Geddy Lee, The Holocaust, and The Spirit of Persistence
- Seth A. Feldman
- Nov 9, 2017
- 9 min read
The Holocaust took the lives of countless victims from a variety of backgrounds, and it left a very powerful stain on modern Judaism. The shadow of this tragedy has darkened my life for almost 40 years, but a recent interview with Geddy Lee has helped me to find perspective in an unlikely place.
On October 24, 2017, Geddy Lee appeared in an episode of "The Big Interview" with Dan Rather, in which the bassist-singer-keyboardist of the Canadian rock band Rush discusses his origins. The story has been told before, but watching Geddy relate it himself brought extra depth to the tale. More importantly, as both a Rush fan and a modern Jew, I found even deeper meaning in Geddy’s story, including a message that left me thunderstruck.
Here’s the short version of his heart-warming story: Geddy Lee was born Gary Lee Weinrib. His mother, Mary, and his father, Morris, were both born in Poland, and both were Jewish, but they were raised in separate villages. As adolescents, they were taken by invading Nazi forces and placed in a work camp. It was here that they first met, and subsequently developed a budding romantic interest. They were transferred to Auschwitz and placed in gender-specific camps, where Morris would arrange to have gifts sent to Mary whenever possible. Eventually, they were split apart when Morris was taken to Dachau and Mary was sent to Bergen-Belsen, and they lost touch for a time. When the Allies liberated Bergen, Mary was rescued. Morris survived too; after the war, he tracked Mary down and married her (roughly on the spot of her liberation.) They moved to Toronto, Canada, where Morris’s sister was living. There, in 1953, Geddy Lee was born.
As most of you know, Lee went on to form Rush with guitarist Alex Lifeson and drummer John Rutsey, who departed to make room for iconic drummer/lyricist Neil Peart. There is, however, more to the tale of Mary coming to terms with her past, which I recommend listening to. The interview can be downloaded here:
Lee discusses his parents at 42:23.
The story of Morris and Mary Weinrib is filled with wonderful themes: love, commitment, and preserverence in the face of overwhelming odds.
And, of course, the Holocaust.
I can’t explain how difficult this is for me to write about. The shadow of the Holocaust has hung over me like some incomprehensible horror for most of my days. It has never mattered how long ago it happened, or that I wasn’t personally there to see it.
The Holocaust took the lives of 5.93 million Jews. While that remains the largest tally of any single group, it also took Gypsies, Slavs, Romani, Serbs, Homosexuals, Catholic priests, and the physically and mentally disabled. Recent figures suggest the number of victims who were tortured and killed may loom closer to 20,000,000 than previously expected.
You don’t need to be Jewish to feel the crushing horror of this number.
The Holocaust Museum has some statistics:
However, due to the intense focus the Nazis had against our specific group, there is nothing more evocative to the modern Jew than The Holocaust, no greater reminder of hatred, bigotry, and the depth of evil that humans can embrace. Whether we were there or not, each of us has our own personal relationship with this piece of history and the effect it has over our identity. When I was six years old, at a time when my only self-identifying factors were “boy” and “Jewish,” there came a day when I accidentally stumbled upon the fact that a large group of powerful people once killed many Jewish people. Learning that it happened was bad enough, but a few years later, I realized that there were STILL people out there, in my own country, who espouse Nazi philosophies and that same anti-Semitic vitriol that killed so many who shared my background. I couldn't process it. As a child, I was compassionate. I liked to help people and do creative things. My family were supportive and nice. I hadn’t hurt anyone. Why would anyone want to hurt me? Why would someone want me dead? Was the world, with all its trees and lakes and sunsets, really such a terrible place?
It made little sense.
It didn’t end there. A few years later, school bullies decided it would be fun to rag on me for being Jewish. Having recently learned about World War II, they played up the "Nazi" aspect of their abuse, claiming to sympathize with everything Hitler and his followers stood for. They had no idea how intense the scope of their taunts was to me, or to anyone in my position. It essentially reinforced the concept: “You’re hated for what you are, and we will stand with anyone who wants you dead.”
You know kids; just having fun, right?
Looking back, I’m certain that some of my emotional disabilities were fueled by attempting to process this sort of trauma at such a young age. Knowing about the Holocaust, knowing that the mindset behind it is still a danger, certainly played into my budding anxiety. I learned to fear what I am, and to hate myself for living under the threat of such evil.
Funny, isn’t it? I was born 32 years after the Holocaust, but I still got to wear my Yellow Star of Shame.
I realize that the story here is not for Jews alone; it’s for all of us, for everyone who has ever found themselves menaced by oppression, violence, and focused hatred. Whites, Blacks, Jews, Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, Americans, Europeans, Africans, Latinos, Asians: the sad truth is that we’ve all been through it in one way or another. As Neil Peart himself writes in the song “Witch Hunt” (Moving Pictures, 1981), “Quick to judge, quick to anger, slow to understand / Ignorance and prejudice and fear walk hand in hand.”
Check out a powerful article about the Non-Jewish victims:
Throughout the anxiety and depression I've dealt with, music has been a healing force. It nourishes and inspires me. It helps me deal with the most difficult aspects of this bizarre and sometimes scathing world. Among my favorite bands--strange groups from all over the globe—Rush stands the tallest. But it’s not just because I like their music.
For me, and many other Rush fans, it goes beyond “liking their tunes” and fawning over their skills. Musically, I’ve a natural affinity for the chords and arpeggios Alex uses. I love Geddy’s arrangements and presentation. Neil not only turned me into a drummer, but has influenced me as a writer with his lyrics and essays. In fact, everything about the band has been a positive influence on my life. I love what Rush stands for, I love their creative output, and I love the fact that all three members are, by all accounts, genuinely good people who remain humble in the face of their many achievements. Together, they’ve worked closely to craft over 160 songs across 19 studio albums, 16 of which have gone Gold in the US, and 10 of which have gone Platinum. In doing so, they’ve brewed a very special chemistry.
Here's the jarring juxtaposition: the Holocaust has been one of the darkest, most damaging influences on my life, while Rush has been one of the brightest, most positive influences on my life.
But without the Holocaust, Rush may never have existed.
Hear that?
That’s the sound of my mind blowing.
Yes, Geddy, Alex, and Neil have all admitted that Rush, as we know it, wouldn’t have exited if any one of them dropped out of the picture. But it was the destructive machinations of the Nazis that caused Geddy’s parents to meet in the first place.
What does this mean?
Clearly, it’s not a trade-off. One does not trade the staggering death toll of the Holocaust for a mere rock band. Nothing can ease the burden of the pain suffered and the lives lost. Still, there’s an interesting sort of personal balance here: from out of the darkness comes light. Long before Rush, Morris and Mary persisted through the destructive horror of persecution and hate. Ultimately, they survived to give birth to Lee, a man who has gone forth to bring joy and inspiration to so many people around the world.
For me, it looks very much like a fail-safe in the system. Maybe God is telling me, “Yes, the Holocaust happened. No, there’s nothing you can do about it, and yes, those people who did it are still out there. Yes, it will hang over you for the rest of your life. But see that thing shining in the ashes of Auchwitz? Go get that. Hold it close. It will make you strong, even in the face of infinite horror.”
Indeed, Rush has always stood against everything the Third Reich represented. From the band’s dabbling in literary fantasy, to their science-fictional blow against conformity, to the way they constantly evolved and reinvented themselves in an ever-changing musical landscape, Rush has always stood for freedom, individuality, and persistence. Given the history of Geddy’s parents, I find it fitting that Rush has taught me to embrace the spirit of that persistence. Even when I go years without listening to them, the moment I recall those songs often gives me the will to carry on. The music and the words inspire me to sift a positive outcome from the ruins of disaster.
In fact, Rush themselves are a testament to persistence. When they first appeared in 1974, and for years hence, they were almost universally despised by critics. As they spent several albums finding their true voice, they fought the pressure to sell out. Following the failure of their third album, when it seemed their career was at a premature end, they chose to go down on their own terms. In 1976, with a single record left on their contract, they wrote the album they wanted to write the way they wanted to write it, and decided that if it failed, they would go home with no regrets. The record opened with a 20-minute heavy metal opus that told a story of independence and tenacity in the face of one-sided tyranny.
That album was called 2112. It broke Rush through the mainstream barrier, went triple platinum, and remains a staple of influential classic rock to this day.
In 2015, 41 years after their inception, they were inducted into The Rock N’Roll Hall of Fame, an organization run by people who, for years, refused to acknowledge them.
Now that’s persistence.
So, what IS the lesson here? It’s difficult to say. It's hard to deny that the Nazis brought Morris and Mary together. The Weinribs’ tale reminds me of a piece of East Asian wisdom, a story that illustrates how tragedy begets fortune, which begets tragedy, which begets fortune, and so on. Maybe that’s exactly what the lesson involves: perspective. As order and chaos lie eternally entangled, so do tragedy and fortune.
Sometimes, it’s up to us to search for that fortune and define its place in our lives.
In similar fashion, I realize now that it’s up to me to decide who and what I am in the wake of The Holocaust. Do I allow others to define me with their viewpoints? Do I allow past evils to determine my place in this world? Do I allow the pain committed upon my ancestors to fill me with hatred and vengeance? Or do I follow the road taken by Geddy Lee, another Jew who has been irrevocably touched by the Holocaust, and go forth as a purveyor of celebration and inspiration?
In 2002, Rush played in South America for the first time. When they arrived, they discovered that their bootlegs had preceded them. In Brazil, they were met by a lovingly dedicated fan base. Over a pair of shows in Rio De Janeiro and Sao Paulo, they played to a total of 100,000 ecstatic fans. On the “Rush in Rio” DVD, which captured the Rio show, a jubilant crowd of 40,000 celebrates the experience of seeing their favorite band after a lifetime of praying for them to visit. Through the many crowd shots, people of different color and background are visible. They dance, they cry, they sing. They put their arms around each other. Above all, they smile.
The Third Reich would not be pleased.
As they say, the best revenge is living well and being happy. I have recently learned that happiness is not something we wait for like a much-needed holiday. It’s a choice we make. Even in the worst of situations, having the strength and perspective to find the good in one’s predicament is an important part of the spirit of persistence, the ability to survive our torment.
Like most Jews, I will always feel the crushing weight of The Holocaust, and even though I wasn’t there, I’ll never be free of it. Similarly, the threat of those who despise me for being Jewish will always keep me up at night, tossing and turning through the terror and injustice of it all. The Third Reich is gone, and the camps are shut, but the Nazi philosophy lives on. Anti-Semitism burns strong with a persistence all its own. However, if the Weinribs’ story teaches us one thing, it’s that light can be found in the most unlikely places. Rush also burns strong. After more than 40 years of recording and touring, the group has retired, but their music, their story, and their philosophy will survive. Knowing that the twisted whims of those who viciously hate and mercilessly kill have inadvertently created one of the brightest forces in my life gives me a poetic little chuckle.
To Mary, Morris, and Geddy, and to Rush: you’ve given back a little bit of what was taken.
Rush's webpage is here: https://www.rush.com
For more info on Geddy, check out his wiki: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geddy_Lee
Neil's website: http://www.neilpeart.net/
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