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Column Image of the Holocaust a statement about faith
By KRIS BERGGREN
Until recently, a family trip to the
art museum was more of a chore than a treat, at least for some of us. My
husband would roll his eyes every time Id suggest a museum day.
Sure, hed counter, Ill end up chasing the kids
around while you get lost wandering through the Impressionist wing. (He
was right.) But he was willing to revisit the idea this year: Nobody needs a
stroller or a nap anymore. One winters day when everyone was home and
there wasnt yet enough snow for sledding, a call to the Minneapolis
Institute of Art confirmed that the galleries were lightly populated, and the
price -- free admission -- was right.
The kids have been on art adventure museum outings on
school field trips, so we let them lead. We contemplated wooden masks and
totems from the Pacific Northwest, a 17th-century painting of Dante, Petrarch
and their pals; and a centuries-old jade mountain carving from China. We all
enjoyed a tour of period rooms decorated in holiday style: an austere Puritan
Thanksgiving, a lavish antebellum South Carolina dinner party (made possible,
we noted, only by the culinary talent and household labor of hundreds of
slaves); a dining hall set for Elizabethan-era revelry complete with
boars head and roasted peacock; a childrens Victorian Christmas
whence came our contemporary celebration complete with tree, Santa and lots of
presents.
Museums today are not my childhood idea of impenetrable
collections of chiaroscuro paintings and armor. There are people in costume,
interactive videos and brochures suggesting family treasure hunts
through the galleries. There are snack bars and lots of seating, and guards who
actually crack a smile now and then. I love to soak up the history, beauty and
inspiration I find in walking through the ages of art.
What has moved me most over the years are certain expressions of
religious experience or belief. I was deeply touched by some of Chagalls
lithographs of biblical scenes. I have puzzled over devotion to saints
relics -- a tooth, a finger, bone fragments -- contained in beautifully crafted
reliquaries of precious metals in the traveling Assisi collection shown at the
Metropolitan Museum of Art a couple of years ago. I was especially taken with a
16th-century carved wood statue in the Mets permanent collection, of Mary
Magdalene in fashionable late medieval dress, reading a prayer book. She seemed
so full of life and beauty, so approachable compared to some haloed Madonnas
and upward-gazing martyrs.
On my recent excursion with my children, we were racing through
one wing to the Americas wing to see the Kwakiutl raven mask my
daughter wanted to show us. We wanted to make the period room tour at 1 p.m.,
so we didnt have a lot of time. As we rushed past a display case full of
silver items, I spotted out of the corner of my eye something yellow and matte
-- a complete contrast to the gleaming silver. I stopped and called the
children back.
It was a Star of David, with the Dutch Jood, or Jew,
embroidered in black, bordered with needle holes and fragments of black thread.
It belonged here in this case alongside ancient ornamental Jewish religious
objects -- Torah handles, Kiddush cups and the like -- as much as the gleaming
silver a statement about faith. As I have been by Chagalls paintings or
the wooden Mary Magdalene, I was moved by a human-made object to contemplate
how religious life intersects with secular experience. This yellow patch sewn
50 years ago to some Dutch Jews coat called to me as certainly as the
Star of Bethlehem did the shepherds to the stable in Bethlehem. These signs
call us to meet God in all the beauty and suffering of our human condition.
My children eyed me sideways. Mom, are you crying?
they asked, not surprised. They know Mom is wont to well up at inconvenient
times. They know of the Holocaust, though I cannot imagine that they can fully
grasp its horror. We reminded them how these fabric stars had been used. I
invited them to imagine Catholics in our time being made to wear some symbol --
a cross? a flame? -- and prevented from getting jobs, or being served in stores
or restaurants, or caused to be mocked at school or have the windows of their
house broken. We didnt need to go much further.
We went on with our day, made the 1:00 tour and enjoyed our
afternoon at the museum. It was a fitting way to begin our holiday season. The
image helped me to link the waiting time of Advent with the light and darkness
theme of Hanukkah, and finally the bright incarnation, which we Christians
consider to be the fulfillment of Gods promise to the descendants of
Abraham. I will think back to this day of art and history and thank God for the
Jewish roots of my faith, and for the life of one faithful Jew who never wore a
yellow star but who is surely present with those who did, then and always.
Kris Berggren writes from Minneapolis. She can be reached by
e-mail at bergolk@earthlink.net
National Catholic Reporter, January 12,
2001
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