By Tony Leuzzi
Earlier in 2006 my colleague, Barbara Lovenheim, asked me if I would like to teach “The Literature of the Holocaust”—a widely successful course she developed for the English/Philosophy Department. Flattered to be asked, and eager to explore a fresh professional context, I readily agreed on the condition that I be given time and support to become better acquainted with a vast body of literature and scholarship.
 Thanks to generous financial support from Monroe Community College and members of the local Jewish community, I was able to attend an intensive, seventeen-day course in Jerusalem called “Anti-Semitism and the Shoa.” Held bi-annually at Yad Vashem, Israel’s Holocaust Martyr’s and Heroes’ Remembrance Authority, the seminars were—in the words of its administrators—“designed to give teachers and academics an intense learning experience focusing first and foremost on the history of the Shoah (the Hebrew word for Holocaust), while including a wide range of lectures and activities focusing upon a range of topics in the areas of art, theology, literature, anti-Semitism, and Holocaust denial.”
If at first this seemed a bit ambitious, particularly for a neophyte like me, I was pleased to see that the course directives were wholly achieved. The first week of study was largely comprised of brilliant historical lectures about anti-Semitism as it occurred in the ancient, medieval, and early-modern worlds. Being a historically inclined thinker, this was an especially useful and exciting time for me. The scholars were outstanding and, despite their erudition, quite capable of making dense material accessible and entertaining.
The following week-and-a-half alternated between expert lectures on various aspects of 19th and 20th century anti-Semitism and various aspects of the Shoa itself, and on-site exposure to Yad Vashem’s incredible resources. In addition to its world-class museum, Yad Vashem has comprehensive archives, the largest Holocaust library in the world, and a stunning array of memorial sites on the premises. The rigorous itinerary was peppered with several day-trips throughout Israel, including visits to the Judean Desert, the Dead Sea, Tel Aviv, and the Old City itself. And perhaps, most crucially, no less than 12 Holocaust survivors shared their harrowing stories with course participants.
 Given a number of socio-cultural and political factors, my visit was an especially charged personal experience. As a gay man, I am acutely aware of the strong currents of homophobia that persist in the city. In 2005, the leading organizers of international pride organizations attempted to hold its World Pride festivities in Jerusalem—a decision that backfired when the city’s only gay bar was bombed days before the event. Not willing to be cowed, those same organizers attempted to hold World Pride there the following year, in early August, just one week after I had planned to leave. As a result, my visit coincided with a good deal of contentious discourse on the matter. For days, heated debates were televised on local news stations. Israeli citizens and fellow course participants all had a say in the matter, too. I, however, was unsure. On one hand, I supported the instigation of the Word Pride organizers; after all, if systematic oppression of difference could not be understood even in a Jewish state, an insurmountable hypocrisy would seem, from my perspective, to cast a dark cloud over the Zionist cause. On the other hand, I could not support the World Pride organizers’ decision to host its festivities there, knowing the possible dangers such events might cause to everyone in the vicinity of them.
Alas, World Pride did not occur in Jerusalem, but for reasons well beyond the scope of sexual politics. On July 12, a heated military conflict occurred at the Lebanon-Israel border between Hezbollah paramilitary forces and Israel. This began when Hezbollah fired Katyusha rockets and mortars at Israeli military positions and border villages to divert attention from another Hezbollah unit that crossed the border, kidnapped two Israeli soldiers, and killed three others.
Although a United-Nations ceasefire was implemented on July 14, the conflict did not formally end until early September. Therefore, through much of my remaining trip, a whirlwind of political activity and ideological debate was unfurling right before my eyes. Each night I watched CNN to discover that I was, in effect, residing in the eye of a storm.  Day-to-day life in Jerusalem carried on in its ordinary way, and the streets continued to be filled with tourists, hawkers selling their wares in the narrow streets of the bazaars, and Israeli citizens going about their lives without batting a proverbial eye. I realized instantly the disconnect between the conflict as it was perceived by people used to such acts of terror and the rest of the world—namely the members of my family who fretted for my life. I was remarkably calm knowing Hezbollah did not have the air power to reach Jerusalem. This knowledge, however, did not make the moral questions any less contentious.
Several course participants were from countries other than the U.S. and held vastly different views about Israeli politics. If the average Jewish citizen saw Israel’s bombing of Lebanon as an act of necessity, many enrolled at Yad Vashem thought otherwise. I was, at once, horrified and fascinated by the tensions that emerged with regards to the issue. But when the course had ended, I opted to return home right away, rather than spend a few days on the splendid beach in Tel Aviv. Little did my family realize my travel experiences in Israel continued to be safe and comfortable right to the end: the lines through security and ticket checkpoints flowed smoothly and efficiently, and I was gracefully swept out of the Tel Aviv airport without a hitch. The hectic changeover in JFK, however, was quite another story…
“If I had only experienced the academic side of the course, I would have returned to MCC an enlightened man. But visiting Jerusalem is an awe-inducing experience in and of itself,” said Tony Leuzzi, English/Philosophy. Following are observations from Leuzzi’s travelogue:
“After about 19 hours of travel, I’ve finally made it to Jerusalem where it is muggy and hot the way upstate New York is muggy and hot. I was surprised not by the intensity of the heat but by its similarity to our day-to-day conditions in the Flower City during July. Arriving here was relatively easy. I was warned several times over that Customs would be problematic and that they could hold me for as long as 4.5 hours. But I spent less than 30 seconds at a window chatting with a friendly young man and woman who playfully mocked my pronunciation of “Sherot” (car service). Most of the people are fairly conversant with, if not entirely fluent in, English, and overall the initial experiences were remarkably doable for just about any sort of traveler.
“That said, I am definitely not in Kansas anymore (was I ever?). What, with all the signage printed in Hebrew and the dramatic, hilly terrain, I feel as if I’m sort of in a sub-lunar society—one of those near/distant places Kirk and Bones used to occasionally experience on their Starship Enterprise expeditions.
“ Another unusual sight for most Americans is the preponderance of armed guards, all boys in their late teens-early twenties, decked out in military fatigues, with rifles or semi-automatics draped over their shoulders like accessories that complete a particularly effective “outfit.” They are usually quite pretty, in a raw, youthful way, which betrays more vulnerability than their macho pretensions would have one believe.
“ Jerusalem is a city of limestone. A dover-white, calcium-rich rock that is the literal building block for just about every house, apartment, synagogue or hotel. Occasionally durable desert vines will cover an old wall, but usually the architecture—old and new—is pristine, clean, distinctive, grand. I have almost forgotten what granite and concrete looks like. When I leave, I will miss this stone more than any other feature of the city.
Jerusalem is an aggregate of Jews, Arabs, Armenians, Christians, Ethiopians, Russians, et al. Today scholar Inbal Kvity-Ben Dov at Yad Vashem bravely admitted what no other native I’ve met has yet acknowledged—that some Israeli Jews are not especially tolerant of other races, beliefs or religions. After 10 days of hearing and reading about the harmonic co-existence of different religious and racial communities in one city, it was refreshing to be told what I’d already observed: a visible tension between Muslims and Jews.”
“Another unusual sight for most Americans is the preponderance of armed guards, all boys in their late teens-early twenties, decked out in military fatigues, with rifles or semi-automatics draped over their shoulders like accessories that complete a particularly effective “outfit.” They are usually quite pretty, in a raw, youthful way, which betrays more vulnerability than their macho pretensions would have one believe. Passing through several checkpoints, I saw guards holding forth in a shuck-the-jive street banter with other guards. One leaned on a lamppost in big dark sunglasses and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth—as if he were auditioning for a Brando biopic. In front of my hotel, two young-“guns” greeted my taxi driver with the sort of childish enthusiasm one reserves for an older brother or favorite uncle—you know, the one who shows you pictures of dirty girls and lets you swear when your mom isn’t around...
And then, later in the trip:
Last week, I leaned against a signpost near the Jaffa Gate of the Old City and watched three young Israeli guards “escort” two equally young Muslims past the wall. Notwithstanding their vocal protests, the guards accomplished their task with ease: they had guns.
 Jerusalem is the center of memory and forgetting. Here many Holocaust survivors fled after World War II and were discouraged from telling their stories. Here, I’ve been told, some natives greeted survivors with distrust, because it was thought only criminal or immoral actions could have ensured a one's continued existence in the camps when 6 million victims died. Nonetheless, here is where survivors learned to heal. After 40 or 50 years, they are finally beginning to tell their stories.
Memory can be poison. One Israeli bragged for years that he was the one survivor unscarred or unmarked by his experience in the camps. “I am perfectly healthy,” he'd smile. “I've lived a normal life.” Recently, while idling at a traffic light, another driver rear-ended his car. For insurance purposes, he stepped out of his vehicle and approached the woman behind him to ask for her identification. Suddenly, he saw himself as an SS guard demanding papers from a dweller of the camps. This association affected him so strongly he fled the scene, drove to an empty garage and wept bitterly for hours.
Jerusalem is a city of youth and renewal. Many couples marry at 17 or 18 years of age and begin having families right away. Almost a matter of public policy, the majority of families are astonishingly prolific. It is not uncommon, for example, to meet a 30-year-old woman with 10 children. Survivors speak proudly of their many grandchildren and great-grandchildren. This, they say with uniform satisfaction, is their revenge upon the fascists who tried to eliminate Jews from the face of the earth. I admire this logic, but I’m a bit baffled by it, too. Post Baby Boomers in the United States are so obsessed with individuality that there is no prevailing ethos binding most of us together. If consumerism is our pervasive ideology, it works best when the one is free to spend without the encumbrance of responsibility of others. And anyway, independence trumps the interdependence of the Old World family. My sister is 41 years old, single, professionally driven, and committed to nurturing her continually evolving identity. As far as most Americans (including myself) are concerned she is a success story, a model of intelligence, sensitivity, and power. What would most Israelis think?
 Jerusalem is a city of anti-pluralism. Popular (mis)readings of postmodern relativism are nonexistent in light of an ancient and historically-continuous belief: Jews are God’s chosen, the elect. By definition, all others then are wayward souls exploring errant or perverse paths toward false salvation. There is, needless to say, an obvious condescension in this Orthodox view. Paradoxically, I have rarely encountered more hospitable, engaging, and intellectually rigorous people as I have here. How is this so? In a passage from his memoir Night, Elie Wiesel writes: “every question possessed a power that did not lie in the answer.”
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