Inaccessible Objects: Armin Loeb’s Tallit Katan at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum

The memory of the Holocaust has been a key factor in American Jewish identity since at least the 1970s. The 2020 Pew survey of American Jews found that more than three-quarters of those surveyed defined Holocaust remembrance as central to their Jewish identity. For comparison, this is a higher percentage than any other determinant of Jewish identity, including synagogue attendance and relation to the State of Israel.1 A similar, related trend can be observed in the public sphere more broadly. Cultural landmarks such as the Holocaust mini-series (1978), Art Spiegelman’s serialization of Maus (1980-1991), and Steven Spielberg’s Schindler’s List (1993) made the Holocaust a widely discussed part of American culture.2

The establishment of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum (USHMM) was part of this trend. The museum opened in Washington D.C. in 1993, but its origins were in President Jimmy Carter’s “President’s Commission on the Holocaust” in 1978. According to its website, the USHMM’s mandate is “to advance and disseminate knowledge about this unprecedented tragedy; to preserve the memory of those who suffered; and to encourage its visitors to reflect upon the moral and spiritual questions raised by the events of the Holocaust as well as their own responsibilities as citizens of a democracy.”3 The museum is strategically located just outside the National Mall and is designed to appear from the outside as a government building. The classical Washington architecture of limestone and brick, as well as its location, cement its status as an official site of commemoration.4  

The importance of the Holocaust for Jewish and general memory has led to scholarly discussion of the USHMM in religious terms. Such a choice is not obvious. The USHMM, like many other Holocaust memorial museums, is not owned or run by a religious community and does not serve traditional purposes such as providing a space for daily prayers. Yet visitors treat the museum space and its objects with a sense of reverence reserved for ritual spaces and relics. Because of this tension between the secular and religious in the work of Holocaust memorial museums, Avril Alba called them “secular sacred spaces” and argued that they offer a “built theodicy,” a narrative in space using objects and multimedia that attempts to make sense of the event.5 Oren Baruch Stier focused on what he poignantly called “icons,” metonymic objects that “act as cultural reminders, vehicles (literally) for the construction of memory and the public sense of the past.”6 The boxcar, the sign from Auschwitz (indeed, the word Auschwitz), the mounds of shoes, suitcases, and human hair — all convey the past in the present and stand for the whole while not replacing it at any moment.  

While decisions regarding the exhibition, architecture, and the ever-lingering question of representation have preoccupied scholarship on Holocaust memorial museums, significantly less attention has been given to the role of objects that do not make their way to the exhibition, and likely never will.7 In this article, I turn to Armin Loeb’s tallit katan, an object donated to the USHMM more than two decades ago, to show the value of analyzing what I call inaccessible objects. That the object could have been exhibited but is not included in the exhibition exposes an inherent tension concerning the place of religion in the USHMM, and the museum’s overall agenda. Based on this case study, I return in the conclusion to the broader dilemma of presenting and conserving ritual objects, and what it tells us about the mandate of the USHMM and museums in general. 

• 1Travis Mitchell, “Jewish Americans in 2020,” Pew Research Center (blog), May 11, 2021, accessed June 22, 2025, https://www.pewresearch.org/religion/2021/05/11/jewish-americans-in-2020/.
• 2Peter Novick, The Holocaust in American Life (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1999); Alan Mintz, Popular Culture and the Shaping of Holocaust Memory in America (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2001); for an argument that locates the rise of Holocaust memory before the 1970s, see Hasia R. Diner, We Remember with Reverence and Love: American Jews and the Myth of Silence after the Holocaust, 1945-1962 (New York: NYU Press, 2009).
• 3“Mission and History - United States Holocaust Memorial Museum,” accessed February 13, 2024, https://www.ushmm.org/information/about-the-museum/mission-and-history; see also Edward Linenthal, Preserving Memory: The Struggle to Create America’s Holocaust Museum (New York: Columbia University Press, 2001).
• 4“Museum Exterior - United States Holocaust Memorial Museum,” accessed May 10, 2024, https://www.ushmm.org/information/about-the-museum/architecture-and-art/exterior.
• 5Avril Alba, The Holocaust Memorial Museum: Sacred Secular Space (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), 5–7; see also Michael Nutkiewicz, “Holocaust Museums: The Paradox of Sacred Spaces and Public Access,” Forum, 1993, 18–20; Paul Harvey Williams, Memorial Museums: The Global Rush to Commemorate Atrocities (New York: Berg, 2007).
• 6Oren Baruch Stier, Committed to Memory: Cultural Mediations of the Holocaust (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2003), 25; Oren Baruch Stier, Holocaust Icons: Symbolizing the Shoah in History and Memory (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2015); see also Jennifer Hansen-Glucklich, Holocaust Memory Reframed: Museums and the Challenges of Representation (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2014); James E. Young, The Texture of Memory: Holocaust Memorials and Meaning (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994); James Young, At Memory’s Edge: After-Images of the Holocaust in Contemporary Art and Architecture (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000).
• 7An important exception is Laura Levitt, The Objects That Remain (University Park, PA: Penn State Press, 2020).

The USHMM’s online catalog describes object 2000.502.199 with the following words: “Tallit katan is part of [a] collection of books, note books [sic], trading cards, documents and tallit katan used by or issued to Armin Loeb prior to his journey on board the MS St. Louis and immediately following the voyage after his arrival in Belgium.”8

• 8“Tallit Katan,” Collections - United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, accessed February 2, 2024, https://collections.ushmm.org/search/catalog/irn520734.

To a casual observer, Loeb’s tallit katan seems like a relatively simple rectangular piece of cloth made of cotton of modest quality with a yellowish hue. It is about 50 inches tall and 14.25 inches wide, with a large hole in the middle so that it can be placed on the shoulders. What distinguishes this piece of cloth is four holes in its corners, through which strands of wool are tied. 

It is those strands that give the object its ritual meaning. Like the better-known prayer shawl (tallit), the origins of the tallit katan can be traced back to biblical verses instructing the Israelites:  

to make for themselves fringes [tzizit] on the corners of their garments throughout the ages; let them attach a cord of blue to the fringe at each corner. That shall be your fringe; look at it and recall all the commandments of the LORD and observe them, so that you do not follow your heart and eyes in your lustful urge. Thus you shall be reminded to observe all My commandments and to be holy to your God (Num. 15:38-40).  

Covering one’s body in a tallit became common around the third and fourth century of the common era, but as clothing changed—square, four-cornered clothing has long been out of fashion—so has tradition. Wearing a rectangular piece of clothing under one’s clothes turned into a religious practice that allows the fulfillment of the commandment. Today, the tradition of wearing a tallit katan is observed primarily among Orthodox Jewish men.  

This type of object poses a challenge to the curators at the USHMM. Unlike better known objects, such as Torah scrolls, remnants of synagogues, and kippahs, the tallit katan does not have the same iconic value, and its meaning and purpose are unknown to the majority of visitors. To elaborate on its significance might shift the focus of attention from the persecution of the Jews to the intricacies of a specific Jewish practice. The question therefore arises whether and how to present such an object.  

The dilemmas faced by the USHMM are part of a broader problem in museology confronted by ethnographic collections where curators grapple with how to avoid misrepresenting source communities and their ways of knowing. Since their emergence during the Enlightenment and the nineteenth century, modern museums were conceived as temples of secular, rational knowledge. This is evident not only in the architecture of nineteenth and early twentieth century museums, which often mimics Greco-Roman temples; it is also clear from the ways in which museums took religious and sacred objects and reinterpreted them as objects of art, curiosity, and ethnography.9

In the first museum era—a period experiencing the rising importance of universal museums (roughly 1840–1920)—the relation between museums as secular institutions and religious ideas was often antagonistic. As sites of research, teaching, and exhibiting, museums did not take the values and knowledge of source communities as a concern when presenting and conserving objects. In “the second museum era,” beginning in the 1970s but taking shape in earnest only in the twenty-first century, there have been conscious efforts to improve the relationship with source communities from which objects emerged and to consider their worldview, which at times stands in tension with long-held curatorial and conservational practices in museums.10

In the USHMM, the presentation of religion was debated during the founding of the museum, with many uneasy questions arising along the way: whether human remains (and what counts as such) should be presented, and how? Should rabbinical authorities be consulted about the proper way to display religious objects? If so, who should be asked given the broad spectrum of Jewish denominations and positions?11 The makers of the museum tried to negotiate between universalizing tendencies in the exhibition and the Jewish identity of the victims. Religious aspects of Jewish identity, Oren Baruch Stier has shown, were therefore sometimes encoded without being made explicit. The reason for this is twofold: First, most visitors to the USHMM are not Jewish, and so the desire was to offer a broad message that could appeal to them. Second, as a federal institution, the USHMM cannot officially promote a religion, as stipulated by the first amendment, so the curators had to find ways of showing respect for the Jewish tradition while not actively emphasizing it.12

The second museum age transforms museal praxis not only in matters of exhibiting objects, but also in terms of the preservation and repatriation of objects. It is now best practice, and in the case of NAGPRA (1990) a legal requirement, to research provenance, consult source communities about presentation and conservation, and repatriate objects.13 Taking seriously the worldview of source communities could bring the museal episteme (i.e., this is an object of historical value that needs to be preserved in storage or a glass case) into conflict with the source community’s episteme (i.e., what the museum calls an object as kin or having agency).14 The museal episteme, broadly speaking, would like to see the object preserved for eternity; from the source communities’ episteme, however, there are instances where it is preferrable or even required for the object to be buried or left to natural decay. 

While the epistemological tension plays an important role in discussion of Indigenous museums and ethnographic collections, it has received less attention in the context of conservation and curation in Holocaust and Jewish museums.15 Armin Loeb’s tallit katan offers a case study for how such questions might be handled. Emma Schmitt, the textile conservator at the USHMM, explained to me that if she was required to offer a treatment plan for the conservation of Loeb’s tallit katan, she would try to do so in a way that would preserve the integrity of the object, but without necessarily consulting rabbinic authorities. Her first and foremost responsibility is to the conservation of the object, not to the tradition. This is a sentiment I heard from several conservators in Jewish museums and elsewhere. Working with objects of trauma can be an emotionally difficult experience for the conservators. In the conservation lab, however, even if one feels emotionally moved by an object, certain distinctions are elided. Once an object has been accessioned to the museum’s collections, it receives a standard of care, whether it belonged to a victim or a perpetrator, whether it is sacred or profane.16

Jewish tradition looks at the ontological status of ritual objects differently. At least in one Talmudic story, the fringes of the tallit katan are described as having agency. When the wearer of the object visits a prostitute, the fringes slap him, thereby reminding him of his religious obligations.17 The object, based on this narrative, is animate and the claims it makes upon its wearer should be taken seriously. This does not mean, however, that the tallit katan is a sacred object. There are three levels of sacredness in the Talmud.18 The first is that of sacred scrolls, most prominently the Torah scroll or the parchments containing biblical verses in phylacteries and mezuzahs. This first category is not identified explicitly in the Talmud but can be reasoned from the distinction made between “articles of holiness” and “articles of the commandment.” The former comprises objects associated by physical touch and proximity to sacred objects, including the case for the Torah scroll or the phylacteries and mezuzahs. Such items, like the texts they host, cannot be simply thrown away but need to be ritually buried. “Articles of the commandment” have a different status. This category includes objects that are important for the fulfillment of the commandments but are not in and of themselves sacred. The tallit katan—specifically the knotted cords or fringes—falls under the latter category, which means they can be discarded, ideally in a respectful manner, but do not require special burial regulations.  

The museal-conservator perspective and the Jewish tradition differ in reasoning but agree in principle that the tallit katan does not have a unique ontological status. In this sense, having Armin Loeb’s tallit katan in the USHMM’s excellent storage facilities is a way of treating the object with care while still following the religious guidelines. Yet it is important to note that this is a coincidence rather than a deliberate curatorial or conservational decision. 

• 9Walter Hochreiter, Vom Musentempel zum Lernort: Zur Sozialgeschichte deutscher Museen, 1800-1914 (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1994); Carol Duncan, Civilizing Rituals: Inside Public Art Museums (London: Routledge, 1995); on the question of religion in the museum, see, among others, Pamela Klassen, “Narrating Religion through Museums,” in Narrating Religion, ed. Sarah Iles Johnston (New York: MacMillan, 2016), 333–52; Crispin Paine, Religious Objects in Museums: Private Lives and Public Duties (New York: Bloomsbury, 2013). 
• 10Ruth B. Phillips, “Re-Placing Objects: Historical Practices for the Second Museum Age,” The Canadian Historical Review 86, no. 1 (2005): 83–110.
• 11Bernice Morris and Mary M. Brooks, “Jewish Ceremonial Textiles and the Torah: Exploring Conservation Practices in Relation to Ritual Textiles Associated with Holy Texts,” in Textiles and Text: Re-Establishing the Links between Archival and Object-Based Research, ed. Maria Hayward and Elizabeth Kramer (London: Archetype, 2007), 244–48.
• 12Oren Baruch Stier, “Torah and Taboo: Containing Jewish Relics and Jewish Identity at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum,” Numen 57, no. 3/4 (2010): 505–36. The challenges of presenting Judaism in the USHMM are therefore different from those faced by community or privately owned Jewish museums and memorial sites, who might be freer to explore religious themes.
• 13Devon A. Mihesuah, ed., Repatriation Reader: Who Owns American Indian Remains? (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2000); Maureen Matthews, Naamiwan’s Drum: The Story of a Contested Repatriation of Anishinaabe Artefacts (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2016); Chip Colwell, Plundered Skulls and Stolen Spirits: Inside the Fight to Reclaim Native America’s Culture (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2017); Jisgang Nika Collison, Sdaahl K’awaas Lucy Bell, and Lou-ann Neel, Indigenous Repatriation Handbook (Victoria, British Columbia: The Royal British Columbia Museum, 2019); Julia Jacobs and Zachary Small, “Leading Museums Remove Native Displays Amid New Federal Rules,” The New York Times, January 26, 2024, Arts Section, https://www.nytimes.com/2024/01/26/arts/design/american-museum-of-natural-history-nagpra.html. 
• 14Eilean Hooper-Greenhill, Museums and the Shaping of Knowledge (London ; New York: Routledge, 1992); Laura Peers and Alison K Brown, eds., Museums and Source Communities a Routledge Reader (London; New York: Routledge, 2003); Samantha Hamilton, “Sacred Objects and Conservation: The Changing Impact of Sacred Objects on Conservators,” in Religion in Museums: Global and Multidisciplinary Perspectives, ed. Gretchen Buggeln, Crispin Paine, and S. Brent Plate (London: Bloomsbury, 2017), 135–45; Kerstin Smend, “The Museum as Consolation and Healing: Museological Methods for Curating the Sacred,” in Museology and the Sacred: Materials for a Discussion, ed. François Mairesse (Paris: ICOFOM, 2019), 193–99. 
• 15For a comparative perspective, see Yaniv Feller, “Whose Museum Is It? Jewish Museums and Indigenous Theory,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 63 (2021): 798–824.
• 16I thank Emma Schmitt, Julia Brennan, and Lisa Conte for sharing their perspective on this important issue in our discussions of the tallit katan. See Jonathan Ashley-Smith, “The Ethics of Conservation,” in Care of Collections, ed. Simon Knell (London: Routledge, 1994), 12–21; Jane Henderson, “Beyond Lifetimes: Who Do We Exclude When We Keep Things for the Future?” Journal of the Institute of Conservation 43, no. 3 (2020): 195–212.
• 17Talmud Bavli, Menachot 44a.
• 18Talmud Bavli, Megillah 26b.

I intentionally bracketed the biography of the owner of the tallit katan, Armin Loeb, in order to first highlight the general dilemma faced by museum professionals, and the USHMM team, when it comes to ritual objects.19 From the perspective of the USHMM and its mandate, it is the journey of Armin Loeb and his tallit katan that make the object worthy of conservation. The tallit katan is important for the museum not because it is a ritual object, but because it embodies a biographical story that the museum is interested in preserving. 

The oldest child of Leopold and Bella Loeb, and brother to Ruth, Armin was born in 1930 in Germany. In the aftermath of the 1938 November pogrom known as Kristallnacht, Leopold, a horse trader and president of the local synagogue, was arrested and held in Dachau concentration camp. He was released six weeks later and was able to emigrate from Germany to Cuba, and from there to the United States. Bella remained in Germany with the children until they, along with other members of the extended family, managed to board a ship leaving Germany.20

• 19The biography of the owner and the biography of the object should not be conflated. See Igor Kopytoff, “The Cultural Biography of Things: Commodification as Process,” in The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective, ed. Arjun Appadurai (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 64–94; Chip Colwell, “A Palimpsest Theory of Objects,” Current Anthropology 63, no. 2 (2022): 129–57.
• 20“Ruth Loeb Forrest Papers,” Accession Number: 1999.6, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum Collections, accessed May 24, 2024, https://collections.ushmm.org/search/catalog/irn516863.

The journey, however, did not go as planned. Their ship, the MS St. Louis, set sail to Cuba on May 13, 1939, but upon arrival almost all of its 937 passengers were denied entry. Attempts to secure landing in the United States failed, and the ship had to turn back to Europe.21 The Loeb family was among the 214 Jews allowed to disembark in Antwerp on June 17. They stayed in Brussels for ten months. Armin’s notebooks from the time show attempts to continue his education in math and developing language competency in French.22

• 21“Voyage of the St. Louis,” United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, accessed March 11, 2025, https://encyclopedia.ushmm.org/content/en/article/voyage-of-the-st-louis.
• 22These notebooks are mentioned in the catalog (accession number 2000.502.1) but have not been digitized; I was able to see them during my visit to the USHMM’s Shapell Center in August 2023. See “Armin Loeb ,” United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, accessed March 11, 2025, https://encyclopedia.ushmm.org/content/en/article/voyage-of-the-st-loui…;

In April 1940, Bella and the children were finally able to emigrate to the United States. A month later, in May 1940, Germany invaded Belgium, and the possibility of escape became harder. Bella, Armin, and Ruth were fortunate. If their departure had been delayed even slightly, they might not have survived. Isidore and Karolina Löb, Armin and Ruth’s paternal grandparents, were not so lucky. Also among the passengers on the MS St. Louis, they were unable to find a way out of Europe and were murdered at Auschwitz. 

Objects relating to the MS St. Louis are of special interest for the USHMM’s mission as they convey the American attitude toward the refugees as well as the victims’ perspectives.23 In fact, one of the first research projects and temporary exhibitions undertaken by the USHMM was the identification of the fate of all passengers aboard the MS St. Louis.24 Loeb’s tallit katan reflects the survival of Armin and his immediate family, a cipher of itinerant existence during those fateful years, from Germany across the Atlantic to Belgium and then the United States. 

Armin Loeb passed away in 1976. The tallit katan, along with other objects, was donated by his son Michael Loeb to the museum in 2000.25 According to the information provided to the museum, the tallit katan was “used by or issued to Armin Loeb prior to his journey on board the MS St. Louis and immediately following the voyage.”26 Although we do not know all the information about the object, as is evident by the ambiguity of the description, the tallit katan is valuable in our understanding of the Loeb family. That Armin had a tallit katan suggests an above-average level of religious observance. The tactile and scientific knowledge of the conservator further helps bridge the gap between the physical object and the biography of its owner.27 One strand of wool is more deteriorated than the others, which suggests it was touched more often, perhaps tenderly or nervously moved between his and/or another person’s fingers throughout the years. It supports the idea that the tallit katan was in fact used and not simply kept in a drawer. There are two seams on Loeb’s tallit katan, and they are stitched differently, which led conservators Emma Schmitt and Julia Brennan to surmise that two sets of hands fixed the object.28 Someone took great care, at different times, to fix the object. These stitches, along with the fact that the tallit katan was preserved for over sixty years prior to the donation to the museum, makes clear that it was a meaningful object for Armin Loeb. 

• 23On this dual perspective in the USHMM, see Michael Rothberg, Traumatic Realism: The Demands of Holocaust Representation (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2000), 247–63.
• 24“The Voyage of the St. Louis,” United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, accessed March 11, 2025, https://www.ushmm.org/exhibition/st-louis/; Sarah A. Ogilvie and Scott Miller, Refuge Denied: The St. Louis Passengers and the Holocaust (Madison, WI.: University of Wisconsin Press, 2010).
• 25I thank Julia Liden and Kyra Schuster from the USHMM for helping me clarify the relationship between Michael and Armin. 
• 26“Tallit Katan.” Accession Number: 2000.502.199 (see “Tallit Katan,” United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, accessed June 22, 2025, https://collections.ushmm.org/search/catalog/irn520734). There could be at least two reasons for this ambiguity. First, the family might not know all the details. Second, the museum workers can only spend so much time on any item (and donation). Given this, they have gathered what in their eyes was the most relevant information.
• 27Levitt, The Objects That Remain, 94–96.
• 28Conversation with the author while viewing the object, August 2023. 

Since it was accessioned about twenty-five years ago, Armin Loeb’s tallit katan has not been displayed. It remains an inaccessible object for three reasons: its location in storage rather than in the exhibition, its fragility, and its religious character. First, in not being displayed, the tallit katan is rendered inaccessible to the public, though it is hardly unique in this. Most objects accessioned by the USHMM are not part of the permanent exhibition, which is only the tip of the iceberg that visitors experience when they visit the USHMM, as in many other museums.29 Loeb’s tallit katan is a reminder of the importance of analyzing these objects to understand the narrative employed by the USHMM beyond the exhibition. Second, and potentially one of the reasons why it is kept in storage, is the inaccessibility of the tallit katan due to its fragility. As a textile object more than 85 years old, it cannot be exhibited for a long period without permanent damage to its material integrity. The tradeoff is between exhibiting and preserving . Finally, Loeb’s tallit katan also shows how the religious character of objects prefigures curatorial and conservation decisions. The elaboration required to make the tallit katan comprehensible to a large and diverse, mostly non-Jewish audience might distract from the main narrative, while also risking presenting religion in a supposedly secular institution. Loeb’s tallit katan, while remaining in storage, embodies the conflicting epistemes at play between the museal-secular understanding of the USHMM and the emic view of the object.  

What is the value of inaccessible objects such as Loeb’s tallit katan? From an analytical standpoint that privileges exhibitions, to ask about the power of an object in the storage room to shape the narrative of the museum is nonsensical, like the sound made by the proverbial tree that falls when no one hears it. De-centering exhibitions, by contrast, shows the ways in which inaccessible objects highlight the various functions of the museum, of which exhibiting is but one. 

In its religious meaning, a tallit katan is an object invoking memory of the commandments. In the USHMM, Loeb’s tallit katan still functions as an object of memory, albeit not of the same kind. The protected existence of the tallit katan in the storage room is a testimony to the USHMM’s commitment to preserve the memory of the Holocaust. Devoid of its role as a religious object, Loeb’s tallit katan nonetheless fulfills the commandment to remember, but in a way that might seem paradoxical. Precisely by virtue of its inaccessibility, it is preserved for future generations and continues to serve as a material trace of the voyage of the MS St. Louis, and of Armin Loeb’s life. 

Acknowledgments: This article emerged from “Interrogating the Sacred” workshop at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. I thank Laura Levitt and Oren Baruch Stier, the leaders of the workshop, and all the participants for many fruitful discussions. Rachel Gordan and Alexandra Zirkle provided valuable feedback on earlier drafts. 

• 29To provide perspective, at the time of writing (February 2025), the USHMM searchable online catalog contains 273,385 records, and every year more are added (see “Search our collection,”, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, accessed June 22, 2025, https://collections.ushmm.org/search/). Although the online catalog makes the object accessible, but only to an extent. It serves as a valuable research tool but cannot be seen as a substitute to a presentation in an exhibition. It is also a reasonable conjecture that most visitors do not use the online catalog. On the fact that museums present just a fraction, and that exhibition has not always been central to the idea of the museum, see Anke te Heesen, Theorien des Museums: Zur Einführung (Hamburg: Junius, 2012), 212; John E. Simmons, Museums: A History (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2016), 1–10.