“Here… everything of an artistic nature is the very antithesis of one’s environment”
Viktor Ullmann, 1944
This year marks the 80th anniversary of the liberation of the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp. In many ways, there doesn’t always feel like much to celebrate. How far as a people, as a world have we really come? Far-right politics are on the rise across the globe, it’s easy to find abhorrent hate in every single corner of the internet, and if you watched closely, you might have been recently horrified to see not-subdued salutes thrown out by those in the sphere of political influence.
For me, though, hope finds its home in art. Each year, we at WUOL bring you music to mark this anniversary, and this year in particular, we wanted to highlight works by artists who were directly effected by the Holocaust and, in particular, experienced the horror of the camps. The fact that there are myriad pieces from which to choose boggles my mind. That composers, musicians and artists found a way and a will to create in the most desolate and horrific of circumstances speaks more to the will of the human spirit than I could ever try to articulate. How does creativity continue to bloom in the darkest of hours? How does music continue to play in the bleakest place in the world? I can’t answer that question myself, though I believe it has something to do with hope and perseverance.
What I can do, though, is share this music with you. Here are pieces you’ll hear this coming Monday to commemorate Holocaust Remembrance Day.
Viktor Ullmann: String Quartet No. 3
The idea that a composer would have an entire “period” of his work dedicated to his time spent in a concentration camp is sickening, but such was the case for the Czech composer Viktor Ullmann. The Terezín camp in the Czech Republic served a kind of dual purpose. It was a holding point of sorts before prisoners were sent on to the Auschwitz concentration camp, but it also became a place of massive propaganda for the Nazi Regime. Many, many musicians and artists of the time were sent to the Terezín camp in particular. When the Nazis saw that, even in the most inhumane circumstances, these prisoners continued to create art, the regime co-opted that creativity to produce and promote propaganda to deceive the world. While Ullmann had never been a particularly prolific writer before the war, during his two years in Terezín he wrote chamber music, piano sonatas and an opera, “Der Kaiser von Atlantis.” Ullmann’s String Quartet No. 3 was one of the final pieces he wrote before he was sent to Auschwitz in 1944, where he was then murdered.
“All that I would stress is that Theresienstadt has helped, not hindered, me in my musical work, that we certainly did not sit down by the waters of Babylon and weep, and that our desire for culture was matched by our desire for life;” - Ullmann, 1944
Szymon Laks: String Quartet No. 3
Szymon Laks was one of the few musicians to survive the concentration camps of WWII. Born in Poland and educated in France, he was arrested in 1941 and deported to Auschwitz. Immediately after arriving, he noticed prisoners setting up music stands, and though it took weeks to get an audition, he soon found a spot in the prisoner’s orchestra in Auschwitz. His position as a musician and eventually as the conductor of the group would save his life, but Laks never minced words when it came to music’s role in the camps. Contrary to Ullmann's account of music's role in the Terezín camp, Laks was clear that the music provided no comfort for prisoners, stating in his later memoirs that "in no case did I ever meet a prisoner who found courage in our music, whose life our music helped save."
Gideon Klein: String Trio
Gideon Klein was another one of the many composers sent to the Terezín camp. This particular work was his last, written just ten days before he was sent to Auschwitz and subsequently killed. The music sounds deceptively light-hearted, but there are quotes of folksongs from his Moravian homeland, particularly The Knezdub Tower, a song about a goose flying high, surely a subversive nod to freedom by Klein. It’s believed the piece was rehearsed immediately in the camp after Klein finished writing it, but it had its first official premiere in Prague on June 6th, 1946, just one year after D-Day, in a concert organized by Klein’s sister, Lisa.
Erwin Schulhoff: 5 Pieces for String Quartet
From early on in his life, it was clear Erwin Schulhoff had innate talent, and he was born into a Czech family who could support his art. As a precocious child, his skill was recognized by Antonin Dvorak, who encouraged him to attend the Prague Conservatory at a young age; later he would study with Claude Debussy and Max Reger. His early career was put on hold while he fought in WWI, an experience from which he would never quite recover. He turned to the dance music of the roaring twenties, and incorporated the whimsy and humor of that music into his own works. His family was Jewish and he was an outspoken supporter of Communism, so as the Nazis rose in power, it became clear that he was in danger. He tried escaping to America, but had waited too long; in 1941 he was arrested, and in 1942 died of tuberculosis in the Wülzburg prison at age 48.
Ilse Weber: Wiegala & Ich wandre durch Theresienstadt
Ilse Weber led a vibrant life as a singer-songwriter, artist and poet in her home of Czechoslovakia before being deported to Terezín in 1939. For five long years, she worked as a night nurse in the children’s infirmary at the camp, where her skill was undoubtedly put to good use. She sang songs and wrote poems and played a smuggled guitar to help distract the children from their suffering, and to also secretly keep a record of life in the camps. The entire infirmary was deported to Auschwitz in 1944, and Weber voluntarily left with the children, including her own son. Two of her songs are featured on Voices Carry: Wiegala (a lullaby she would sing with the children) and Ich wandre durch Theresienstadt.
I wander through Theresienstadt,
A policemen’s glance makes my flesh crawl,
the lute I found is concealed, held tight
wrapped like an infant in a shawl.
My heart beats fast, my cheeks are hot,
I dread his probing eyes.
If he discovered what I’ve got
they’ll take the lute I prize.
In this place, we are all condemned,
a shamed, despairing crowd.
All Instruments are contraband,
no music is allowed.
Want and cruelty we endure,
every torment they devise.
Let them try our spirits more,
from the dust, we shall arise.
We must be strong within ourselves,
lest in despair and dread we drown.
Must sing until the song dissolves
these walls, and our joy tears them down.
Music lights up a poet’s words,
from our plight brings release,
even the sparest songs of birds
bear moments of blessed peace.
And when again we lose our nerve
drowning, drowning in despair,
the boundless beauty of the world
wafts resuscitating air.
Music is a beatitude,
it is there salvation lies.
Fearlessly, I tote my lute
beneath the policeman’s eyes.
