Common.

It was precisely to avoid moral compromise that composer and conductor Herbert Zipper (1904-1997) contrived a scheme to bring music to his fellow inmates untainted by Nazi involvement. Imprisoned in the Dachau concentration camp in 1938, he used his job of lugging cement as cover to scavenge for discarded wood, metal and wire. From these remnants prisoners assigned to the woodworking shop clandestinely built makeshift instruments that were then shared by the 14 members of the prisoner music ensemble Zipper formed. Every Sunday afternoon, they would gather in secret in an unused latrine to rehearse; they would spend the next three hours playing a consecutive series of 15-minute concerts for 20 to 30 inmates at a time. Beyond providing entertainment and distraction, the performances restored to the listeners a measure of dignity and self-worth.

Such was also the case for many artists and musicians imprisoned at the hybrid ghetto and concentration camp of Terezin (or Theresienstadt). The Nazis promoted it as a model town for Jewish resettlement, a place where creative pursuits were supported and encouraged; in reality, Terezin was part of a propaganda campaign to deceive the Red Cross and other humanitarian visitors about the regime’s ongoing extermination of the Jews. Many of the exploited musicians, writers and artists imprisoned at Terezin were sent to Auschwitz and gassed; but they managed to document the daily horrors of their lives in numerous drawings, literary sketches and musical compositions that they hid in affirmation of art’s ability to bear witness, even if they did not live to do it themselves.

In all these ways, they tuned their music to their inner needs, to sustain and nurture themselves, day by day. Today, during the pandemic, our own creative persistence honors the resilience and determination of those who came before us. Our common denominator is music.

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