These paintings, drawings, prints, and artists’ books are graphic statements meant to engage and propel the viewer into a whirlwind of fire and devastation. It is but 55 years ago that the world descended into madness. God looked away as the greatest carnage in human history took place. Civilization crumbled. The Holocaust is the pivotal event of our century, and perhaps of all human history. As an artist it is my obligation to deal with this subject. I write this in desperation as I read statements claiming the Holocaust never happened, of "ethnic Cleansing", the slaughter in what once was Yugoslavia, and the emergence of Neo-Nazi mobs in Germany. REMEMBER!

August 18, 1988,
Aushwitz, Poland

Dear Andrei:

Again I have trouble sleeping. This time it is nerves. I realize that until I go to Aushwitz-Birkenau I won’t be able to enjoy anything in Crakow. It's 70 km from Crakow and the drive is terrible. I am almost sick when I arrive and pull the car out of the parking lot and head back for fear of throwing up. As I approach again I look at every old house and old person and ask "What did you see, what did you know?."

As I turn the corner into the museum I meet up with some Americans who have a guide, a very dignified Polish lady whose father-in-law was in Aushwitz for helping Jews. She swore on his death bed that she would continue to help people understand the profundity of this museum. This she has done for the past 15 years. Her voice is soothing yet full of pathos.

The Americans are in Warsaw for a conference. I ignore them and we are guided to the gate. There it is, Arbeit Macht Frei, those notorious German words I've heard all my life. The camp is large and of brick construction, the streets orderly. This makes it all the more insane it could be a housing estate. The museum is simple and devastating. The exhibits include artificial limbs, human hair, baggage, and shoes. It's the children's shoes that break my heart. I feel so overwhelmed by the futility and stupidity of the barbarism committed against these innocents. The anger in me is immense.

There are thousands of people here and many are Germans. They come with flowers and leave them at various places, shrines, and graves. This place is holy. I touch everything especially the cells and the walls of the gas chamber. Here thousands of bodies were cremated in the ovens.

At Birkenau, 5 km from Aushwitz is even more horrible because much of it was left as it was found at the time of liberation. Tens of thousands of people were registered. They never registered the old, the pregnant women, and the children. They went from the trains to the ovens. How could this have happened? Who were these people who could do such a thing? After six hours and no food I feel strange, drained. Birkenau is vast and being in the wooden barracks and seeing the tiny bunks where ten people crowded together is almost more than I can take. I've had enough!

As I walk back along the rail way bed I look for something, anything, to take home. I find part of a leather heel. I don't know if it's very old or off a visitor's shoe, it doesn't matter, it is my souvenir. As I take it I leave some of me behind. This place has broken my heart and will live in me and my art forever. I don't ever want to come back. I don't need to. I can take the walk I just took in mind and soul. I now realize that something made me start the Holocaust series, something I can't yet understand. In a way it is for Andrei for he symbolizes another end to Judaism for which so many have died. It's my way of telling him what happened to my people and for him to respect the five thousand years of history that I inherited. Just maybe he will understand and feel pride in that force that has kept his people alive.

And so, my son, my feelings are for you and I am now weeping for all the children like you who weren't allowed to grow up. And for the parents who held them as the gas choked them. Imagine the sense of failure, of outrage, at being unable to save your child. How can Jews believe? How can God......?