ART AND
SPIRITUALITY
As an educator,
Carolyn Manosevitz often combines the world of spirituality with art. The
following article was published in ARTS: the Arts in Religious and Theological
Studies.
SPIRITUALITY and the HOLOCAUST and the ARTS, SPIRITUALITY and the HOLOCAUST
are two courses that Manosevitz teaches at Christian seminaries. The format
for these M. Div. Classes is often a summer school or inter-session intensive
3-4 day to one or two week seminar. In this course, Manosevitz addresses the
element of faith both for Christians and Jews in the shadow of the Holocaust.
Often the most honest portrayal of an event is communicated via artistic expression.
Thus, Manosevitz incorporates the arts into curricula for these courses.
Elements of spirituality and nature are woven into Manosevitz's studio
classes. Painting, drawing and mixed media collage are a few of the courses
taught through the Manosevitz Studio.
In her efforts to keep the memory of the Shoah* alive, Manosevitz lectures
widely on the 'aftermath' of that event. How has it affected people of faith?
How has it affected children of survivors? What about the response of th e
Church; the Jewish community? What is the role of memory after the Shoah.
How does memory both collective and individual affect one's faith?
Shoah: Hebrew word meaning 'catastrophe', term currently used by scholars
to describe Hitler's Final Solution.
Arts THE ARTS IN RELIGIOUS
AND THEOLOGICAL STUDIES
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A
Search for Healing
by Carolyn Manosevitz
Carolyn Manosevitz was born and raised in Winnipeg, Canada. She received
a BA cum laude from the University of Minnesota and MFA from the University
of Texas. She has taught at the University of Texas, Southwest Texas State
University, Austin Community College, and St. Edward's University. She now
teaches at Colorado Mountain College and is also a visiting lecturer at the
Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary where she teaches a course on spirituality
and the Holocaust. She is also a facilitator for "The March of Remembrance
and Hope" - a mission that takes Christian seminary students from all
over the world to Poland and Israel.
Author's note: The word "Holocaust" derives from a Greek word
meaning 'burnt offering,' which seems to give the event a religious significance.
There was nothing religious about Hitler's "Final Solution." Therefore,
I prefer to use the Hebrew word 'Shoah,' meaning catastrophe. This term is
used by modern scholars in reference to that event.
As a visual artist, I have backed into the world
of theology. For several years, my art has been inspired by conversations
I have had with 'the second generation': children of Holocaust survivors.
In 1995, I exhibited my art at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary in
Austin, Texas. Whenever I would have a show of this work, I always insisted
on lecturing about what it means to be a child of Holocaust survivors. My
qualifications include the many conversations I have had with the second generation
from California to New York, Canada and Israel.
That day at Austin Seminary, I found myself
in the chapel. There I was, a child of Jewish immigrants from the Ukraine
to Canada, in a Christian sanctuary, addressing a sea of Christian faces.
Growing up in Canada, I was taught that those people were my enemies. On my
way to school every day, I would cross to the other side of the street so
I would not have to walk in front of the church.
However, these people seated in front of me
in the chapel seemed to be the antithesis of 'the enemy.' Their
responses to my lecture were of compassion and understanding. As I spoke,
I kept visualizing my father standing at the back of the sanctuary. How proud
he would have been. And how shocked he would have been at the welcoming response
from my audience.
Technically, my father was not a Holocaust survivor.
After all, he spent the war years safe in Canada, having immigrated in the
early part of the 20th century. However, he came from a very large extended
family. He was the youngest in a family of twelve children. By the late thirties,
when all of his remaining siblings wanted to come, Canada had closed its doors.
Although he had desperately tried to obtain visas for them, none were forthcoming.
They were all murdered in the Shoah.
The Shoah was never talked about in our household.
Nevertheless, I had invisible faces to go with the Yiddish names that I heard
daily. I did not ask any questions. I was too scared. I do remember being
told by my mother that everyone was 'rounded up' at the railway station and
shot. In the archives of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, I discovered
that, as was the case in so many other towns in the Ukraine, all the Jews
in Kremenets were trucked to an open field, forced to dig their own graves,
and were shot into them by their Ukranian neighbors who collaborated with
the Nazis.
In addition to being too scared to ask questions
as a child, I was also too frightened to read any literature or view any films
pertaining to the Shoah. The very word "Holocaust"
terrified me. I never realized how profoundly affected my family was by the
Shoah.
On January 2, 1992, my oldest son boarded a plane
to live in Berlin with a girl whose father had been a Nazi. Long before, I
had vowed never to set foot on German soil. That day (one of the most painful
in my life), I found myself in my studio struggling to deal with my pain.
I began a painting of an empty swing. All I could think about were all the
people who died in the Shoah, who are not here to swing on the swings, walk
in the parks, and so forth. I completed the painting in about a week. Then
I began searching for children of Holocaust survivors.
My series called picking up the pieces: the
second generation and beyond is the body of work that was exhibited
at Austin Seminary. I learned much about the second generation in preparation
for the execution of this work. Children of survivors are deeply affected
by their parents' experiences. Shortly after beginning to exhibit this work,
I found that comments from my viewers made me very much aware of the similarities
between children of Holocaust survivors and those of alcoholics as well as
victims of incest and abuse. I realized that trauma is trauma. While the pain
is the same, the source may be different. Having this knowledge caused the
paintings to become more abstract. I wanted to create an abstract arena wherein
my viewer could search for his/her own pain, identify it and thus begin to
heal. I do not believe that the healing process can begin until the source
of the pain is revealed.
After my show at Austin Seminary, I contacted Dean
Robert Shelton and told him about the impact of his community on me. I began
teaching there the spring semester of 1996. Since that time, I have been a
visiting Iecturer there, teaching my course, SPIRITUALITY AND THE HOLOCAUST.
This experience has changed both my life and my art. One cannot talk about
the Shoah and not talk about faith. This topic could potentially be problematic
in terms of a Jew entering into serious discussion with Christians, particularly
Christian seminary students. They are passionate about their faith. Nevertheless,
the opposite has been true in my experience.
In researching the literature for this course, I
have gained strength in my ability to deal with material that needed to be
covered. Theologians such as John Roth, Richard Rubenstein, Emil Fackenheim,
John T. Pawlikowski, and others, have provided me with necessary information.
I emulate the courage of these contemporary thinkers. My approach in the classroom
is a personal and honest one as I talk about my own faith traditions, and
I demand the same from my students. At first they are reticent, but the honest
atmosphere that I try to create by example gives them confidence. While they
are familiar with the Hebrew Scriptures, many have never met a Jew before.
We deal with difficult and delicate subject matter such as the failure of
the Church during the Shoah. My intention in the classroom is to provide a
safe venue for intense discussion. Our honesty with each other paves the way.
Early on, it was words from my students that began to inspire my art. Our
discussions would often go beyond the classroom. I find their words comforting.
Our in-depth study of the Shoah is painful for all of us. Nevertheless,
it is the classroom dialogue that is most healing for all of us as well. Our
commonality is the experience of studying one of the most heinous crimes in
human history and trying to make sense of it in terms of spirituality and
theology. They get my message: the Shoah was a universal phenomenon,
not simply a Jewish one. It was a volcanic rupture that rocked our world and
changed the course of history and theology. In the classroom, my students
begin to understand the horrors of evil and the enormous breach caused by
the evil that was the Shoah. my naked soul is a painting
inspired by a letter I received from my student Phillip Blackburns. He described
his frustration at being unable to bring back my family but expressed his
hope in his future ministry and his desire as a Christian spiritual leader
to provide a better world for my grandchildren. Before executing this painting,
I wrote in my journal that Phillip 'unveiled my naked soul'. No one before
had ever been so selfless in his attempt to 'make it better' for me. In my
reaction to Phillip's letter, I was beginning to see my own pain.
After my request that he write a Christian response
to the Shoah, my student David Barker wrote about the difficulty of
this assignment. He expressed his wish that this become a path that we take
together. My painting: the call god has placed on my life is
dedicated to David. The title is taken from words expressed to me by him.
I participated in David's ordination into the Presbyterian ministry in 2001.
During the service, I recited an ancient Hebrew prayer. Sitting on the chancel
with the participating clergy, I could not help but think of my own roots.
While the sanctuary had the feeling of being foreign to me, it no longer felt
scary. I felt welcomed and safe with my peers who sat next to me. What an
honor it was for me and what a testimony to both David and myself.
Shortly after my exhibit in Austin in 1995, the Dean
called and informed me that one of his seminary students was interested in
meeting me. He was a German from Nuremberg. His parents had refused to speak
to him about the war, and Dean Shelton asked if I would meet with him. I reluctantly
agreed. Shortly after he entered my studio, I asked why he had come. "I
was hoping for some sort of reconciliation," he said. "Not in my
lifetime," were the first words out of my mouth. However, as we spoke,
and as I cried, I realized that it took much more courage for him to come
to my door than for me to open it. "The reconciliation needs to be right
here, right now, in this room between you and me," I said. We talked
for two hours. When he got up to leave, he extended his hand. I asked for
a hug instead. Dieter Heinzl has become my good friend. I know that I have
contributed as much to his healing as he has to mine. My painting reconciliation
is in honor of Dieter. The two opposite sides are joined together by the white
silk fabric-like paper, symbolic of our coming together, two people from opposite
worlds seeking reconciliation and healing from each other. We have found it.
In 2000, I began a series that I call healing.
It was not until I had completed the second or third painting in this series
that I realized that this journey has been all about my own healing. In executing
the paintings for this series, I would draw a natural image such as a leaf
or flower. I would then either tear or damage the image in some way, to symbolically
portray a wound. Shrouds or veils of paper would cover this wound to protect
it as it heals.
In the spring of that same year, I was a leader for
The March of Remembrance and Hope, a newly formed organization that takes
college students (mostly Christian) to Holocaust sites in Poland. I brought
some of my students from Austin Seminary. Sharing the experience of standing
on the soil where it all happened was healing for all of us. The most spiritual
moment, however, came as we stood on the ruins of the crematoria in the Birkenau
concentration camp. Together, we all recited the Kaddish (the Hebrew
prayer for the dead). Then we joined hands and sang Amazing Grace.
There were about six hundred of us from all over the world, including ten
Holocaust survivors. We were of different faiths but we had a common purpose
which was to bear witness and, in so doing, commit ourselves to keeping the
memory of the Shoah alive. As a Jew, with my Christian brothers and sisters
standing beside me, I realized that I do not have to do this alone. Feeling
their strength next to me was comforting and healing. My painting reconciliation
II is a result of my experience in Poland.
Al Staggs is a Christian chaplain who was part of
our group on the March of Remembrance and Hope. His monologue on Dietrich
Bonhoffer was moving to all participants. After one very difficult day, when
we had visited the Majdanek concentration camp, Al was seated next to me at
dinner. He was very quietly writing. Suddenly, he handed me a piece of paper.
It was a poem that he titled: Listen to the Voices from the Ashes.
As I began reading, tears came to my eyes. The imagery was profound. Once
more, I found comfort in the face of the other! I was so inspired by Al's
words that immediately I began to draw in my sketchbook. My painting listen
to the voices from the ashes was inspired by Al's poem.
I found healing in the face of the other, in dialogue
with the other, in the compassion of the other and in the spirit of the other.
This healing and this dialogue has strengthened me as a Jew. It has taught
me that people of different faith traditions can come together in search of
answers and be fortified and renewed by the joint experience.
I taught at three Christian seminaries in 2002. My
experience at Wake Forest University Divinity School was so profound that
I conceived of the painting before leaving there. mending the fracture
describes my hope that the fracture between our two faiths can be mended.
However, the reconciliation is new. Furthermore, not all Jews seek reconciliation
with Christians. The wounds are too fresh and too deep. They are not ready.
The same is true for many Christians. Therefore, the reconciliation that I
seek with my Christian brothers and sisters needs to be protected. It is still
delicate. Hence, the layers of papers act as protection for this fragile phenomenon.
My next painting, seeking the holy spirit together,
details my passion for dialogue with Christians. The cross emerging from the
star of David is symbolic of our mutual foundation. After the Shoah
we must, I believe, come together to search for meaning, to seek answers to
difficult questions such as 'where was G-d?' We may not find the answers,
but as people of G-d, we will be strengthened by each other. I believe we
must do this together.
Of course, one cannot deal with the Shoah
and not talk about memory. I have no memory of my relatives. I never knew
them. Nevertheless, I feel the pain of not having that memory. the eternal
presence of absence speaks to that issue. However, I also believe
that one must find a place to put painful memories. We cannot ignore them.
They are part of who we are and we all have them. If we keep them "between
our eyeballs," they will interfere with our daily lives. Hence, the memory
vessel was born. This is a symbolic vessel wherein one can place important
memories. I believe it is important to honor the memories of victims of the
Shoah by not forgetting them.
At this writing, I am on my way to the Ukraine. Finally,
after hearing the name of this town my entire life, I am going to see the
place where my parents came from. In 1941 when the Nazis marched into Kremenets,
there were 15,000 Jews living there. There were only fourteen survivors at
the end of the war. None were my relatives. No Jews live there today. However,
the Jewish cemetery there miraculously survived the war. My grandfathers are
buried there. All my other relatives are buried in the mass grave on the outskirts
of the town. I plan to visit both places.
This trip will be life changing for me. My
guide is a non-Jewish Ukranian - a sensitive and compassionate man. Prior
to my experiences with Christians at seminaries in the United States, it would
have been easy to generalize by saying that all non-Jews in the Ukraine are
Anti-Semites. I now know the dangers of categorizing people with such broad
strokes. Although this will be a difficult trip, I know it will give me closure.
I know it will be healing. It will change my life. And I know it will change
my art.
COMMENTS FROM STUDENTS
WHO HAVE TAKEN THE CLASS:
SPIRITUALITY AND THE HOLOCAUST
"The Spirituality and the Holocaust class served as a pragmatic application
of faith in our world. It was, in a very real sense, a framework for my first
year divinity school experience...it provided me a general awareness and appreciation
for the similarities and differences of the Jewish and Christian faiths...such
a rich and valuable educational experience.
This summer I took Arts, Spirituality and the Holocaust. I cannot adequately
express how fulfilling I found this course. Not only did I learn a great deal
about the Holocaust, but Carolyn Manosevitz encouraged us to use this knowledge
as an entry into examining our own Christian theology in fresh ways. Even
now, several weeks after the class, I find myself challenged and my faith
strengthened. Of my seminary coursework, this course has impacted me the most.
Carolyn is an excellent instructor. She both facilitated discussion and invited
us into examining ourselves, our faith and the Christian community at large,
in ways we can engage our ministry.
The Eternal Presence of Absence
The Eternal Presence of Absence by Carolyn Manosevitz
The following article was published in the Journal for Arts in Religious and Theological Studies. Twentieth Anniversary Issue. 2009.
carolyn
h. manosevitz studio
p.o. box 3705 basalt, co.81621
e-mail: chm888@carolynmanosevitz.com
