Monday, September 15, 2008
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Signs Of Pregnant Sim To Pms
dedicated to Etty
The "Letters" Etty Hillesum 
The "Letters" Etty Hillesum
"Even today my heart has died several times but each time he went back to live. I say goodbye to the minute and I am free from any appearance. Recid ropes that keep me still tied, loading all that I need to make the trip. Now I'm sitting on the edge of a quiet canal, his legs dangling from the stone wall, and I wonder if my heart will not become so jaded and worn out from not being able to fly freely like a bird. "
Mary Agostinelli
This story is from August 14, 1942 to November 7, 1943. It is a story told by a girl Jewish'm not yet thirty-faced chubby blacks hair cropped short, her mouth quiet, dark eyes. It plays a little in Amsterdam, but especially in an area of \u200b\u200b500 square meters cut in one of the least hospitable in the Netherlands, the transit camp of Westerbork, where thousands of Jews were sent from all over the Netherlands to await their turn to Auschwitz. This is also a history of letters because it is composed of all the letters that girl, Etty Hillesum, wrote to his friends in the 15 months before his death. The mud, cold, disease and despair, and then the chronic lack of food and medicine: this was the daily life in Westerbork, and this is the continuous background of those letters. But there's more.
Westerbork Etty Hillesum worked as a member of the Jewish Council of Amsterdam and took care of material needs of its inhabitants: it was back and forth between the field and the capital, sent letters from the field and from the capital, until he decided to stay in permanently in the field. Westerbork see it through his own words: a collection of wooden huts of varying sizes that could accommodate a family up to dozens of people. The stifling air despite the chilly drafts, overcrowding, the stench, the fights for a book, shares the kitchen, the powder invincible image material and notorious of the camps that we know from books, films, witnesses and even comic books. But, you know, this picture is only a pretext of the letters of Hillesum because she was able to expand the 500 square meters of Westerbork dramatically. Part - we do from here only for ease of storytelling - from external nature to Westerbork, from crops of oilseed rape and their summer flowers, multicolored dust of dry land, the inexplicable nuances of the sky; Etty could look outside. He continued by describing his life corresponding to the tempo of the desolate field, the necessity and the futility of all social conventions that some villagers to perpetuate peg away (staying in a cabin with people who "out" were socially considered it was better than staying in a cabin with the poor) or even the warmth of unexpected associations. And then he began asking his friends to Amsterdam many small material things: a flashlight to be able to walk at night, glasses to protect from dust, food. Etty is a little ashamed of these requests, but they depended on the lives of his loved ones and his friends from there: Requires kind that make a stick of butter, some toast, a jar of jam ornate objects, the rare concentration of life. And after that - after the barracks, nature, human society, the material life - Etty wrote of love. He wrote that the world was full of beauty. He knew that we went from Westerbork to the death, and therefore its appeal to the glittering life and humanity of the men never took the characteristics of the feel-good stupidity. Etty Hillesum, as has already been said in the other contributions that make this special for her, she was very religious, a religion that can transcend confessions. Yet what truly makes an impact in his letters is the sense of immanence that pervades: the attention, care, the richness with which she was able to fill every moment of life in the here and now. It is no coincidence, perhaps, that in his letters are rarely described or named in deaths of dead: his concern was never the transition, while ever his own, was never thought of an alleged beyond. Etty Hillesum was quite concerned about the relationship between his inner and outer, from what we could effectively do to live and let live inside the fence of barbed Westerbork. The word "Nazi" is not hardly ever mentioned, because Etty not want his life was surrounded by some relationship with the enemy: I'm as Etty Etty, not as a victim of the Nazis. There is nothing angelic or abstract in the letters of the author, so that when the grip of genocide will be closer and the possibility of having the match will become more rare, from his pen trapelerà sort of fear, the fear that he still has much to say without being able to do: letters are more excited, more urgent, more topical, secretly desperate. It's the ultimate rush. Since that moment, Etty and her family will be loaded direct sull'ennesimo wagon to Auschwitz in order not to return. After reading his letters one by one and you'll follow the narrative - which is both knowledge of Westerbork and gradual knowledge of the inner Hillesum - she launched the final postcard from the freight train that took her to Poland hits like a hammer: end with a "Goodbye" which moved to tears. And, after finishing this book, one is left with a peaceful and lasting impression unique importance of all things, as if everything were a single, vital pat of butter.
Hillesum, Etty
Letters. 1942 - 1943
Adelphi 2005 - pagg.149, € 7.00. Translated by Chiara loops
This story is from August 14, 1942 to November 7, 1943. It is a story told by a girl Jewish'm not yet thirty-faced chubby blacks hair cropped short, her mouth quiet, dark eyes. It plays a little in Amsterdam, but especially in an area of \u200b\u200b500 square meters cut in one of the least hospitable in the Netherlands, the transit camp of Westerbork, where thousands of Jews were sent from all over the Netherlands to await their turn to Auschwitz. This is also a history of letters because it is composed of all the letters that girl, Etty Hillesum, wrote to his friends in the 15 months before his death. The mud, cold, disease and despair, and then the chronic lack of food and medicine: this was the daily life in Westerbork, and this is the continuous background of those letters. But there's more.
Westerbork Etty Hillesum worked as a member of the Jewish Council of Amsterdam and took care of material needs of its inhabitants: it was back and forth between the field and the capital, sent letters from the field and from the capital, until he decided to stay in permanently in the field. Westerbork see it through his own words: a collection of wooden huts of varying sizes that could accommodate a family up to dozens of people. The stifling air despite the chilly drafts, overcrowding, the stench, the fights for a book, shares the kitchen, the powder invincible image material and notorious of the camps that we know from books, films, witnesses and even comic books. But, you know, this picture is only a pretext of the letters of Hillesum because she was able to expand the 500 square meters of Westerbork dramatically. Part - we do from here only for ease of storytelling - from external nature to Westerbork, from crops of oilseed rape and their summer flowers, multicolored dust of dry land, the inexplicable nuances of the sky; Etty could look outside. He continued by describing his life corresponding to the tempo of the desolate field, the necessity and the futility of all social conventions that some villagers to perpetuate peg away (staying in a cabin with people who "out" were socially considered it was better than staying in a cabin with the poor) or even the warmth of unexpected associations. And then he began asking his friends to Amsterdam many small material things: a flashlight to be able to walk at night, glasses to protect from dust, food. Etty is a little ashamed of these requests, but they depended on the lives of his loved ones and his friends from there: Requires kind that make a stick of butter, some toast, a jar of jam ornate objects, the rare concentration of life. And after that - after the barracks, nature, human society, the material life - Etty wrote of love. He wrote that the world was full of beauty. He knew that we went from Westerbork to the death, and therefore its appeal to the glittering life and humanity of the men never took the characteristics of the feel-good stupidity. Etty Hillesum, as has already been said in the other contributions that make this special for her, she was very religious, a religion that can transcend confessions. Yet what truly makes an impact in his letters is the sense of immanence that pervades: the attention, care, the richness with which she was able to fill every moment of life in the here and now. It is no coincidence, perhaps, that in his letters are rarely described or named in deaths of dead: his concern was never the transition, while ever his own, was never thought of an alleged beyond. Etty Hillesum was quite concerned about the relationship between his inner and outer, from what we could effectively do to live and let live inside the fence of barbed Westerbork. The word "Nazi" is not hardly ever mentioned, because Etty not want his life was surrounded by some relationship with the enemy: I'm as Etty Etty, not as a victim of the Nazis. There is nothing angelic or abstract in the letters of the author, so that when the grip of genocide will be closer and the possibility of having the match will become more rare, from his pen trapelerà sort of fear, the fear that he still has much to say without being able to do: letters are more excited, more urgent, more topical, secretly desperate. It's the ultimate rush. Since that moment, Etty and her family will be loaded direct sull'ennesimo wagon to Auschwitz in order not to return. After reading his letters one by one and you'll follow the narrative - which is both knowledge of Westerbork and gradual knowledge of the inner Hillesum - she launched the final postcard from the freight train that took her to Poland hits like a hammer: end with a "Goodbye" which moved to tears. And, after finishing this book, one is left with a peaceful and lasting impression unique importance of all things, as if everything were a single, vital pat of butter.
Hillesum, Etty
Letters. 1942 - 1943
Adelphi 2005 - pagg.149, € 7.00. Translated by Chiara loops
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