When you think about the Holocaust, what images appear in your mind’s eye? I see Nazis marching into city squares. Jews crushed into airless cattle cars. An iron gate with the inscription ARBEIT MACHT FREI, and beyond it, rows of spartan dormitories housing skeletal inmates in filthy striped uniforms, subjected to all manner of dehumanization. There are smokestacks, barbed wire, mass graves. These awful tableaux are the products of a lifelong immersion in Holocaust narratives, from factual accounts in textbooks to visits to museums to documentaries screened at Hebrew school. But because I grew up in the era of Schindler’s List and Life Is Beautiful, my most indelible impressions come from pop culture. When I envision a concentration camp, I am seeing a collage of movie stills.
The same imagery suffuses Peacock’s new adaptation of Heather Morris’ best-selling 2018 novel. Inspired by her conversations with Lali Sokolov, a Slovakian Jew who spent the final years of World War II tattooing ID numbers on
