Innocence in the Face of Horror: A Letter to Yona Nadelmann

Dear Yona,

As a student of Holocaust history, I face the eternal dilemma of whether to approach the understanding of such a horrific event through the paradigm of broad, factual historical analysis or through emotional, individual life stories. Reading All the Things I Never Told My Father moved me greatly and allowed me to see the world I had studied in historical texts, documentaries, and classroom lectures come alive through the eyes of a child. Your perspective of childhood innocence, your immense attention to minute detail, and your use of universal themes of love and family would allow any reader to emotionally engage with an experience that is far beyond any the mind can imagine.

It is doubtful whether the literary world can find any opinion as unique, unfiltered, and natural as that of a child’s. As I read the memoir, I discovered that your childhood perspective did not make the Holocaust seem simplistic or rudimentary: rather, it had the opposite effect and served to create a picture that was tangible and relatable instead of one that was overanalyzed in order to achieve scholarly credibility. The juxtaposition of the innocence of youth with the violence of genocide threw the horrors of the Holocaust into even starker light. Like many books told from a child’s point of view, All the Things I Never Told My Father focuses on the common emotional arcs of childhood: fear of abandonment, attachment to that which brings comfort, and personal growth born out of traumatic experiences. However, you brilliantly place these familiar narratives in a wildly unfamiliar context that feels more understandable as a result. In a time where every individual is classified and persecuted because of their identity, it takes a child to ask “And what is a Jew, anyway?” The ability of children to be curious about the things adults take for granted allows the memoir to take on a new meaning: as a child, you question and wonder about the world rather than simply trying to survive in it, and that was a message that inspired me deeply.

One of the many things that surprised me while reading this novel was the incredible vividness with which you narrated the story. I was shocked by how incredibly detailed, specific, and expository your memoir was: especially since you wrote it many years after the fact. Among the most detailed sections of the book is your foray into your Uncle’s candy and chocolate factory: a sensory experience that you described so vividly that it felt as if I was there. The moment when you exclaim that “Life was not going to be that bad with this factory almost on [your] doorstep” was immensely endearing. It was interesting to see that you had devoted so many words to a scene of happiness that did not directly relate to the progression of the plot but had so much importance in the reader’s understanding of life in difficult times. It was not just your incredibly detailed memory of events but also your selection of events to focus your detailed attention on that was surprising. It was a reminder that in even in the darkest of periods we can choose what we focus our attention on, and change our mindset as a result.

When studying dark periods of history one can forget that people’s lives still carry on with moments of happiness and love despite being surrounded by tragedy. Your memoir’s most powerful impact on me was a reminder to focus on the little joys and allow them to lift us out of the depths of tragedy. Your stories about the candy factory, the joys of young love, and the bonds of friendship and family were powerful in conveying that some joys cannot be vanquished by the evilest of efforts. It was also quite a brave literary choice. Rather than focusing on only the moments where you displayed incredible courage, and I’m sure there were many such moments, you also shared moments where life gave you a silver lining. You talk about how you and “Marysia ...alternated roles” while enacting fairly tales from Hans Christian Andersen and how happy the presence of your cousin Gaby made you despite the chaos of war. All the Things I Never Told My Father’s most powerful impact on me was this: I realized that some basic joys of the human experience are impossible for any individual or system to gain control over.

I am in awe of the determination you have shown in the act of creating a memoir: to write our memories of such a horrific time may be cathartic but also involves the painful experience of delving into memories that the average person would try to forget. All the Things I Never Told My Father was incredibly well-written, moving, and inspirational. It is such works of creativity and emotions that encourage readers to learn from past mistakes of history and apply lessons to their own lives. I am blessed to have been one of these readers.

Sincerely,

Rohila Kusampudi