petals of a daisy she’s plucking. The negative space here is the sky around her head, possibly also the trees and flowers. Since the girl takes up much of the positive space, she’s more important than anything else in the frame. Now if we go a step further in identifying the negative space, we could say it includes adults, the city, all that isn’t children or nature. Take that one step further and consider what children and nature mean: purity, innocence, goodness, that which we want to protect.

Still from the 1964 Lyndon Johnson campaign ‘daisy ad,’ created by Tony Schwartz

So what is not in the picture increases the importance, and the value, of what is in the picture. Once she’s counted to ten (not exactly in order, but she’s multi-tasking so we’ll cut her some slack), a male voice begins an eerily familiar countdown. The camera zooms into the girl’s eye and dissolves into the harrowing silhouette of a mushroom cloud. While the explosion is the primary object in that frame, it’s contrasted with the primary object first established–the simple sweetness of a little girl in a field of daisies, the picture of innocence, peace, hope. Even without the soundbites of Lyndon B. Johnson and narration giving the political context, the message is clear. Daisy girl, and those who prioritize her: good; atom bomb, and the threat of nuclear war: way bad.

In a mass media universe, the primary objects tend to be the people, ideas and practices that align with the dominant culture. In this case, a little white girl picking daisies illustrates purity and innocence. Now, what if this little girl was black? Or in a wheelchair? Would we only think “innocent” or would we also think “poor” or “helpless?” And how might that influence the impact of the message?

And whereas in artistic terms, the “negative” in “negative space” doesn’t necessarily mean derogatory, in a mass media context, by repeatedly making someone or something missing or secondary, we convey that the person or thing is less valuable, less desirable, or just doesn’t belong.

Until we acknowledge what’s missing in the messages and images we encounter every day, those people, ideas and practices will remain invisible and less than. The result? Those who are unrepresented must work harder to become empowered to take up space in their own lives and communities….

So perhaps the first step is in our imaginations, and in our willingness to put on media-literate goggles and ask, “What’s the primary object here? Why should that occupy the ‘positive’ as opposed to the ‘negative’ space? What makes it more important than what’s left out or secondary?” It’s when we start asking these questions that we liberate our minds. By questioning what’s given, considering whether we agree or disagree, deciding whether these values support the world we desire, or help us wake up to what’s important, we can imagine alternatives that don’t yet exist. We can find the inspiration and the courage to take action in some way: to voice dissent, demand different versions of our world than what we see in the media, become more empowered members in our communities.

Angela Martenez is a non-fiction writer, documentary maker and community mediator. Follow her on Twitter: @AngelaMartenez

Whether we look at pre-war photos of Jews deported to Auschwitz, or photos of others who need help, it is important to ‘see’ not only what is being highlighted, but also what is not being shown. In the work of EYES FROM THE ASHES EDUCATIONAL FOUNDATION, and in my seminars, exhibitions and speeches, I’ve tried to give the most human view of this most inhuman of histories. It is with this perspective of imagining and working toward a different, and more just, world, that we help others — especially those who reside in the absences, in the ‘negative unseen spaces’– to become more visible, more empowered, more seen, as we together create a world where justice prevails.

Here’s to good things in your life, and to hope of creating more,

Ann Weiss

October 2011

Twenty-five years.
It’s been quarter of a century since I first saw these photos found at Auschwitz.

October 1986. I was on a special trip to Eastern Europe, then still under Communist control, when I got separated from the group. Auschwitz had already been closed for the day, and I was alone. Hoping to find my group, I frantically began to run from building to building, searching, terrified, trying to find anyone alive in this ‘Citadel of Death,’ as my friend, survivor Henry Skorr called it.

When an Auschwitz employee motioning with a finger, I entered a locked room, and saw beautiful photos carried into Auschwitz by those deported there.

These photos were to change my life…I just didn’t know it yet.

Twenty-five years ago, if someone said I would still be thinking about these Auschwitz photos–let alone researching their stories, teaching about them and almost ‘living’ with them–well frankly, I would have thought them insane.

Yet here I am. And here you are.

It is now many stories, many lives, many years later, and new research continues to emerge, just as new minds continue to be opened.

I believe that, together, we can make a difference by learning the history and remembering the lives–but not only remembering–by making sure that our knowledge links memory to action. I am hopeful, even confident, that together in our small and big ways, as individuals and as groups, we can work toward creating a world of tolerance, a world of justice, a world of hope. At the conclusion of a Tolerance Seminar I taught in Cyprus to Palestinian and Israeli educators, an Israeli superintendent of schools corrected me when I spoke about ‘Teaching Tolerance in the Classroom” and said, “No, Tolerance is not enough. We must go further; we must work to create a world of love.

To that, I can only say, Amen.

Ann Weiss, Director, Eyes from the Ashes Foundation

It’s been close to 25 years since I first saw these photos from Auschwitz, a quarter century since my eyes were opened. Then, alongside the all too familiar images of brutalized, skeletal dead Jews, for the first time, it was in October 1986 when I saw the pictures Jews brought to Auschwitz for their own remembering–the simple, vibrant images of what they did and how they looked when they were simply living their lives. It changed my world.

And judging from the response of many others who have seen my film, exhibition or book, or heard my presentations over these past twenty-five years, these photos have been a revelation to others as well.

This summer is a good time to pause and look back at recent highlights.

ATLANTA

At Emory last fall, we exhibited photos all over Emory’s campus and I participated in programs at Center for Ethics (with Paul Wolpe and staff)

at exhibition premiere at Visual Arts Gallery (here photos are being set up),

Here is audience at the gallery, before I began a walking tour of the photos.

My talk was scheduled by Emory to take place

on same day that the Dalai Lama was also speaking.

CINCINNATI

On Yom Hashoah, for Holocaust Remembrance Day, I was honored to speak in Cincinnati at the invitation of The Center for Holocaust and Humanity Education. It was a beautiful program, complete with moving survivor accounts and performance by the famed Cincinnati Boys Choir.

     

And before I left Cincinnati, I spoke to a well-informed high school audience, whose superintendent, history department head, and principal are pictured below, left to right, together with Sarah Weiss (no relation), Executive Director of the Center. I taught a session to students on history, culture and humanity, featuring stories and photos from the collection.

I’d like to mention that this school district is quite impressive; despite dreadful budget cuts and very little financial support for the school, these students regularly score among the highest in the area on standardized tests. Credit goes to the students, of course, but also to tremendous dedication of the teaching staff, principal and superintendent who expect, and will accept nothing less than, students’ best efforts–which they give!

     

EUGENE, OREGON

Directly from Ohio,I flew to Oregon, where we premiered The Last Album photo exhibition in a new way at the Downtown Initiative for the Visual Arts (DIVA): only half of the collection was premiered from May-June, and because of the size of the collection, the second half was not shown until July, which created an opportunity for a second premiere. Because of community support, the exhibition has been held over until August.

     

Eugene City Art Walk chose several galleries in town to spotlight–and ours was one!

     

I spoke at an urban high school on Cinquo de Mayo, where students reacted privately after my presentation. One young woman approached me in the courtyard, where a mariachi student band was performing, and pinatas were hung. She asked, “What do you feel when you look at these pictures?” Being an educator, I asked her, “What do YOU feel?”

     

Her answer was simple and unforgettable: “I can feel the way they felt.”

Finally, when I was in Eugene, I met Debbie Strochlic, who recognized her father’s photograph in my collection. She told me about the man her father was, shared stories about him and showed me a number of his documents. Together we co-created a new section of the exhibition, for the Eugene premiere.

With gratitude and appreciation, Eyes from the Ashes moves into our twenty-fifth year…and looks forward to more, much more!

Ann Weiss, Director

As I embark on a round of speeches honoring the memory of the Holocaust, and millions of innocent people whose lives were extinguished, I am reminded that, each time we remember, it is as if that extinguished life has presence once again for us.

Three developments to report: 1-New Identification, 2-Students look at old photos in new way, and 3-Chagall and my mom.

1-New Identification
I am pleased to report a new identification has been made! This event becomes rarer and rarer, as we lose more and more of the primary witnesses to the Holocaust. Quite remarkably in, of all places, Eugene, Oregon, the daughter of survivor Karol (Carl) Strochlic has identified her father, of blessed memory! Although his photo has been seen before—because he was a close friend of the Cukierman Family, famed for their popular pastry shop and bakery in Bedzin, Poland, with this family featured in my book, The Last Album, it was not until daughter Debi recognized her father’s photo in web publicity for my speech at Eugene’s Downtown Initiative for the Visual Arts, that we now have a name for this face—and a story to go with it.

Here is Karol, on left, with his friend Binim Cukierman and another friend.

And here, in this orchestra photo, again on left, next to Binim, is another view of Karol (3rd from left, first row orchestra). You can look forward to more info about Karol, once his family and I have a chance to talk further.

Because we have lost so many survivors, it is a special thrill to find one more name, to preserve one more story, and to restore a photo to one more family.

2-Students look at old photos in new way
I have just completed a new seminar with students at the Saligman Middle School in which, after discussing photos Jews brought to Auschwitz-Birkenau, photos that were most meaningful to them, students in grades 6-8, chose photos from their own lives that were most meaningful to them. It was a thought-provoking experience for all, as students decided, not only what was important to them, but why this photo had significance to them—and what kind of memories were triggered by the photo they chose. See the Education section for the questions asked—And at a later date, I will share a selection of their reflections, omitting students’ names, of course.

3-Chagall and my mom
You may be wondering what Chagall has to do with my mom—and so was I, that is, until recently. At the Philadelphia Museum of Art, we are currently mounting a fantastic exhibit, curated by Michael Taylor, who is the Muriel and Philip Berman Curator of Modern Art, featuring not only Chagall, but artists in his Paris circle—many of whom were Jewish ex-patriots trying to escape anti-Semitism in their native homes of Russia and Eastern Europe. The show is quite splendid, and it would be worthwhile to discuss many of the pieces, but here, there is time for only one: Chagall’s rendition of ‘Purim’ and what it has to do with my mom.

In ‘Purim’ painting, against a field of vibrant red-orange, Chagall depicts several villagers carrying baked goods to friends and family. This practice of bringing ‘sh’lach manos’ –delicious baked goods, including Hamantashen ( a three sided pastry filled with fruit—prunes, apricot, cherry and the like)—is so perfectly described in my mom’s unpublished memoir that it has become part of research notes that now accompany Chagall’s exhibit. If someone would like to read the ‘Purim’ excerpt of my mom’s memoir, you need only write to me at: ann@thelastalbum.org and I will be pleased to send it to you.

As we watch the world come into bloom, I wish you all a time of blooming inside yourself that parallels, in some way, Nature’s glorious opening all around us.

Wishing you well,
Ann Weiss

As I depart for Israel for the most wonderful reason, my daughter’s wedding, I am struck by the enormous contrast between my life and the life of so many others in this region, the contrast between this trip and the many trips I have taken before to this same tiny, precious, contested piece of real estate.

I am going to the Mideast, one of the most troubled regions on earth. It’s a place I’ve gone many times before, sometimes to give speeches. Over the years, I’ve given many presentations and film screenings at the world’s first Holocaust museum, Yad Vashem, and to other places as well, like Pardes and other centers of learning. Sometimes to do educational consulting for UNESCO, as when I was brought to Egypt to share educational practices and strategies with countries of the Gulf Arab State: Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, Gulf Arab Emirates, Kuwait, Qatar, so many of which we see in the news today, struggling for freedom, fighting for a new kind of democracy in a new kind of way.

Sometimes I’ve gone to the region to do interviews about peace, or the yearning for peace, or land, or hope. The settlement I know best is one in the West Bank, called Aida (pronounced like the woman’s name Ida) where I have a friend, who introduces me to others. For them, I am “the Jew” representing all Jews. When I once taught a class of Palestinian children in the West Bank, a ten year old boy raised his hand to ask me, “Why does everybody in the world hate us?” His question was telling. Though not true, his perception is important to note.

Finally and most of the time, over the course of many years and many trips, I’ve gone to Israel to do research, conduct interviews and hear the stories, first of the Ethiopian Jews airlifted out of Sudan in “Operation Moses” and then, and for a quarter of a century, the stories of so many Shoah survivors who, after liberation from Nazi slave labor and death camps, migrated to the new state of Israel with hope and despair, despair at what, and whom, they had been lost; hope to begin again.

Life was hard, especially in those early days, when there was no luxury of time to ruminate, they just had to try and survive, and so they began life again. They had no choice; with their old lives destroyed, they began new lives in far flung places like Australia (where it was made easy for survivors to come), to America, (where it was made less easy to gain entrance), and to places all over the world.

But it was the survivors I met in Israel who had a sense of destiny quite unlike any others I have met, they seemed to understand that they were building not only their lives, but building a sense of history as well, and so they were.

Now I return, not to work, but to celebrate. Almost all the survivors I’ve known, almost all the survivors who have trusted me with their stories and their memories, almost all of these friends are now gone. And yet they live on, in the stories they’ve shared with me, and in their stories I share with others.

As I dance at my daughter’s wedding, and as we drink “L’chaim/To Life”, I’ll offer a special toast to all those who have come before me, to all those still struggling for freedom and democracy, and to the promise of a new future of peace and of hope, as I see it radiate in the shining light of my daughter’s and groom’s eyes.

She says of him, “He inspires me to be more of a human being.” And he says of her, “She inspires me to be more of a human being.”

Let us, in this time of painful struggle throughout the world, and particularly in this region of the world, as Libya and Egypt and country after country struggle to define itself anew, let us, too, as my daughter and her groom are doing, “be inspired to be more of a human being” as well.

My blessings go to them. My blessings go to all of us. Amen.

Ann

Ann Weiss speaking at Barnes and Noble,2010

Dear Friends,

In 2011, there will be an expansion of projects already begun, as well as initiation of new projects and new directions.

A few highlights:

In January, I will travel to Paris to participate in a tremendously substantive Holocaust conference, hosted by Karel Fracapane and the French Memorial to the Shoah. Included will be experts from all over Europe, including famed historian/lawyer/author Serge Klarsfeld and noted documentary filmmaker Edward Serotta, founder of Centropa, as well as participants from Israel, South Africa, Australia and all over America – it will truly be an international gathering of good people discussing important topics.

And since my first book, The Last Album (or rather Le Dernier Album), has a French translation, it is important for me to participate.

During January, February and March 2011, Eyes from the Ashes photo exhibition will be extended in Atlanta, and mounted in a new (non-academic), more community-accessible venue, since the outpouring of response when the exhibition was mounted at Emory last year. Now, at Atlanta’s JCC, there will be a new focus on the vibrancy of pre-war European life with new stories resulting from new research, to be shared.

In addition, in March/April, there will be much international travel – both to Jerusalem where my daughter will be getting married and elsewhere in Israel where I connect with survivors I have interviewed.

And in April, I will travel to the Himalayas (Nepal), where I participate in an effort to help impoverished children secure better lives. Though it seems like a stretch – to go from Auschwitz to Katmandu – there is a thread that unites everything I do. Whether I am teaching a class at Emory University or at Epstein School (as I have just done and will soon be doing) or traveling across the world to cast a spotlight on the plight of children at great risk, I see it as part of a continuum.

My participation in this effort stems from a simple impulse – We must not abandon those in desperate need of help – as the Jews in WWII were so bitterly abandoned [though please note that I am NOT EQUATING poverty in troubled areas with murder during the Holocaust]. I believe that when we can do something to help, we are compelled to do so. Please note: My efforts will continue to include others in need, as time progresses – but in addition to my work with survivors, my work with student and adult groups in the Americas, to preserve memory and link memory to action, I feel a great need to reach out to help others, both domestically and abroad.

We are all here for a brief time on earth, some briefer than others. The children in the Holocaust had virtually no chance to live. The children in impoverished countries and in war-torn regions have, in a different but still important way, no real chance to live. Though they may breathe, they do not thrive. Over these next few years, I will travel to areas where needs are great and where, perhaps in some small way, my participation can help – to shed light, to help educate, to relieve hopelessness, in short, to alleviate even one person’s suffering in some way, no matter how small.

Finally, in joining forces with other groups, organizations and individuals, I am hoping to multiply the efforts that one person can make.

I look forward to hearing your thoughts, and I invite your participation in these expanded efforts – either by joining me with your presence or with your presents, i.e. presents; as in your donations to Eyes from the Ashes Educational Foundation.

I wish you all a year of fulfillment, with vision for what matters to you and a sense of how to attain it, and for all of us, a world of peace.

With warmest wishes and gratitude for your beautiful support,

Ann Weiss

Dear Friends,

I’ve just returned from a remarkable set of experiences at Emory in Atlanta, Georgia, where we did something we’ve never done before. Instead of one venue, here at Emory, thanks to the enthusiasm of many university departments and Paul Wolpe’s vision of the Center for Ethics, we installed The Last Album: Eyes from the Ashes of Auschwitz-Birkenau photo exhibition in FIVE locations around the Emory campus! And together with the installations – which were reconfigured anew for each venue – we held programs and seminars around Emory’s campus, reaching thousands of new eyes, thousands of new hearts. In addition, Carlton Mackey and Tanya Anderson are making a documentary film of my time at Emory.

Creative Conversations, which were the brainchild of the Emory University’s Rosemary Magee, were filmed and are available for anyone to view on iTunes, under ‘iTunesu’ with the ‘u’ for university. Once you get to the list of colleges participating, just scroll to Emory and you’ll be able to download my discussions, together with those of playwright Edward Albee, Composer Philip Glass and the like. I feel quite honored to have been included.

I taught classes on campus to Deborah Lipstadt and Angelika Bammer’s Holocaust Memoir students; I spoke and displayed photos to music composed in concentration camps, performed by members of the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra (titled ‘Creativity in Captivity’), and I did exhibition premieres and talks all over campus. Randy Fullerton, of the Center of Creativity and the Arts, had his students write reactions to the photos.

And my last visit to Emory was coordinated to coincide with the visit of the Dalai Lama and Chief Rabbi Jonathan Sacks of London. At the conclusion of my last seminar, a German student made this final comment: “Dr. Weiss, your message to us is the same as the Dalai Lama’s.” At the time, I was speaking about compassion and what we must do as human beings to help one another, against the backdrop of the Holocaust and what the world did not do.

My time at Emory has been quite extraordinary, and a number of joint projects are being planned for continuation, about which I will write more in the future. But for now, I want to highlight one event, and one 13-year-old Jack Schneider, who made it happen.

I met Jack on my September visit, when he attended my first talk on campus with his mom. Jack then returned to every public program I gave, and Jack felt, because he had been so deeply affected by the experience, that his whole class should be able to see my photos. He showed my book at his school, and because of Jack’s commitment – not just to memory, but to translating memory into action – Jack Schneider arranged a field trip of his whole 8th grade class to Emory’s Visual Arts Gallery!! No small feat under any circumstances, and even more impressive for a junior high school student to arrange!

See these great photos of Jack’s Epstein School 8th grade class who came to Emory’s Visual Arts Gallery and were taught by Visual Arts Chair, Jason Francisco and Curator Mary Catherine Johnson.

I can’t help but think, especially at this time of political acrimony, how lucky we would be as a society to have a population comprised of exceptional people like 13-year-old Jack, who saw what he felt should be done, and then found a way to do it!

Thank you, Jack. Thank you all. You give me hope.

With warmest wishes, Ann

Fifty middle school students and their teachers from The Epstein School visited the Emory Visual Arts Gallery today to experience and write about Ann Weiss’s exhibition The Last Album: Eyes from the Ashes of Auschwitz-Birkenau. Visual Arts chair Jason Francisco provided historical and artistic contexts for the photographs, then the students wrote essays about the images that were most meaningful to them.