Fragmentary Jewish photo archives as sources for holocaust scholarship

Rita Levi-Montalcini received the Nobel Prize for Physiology or Medicine in 1986, together with Stanley Cohen, for their discovery of growth factors made thirty years earlier while they were working together at St. Louis. Her book recalls her life from her childhood in Turin to her return to Italy from America in 1963. The first part gives an interesting account of life in a Jewish middle-class family in fascist Italy before and during the Second World War, especially during the Nazi terror, when the Levis were hidden in Florence under false names by good-natured, courageous gentiles who pretended not to know that they were Jews.

From Ugly Duckling to Swan: Education as Spiritual Transformation in the Thought of Edith Stein Ann W. Astell (bio) On August 17, 1931, Edith Stein wrote to her former student Anneliese Lichtenberger: “Among the books you got as a child, do you have Andersen’s Fairy Tales? If so, read the story of the ugly duckling. I believe in your swan-destiny.”1 One can hardly imagine a more encouraging word from a brilliant teacher to a young woman, a girl, who has just been placed on academic probation. Charming as the allusion is, it also serves as parable for Stein’s educational thought. The little bird in the tale of Hans Christian Andersen (1805–1875), we recall, is ugly as a duckling and scorned by the ducks, because it never really was a duckling at all.2 It comes to recognize itself for what it truly is—a beautiful swan—through a process of suffering and maturing, of mysterious, connatural attraction to other swans, and, finally, in a moment of longing self-sacrifice and rebirth, a revelatory sight of its own reflection in the water, accompanied by the recognition of its swaneity by others. For Stein, the real purpose of education, in life and in the schools, is to promote a person’s true and transformative self-knowledge, which opens into the knowledge of God’s love. In this process the educator plays a key, contemplative role. “I believe in your swan-destiny,” Stein writes to Anneliese. “Just don’t hold it against others if they haven’t discovered this yet.”3 Scholars of Edith Stein usually focus either on her scholarly achievement as a phenomenologist in the philosophical circle closest to Edmund Husserl (1859–1938) or on her devotional and theological writings as a Carmelite nun, first in Cologne and then in Echt, Holland, where she was arrested by the S. S. on August 2, 1942. The blurb on the cover of Waltraud Herbstrith’s biography of Stein reflects these two poles of interest: “The Untold Story of the Philosopher and Mystic Who Lost Her Life in the Death Camps of Auschwitz.”4 In this essay I meditate on Stein not principally as philosopher and mystic (although she never ceases to be both), but rather as an educator and a theorist of education who understands the learning process to be a spiritual path. In so doing, I call attention to the great middle period of her life, from the time of her conversion to Christianity and her baptism as a Catholic in 1922 to the date of her entry into Carmel in October, 1933. During these years, she taught in Speyer at Saint Magdalena’s, a secondary school for girls and a Teacher Training Institute run by Dominican Sisters. Beginning in 1927, her [End Page 1] Click for larger view View full resolution “Swans” © Thomas Riecken [End Page 2] teaching there was frequently interrupted by her lecture tours in which she addressed women’s groups in Switzerland, Austria, and Germany on educational and feminist topics.5 In 1932 she accepted a position at the Educational Institute in Münster—a position she held until 1933, when the Nazis launched their first legal offensive against the Jews. In that same year, having been barred from teaching, she began to write her (ultimately unfinished) memoir Life in a Jewish Family, an extraordinary book which chiefly chronicles her life as a student,6 ending in 1916 with the successful defense of her doctoral dissertation On the Problem of Empathy. Viewed in the light of Stein’s mature educational theory and practice, her own remembered childhood and youth as a student stand as a case study in the spirituality of education. Life in a Jewish Family also pointedly opposes the dehumanizing depiction of Jewish people in the German school texts of the time, when, as Stein remarks in the Foreword, “the young . . .[were] being reared in racial hatred from earliest childhood.”7 As Lisa Dolling has observed, Stein wrote and spoke passionately about education, she described her profession as a teacher “as a sacred ‘calling,’” and she regarded a “proper education” to be “a propaedeutic to grace.”8 Dolling herself, however, chooses...

In early modern Western and Central Europe, shtadlanut (Jewish intercession) and tzedakah (righteousness/charity) were closely linked actions, mainly because they were in the hands of the same actors. As an example, I highlight the involvement of Jewish families in these activities. By examining two case studies in the eighteenth century, in which Samson and Wolf Wertheimer acted as main protagonists, I try to show how privileged Jewish families as the Wertheimers exercised and determined Western and Central European shtadlanut and tzedakah. Moreover, I argue that Shtadlanut should be seen in the context of the history of intercultural diplomacy.

Community Resources for Older Adults: Programs and Services in an Era of Change

Velke Meziřici is a small town in southern Moravia with over four centuries of Jewish history that the Nazis aimed to eradicate. In this case study, based on a rich collection of documents, artifacts, and private correspondence, we learn the tragic fate of one Jewish family from Velke Meziřici, the Muellers, and examine the courageous actions of their non-Jewish neighbors, the Floumas. As the Nazi persecution escalated in the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia, most non-Jews turned away from their Jewish neighbors out of fear. The Nazis deported the Jewish population to Terezin in spring 1942 and from there to death camps such as Treblinka and Auschwitz. Non-Jews did not know where the Nazis had sent their Jewish neighbors and if they would return. Josef Flouma, owner of a large gardening business, dared to save his friends’ possessions. One family member, Dr. Eric Nash, survived the Holocaust and when he returned, the Floumas received him with great kindness. The story that unfolded between the two families demonstrates a new and unique outlook on Czech-Jewish relations during the period of Nazi terror. Despite great odds, the memory of the Jewish history of Velke Meziřici remains preserved to this day.

This article presents the case of Carlo Baroccio, an Italian Jewish banker from Rome who enrolled in the Italian army during the First World War. He appears photographed in a private family album in uniform at home, with friends, on trips, and with his family. Carlo’s family is a case study example of a family of Roman Jews after the opening of the ghetto in 1870. The study explores the role of photography in the display of enthusiasm and involvement of this community in the First World War through the analysis of Carlo's private photographs. It examines how patriotism manifested in this soldier's private sphere and in his private photo album, and how it was expressed through his wife's supporting, patriotic gaze while constructing the album. The study will present the background on the status of Jewish women after emancipation and during the First World War. The contextual background of these photographs is examined, and the photos are explored using visual semiotic tools.

The essay below is an excerpt from my book, Antiracism in Cuba: The Unfinished Revolution (2016). Antiracism in Cuba uses the case study of Cuba’s 1959 campaign against discrimination to examine how ideas about racial difference, racist stereotypes and racially discriminatory practices persist, survive, and reproduce themselves despite major state efforts to generate social equality. It finds that state-led, predominantly white, antiracist campaigns were often packaged or built on racist ideologies and stereotypes—sometimes on purpose, but mostly unconsciously. This essay chronicles the initial thrusts of this antiracism campaign and demonstrates how race and discussions about racial discrimination became a central part of revolutionary politics in spring 1959. In the case of Cuba, early 1960s revolutionary programs (like integration plans and the education and health care reforms that continue to be recognized and rightfully celebrated) frequently negated their own antiracist efforts by reproducing traditional racist images and idioms, especially in public representations of blacks in revolutionary propaganda, cartoons and educational materials. And, while Cuba’s newest leaders might have achieved a form of racial integration, lingering attitudes about the appropriate place for Afro-Cubans limited their ability to see blacks and mulatos as equal partners in the nation and allowed racism to persist.

The publication of Archives, Recordkeeping, and Social Justice occurs at a time of multiple imperatives: climate change, a global pandemic, social movements against sex- and gender-based violence, numerous refugee crises, the Black Lives Matter movement, and, in Canada, a national reckoning on the many unanswered Calls to Action of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission and the confirmation of unmarked burials of First Nations, Inuit, and Metis children at now closed state and church-operated residential schools.1 This time of crisis and transformation is a lens through which to consider the interplay of archives and social justice and its manifestations. Building on 2013's “Social Justice Impact of Archives: A Preliminary Investigation”2 and other studies, the editors and contributors of Archives, Recordkeeping, and Social Justice provide analyses and examples of archives' and recordkeeping's contradictory roles in contributing to, and countering, injustices. The authors trouble and motivate, and the case studies underline ways in which archives act as agents of oppression, but also are activated for social justice, evoking alternative futures where they advance change and support Howard Zinn's values of “peace, equality, and justice” (p. vii).Given the subject matter of this book under review, it is important for me to begin with a land and language acknowledgment and critical self-location: as an archivist at the University of Victoria and a settler of Scottish and Irish descent in what colonizing governments named British Columbia, I acknowledge and respect the lǝќʷǝɳǝn peoples in whose traditional territory I am privileged to live and work, and the Songhees, Esquimalt, and WSÁNEC peoples, living and ancestors, whose relationships with the land continue today.Archives, Recordkeeping, and Social Justice's editors have, through research, professional practice, and community involvement, considered archives' roles in social justice. Professor and dean of the University of Toronto's Faculty of Information Studies, Wendy M. Duff's research areas include archival access, community engagement, social media, archives user experiences, and archives and special collections assessment, including the Mellon-funded Archival Metrics project.3 Andrew Flinn is a reader in archival studies and oral history, departmental director of research, and Arts and Humanities Faculty deputy vice-dean for research (impact) at University College, London. His research interests include community-based archives, participatory archives formation, public history, and the effects of Freedom of Information legislation on access to records.4 Renée Saucier has a graduate degree in information studies specializing in archives and records management, held the inaugural Penny Rubinoff Fellowship at the Ontario Jewish Archives' Blankstein Family Heritage Centre, and volunteers at the ArQuives—Canada's LGBTQ2+ Archives in Toronto. Her research interests include community archives as well as web and social media archiving. David A. Wallace has published and presented on topics such as recordkeeping and accountability, government secrecy, and archival social justice; his consultancy work includes the South African History Archive's Freedom of Information Programme and Stories for Hope (an intergenerational storytelling NGO in Rwanda). Wallace holds the appointment of clinical associate professor at the University of Michigan's School of Information.In addition to the four editor-contributors, sixteen individuals contribute to the text's contextualizing chapters and eight case studies. The editors have organized the volume into two sections: the first leads the reader from the volume's rationale, historical and contemporary perspectives on archival social justice, and methodologies for research on the social impact of archives, to the second part, consisting of a preface, eight case studies, and a conclusion. As someone involved in acquisition initiatives with activist communities and allied faculty members before much professional writing or discussion existed on the topic in my professional community, I found the structure and content of these early chapters a helpful resource within which to situate some of these initiatives, with concepts, terms, and methodological frameworks set out in detail. The notes and reference sections for each chapter are useful guides to further reading.Section 1 consists of Saucier and Wallace's introduction on archival social justice, which describes the development of research, key terms, and synopses of the case studies, “with attention to the range of archival social justice impacts uncovered by their contributors” (p. 3). This is followed by Wallace's chapter, “Defining the Relationship Between Archives and Social Justice,” and Duff and Michelle Caswell's “Methodologies for Archival Impact Studies.” Wallace's chapter sets up Duff and Caswell's analysis of methodologies by supplying a detailed overview of multidisciplinary perspectives on social justice, a definition of the term, and a consideration of ethics in the decisions to take up archival social justice mandates. Wallace's definition of social justice—in summary—strives for the common good through full human recognition; fair and just (re-)distribution of power (and other benefits and burdens); full and equal participation in political and decision-making processes, education, and services; acknowledgment and remedy of historical injustices; and it works against systemic and institutionalized oppression and domination (p. 30). The definition is a political position and prompts the question: are we individually and collectively ready and/or able to carry the social justice imperative into our professional lives (if we haven't already)?Duff and Caswell's chapter concerns itself with the history of evaluation research, alternative research models, and a literature summary of types of archival public service impacts, including educational, economic, social, and affective (or emotional). The authors also note the critiques of neoliberal impact measures prevalent in library and information studies, as well as culturally responsive evaluation techniques and studies that consider the value of narrative methodologies to counter quantitative evaluation.Section 2 consists of a brief preface by Saucier explaining the patterns across, and categorizations of, the commissioned case studies. These include struggles to access and activate records created by oppressive regimes, the use of records in the pursuit of transitional justice,5 and the undertakings of community-based activist archivists to create autonomous, or counter, archives. Saucier notes that most of the studies “illuminate the paradoxes of trying to foment social justice with records and recordkeeping systems that are themselves both the residue and the tools of injustice and oppression” (p. 71). The studies animate the concepts and methodologies of archival social justice set out in the proceeding chapters. Broadly described, the case studies cover the following issues: colonial recordkeeping and land restitution in South Africa; colonial recordkeeping, archival custody, and Indigenous land title in British Columbia, Canada; archives and redress for Australian Care Leavers; archives and redress for victims of the Hillsborough stadium disaster, United Kingdom; access to the records of Chilean truth commissions; activist archives and antigentrification campaigns in London, UK; shared heritage, lesbian and gay archives, and the ArQuives—Canada's LGBTQ2+ Archives; coconstruction and the Archive of Mental Health Recovery Stories, UK; and archival agency and Palestinian refugee autonomous archives.While there is insufficient space here for consideration of all the case studies, I would like to mention one, for its emotional impact (on this reviewer) and its analysis of archival social justice impacts: “‘All I Want To Know Is Who I Am': Archival Justice for Australian Care Leavers” by Joanne Evans, Frank Golding, Cate O'Neill, and Rachel Tropea. Evans et al. document the redress campaign for Care Leavers, the survivors of Australia's Children's Homes. The authors provide an overview of the archival and recordkeeping community's response to the recommendations of inquiries and commissions, and posit that significant transformation must occur for archivists and communities to be participatory agents in archives that promote identity, memory, and accountability (p. 113). The authors provide useful examples of how archivists and historians have worked with records holders and the Care Leaver community to present descriptive information, including information on records absences, in more sensitive ways (p. 114). The case study also measures the social justice impact of the government's Find and Connect Program, whose activities were intended to mitigate some of the significant obstacles Care Leavers have faced in accessing records (p. 105). Evans et al. compare the program's activities to Barbara Klugman's social justice values: “resources should be distributed so that everyone can live a decent life; human beings all have equal human rights and should be recognized in all of their diversity; and all people should be represented and be able to advocate on their own behalf” (p. 117). Like other case studies in this volume, “‘All I Want To Know Is Who I Am'” does not present an easy solution to the Care Leavers' struggle, but, as the authors and editors note, the arc of history bends toward justice.Archives, Recordkeeping, and Social Justice is a key resource for thinking about and engaging with concepts and practices that support archival social justice. It is primarily an academic work, intended for an academic audience, and, as a volume in the series Studies in Archives, it is positioned to be a textbook for archival and information studies courses and used in other disciplines concerned with the influence of archives in society. Additionally, its chapters and case studies can be paired with complementary writings and other resources produced by activist communities.

The article includes a sample of testimonies and the results of sociological research on the life stories of Jews born in the aftermath of World War II in two countries, Czechoslovakia and Luxembourg. At that time, Czechoslovak Jews were living through the era of de-Stalinization and their narratives offer new insights into this segment of Jewish post-war history that differ from those of Jews living in liberal, democratic European states. The interviews explore how personal documents, photos, letters and souvenirs can help maintain personal memories in Jewish families and show how this varies from one generation to the next. My paper illustrates the importance of these small artifacts for the transmission of Jewish collective memory in post-war Jewish generations. The case study aims to answer the following research questions: What is the relationship between the Jewish post-war generation and its heirlooms? Who is in charge of maintaining Jewish family heirlooms within the family? Are there any intergenerational differences when it comes to keeping and maintaining family history? The study also aims to find out whether the political regime influences how Jewish objects are kept by Jewish families.

Women and Photography in Africa: Creative Practices and Feminist Challenges

Missions and reserves in Queensland dating from the 1880s to early 1980s have specific spatial and physical characteristics that fit Erving Goffman's structural description of ‘total institutions' (1962:74). These specific characteristics, analysed here, include locks, wire mesh enclosed verandahs, barred windows, barbed wire fences, strictly regimented spaces and segregated built environments. Material culture in the forms of photographic evidence, surveyed maps and plans are employed. This kind of primary evidence is used due to the paucity of survival of other more traditional forms of archaeological evidence to answer questions concerning the original layout and built environment of mission and reserve sites. This paper about Queensland challenges the findings of research by Rowse (1993), Lydon (2000) and Trigger (1992, 1985) concerning the application of ‘total institutions' to missions and reserves in Australia. Many missions and reserves in Queensland were total institutions and the spatial and physical environment of these institutions was an attempt at social control over Aboriginal peoples. The physical and spatial environment of missions and reserves in Queensland can be seen as a reflection of power relations in modern society.

The Jews of early modern Marburg, 1640s—1800: A case study in family and household organization

On March 7, 1933, Nazi paramilitary troops raided a progressive school in Oberhambach, Germany, ostensibly seeking Communist party literature. The Nazis’ ultimate goal was a greater one, however. Co-opting the Odenwald School, at the time world-famous in educational circles, along with its charismatic founder and director, Paul Geheeb, would have been a propaganda coup, placing the National Socialists at the vanguard of a reformist movement that had up until then been fundamentally opposed to Nazi principles. Geheeb—pacifist, feminist, and anti-authoritarian—faced a choice between maintaining his school and maintaining his principles. When he was ordered not to resign or shut down the school, on pain of seeing himself and the Jewish family he had married into sent off to concentration camps, the dilemma was complete. That he was able to finesse this seemingly impossible situation, eventually landing in Switzerland with a group of students and teachers to continue his life’s mission, was in large measure due to his success in instilling anti-authoritarian values in the children with whom he worked. This case study tells of a leader who despised obedience getting the better of a regime that saw obedience to the Fuhrer (Leader) as the supreme virtue.

A sensitive and potentially problematic manifestation of family bereavement situations may occur when one of the mourners is an adopted child. Using an ecosystems perspective, this paper examines the nature of mourning in Orthodox Jewish adoptive families and the therapeutic use of religious ritual and dicta to assist with the maintenance of family homeostasis during the potentially destabilizing period following the death of a relative. A case example is presented, illustrating the value of cooperation between therapists and clergy to determine appropriate interventions. Suggestions are made for the use of analogous rituals to assist a broader range of families.

1050 PAUL ROSENSTEIN (1875-1964) THE DISRUPTED BIOGRAPHY OF A UROLOGIST BETWEEN GERMANY AND BRAZIL - NEW RESULTS FROM THE GERMAN RESEARCH PROJECT