With each edition of the Olympic Games, the list of disciplines open to competition is renewed. The Committee’s selection criteria remain somewhat obscure, but if we are to believe the steady growth in the number of participants and their ability to break records, one sport that brings contemporary crowds together seems to be a likely candidate. This is the art of outrageous comparison, where true champions are distinguished by their willingness to try anything, and whose top divisions are mobilized to equate the Shoah with just about anything. This week, the great German historian Stephan Malinowski offers us a brief overview of the pioneers of this high-flying discipline, recounting some of their most famous exploits and shedding light on the rich and diverse heritage that has shaped this demanding practice. The fact that Nazis, post-colonialists, and communists all feature on the podium—while Gandhi only receives an honorable mention—testifies to the unifying potential of this rapidly growing discipline.
History is not told in sweeping generalizations but in the quiet persistence of each fate. Nóra Platschek, born in a remote corner of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, lived through the ruptures of two world wars, the Holocaust, and exile — yet left behind little record of her own voice. Her grandson Stephen Pogany reconstructs this life with care into a powerful meditation on identity, assimilation, and erasure. This is not only the story of Nóra, but of a generation of Hungarian Jews who once saw themselves as inseparably Hungarian, only to be cast out and hunted by the very nation they had embraced.
On the occasion of Yom Hazikaron, the Remembrance Day for Israeli War Victims and Victims of Actions of Terrorism, we are republishing two poignant pieces: A poem by Judith Offenberg, in which she shares some news with us from Israel. As well as a report by Julia Christ and Élie Petit on the Yom Hazikaron ceremonies. Both pose the question of how is a normal life possible in the atmosphere of a country at war? And how is it possible not to succumb to the temptation of carrying on as if nothing had happened?
