It is more arduous to honor the memory of the nameless than that of the renowned. Historical construction is devoted to the memory of the nameless. Suspended in a metal shaft over the sea whose waters commingle Spain and France, these words by Walter Benjamin are etched into a thick plate of glass that keeps the visitor to his memorial from sharing his fate. Descending the vertiginous steps in the shaft, one's own shadow is projected onto the sea by the glass that signifies that one's own life is always?by the grace of historical belatedness?just beyond the reach of Nazi Germany. The gravity of life at the brink, pulling us forward into the vortex of Jewish death, and the transparent wall that keeps us safe, are locked in an unresolved struggle that makes this memorial one of the most evocative sites of post-Holocaust conscious ness.1