I had the privilege of knowing some of my maternal great-grandparents, my kindly great-grandparents, even though one of them died shortly before I was born. I never had the chance to know any of my paternal great-grandparents, my Jewish great-grandparents. They were taken away from me. I am not alone in my pain. Every Jew lost family and friends in the Holocaust, which we call the Shoah, the calamity. Despite this ancestral and deeply rooted pain, the Holocaust is not an exclusively Jewish trauma, even if Jews were its most numerous victims. Yet Amis chooses to write almost exclusively about Jewish suffering during the Holocaust, which is something a Gentile cannot remotely understand or relate to. The passage telling the story of the baby bomb was particularly terrifying to read from the perspective of a snarky goyim. Reading about Jews being “harvested” (Amis 141) from a mass grave, brought back to life with carbon monoxide, and finally crammed together in their hiding place, behind a removable panel in a textile factory, while the secondary consciousness of a Nazi the doctor looks with concern, it was frankly disturbing. Time's Arrow is not a new and compelling retelling of the Holocaust. It is the desecration of the murder of mine