“I have never known my father, Isaac Abramovici. He was arrested by the Gestapo ten days before I was born and disappeared with 870 other men on Convoy 73 in direction of the Baltic countries in May 1944.
I have tried to alleviate my existential pain by making a film, Dor de tine. In vain. Later I discovered that he had been « followed » by the Sipo SD (the secret service of the Gestapo) from the Berlin embassy in Bucharest till his arrest in Nice in April 1944. He was accused of being one of the contacts of a money smuggle between Romania and the South of France. It was the chance encounter with a letter of the Sipo SD that sharpened my desire to know more about this affair and to reestablish a new dialogue with History. The documents I discovered in the Center of Contemporary Jewish Documentation are all signed by major officials, executioners, ‘assistants of Nazism’, as Annette Wieviorka rightly says. Bucharest, Berlin, Paris, the South of France, the traces of the past are not far away.
Three years of total immersion in a silence inhabited by many voices. The result of it is my first story, In Red Ink, now published with Les Impressions Nouvelles. My writing aimed to expel the fear that haunted me, less to provide me with a medicine than to master evil. I wanted my words to overcome what cannot be named. But how can one fill in the gaps, interpret what was left unsaid, recovering the moments I never experienced or knew and that nobody has ever written down? How to choose between fact and imagination? Documentary and fiction? I did not make a choice, I chose to mix both.
The road I have taken escaped from the first version of this text. Little by little, I took a side-path. Like in a musical counterpoint I introduced my dreams and nightmares, at first sight so distant from my story. What I wanted to do was this: to make visible this fainting in the story of my pain, to enter the unknown and often incomprehensible territory of these texts appearing in the middle of my own pages. My writing can only be justified by such an attempt.
I want my readers to be attracted, as I am, by what appears between the words, next to what remains silent, in the blank spaces of the painting.”