Clowning Around

by Shlomo Golombeck

As a troupe of observant Jewish students and clowns (17 of us made the trip) our education about the Holocaust was robust. We knew all about the history, the politics and the atrocities. We had experienced a bombardment of images, speeches, museum visits, lectures, classes and Yom HaShoah programs. We felt prepared for our December trip to Munich followed by Israel.

When we stepped off the plane in Munich, however, a strange feeling overcame us. It was not the feeling of excitement that we might have expected. It was an odd discomfort. We could see that the Germany of today is a truly beautiful country full of warm and friendly people, but we still had the eerie awareness that we were inhabiting the

same space as those who had abused and slaughtered so many of our people
Our five days in Germany were packed. The house visits, nursing home visits and programs at the Jewish Community Center in Munich happened so fast that sometimes they seemed to be one event. There was no time to analyze and catalog the encounters in our minds. Then we had an experience that would have to be processed sooner rather than later. If not, its power could seriously disrupt our emotional wellbeing.

We visited Dachau, the concentration camp 12 miles northwest of Munich where 30,000 Jews and others were killed. Once through the gates we walked in the footsteps of our ancestors through the courtyards of the camp and we saw the crematoriums, the bunkhouses and other horrifying aspects of the camp. Our response was visceral: we felt our hearts shatter and our blood boil. Rage coursed through us as we tried to understand how a massacre like the Holocaust could occur.
Then suddenly, it seemed, we were back at our hotel preparing to spread some joy and help others forget the pain of their day. We had no idea how we would be able to clown. We were seething and we could barely think straight, let alone transform ourselves into Flowertop and Snuffles and stumble into a room wearing floppy shoes and silly clothes.

Thanks to our training and experience, our personas emerged naturally and the laughter ensued. The trip went on and the fun continued. Visit after visit, we performed with our rage still simmering as we had no time to seriously reflect upon and manage what we had witnessed.

The juxtaposition of the visit to Dachau and the visits with Holocaust survivors eventually stimulated a feeling of triumph. The outrage I experienced at Dachau led me to a more sensitive connection to my own people.

“I carried my anger with me from Munich to Jerusalem,” said Adam Gindea, a clown and junior at List College. “After leaving the home of a Jerusalem family with a sick child I saw the Old City. It was then that I felt all the hate and anger flow from me. I realized we are an amazing people who have endured the worst of human nature yet now we thrive.”

You don’t need big shoes and a red nose to make a difference. You just need to touch the soul of another human being. By doing so, you are demonstrating that you have learned one of the greatest lessons of the Holocaust.

Revenge may be sweet, but success is sweeter. We strengthened our bonds to our own people and learned that it is possible to flourish in the face of adversity. It became our desire to contribute to the growth of our people.

Shlomo Golombeck is a senior at Mesivta Ateres Yaakov in Hewlett, L.I.

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