At the initial release of ¡°Schindler¡¯s List,¡± I had the chance to see the Holocaust epic at a theater in Berlin. I am of German descent, yet it is still hard for me to explain how it feels to join a German capacity crowd watching Jews being gassed at Auschwitz.
The audience¡¯s shock wasn¡¯t based on contention: The facts on screen were all known from high school. The main sentiment was distress ¡ª a sense of shame for the evils you didn¡¯t commit, yet which, somehow, seem traceable to your person.
Unable to avert my eyes, I felt vulnerable, almost attacked in my self-integrity, though of course there was nothing to defend. (Point out that a hat isn¡¯t period-accurate, you come off as a Holocaust denier.) The whole thing was a raw and disturbing experience. Sheepishly, I sat there and took it, as though out of a weird sense of duty.
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