Trial and Error: Assumptions about a Holocaust Studies Student

Everyone is raised with certain opinions or beliefs whether we like them or not. I know I am an opinionated person, but I hold true to my convictions in a confident manner. I’m not saying that all of my opinions are right...But they're mine.

Example:

If I see a Confederate flag plastered on the back of a truck, I don’t automatically assume that the owners of that truck are racist. I assume their uneducated. And Ignorant.

I’m just sayin’. That's honestly what I think.

Opinions and attitudes allow us to better understand one another. Usually.

In my case, the more people understand me the more flabbergasted they become.

Since this blog is about studying the Holocaust, one probably assumes that I inform or at least (admit) the specific details of my education when questioned.

Yeah, Not Really...

When questioned about my undergraduate major, my answer will differ from person to person depending on the date, the day, the person and the time. There is a reason for this.

My life moves at one speed. Fast.

I walk fast.

I talk fast.

I read fast.

I write fast(and not legibly.)

I think fast.

Fast, people. My life is fast.

Telling someone that I am a student of Holocaust studies, especially if they don’t know me, is always followed by at least three questions:

“What does one do with a Holocaust Studies degree?”

“What made you decide to study that?”

“Are you Jewish?”

These questions cannot be answered by one or even two sentences. I don't always have the time. Just answering whether or not I'm Jewish is at least a paragraph.

"Am I Jewish?"

"No, but I think that Jewish, Christian and Islamic faiths all share the same God. So, I believe in the Jewish faith, but no, I don't practice Judaism." ....

One question leads to two questions...

"You believe in Judaism, but wait, you're not Jewish?" You see the pattern developing.

Curiosity killed the Cat, people.

After I have answered two or more questions about my academic choices, a person starts to get uncomfortable.

The shifting begins. The facial gestures are unconsciously appearing. It's started.They're making assumptions. They're opinions are changing.

Is she crazy? No.

Is she lucid? Yes. That rules out insanity.

Is she a neo-Nazi? No.

Maybe I heard her wrong. She did say Holocaust Studies, right? Yes.

Not crazy... not insane...not anti-Semitic....


Yep. That's it. She is crazy. --
These are the questions I assume (by interpreting the facial expressions)that people ask themselves while I'm giving them a run-down on why I am a Holocaust Studies student.


I have learned through trial and error, that sometimes it's just easier to answer college related questions with: "I'm a 'history major'".

To me, history major is a (true) and fast answer. I have answered the question with four words and, it's not technically a lie. It also avoids the customary chain of questions.

Big Words- Not a fan.

You know what's annoying?

I'm not talking about little annoyances such as getting caught behind someone who is walking too slow or people who say " I love Rock 'n Roll!" But have no appreciation for Elvis.

Lately I have been extremely aggravated by people who are enamored/infatuated with Big Words.

People who use big words in every day small conversations are, simply put, not my favorite kinda people these days...

I'm a Plain Jane kinda gal. I don't use big words in my vocabulary. I'm not mentally challenged (okay, let's not kid ourselves. I suck at math). But math doesn't count. Susie Q said so.

Back to my point, why is it that people feel the need to use big words when small words are just as effective? People who think it is necessary to put a big word in a conversation about, say, movies, are going to see my eyes roll.

While discussing a movie, I don't want to hear someone practice GRE vocabulary.

" Gawd, Vince Vaughn, is like, soooo ostentatious."

Hello people, Vince Vaughn is cocky and a show off. Why use a big word when the little words work?

From a Plain Jane perspective, I have no idea why people are so obsessed with humongous words in the first place. Maybe while writing a paper or trying to show off in front of a professor, fine. I understand that big words are indispensable to a college student.

But really, is it necessary while discussing Vince Vaughn? Really?

I have never been what one calls a quiet person. My personality and voice are well, loud. I know that I am also a bit chatty at times... However, what I would not call myself is loquacious, while speaking informally. Big words are not always better words.

There are a few Big, or rather odd words I learned/heard while growing up from Susie Q and The Dutchmen.

Susie Q: "Julie, don't say things like that! That language is putrid!"-- this phrase is commonly used by Susie Q after I have said a word which she finds utterly disgusting (the four letter kind). Susie Q has been an avid fan of the words putrid and cantankerous for years.

The Dutchmen: "Can I get anyone a libation?"-- In my house, the word libation means a drink with alcohol served at a social gathering. What The Dutchmen is really saying is "What kinda drink can I get ya?" or "Name your poison." The actual definition of the word libation is connected to the Catholic Church. My dad never mentioned that. Thus, while using the word libation in my early 20's, I offended a very devout Catholic at a Christmas work party.

Moral of today's rant: big words are not always better words. Lets do everyone a favor and not forget to use a miniature word in between the (over-use) of gigantic words, okay?

Thank you.

Knowledge. Memory. and a Bookshelf.

Sorry for the delay, I'm still wrapping up the next piece of my life puzzle, which involves: middle school and trips to Europe....

In the mean time, I have discovered a problem. A very serious problem. I never thought this day would come. But, it has.

I know too much.

You're probably thinking, "What's she talking about?"

Let me explain.

I have, what I would call, an average - to slightly above average- memory. I'm just sayin'.

I can remember specific details that serve absolutely no purpose.(I have memories of standing in my crib, I was probably under the age of 3, and watching my neighbor walk through our back yard). Useless.

However, I also have plenty of useful memories. Useful to me, anyways.

Prior to this semester, I never had a problem 'knowing too much'. I prided myself on it, actually. Or I used to pride myself on it. Until four weeks ago.

I have a certain professor this semester who really cares about citing sources in papers. I agree with him, one needs (and should) give credit where credit is due.

Insert my problem.

You see, I thought I agreed with him. That was until he returned a paper I had written on WWII. In one paragraph, I didn't cite a source. The truth was, that I didn't know the source. I was the source. I was docked a grade for not citing one paragraph in a 3 page paper. One Paragraph. I had three other sources. Seriously.

I didn't plagiarize.

It wasn't made up.

It was just facts that I knew.

Thanks, Memory!!

At first I was furious at the professor.Who did he think he was?!? It wasn't like the information was false! This was the truth!


After re-reading my paper and my prof's overly nice comments, reality set it. Okay. Maybe I was a little at fault. For all the memorizing I have done over the years, why had I not memorized where I had gathered the information that is subsequently seared into my brain? C'mon Jules! You know better!

Fact:I do not know when I first memorized that the Holocaust is defined as: The Systematic Mass Murder of European Jewry by Nazi Germany and Their Collaborators Between the years 1933 and 1945.

I just know.

This problem surfaced again while writing a different paper for the same class. It was a paper on The Battle of Britain. I thought I'd jazz up the paragraph where I wrote about the German Air Force. Herman Goring, specifically. I added tidbits about his life during and before WWI, his faithfulness to Hitler starting in the 1920's...historical facts. Memorized facts.

This time I knew better than to not cite a source. So, in all honesty, I cited myself. In Chicago format, nonetheless. (Julie R. Holocaust/WWII Information Gathered Over the Years. 2/2010)

I was sitting on my living room couch typing my paper when I looked up. This is what sits across from my couch.

Books.


Here's some close ups:


I assure you, I did not move or re-arrange anything on this shelf before snapping a few shots











These encyclopedias were my Christmas gift (2 years ago) from Susie Q and The Dutchmen. Yes, I asked for them.

Fact: if my apartment were to catch fire I would, first: make sure my dog was okay. Second, grab my cell phone. and Third, run back in, if for no other reason than to save these glorious gems.

Clothes? No. Laptop? Replaceable. Encyclopedia's of the Holocaust? Priceless.

Here's my point:
Tally up the ton of books I've read, add 16 college Holocaust/WWII courses and 6 religious studies courses. Don't forget to add the gazillion hours I have watched documentary footage, films, interviews,PBS,BBC WWII related stuff, etc.. Or my trips to Europe, or the survivor's I've interviewed, or my trips to DC, or ... you get it.

I don't do math. Sorry.

I can not be expected to know how I know.

Don't blame me. Blame my memory.

My People ~ Part I

Because I know you're all dying to know, or because I should have done a better introduction before now; I'm going to take a brief moment and introduce you to 'my people'. We all have them. The ones you call when you're happy, sad, or just need to talk. I'll start with Susie Q and The Dutchmen. My parents.


Don't they look cute in this picture? The photo is a little dated, taken 5 years ago at Miss M's wedding. To this day it remains my favorite picture of them. Happily married after 30+ years, and the most genuine people I've ever known.




Meet my sister, the Divine Miss M and her husband Doc Holiday. Miss M has taught me a lot in life. I don't think a little sister could ask for better role model. She's very smart, sassy, and chic.

Doc is from Jersey. He is a funny, geeky, goofy, smart-alack, (sometimes) purple, sports freak. He also has an accent. Not a 'Joysey' accent, it's a mix of the east coast/mid-west; one has to hear him speak to understand.
Doc and Miss M are two peas in a pod. Love ya guys!

This is one of my favorite pics of me and Doc from Xmas 2009.

We were watching Oklahoma! and obviously, very excited.


Last but not least...





My big brother, Wyatt Earp. He's a laid back, outdoor lovin', sarcastic,"mess with the bull, you'll get the horns", kinda guy. And he likes guns. So I call him Wyatt Earp. (If you havent noticed, Tombstone is one of my favorite movies).

Like Doc Holiday, Wyatt Earp also has an accent. He acquired it over the years. One word: Fargo.

I'll give you a quick example of how he sounds. This is a exact word-for-word voicemail he left me a couple nights ago: "Yaw, Julie? Okey, yaw, this 'ers yer brother. Yaw....I'm gonna need yaw to call me back. Awwwww, yah. Yaw know 'de number. Awwww, ookay? Yep, guess that's all. Tak to yaw soon."

He's Wyatt Earp. 'nuff said.

I still have plenty more people to introduce (which is why this is titled Part I). For now, these are the people who will commonly appear in my chronicle. Part deux will come later....

"Happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city." -George Burns

My First Trip to D.C.

Each family has a set of rules, regulations, and traditions that (one way or another) get passed from child to child. Some of these experiences one needs to do physically, others, one only needs to speculate in order to learn.

Here are some lessons that I know:

• If you want to know how it is that a stove makes things hot; ask someone. Don't stick your fingers on a red coil.
• Having your own bedroom can only be truly appreciated after you have endured the pain of sharing one.
• Getting an American-Girl Doll is not for lackadaisical people. To obtain that beautiful doll, one first must read the books.
• If you want to get your ears pierced when your 8, you cant. Why? Because your sister chose to pierce hers when she was 12. An older sibling's decisions do impact your life.
• A father will allow you to sit on his lap when you're 5 yrs old as he drives the family's 25+ ft. RV. However, he will not teach you how to drive (sans license) until you are at least 14.
• Acknowledging that it was Yoko’s fault is the only way to heal the wounds of the Beatles breakup.
• Dying your hair without parental consent should only be done after you are too old to spanked.
  

Traditions and life lessons are important to children.

I have come to realize that these traditions are much more significant to the youngest child.

Julie: “Mommy, why does Miss M get to do that when I can’t?” a phrase I muttered to my mom (all too often) while growing up.

Susie Q: “Well, dolly… that’s because Miss M is older.”

Julie: “That’s not fair. I wanna do it, too!”

Susie Q: “Yes, it is fair sweetheart. You’ll understand someday when you’re older."

Julie: "When am I gonna be older?"

Susie Q: "Soon, hunny. Just be patient."

Readers, Please Note: The youngest child, by definition, means there is never a day when you will become ‘older’ than your siblings. You will always be their little sister and they will forever and always remind you of that.

Anyways, in my family, one of the most anticipated traditions (which happened at a young age) was going with my dad on a business trip to Washington D.C. Well, we didn’t necessarily attend the business aspect of the trip. We tagged along for the sight-seeing and quality father/child time.

The tradition of the D.C. trip started when my dad took Miss M, my sister. At that time, it was a spur of the moment idea; my dad had to go out east for work and he thought his (oldest) 10 year old might want to see all the glory that is: Washington D.C. What he probably wasn’t thinking was how he would have to repeat this trip (with kids) two more times. Taking Miss M, meant that the next year he took my brother, Wyatt Earp, when he was 10 yrs old. Fair is fair.

Five years later, in the spring of 1996, it was my turn. I was finally the age my siblings had been when they took the glorious trip. I had reached the pivotal age. There was no more waiting. My dad and I were going to Washington D.C. My wait was over.

D.C. was everything I thought it would be. All three days of it. The first couple mornings my dad went to his business meetings, while I stayed in the hotel watching cable TV. A luxury I had not previously known. Each day after lunch, we’d hit the town.

The following days/afternoons were filled to the brim with sight-seeing, walking, talking, and asking questions. We saw (in no specific order): the Capital, The Air and Space Museum, The Washington/Lincoln/Jefferson Monuments, Ford’s Theater/ the house across the street where Lincoln died, Arlington National Cemetery, Mount Vernon, ect...

Of all the things we did in D.C., surprisingly, we did not go to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. I would not see the inside of USHMM until 1998. This, in hindsight was a good thing. I was still young, and needed more education on how to understand the Holocaust. Bringing a child, who is too young into USHMM, can do a potential amount of damage to the child’s psyche if he/she isn’t properly educated or prepared.

One day after sight-seeing and a great seafood dinner, my dad and I were walking around taking in the night-life of D.C. (night-life that is appropriate for a 10 year old). We stumbled upon a small Indie theater which happened to be showing Anne Frank Remembered.

It had come back. Not just my interest in the story of the girl who had baffled my mind. This time it was more complex. This film had childhood friends of Anne talking about her life in the concentration camps. Her life after her diary. The life that was lost. The life that died.

While watching this film I realized that the odds of surviving the Holocaust were not good, but plausible. There are survivors. Humans, who lived, breathed, who endured the unthinkable and were/are able to talk about it. Through film I could witness these survivors.

In my family, we're not really 'sport enthusiasts'. We don't watch football (unless Miss M and her husband Doc Holiday are visiting). On occasion we enjoy a Twin's game, but that's about it.

That's because my family, deep in the depths of our souls, we're movie people. The Academy Awards might as well be the Super Bowl. It's a night filled with snacks and pop galore. Three hours of cheering (or) booing at the TV. It's an event we look forward to all year.

Susie Q, my mom, who is an overly nice and very soft spoken lady, has been known to give a good holler or two at the TV during the Academy's. It is, after all, serious business.

That winter, my 'movie-lovin' family' was (of course) watching the Oscar's. If you're a movie lover, you know what year I'm talking about.

• Whoopi was the emcee.
• BraveHeart, Apollo 13, Pocahontas, and Toy Story were all big hits.
• Brad and Gwyneth were still a couple.
• And, who could forget Kirk Douglas being honored that year? Well, an average person might have forgotten that part. According to my dad, there is no greater gift that cable TV has to offer than Turner Classic Movie (TCM). This wasn't just Kirk Douglas; this was Spartacus! It was a great night.

Then suddenly, that night became one I would never forget.

Then there it was! My D.C. movie had returned. It was nominated for Best Documentary. And, it won! Before I knew it, Miep Gies was on stage. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to. She received a standing ovation from the audience. Chills ran up and down my back.

After a brief moment of shock, I started yelling, " I saw that film! I saw that film! Mom!! It's Miep Gies. IT'S MIEP GIES!"

My family has always encouraged my interest in studying the Holocaust. But at that particular moment during the Oscar's, I can't say that they shared in the excitement.

Julie: "Dad!! We saw that film!!" I squealed with excitement.

The Dutchmen: "We sure did, kiddo." he said

Julie: "Mom! Miss M! I, like, totally saw that!! In the theater. In D.C.!"

Susie Q: "Wow, hunny. Isn't that a coincidence?" my mom said softly.

Coincidence and Fate. Two words that have played a huge part in my life. Was it a coincidence that I saw that film (a documentary that never would have been played in the theater in my small hometown)? Was it fate that I went on my trip to D.C. at the exact time that film was in theaters?

I think that my trip to D.C. (and of course, the Academy Awards) were pieces to my life puzzle.

I'll wait to share the next piece of my puzzle until next time.