On January 19th, 1948, my grandparents walked off a train in Toronto’s Union Station and set everything in motion. Both of my grandparents were survivors of Auschwitz, and Bergen-Belsen; they both spent more than 3 years in the camps and were liberated in 1945 before fleeing Europe for Canada. Tragically, they were the only survivors from their respective families who spent time in the camps. A few siblings survived in France, Palestine, and Canada – but generations were systematically murdered in the gas chambers in Poland.
My Zsa Zsa (Avrum Kurtz) was a professional soccer player in Poland before the war and was captured by the German Army in 1939 before being transferred to a series of work camps as a POW. After his identity was uncovered by the Gestapo, he was beaten severely by his German captors to make sure he never played again. Once they had stripped him of his humanity and his ability to play the game he loved, he was put on a train like cattle and shipped to Auschwitz. They could never break him.
It is a miracle that they both survived. When they visited Israel for the first time in the 1980s, they attended a reunion of survivors and were showered with pieces of bread; the highest honor for those who did everything they could to feed those in the camps who did not have the strength to steal food from the murderous Nazi guards.
Those who fled Europe before Hitler came to power, established one the first kibbutzim (Yagur) in Israel and fought as part of the Irgun during Israel’s War of Independence in 1948. Every generation has fought for the IDF since. Zionists to our core. My eldest daughter escaped the COVID-19 pandemic at home by hunkering down in the family kibbutz and spends her days farming on the slopes of Mt. Carmel.
In the not-too-distant future, it will be our home as well. I will awaken each morning and walk through the streets of Jerusalem, daven at the Kotel, and enjoy my breakfast in the Mahane Yehuda Market.
The events of the 20th century influenced my DNA in a profound way. Everything that I believe, or love was influenced in some way by the murder of 6 million Jews. It has been a form of psychological trauma (even a generation removed), and a source of enormous strength. I wear my Jewishness and intense love of the State of Israel on my sleeve.
The music, movies, literature, and culture that I have absorbed for the past 50 years – all of it has been impacted by the past.
There are numerous musicians whose music is forever banned in my home because of their support for the BDS movement; even artists that I have seen live multiple times and have spent considerable money on their music before their ugliness became apparent.
The music that we listened to growing up was a reflection of my parent’s view of the world; Edith Piaf, Gershwin, Leonard Bernstein, Simon & Garfunkel, the Beatles, Dvorak, Donna Summer, Neil Diamond, and Duke Ellington.
I knew nothing of Hitler’s love of Wagner, Beethoven — or Russian and Jewish composers.
The most evil man in history enjoyed listening to Jewish composers in his bunker, while his men and willing European participants murdered millions of Jews, homosexuals, Gypsies, Slavs, and the disabled across Europe.
I try to imagine my great-aunts, great-uncles, and their children hiding in secrecy in Paris while the Nazi officers sat, drank, and listened to music outside of their apartment building.
The past is a hard thing to shake. It makes you close your mind and heart to a lot of things.
It has deeply impacted how I listen and what moves me emotionally.
Even with all of that history, I’ve spent more than four decades accumulating thousands of books, records, CD, and movies covering every culture or country you can think of.
I think my grandparents would have wanted it that way.
You’re more likely to find me eating dim sum or Korean BBQ, than a bowl of cholent (although I do make a really good cholent with kishke, potatoes, soaked beans, and Boylan’s Root Beer).
Movie night choices can switch between Star Wars, Throne of Blood, or Judas and the Black Messiah with the flick of the wrist.
Stalag 17, the Blues Brothers, and Double Indemnity have been my 3 favorite films for as long as I can remember. They don’t make movies like this anymore. Or actors like William Holden.
I’ll listen to almost anything (except for Roger Waters and Brian Eno) and I own hundreds of CDs recorded in Hebrew, Arabic, Italian, Spanish, French, Russian, and Yiddish.
Kurosawa, Wilder, and Lucas ignited the fire in me and I will always love cinema more than music. The battle between darkness and light is real – it may not be fought with X-Wing fighters or Wookiees, but movies are a commentary/warning about our past, present, and rapidly approaching future.
Music moves me to tears depending on the day, and even anger or depression. Or moments of great elation where I don’t hate the universe so much.
I’d like to believe that I’m not alone in that regard.
Being an audiophile can be a lonely endeavor sometimes.
If you’re in it for the gear as opposed to the music – I can recommend a good therapist. It will make those late-night listening sessions alone less neurotic.
Put away the fucking anti-vibration cones. Put down the remote. Close your eyes. Get off Twitter.
Listen. Open your mind to the larger world that music can create.
Invest in a better quality stereo system because it’s cheaper than a therapist and will never question your motives.
Invite a friend over and ask them what they enjoy listening to.
Make an evening out of it.
Just don’t forget to bring the beef tripe in black bean sauce, dumplings, and hot sauce.
There are some things the Remote Zombie can’t forgive.