Lauren Yanofsky Hates the Holocaust
Leanne Lieberman
Language: English
Pages: 240
ISBN: 1459801091
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Lauren Yanofsky doesn't want to be Jewish anymore. Her father, a noted Holocaust historian, keeps giving her Holocaust memoirs to read, and her mother doesn't understand why Lauren hates the idea of Jewish youth camps and family vacations to Holocaust memorials. But when Lauren sees some of her friends—including Jesse, a cute boy she likes—playing Nazi war games, she is faced with a terrible choice: betray her friends or betray her heritage.
Told with engaging humor, LYHH isn't simply about making tough moral choices. It's about a smart, funny, passionate girl caught up in the turmoil of bad-hair days, family friction, changing friendships, love—and, yes, the Holocaust.
German Intellectuals and the Nazi Past
Hell are they doing?” Chantal says. We walk closer. Mike is explaining something, and as we approach, I can see they all have water guns. Not the big turbo kind, but little pistols that squirt at close range. Mike yells out some drunken command and half of the guys disperse, yelling and running into the trees around the edge of the park. I see Jesse loping across the grass. “Oh,” Kelly says, “they’re playing war games again.” “Again?” I say. “Yeah, they did it lots this summer. It’s totally.
His arms wrap around me, his hands smoothing the back of my running jacket. I inhale noisily and feel my cheeks flush. I stay absolutely still, holding my breath, my face resting on his shoulder. I’m supposed to do something with my arms. Letting them dangle is not an option. I take a deep breath and wrap my arms around his waist. I’d like to squeeze him tightly and prove to myself that this is for real, that Jesse is actually hugging me. I don’t dare. I’m so nervous, I’m not even enjoying the.
Space. Then I write the names of all the Nazi boys on the inside of the armband. Mike, Tyler, Mac, Justin, Jesse. I add the words pretended to be Nazis after their names. I’m using my right hand, even though the burn hurts like hell and I can feel my scab breaking open, oozing pus into the gauze. I shove the armband into my pocket and let my anger fuel me out the door without saying goodbye to Mom. I run down the street, boots clomping on the pavement, and then across the field. I don’t stop.
Office. Ms. Chung, one of the counselors, has left the door to her office open. I look around, pull the armband from my pocket, drop it on her desk and then dart back to the hall. I trot up the stairs to biology class, even though the bell won’t ring for another thirty minutes and Mr. Saunders isn’t there yet. I sink to the floor, still wearing my boots and jacket. My hand is throbbing now, and a wet stain has leaked through the bandage. My phone buzzes again, and I sigh and check my messages.
Seen a picture of Grandma Rose’s sister Lydia, the two of them with lace ribbons in their hair. Not only was I named after Lydia, I had her nose too. When I looked closely at the picture, I could see I had her frizzy hair. I guessed I had her olive skin and black eyes too, but it was hard to tell from the picture. I went outside and bounced the basketball under the maple in front of our house. A soft drizzle was falling. I tried to imagine my family being shot, what it would be like to have the.