As this book took root in the grounds of jagged remembrance, I was drawn to the interplay between the spoken and the unspoken, the told and the untold. I remain stunned by the terrible journey of the authors treated here, first in experience and later in memory. I have tried to remain true to their voices and their silences.
Many friends and colleagues gave generously of themselves, reading, discussing, challenging, suggesting. In particular, I would like to thank Lawrence Langer for his continued encouragement, and for his generous and attentive readings of early and later drafts of several chapters. Geoffrey Hartman's sympathetic readings of portions of the manuscript and his sharp editorial eye impelled me towards clarity and precision.
I thank also Nancy King and Jean Pfaelzer for sharing their thoughts on several chapters; Sarah Blacher Cohen, Alan Mintz, James Young, and Yael Zerubavel for support and encouragement; Berel Lang, for nuanced and challenging questions; David Kraemer and William Cloonan for sharing with me works then unpublished; Jonathan Richler for careful reading and much cheer. At the earliest stages of this project, I was nourished by the careful attention of Edward Engelberg, Murray Sachs, and Edward Kaplan, to whom I am indebted.
I am especially grateful to Ida Fink, who read sections of this manuscript, for extensive and illuminating conversations over nes-café and sweet pastries in Holon, Jerusalem, New York and Boston, and for friendship. I thank also Ilona Karmel for generously opening her thoughts and home to me.
My journey into the voicelessness of trauma and bereavement bears the traces of personal loss. In remembering the void I re-member myself. I dedicate this memory work to my parents, Frances Wiener Horowitz and Morris Horowitz, Faygel bat Noah ve-Hannah u-Moshe ben Yisroel Shrage ve-Sarah Faygel, zichronam livracha, whose absence has been a deep and steady presence in my life.