Superman is Jewish? The intersection of history, religion, and popular culture in comics

I have blogged previously about Art Spiegelman’s Maus.  The books were an eye opener for me, seeing the powerful emotions, a storyline that personalizes history while not minimizing it, and a format that invites in reluctant readers.  Graphic novels (books in comic book format, with illustrations, and often dealing with topics that align more with adult themes) are a great entry point for both strong readers and reluctant readers.  The art form of comics allows two media to be conjoined and to deepen the experience of the audience.  Comic books have traditionally been in the realm of pre-teen and teenage boys.  The simplicity of the illustration can fool many in to believing that there is little worth between the covers.  Surprisingly - thankfully - there is so much more going on inside of these books.  Seemingly because of their innocuous nature, they are able to convey adult themes, open doors to history, and deal with current events in a way that can be both profound and easily overlooked at the same time.

 

In 1941, Jack Kirby and Joe Simon created the character Captain America.  On the cover, Cap has infiltrated a Nazi bunker, and is punching Adolf Hitler.  A great image from today’s standard, and nothing less than we would expect from the stories we are taught in our textbooks.  But, the comic came out in March 1941, before the US was committed to the war.  The war was "over there," and Americans wanted nothing to do with it.  Kirby and Simon were young Jewish artists and decided to turn current events into their story.  Their work did not start the war, or increase patriotism.  It took current events and pushed them to the forefront.  It demanded attention and erased ignorance.  It piqued interest and awoke a younger generation.  (Very much in the same vein as Comedy Central’s Daily Show and Colbert Report, today.)

The Holocaust would come up again in popular culture in the 1950s.  Several different stories would deal with the history in different ways.  Stories would continue, ideas would be shared.  And in the 1960s, Stan Lee would create the story of the X-Men, a group of humans that are different, and therefore feared.  I began reading the series in the 1980s, and was immediately drawn to the storyline of exclusion.  While not overtly mentioning antisemitism, it would be hard to deny, even as a boy, the historical basis.  Seeing America’s transformations throughout the 90s - the cultural acceptance of interracial dating, homosexuality, and other minority communities - the X-Men storylines reflected society, and built empathy. 

At some point, I stumbled upon the graphic novel, X-Men:  God Loves, Man Kills.  My eyes were opened.  A part of the story deals with violence aimed at those considered different, and therefore, considered unworthy of life by some (an arching theme in the X-Men universe).  Two young children are hung from a swing set.  They are found by the arch-enemy Magneto (created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, both Jews).  This sets up the backstory.  Magneto will become a complex character that several writers will work to flush out.  Ultimately, in Magneto: Testament, published in 2008, we discover that Magneto is raised Jewish in a German home. His family flees the Nazis and are caught in Poland.  Long story short, his past helps shape his views, and quite possibly reflects the nature of the creators. Magneto’s complexity will be reflected in the movie series, but will not be as effective at generating the empathy and complexity of the character.  The films, though, do provide a decent entry in to the comic world. 

Most recently, Disney has paired up with several creators to develop a film and online graphic novel set entitled, “They Spoke Up:  American Voices Against the Holocaust."  This is an interesting series, and I am just breaking in to it as I write this, but looks to be a promising resource.   I will blog about that in the coming weeks.  There are other great works available out there including a great story entitled 2nd Generation: Things I Never Told My Father, in graphic novel form, dealing with the complexity of the Holocaust that allows entry and absorption at multiple levels.  They just aren’t available in the United States. 

As I was researching for this post, I came across a recently published book (2012) entitled Superman is Jewish? that relates similarities in Jewish culture with the comic book storylines.  The author makes a wonderful comparison of the alien that would become Clark Kent being rocketed to safety by his parents before their destruction:  An interstellar “Kindertransport.”  Comic books are much more complex than we can even imagine. 

Sadly, there has been little new in the way of Holocaust graphic literature.  The stories of the 1950s provided shock and awe at a time when it was still fairly new in the cultural psyche.  The Holocaust is rarely invoked as a teaching tool in modern mainstream culture.  It has been moved to the shelf of distant history.  We must be careful to not lose the lessons learned in such a hard fashion.  We must follow the lead of Jack Kirby and Stan Lee, use the media of comics and graphic novels to shape the future generations in a less blunt fashion.  Truly, it is often those that need the lesson the most that will be most likely to pick up this form of literature.  Rather than just re-illustrating Anne Frank, let us seek to build on the exploration of humanity by find new avenues and new stories to tell in different formats. 

Marian Kolodziej - art and reflection

As I was brainstorming about what to write for my next blog, I kept coming back to the haunting images I saw in the basement of a Polish monastery one dreary October day.  It is in the St. Maximilian Kolbe Franciscan Center where the moving works of Marian Kolodziej permanently reside.  Kolodziej, who was a 17 year old Polish Catholic resistance fighter, was on the first transport to the newly established Auschwitz camp.  As a Polish Catholic, he was not imprisoned in Birkenau- the death camp.  But the suffering he endured as a prisoner of the Nazi regime and the pain he saw inflicted on others left its mark.  Kolodziej suppressed the memories until he suffered a stroke at age 71.  At that point, he used these memories in his recovery process and began drawing moving and symbolic images based on his experiences in Auschwitz, Gross-Rosen, Buchenwald, Sachsenhausen and Mauthausen-Gusen.

Because I viewed Marian Kolodziej’s work four years ago, I did a little Googling to view some of his works and get some details of this amazing artists.  Apparently, unbeknownst to me, there was a documentary produced in 2010 (a year after my visit) called “The Labyrinth”.  The makers of this short documentary interviewed Kolodziej before his death.  He allowed his words (not his voice) and profile to be seen but stressed that he wanted his story and his art to be about the memory of those who were lost.  By watching the trailer for the movie (and certainly the movie in its entirety), you can not only see some of his work, but the space in which it is housed.  You can also hear the moving words of Kolodziej.  His story and his work is a powerful way to use a very personal testimony with our students.

Carolyn H. Manosevits Mixes Media and a Powerful Healing Message

“I am passionate about keeping alive the culture, tradition and memory of the destroyed shtetls (small Jewish communities) of Europe.  My art is my vehicle” Carolyn Manosevitz quotes in a recent catalogue of work devoted to her personal experiences of loss.  As a part of a long healing process, in 2003, the artist traveled to Kremenets, her family’s Jewish community in the Ukraine.  She admits that the journey was “a life-changing experience that brought closure to the great loss of my family.” A child of immigrants to Winnepeg, Canada, her artwork tells the story of efforts to work through personal and familial pain suffered because of the destruction of her loved ones by the Nazis during the Holocaust.

VISIT HER GALLERY

 

Manosevits is an artist, educator, and Holocaust scholar who helped organize this June’s symposium: Responsibility of World Religions in the Age of Genocide, in Aspen, Colorado.  Several of her original works of art were exhibited during the opening reception, where she spoke briefly about her mixed media processes and the healing odyssey that lead to this point in her life.  Individual papers, talks, and panels all addressed issues that are so beautifully echoed in Carolyn Manosevits’ artwork: the power of one individual’s story, our commitment to family and faith, the complex and multi-layered journey through healing, recovering memory, reconciliation, and how incredibly destructive the act of “other-izing” can be. 

Carolyn’s mixed media and fiber assemblage, “Children of Abraham,” features an intricate, pencil drawing of a tree.  Its trunk splits into two main branches, and one of these splits again into two more massive limbs.  The tree itself, though drawn naturalistically, upon closer examination reveals subtly flexing twigs that evoke veins, arteries and capillaries.  From one of the three central limbs dangles a delicate, white paper square with a Star of David drawn on it. The other limb of the pair sports a similarly fashioned card featuring a miniature cross. From the adjacent branch hangs an Islamic crescent moon and star. The three tiny symbol cards, identical in size, quiver, casting their ever-changing micro-shadows and reminding us of the sometimes-tenuous nature of our faith journeys.  Like the symposium itself, this image speaks to the differences in each religion’s traditions, but also shows what is shared:  foundationally similar values, the strength of generational network, and the power of community; all springing forth from and anchored in, a solid sameness and truth.  Humanity is declared and celebrated. Across centuries, and down into the time of the soul of the earth, the roots reach while the limbs intertwine and stretch upward, seeking.

The tree dwarfs a hand-rendered tent that is similarly grounded, offering sanctuary. It is flanked with fabric of red and white contrasting stripes and is tethered to the earth with a chord that goes off the bottom of the picture plane, trusting the same subterranean truths in which the tree is routed. One flap suggests openness and invitation with a tilt of perspective allowing simultaneous views of different sides of the man-made structure. Extending out several inches and above, over the top of the entire composition, Carolyn has draped an amber, fibrous firmament made up of thousands of tiny, interwoven, glistening threads in a remnant that is both unraveling and protecting.  It also provides sanctuary; shielding, sheltering, shadowing, and gently inviting the viewer back down into the tent, perhaps a nod to our civilizing, organizing nature or our reliance on the temporary. The tether leads our eyes further downward and then the trunk gently coax us on a journey back up again, toward the vitality and promise of the tiny branches, reaching outward, once again, in a seamless cycle. The metaphor is at once optimistic, reassuring, and profound. 

Plexiglas shadowboxes spotlight most of Carolyn’s intimate pieces, none greater than 30 inches in any one dimension.  The hand-maid wonderscapes invite us in for adventures of exploration and discovery.  Incredibly tactile, the sensitively crafted scenes scream to be touched and have a Lilliputian charm that makes the viewer want to hit the “shrink” button and travel through them, looking around in all directions.  “Reconstructing the story” is a trio (I, II, III, IV) mixing paint, colored pencil, sculpted papers, collage bits, and hand-written text as well as color-tinted and sepia toned photographs painstakingly layered among gauzy netting-like fibers. Framing edges, pathways, and marks deliberately etched into layers of pigment, all reflect the immutability of fate, witnessing to a conflict and struggling; to remember, to leave a mark, to declare “they were once alive, they were here – hold them, keep them, they are members and need to be RE-membered.” 

“We who are the remnants” and “My children’s children” are similarly crafted with photographic portraits embedded in pigment. The imagery in both evokes kaddish, the Jewish prayers children say for their parents after death.  The subtle coloration of what appear to be family photos, groupings of loved ones, blending in with their richly textured backgrounds, allows a hiding, a fading, and a temporal aspect of release, of bidding farewell.  Into the fields they disappear.  Into the past they drift.  Leaving is not fleeing and is not by choice. It is not a march, a trot, or even a trudge: it is a slow melt. It is the disappearance of a single photographic frame, and the profound loss that renders the victims frozen in the reel of eternal time, which, in turn, is forever altered by their absence. Foreground gives way to background where pathways, arches, and figures simultaneously beckon and block the viewer.  Arms interlock, and shapes around community members morph to suggest spirits accompanying them on their journey, becoming nearly tangible forces; vital, organic, leading.

Some of Ms. Manosevits’ images seem more narrative than others.  “Krefelder Juden: for Emma” presents a topsy-turvey, slice-of-time world of mostly gray, and unanswered questions. Hints of saffron, violet and sage green function to merely highlight small bits of the primarily black and white composition:  a slightly greened barrier or fence in the foreground, a purplish dress and shadow in the middle ground accompanied by golden-tinted, flying window panes.  Perspective is deliberately unsettling, swinging different planes of chaos at the viewer behind the collaged photograph of a woman glancing down, introspective.  Is she Emma?  Or is someone seeking an already missing Emma? “Juden”: the Jews – are they gone? Are they being mourned, remembered? In the top half of the composition, an ominous maelstrom of cacophonous marks swirl – bits of text; some indistinguishable but deliberate forms, repetitive parallel marks suggesting architecture or industry; a net-like structure; and tiny bits of black and white, all disturbed by a conflagration of smoke, jagged edges, and flecks that appears to be in motion. Are they ashes? Is this the crematorium out in the country, the side of a building in a burning city, or a symbol of our civilizing instincts sinking in a tidal wave of terror? Is this the future, for Emma?  Or a memory of the past, locked in.  Are we being shown a death camp, a death march into oblivion, stone-cold fear, extreme despair?.  Even if you did not know the context of these pieces, or the translation of the word Juden; heavy, aching ambiguity and torn emotions blanket the work. Fury and frenzy permeate portions of the composition, vying for our attention; with the pensive sensitive portrait at the bottom, trapped, and the whirling dervish above; uncertainty hovers, a cyclone of destruction looms.

In contrast, “Echo” is easy on the eye and one of the pieces that holds together well, visually.  There is harmony and balance, even amidst the darkness and despair.  Several rectangles float and appear to lock into place, transforming disturbance into a resolution of sorts.  Again, multi-layers of fibers, papers, bits of collage and re-appropriated photographic imagery are treated with a working and re-working of pigments to render the final surface extraordinarily rich.  All of Carolyn’s work makes you want to look more, to see, and to think.  The pieces encourage contemplation and meditation.  They slow you down.  They are labors of a care, of tenderness and giving back.  We can feel optimism, reverence, and vitality even thought the subject matter evokes an incredible sadness at the loss of so much more than individuals.  Our civilizing has been compromised; it teeters perilously, yet there is hope.  “Seeking the Holy Spirit together” depicts a hand, reaching up into the light. Layering fibers into much of her work alludes to scripture about remnants; torn from the whole, separate, asunder. Including text hints at the power of expression and protest through letter and word, wisdom and book.  Tradition and values live even if people cannot. And of course the photographs themselves declare the power of collective and personal memory as well as the preciousness of each individual. In the catalogue, Rev. Dieter Heinzl shares, “Carolyn is a Holocaust scholar/artist with a passion and deep commitment to Tikkun Olam, the mending of the world. . . her teaching has broadened minds and opened hearts.” 

Only weapons: Notebook and Leica

The contemporary photographer Monika Bulaj states her aim is “to give a voice to the silent people.” After watching her TED talk, I am at once humbled and invigorated.  I am struck by her courage and conviction.  She has been traveling for over 20 years, reportedly armed with only her notebook and Leica, a wonderful little camera that she uses like a nomadic paintbrush to painstakingly recreate the light and vitality from what so much of the rest of the world might be tempted to term darkness.

Addressing the TED audience, she begins “I was walking through the [Polish] forests of my grandmother’s tales, a land where every field hides a grave, where millions of people have been deported or killed in the 20th century.”  She goes on to capture, through word and image, the places and faces she met where she simply shared bread and prayer.  And, fortunately for us, she documented.  Her stunning portraits of both person and place remind me of Georges de la Tour’s evocations in oil paint with browns and ambers, where candlelight becomes almost personified: a silent character in an intimate scene, breathing life into our primal need for hope.  Similarly, Monika’s lovely images are like hand-written invitations, to a party celebrating our humanity, inviting us to a royal feast where stereotypes are smashed, and the most humble among us are exalted and lifted up to be honored and praised for the wonders they truly are.

After showing “Through Our Own Eyes,” the documentary created by the Midwest Center for Holocaust Education which features historic footage as well as still photographs and local Holocaust survivors’ testimony, from the Kansas City area, I always give my students an open-notes quiz and ask not only why, in their opinion, it is important to “remember” the Holocaust.  But I also ask them to list 3 things they can do, personally, to help make sure the Holocaust is remembered. Two of the most common responses to this last question are 1) to watch movies or read books about the history; and 2) to learn about places in the world where these atrocities might happen again, so we can speak out about them and  not become complacent bystanders.

Monika Bulaj’s art work does just that.  Her photographs are beacons.  They bears witness to her personal quest for a universal understanding of what it is to be fully human.  Like Rembrandt, she literally shines light on the everydayness of human life. After visiting a school in Afghanistan where 13,000 young women hide the fact that they are going to school, underground, among the scorpions,  Monkia recounts “their love of study was so big I cried.”  Her reportage is easily accessible, moving and excellent.  Through the clarity of her still images, we become party to both struggles and tendernesses.  We see our similarities and are presented with a portrait of not just community, but humanity.  Ms. Bulaj seeks out individuals and spotlights their personhood.  She enlightens by looking for commonalities and showcasing them. “I have been walking and traveling, by horses, by yak, by truck, by hitchhiking, from Iran’s border to the bottom, to the edge of the Wakhan Corridor. And in this way I could find ‘noor,’ the hidden light of Afghanistan.”  Her photographs are like personal, intimate offerings, luminous altars, celebrating all that we can be, and they are indeed inspiring.

A teachable moment

I am the librarian of the only mostly middle class school in my urban district. My students expressed interest in the Holocaust, and it was near Dr. Seuss’ birthday, so I began with Dr. Seuss Goes to War: The World War II Editorial Cartoons of Theodor Seuss Geisel, by Richard H. Minear. I have had success using this text with the generational poverty and immigrant students I have worked with in the past, and I was looking forward to working with students who I knew already have a background knowledge of World War II, and who comprehend the larger themes of the works of Dr. Seuss, such as the equal rights message of The Sneetches and Other Stories. We began by discussing Dr. Seuss’ own brushes with antisemitism- he was German, and that was the language spoken in his home. Due to that and that he had a larger nose, many students at his college thought he was Jewish, and he was not accepted by a group (fraternity) that he wanted to join on campus, so he redirected his interests in to the campus paper.

We began by examining Dr. Seuss’s political cartoon on page 58, entitled “The Old Run-Around.” It depicts the struggle minorities had in getting war industry jobs. One label in the cartoon reads” Negro job hunters enter here.” One student, who happens to be African-American, sank in his chair and his expression changed from listening with interest to disbelief. I was thinking through how to approach him regarding his change of expression when he raised his hand. When called on, he asked, “If Dr. Seuss had experienced discrimination, why is he using an awful term for African-Americans?” I was surprised by his question, so I asked him to elaborate. In our discussion, I realized that, since the term “negro” has not been in use for many years, and since it isn’t one of the current preferred terms, he assumed that this was an indication that Theodor Geisel was making a derogatory statement about African-Americans.

Fortunately, my schedule permits me taking advantage of teachable moments! I asked the students to talk to parents, grandparents, and any other older relatives or neighbors about these terms before our next class. Many found connections to those living in the 1940s, and we explored discrimination and terminology. When we were ending our discussion, I asked the student who had the initial question about his view on the use of the word “negro,” and he said he understood- it was the accepted, polite term at that time. He volunteered that he learned a lot about his grandmother that he did not know, and others expressed similar sentiments. Even though the original intention was to explore the cartoons as an opening to Holocaust study, we all felt fortunate to have explored the student’s original impression. An unintended subject, but a valuable experience!

Wall of Remembrance Quilt

One of my (and I think my students’) favorite culminating activities when we learn about the Holocaust is our Holocaust Remembrance Quilt. This is a collage of the kids’ artwork reflecting on what they have learned. Unavoidably, this is a tough, heavy and depressing topic for 8th graders. It’s nice to have something at the end that allows them to get their feelings out and be positive, if they want to. I give them all a handout with the directions, and a 4”x4” square drawn on it. In the square they simply have to draw, and write, if they wish, something that symbolizes the Holocaust to them. I give them the following guidelines:

• Choose something that stuck with you during your study of the Holocaust.
• It can be a design which commemorates an event or person.
• It can be a hopeful design, looking toward the future.
• It does not have to be sad. However, it should be reverent. It should in no way mock or make light of the Holocaust.
• Please put some thought into it and make it personal to you.
• You may draw or use a collage technique. However, it should not simply be a printout of a picture from the internet or clip art.
• You will not be graded on how well you draw. Instead, you will be graded on the thoughtfulness and insight you put into the square.
• This will be a culmination of the unit, so it should reflect your learning in the 3 weeks of study.
• It may be in color or black and white, whatever you feel appropriate.
• It may contain words as well as pictures, or be just a picture.
  

After they turn them in, I cut them all out. It’s important that they are as close to the exact same size as possible. Then I figure out how big to make the quilt. If I need more squares, I will put some of my favorite Holocaust quotes in. I also include a square with the year on it.

To assemble, I try to space them out so there is a good mix of color and black and white. I tape them on the back with Scotch tape to form the horizontal sections. Then I tape the horizontal sections together to form the quilt. I have found that it’s best to back it with construction paper. It holds up much better! Finally, I have it laminated and hang it in my room.

The kids find this very satisfying – to put what they learn and feel into a picture. The pictures run the gambit from amazingly detailed to simple. As with anything, there are kids who don’t do a stellar job, but when put together, they all look nice. I have all of the previous year’s hanging in my room, so the kids see the project all year and look forward to it. They also feel a sense of pride and legacy knowing I will keep theirs up for years to come as well.

An image is worth a thousand words... at least

Lately I have been working with photos more and more in the classroom. (I was inspired by a recent conference I attended.) I like taking a photo or painting and separating it out into many sections. I literally print out the image and cut it into multiple sections.; maybe 5 or 6 pieces. (I will print out the image 5 times and cut each printout into the same 6 different pieces so each student can have a section of the image.) I try to pick photos that are complex and have a lot going on in them.

I suggest the image below that could be used for dissection. In fact, if you CLICK HERE, there are enlarged sections of this image ready for you to print off.



You could ask students things like:
What is going on in this section?
How are people dressed?
Who do you think painted this image?
What is the mood of the section?
What is the quality of the art?

I put each section up on the Powerpoint, one piece at a time, and ask those students who have that piece to talk about what they saw. In the end I put the entire photo up and ask if there is different meaning with all of the pieces put together.

I think this might be an interesting way to introduce the Holocaust. This photo is actually a mural that was in the common area of the children's barracks at Auschwitz-Birkenau.

You could talk about what type of supplies might have been readily available to paint this mural. How is the painting of this mural a form of defiance? How might this be a way for the young people to cope with their situation?

An activity like this can usually be done in less than 20 minutes as an introduction to a lesson or unit of study. It is a real attention grabber and students tend to mentally associate the image with the lesson.

Poetry in Holocaust Education

I feel like I should begin this blog entry with a couple of disclaimers. First, this year I am teaching several sections of 7^th and 8^th grade Creative Writing; it is an elective class. I did not imagine that I could find a way to teach the Holocaust in Creative Writing. Second, as a Holocaust educator, I have a fairly strong prejudice against fictional Holocaust literature. I believe there are excellent memoirs, diaries, and non-fiction pieces which students can read to understand the personal experiences of those who survived or perished during the Holocaust.

That being said, I came upon an interesting book recently which I offer for your consideration. Requiem: Poems of the Terezín Ghetto by Paul B. Janeczko. The poems in the volume were written by Janeczko; however, the voices of the poems vary and show us the Terezín Ghetto from various points-of-view. For example, Hilda Bartos tells us, in her poem, how Terezín changed once the town began to be used as a prison for Jews. SS Lieutenant Theodor Lang speaks in his poem of preparations for a visit by the Red Cross. In most of the poems, we hear the imagined voices of Jews imprisoned at Terezín. Tomasz Kassewitz tells, in his poem, about playing chess on Fridays with his friend Willi - until it becomes too dangerous for Willi to socialize with a Jew. Trude Reimer tells of playing the part of a cat in the play Brundibár. Sara Engel tells of her experiences sorting the possessions confiscated from the ghetto’s prisoners. The volume is illustrated with drawings created by inmates of Terezín which were discovered after the war ended.

The poems reflect solid research by Janeczko. The Afterword and Author’s Note at the back of the volume provide valuable background information that I would advise reading first. There is an excellent list of sources at the end of the text.

In my view, there are at least two questions worthy of debate concerning Janeczko’s work. First, does this volume of poetry contribute in a significant and valuable way to the canon of Holocaust literature? Second, would Requiem serve as a useful instructional tool with secondary students?

I don’t think I qualify as an expert, but I have read quite a lot of Holocaust literature during the past ten years. I own cabinets full of memoirs, diaries, short stories, novels, and non-fiction history. I can think of some individual poems that I have read about Holocaust topics. However, I can’t recall anyone who has tried to do what Janeczko has done – create a single portrait of a ghetto from the points-of-view of the inmates, Nazi guards, and non-Jewish residents of the nearby town. Original poems from all of these perspectives do not, to my knowledge, exist within the historical record. Therefore, Janeczko had no choice but to create them from his imagination based on extensive research. To answer the first question – yes, I think this volume does make a valuable and interesting addition to the canon of Holocaust literature.

My answer to the second question is also yes. The poems in this volume are excellent examples of free verse poetry and could be used as models in several of the craft lessons I teach in Creative Writing. The book is a lovely example of how poems can be used to create a narrative; in this case they tell the story of people whose lives converged in a particular place but not by chance. The book would be an excellent source of material for students in performance, drama, or forensics courses. How exciting it would be to see a group of students perform an interpretive reading of the poems in this volume! The book is very short – only 89 pages of poems and illustrations. Therefore, this may be a good choice for time-strapped language arts or social studies teachers who want to complement non-fiction Holocaust materials with materials from the fine arts. Art teachers may enjoy studying the illustrations that were created by Terezín’s residents. I stated in my first disclaimer that I had not considered teaching the Holocaust in Creative Writing. I think Janeczko's poems create that possibility.

I happened upon Requiem: Poems of the Terezín Ghetto by Paul B. Janeczko by accident. I was searching the Johnson County Library for poetry books for use in my Creative Writing classes. However, I think I stumbled over a gem. I am curious for other Holocaust educators to read this book and share what they think about it.