Aharon Appelfeld
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Badenheim 1939
Appelfeld is a very unlikely writer. But then, it's remarkable that he's alive. Born in Romania in 1932, he was a quiet boy, an only child. He was just 8 when the Nazis shot his mother and deported him and his father to a concentration camp in the Ukraine, at which point they were separated for twenty years. Aharon escaped to Russia, where he was a shepherd. In 1944, at 12, he joined the Russian Army. When the war ended, he made his way to Italy and, finally, to Palestine. He spoke so many languages he couldn't express himself in any. And he had only a year or two of schooling. But he managed to enroll in college in Jerusalem and, soon after, to begin writing stories in Hebrew. Appelfeld has one great subject: understanding what happened to his people. "I'm dealing with a civilization that has been killed," he has said. "How to represent it in the most honorable way --- not to equalize it, not to exaggerate, but to find the right proportion to represent it, in human terms." What kept him from depression, bitterness, suicide? "I've never been an angry person. This is what saved me." "Badenheim 1939" --- the first of Appelfeld's books to be translated from Hebrew to English --- is a modest, precise, even-handed tale. As it should be; this is a simple story, of a single season in a resort town favored by Jews. As the novel begins, Spring has arrived. So have the musicians. And the first tourists. Dr. Pappenheim is the local impresario; he's all bustle. Expect to see him at the Post Office, sending telegrams and opening letters. But this season is unlike all others. For one thing, the Sanitation Department has increased powers --- it's now authorized to undertake "independent investigations." For reasons not made clear, these investigations include the construction of fences and rolls of barbed wire. Appliances appear, "suggestive of preparations for a public celebration." The visitors to the resort expect "fun and games." And, indeed, the office of the Sanitation Department is starting to look like a travel agency, thanks to the new signs: "The air in Poland is fresher" and "Get to know the Slavic Culture" and "Labor is our Life." There's plenty of time to think about those signs; walks are now forbidden, guests must stay on the grounds of the hotel. It's a nice break in a dull day when the Sanitation Department puts maps on Poland on sale. The Post Office closes. Just as well. No mail is arriving --- and who knows if letters are getting out? But more people suddenly show up, all of them Jews. Here for the Music Festival? Apparently not. And now it's Fall. The cakes of summer are no more. Ditto cigarettes. Lunch is barley soup and dry bread. Concern? Bad dreams? Of course. But no one can really believe that what is happening is more than an inconvenience. At worst, a mistake. At last a train appears at the station. An engine with four filthy freight cars. The last paragraph shows how the worst thing you can imagine can be sold to you as something else. How easily you and yours can be lost. And, in one of the greatest sentences ever to end a book, how you can go to your doom still believing it's all going to be okay. --- by Jesse Kornbluth, for HeadButler.com To buy "Badenheim 1939" from Amazon.com, click here. Copyright 2006 by Head Butler Inc.
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