Hitler Made Me a Jew

I wrote this book seven years ago. At that time there was much controversy over whether the Holocaust had really happened. I was so upset by articles denying that the Holocaust had happened that I decided to put down my experiences-even if my experiences were light in comparison to the horrors that went on in the concentration camps. Not one day goes by that I don't think about the Holocaust in Germany, Poland, and other countries, and about the silent people who let it happen. I feel grateful to the scholars who are gathering the data of what happened during those years and particularly in 1940 because it was the year that Hitler made me a "Jew." I am a painter and writing was a challenge for me. It became a meditation. I decided to remember as far back as I could, to keep the images clear, to be as honest as I could, and to try to recapture the feelings I had as a child. Then I realized I would have to write about my parents and all the people in my life. I was concerned that I would be gossiping. I decided it didn't matter, that what mattered was recording what I remembered and not making it pretty, except where it fit my recollection-to think that way gave me a sensibility of purity. I was able to get into the same states of mind with writing as I get into when I paint, and the technique worked well for me. Reading back what I wrote was more difficult and upsetting and not at all as when I can tell whether my paintings are good or not. My Bible was Strunk