Six million is not a theological problem the tradition solved; it is one it is holding open in public, in print, in the first person. Richard Rubenstein's After Auschwitz argued that the God who acts in history could no longer be maintained and that Jews should say so out loud. Eliezer Berkovits, who got out of Berlin, answered with hester panim — a deliberate divine self-concealment, the price of human freedom — and refused to allow anyone to say the victims were punished. Emil Fackenheim added a 614th commandment: Jews are forbidden to hand Hitler a posthumous victory, which makes survival itself a religious obligation. The Satmar Rebbe wrote that the catastrophe came because of Zionism, and Haredi communities that lost most of their members still teach versions of that; other Jews find it unbearable and say so. Institutionally the calendar marks it twice — Yom HaShoah on the 27th of Nisan, set by the Knesset in 1951, and the Tenth of Tevet, designated by Israel's Chief Rabbinate as the general kaddish day for the dead whose date of death nobody knows, which is what much of the Haredi world observes instead.