15
grey and drab green of the barracks, the
morally obliged to look at a situation with-
brown of the mud. It seemed to me that
out regard for one's own identity in it and
I knew the feel through decaying shoes of
to act in the way which is dictated by this
the sharp stones in the main square, the
impersonal view; to act in the way one be-
sight, twice daily, of the terrifying roll-call.
lieves will minimize the sum of suffering,
It seemed I too had quickly glanced up at
never maximizing happiness or well-being.
the open sky and wondered that others
She explained this to me once when, much
outside saw the same sky.
older, I questioned her: "I know what is
My father, a doctor like my mother, did
evil. To know suffering is to know evil.
not approve of the tales:
None of the attempts to identify the good
"She's too young. You'll give her
have this same certainty."
nightmares, traumas. A child this age
So far there is nothing, except for its
shouldn't know." '
pessimistic cast, to distinguish my moth-
"A child this age. Don't be a hypocrite,
er's view from the great bulk of utilitarian
Saul. You know you would never consider
theories. The special twist comes in the
her old enough to know."
foundations she claimed, and it is a twist
"And why should she know? Can't we
that mirrors her personality: her uncom-
forget already? Can't we live like others?"
promising rationality. The expression of
"No. We can't. I wouldn't even want to.
Would you really want it, Saul, to think
and live like the others? To join the sleep-
walkers, with the glazed eyes and the
smug smiles? Is that why we lived when
the others didn't? Is that what we want
for our daughter?"
And at this point I can hear my father's
sigh, the deep drawn-out sigh so character-
istic of him, which had always seemed to
me, when I was young, to have the slight
tremor of a sob. My father's sadness was
something I felt I could almost reach out
and touch, like my mother's goodness.
The arguments between my parents con-
tinued throughout my childhood. And my
father, so gentle, was a man who hated to
fight. In the quiet of the night, awake in
my bed, I would catch the cadences of
their voices, my father's sad and low, so
that I missed much of what he said, my
mother's burning with her quiet blue fury.
But the lessons continued, the simple
stark tales of cruelty and sacrifice, cowar-
dice and courage. And always she came
this came in her denial of the "separate-
back to the story of my namesake. She
ness" of the ethical realm. Ethics for her
would
tell
me
that
she
had
honored
both
_ ..- 2
nrsoin cr mv n M
as nothing .but a species of logic. The
called me Raizel or even name' e. s ukt-
is nothinff-over and above.
times, in rare moments of tenderness,
the obligu ation
•
and•
virtue
reduees
to rationality.
stroking back my hair.) She hoped that I
Why is this so? Because to deny the oh-
too would be capable of real courage, of
giving another's life just as much impor- • ligation of acting on the impersonal view-
point, one would have to maintain that
tance as my own.
one's self has some special metaphysical
When I reached fourteen,• my mother,
significance, that it makes a difference
deeming me to have arrived at least at the
that one is who one is. And how can this
age of reason (and also the age at which
consistency be maintained once one has
Raizel had sacrificed herself), began to
recognized the existence of other selves,
instruct me in the moral theory she had
each of whom is who he is? (Only the solip-
worked out in Buchenwald. The theory is
sist can consistently be unethical.) To use
elaborate and detailed, reminiscent of the
one of her favorite analogies: the person
German my parents spoke to one another;
who acts only in his own interest is like a
complications nesting within complica-
person who says there is always some-
tions. The brief account I give here is
thing special about his location, because
necessarily inadequate, and perhaps not
he can always say, "I am here," whereas
intrinsically interesting. But the picture of
everyone else is merely there. Once one has
my mother is incomplete without a de-
granted that there are other subjects of ex-
scription of her moral viewpoint. •
perience, other selves which suffer, then
My mother believed that the ethical
one can maintain that one's own pain mat-
Outlook is the impersonal outlook. One is
It was all very
logical. Once one has
granted that there are
other ... selves which
suffer, then one can
maintain that one's
own pain matters ...
only if one grants
that the pain of
everyone else matters
in exactly the same
way. And then the
truth emerged.
ters (and who would deny this?) only if one
grants that the pain of everyone else mat-
ters in exactly the same way.
Raizel Kaidish's behavior was paradig-
matically ethical. Viewing the situation
impersonally, this fourteen-year-old saw
that the stronger child would have a be-
tter, though slim, chance to survive. She
acted on this view, undeterred by the fact
that it was she who was the stronger, she
who was unnecessarily risking 'her life.
After the liberation my mother returned
to Berlin to continue her for ► al training
in medicine. She also began her lifelong
study of philosophy. She was curious to
see who among the philosophically great
had shared her discovery. Kant she con-
sidered to be the most worthwhile ethicist.
Socrates she loved for his devotion to the _
ethical questions, for his conviction that
nothing ought to concern us more than the
questions of how to live our lives. (Hang- "
ing over my bed, the only piece of enibroid-
ery I've ever known her to do, was the So-
cratic quotation: "The unexamined life is
not worth living.") But for the most part
my mother found the great philosophers
of the past a disappointment. The truth,
so simple, had eluded them, because they
had assumed the separateness of the ethi-
cal realm. Some had grasped pieces of it,
but few had seen the unseamed whole.
It was contemporary philosophers, how-
ever, particularly the positivists and their
!`fellow travelers," who aroused her wrath.
For here were philosophers who dismissed
the possibility of all ethical reason, who
denied the very subject 'natter of the field.
Instead of conducting inquiries into the
nature of our moral obligations, they have
offered analyses of the grammar of ethical
propositions. She would lookup from some
contemporary philosophical book or jour-
nal, her eyes blazing their blue fury:
"Positivists." The intonation she gave
the word was similar to that she gave
"Nazi." "They don't see because their eyes
blackness of their own min s. o or
the important questionw for this dribl3 e!
To spend your life examining quibbles!"
And I?-How did I feel about my exten-
sive moral training? The object of so much
attention, of all the pedagogical theorizing,
the fights in the night, I felt ignored,
unloved, of no significance. And, especially
as I grew older, I felt angry—a dumb, un-
acknowledged outrage. It was not just a
matter of the rigidity of my upbringing,
the lack of laughter in a home where one
could reach out and touch ,one's father's
sadness and mother's goodness. It was not
just the fact that I was always made to
feel so different from my friends, so that
I often, thoigh always with a great sense
of guilt, fantasized myself in another fami-
ly with parents who were frivolous and
happy and had no numbers burned into
'
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