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Der Teufel In Frankreich. Erlebnisse 
“David, he is unwell.”
“But what do you mean? He does not look sick. He is working all day long. Every day?”
“Ach, David, he has headaches. (pause) All-day, every day, he has terrible headaches.”
“So, dad, why doesn’t he go home and rest?”
“David, this is his home. This is his rest.”
I look up at the tall man who my father speaks with and I see him running around this massive restaurant that seats over one thousand covers at a sitting. He is a big man, sturdy, strong. He is smiling, he is holding someone’s chair to be seated, he is helping a waiter bring a dish. He smiles at me as his compassion is evident to all the children in this dining hall.
“Dad?”
“The war, David. The war.”
I am possibly a newish teen or an aging child. I am thinking this thing through on my own. I do not understand and yet, I do. I understand that there is no more discussion on this point.
We are here, in the Catskills, our Jewish ghetto, on vacation. My entire family is here and we visit this one hotel every year. I remember that head waiter from last year and the year before. As I remember Mordechai, the scientist from Lithuania who currently is a bellman, escorting our clothes and bags to our hotel room. My father always greets him warmly and tips him grandly. This scientist/bellhop is working hard for tips. The guy makes it his job to pretend that he remembers all the children coming in. He is surviving.
Somehow I know something of the atrocities of the Holocaust. But during this particular stay as I study the interactions of the adults I also realize that many of the tourists, the guests, other staff members have also had their stint in Dachau, Buchenwald, Theresienstadt.
These adults hide their pasts with aplomb. But they are bleeding all over the place. Many cannot see it but I can see the blood seeping from their eyes, dripping onto the floor, crying out of every sentence uttered, whirling through the vents. I can feel it.
But from a convenient place on the wall, any fly or insect would believe that this is nothing but a bacchanal, a people of fun and frolic. A veritable Sodom and Gomorrah. Ice skating in the afternoon, a hike in the morning, and lots and lots of food. In fact, more food than I have ever seen since. There is a reason for that we all now know.
And a ridiculous amount of unopened liquor that no one seemed to savor.
These people were the remnants of the second war with Germany. They were surviving. Who knew their daily grief? Who knew of their incessant physical pains? Who knew what it was to be a captive in Treblinka? Who knew if they had lost one member of their family or the entire lot? Who knew? And who wanted to recall the ceaseless horror of that unmentionable era?
And how do you explain this? There is little need. You feel it, sense it, touch it, caress it, get burned with it. You can recognize they who were affected by it. They know that you know and you know that they know but do not want to speak about it. There are no discussions on this subject. It reminds us of the current fragility, all the time.
A different generation. A different time. History departs as quickly as this sentence ends.
Czarny, you asked me once and I replied that Jews move from Shtetl to Shtetl, from the ghetto to ghetto. That was a true statement even now that most Jews do not understand. The resort was a ghetto. Israel is a larger ghetto surrounded by walls. The Jews are constant visitors and constantly unwelcome. It is accepted.
Lion, the author of this memoir of the 1940s in war-torn France was an established, successful German writer living in France at the time, although he had the pleasure of being interred also during the first German war twenty years prior.
This is his story and what it reveals is a strong and active mind that has little tolerance for all the waste of time and productivity some humans cause others to endure at everyone’s expense.
I am aware of the ‘noise’ that throws me and my contemporaries off their productive focus. It does not stop. It is human. One’s dissatisfaction is another’s delight. A push here and a pull there, it is amazing some of us exist for more than a decade or two on this planet.
This book contains the observations of a writer and an educated man who is more involved with the philosophy or lack of essence than the facts of the conflict. An author interrupted by the folly of the masses. Another person affected by societal tomfoolery and evil which can spread to places like France.
This is not a book about Germany and its’ concentration camps.
It is about this absurd world and those who do not see it that way.
It is the same story we all know well.
It’s about us.
The human spirit is so constituted that it must absolutely have its explanation of this unfathomable game of Life and Fate. We cannot accept the fact that our lives should be governed by chance, in other words, by laws that we do not know. Finding no explanation that satisfies our reason, we seek one beyond reason, in superstition, mysticism, religion.
A good book but not the best of men. Far too lacking in the love of mankind to say he above others should have been saved. He waited way to long to get out. President Roosevelt had to order it that he was found in France and brought out. People went to the wall to save the great fighter against fascism, who left it far too long to get to find a place of safety. He was too obsessed with himself, his work and his own fight against Hitler to realize it was not just his fight. Others needed him to

Nesympatický autor. Tá jeho nadradenosť mi od samého začiatku liezla na nervy. Nedočítala som to. Vraj: ,,Většina lidí není příliš schopna prožitků." a podobné skvosty z neho vypadávali. Po 100 stranách som to zaklapla. Viem, do konca bolo 85 s. Možno v iný čas to raz dočítam. Ale teraz nie.
I think I'm the only surviving human to have read this book.
better than expected
Lion Feuchtwanger
Kindle Edition | Pages: 107 pages Rating: 4.15 | 65 Users | 11 Reviews

Define Books Supposing Der Teufel In Frankreich. Erlebnisse
Original Title: | The Devil in France: My Encounter with Him in the Summer of 1940 |
ISBN: | 3746650186 (ISBN13: 9783746650180) |
Setting: | France,1940 |
Explanation As Books Der Teufel In Frankreich. Erlebnisse
“Dad, why do you speak with this guy before every meal for so long?”“David, he is unwell.”
“But what do you mean? He does not look sick. He is working all day long. Every day?”
“Ach, David, he has headaches. (pause) All-day, every day, he has terrible headaches.”
“So, dad, why doesn’t he go home and rest?”
“David, this is his home. This is his rest.”
I look up at the tall man who my father speaks with and I see him running around this massive restaurant that seats over one thousand covers at a sitting. He is a big man, sturdy, strong. He is smiling, he is holding someone’s chair to be seated, he is helping a waiter bring a dish. He smiles at me as his compassion is evident to all the children in this dining hall.
“Dad?”
“The war, David. The war.”
I am possibly a newish teen or an aging child. I am thinking this thing through on my own. I do not understand and yet, I do. I understand that there is no more discussion on this point.
We are here, in the Catskills, our Jewish ghetto, on vacation. My entire family is here and we visit this one hotel every year. I remember that head waiter from last year and the year before. As I remember Mordechai, the scientist from Lithuania who currently is a bellman, escorting our clothes and bags to our hotel room. My father always greets him warmly and tips him grandly. This scientist/bellhop is working hard for tips. The guy makes it his job to pretend that he remembers all the children coming in. He is surviving.
Somehow I know something of the atrocities of the Holocaust. But during this particular stay as I study the interactions of the adults I also realize that many of the tourists, the guests, other staff members have also had their stint in Dachau, Buchenwald, Theresienstadt.
These adults hide their pasts with aplomb. But they are bleeding all over the place. Many cannot see it but I can see the blood seeping from their eyes, dripping onto the floor, crying out of every sentence uttered, whirling through the vents. I can feel it.
But from a convenient place on the wall, any fly or insect would believe that this is nothing but a bacchanal, a people of fun and frolic. A veritable Sodom and Gomorrah. Ice skating in the afternoon, a hike in the morning, and lots and lots of food. In fact, more food than I have ever seen since. There is a reason for that we all now know.
And a ridiculous amount of unopened liquor that no one seemed to savor.
These people were the remnants of the second war with Germany. They were surviving. Who knew their daily grief? Who knew of their incessant physical pains? Who knew what it was to be a captive in Treblinka? Who knew if they had lost one member of their family or the entire lot? Who knew? And who wanted to recall the ceaseless horror of that unmentionable era?
And how do you explain this? There is little need. You feel it, sense it, touch it, caress it, get burned with it. You can recognize they who were affected by it. They know that you know and you know that they know but do not want to speak about it. There are no discussions on this subject. It reminds us of the current fragility, all the time.
A different generation. A different time. History departs as quickly as this sentence ends.
Czarny, you asked me once and I replied that Jews move from Shtetl to Shtetl, from the ghetto to ghetto. That was a true statement even now that most Jews do not understand. The resort was a ghetto. Israel is a larger ghetto surrounded by walls. The Jews are constant visitors and constantly unwelcome. It is accepted.
Lion, the author of this memoir of the 1940s in war-torn France was an established, successful German writer living in France at the time, although he had the pleasure of being interred also during the first German war twenty years prior.
This is his story and what it reveals is a strong and active mind that has little tolerance for all the waste of time and productivity some humans cause others to endure at everyone’s expense.
I am aware of the ‘noise’ that throws me and my contemporaries off their productive focus. It does not stop. It is human. One’s dissatisfaction is another’s delight. A push here and a pull there, it is amazing some of us exist for more than a decade or two on this planet.
This book contains the observations of a writer and an educated man who is more involved with the philosophy or lack of essence than the facts of the conflict. An author interrupted by the folly of the masses. Another person affected by societal tomfoolery and evil which can spread to places like France.
This is not a book about Germany and its’ concentration camps.
It is about this absurd world and those who do not see it that way.
It is the same story we all know well.
It’s about us.
Specify Appertaining To Books Der Teufel In Frankreich. Erlebnisse
Title | : | Der Teufel In Frankreich. Erlebnisse |
Author | : | Lion Feuchtwanger |
Book Format | : | Kindle Edition |
Book Edition | : | Anniversary Edition |
Pages | : | Pages: 107 pages |
Published | : | February 1996 |
Categories | : | Cultural. France. Germany. History. War. World War II. Biography |
Rating Appertaining To Books Der Teufel In Frankreich. Erlebnisse
Ratings: 4.15 From 65 Users | 11 ReviewsWrite Up Appertaining To Books Der Teufel In Frankreich. Erlebnisse
Lion Feuchtwanger was a German Jewish emigre. A renowned novelist and playwright who fled Europe during World War II and lived in Los Angeles from 1941 until his death. A fierce critic of the Nazi regime years before it assumed power precipitated his departure, after a brief internment in France, from Europe. He and his wife Marta obtained asylum in the United States in 1941 and remained there inThe human spirit is so constituted that it must absolutely have its explanation of this unfathomable game of Life and Fate. We cannot accept the fact that our lives should be governed by chance, in other words, by laws that we do not know. Finding no explanation that satisfies our reason, we seek one beyond reason, in superstition, mysticism, religion.
A good book but not the best of men. Far too lacking in the love of mankind to say he above others should have been saved. He waited way to long to get out. President Roosevelt had to order it that he was found in France and brought out. People went to the wall to save the great fighter against fascism, who left it far too long to get to find a place of safety. He was too obsessed with himself, his work and his own fight against Hitler to realize it was not just his fight. Others needed him to

Nesympatický autor. Tá jeho nadradenosť mi od samého začiatku liezla na nervy. Nedočítala som to. Vraj: ,,Většina lidí není příliš schopna prožitků." a podobné skvosty z neho vypadávali. Po 100 stranách som to zaklapla. Viem, do konca bolo 85 s. Možno v iný čas to raz dočítam. Ale teraz nie.
I think I'm the only surviving human to have read this book.
better than expected
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