The Holocaust History – A People's and Survivor History

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Welcome to a deep dive into a story about the Holocaust in Czechoslovakia, a story that’s heartbreaking, but also really inspiring.

We’re diving into My Name is Alice, a memoir by Holocaust survivor Alice Muller.

So we’re really trying to get inside Alice’s world, right?

See it through her eyes.

A Message from Alice Muller

When I was six, my teacher wore a Hlinka Garda pin on his lapel. I wondered how he would be to me, it gave me a bad feeling, so I was always on the alert and I made sure not to sit in front. He was nice to the children during class, but I made sure to do the homework well so that he should not start up with me.

But at that time, I came home to my father and in the morning I was sent off by my father, and I felt ok. But this situation did not last. You can read more about me in MY NAME IS ALICE, a book I recommend to adults and older high school children.

I hope that I will hear from other survivors here, as well as from anyone else who has a question on the Holocaust, like children and grandchildren of Holocaust survivors, and American students of history.

I am writing an update now on my book, but in the meantime, I have written AL TISHKACH VAL TISLACH: A HOLOCAUST SURVIVOR’S STUDY GUIDE TO THE HOLOCAUST AS RELAYED BY THE JEWISH CALENDAR, and two books for children, My Name is Yisroel Yosef, about my husband Joseph, and Malka and the Holocaust Survivors, about the importance of offering help to living survivors.

I thank you for your interest about what I went through. I wish a Happy New Year to those who read my words who are Jewish, and good wishes for all.

My Name is Alice Paperback – Chapters One and Two along with photos of Alice Mullerby Alice Muller (Author), Dr. Tzipporah Bat-Ami (Author)

Get “My Name is Alice” bookSee on AmazonGetting the historical context is important, but those little personal details, that’s what makes it real.

So Alice’s story, it starts in the 1930s, Czechoslovakia, in this town, Michalovce.She describes it as pretty charming, you know, cobblestone streets, that kind of thing.

But before we get too far, her name, Alice, has a whole story behind it.Oh, is this about those rules they had in Czechoslovakia then?

Like the restrictions on Jewish names?

See, her dad, Herman, he wanted to name her Rachel.

Totally normal, right?

But biblical names. Not allowed for Jewish families.

From Wikimedia CommonsLike, can you imagine having that choice taken away?
Even something as basic as your child’s name.

Search and Unite | Czech Property and Looted Art in Austria

It’s just shows how deep the anti-Semitism ran, you know.It was in everything.

Makes you think about all the other compromises people had to make just to exist.

So the clerk, he suggests Rosalie because it starts with R, you see.

But Alice’s mom, she puts her foot down.

My daughter, she says, her name is Alica.

Alica. It’s a fashionable name then.

Maybe a little act of defiance, but also, a mother’s love,
wanting the best for her kid, even with all that’s going on.

And speaking of her childhood, Alice’s memoir really goes into detail about her home, like describing the rooms, the furniture.

She even mentioned this one thing that struck me, a vanity mirror.
Her father bought it for her mother.

A vanity mirror seems like such a, everyday object, especially with everything else going on.

Why do you think that detail stands out?

On the surface, it seems almost insignificant, you know.

But I think it speaks to this desire for normalcy, wanting to hold on to beauty even when everything’s getting darker.Imagine that.Fear, uncertainty everywhere, and this mirror, it’s a symbol of their love, of their life.

And it still means something.

It reminds us that even in the darkest times, those little joys, those connections, they offer hope.

And, well, that hope, it becomes even more important as Alice’s story goes on.

And before we get to those tougher times, you mentioned how Czechoslovakia in the 1930s had all these rules about Jewish names.

Can you tell us a bit more about that?Like, what was it actually like to be a Jewish family living there then?Before we jump into those tougher times with the Nazi occupation and all,
it’s important to understand what life was like before.

You mentioned timelines, maps, that kind of thing from the Amazon page.

Can you paint us a picture of Jewish life in 1930s Czechoslovakia?So Czechoslovakia back then, it was considered more tolerant than a lot of Europe, but anti-Semitism was there, definitely growing.

And it showed up in different ways, you know, social stuff, economic restrictions.

It all cast a shadow over these communities.

Imagine that constant pressure, feeling like an outsider in your own country just because of your faith.

SOURCE: Wikimedia CommonsAnd those name restrictions, that was part of it, right?

A very real example of how it was seeping into every part of life.

Source: Wikimedia Commons Yeah, like this slow erosion of freedom.

A slow tightening of the noose.

But even with all that, you see families like Alice’s trying to live their lives, to create that loving home for their kids.

Remember that vanity mirror?

It’s not just a mirror, right?It’s the symbol of resilience.Like even when things are falling apart around you, the human spirit, it looks for beauty, looks for hope.

You know, that’s what gets me.

It wasn’t some big grand gesture, just this ordinary thing.

But because of what’s happening around them, it takes on this whole other meaning.

It’s like even small acts of kindness.

Interior of the Olomouc Synagogue, burned in March 1939They have so much power, especially in times of turmoil.

You cling to those little bits of light.

And that’s something you see a lot in Holocaust stories.

It’s not always the big heroic acts.

It’s those everyday moments, the human connection that helps people get through those horrors.And as Alice’s story goes on, I’m sure we’ll see more of that.Now, you mentioned that excerpt from Remember.org.

It kind of ends abruptly.

What does the full book tell us based on that Amazon page?

So the Amazon page, it mentions My Name is Alice, includes those timelines you like, historical context.

But it also like hints at things getting worse, you know, as the Nazis take over.

Erstes Originalbild vom Einmarsch der deutschen Truppen in Brünn,
“Fort die Tschechei, Brünn ist frei!” so hallten die Sprechchöre durch die Stadt Brünn als die Soldaten Grossdeutschlands ihren Einzug in diese alte Stadt hielten. Zu beiden Seiten des Weges standen gedrängt die Menschenmassen und grüssten die Retter.
UBz: die deutschen Truppen in Brünn.
Scherl Bilderdienst, Berlin, 16.3.39, 3462-39That’s where those reviews you sent come in, reading them.
It’s like we’re getting all these different takes on Alice’s story.

Everyone’s coming to it with their own experiences.

Some people, they were focused on the history.

Others, it was Alice’s strength that got to them.

There’s this one review, though. By Declan Dunn.

Amazon ReviewHe’s the founder of Remember.org, right?

He’s dedicated his life to sharing these stories.

He called Alice’s book a special work.

Said it touched his heart.

And coming from him, someone who’s heard so many survivor stories.

It carries weight, definitely.

It makes you realize that even within all the Holocaust literature out there,
each story, it’s unique.

It really is.

And it’s through those personal stories that we start to grasp what prejudice, what hate really does, how it destroys individuals, families, whole communities.It’s easy to forget that sometimes when you’re looking at the bigger picture.

You mentioned a review that praised the historical detail, how those timelines, those maps, they help make it real.

For someone like you who values that accuracy.

It makes all the difference.

I mean, reading about history in a textbook, it’s one thing.

But experiencing it, even indirectly, through someone who lived it, those little details, those glimpses into daily life when everything’s falling apart, that’s how we understand the human cost.

And speaking of those human experiences, another review, it focused on Alice’s resilience.

Even with all that darkness, her spirit, it shines through.

It’s incredible, isn’t it, that even in those moments, the will to survive,
to hold on to hope, it can endure.

Resilience.

It’s a common thread in these stories.

But it never fails to amaze me, that strength, that hope, in the face of such horror.

It reminds you of what we’re capable of.

And that’s what makes Alice’s story and all these stories so important to hear, right?

They remind us of the terrible things we can do to each other, but also the strength we have, the importance of empathy, of understanding.It makes you think about your own life, how you face your challenges, how you learn, how you treat other people.

It’d be easy to despair after hearing a story like Alice’s, but I think there’s a call to action in there, too.

Holocaust Study Guide by Alice Muller on AmazonTo be better, kinder, to see the humanity in everyone, no matter what.

Alice’s story, it comes from a dark place in history, sure.

Memories of My Childhood in the Holocaust by Judith Jagermann | Theresienstadt ghetto

But ultimately, it’s about resilience, about hope, about understanding different perspectives.

So as you go about your day, let Alice’s story stay with you, not just as a memory, but as a reminder of that strength we all have, the importance of empathy and building a better world together.All materials, words, and photos from:

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Remember.org

Discover the inspiring and heartbreaking journey of Abram Korn, a Holocaust survivor whose story is brought to life through the Abram Korn: A Holocaust Survivor website.

This digital memorial offers a comprehensive look into the life of a man who endured unimaginable suffering yet emerged with unwavering resilience.

Go to Abe’s Story

Get “Abe’s Story” book

Uncover a Holocaust Survivor’s JourneyThe story of Abram Korn is a harrowing testament to the horrors of the Holocaust and the enduring strength of the human spirit.

Korn, born in 1918 in Grodno, Poland, was a young man when his life was uprooted by the Nazi invasion of his home country. In the years that followed, Korn would endure unimaginable suffering, witnessing the brutality of the Nazis firsthand.

However, Korn’s story is not one of despair. It is also a story of resilience and hope. After surviving the Holocaust, Korn immigrated to the United States and rebuilt his life.

He became a successful businessman and a loving father. Korn’s son, Joey, eventually compiled his father’s memoirs into a book titled “Abe’s Story: A Holocaust Memoir.”

The Abram Korn: A Holocaust Survivor website is a powerful resource that tells the story of Abram Korn’s life.

The website includes an interactive map that traces Korn’s journey from his hometown in Poland to the concentration camps where he was imprisoned.

The website also features excerpts from Korn’s memoirs, providing readers with a firsthand account of his experiences.

In addition to the interactive map and excerpts, the website also includes a section on the teaching the background of the Holocaust.

This section provides essential context for understanding Korn’s story. It discusses the rise of the Nazi Party, the invasion of Poland, and the establishment of the ghettos and concentration camps.

The Abe’s Story website is a valuable resource for anyone who wants to learn more about the Holocaust. The website’s interactive map, excerpts from Korn’s memoirs, and background section comprehensively examine Korn’s life and experiences.

Here is a more detailed look at the key features of the website: Interactive Map:* The website’s interactive map allows users to trace Korn’s journey from his hometown in Poland to the concentration camps where he was imprisoned. The map includes stops in Grodno, Warsaw, Auschwitz, and Buchenwald. Users can learn more about Korn’s experiences at that location by clicking on each stop.

The interactive map on the Abram Korn website is a powerful tool for understanding Korn’s journey during the Holocaust.

The map includes markers for crucial locations in Korn’s life, including his hometown of Grodno, Poland, and the concentration camps where he was imprisoned.

Grodno, Poland: Korn’s hometown, Grodno, was a vibrant Jewish community before the war. The map provides information about Jewish life in Grodno before the Nazi invasion.
Warsaw Ghetto: After the German invasion of Poland, Jews were forced into ghettos. The map includes information about the Warsaw Ghetto, where Korn lived.
Auschwitz: One of the most notorious concentration camps, Auschwitz was a place of unimaginable horror. The map provides information about the conditions at Auschwitz and Korn’s experiences there.
Buchenwald: Another concentration camp, Buchenwald was also a place of great suffering. The map provides information about the conditions at Buchenwald and Korn’s experiences there.

The interactive map is a valuable resource for students and teachers alike. It can be used to teach about the geography of the Holocaust and the different stages of Korn’s journey.

Excerpts from Korn’s Memoirs: The website features excerpts from Korn’s memoirs, “Abe’s Story: A Holocaust Memoir.” These excerpts provide readers with a firsthand account of Korn’s experiences during the Holocaust. The excerpts are a powerful reminder of the brutality of the Nazis and the resilience of the human spirit.

The excerpts from Abram Korn’s memoirs provide a powerful firsthand account of his experiences during the Holocaust. The excerpts are arranged chronologically and cover various topics, from life in the ghetto to survival in the concentration camps.

Life in the Ghetto: The excerpts describe the harsh conditions of life in the Warsaw Ghetto. Korn describes the hunger, disease, and fear that were constant companions for ghetto residents.
Deportation to Auschwitz: Korn’s memoir describes the horrific experience of being deported to Auschwitz. He describes the selection process and the separation of families.
Life in the Concentration Camp: Korn’s memoir provides a detailed account of life in the concentration camps. He describes the grueling work, the lack of food, and the constant threat of violence.
Liberation: Korn’s memoir describes the liberation from the concentration camp and the complicated process of rebuilding his life after the war.

The excerpts from Korn’s memoirs are powerful teaching tools about the Holocaust. They can help students understand the human cost of the war and the resilience of the human spirit.

Abram Korn’s Family: The website also includes a section on the the family. This section provides essential context for understanding Korn’s story.

The Abram Korn: A Holocaust Survivor website is a moving and vital resource. It tells the story of one man’s survival during the Holocaust and serves as a reminder of the importance of remembering this dark chapter in human history.

This blog post is a starting point for learning more about Abram Korn and the Holocaust.

Here are some additional resources:

United States Holocaust Memorial Museum: https://www.ushmm.org/
Yad Vashem: https://www.yadvashem.org/
Anne Frank House: https://www.annefrank.org/en/

By learning about the Holocaust, we can help to ensure that such a tragedy never happens again.

Background on Remember.org

The background section of the Abram Korn website provides essential context for understanding Korn’s story.

Other sections of Remember.org explore the rise of the Nazi Party, the invasion of Poland, and the establishment of the ghettos and concentration camps.

The Rise of the Nazi Party: The section discusses the rise of the Nazi Party in Germany and the party’s ideology of anti-Semitism.
The Invasion of Poland: Jan Karski’s paintings show a personal view and experience of the Polish Invasion.
The Ghettos: Courage Under Siege is a book about the Warsaw Ghetton, showing the establishment of ghettos in Poland and other occupied territories.
The Concentration Camps: The section discusses the establishment of concentration camps and the conditions that prisoners face.

The background section is a valuable resource for students who are new to the study of the Holocaust. It helps students understand the historical context of Korn’s story.

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Remember.org

I’m Declan Dunn, founder of Remember.org, exploring how Holocaust poetry humanizes history. With The Song Remains sharing this because I was inspired 42 years ago by a poem by Charlotte Delbo, a Holocaust survivor.

The Song Remains is an online anthology of over 160 Yiddish poems by 36 authors with English translations. The poems were written in Nazi-occupied Poland during the Second World War, compiled by Binem Heller, and published in Warsaw in 1951.The collection holds the treasure of creative poetry written by people who were imprisoned, starved, and ultimately murdered. The poems cover a wide range of themes, from the light-hearted love of nature, to the trials of coming of age in the Ghetto, and ultimately trying to come to terms with hatred, destruction, and death.The English translations are by Dr Sarah Traister Moskovitz, a 96-year-old native Yiddish speaker and professor emerita from California State University, Northridge.

We will be publishing one poem per week on the site, starting at the launch on 20 May.My Remember.org work began in a class where history at the surface was a summary told by the victors, a perception telling what happened always the what and the facts debated and refined, often by intellects judging the past.

But let me take you back to that moment, sitting in that classroom, when I first encountered Delbo’s Holocaust poem.

Auschwitz and After by Charlotte DelboIt was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing the raw human experience beneath the cold facts of history.

Her words didn’t just tell me what happened; it made me feel it and understand it in a way no textbook ever could.

Poetry is perspective, showing the human, the individual, beneath the experience of history, bringing it beyond facts to connect us to what actually happened during the Holocaust.

And as Leonard Cohen once sang,

there is a crack in everything.

That’s how the light gets in.

Poetry is the light that cracks history open. It shows the light, the experience, and the humanity of what people went through during the Holocaust.

Imagine standing in the shoes of a Holocaust survivor. The facts might tell you about dates, numbers, and locations.

But poetry? Poetry tells you about the weight of fear in their chest, the sound of footsteps that meant danger, and the small acts of kindness that kept hope alive.

It’s through these poetic glimpses that we truly begin to understand the humanity of the Holocaust.

Holocaust Poetry gives us what’s beneath the surface of history, a three-dimensional experience. Instead of trying to narrow it down.

The Song Remains gave us permission to share one poem, in English then in its original Yiddish, to get an idea of how Holocaust poetry humanizes history:

What Does This Old Gray Jew Want From Meby Kalman Lis
What does this old gray Jew want from me
Who comes to me to visit every night
And weighs me down with sadness and dark fears
With eyes black holes with tears
Can I return to him the shine of his eyes
The darkness – two black nights
And do I want to be the judge
That tells him, yes, you’re right.
A thousand times yes, Grandpa… and then believe me
The worst punishment yet will come to them
But I, who am no more than a poet
Can do no more than comfort with a verse
And give you comfort for your sorrow
With song that will serve as stem
For a blessed dove who carries in her beak
A green leaf of hope, over a dark sea
But the old man stays dumb and blind
In late fall a barren tree
And blood is running from his eyes
And stains deep red my blue dream

װאַס װיל פון מיר דער אַלטער גרױער ײד…
קלמן לים

װאָס װיל פון מיר דער גרױער, אלטער ײד,
װאָס קומט מיט יעדער נאַכט צו מיר צוגײן
און לײגט זיך אזױ שװער אױף מײן געמיט
מיט אױגן — שװארצע לעכער פול געװײן?

צי קען איך דען אים אומקערן די שײן
פון אױגן זײנע — פינצטערע צװײ נעכט,
און זאָל איך יאָ דער ריכטער װעלן זײן,
װאָס קאָן איך מער װי זאָגן, ביסט גערעכט.

טױזנט מאָל יאָ זײדע… גלױב מיר ס’װעט
און ס’מוז נאָך קומען װען פאר זײ די שטראָף;
נאָר איך, װאָס בין נישט מער, װי א פּאָעט,
װאָס קאָן איך נאָך, װי טרײסטן מיט מײן סטראָף.

און געבן דיר א תיקון צו דײן גרױל
מיט ליד, װאָס דאַרף איצט דינען פאר מײן שטאַם,
װי נחס טױב מיט גרינער בלאַט אין מױל,
— א האָפענונג אין ברױנעם, שװאַרצן ים.

נאָר ס’בלײבט דער אַלטער װײטער שטום און בלינד —
אין שפּעטן האַרבסט אן אָפּגעפליקטער בױם,
און ס’בלוט פון זײנע אױגן־לעכער רינט
און פלעקט אױף רױט מיר אױס מײן בלױען טרױם…

Like the Yiddish poem The Ring, written by Miriam Ulinover, who was one of the only Orthodox female poets of her time.

“Parted from this ring.

I will never choose.

My heart could not survive.

Tighter, smaller grows.

My life in the ring has now grown loose.”

In words like these, the poetry becomes a bridge to Holocaust history. Other examples include the works of Paul Celan [1], Nelly Sachs [2], and Primo Levi [3], each offering a unique perspective on the Holocaust.

Consider Ulinover’s words for a moment. In just a few lines, she captures not just the loss of a physical object but the shrinking of a whole world, a culture under threat during the Holocaust.

This ring isn’t just jewelry; it’s identity, tradition, and resistance. Through her Holocaust poem, we’re not just learning about history – we’re feeling it, living it.

Beneath the battles and what we’ve read in history classes. It’s the struggle, the experience, the Yiddish culture. Fragile.

In the case of these poems, a statement that I am alive, I was here.

Holocaust Poetry also fills in the gaps because a great poem, when you read it, you want to go deeper. There are gaps in there.

What’s missing? How can I learn more?

These gaps and questions are the heartbeats of proper historical understanding. They push us to dig deeper, to seek out more voices and more perspectives on the Holocaust.

It’s not about memorizing dates and names but about understanding the tapestry of human experience that makes up our past.

“I Cannot Forget”, two poems by Alexander Kimel

Like Alexander Kimel, who shared his poem “I cannot forget,” which echoes “Never Shall I Forget” by Elie Wiesel.

It is a poem that talks about his experience during the Holocaust at Rohatyn, and what that does is invite the students not to study who was there, what the battle was, and who the generals were.

Rohatyn Wartime Jewish Ghetto 1941-1943. Source: Rohatyn Jewish HeritageBut from a people’s perspective, a people’s history of the Holocaust is not a history written to persuade, a history written to be remembered and to be shared.

Read Kimel’s powerful words about the Holocaust:

“Do I want to remember?

The peaceful ghetto, before the raid:

Children shaking like leaves in the wind.

Mothers searching for a piece of bread.

Shadows, on swollen legs, moving with fear.

No, I don’t want to remember, but how can I forget?”

In these lines, Kimel doesn’t just tell us about the Holocaust ghetto – he shows us.

We see the children and feel their fear. We understand the desperation of mothers and the weakness of the starving. This isn’t just history; it is humanity laid bare during the Holocaust.

History gives us answers. Poetry keeps us asking questions, going deeper, and remembering the Holocaust.

Poetry doesn’t just complement our understanding of history – it completes it. It gives voice to the voiceless, brings light to the darkest corners of human experience, and ensures that we do more than just know our history – we feel it, live it, and carry it forward.

Yad Vashem Museum shares the importance of Holocaust poetry in education:

Understanding what and empathizing with whom? If one teaches a poem called “Testimony”,1 written by a Holocaust survivor, Dan Pagis, pupils will confront the subject of personal identity in a context where its erasure was sought as an ideological imperative. The poem juxtaposes the identities of three protagonists; the perpetrators, the poet as a representative of the victims, and the creator. In short shrift, eleven lines of his poem, Pagis succeeds in turning the identities upside-down. The student will likely “feel” the pain of the victim and better understand the relationship between the perpetrators and the victims.

What can a Sixth Grade Student’s Poem in 1993 tell us about the Holocaust?

Imagine Art Gallery: Room 1 – Children’s Art about the Holocaust

That urge to go deeper leads us to expressions like the poem Birdsong. This was written by a sixth grader in 1993 with no connection to the Holocaust, but with study, poetry and art. Inspired by teacher said, now you show me what you said, what your poetry is.

This is the power of poetry in understanding history. It doesn’t just inform future generations; it inspires them to connect, to empathize, to create.

This sixth grader, decades removed from the events, still found a way to channel that pain, that hope, into something beautiful and profound.

And in Birdsong, what she writes is

“He doesn’t know the world at all, nor what to sing about.

I do, but does it matter?

I feel trapped here. My love for all things vanish.

Trapped beyond reality in a nightmare.

I know I’d open my heart to beauty and

go into the woods

Someday. I hope that one day

I will realize how wonderful

it is to be alive.”

These words, from a child in 1993, echo the sentiments of those who lived through the darkest times of human history.

They speak to the universal human experience of suffering, hope, and resilience. This is how poetry bridges time, connecting us across generations to the essence of what it means to be human.

The Power of Holocaust Poetry in Remembrance

Holocaust poetry offers a unique and powerful lens through which to understand this dark chapter in human history. It bypasses the sterility of facts and figures, instead bringing us face-to-face with the emotions, experiences, and losses endured by those who lived through it.

Through these poems, we encounter the resilience of the human spirit in the face of unimaginable horror.

We witness courage, kindness, and defiance that defy the depths of human cruelty.

Holocaust poetry compels us to not only remember the atrocities but also to celebrate the strength and dignity of those who persevered.

It fosters empathy and understanding, ensuring that the lessons of the Holocaust are not forgotten.

Let us continue to honor the victims of the Holocaust by remembering their stories, their struggles, and their enduring humanity.

Let Holocaust poetry be a constant reminder of the importance of tolerance, compassion, and the fight against oppression in all its forms.

CITATIONS[1] Paul Celan Poetry

[2] Nelly Sachs poem – Flight and Metamorphosis

[3] “The Pain of Remembering”: Primo Levi’s Poetry and the Function of Memory

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My Name is Alice is a first-person Alice Muller memoir, an indomitable courageous spirit, told by her as she views things in the voice of her age at the time of the Holocaust in Czechoslovakia.

My Name is Alice Paperback – Chapters One and Two along with photos of Alice Mullerby Alice Muller (Author), Dr. Tzipporah Bat-Ami (Author)

Get “My Name is Alice” bookSee on AmazonAlice will move you, make you want to finish the book in one reading. You will learn about places and times no longer here, about heroism, about acts of kindness remembered for three quarters of a century and now passed on to you, with her diagrams of places and streets, and also a lesson plan for tolerance.

Timelines included for those who want to understand the context. The book is best read and shared with family members, including those who were alive at or near that time.We recommend parental guidance for younger children. You will treasure this keepsake, its cheerful inside and out despite the horrors that Alice endures.

The book is for all people of all faiths. Descriptions of Jewish customs are all explained, and any Yiddish or Hebrew words are translated.

This book is easy to read because of large print and cream pages, and it is easy to read because you will be captured by Alice’s voice. We hope you will find it moving and life altering. And a little child shall lead them!

Holocaust in Czechoslovakia Book By Survivor

Memories of My Childhood in the Holocaust by Judith Jagermann | Theresienstadt ghetto

Alice Muller – My Name is Alice Cover photo enhanced.Alice Muller Memoir –Forward to My Name is AliceIt is my privilege to comment on this history of a young child in the Holocaust. This work portrays, through early memories in the town of Michalovce, what life was like for Jews in pre-war Slovakia.

It provides factual information on the Slovakian Holocaust by first person testimony, which makes this book a critical historic document at a time when such testimony is harder to obtain.

This work is an inspirational narrative of one little girl who survived against all odds; though 83 percent of the Jewish citizens of Slovakia were murdered, 95 percent of children under fourteen were annihilated.

But Alice’s book also serves to illustrate the effects of the Holocaust on its child survivors.

It illustrates the effect of an early childhood perspective on life that remains to inform an entire lifetime. It documents the massive trauma at early developmental stages that can
only be mastered by being passed to each successive generation in retelling, naming, and in testimony and here, in this publication.

Loss of parental figures can never be fully resolved because throughout much of their lives, children survivors last saw their parents alive and well and did not know the actual mechanisms of mass killing of the Third Reich, so it is easy to understand why such survivors spent decades still hoping for their parents’ return.

Child survivors and their new families wait in limbo, and time becomes malleable, where once the return of these loved ones happens, childhood life can magically restart as if there was no catastrophic interruption.Once the knowledge of the likely mechanism of murder has been received, there is no gravesite to visit and no headstone to make, just missing ones, or unidentified parts in mass graves, or tons of ash.

The knowledge that human beings can be branded as animals, and that their parts can be used in manufacture, set a new low for humanity, and a sense of peril for their safety imbues such survivors’ beliefs.

What we now recognize as post-traumatic stress disorder is nearly universal among Holocaust survivors because of the degree of trauma and the bizarre nature of the trauma.

Though children may be resilient to a greater extent, early malnutrition and loss of parental figures increase the degree of these symptoms. So, such children in adult life carry fear of low flying planes, fear of registration in any form, fear of showers in case they are gas, and all these fears are adaptive in that they serve as protection.

However, we can understand that the vigilance that once was adaptive can interfere in peacetime with adaptation to ‘normal’ life.What you will also see here is the tremendous courage and strength such children have displayed in youth, becoming adults as children. And it also has given survivors an edge on calamities, knowing how to adapt, paying attention to, and warning others of, pending calamities, as has been seen with COVID when many just chose instead to use the defense of denial.

Because of the lack of early milestones of educational achievement, many survivors feel insecure about themselves, yet they mastered what most of us in America could not:

they left their previous homes and communities, often without any finances, possessions, and
navigated paperwork and interviews,
traveled by ship to new countries they have blessed with lawful contributions to their new homelands,
where they learned new languages and new cultures and studied to become proud and thankful citizens.

In schema compensatory action, they often became leaders of their fields, or they raised homes and gave children the names of the murdered to renew life.

And their progeny uniquely went into fields of service in overwhelming majority, to try to heal the horror. Many became physicians, many entered the mental health field, many worked with survivors and dedicated their lives to advocacy for survivors.

So it appears that despite lack of formalities of education, these survivors managed some level of success despite inner trauma.As survivors age, disabilities and limitations recreate the sense of helplessness of the Holocaust, and cause fear because the need to be on guard is so valued for survival.

Limited social access by disability or by pandemic further enhances the loneliness of having an experience that with Gods help, few will ever be able to comprehend.

To that end, Alice has written down this Holocaust memoir in the hope that her experiences will kindle a desire for more knowledge of what happened to so many millions, and for our youth to be able to connect to what she experienced with all the details that are provided by Alice in this remarkable work.

Her book is divided into sections, and early chapters can be read to a four-year-old. It is designed as something that can be read intergenerationally, and to advance in the book as development proceeds.Of course, the irony is that Alice at age six had no way to opt out of the current events, of seeing teachers who wore insignia of those people who wished to kill her. And of course, the later sections are suitable for adults, but you will be able to hear Alice’s voice as she goes through all of this as a child.

It has been an honor to help bring this testimony to the written page and we hope it will help increase understanding among peoples and make Never Again a reality.

Dr Tzipporah Bat-Ami – 2023
Copyrighted Material 2024

Alice Muller Memoir – Beginners (Chapter One)My name is Alice. Well, I guess you already know that from the title! But this is the story of how I got my name, and who I became once I had it.

I was born on a summer’s day a long time ago. The year was 1932. I was born in a country 4000 miles away, on a continent called Europe.

Its name was Czechoslovakia. It had a different language and customs from us. I was born in a town called Michalovce, which has a guttural sound in the first c, and the second c is pronounced like the sound tse in tse-tse fly.

It is in the eastern part of the country, and you can see my town circled in red in the map on the next page. I am also adding a postcard picture of the railroad station. It’s very pretty, but it will seem different later.

Michalovce circled in Red on the Map of Czechoslovakia 1933In those days, babies were often born at home, so I was born at 24 Slobodna Ulice. That means 24 Liberty Street. And of course, there was sunshine when I was born!

My father was named Herman Muller, and I called him Opu. My mother was named Esther Klein Muller, and I called her Onyu. I had an older brother Norbert, and I called him Norbert.

Pictures of me and my family. From left to right, are my mother, father, my brother Norbert, and me.

So just like there are rules here, there were rules in my country, but it was not the same.In my country, Jews were not permitted to carry names in the Bible, so when my father rushed to register my birth and said I was to be called Rachel, the town clerk said that was not allowed, and he decided that my name should be Rosalie because it started with the same letter, and filled out the documents with that name.

When my father came home to tell my mother that my name was now Rosalie, she said in no way was her baby going to be called Rosalie.

She said that Alica, pronounced with a soft c, was a popular stylish name, and that would be my name, though my Hebrew name remained Rachel, pronounced with a guttural c. and just so you know, my brother had a Hebrew name too, Nachum, and my father’s Hebrew name was Tzvi, or Herschel and my mother’s Hebrew name was Esther.

We were a wonderful family living in a Jewish home.

Michalovce train station SOURCE: https://www.dolnyzemplin.sk/CHAPTER TWOAlice Muller Memoir – My Name is AliceFirst, I would like to tell you how my home looked from the outside.

When my parents first got married in 1930, and moved to Michalovce, they moved into a large apartment in the fancier section of the ell of 24 Slobodna Ulice that faced the Slobodna street.

There was a fence separating the two sections, and at that time, my parents worked in a small tavern adjacent to their apartment.

After my brother was born in 1931, my mother was unable to continue working in the tavern due to child care, so they moved to a smaller apartment to save money.

This was where I was born, but because my mother was known far and wide as a beauty, and my father was so in love with her, he schlepped the vanity mirror he had bought her to the new apartment so she could adorn herself as befits a woman with such regal bearing!

Because of the ell structure, our new apartment faced the courtyard, which you will see later made all the difference in the world to us. My apartment was on the first floor above a short stoop and I could play in the grass when I came outside.

My neighbors adjacent to us were also a Jewish family, and they also had kids.

There was no apartment above us. The only time I ever saw the original apartment where my parents first resided, was when my mother needed a seamstress, and I went to bring clothes to tailor to the woman living there. More on her later.I drew you a diagram so you could see the layout, on the next page. I also have an aerial view of a similar space in more modern times, so you can appreciate the layout that way too.” (Drawing not available for this free excerpt.

END ALICE MULLER MEMOIR – MY NAME IS ALICE EXCERPTAll materials, words, and photos from:

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“A moving and powerful portrait of a Polish Jew who returned from the camps disconsolate and mute, Forget Adam Weinberger is an unforgettable novel” —La Libre Belgique

A story that explores the difficulty of speaking about the Holocaust.

First there is Adam Weinberger’s long childhood, in a world that has no idea yet what is in store for it. The childhood of a lover of illusions, who dreams of changing the world and of freeing his family from the burden of a tradition that he finds unbearable.

The adolescence of a young boy who is unable to express his love for Esther, his admiration for his uncle, his tenderness toward his mother. The helplessness of a young man who sees that dreams and fiction are unable to halt the destruction of this world and of its inhabitants.

Later there are fragments of narrations, the broken mirror that, through more or less well-meaning intermediaries, reflects the flight of this child who has become a man, who no longer believes in dreams, who no longer believes in words -who has taken refuge in gestures, those of his profession, medicine, and those of his great passion, the construction of ships in bottles.

And who flees words and other people to the point of losing his identity. Between the two is there, of which one dares not speak.

And then, in the end, after forgetting, at the end of all the flights, there is a return of childhood from beyond death, the single truth of fiction – of the narration of life.

PART I

BEFORE

ADAM

Midjourney AI Image inspired by Forget Adam WeinbergerOnce I was a child. At least I think so, which in itself is not such a bad thing, since the past, regardless of what people say, is unverifiable. I already had the same name, and the awkward features were taking shape that would later become my adult face, which today is in a state of decomposition.

I shared my name, like it or not, with the beings who formed the fairly large entity of a family, my family, whom I appreciated in different ways.

Closest to me was my sister Rachel, seven years older than I. As soon as I was old enough to grasp what was happening and what people around me were saying, I understood that she was perpetually preoccupied by the search for a husband: before meeting one because she feared never finding one, and, once she did, because he spent all his time in the town cafés, sometimes for days on end. Rachel … you weren’t a great beauty, but you were my sister, and I would have preferred another brother-in-law instead of that idle Moishe—belated regrets, you’ll excuse me. In any case, I did what I could …

Along with Rachel and me, the Weinberger family had two other heirs, both male. I never had much to say to Samuel, five years my senior. He was devoted body and soul—especially body—to sports.

When he wasn’t kayaking on the river, he was running, wrestling—anything to work up a sweat and impose his tyranny over me.The only words I spoke to him, to the despair of my parents, were those of pleading, when he caught me in his iron grip, and curses when I felt I was at a safe distance—often followed by pleading when I had underestimated the distance.

Avner was different. Although ten years older than I, he was kind to me, at least when he noticed my presence. He was “our” rabbi, who, to maintain this distinction, spent all his days immersed in books or prayers.

Samuel, though younger, had quickly exceeded him in size—horizontally and vertically—but he never dared lay a hand on him. To each his privileges: Samuel didn’t hit Avner, but Avner spoke to him even less than he did to me.

So, to surround me with the affection I needed, I had a brother with a mind lost in visions, who tried to instill wisdom in me; another who persecuted me for my own physical well-being; and a sister who either comforted or cared for me, all the time whining about her hypothetical or phantom husband, depending on the time period.

Ruling over us all were my parents, the inseparable couple, Sarah and Avram Weinberger—inseparable because there is nothing like time to twist and tighten the ties that bind.

As our family name indicates, my father’s father was a Hungarian wine merchant like his ancestors before him. But my own father had broken with tradition, since only one brother was needed to carry on the family business and since no one else was there to take up his father-in-law’s lumber company.

Avram Weinberger was a reasonably successful businessman but a worried father. He knew that his elder son wouldn’t take up the trade, but he couldn’t complain because Avner had devoted himself instead to the Eternal One, blessed be His name, and no one was ever against having a rabbi in the family.

However, he had doubts about Samuel’s future. Since he was stronger and more outspoken than most boys his age—I can bear witness to this from having been on the receiving end of his outspokenness more often than I deserved—what adventure wouldn’t tempt him?My father feared most of all that Samuel might frequent the young Zionists, since he was so well endowed with the physical and mental qualities they required.

As for me … but let’s not go into my father’s suffering just yet.

At this point in the story, the rules of the genre require me to speak of the other half of the parental couple. My mother.

She was … what should I say, other than that she was my mother and everything that follows naturally from that? Beautiful, of course.

She took care of the house and her children. She busied herself all week but even more on Friday, in preparation for Shabbat, our day of rest.

I often watched her work so hard that I began to doubt the true holiness of this day. There’s something rotten in this earthly realm that violates the spirit of the Commandments and prevents people from observing them perfectly unless money is involved— which is not really orthodox.

Even if my father’s income was enough to support a woman and four children—one of them a sports lover—it didn’t allow him to hire someone to help my mother. My parents should have had one less child, but since I was the youngest, I preferred not to think about this solution.

Rachel helped my mother, but she sighed constantly and wasn’t all that useful. As for me, I tried sometimes, but, over and above the Commandments, there is Tradition, and I was a man.For that matter, during childhood, which often lasts a long time, one doesn’t have that much concern for other people, and it’s only later that one feels remorse.

My father and mother, then, constituted what is called a couple. The reality of the situation depends on the meaning one gives this word.

They lived and slept together, had married because they were supposed to, and for the same reason had procreated—there was no required number of offspring as long as it was large.

Maybe you’ve seen Fiddler on the Roof? I know fools with university degrees today who assert that that kind of situation couldn’t have existed because they were born in the age of Coca Cola and the Apollo spacecraft.

I had fewer sisters than Tevye had daughters, my father wasn’t a Rothschild and sang off key, but my parents spoke to each other even less than Tevye and Golde.

Certain questions never even entered their minds—too bad for us and for the rest of the world, because it wouldn’t have hurt anyone if they did. There are silences that kill. I say so even if it’s a cliché, because when you know the victim, nothing is a cliché.

When I consider the sum total of the fatigue, the problems, the pain that four children represented for my mother, right from the moment of their conception, I can’t understand how anyone can seriously claim that children are a blessing.Maybe we brought her a few joys—in our sleep or when we weren’t around—and she had managed to avoid having to live alone, alone with a husband who had nothing to say to her and didn’t even hide that fact with small talk, which sometimes allows others to believe that happiness can exist (although that would require some imagination …).

Midjourney AI Image inspired by the book Forget Adam WeinbergerAs for yours truly, he was born smack in the middle of a war, in the month of June. The fact that he was the youngest didn’t prevent his parents from naming him Adam.

It was as if, lacking any inspiration, they had returned to Biblical sources in search of a name and had stopped fairly quickly, although without having to resort to calling him Tovu v’Bohu or Bereshit, which would be difficult names to have to carry around.

I like my name. It smells of the earth, even if Poland is no paradise.

Oh yes, I forgot to tell you: as if life wasn’t difficult enough, we lived in a small, drab Polish village inhabited one-third by Jews and two-thirds by tranquil, dull anti-Semites, able to suppress their sentiments toward their neighbors of my religion out of Christian charity and good business sense.

I’m exaggerating—they weren’t all anti-Semitic. We even had Christian friends. I’m saying that so you’re aware in advance …I don’t think I was a difficult child—I caught up later, though—and I was a good student. My relative calm was closely related to a feeling of profound, general indifference for the universe around me, which should have interested me more.

I didn’t confide in my family or seek their confidences. When my sister started to moan, I fled—unless she was busy caring for me.

I had no friends and a total lack of interest in my religion, which would have worried my mother if she had had the time to think about it and only slightly vexed my father.

If God exists, I said to him with the mature wisdom of a ten-year-old, He doesn’t need me to go to the synagogue to pray to Him.

Moreover, I added, I found most of the Ten Commandments inappropriate and, what’s more, fairly useless. The others, like “Thou shalt not kill” or “Thou shalt not steal,” were so self-evident that it seemed pointless to connect them to any single religion.

I have always been naïve, and I believed for a long time that any person with a minimum of common sense would follow the axiom that one should do unto others as one would want others to do unto him.

I should point out again that I lived in an environment that was rather unusual in Polish Jewish society between the two World Wars.

My father was neither rich nor poor, at least before 1935, and paid little attention to religion. I don’t think he was leaning toward assimilation, though. He was not unhappy that one of his sons wanted to become a rabbi, and he no doubt took this fact as an embrace of Judaism sufficient to reassure his family.

No more was necessary. As for Avner, there were no choices and no worries: first heder, then yeshiva. But my father was not eager for his other two sons to follow this path.He found the classrooms squalid and the teachers too violent. He had no doubt kept in his heart the memory of some unjust punishment he had received, and he wasn’t the type to find relief from his own unhappiness in imposing it on others.

But where should he send Samuel and me? The schools financed and run by the Bund seemed too leftist to him. Communism represented a greater threat to him than Zionism.

The Tarbut schools were a direct extension of the latter. The Agudath Israel schools were too orthodox, and private schools cost an arm and a leg.

That’s why he sent us both to a free Polish public school, where classes were held only in the morning. In the afternoon, Avner was supposed to inculcate in us the values necessary to make us good Jews, which he did in as perfunctory manner as possible, since he was too absorbed in working for his own future.

This choice brought criticism upon my father. Not only was he offering his children up for conversion, but, even worse, he hadn’t even enrolled them in a Jewish school for the afternoon.

He held fast to his position for a long time, because he didn’t have a lot of time to spend with us, because it was the most economical solution, and because, as I mentioned, he was quite liberal. I admit that I never had any reason to complain about his decision.

Nor about refusing to have any friends, since I lived in a milieu where no one would be tempted to have a relationship with a Jew anyway.

Furthermore, these free afternoons were a blessing. Lost in reverie or just lazy, I read a lot. Weather permitting, I took off deep into the woods with a book and didn’t return until nightfall.

Samuel also took advantage of this freedom, but in a different way. He spent all his time involved in sports. Later he used it to perfect his knowledge of Zionism. Nevertheless, as you will see, I wasn’t able to enjoy this freedom for long.So, I was a lonely, dreamy child who spent his spare time wandering through the beech trees along the river—scenery so typical of Poland.

When I heard the particular cries upstream that announced that my brother Samuel was about to burst into view with his friends, paddling like a bunch of maniacs in small boats that the rushing water seemed to want to get rid of by forcing them toward the river bank, I hid behind a barrel and let them pass.

If I had few things in common with my brother, I had even fewer with his friends. I shared my father’s dislike of the Zionists—which most of them were—but for different reasons.

I didn’t take satisfaction in the image of the Jew as martyr, fearful and weak, always afraid of some pogrom. I was a child, and above all I was myself.

I frequented a few non-Jews, the occasional classmate, and I wasn’t religious. Therefore I saw no reason to flaunt my Judaism, which would only end up causing me problems.

I wanted to continue living peacefully where I was, because moving somewhere else seemed to me to be the worst possible curse. From my point of view, the Zionist adventure and the call for a Jewish state in Palestine—with the requirement to go live there and fight—seemed like implausible and absurd aspirations.

Maybe a Jewish state in Poland … but what would we do with the Poles? I was afraid of the Zionists, because I imagined our government demanding that all Jews living comfortably in the Diaspora should emigrate to the desert, with every other nation following their example to get rid of us once and for all.

Therefore, since I couldn’t climb in the hierarchy of the movement, I must confess that as soon as I was old enough, I used my own pitiful means to attempt to sabotage my brother’s Palestine plans.Without meaning to, I ended up in this way being a considerable support to my father, which had the unpleasant effect of depriving me of the joys of success and of everyone-for-himself.

Not to mention that this didn’t help make me more likable in my brother’s eyes, even if he wasn’t always aware of my activities and of my responsibility for his setbacks. I have to say that, even if I had good reasons to resent Samuel, he had no lack of detractors for his involvement in the Zionist movement.

My father was against it in principle and because he thought you had to be crazy to go live in a country filled with Brits and Arabs—worse than the Christian Poles, whom at least we were familiar with—and start over from square one.

The fact that Jews had been forbidden for centuries from owning land didn’t help to develop much of a taste for the joys of agriculture in him:

“So, Shmuel” (he thought this Hebrew name was endearing), can you imagine yourself behind a plow?!”And he tapped his forehead while making an “oy” of consternation.

My mother, too, was against the idea in principle but also because of tradition: her husband was opposed to it, and it was the custom for a Jewish mother to do everything possible to keep her sons close to her.

As for Rachel, she didn’t care, at first because Zionism wouldn’t provide her with a husband and, once she was married, because her husband had lots of faults, but not that one.

Avner, who never thought about anything but the Torah and the Talmud, was violently opposed for religious reasons that I found completely incomprehensible, and that today seem tragic and preposterous: it wasn’t right to found a Jewish state until the coming of the Messiah.

The Messiah didn’t come, but Hitler did in His place, and you have to admit that, in spite of my antipathy toward Zionism, if it had gained steam earlier, the Nazis would have had to go farther to find us, and we would have given them a proper welcome.

But let’s not be unrealistic: even “if”, I can assure you that 80 percent of the Jews would have stayed in Europe for fear of investing their future and their past in such a ridiculous plan. And it’s not by means of “ifs” that we could have beaten the Germans.

I also had measles when I was three, and other normal childhood diseases—normal but painful when you’re the victim—and the Messiah never came out of his hiding place to save me. So?

The Messiah—now there’s a story … On our street lived a boy named Moishe, whose father was very rich—as a joke we called him Pharaoh, because of his son—and who had the incredible good fortune to take a trip to Rome to visit distant cousins.Everyone in the community was talking about it: imagine, a Jew from our town in the city of the Pope! And there was a legend that claimed that the Messiah was waiting at the gates of Rome.

Before Moishe left—at that time the question interested me because of all the others, especially my rabbi brother’s—I had asked him to do a discreet investigation.

At his return, I was triumphant: I had been right. The Messiah wasn’t there. I told Avner that he could eliminate one place from his research—I didn’t say it maliciously but rather to help him and save him time.

But he just ran his hand through my hair with a very sad or very religious look, according to your point of view, telling me that Moishe didn’t have good eyes.

I didn’t understand what he meant by that, but I believed the Messianic legends even less.

Anyway, I’m digressing. I introduced you to my family. I’ve set the scene, as they say, because one must respect the reader and never suppose that he’s clever enough to understand everything on his own.

However, I’m far from having mentioned the important things.

RACHELMidjourney AI Image inspired by Rachel in Forget Adam WeinbergerTo be sure, there is still a lot to say about the members of my family and about my childhood, a period that it’s a pleasure to speak of since one knows for sure that he can’t relive it.

I grew, since I couldn’t do otherwise, and everyone around me got older. Avner was more and more the rabbi—he finally became one altogether—and Samuel confirmed our father’s fears by becoming more and more of a Zionist.

Rachel, searching endlessly for a husband, despaired more and more of ever finding one.

As for my parents, they didn’t work more—that wouldn’t have been possible—but they seemed more and more tired. My father even began to consider Shabbat a blessing, and my mother exhausted herself more and more to observe the day when even Adonai, blessed be He, rests.

If He knew how much my mother did to prepare for this day of rest, I’m sure He would have provided us with two of them. But he didn’t know or didn’t want another day, and now He wouldn’t accept that His Jews be just the slightest bit Christian one day a week.

Too bad, because Sunday is a great idea, right after Shabbat. Luckily for those born after my mother, the British invented the weekend, without asking Him His opinion—but my mother didn’t know anything about the British.

And besides, she would have probably exhausted herself twice as much.

So time passed, and not only in the glorious Polish Third Republic. But when it doesn’t bring any big changes, besides a few gray hairs at your parents’ temples, you can treat it lightly, even with almost total indifference.I grew stronger and could escape more easily when Samuel chased me. Avner’s lectures began to get on my nerves, but I still listened to him to make him happy, and I even let Samuel beat me up once in a while so that he didn’t lose confidence in himself.

I was still comforted by my sister, but her tears grew more abundant. I think she must have fallen in love with a young Jew who was passing through. Of course, they never were able to speak to each other, and he left ignorant of the passion that he had ignited—or rather incarnated—for a few weeks.

My parents were also worried that Rachel wouldn’t find a husband. I was approaching my bar mitzvah, and she was almost twenty: two pressing concerns for Jewish parents.

I would have liked to help them by telling them that as far as I was concerned, I could have easily done without this ceremony, but I don’t think that would have given them any solace.

And what right did I have anyway to deprive my family of a celebration? So they sent me to the rabbi, and Avner spent more time teaching me.

As for my sister, my father finally resolved to ask for help from a matchmaker, to the great displeasure of my mother, who knew better than anyone else the results one could expect from such a move.Although the matchmaker had been creeping around our house for several years and was furious at us for not taking advantage of her services, she got strangely friendly, took her time, and ended up presenting us with what was left at the bottom of the barrel.

When she arrived, I would hide behind the door to spy on her, as she triumphantly proposed an aged alcoholic or some neurotic widower. Rachel found good reasons to despair, as did my parents.

Fearing that the quality of her care for me would decline, or even that I’d end up in turn having to take care of her, I decided to hunt for a brother-in-law myself.

Where could I hope to dig up this rare phenomenon when I was barely twelve years old and the entire male Jewish population had already been approached, or almost?

And there was my mother’s example, which gave me pause. I refused to allow Rachel to ruin her health preparing for Shabbat and appreciated less and less the lethargy that fell over our community every weekend while I wanted to get out and have a good time.

Even Samuel, whose main characteristic was the inability to sit still—even less to reflect on anything—sacrificed himself to the laws of Shabbat. What could I do to help Rachel escape this curse?I saw only one solution and resolved to befriend the first classmate who had a brother old enough to marry. A goyish classmate, of course. It was the only way to escape the drudgery of preparing for Shabbat and be able to enjoy Sundays.

You need to understand what a sacrifice this represented for me at that time. Not because of frequenting non-Jews (I already explained about that) nor of turning over my sister body and soul to one of them, but to have to—even for a limited amount of time—conduct a friendship, with everything that involved!

A lot was at stake.

For a few days, I asked around discreetly. I was quickly able to choose three families that fulfilled the conditions of having two sons and being Christian. I had a wealth of choices, so to speak, and was already overjoyed: my sister had waited almost twenty years, and me? Two weeks …

The first family, the Majarskis, had a lot going for them. The father was rich—he owned a store and a house and had a servant so strong that he could have prepared Shabbat every day.

Their older son was twenty-five and didn’t seem to be thinking of marriage. The problem was that, like all good Poles, they were very Catholic. Every Sunday, the family marched off to church dressed to the nines—the mother several times a week.What good would it do to change from one form of religious drudgery to another? Especially since, when I tried to enter into a conversation with the younger son, who was in my class, he turned his back to me with disdain, whispering that he didn’t associate with us.

I understood clearly whom he meant. I wasn’t going to put myself out to cultivate a brother-in-law who wouldn’t talk to his wife or his mother-in-law. As my parents’ case proved, it wasn’t necessary to look to a goyish family to match up a couple who didn’t speak to each other!

The second family gave me more hope. The von Statts were Germans who had been in Poland for three generations. If they were crazy enough to come live here, they could certainly consider marrying down.

Furthermore, they were Protestant, not Catholic. That seemed to be an acceptable religious compromise. There would just have to be an arrangement to maintain the best parts of both traditions.

I was easily able to befriend Hans, a short, husky blond boy who spoke little. We were made to get along, since neither one of us liked to talk.

But, in order not to waste time or limit my options, I also decided to form a relationship with the third family I had selected, the Dobjinskis, completely atheist Poles—which isn’t common—and whose father was a tremendous drinker—which definitely is. Janek, their younger son, had the unfortunate flaw of being a chatterbox—so much so that at school no one went near him.

So it wasn’t hard for me to become his friend. The difficult part was to stay that way for the necessary amount of time.I spent all my free time with either Hans or Janek. I was received equally well in both their homes, but I have to admit a clear preference for Hans because he was quiet and his family’s cook baked wonderful cakes.

Let’s not forget, though, that my real targets were not my friends: it was their brothers.

I liked Hans’s brother, Johann. He was the same age as Avner, but he wasn’t planning on becoming a pastor—which, for that matter, wouldn’t have thwarted my plans.

Janek’s brother, Pavel, was more like my brother Samuel: he was in constant motion and hardly spoke a word to me. All I needed now was an opportunity for my sister to meet them.

Strangely enough, it was simpler with Pavel. I noticed that he often came to get his brother when school was over. I had only to go home with a new whim: demand that my sister also come to school to wait for me.

Since she was often bored and annoyed my mother with her continual lamentations, my parents willingly gave in to my request.From that day on, the last few minutes of class were very trying for me. I imagined Rachel and Pavel both waiting outside the gate. When the bell finally rang and we could leave, the first thing I did was look to see if I could distinguish them among those who had come to collect their little darlings.

After a while, I realized that this wasn’t going to be enough: they had the habit of waiting at opposite ends of the long iron fence, so they couldn’t see each other.

I had to act again. One afternoon I announced to Janek that I wanted to introduce him to my beautiful sister. I took her by the hand so she could shake hands with my friend.

And with his brother. I said to her,

“Rachel, this is Janek, my friend, and his brother, Pavel.”

Then I explained that, since they both came to wait for us, Janek and me, they might as well meet each other. But I didn’t elicit wild enthusiasm, and Rachel dragged me away, barely saying hello.

She wasn’t really putting her all into this. How would she ever find a husband? On the way home I spoke about Janek but mostly about Pavel.

Since I knew so little about the latter, I had no trouble inventing all kinds of positive qualities for him. But Rachel was hardly listening to me, or at least she didn’t show she was.

I was so mad at her that I thought I’d drop the whole idea and return to my beloved solitude, which I had sacrificed for so long. What was my poor sister hoping for?Of course, she was far from being ugly, but she was even farther from being rich. And there’s something I haven’t mentioned so as not to make her situation sound even worse: she spent all her time, when she wasn’t crying, reading French novels, which, unfortunately for her, were translated into Polish or Yiddish, if that language means anything to you.

Obviously, Maupassant, Flaubert, and Balzac tried desperately to give her ideas and raise her hopes. It’s easy for a writer to promise happiness to his readers when he knows he doesn’t have to wipe away their tears.

Rachel was often seated on a bench alone, a book in her lap, eyes staring into space, dreaming about the happiness before her in paper and ink and waiting for those sweet romantic lies to become reality.

When my mother called her, she would stand up sighing, wondering where the handsome, rich young man who would love her passionately would appear from.

Before going inside, she would gaze one last time at the road and the horizon.

Often, rather than the longed-for lover, she would see the matchmaker spring up suddenly with her evil smile and loathsome suggestions.

Sometimes I thought that it was weakness on my father’s part to be so liberal that he wouldn’t marry his daughter against her will. At this rate, if she didn’t abandon her reading and her Madame Bovary dreams, she would end up an old maid.

Getting a grip on herself to accept a husband wouldn’t make her unhappier than that. Sometimes you have to do things to make others happy in spite of themselves. In any case, that was my plan, even if it was beginning to become a burden.

Fortunately, when I was leaving school the next day, I found Rachel and Pavel talking to each other. I jumped for joy, seeing myself already relieved of my responsibility.On the way home, I spoke some more about Pavel. I was so happy, that I had no problem finding all kinds of new things in his favor, and it appeared to me that my sister was finally listening to me.

However, for the sake of caution (and because I liked their cook’s cakes), I kept up my friendship with Hans and Johann. And it was thanks to their mother that I had the opportunity to introduce Rachel to them.

This fine woman, who had taken a shine to me, had the idea of inviting me to spend a day in the country with her husband and children. I pretended to hesitate, arguing that my parents would never allow me to leave home for a whole day with people they didn’t know.

But there was perhaps a way: if my sister could join us …

As for Rachel, I didn’t have much trouble convincing her. A ride in a carriage, a picnic on the grass—she had read about that so often! And since nothing in particular seemed to be going on between her and Pavel, we might as well play several cards at once …

It was a beautiful, sunny Sunday. Mr. von Statt had rented an old carriage drawn by two horses. My sister was overjoyed.

She had put on a simple, pretty dress that made a good impression. Mrs. von Statt knew how to win her over and asked her to sit beside her for the ride.The women were seated opposite the three of us, while Mr. von Statt, transformed into a poet or a workman by the leisure of a Sunday excursion, held the reins.

I was delighted: it wasn’t only for Rachel that this outing was a first. I immediately decided that I preferred Johann to Pavel as a brother-in-law, and I felt satisfaction in thinking that my sister, even though she saw the latter every day, didn’t seem to have developed an undying passion for him.

The weather was glorious. Hans was as calm as usual, and Mrs. von Statt chatted happily with my sister, whom—miracle of miracles—Johann couldn’t stop looking at.

Rachel, completely absorbed in the conversation with her future mother-in-law, didn’t notice anything. Of course, the day had barely begun …

Seeing how everything turned out, even today I don’t know whether I should congratulate myself for having offered my sister the opportunity of living for a whole day, plus a few more afterward, as if she were in a French novel.

Of course, such an experience must make the rest of one’s life seem sad and insipid, even after a very brief moment of happiness.

I don’t think my mother ever experienced even a tiny fraction of this joy—although she was the one who put the finishing touches on my efforts.

We stopped at the edge of a river in a patch of thick grass warmed by the sun. Everything was perfect. I was sure I wasn’t going to risk the sudden appearance of my brother Samuel and his friends in their boats: this river was too calm and too narrow.It was made for peace and quiet, not for Samuel. We unfolded the tablecloth for our picnic. Rachel was trembling slightly and gave me a look every once in a while as if asking me to reassure her that she wasn’t dreaming.

Johann couldn’t keep his eyes off her, his parents were smiling, and his brother was laughing. I was in heaven.

I almost felt like taking an oath of unending friendship with Hans, sealed with a drop of blood.

It’s amazing how strong an illusion can be.

The lunch almost caused a few problems when Mrs. von Statt took out the sausages that were supposed to accompany the salads and the bread. Rachel grew pale.

She had never thought about this. Me neither, because it had been a long time since my mind was on such things. Pork!

I’ve already said that we weren’t a particularly religious Jewish family—with the exception of Avner. But ancestral customs survive the loss of the faith of which they were the foundation.And they probably compensate for actual belief in order to ensure that one remains part of the fold. So, except for Avner, whose whole existence it constituted, the deepest religiosity didn’t inspire the day-to-day life of the Weinberger family, even though my father still went to the synagogue with my mother—but seated apart, as you might know—and we all went for big occasions.

Given the times and the region where we lived, we were taking considerable liberties with the Eternal One and His laws! Except for me, no one even thought about easing the rigors of Shabbat or the laws of kashrut for his own purposes.

It was the way we lived: we bought from Jewish merchants, and we would never have looked for any other kind of food. For that matter, we weren’t any worse off eating this way.

With the von Statts, however, in order to manifest my opposition to tradition—though I admit that I didn’t risk those concerned even noticing this expression of my independence—and also to avoid compromising my plans, I accepted all kinds of food, explaining that in our home we didn’t pay much attention to these archaic rules.

We were good Jews who didn’t want to attract attention. So, when Mrs. von Statt invited my sister, she didn’t think it was necessary to prepare anything in particular.

Rachel gave me a troubled look. She wasn’t going to ruin everything for a slice of ham, was she?

If she were going to meet Stendhal, she had to give it her best, and her future happiness was well worth a bite of sausage!I already said that she wasn’t ugly—I’m taking the risk of creating doubt by repeating it—but what replaced physical beauty in her wasn’t enough to excuse everything. Johann seemed to find her to his liking—let her do as much for the pork!

Rachel had lowered her head and was busy torturing a few poor blades of grass that had nothing to do with this kashrut business.

Fortunately, even though I’ve been speaking about it for a while, no one had yet noticed her malaise. It was up to me …

Pointing to the ham and giving my sister a sharp jab with my elbow, I exclaimed,

“Look, Rachel! Your favorite ham!”

Then, to our hosts, who were already smiling as my sister turned the color of the forbidden meat, I said,

“If you don’t hurry up, she’s going to eat the whole thing. Just think: we have centuries of abstinence to make up for!”I have no idea what Rachel was thinking at that moment, but I had succeeded in preserving our chances. The von Statts were laughing heartily, and my sister, red as a beet, grabbed the first slice of ham she had ever touched in her life.

She muttered, “My brother always exaggerates …”

“What she hasn’t told you,” I added to outdo myself, “is that our uncle brought us a ham like this one last week, and Rachel ate so much she got indigestion! But I think it will be OK for us to have just a little.”

I couldn’t very well abandon my sister altogether … Mrs. von Statt, who perhaps suspected something, affirmed that, in any case, there were enough bread and salads so that Rachel wouldn’t die of hunger.

My sister, who had never seen so many people smile at her in such a short amount of time, performed the first act of her life in contradiction not of a law that she was hardly acquainted with and didn’t understand, but of her customary way of doing things, or that of her entourage, which meant about the same thing.

It still warms my heart to think that this trap I set for her allowed her to perform the first freely chosen act of her existence.

Rachel bit into the forbidden meat, not without suppressing a slight look of disgust. None of the von Statts began a discussion on the miracle of a Jew eating pork.

Dreading that my sister might spit everything out, I swallowed my portion. I didn’t calm down until I noticed that she actually seemed to be enjoying the forbidden fruit.

She was also looking more often at Johann. She had probably finally noticed how much the young man was paying attention to her, which must have helped her to forget the exact nature of what was in her mouth.She even reached out to take some more, but she thought better of the idea and concentrated on the salads and the bread.

They asked her about her activities, her tastes, her plans—things that she had never thought about. She responded in monosyllables, blushing, which the von Statts seemed to appreciate.

Most of the time, I tried to elaborate on her reticence by supplying more information, longer if not exactly true.

I became bolder when I noticed that Rachel didn’t contradict me. Was she beginning to realize exactly how lucky she was? She embellished each and every one of my lies.

The plates were emptied, and the conversation ebbed. Mr. and Mrs. von Statt were slow digesters and thus silent by necessity.

Johann seemed intimidated by Rachel. My friendship hadn’t made Hans any more talkative, and my sister remained mute, staring at the grass.

She raised her eyes once in a while toward Johann and then lowered them as soon as their gazes met each other’s. Encouraged by his parents’ winks, Johann tried to talk enthusiastically about his studies and his future career as a lawyer.

He planned to move to Warsaw, which must have made my sister’s heart beat faster, since, after all her reading, any capital city for her was Paris.But even Johann stopped talking. There were a few moments of silence during which I was wracking my brains trying to find a way to bring “my” couple together.

Finally, Mr. von Statt stood up heavily, stretched as much as his sluggish digestion allowed, and announced that he was going to take a nap in the shade. His wife followed him, while I suggested to my friends and my sister that we take a walk along the river.

We started out. I went ahead with Hans, determined to leave behind the ones I already called “the two lovebirds.”

But every time the distance became too great, my sister would call me back. So, she didn’t understand anything! Me, she could see all the time.

A young, handsome, intelligent man was waiting impatiently to speak to her of love; the weather was splendid, and the landscape would have made the surliest civil servant dream of poetry; and she didn’t want me to leave the two of them alone …

Once again, I had to invent something! I was the only one who didn’t have the right to the calm necessary for digestion. I took a look at the river and suggested to Hans that we go for a swim.

I was sure that my sister would refuse to appear in only her slip before people she barely knew, and Johann would therefore be happy to keep her company.

Hans accepted enthusiastically: he found the walk and the heat unpleasant. But my plan wasn’t to my sister’s liking: “No, Adam, it’s too dangerous to swim just after a meal.”“Oy, oy, oy,” my father would have said, and with him all the Jewish characters that appear in literature.

What was the matter with her? Was she incapable of understanding that the purpose of this day wasn’t to make her appreciate ham so she could become a nun?

Fortunately, Johann showed some initiative:

“Let’s let them enjoy themselves. The water’s not deep, and we’ll stay on the bank to keep an eye on them. Unless you want to swim, too …”

She refused, blushing, and Hans and I didn’t wait for her permission to undress and dive into the cold water.

I hate water. Cold water even more. For half an hour I endured this sacrifice to ensure Rachel’s happiness.

Hans enjoyed the experience much more than I did, probably because of his generations of distant ancestors who had sailed the Baltic, whom he had spoken to me about one day.

They were the source of his family’s relative prosperity. I did my best to look as though I was having a good time and tried hard to resist my growing disgust for the water and for all the questionable things it might be carrying along.

I held back my cries when a lascivious water plant brushed against me, making me imagine billions of microbes and viruses attacking my skin and endangering my health.

I found a little more courage when I finally saw Rachel and Johann alone on the bank, talking quietly. There were long moments of silence, to be sure, but they no doubt had their secret necessity.

Finally, my resistance gave out, and I pulled Hans away in a race to the sunny meadow, where, as quickly as possible, we could get rid of the freezing drops that were clinging to us. I heard my sister shouting that she wanted to follow us. But Johann must have found a new argument, no less convincing. I liked this guy …

I lay on the grass next to Hans, out of breath but delighted, confident in the future, which would provide me with a brother-in-law and free my sister from anguish and a joyless life.For the first time I imagined what my parents would think if their daughter married Johann or Pavel, a goy … but they had to understand! It was that or nothing.

In our community, there had already been a case of a girl who had married a Christian. Her father chased her from his house, disinherited her, and considered her dead.

Even though she hadn’t left the town, she was never able to see her parents again. The mother despaired but didn’t dare go secretly to visit her daughter, who, people said, cried every day thinking of her parents.

Nevertheless, her husband’s family was charming, not too Catholic, and almost tolerant. The father-in-law even reached out a few times, but in vain. Everyone attributed the death of the young girl’s first baby to her sorrow.

She herself remained between life and death for a long time, but her father never came to see her. Her mother fell ill, etc. The whole nine yards, which didn’t do much to strengthen the Catholics’ love for us.

Our whole community talked about it. They tried to reason with the father, to no avail. My own father often went to speak to him. He condemned his reaction, which gave me hope. But I wasn’t completely reassured.

And in this case it wasn’t just some Jewish girl marrying some young German Protestant or Polish atheist, but his own daughter marrying a goy….The sun was going down. Rachel and Johann brought us our clothes. We walked back to the meadow, where the parents were still asleep.

We were silent: Hans and I from the sun and fatigue, Rachel and Johann for reasons that transcended words.

Rachel didn’t say another word on the way home. Thank God Hans and I were there. We had had such a good time, we affirmed, that we ought to do the same thing the following week.

Mr. and Mrs. von Statt accepted with pleasure, and Rachel—my going depended on her—complied without batting an eyelid.

After having thanked and taken leave of our friends, Rachel and I made our way back to our neighborhood. I didn’t dare say a word, and she seemed to share my sudden awkward discomfort.

She had become very pale again—she certainly had turned every possible color today! Suddenly, she took a step toward the ditch at the side of the road, leaned her hand against a birch tree, and threw up what her religion couldn’t swallow.

I thought she was going to make a terrible scene, that she resented me intensely for having led her into this trap, and I prepared myself selflessly for the cries and tears that I was so accustomed to.

But she walked back toward me, whiter than ever in spite of having been out in the sun all day.

Her eyes were drowned in tears, but she wasn’t actually crying. In a soft, trembling voice, she asked me, “You won’t say anything to Mama and Papa, right?”

I took her hand with all the tenderness I could muster at that moment, and we walked home, bound together by a great, heavy secret.

The next day, after school, I saw from afar that she was standing next to Pavel. He was speaking freely, but she was barely listening and wasn’t looking at him or answering him.I thought I would tell her that she needn’t come to wait for me anymore, but I decided in the end that it was premature to sacrifice one of “our” opportunities.

On the way home, I took a risk and made a few references to the previous day’s outing, but most of all to the next one, and I could see that my sister was impatient for the weekend to arrive.

We couldn’t let things drag on. Hannah, the matchmaker, would end up completing her job one day, when she felt her pride was avenged.

The following Sunday was as idyllic as the previous one, especially for Rachel and Johann—even though I had to dive into the cold, repugnant water again.

We continued these expeditions, which became a habit throughout the springtime, and the weekly swim was transformed into a ritual imposed on only those who enjoyed it, namely everyone else but me.

I was annoyed at myself for not having been able to find something else to do the first time, especially since, on our way home from our second Sunday in the country, Rachel remembered that I hated the water.

I can’t help thinking that, from that day on, she took a certain pleasure in forcing this weekly burden on me, in revenge for the ham.

I was going to end up hating Sundays as much as Shabbat, but exams were approaching, and we had to put an end to our outings until summer vacation.Meanwhile, from time to time I continued to frequent the Dobjinskis. Since he had begun to spend a few minutes every day talking with my sister, Pavel had become more cordial toward me.

This, combined with Janek’s nonstop yakking, made each of my visits to their house extremely trying. I sensed that the family talked about us.

The insinuations and allusions became more and more numerous, and the father, between glasses of wine, began to ask me questions.

A NOVEL THAT EXPLORES THE DIFFICULTY OF SPEAKING ABOUT THE HOLOCAUST.First there is Adam Weinberger’s long childhood, in a world that has no idea yet what is in store for it. The childhood of a lover of illusions, who dreams of changing the world and of freeing his family from the burden of a tradition that he finds unbearable.

And who flees words and other people to the point of losing his identity. Between the two is there, of which one dares not speak.

And then, in the end, after forgetting, at the end of all the flights, there is a return of childhood from beyond death, the single truth of fiction – of the narration of life.

About the author of Forget Adam WeinbergerVincent Engel – author of Forget Adam WeinbergerVincent Engel was born in Brussels in 1963. When he was five years old, he began to invent stories (the poor, deprived child had no television), and at age nine, he started to try to write them. School for him was clearly a waste of time. When he got home, he wouldn’t waste any of his energies on lessons and homework, either, preferring to devote his time to his passions.

This resulted in a somewhat complicated academic trajectory until he finally went to university, thanks to the tenacious will of his father, for whom a son without a university education was not his son.

Although he hated school and the teachers who didn’t predict much of a future for him, he definitely enjoyed earning a doctorate in literature and becoming a university professor specializing in contemporary French literature. He had a particular interest in issues of memory, especially concerning the Holocaust and what he calls the “desire to remember” (2020).

At the same time, he continued to pursue his writing and chanced upon a crazy publisher couple from Quebec, who would put out his first collections of novellas and become his good friends.

In 2000, he completed Retour à Montechiarro (Fayard, 2001), Volume I of the “World of Asmodée Edern,” which met with great commercial success.

Today Vincent wears many hats: professor at the University of Louvain, novelist, playwright – in particular as friend and right-hand man (although he is left-handed) to the late Franco Dragone for a decade – and screenwriter, not to mention his many collaborations with the press and the media as a columnist and literary critic.

– Translated by Richard Kutner. Richard Kutner is an independent translator of fiction and non-fiction. His translations include After the Roundup, by Joseph Weismann, and Cast Away on the Letter A, by Fred, for which he was awarded a Hemingway Translation Grant from the Book Office of the French Embassy in the United States.

Follow me on Instagram : @vincent_engel_officiel

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After the Roundup is the true memoir of eleven-year-old French Holocaust Survivor Joseph Weismann, who was rounded up in Paris by the French police along with 13,000 other Jews (4,000 of whom were children) in July 1942 and held in appalling conditions in the Vélodrome d’Hiver cycling stadium.

From there, he and his family were transported by cattle car to the transit camp of Beaune-la-Rolande.

Extensive After the Roundup excerpts:

Escape

Chapter 3 of After the Roundup book

Separation from After the Roundup Book

After the Roundup on Amazon1. ARRESTING “FOREIGN” JEWSThe French police will arrest the 22,000 foreign Jewsin Greater Paris. They’ll be taken to Drancy,Compiegne, Pithiviers, and Beaune-la-Rolande. p. 172. THE VELODROME d’HIVERA storm is starting. We’ll sit here.I don’t know how longwe’ll be staying. p. 273. DEPARTUREATTENTION, ATTENTION! THE FOLLOWING FAMILIES GATHERIN THE COURTYARD. IF YOU HEAR YOUR NAME, YOU MUSTCOME AT DAWN TO SIGN UP FOR TOMORROW’S DEPARTURE.AARON, ABRAHAM, ABRAMOVICZ P. 434. DEPORTATIONWhat does he mean, “deported”? p. 475. TEARING APART P.486. SEPARATIONMama….Mama….MAMA!!! P. 4WE’LL MEET AGAIN7. Pitchi Poi…Pitchi Poi….We’ll meet again in Pitchi Poi… P. 508. Summer 1942. Detention camp ofBeaune-la-Rolande, France P. 19. FREEDOM!! P. 68ESCAPEI made it! Joe, I…..I MADE IT!!I MADE IT!!Really? Really truly? What do you see, Joseph? What do you see?There’s….an open space and then a grove of trees. About20 yards I’d say. Joe, do you think your legs will hold up?LIBERATION10 THE AMERICANS! THE AMERICANS!! p. 89RESOLVE – p 9511. I couldn’t understand how good, honest people like my parents or innocent little girls could be murdered only because they were Jewish…..I kept hearing names…..names of places, all of them in Poland.On the radio, in newspapers, they spoke of….of millions.But I didn’t want to hear.Not yet.12. Remember – Never to accept the unacceptable p 120 After the Roundup on AmazonFrench Holocaust Survivor Joseph Weismann’s After the Roundup Graphic NovelPREFACEI was born in Paris in 1931. In 1942, I was eleven years old, and I wore the yellow star.

My parents, my two sisters, and I were arrested on July 16, 1942, during the big Vél’ d’Hiv’ Roundup, before being taken to the Vélodrome d’Hiver cycling stadium. We stayed there five days and five nights, without food, water, or sanitation.

Then we were transferred to the internment camp of Beaune-la-Rolande, in the Loiret region of France. After being held for about two weeks, the rest of my family was sent to the Auschwitz extermination camp, in Poland.

As soon as they arrived, they were gassed and burned in the crematory ovens.

Even with the gendarmes, watchtowers, and barbed wire, I managed to escape from Beaune-la-Rolande with my friend Joe, who was as bold as I was.

Despite the collaboration of the Vichy government, the entire French population cannot be considered guilty. Of all the occupied countries, France had the smallest percentage of French and foreign Jews sent to the camps.

We should also remember that 75 percent of the Jews of France survived. In 1995, President Jacques Chirac finally acknowledged the participation of the French state in the fate of its Jews: the government had indeed abandoned to the occupier a segment of its population that it should have protected. This admission was an immense comfort to me.

Urged on by Simone Veil well before this, I began to reflect on an obligation that was mine as well after such a long silence: the duty to bear witness, the necessity to be willing to tell others about what I had lived through.

For more than forty years, I have visited countless middle and high schools in France and abroad, a commitment that led to my being named Officier de la Légion d’Honneur and to my receiving the Palmes Académiques (for distinguished contributions to education).In Le Mans, where I have lived for decades, the Villaret Middle School became the Joseph Weismann Middle School in 2019, a source of great pride for me.

The narrative that you are about to discover inspired Rose Bosch’s film La Rafle (The Roundup), which was released in 2010. It was essential, though, to tell the rest of the story: in collaboration with Caroline Andrieu and the publisher Michel Lafon, I wrote the memoir After the Roundup, which came out in 2011.

Then a lucky coincidence put me in contact with the artist Laurent Bidot, who, along with the author and scriptwriter Arnaud Delalande, created the graphic novel that you have in your hands. After the film and the book, it was of the greatest importance that it be realized.

This book has a specific goal: the unceasing transmission, to the young as well as the old, of the memory of one of the darkest pages of the history of humanity, the Holocaust (“Shoah” in Hebrew, meaning “catastrophe”), a word that designates the murder of nearly six million European Jews by Nazi Germany and its collaborators.I am one of its last survivors.

By means of this testimony, I wish to continue to inform people so that this tragedy never occurs again.

For my entire life, I have borne the terrible pain caused by the loss of my loved ones. But I have also developed a determination and an optimism that have succeeded in bringing down mountains, no doubt molding myself into an “example of psychological resilience,” as the psychiatrist Boris Cyrulnik would say.

I am now ninety years old.

But I can still convey one last message: never accept the unacceptable. See on AmazonAfter the Roundup – EscapeFrench Holocaust Survivor Joseph Weismann’s Story from the Original BookWe begin a methodical exploration of the camp. Only the entrance gate isn’t protected by tight rows of barbed wire, but it immediately appears impassable to us. It’s guarded by several teams of gendarmes, inside and out.

So we’ll have to deal with the barbed wire, no matter how sharp and thick it is. Going over the top of it is out of the question: First of all, it’s too high—more than two yards from the looks of it.

And it seems to extend over a long distance, so we could be seen too easily. We consider digging, but the soil, dried up by the summer heat, is too hard.

One last option presents itself to us, the one that will work: separate the metal wires to create a passage.

The camp is shaped like a rectangle, and there’s a watchtower at each corner.

At night, the police sweep the open area and the edges with spotlights, ready to fire at anything that moves. We might as well try to escape in the daytime.

“We need to choose the moment when there’s the most activity,” Joe suggests.Together we exclaim, “Lunchtime!”At noon, everyone assembles in front of the food shed for the only meal of the day.

Of course, no one wants to run the risk of missing lunch, so it’s there that all the guards’ eyes are focused while the food is being given out—about two hours in total.

Joe is worried. “The barbed wire is really thick … We’re gonna be skinned alive.”

“You’re right, but we don’t have any choice. We’re going to have to equip ourselves … Do you know where to find some sturdy clothes?”

He knows. The clothes left behind by everyone who’s passed through the camp have all been put in one of the barracks.

We sneak inside unnoticed. Sweaters, pants, and shirts are piled up on the bedsteads, with no regard for size or shape. No problem—we do the sorting ourselves …

Toward the end of the morning, with the August sun shooting out its hottest rays, here we are, dressed for wintertime: two pairs of underwear, two pairs of pants, two shirts, and a thick wool beret on our shaved heads, everything in the darkest colors we can find, brown and dark green.

We stay far from the others and pretend to be sleeping, leaning against the wall of one of the barracks the way so many other kids do …I imagine that thoughts like mine are racing through Joe’s head. It’s been two days since our parents were taken away.

We haven’t even taken the time to tell each other about our lives. All I know about him is that he lives in the twentieth arrondissement and that he has no brothers or sisters.

We adopted each other spontaneously because we share the same taste for freedom and also maybe a certain clear headedness.

We don’t formulate a plan—we’re barely conscious of what we’re about to do, but we sense that we have to do it.

Something deep inside of us sets off an alarm: We have to get out of here; it’s a question of life or death.

There are no smiles on our faces at the thought of our flight. On the contrary, we’re serious, worried, and filled with emotion.We look at the other children. Some of them aren’t even three years old, and few are as old as we are. Many are sick from what they’ve been eating for weeks, and perhaps even more from the privation they’ve endured for years now.

Some play, oblivious. The rage to live that compels Joe and me to want to escape drives them only to go running through the dust of the camp as they wait to rush into their parents’ arms.

Hope or some kind of reckless unawareness keeps them going, I don’t know. Just like Joe and me in the end, except we’re going in another direction.

They’re all like the two of us: the same yellow star sewn on their chests, the same imprisonment, the same nightmares, the same hunger gnawing at their stomachs—and, in all our hearts, the same boundless love for our fathers and mothers.

The lunch bell rings at the other end of the camp. We watch the children pop out of every corner to go get their piece of bread.The two of us take off.

Joe goes first. Flat on his stomach, nose in the dust, he begins to separate the barbed wire to create a kind of tunnel through it on the ground.

But it takes him many minutes to disentangle even one inch because the wires are so tightly enmeshed. It’s nothing like the open wire fences surrounding fields of cows!

The wall before us seems to be made of an impossible tangle of rolls of metal wire. I heard from the grown-ups, when they were still here, that the camp was originally built to keep German soldiers prisoner.

If the security fence around the camp was judged sufficient for solid, well-nourished soldiers, it’s reasonable to conclude that two skinny runts like Joe and me have no chance of escape. Only we’re absolutely not reasonable.

Fortunately, Joe is big … After an hour of effort and perseverance, he’s succeeded in creating a passage just wide enough for someone his size, and now that it’s long enough, I slide in behind him.We advance at the pace of a sickly snail through the mass of metallic brambles so thick that the sunlight can barely penetrate it, but we’re still moving forward. And we have plenty of time: it’s not like in school.

No one’s taking attendance, and no one’s waiting for us. And if we’re not there tonight in our dormitory for lights out, no one’s going to notice.

Even if a guard making his rounds passes by the hole we made in the barbed wire, he’ll have to bend down to see it. I wouldn’t say we were calm, but our adventure seems to be off to a pretty good start.

Joe is breathing hard in front of me. My nose is on his heels. There’s no real reason to be this close except to encourage him.

All of his precautions are in vain: protecting his hands with the sleeves of his shirt to separate the wires one by one, he still tears up his fingers.

“Ow! These damned things really hurt!”

“Joe, be quiet! You’re going to attract attention!”

“Easy for you to say. I’m bleeding everywhere.”

“It’s all right. It’s all right. We’re moving ahead.”“Well, I can’t keep doing this. It’s your turn.”There’s one problem: the passageway he’s made isn’t wide enough for us to pass each other, even though I’ve enlarged it a little. We crawl backward toward the camp. I get out, Joe follows me, and I creep back into the tunnel, with Joe right behind me.

We hold our breath for a few seconds. Nothing happens. There’s still the same noise, the same sobs, the same shouts of children who have lost all control of themselves.

No one saw us, no gendarme on his rounds, no policeman from his watchtower, probably because of the thickness of the barbed wire.

My index fingers and thumbs form pliers precise enough to grab hold of the wires and separate them one by one. I’m panting and cursing like my friend before me, but soon I clear a four-inch-long passage wide enough for our shoulders.

I suddenly move my head, and my beret gets stuck on the barbs. Is it lice, fleas, scabies, or scratches from the wires? I’m not sure what’s itching.Besides, pretty soon I don’t feel anything. Neither the blood flowing down my hands, elbows, and neck nor the skin being peeled off my knees from rubbing against the ground. I hear Joe breathing behind me, but we don’t speak.

We have no need to urge each other on. And we have to conserve our strength, because this is a long–a very long–procedure.

How long has it been since we started to make our way through this mass of barbed wire? It seems like hours.

In fact, it has been hours, but we’re unaware. Once again, we’ve lost the notion of time. We have only one idea in our minds: pass under this wall of metal, make it out, and stand in the fresh air of freedom.

We have no choice: it’s not hard to imagine what would happen to us if we were to go back. We have no knowledge that elsewhere members of the Resistance are joining forces and singing “Freedom guides our footsteps.”But it’s the idea of this same freedom that helps us to endure our painful crawl. We’re exhausted, but in no way discouraged, firmly convinced that we’re going to succeed.

We’re right. After many hours, I catch a glimpse of brighter light. I redouble my effort. Anesthetized by the pain, my hands no longer feel anything.

I pick up the pace, helped by luck: the network of metal wires is a little less dense near the outside of the enclosure. Suddenly, right in front of me, I see a hole about eight inches in diameter already formed in the wires.

Could some villager secretly have tried to create a passage into the camp to see what was going on there? Or to help prisoners escape? Who knows? In any case, he didn’t finish the job. Joe and I, on the other hand, have almost completed our work.

With my last remaining strength, I create a tunnel to the hole I just discovered. I take off my beret, and, in a gesture of rage, I throw it outside.

“Joe, my beret is free!”

“Dickhead! I don’t believe it! You still need it!”“I don’t care. Maybe I’m not out yet, but my beret is, and I’m planning to join it!”I hear my friend grumbling behind me. “What a moron! He’s going to cut his head open at the last minute … Whatever got into me to try this with such a halfwit?”

“Joe, keep your insults to yourself. We made it!”

“We made it? I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true, I swear.”

“What do you see?”

There’s an open space. We’re going to have to run a little to reach the trees. I’d say … about twenty yards. Are your legs still working?”

“Don’t worry—they’re fine … Get a move on, and wave to me when you’re there, OK?”

“OK!”

I pick up my beret and launch myself like a rocket. My shoes race forward, and my little sparrow’s feet follow them as best they can.I squeeze my fists with all my remaining strength. It’s the most beautiful run of my life—I fly, I slide, I skid, and finally I throw myself into the ditch! I feel like shouting with joy, like dancing, like swinging from the branches like a monkey.

In a fraction of second, however, the little voice in my head brings me back to reality: Calm down, Joseph, calm down. You’re only halfway there. There’s still Joe …

No chance that I’ll forget him. I’m fully aware of the fact that I couldn’t have succeeded without him. This little, slightly chubby guy, hardly any heftier than me really, has earned his freedom as much as I have.

I lie flat on my stomach in the grass and study the space separating us. About as long as a school yard. If a gendarme, up in his watchtower, catches sight of Joe, it’s all over.

I can see only shapes up there: I can’t make out which way the guards are facing. We’ll have to take our chances. Joe is watching me, on the lookout for the slightest sign. I wave him over.

He springs up like a goat. In less time than it takes to tell about it, he’s already on the ground next to me, sweating, panting, really in bad shape but alive and free!No troubling sounds come from the camp. The gendarmes didn’t see us, or they didn’t want to see us—we don’t care which. Joe catches his breath and extends his hand.

“We did it, Joseph! We did it!”

“We did it, but you’re a mess!”

He bursts out laughing. “Look who’s talking!”

What time must it be? We started to inch our way through the barbed wire when the lunch bell sounded. Now the sun is much lower in the sky, and it’s not as hot.

It must be late in the afternoon. So it took us at least five hours to make our way through that briar patch of metal. How many yards did we go? Fifteen, I’m sure, maybe more.

“Joseph, we can’t hang around here too long.”

“I know. But I’m exhausted.”

“Come, let’s get away from here.”

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After the Roundup: Escape and Survival in Hitler's France

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Members of the Royal 22e Regiment in audience with Pope Pius XIIThe legacy of Pope Pius XII, born Eugenio Pacelli, is fraught with controversy due to his role—or lack thereof—during World War II and the Holocaust.

The extent of his knowledge about the Holocaust remains a topic of intense debate among historians, theologians, and scholars. This expanded discussion aims to delve deeper into historical references that can shed light on what the Pope knew.

This blog post examines historical evidence, including correspondence and diplomatic communications, to better understand what Pope Pius XII knew about the Holocaust.

With the recent release of another letter showing the Vatican had information about the Holocaust has recently been released:

“The letter, dated Dec. 14, 1942, was written by Father Lother Koenig, a Jesuit who was in the anti-Nazi resistance in Germany and addressed to the pope’s personal secretary at the Vatican, Father Robert Leiber, also a German.

Vatican archivist Giovanni Coco told the Corriere that the importance of the letter was “enormous, a unique case” because it showed the Vatican had information that labor camps were actually death factories.

In the letter, Koenig tells Leiber that sources had confirmed that about 6,000 Poles and Jews a day were being killed in “SS-furnaces” at the Belzec camp in southeastern Poland.

The camp was about 20 km (12 miles) northwest of the town of Rava-Ruska, a railway center that was then also part of German-occupied Poland but is now in western Ukraine.”

Letter shows Pope Pius XII probably knew about Holocaust early on By Philip Pullella

Early Warnings to Pope Pius XII about the HolocaustPope Pius XII ascended to the papacy in March 1939, just months before World War II began—his earlier role as the Papal Nuncio in Germany from 1917 to 1929.

He developed an intricate network of contacts, offering him a ringside view of the rise of Adolf Hitler and the Nazi party. This diplomatic experience set the stage for how Pius XII would interact with the Nazis during the war.

In the early years of World War II, the Pope received multiple warnings about the mass killings of Jews. Notably, in 1941, reports from the bishops in Poland highlighted large-scale deportations and killings.

Similarly, Jan Karski, a Polish underground operative, met with American and British officials and religious authorities, including members of the Vatican, to provide eyewitness accounts of mass killings.

In 1942, the Allies issued the “Joint Declaration by Members of the United Nations,” which specifically mentioned the mass extermination of European Jews. The information was so alarming that it was broadcast globally, including on Vatican Radio.

“From all the occupied countries, Jews are being transported in conditions of appalling horror and brutality to Eastern Europe.

In Poland, which has been made the principal Nazi slaughterhouse, the ghettos established by the German invader are being systematically emptied of all Jews except a few highly skilled workers required for war industries.

None of those taken away are ever heard of again.” – Excerpt from the Joint Declaration shared on Vatican Radio Broadcast, 1942.

“Pius XII had already prepared the text of a public protest against the persecution of the Jews.

Shortly before this text was sent to L’Osservatore Romano, news reached him of the disastrous consequences of the Dutch bishops’ initiative.

He concluded that public protests, far from alleviating the fate of the Jews, aggravated their persecution and he decided that he could not take the responsibility of his own intervention having similar and probably even much more serious consequences.

Therefore he burnt the text he had prepared. .” Pius XII as he really was, 13/02/1999 by Peter Gumpel in The Tablet

Vatican Diplomatic Channels: A Balancing Act RevisitedPope Pius XII kept diplomatic channels with Nazi Germany, primarily through the Apostolic Nuncio Cesare Orsenigo in Berlin, who held his position from before the war started until its conclusion.

The Papal Nuncio was in a precarious position; his role was to maintain lines of communication with a regime that was antithetical to the teachings of the Church.

New Year’s reception for Hitler in Berlin. – In the foreground: Foreign Minister von Ribbentrop in conversation with Nuncio Cesare Orsenigo. In the background: Leader and Chancellor Adolf Hitler. Attribution: Bundesarchiv, Bild 183-H26878 / CC-BY-SA 3.0Historically, Papal Nuncios acted as diplomatic mediators. Their task is to maintain relationships with host countries while upholding the tenets of the Catholic faith.

Orsenigo had reported as early as 1940 that there were rumblings about a “final solution” within Nazi circles. While the document did not outline specifics, it indicated that the Vatican was not entirely in the dark about the extreme actions the Nazis were planning.

The Vatican’s open channels with Nazi Germany present a particularly complex dimension to Pope Pius XII’s role during World War II.

Communication with the Nazis was a double-edged sword. They offered the Pope some leverage and vital intelligence. They also made the Vatican susceptible to accusations of complicity through silence.

Perspective of Other Countries: The Media LandscapeComparing the Vatican’s knowledge to what was publicly available at the time offers an additional layer of complexity. Newspapers and media outlets in other countries reported Nazi atrocities by 1941, albeit often in a piecemeal fashion.

The New York Times, for instance, published articles on mass killings of Jews as early as 1941. Similarly, the BBC was broadcasting reports about the killings, and the information even made its way to neutral countries like Sweden.

However, what sets the Vatican apart is its extensive network of clergy and nuncios in various countries, which could have acted as additional intelligence sources.

The Catholic Church was present in nearly every country involved in the war, from the Axis Powers to the Allies and neutral states.

In this context, it’s reasonable to assume that the Pope’s knowledge wasn’t solely based on diplomatic communiqués but also church networks.

A Balancing Act: Diplomacy and Ethical ResponsibilityMaintaining diplomatic relations with Nazi Germany was like walking a tightrope. On the one hand, the Vatican needed to keep these channels open to gather intelligence and exert influence where possible.

On the other hand, by maintaining diplomatic relations without public condemnation, the Vatican risked appearing complicit or, at the very least, complacent.

Imagine a doctor who has a patient with a highly contagious disease. The doctor must maintain contact to provide treatment but risks spreading the disease to other patients.

Similarly, the Vatican had to balance its moral duty to intervene with the diplomatic repercussions that could result from any such intervention.

Complexity in RetrospectWhen examined through history, the Vatican’s diplomatic balancing act with Nazi Germany remains intensely scrutinized.

While the Pope had several avenues of knowledge—from Orsenigo’s reports to Church networks and public media—how he acted on that knowledge is still debatable.

The decision to opt for quiet diplomacy over public condemnation is not black and white, and scholars continue to dissect the nuances of this complex issue.

Public Silence, Private Actions?Pope Pius XII’s public silence about the Holocaust is perhaps the most criticized aspect of his wartime conduct.

The Pope’s defenders argue that he opted for quiet diplomacy, working behind the scenes to save Jews by facilitating visas and helping them escape.

“…the Catholic Church, under the pontificate of Pius XII, was instrumental in saving at least 700,000, but probably as many as 860,000, Jews from certain death at Nazi hands….

These figures, small as they are in comparison with our six million martyrs whose fate is beyond consolation, exceed by far those saved by all other churches, religious institutions and rescue organizations combined.” Three Popes and the Jews, Pinchas Lapide, Hawthorn, 1967, pps. 214-15. Lapide was a Jewish historian and diplomat.

The Pope addressed the issues of racial persecution in the following terms in his 1942 Christmas address:

“Humanity owes this vow to those hundreds of thousands who, without any fault on their part, sometimes only because of their nationality or race, have been consigned to death or to a slow decline [also translated: “marked down for death or gradual extinction”]. Ritner, Carol and Roth, John K. (eds.). 2002, p. 3. Pope Pius XII and the Holocaust

Pope Pius XII reportedly used diplomatic backchannels to save Jews.

For instance, he provided visas and facilitated passage to safe countries. However, the real scale and effectiveness of these quiet efforts remain hotly debated topics.

Ethical and Moral QuandariesThe Pope’s silence raises complex ethical questions. A public condemnation might have endangered Catholics and Jews in occupied territories.

Some argue that a more vocal condemnation from the Pope could have swayed Catholic nations allied with Germany or at least mobilized public opinion.

A school of thought suggests that a vocal papal intervention might have pushed Hitler to expedite his genocidal plans as an act of defiance.

It could have led to severe repercussions for the Church and the Jews in occupied territories.

Unpacking the Vatican Archives: A Deeper DiveThe Vatican Secret Archives, now more accessibly known as the Vatican Apostolic Archives, has long been a source of mystery and speculation.

The recent opening of these archives has offered scholars a treasure trove of documents that provide new perspectives on Pope Pius XII’s role during World War II.

While some documents corroborate the Pope’s knowledge of the Holocaust, others reveal diplomatic communications where the Pope prioritized the preservation of the Church.

One controversial document is a 1942 letter from the U.S. representative to the Vatican, Myron Taylor, stating that the Pope was “convinced that he had done all in his power.”

But the Pope and the Nuncio were not the only figures involved; several other key players within the Vatican also had significant roles.

Domenico Tardini and Giovanni MontiniTwo individuals who frequently appear in these archives are Domenico Tardini and Giovanni Montini, later Pope Paul VI.

Both were close advisors to Pope Pius XII. Tardini was the head of the Vatican Secretariat of State, while Montini was his Undersecretary.

Their roles were vital in shaping Vatican policy and crafting secret diplomatic missions.

Documents show that both were involved in internal discussions regarding how to respond to reports about the Holocaust.

These advisors helped the Pope strategize the Vatican’s next moves like a chess game with high stakes.

The Jewish Delegation to the VaticanAnother fascinating aspect of the archives is the details about a Jewish delegation that sought an audience with Pope Pius XII.

The delegation presented evidence of the ongoing Holocaust to secure a public papal denouncement.

While no public denouncement came, documents suggest that the Pope took the delegation’s information seriously.

Some scholars argue that the Pope’s subsequent actions, including the extension of aid and shelter to Jews in Rome, were influenced by this meeting.

Consider it a consultation with a subject-matter expert that subtly but significantly changes your course of action.

Correspondence with Other Religious FiguresThe archives also unveil correspondence between Pope Pius XII and other religious figures, both Catholic and non-Catholic.

Leaders of Protestant churches in Germany, for instance, communicated their dilemmas and actions concerning the Nazis. Additionally, letters from Catholic bishops in Eastern Europe detail the atrocities they witnessed.

Such letters corroborated what the Pope was hearing through other channels and likely weighed on his moral calculus.

The U.S. and the VaticanAnother revealing piece of the puzzle is the correspondence between Myron Taylor, the U.S. representative to the Vatican, and Pope Pius XII.

In these documents, Taylor expresses that the U.S. government would appreciate a more assertive stance from the Vatican against the Nazis.

The Pope’s replies give an insight into his thought process as he navigated the diplomatic intricacies between condemning evil and protecting the Church.

Nuanced ComplexityThe documents in the Vatican archives add a layer of nuanced complexity to Pope Pius XII’s wartime role. They illustrate the agonizing decisions that must be made and reveal that the Pope did not make them in a vacuum.

Advisors, delegations, foreign diplomats, and other religious figures all shaped the Vatican’s policy during this dark period.

Conclusion – Pope Pius XII and the HolocaustThe question of what Pope Pius XII knew about the Holocaust is entangled in a web of diplomacy, ethical considerations, and historical contexts.

Evidence suggests that he had early warnings and detailed information about Nazi atrocities.

Whether his public silence or quiet diplomacy approach was the best course of action remains a topic of ongoing debate.

Key Takeaways:

Pope Pius XII had early warnings about the Holocaust.
The Vatican’s diplomatic channels with Nazi Germany were both informative and problematic.
Early reports from bishops and operatives indicated mass exterminations.
The Vatican’s diplomatic channels with Nazi Germany offered a unique vantage point, but they also posed ethical dilemmas.
This complexity is magnified compared to public information in other countries, revealing a highly nuanced picture of what Pope Pius XII knew and how he chose to act.
Pope Pius XII chose a “quiet diplomacy” path but faced criticism for his public silence.
The Vatican Archives reveal that the decisions made during the Holocaust were not unilateral actions the Pope took alone.
A host of other players, both within and outside the Vatican, shaped the course of the Church’s actions, thereby painting a picture of intricate moral and diplomatic complexity.
The scale of the Pope’s efforts to save Jews is disputed.
Ethical quandaries surround the Pope’s silence.
New findings from the Vatican archives add complexity but must resolve the controversy definitively.

References:1. “The Pope and Mussolini: The Secret History of Pius XI and the Rise of Fascism in Europe” by David I. Kertzer 2. Vatican Secret Archives 3. “Hitler’s Pope: The Secret History of Pius XII” by John Cornwell 4. Correspondence between the Holy See and the German Reich 5. New York Times Archives detailing Holocaust reports during World War II 6. BBC Historical Archives on World War II broadcasts 7. Vatican Apostolic Archives, Records Relating to World War II and Pope Pius XII

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Hitler's Pope: The Secret History of Pius XII

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Lani Silver – Bay Area Holocaust Oral History Project founder and friend of Remember.orgIn the early days of Remember.org, I went out seeking content to share on this new thing called the Internet. That’s where I met Lani Silver (1948-2009).

Since most of the organizations housing the essential interviews and content about the Holocaust were run by Jewish organizations, trying something new and not knowing me or my background was a big challenge.

Not for Lani Silver. She welcomed me to the Oral History Project, and upon hearing the story of what I was beginning in 1993, she introduced me to her project.

She told me about rock impresario Bill Graham founded it. However, I later learned while he did help it out immensely, the founder was Lani.

And she was generous as she was gracious. She immediately shared videos with me and gained permission from the survivors to share it on Remember.org:

Lucille Eichengreen
Walter Frank
Helen Lazar

Those transcriptions I did and shared with her formed the early foundation of this site. I am not only grateful; Lani’s example was one that I’ve found time and again in sharing stories of survival.

People are willing to help and share so students and teachers can gain access to these critical experiences. Her generosity is hopefully extended here as well, as we’ve never charged anyone to share their content and share it worldwide with people so that we all remember.

Remembering Lani SilverLani Silver was a professor of political science and women’s studies at San Francisco State University. She was also a social activist for many years and many causes.

In 1981, she founded the Bay Area Holocaust Oral History Project, which collected and preserved the stories of Holocaust survivors. The project eventually grew to include over 1,700 interviews.

Silver’s work with the Bay Area Holocaust Oral History Project was groundbreaking. It was one of the first projects to collect and preserve the stories of Holocaust survivors.

Scholars, educators, and filmmakers have used the project’s work to learn more about the Holocaust.

Here’s some background for all who haven’t had the privilege to meet Ms. Silver, a guiding force in collecting firsthand stories of survival and hardship.

Her journey began in 1985 when she told The Chronicle that these recordings were more than just historical accounts; they were deeply emotional reunions.

“Sometimes the survivors haven’t even told their own children. And when they do, the whole room breaks down. And yes, that includes me,” she said.

For over a decade, Ms. Silver cultivated her solo venture into an army of passionate individuals—interviewers, photographers, and transcribers alike. She was the project’s beating heart until 1997.

Her expertise didn’t go unnoticed. Spielberg consulted her for his oral history mission, the Shoah Foundation. She trained 500 interviewers for Spielberg’s initiative, which now holds tens of thousands of irreplaceable interviews.

But her work didn’t stop at collecting stories; she unearthed heroes lost to time, like Chiune Sugihara, Japan’s consul general in Lithuania during WWII, who saved thousands by handwriting visas.

He died quietly in Japan, but not before Ms. Silver breathed new life into his story. She not only memorialized him in Tokyo but coined him “the Japanese Schindler.” She cemented his legacy through workshops, exhibits, and even an opera.

In 2000, Ms. Silver shifted her focus, not her passion—directing the James Byrd Jr. Racism Oral History Project. Interviewing 2,500 Americans, she peeled back the layers of everyday racism and its painful scars left on ordinary lives.

“Most of us have a standard job or freelance career. Silver’s “job” was working as a passionate activist with a breathtaking list of passionate and important causes.

She even listed her occupation on Facebook as an activist. Her range was from the political battles of the day (women’s issues, liberal politics and campaigns, gay rights and gay marriage, Media Alliance and Jeff Perlman, Obama, Jeff Adachi) to the unconventional (founding the Bay Area Holocaust Oral History project and later a racism project growing out of the case of James Byrd Jr., who in 1998 was chained to a truck by three white supremacists and dragged to death in Jasper, Texas.) …

Two of Silver’s latest and last passions were the Northern California chapter of the Society of Professional Journalists (where she was an ever passionate board member) and the Chauncey Bailey Investigative Project (where she was a founding member and ever passionate participant).

The Chauncey project was a media coalition that has had much success and fame in investigating the 2007 murder of Oakland Post Editor Chauncey Bailey while investigating the finances of Your Black Muslim Bakery.”

LANI SILVER Teacher, Oral Historian, Activist 1948 – 2009 by Bruce Bruggman

Ms. Silver’s origins are traced back to Lynn, Mass., but her family moved to San Francisco when she was two months old.

“She was the dinner table philosopher, always provoking thought,” her sister Lynne Jacobs noted.

And a trip to Soweto at 19 sparked the activist in her. From then on, she was not just an observer but a participant—taking her nieces and nephews to political rallies and attending protests even when her own life was hanging by a thread.

She was a lifetime learner—earning degrees from the University of San Francisco, San Francisco State University, and the University of Chicago. She lent her voice as a freelance writer and producer for over 30 years.

Lynne said it best,

“From that moment in Soweto, she was an activist.”

An activist, an educator, but most of all, a friend to countless survivors and a beacon for stories that needed to be told.

In addition to her work with the Bay Area Holocaust Oral History Project and the Shoah Foundation, Silver also worked with several other organizations dedicated to Holocaust education and remembrance.

She was a founding member of the Racism Project and the James Byrd Jr. Racism Oral History Project. She also served on the board of directors of the Simon Wiesenthal Center and the Jewish Women’s Archive.

Silver’s work has been recognized with numerous awards, including the American Jewish Committee’s Human Relations Award and the National Women’s History Month Award. She was also named one of the “100 Most Influential People in the Bay Area” by the San Francisco Chronicle.

Lani Silver was a remarkable woman who significantly impacted the world. Her work to preserve the stories of Holocaust survivors has helped to ensure that their experiences will never be forgotten.

She was a tireless advocate for tolerance and understanding, and her legacy will continue to inspire others for many years.

Here are some additional details about Lani Silver’s work:

She worked with the Bay Area Holocaust Oral History Project for over 20 years.
She trained over 500 interviewers for the project.
She helped to develop the project’s curriculum and educational materials.
She spoke at schools and conferences around the world about the Holocaust.

Her work to preserve the stories of Holocaust survivors has helped to ensure that their experiences will never be forgotten.

Her presence vibrates through her extensive work, challenging us to confront uncomfortable truths. While she may not be here, her vision for a just world endures.

Thank you, Ms. Silver, for your relentless curiosity, activism, and invaluable friendships formed through your work.

Your legacy isn’t just in the stories collected but in the hearts and minds touched and opened.

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The history of Anti-semitism refers to hostility towards Jewish people based on their religion, ethnicity, or culture.

Social Democrats, the Worker’s Party, poster. Source: Dachau Memorial MuseumIt has a long and disturbing history that spans across continents and centuries. Anti-Semitism can take many forms, from casual prejudice to genocidal violence.

Understanding the root causes of anti-Semitism is essential in preventing its recurrence in our society.

Classical and Christian Anti-Semitism

We will explore the historical origins of anti-Semitism, the impact of modernization and genocide, contemporary manifestations of anti-Semitism, and the importance of multiple perspectives in combating it.

• Anti-Semitism has a long and complex history, dating back to the earliest days of Judaism. It was particularly prevalent in the Middle Ages when Jews were often persecuted and expelled from Christian countries.

• During the 17th century there was a rise in anti-Semitism. This is due to several factors such as nationalism, the Protestant Reformation, and the Chmielnicki Uprising.

• Following this the 18th century continues the history of anti-Semitism due to the Enlightenment, French Revolution, and Industrial Revolution.

• Leading into the 19th century, anti-Semitism was most widespread in Germany with the emergence of Nazi ideology. The Holocaust was an unprecedented event in terms of anti-Semitism.

• In the 21st century, anti-Semitism continues to be a problem. Contributing factors include populism, social media, financial crises, and conflicts in the Middle East.

Chmielnicki Uprising – Nikolay Ivasyuk. “Entry of Bogdan Khmelnitsky to Kiev”I. Roots of Anti-SemitismThe history of Anti-Semitism has deep roots in ancient and medieval history, where Jews were often scapegoated and blamed for societal problems.

Anti-Semitism, or hostility towards Jews, is unfortunately not a new concept. Its roots can be traced back to ancient times, with examples of discrimination and persecution throughout history.

However, it was during the Middle Ages when anti-Semitism reached a particularly high level. Jews were often seen as outsiders, blamed for various issues.

They faced discrimination, violence, and even forced expulsion from many Christian countries.

One of the most notorious examples of medieval anti-Semitism was the Crusades, a series of religious wars in which Christians attempted to retake the Holy Land from Muslim control.

During the Crusades, Jews were often targeted by Christians, and many were killed or forced to convert to Christianity.

17th Century History of AntisemitismThe Reformation and the Chmielnicki Uprising

The 17th century was a tumultuous time for many reasons, but for European Jews, it was particularly challenging.

Anti-Semitism was on the rise, fueled by factors such as nationalism, religious conflicts stemming from the Protestant Reformation, and the devastating Chmielnicki Uprising.

Nationalism led to a sense of competition between different groups, and Jews were often seen as a threat to the nation.

The Protestant Reformation led to a split in the Christian Church, and this led to increased tensions between Catholics and Protestants.

The Reformation also opened the door to anti-Semitic rhetoric, with some Protestant leaders accusing Jews of being responsible for the death of Jesus.

“Public Enemy” 1933 by Paul WeberJews were often seen as being affiliated with the Catholic Church, and they were therefore seen as a threat to the Protestant way of life.

Specific examples of anti-Semitism in the 17th centuryActions like the expulsion of Jews from Spain and Portugal, the burning of synagogues in Germany, and the mass murder of Jews in Poland reveal the pattern.

In 1648, there was a wave of anti-Semitic violence in Europe known as the Chmielnicki Uprising. This uprising was sparked by a dispute between a Polish nobleman and a Jewish tax collector, and it resulted in the deaths of tens of thousands of Jews.

The Chmielnicki Uprising, also known as the Cossack–Polish War, the Khmelnytsky Uprising, the Khmelnytsky massacre, or the Khmelnytsky Insurrection, was a Cossack rebellion that took place between 1648 and 1654.

Sparked by a dispute between a Polish nobleman and a Jewish tax collector, and it resulted in the deaths of tens of thousands of Jews.

It began in April 1648, when Bogdan Chmielnicki, a Cossack leader, led a revolt against Polish rule.This action quickly spread throughout Ukraine, and it soon turned into a full-scale war. The Polish army was defeated in several battles, and the Cossacks began to massacre Jewish communities throughout Ukraine.

The Chmielnicki Uprising was a major turning point in the history of Eastern Europe. It led to the destruction of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, and it created a new power vacuum in the region.

The uprising also had a profound impact on the Jewish people, as it resulted in the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Jews.

The events of this era had a profound impact on Jewish history, shaping the way that Jews were perceived by others and influencing their self-understanding.

Despite the challenges, however, the Jewish community persisted, finding ways to adapt, survive, and even thrive in the face of adversity.

It’s a complex and difficult period to study, but one that offers many insights into how prejudice and discrimination can shape the course of history.

Modern Anti-Semitism

II. The Impact of Modernization on Anti-SemitismThe Enlightenment, the French Revolution, and the Industrial Revolution all brought significant changes to European societies and their relationship with the Jews.

While some Enlightenment thinkers championed the idea of equality and religious tolerance, others reinforced anti-Semitic ideas based on racial theories.

The French Revolution’s emancipation of Jews was a significant turning point in Jewish history, yet it also led to the rise of modern anti-Semitism, where Jews were accused of being outsiders, and a threat to national identity.

The Industrial Revolution’s new economic opportunities gave rise to reactionary movements that blamed Jews for economic hardships.

Antisemitic picture by Thomas Rowlandson (1756-1827). It states: ”Solomon enjoys himself with two pretty Christian girls”The 18th Century – Enlightenment, Revolution, and Anti-Semitism HistoryThe 18th century was a time of many changes and developments. The Enlightenment brought new ideas about science, reason, and individual freedom that challenged traditional ways of thinking.

The French Revolution inspired political upheaval and radical change in Europe. And the Industrial Revolution transformed the way people lived and worked.

However, amidst all these new developments, the 18th century was also a time of widespread antisemitism.

The Enlightenment was a period of intellectual and philosophical progress that emphasized reason and science over superstition and tradition.

This led to a more tolerant view of other religions and cultures, but it also led to a more critical view of Judaism.

Jews were seen as backward and superstitious, and they were often criticized for their religious practices.

The French Revolution was a period of political and social upheaval that began in 1789. The Revolution led to the overthrow of the monarchy and the establishment of a republic.

This led to a more tolerant view of Jews, as they were now seen as citizens of the republic.

However, the Revolution also led to a rise in anti-Semitism, as Jews were seen as being part of the old order that had been overthrown.The Industrial Revolution was a period of rapid economic and social change that began in the late 18th century. The Industrial Revolution led to the rise of a new class of wealthy industrialists, and it also led to the rise of a new class of poor workers.

This led to a great deal of social and economic tension, and Jews were often seen as being part of the problem.

Jews were often seen as greedy and exploitative, and they were blamed for the problems of the poor.

Anti-Semitism became more widespread, and it became more violent. This led to the expulsion of Jews from many countries, and it also led to the deaths of many Jews.

Here are some specific historical examples of anti-Semitism in the 18th century:

1723: the Russian government expelled all Jews from the country.
1743: a mob attacked and burned down the Jewish ghetto in Berlin.
1782: the Austrian government issued a decree that restricted the rights of Jews in the country.
1783: a mob attacked and killed 100 Jews in the city of Frankfurt.

Many people in Europe held deep prejudices against Jewish people, and these prejudices manifested in everything from economic restrictions to violent attacks.

Despite the progress made in other areas, the persistence of antisemitism reminds us that change is a slow and complicated process.

19th Century history of Anti-SemitismContemporary etching depicting a so-called Hepp-Hepp Riot against Jews in Frankfurt. This was one of the many anti-Semitic riots that took place in Germany in 1819 amidst a climate of anti-Semitism fueled by various anti-Jewish publications.The 19th century saw the rise of anti-Semitic sentiments in many parts of Europe, but perhaps nowhere was it more widespread than in Germany.

The roots of Nazi ideology can be traced back to this period when many Germans believed that their economic struggles were due to the presence of Jewish people in their society.

This dangerous idea gained traction, culminating in the atrocities committed by the Nazi regime during World War II.

In Germany, the rise of nationalism and the Industrial Revolution led to a new form of anti-Semitism, which was based on racial hatred.

Specific examples of anti-Semitism in the 19th century include the Dreyfus Affair in France and the pogroms in Russia.The Industrial Revolution led to a great deal of social and economic change, and this led to increased tensions between different groups.

Jews were often seen as being associated with the Industrial Revolution, and they were therefore seen as a threat to the traditional way of life.

Socialism led to a belief that Jews were responsible for all of the problems in the world, and this led to increased anti-Semitism.

While anti-Semitic sentiment has decreased in the decades since it is important to remember the history that led to such devastating consequences.

Understanding the complex social, economic, and political factors that contributed to the rise of Nazi anti-Semitism can help us recognize and combat harmful ideologies in our present-day society.

III. Genocidal Anti-Semitism in the 20th CenturyThe most infamous example of genocidal anti-Semitism is Nazi ideology, which led to the Holocaust and the murder of six million Jews.

An anti-semitic sign: “Recognize the true enemy with the yellow star.” Source: Dachau Memorial MuseumThe Holocaust was a catastrophic event in human history and is a reminder of the devastating consequences of unchecked hatred and bigotry.

Other examples of genocidal anti-Semitism include efforts in Russia and Ukraine that targeted Jewish communities in the early 20th century.

IV. Contemporary Anti-SemitismContemporary manifestations of anti-Semitism include right-wing ideology, online hate speech, conflicts in the Middle East, and social tensions resulting from financial crises.

Populist movements have gained prominence in recent years and often promote anti-Semitic conspiracy theories.

The global financial crisis of 2008 led to a rise in unemployment and poverty in many countries. This led to a sense of anger and frustration among many people, and some of this anger was directed at Jews.

The conflict in the Middle East has also contributed to the rise of anti-Semitism. The conflict is often seen as a religious conflict, and this has led to a rise in anti-Semitic sentiment among some people.

Social media platforms enable the spread of hate speech and misinformation.

In addition to these factors, there are also new reasons for anti-Semitism in the 21st century.For example, some people believe that Jews are responsible for the spread of globalization and the decline of traditional values. Others believe that Jews are responsible for the rise of terrorism and the spread of war.

These new reasons for anti-Semitism are often based on conspiracy theories and stereotypes about Jews. They are not based on facts, and they are not supported by evidence. However, they have been used to justify violence and discrimination against Jews.

The conflicts in the Middle East have also fueled anti-Semitic ideas and rhetoric.One of the largest sources of anti-Semitic activity in the 21st century is the Middle East and North Africa.

Anti-Semitism has been fueled by anti-Israel sentiments, conspiracy theories, and extremist ideologies. In some countries in the region, Jews are openly targeted and subjected to violence, discrimination, and persecution.

In the 21st century, there have been numerous examples of anti-Semitic acts in the Middle East and Africa. Ranging from verbal and physical assaults to legislation and policies that discriminate against Jews.

Examples of the recent history of Anti-Semitism: Iran* – In Iran, anti-Semitism is widespread and often institutionalized. Iranian leaders regularly make anti-Semitic statements, including denying the Holocaust and calling for the destruction of Israel.

Additionally, the government sponsors anti-Semitic media outlets and events. Including Holocaust denial conferences and cartoons that depict Jews in an inflammatory manner.

Egypt – In Egypt, anti-Semitic conspiracy theories and hate speech are common in the media and on social media platforms. There have also been instances of physical assaults on Jews, including the desecration of Jewish graves and synagogues.
Tunisia – In Tunisia, anti-Semitic hate speech and conspiracy theories are prevalent, particularly on social media platforms. There have also been instances of physical assaults on Jews and Jewish sites.
Libya – In Libya, anti-Semitism is fueled by anti-Israel sentiments and the spread of conspiracy theories. There has been violence against Jews, including the desecration of Jewish graves and synagogues.

These examples illustrate the continued prevalence of anti-Semitism in the Middle East and Africa, despite efforts to combat it.The actions of the Israeli government and military influence anti-Semitic attitudes and acts in various countries, including the United States, the Middle East, and Western Europe.

West Bank & Gaza Map 2007 (Settlements)Some of these actions include:

Military operations in the Palestinian territories – The ongoing Israeli military occupation of the West Bank and Gaza Strip. Frequent military operations in these territories lead to criticism. Also fueled anger among Palestinians and the Arab and Muslim world. This has fueled anti-Semitic attitudes and acts, particularly in countries with large Muslim populations.
Settlements in the West Bank – The Israeli government’s policy of building and expanding settlements in the West Bank is widely criticized. Seen as an obstacle to peace and a violation of international law. This policy has led to tensions and has fueled anti-Semitic attitudes and acts. Most particularly in countries with large Muslim populations.
The blockade of Gaza – The Israeli government’s blockade of the Gaza Strip leads to poverty and hardship among its residents. Especially food and medical shortages. The blockade is criticized as a form of collective punishment.
The treatment of Palestinians – Reports of human rights abuses and mistreatment of Palestinians by Israeli security forces.

These are a few examples of the actions of the Israeli government and military that have influenced anti-Semitic attitudes and acts in various countries

Here are a few sources that provide information on the influence of Israeli actions on anti-Semitism:

“Israel/Palestine: Growing Abuse in West Bank Killings, Unlawful Home Demolitions of Palestinians Increase” by Human Rights WatchThis report provides an overview of the Israeli government’s policy of building and expanding settlements in the West Bank and its impact on the peace process and human rights. It discusses how this policy has fueled anti-Semitic attitudes and acts, particularly in countries with large Muslim populations.

“Israel Gaza blockade must be completely lifted” by Amnesty International –This report provides insights into the Israeli government’s blockade of the Gaza Strip and its impact on the human rights and well-being of its residents. It discusses how the blockade has fueled anti-Semitic attitudes and acts, particularly in countries with large Muslim populations.

These sources provide a starting point for understanding the influence of Israeli actions on anti-Semitic attitudes and acts in various countries.

Another region with a significant rise in anti-Semitism is Europe. In recent years, there has been an increase in anti-Semitic incidents and hate crimes, particularly in countries such as France, Germany, and the United Kingdom.

This is driven by a variety of factors, including the rise of far-right extremism, anti-Israel sentiments, and the dissemination of conspiracy theories.

In the United States, there has also been a rise in anti-Semitic incidents in recent years.Driven by a combination of factors, including the rise of far-right extremism, anti-Israel sentiments, and the dissemination of conspiracy theories.

Recent examples of anti-Semitism in the US: Pittsburgh Synagogue Shooting (2018): On October 27, 2018, a gunman entered the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and opened fire. Killing 11 people and injuring several others. This attack was the deadliest anti-Semitic attack in the history of the United States. It was motivated by the attacker’s hatred of Jews and support for anti-Semitic conspiracy theories. * Jersey City Kosher Grocery Store Attack (2019): On December 10, 2019, two attackers entered a kosher grocery store in Jersey City, New Jersey. They ended up killing 4 people and injuring several others. * Poway Synagogue Shooting (2019): On April 27, 2019, a gunman entered the Chabad of Poway synagogue in Poway, California. This attack killed one person and injured several others. * Hanukkah Party Stabbing (2019):* On December 28, 2019, a man armed with a machete entered a Hanukkah celebration in Monsey, New York. He began attacking attendees, injuring several people.

These incidents of anti-Semitic violence are just a few examples of the threat of anti-Semitism around the world.

V. Multiple Perspectives on Anti-SemitismThere are different interpretations of the causes and motives of anti-Semitism. Some see it as a form of prejudice rooted in societal and historical factors. Others frame it as a political issue.

Debates also exist over how best to counter anti-Semitism. Some advocate for dialogue and education, others argue for stronger law enforcement measures.

Using multiple perspectives is essential in tackling such a complex issue that affects many communities worldwide.

Conclusion: Understanding Anti-Semitism HistoryAnti-Semitism has a long and disturbing history that continues to shape our current times. It is important to understand its roots and manifestations to prevent it from spreading further.

Multiple perspectives are necessary to find solutions to this problem.

Everyone has a role in promoting tolerance, combating bigotry and hate in all its forms. Creating a world where all people can live free from the fear of oppression and discrimination.

This long and complex history of anti-Semitism is heartbreaking. It is also essential to acknowledge an work toward a world where prejudice and hate have no place.

Various factors contribute to the persistence of this form of prejudice.Including populism, social media, financial crises, and conflicts in the Middle East.

Populist leaders often fuel anti-Semitic sentiments by scapegoating Jewish communities for societal issues.

Social media also plays a role in spreading hateful messages and conspiracy theories. Moreover, financial crises and conflicts can increase feelings of resentment and prejudice toward Jewish populations.

It is important to acknowledge the complexity of factors that sustain antisemitism in the 21st century. We can work towards creating a more inclusive and accepting world.

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My name is Rena Quint, a Holocaust survivor.

I was born December 18, 1935 in Piotrkow, Poland, and my name was Freida Lichtenstein. My parents, Sara and Yitzchak, had lived in Piotrkow for a long time.

My mother came from a large family, they came from a town nearby, and my father was born in Piotrkow.

There are so many nights that I try very hard to stay awake to remember what my mother looked like. What my father looked like, what my brothers looked like, what we did together.

“The Last Sunrise” by Harold Gordon

They Gave Me Life- The Story of Rena Quint Holocaust SurvivorI try so hard to see their faces. To look at my children and my grandchildren and see if I can find their faces in them.

Wish I could remember more. I try so hard to remember, but maybe I’m afraid of remembering. Would like to remember the good times don’t remember the bad times. But I know once the war started, everything was bad.

Because I really have managed to forget so much of my life at that point and start a whole new life. I wish I could remember, but I’m glad that I’m not living in the past.

I had two brothers, two older brothers. One was Yossi and one was David. And my name at that time was Fredzia or Fraidl. I was the youngest, I was the baby.My parents were married in Piotrkow by a very famous rabbi. His name was Rabbi Meir Shapiro. He left Piotrkow to go to Lublin where he built a place called Chachmei Lublin.

When he left, Rabbi Lau took over and he became the rabbi in our home town. He was in The Great Synagogue, but there were many other little shtiblachs and synagogues all around.

My mother was way ahead of her time because she owned a store, a paint store, and my father, apparently, she had put him into business because she had given him two sewing machines.

He became a tailor, but it wasn’t just a tailor for one person, what was one of the gentlemen tailors, where he made suits for many different people.

One of the things that I do remember is the cholent that my mother made. She had a big pot where she put meat, beans, barley and potatoes, and my brothers David and Yossi would put me on a sled.It seemed to me that it was snowing a lot in Piotrkow, and they would pull me to the bakery. Where there were many people who brought pots with cholent in it, and they would bake there all night.

Then on Shabbat afternoon, people would go and get them back and bring them to the house where the aroma, the smell was really the smell of Shabbat.

And I’m sure there must have been lots of company. We lived in the house with four stories, and we had many, many cousins and uncles and neighbors who were like family, and everybody shared cholent together, and we sang together.

And unfortunately, many of those things stopped, and I don’t remember the melodies. When I hear melodies, very often I think: Were these the songs we sang?

Rena Quint – a Polish Holocaust survivor – remembers…I don’t remember what my mother or my father or my brothers looked like. Don’t remember very much about my early childhood. The war started when I was three-and-a-half years old.The war broke out. Germans came into Piotrkow. Everybody was going, scurrying. Nobody knew what was going on.

Planes were coming overhead, tanks were coming in, the German army came in full speed. The Polish army was not prepared for any of this.

People were trying to run into different towns, but it didn’t help very much, because the Germans soon entered those other towns. Many of the people, including my family and my aunts and cousins, all ran down into the basement.

The basement was filled with food, especially potatoes and other things that were left there just in case something like that happened. You can smell the potatoes down there, people came down, it was very cold.

There were dead horses, there were dead dogs, there were dead people, all lying in the gutters. Everybody was just hurrying all around. There was tension that was going through, everybody knew the war had started, life changed.Right away, the first ghetto that was organized when the Nazis came in was Piotrkow. Barbed wire fences were set up all around, and people could not get out of the ghetto.

There wasn’t enough food. People tried to save things beforehand, it was just before Rosh Hashana, but Rabbi Lau told people not to go because it was dangerous to go out in the street. So people started their own minyanim, their own prayer places, in the places they lived on.

At one point, the ghetto got very crowded. People in surrounding towns and villages, little shtetlekh, could not live there.

First in surrounding neighborhoods and then another little town and they moved in, and our house became very, very crowded. People who could not get a place to live lived in the mikvah or in the synagogue, people lived out on the streets.

People tried to help each other. Children couldn’t go to school, so they started schools in homes in smaller neighborhoods where my brothers went to school to learn, like a cheder.At one point, the Germans came, and they took people who were young enough, able-bodied people, like men and women, like my father and my uncle, to slave labor factories. My father and my uncle were taken to the glass factory, where they worked.

They were taken and they started a smaller ghetto over there. I remained in the house with my mother and my brothers.

I think my mother was able to trade a fur coat or shoes or other valuables that she had, if you call those valuables. Maybe jewelry for food, so we did not starve, but many people did, and typhus was rampant, and many people died of that, it was a very contagious disease also. The hospitals were not accessible, so people stayed in their home.

One night in the middle of the night, there was banging out, “Raus, raus, schnell, schnell,” and Germans came in, and they had everybody coming down.

They said,“You can take whatever you want, you’ve got five minutes to leave the house.”What would you take? Everybody took whatever they could. Some people took photographs, thinking they were going to come back.Some took their jewelry thinking they could sell things for it. Others took food, blankets, their babies and their own mothers.

And we had to run down the stairs. We had to run down very, very quickly, soldiers were yelling and batting people over their heads with their sticks and with their guns.

Many people fell and other people fell on top of them until we got out into the big square. From there, we were beaten and we were herded like animals until we got to the synagogue just a few blocks away.

I’m sure as a little girl, I was six years old at this point, I must have been holding on tightly to my mother and she to me and to my brothers.

There was a door in the back of the synagogue, and on the other side of the door there was a man, and I believe he was my uncle, but I have no proof of that, and he beckoned to me and he told me to run.Maybe my mother pushed me, maybe God pushed me. I don’t know where I got the nerve, the courage, but I ran out.

How does a little girl leave her mother? It is impossible. It’s just not natural for a little girl to leave her mother or her mother to leave her.

Somehow or other I ran out, the soldiers easily could have hit me over the head, could have shot me, could have pushed me back. Maybe they didn’t see me, because there was such pandemonium.

There was such chaos, there was such fear and such crying. I don’t know how it was possible, but I ran out.

That was the last time I saw my mother and my brothers. I ran out from that door, they stayed, and they were taken to Treblinka, which was one of the extermination camps in Poland.

This man, who I think was with my father, what was he supposed to be doing with me. What could he possibly do with a little six-year-old girl?First, he hid me, and then he took me to my father, who was working in the glass factory in Hortensia. When we got there, my father kissed me and he hugged me, and then he had to hide me.

Girls were useless; boys under the age of 10 weren’t worth very much either, but boys over the age of 10 could work. So my father said that I was a boy of 10.

How does a little girl of six become a boy of 10? He cut my hair; as a tailor, I guess he had skill of doing that.

The tailor found some old clothes to put on me. He gave me a new name. Instead of my name being Fredzia or Fraidl, it was now Froyim.I learned how to speak Polish in the gender of the male. In English, we don’t have that problem, but in Polish, boys and girls speak differently. Grammar is different. I had to learn to do that.

I had to learn to be very careful when I had to go to the bathroom. My father said to try to keep out of the way as much as possible.

The men helped me, many of the men knew that I didn’t belong there, but they helped me in every way. If somebody of importance came in, they tried to hide me.

In the night time when they were in barracks, I slept next to my father and to my uncle, but one night, apparently, somebody came in.

I was under a blanket, maybe was under the blanket of my uncle or another man, I was fast asleep and was moving around. I didn’t mean to be moving around, but after the soldier left, this man took me and shook me, and said,

“You were told to be still, you were told not to move, and you were moving around, you could have endangered all of us.”And to this day, I’m so sorry that I didn’t realize what I was doing. I tried very hard not to sleep completely in case somebody would come in, that I would not move under somebody’s blanket.

I worked very hard in the glass factory, everybody worked very hard. There were children there, and we were like water carriers.

We had a pail with a ladle and we were supposed to bring it to the workers. The workers, many of them had had like a mask over them, it was very hot, and the ovens in the glass factory worked all the time, and we brought water for men to drink.

I don’t think the Germans cared about being thirsty, but if you wouldn’t, if you wouldn’t drink and you would faint, you wouldn’t work, and their whole purpose was for you to work.

More than anything, I remember that factories. There were these big German Shepherd dogs, and every time one of the soldiers decided to have some fun or he decided to teach us a lesson.He would sic one of those dogs into a group of people, and whoever was the poor person who became the culprit and he had a bite out of his arm. If you couldn’t lift your arm, they would shoot you.

If it got infected, there was no medicine, there were no bandages. Too bad. People were dying of those dog bites.

You never forget the dog bites. No matter how much people tell you don’t be afraid of this big dog, the fear of those dogs never leaves you.

I was in the factory with my father and with my uncle, and they tried very hard to keep me away from everything. We worked very hard, but one day they decided they didn’t want any Jews left in Poland.

Again, there was one of these actions where people came in, and again, we had to get ready and go into a place called the Umschlagplatz, where they had cattle cars waiting.I went with the men, and we were again being pushed and shoved until we got into those cattle cars. Eighty to a hundred people were put into those cattle cars.

There was nothing to eat there, there was nothing to drink, and there was one pail, which was used for the bathroom. Men, women and children use that pail.

It was cold, it was freezing cold, it seems to me it was always cold, there was always snow around.

Finally, we crossed over from the border, from the Polish to the German border. The doors were flung open and we had to jump down from those cattle cars.

The Germans came, and with megaphones, with bullhorns, they made an announcement that we were being taken to camps, men on one side, women on the other. My father now realized he had a problem.

Holocaust survivor Rena Quint’s journeyI was a boy in a man’s camp, but when you go into the concentration camp or whatever where we were going to be sent, everybody knew that you’d have to get undressed.I don’t think the Germans cared about you being clean, even though we were full of lice and fleas and sicknesses and dirt and smells. But they knew that you’d have to get undressed to go into the showers.

If I’d get undressed, my father knew that they would see I’m not one of the men, and they would kill me. They would also kill him and anybody who tried to help us.

When we jumped off the train, he looked around, and he saw a woman who had come from one of the other factories, one of the slave labor camps, and he asked if she would keep an eye on me. He had some pictures.

He gave me those pictures and he said,

“Look at the pictures and see it’s a mother and father and three children, two boys and a girl,” that was one of my brothers and I, and he said,“The war is going to be over right away. Very soon, the war will be over,” and he will meet me in our hometown in Piotrkow.He promised to meet me. Fathers are supposed to keep their promises. My father didn’t keep his promise.

I found a train schedule where he was sent to Buchenwald. ent with my new mother. I don’t remember what she looked like, don’t remember her name, but I know that she saved my life, and I went with her. That was the last time I saw my father, but I had a new mother.

When we finally got to Bergen-Belsen, and so many of the people had either been shot or just fell and died along the way.

We were brought into a big room, and we were told, just the way my father had predicted, to get undressed. The Germans wanted you to get dressed, firstly because we were so filthy, so smelly, so disgusting after those terrible days in the cattle cars.

They wanted you to get washed so that they wouldn’t be around such terrible filth. But the other thing is that if you had anything, they could confiscate everything that you had, and they could give you some old dress or uniform or something like that.We had to get undressed. My father had given me some pictures. Those pictures were important. I was holding them in my hand.

One of the soldiers saw that I was holding. Maybe he thought it was money or valuables or a diamond. He pried open my hand.

ust have been very disappointed, because they were just pictures of a family, of a mother and father and three children. He tore them up and threw the way.

To him, it meant nothing. To me, it would have meant an awful lot, because then if I had any pictures, I would have known what my mother and my father and brothers looked like, and I don’t.

When we came out of the showers, the freezing cold showers, and this woman dared to steal a black coat that somebody else had left there. We were shivering, because we were cold, we were scared, we were humiliated.She stole a black coat. She could have been killed for doing such a dastardly thing, but she kept the coat around the two of us.

The warmth of the coat and the body heat from the two of us, I think kept us alive.

Even though she didn’t give birth to me, she gave me life at that point. I was with this new woman I don’t know how long I was with her, because suddenly, she disappeared.

One day I was very sick with typhus, it was smelly, it was disgusting inside the barracks, and I found myself somehow or other sleeping or being outside.

I don’t know if I was by myself or if somebody took me. I was lying around with bodies, and something happened that day that never happened before.The soldiers came in, soldiers wearing different uniforms, soldiers acting very kind, soldiers who were throwing up. Nazi soldiers never threw up, but these were British soldiers.

They came in and they made an announcement in a strange language which must have been English, saying,

“You’re free. You’re free, ihr seid frei. You can do anything you want. We are the British Army.

We have brought you food, medical help, you’re free.”

What do I want to do? I don’t have a mother, I don’t have a father.

I can’t move. Typhus is the kind of sickness where you can’t see, and you can’t hear and have like vertigo.

Everything is flying. I was about nine years old at this point. Many people died, I did not. God meant for me to live.Before I was adopted in the United States, the adoption laws require that there’s nobody in the biological family that wants the child. Nobody wanted me because there was nobody left alive to look after me.

My adopted parents looked very hard, and found a woman in Sweden who knew my family.

She told them of what happened, not to look for them. But when I used to walk through the streets and if I would see somebody who looks familiar, I’d say:

Could that possibly be my father or my brothers?

I can’t imagine what my mother looked like at all. None of those people have turned out to be blood relatives.

I went through elementary school, I went through high school. They sent me to a public high school,ut I went out of the neighborhood because I had had Hebrew in this private school.So I was able to get ahead first because I was so behind as far as my age. And then I went on to Brooklyn College.

Very lucky, because I was popular. I always liked people.

I was able to make friends very easily, maybe that’s how I got so many mothers. Maybe they just needed me as much as I needed them.

People said that a woman lost a child, maybe she took me as her child. I don’t know the reasons, but I always had people around me who were good to me.

I was married March 15, 1959. In September of the following year, we had our first daughter.

Two years later we had another daughter, two years after that another daughter, and then a son.

When I speak to groups, and now I speak to many groups of different people.

I feel very strongly that what I end up with very much now is that we have to laugh as much as we can. We have to love as much as we can, and we have to make sure that Israel is safe and free.This is our country, and that anybody who needs a place to come back to, can have a place to be.

We have an important role. Survivors are dying out. So people who I speak to, I sort of find that I’m asking them to be our ambassadors, to speak and make sure that other people will be remembered.

I feel very strongly that anybody who wants to hear about the Holocaust, it is my obligation to tell them.

I always think of my mother on her last trip to Treblinka, when I ran out of the synagogue and she and David and Yossi went.

Rena Quint’s Holocaust memories…What was she thinking on that last trip? Did my mother think about what happened to her little girl?I hope she looks down from Heaven now to see that the little girl she left at the age of six became a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a great grandmother, and life has continued.

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Today is International Holocaust Remembrance Day 2023.In the spirit of sharing what we’ve been doing for 28 years now.Here’s a tribute to some friends who’s optimism, belief in people, and hope will stun you.This year my long time friend and artist Alan “Jake” Jacobs passed away. We worked together for 25 years, his photos inspiring generations of students.Also in memory of the many women who’s roles in saving people from the Holocaust. Their survival stories and role in keeping the history alive is often buried by male dominated history.Lise Borsom of the White Bus Rescue is one I’ve discovered this year. Someone who battled tyranny and risked her life not just during WWII, but in other essential activism.Her story below, because Holocaust history is her story…and many others.Holocaust Remembrance Day 2023 VideoRecognizing Holocaust Remembrance Day 2023 with a selection of people:Remember.org remembers friends of our community.

Holocaust Survivors, people who helped rescue others during the Holocaust, and the White Bus Rescue.

Auschwitz Concentration Camp Virtual Tour

Auschwitz/Birkenau Photographs by Alan Jacobs

Auschwitz poem by Professor G. Stendig-Lindberg

Visit the Lindbergh Peace Foundation and read their poetry.

Abe’s Story – A Holocaust Memoir | Abram Korn from Lipno, Poland

Red Cross White Bus Rescue – 10 Gifts

Lise Borsum – Gift #4 from Norway – Swedish Red Cross White Bus Rescue

Anita Kempler Lobel – Gift #1 from Krakow, Poland

Holocaust Remembrance Day 2023 is important in the face of rising anti-semitism today.Recently a friend shared confusion as to this Holocaust Remembrance Day 2023. Why is it such a big deal – it’s the day the Auschwitz camp was liberated.Listen to my friend Joey Korn share his father’s story of survival.Hear the story of possibility, of not treating people as enemies, and of thriving based on family, faith, and simply working to make things better.Looking around at anti-semitism rising, I shared with her that I’d love for Remember.org to not be relevant.In recent years even more people are trying to understand in a social media world.Where the words Holocaust and Hitler have been appropriated to validate anyone’s belief.When those words come up you know the conversation is lost.Then the events in Israel on Holocaust Remembrance Day 2023, when 7 were killed.I do wish the 2 state solution in Israel might come to pass (yes I’m a dreamer).Meanwhile Jewish centers of learning and synagogues have armed guards.Outside their doors through out the US, and in many places around the world.Remembering helps to understand things today. That understanding has to come not by using past events as an explanation or validation.Each is a unique event and in our hearts, lots of people hate.Part of why I do what I do is sharing stories of survival, rescue, and life.Because last I heard Hitler lost and the Jewish people survived and rose out of the Holocaust.If you could sit down with survivors and 2nd gen like I have, you’d find hope and inspiration, not history repeats itself blah blah blah.It is so important to remember, and for us all to take a step forward into love, into our hearts. Away from the fear anger and hatred that dominates the headlines, but to me doesn’t dominate people.Holocaust Remembrance Day 2023 is where we remember the Holocaust and keep vigilant to stop these types of events from happening today.The post Holocaust Remembrance Day 2023 appeared first on The Holocaust History - A People's and Survivor History - Remember.org.

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Doverstorp refugee camp was the temporary home for the largest number of Polish women in Sweden during this period.

Much of the material in this article comes from many interviews conducted in Doverstorp, as noted in Table 1 below.

< Part 3 – Lest We Forget – Doverstorp | Part 3 Final: Doverstorp Resettlement Camp >

Table 1

TESTIMONY RECORDS OF SOME OF THOSE CARED FOR IN DOVERSTORP REFUGEE CAMP (7)

7 Compiled from data at Lund University Archives.

Preparing For Freedom on an Unknown JourneyWomen from Ravensbruck on route to the White Buses and freedomIt must have seemed surreal to these prisoners at the time.

They were being told that freedom was coming, yet they had witnessed Nazi lies and misinformation so often, who knew what to believe? Helena Zajkowska (Witness Testimony #173) recalled:

“There were Swedish ambulances parked at the railway stop, and that reassured us that we really were on our way to freedom.

We were badly ill with stomach problems during the journey and, being unable to leave the wagon, we were in appalling sanitary conditions.

We traveled like that for six days, arriving in Lübeck, then continuing on to Denmark, then by ship to Copenhagen, and from there to Sweden.

We were so tired, hungry, and dirty that getting clean clothes, washing, and ridding ourselves of lice were initially the only things we cared about.” The basics of life.”The transition from camps such as Ravensbrück to neighboring Sweden was not easy. According to one former prisoner and survivor of the tortuous camp,

Stanisława Kowalewska (8) (Testimony 103) was born in Warsaw in 1898, arrested in November 1942 and interrogated with torture so painful that she lost three teeth.

Still, the will to survive remained strong.

During her final days at Ravensbrück, she lay near death on the “stone floor near the toilets” thinking she would eventually die there.

The SS guards assumed she wouldn’t make it until the Swedish Red Cross arrived.

The very next day, Stanisława picked herself up after every fall because she knew or hoped there was a path to freedom. She ran towards the gate where the Swedish Red Cross was stationed.The SS guards deemed her too far gone, but the Swedes offered themselves to her when she reached out her hand and physically shouted that she was only “cold” while she “wept dreadfully.”

This is a depiction of how personal, dark, unnerving these personal experiences were to those trying to find a path to anything other than what they were currently facing.

Another reflection is (Witness Testimony #105) Leokadja Orzechowska’s memory:

“From the men’s camp, we went back to Ravensbrück, where we received food parcels from the Red Cross.

We were loaded aboard freight wagons without anyone saying where they were taking us.I thought I was bound for Poland; as it turned out, they were taking us to Sweden as free people.”8 Witness 103 Testimony: http://www.alvin-portal.org/alvin/attachment/document/alvin-record:101214/ATTACHMENT-0010.pdf

Wounded Ravensbrück refugees are cared for at Padborg on the Danish border. (9)9 https://www.newsweek.com/swedish-schindler-how-count-bernadotte-saved-thousands-jews-death-331778

Count Bernadotte RemembranceAdditionally, Aniela Łukasińska’s [Witness Testimony #175] recollection captures what so many experienced and felt:

“At Ravensbrück we received Red Cross parcels, yet since we didn’t have any bread, we fell ill after overeating food from the parcels.When I arrived in Sweden, I weighed thirty-seven kilograms.

I was in very poor health on the way there; I only regained consciousness in the Pullman coach [a type of relatively comfortable railway carriage].

Now I weigh fifty-three kilograms and I’m in perfect health.

I owe it all to God and the Swedish Red Cross, and wish His blessing on this country.”10

From the prisoners’ perspective, the rescue was very abrupt. One day torture, rationing, starvation and murder were taking place.The next, strangers arrived and the unknown became even more unclear.

While there was still great suffering and some of the SS deemed prisoners unsuitable for release, there were also survivors like Stanisława Czerwińska.

She remembers, even when she was “horribly ill”, a “train coming to a halt in Denmark”.

She recalls she felt “born again”, wondering if she “was still human” when there was a Danish priest that blessed them when they arrived tosafety.

Each of these recollections depicts a certain shock and disbelief of the survival that was close enough to the touch.

Moreover, these recollections also establish the degree of bravery, tenacity and pure heroism each of these prisoners, now freed, exemplify.

Journey Through Denmark to Malmo, SwedenThe White Bus journey through Germany crossed the border into safer territory near the Danish city of Padborg.

Women prisoners from Ravensbrück during a stop in Lübeck, Germany. (11)

11 Photo: Heinz Ahrens. Courtesy: Marzio Mari Ahrens. https://www.yadvashem.org/magazine- featured/white-bus.html volume 92.

Interior of an original White Bus (12)

White Bus journey: Concentration camp prisoners on their way to Sweden.

Photo: Johan Nilsson/TT Pressen’s image (13)

12 https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Vitabussar_b8dn421_3465.jpg

13 https://www.svt.se/opinion/article5037994.svt

The photographs above and below show former prisoners being treated on the buses and the new arrivals being met and cared for in Padborg.14 Arrested in 1941 at the age of 50, Helena Parzych recalls the details of this first encounter:

“The young Danish soldiers lifted us down from the wagons and asked us to arrange ourselves in threes. One of the women went mad with joy. A group of fifty women was counted out and led into a clean passenger carriage. At last, we understood that we were finally free. Gunshots and fire could still be heard and seen in the distance.

We were fed – we received hot milk – and in these wagons we rode to the coast. The local people and soldiers bade us fond farewells.

By ship, we sailed to Copenhagen, followed by another train ride, and a final voyage by ship to Malmö, where we arrived on 3 May.” (15)

White Bus in Copenhagen on way to Malmo, Sweden

14 https://www.newsweek.com/swedish-schindler-how-count-bernadotte-saved-thousands-jews-death-331778

15 www.alvin-portal.org/alvin/attachment/document/alvin-record:101275/ATTACHMENT-0020.pdf

Survivor being cared for on White Bus to freedom

Arrival in Malmo

Entering Sweden at MalmoDescribing her arrival reflects what the photograph above shows, Stanisława Czerwińska [Testimony #96], who was arrested on September 1, 1944 during the Warsaw Uprising, remembers

“The Swedes put me on a stretcher; wrapped me in sheepskin jackets they had taken off their own backs; gave me medicinal drops, tablets and a few rusks to eat; and took me away to the vehicle. I slept all the way to Denmark. There, I was going to be taken to hospital, but I wanted to travel with my comrades to Malmö.

In Sweden, I have been laid up in various hospitals and I am still unwell to this day, but I am glad to have got away from the Germans, and I am grateful to the Swedes that I am alive and that they have taken such great care of me.”16

16 www.alvin-portal.org/alvin/attachment/document/alvin-record:101180/ATTACHMENT-0007.pdf

Survivors with the White Bus Rescue Arrival in Malmo 17

17 https://www.newsweek.com/swedish-schindler-how-count-bernadotte-saved-thousands-jews-death-331778

18 File:German-prisoners-arrive-in-Sweden-1945-391852574417.jpg – Wikimedia Commons

Women from German concentration camps arrive in Malmö by train on May 1, 1945.19

19 Gullers Flyktingar – Category:1945 in Malmö – Wikimedia Commons

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:1945_in_Malm%C3%B6#/media/File:Gullers_Flyktingar.jpg

This became the first screening point for the just-released prisoners who received food, new clothes, and initial medical treatment before continuing to Copenhagen for transfer to ships so they could land in the neutral or non-belligerent city of Malmo, Sweden.Danuta Ziembicka [Witness #169] remembers that moment well:

“We arrived in Sweden on May 1, greeted warmly in Malmö by the local population, Swedish Red Cross nurses, and a delegate from the Polish consulate.

At that point, we were finally able to believe that we really were free and in the care of good people.”

Once in the Malmo area, they were sent to over 20 quarantine facilities with about 500 beds on average so the logistics were indeed complex.

Approximately 300 Swedish, Norwegian and Danish staff helped these new arrivals as best they could, especially since some were themselves former prisoners during the war.The public health concerns were real since there was widespread tuberculosis, typhus, typhoid, diphtheria and many other diseases.

Since these people were under quarantine, the resettlement camps had barbed wire to keep locals out and the former prisoners in.

These fences could certainly trigger post-traumatic stress reactions.

To house these refugees, gymnasiums, schools, public buildings and even the Malmo Museum were converted into shelters and medical facilities.

Two survivors housed in the Malmo Museum, 1945

A White Bus on display at the Malmo Museum

Developing Doverstorp Refugee CampHow big was the task of accepting and caring for over 15,000 former prisoners who came on the White Buses and tens of thousands more who arrived on the White Boats?

Referring to leaders of the Third Reich, Count Folke Bernadotte, who organized the White Bus rescue, negotiated with Himmler and his top officials, bluntly stated

“My experience tells me that they were completely lacking in moral conceptions and human stature.”20Those who survived had lived through torture, neglect, disease, terror and conditions unheard of in human existence until that time. The task was almost beyond comprehension.

In a humanitarian effort of historic proportions, Swedish authorities established hundreds of resettlement camps; one was on the Mo farm on Lake Glanin in Doverstorp.

It would eventually house over 3,000 people.

Today the lake is known for its excellent fishing and as the main source of water for the city of Norrkoping. In 1945-46, it served a much more humanitarian function.

Imagine a camp with over 100 barracks, each housing about a dozen people (21) without water, electricity or sewage disposal? A stove provided heat but apparently was not for cooking.That was done in one of two dining buildings, each holding up to 250 people at a time. Twenty toilets hardly seem adequate for this many people, but they worked it out somehow!

The lake provided ample water for bathing and drinking; a sauna was also available for over 100 people per day.

The camp also included a canteen, an employment office, laundry and an office building.

The barracks had numbers and the streets and paths had names, all in an effort to create a community.

Maybe not heaven, but certainly a haven from which to recover, to heal and to move on. This was the experience for many of the 2,879 initial residents of the camp, mostly Estonian Swedes.20 Bernadotte, Folke. “Last Days of the Reich: The Diary of Count Folke Bernadotte.” London: Frontline Books, 1945, p.131.

21 The initial plans called for each barrack to hold 12 refugees and one cook; the kitchens were never built, thus the large dining halls.

Then, in May 1945, the newly-released prisoners saved by the White Bus convoys started to arrive.

To get an idea of the conditions afflicting many of these new arrivals, consider this paragraph from the May 5, 1945 edition of the local newspaper.

From the Kronobergaren describing the scene at the Vaxjo railway station about 100 miles from Doverstorp:

“Some of them even had to be carried on board the bus.

Several of them also wore bandages on various parts of the body and, generally, these pale and thin people gave a harrowing impression of the sufferings they had endured.Still, despite their exhaustion, their faces beamed with happiness at arriving in Sweden and finally being able to look forward to a time when they will receive proper care and humane treatment.”22

Group portrait of medical personnel in Sweden (23)

When the camp was a community of mostly Estonians before the passengers from the White Bus convoys arrived beginning on May 6, 1945, there were no barriers to entry and exit.

22 The Road To Freedom. https://kulturparkensmaland.se/wp-content/uploads/2022/03/The-road- to-freedom-text.pdf

23 Source: https://collections.ushmm.org/search/catalog/pa1164241

They were not necessary.But, as described above, there were realistic public health concerns which resulted in Doverstorp (24) (photo below) being surrounded by fences to keep the newly arrived within the resettlement camp and to keep outsiders out.24 Source: Flyktingförläggningen i Doverstorp – Rickul/Nuckö Hembygdsförening (rnhf.se)

Group portrait of Ravensbruck survivors recuperating in Sweden (25)

If the people in the portrait above look more well-nourished than those in the photographs taken upon arrival in Malmo, it is because they are.

The photographs below (26) give an idea of the food and the kitchens needed to provide thousands of meals per day in 1945-46.

25 Source: https://collections.ushmm.org/search/catalog/pa1164239

26 From Red Cross Archives at the Riksarkivet: Sweden’s National Archives. Photographs taken and used with permission, September 15, 2022.

Survivors wrote to family members and friends, sometimes optimistically about the future and on other occasions, delivering distressing news.Dated June 21, 1945, a Doverstorp resident sent the postcard below to someone in Palestine sharing the sad news that he is the only member of his family to survive. (27)

27 http://www.edwardvictor.com/Holocaust/Sweden.htm

Healthcare in Doverstorp Refugee CampLife in the camps included medical and dental care.

A formal note about how to continue the staffing of the dental clinic reveals the attention to detail designed to help these refugees adapt, get back to better health and hopefully move on.

For an interview with the National Library of Israel, “MR” recalls being

“liberated by the Swedish Red Cross from Malchow in trucks with no straw, with nurses, on April 26, 1945.”

With her two sisters, they traveled through Denmark on the way to Sweden where she was confined in a hospital in Lund.

Like so many others, MR was placed in quarantine in Doverstorp where she and her sisters remained for 3 years.28

After the war, she became a social worker; the trauma of her experiences meant she suffered from nightmares for decades and, as happens, did not share her Holocaust experiences with her daughter for more than 25 years.28 Kestenberg Archive | MR OHD interviewee (Kestenberg, Judith OHD (interviewer) | Kestenberg, Judith OHD (interviewer). The National Library of Israel (nli.org.il)

A typical paperwork form accompanying a refugee arriving at Doverstorp read:

“Packaging Note: The refugee Maria Gluszecka with identity number 189187 of Polish nationality with place of Berlin origin is hereby referred to Brody Refugee

Camp of Doverstorp and is expected to arriveon2716,19.45.JonkopingonJune 25, 1945”… with official signatures.

Perhaps the translation of ‘packaging’ was a bit harsh, but the administration required documentation at every point.

These records are available today in Sweden’s Lund University and the National Archives; they represent the personal side of history when reduced to forms.

Rescued by the Swedish Red Cross, when Itka Zygmuntowicz29 arrived in LundonApril28,1945,she was given new clothes, food and medicine.What could have been a rather joyous occasion, she cringed at the “horror” of seeing herself in a mirror for the first time since her capture and imprisonment in Auschwitz.

After a stay in a hospital in Lund, she was quarantined in Doverstorp where she recalls people coming to the fences to look in at the new arrivals,

“like being monkeys in a zoo.”

Itka was the first to sign up when a local rabbi organized a kosher camp for young Jewish adults under the age of 21.

Eventually in November 1945, she was allowed to leave the camp for a job which she cherished because it offered her privacy for the first time in years.30Itka met her husband, Rachmil Zygmuntowicz, while in Sweden and the couple with their two sons migrated to the United States in 1953, settling in Philadelphia, PA.

Sara K31 shared a similar journey to Doverstorp, starting from her arrival in Malmo where she received assistance from a Jewish youth organization, before being relocated to Doverstorp.

Her stay lasted only two months before moving to a kibbutz in Norrköping. She eventually settled in Israel, but only after being imprisoned by the British in Cypress for attempting to illegally sneak into Palestine.

One can only imagine the trauma of being basically imprisoned in another ‘camp,” even if it was operated by one of the allies.29 https://collections.ushmm.org/search/catalog/hvt4285858

30https://fortunoff.aviaryplatform.com/collections/5/collection_resources/2048/file/55651?u=t&keywords[]=doverstorp

31 https://collections.ushmm.org/search/catalog/hvt4918870

Anti-semitism and Doverstorp Refugee CampApproximately 40% of the residents of Doverstorp over time were Jewish. The camp administration and the survivors themselves made clear distinctions between Poles (who were mostly Catholic) and Jews.

Upon arrival in Sweden, each survivor was required to provide their name, gender, date of arrival, date of birth, place and country of birth, nationality and in most cases religion.

Eventually, these registration cards came to include the letter “J.”

Jews from Poland were classified as Jewish, not Poles or Polish Jews. Mordechay Giloh (32) has documented the reality that life in Doverstorp and other camps was far from idyllic.

This note reads

“Within the camp there is a Polish dentist, Maria Hanel, who has at her disposal an assistant named Halina Wald, who was previously transferred here from another camp.

As Hialina Wald will soon be leaving Doverstorp, it would be desirable that another assistant could be made available, and Maria Kanel has suggested Bronislawa Morgenstern, for the time being in the refugee center Gränevik in Diö. On the basis of the above, I can therefore respectfully state that the Commission wanted to transfer from Gränevik, Dio, here the Polish citizen Bronislawa Morgenstern, who is intended to serve as a dental hygienist.” (33)

The correspondence is signed by Sten Malmberg, Warehouse Chief.

32 Mordechay Giloh. “The split between Polish Jews and non-Jewish survivors from concentration camps Swedish society’s reactions in the spring and summer of 1945” Nordisk Judaistik/Scandinavian Jewish Studies. Vol 27, no.1, 24-42.

33 From Doverstorp files in the National Archives, Stockholm, Sweden. Used with permission granted on September 16, 2022.

Old prejudices and stereotypes, hatreds and beliefs remained even after the shared experiences in the Nazi concentration and death camps.

Even the camp’s director at that time Torsten Nordsjon (34) wrote about the anti-Semitism he witnessed and he was only in that position from May – September, 1945.34 Judaiska Minnen, 375:29

These observations reflected those of the well-known Swedish journalist Tora Nordstrom-Bonnier who was likewise shocked at the extent of the anti-Semitism in Doverstorp when she visited … even during the first few weeks post-arrival.

Alva Myrdal, a prominent Swedish sociologist and a 1982 recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize, inspected the camp on May 13, 1945, just one week after the first White Bus survivors arrived.

Four highlights of her May 27, 1945 report were that:1. the quality of the food needed This may have meant to also provide Kosher food as appropriate. 2. programs were needed to help these new arrivals prepare for life in Sweden if they stayed or concrete plans to become repatriated to their home countries. 3. anti-Semitism was very much alive and Many Polish refugees held strong anti-Semitic views and acted accordingly. 4. the proper authorities at the camp and in the government immediately develop programs to fight the toxic anti-Semitism she had seen and

This sad chapter of the resettlement camps is important for it shows the underlying tensions that lead to hatred, cruelty and for many a desire to find ways to Palestine, soon to become Israel just a few years later.

< Part 3 – Lest We Forget – Doverstorp | Part 3 Final: Doverstorp Resettlement Camp

White Bus Rescue – the 10 GiftsPart 1 – Gifts 1-5 | Part 2 – Gifts 6-10

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Here’s the complete story of a survivor of the Hungary Holocaust from the book, Childhood in Times of War by Andrew Salamon. His story of survival of his family and Budapest neighbors gives a personal insight to the events.

The following is from Chapter 4 of the book, the entire book is here:

Book Chapters

1. Before the War | 2. War in Europe

3. Darkening Skies | 4. The “Final Solution”

4. Part 2 “THE FINAL SOLUTION” | 5. Liberation & Beyond

6. Epilogue

Refugee Status in the Hungary HolocaustBy the late summer of 1944, Budapest was flooded with refugees arriving by the thousands from the war zone.

People fled by train, truck, horse cart or on foot, carrying minimal belongings, often without any papers. This gave me an idea: I could claim refugee status and obtain more valid documents.

The dreaded Red Army was rolling forward into Hungary and Nazi propaganda about the cruelty of the fast approaching enemy was in full force.

I carefully concocted a story about being a war orphan, from the town of Kolozsvar in Transylvania, a town occupied by the Russians.

The story included losing all my relatives as well as my papers and other belongings. All alone in the world.

Rounding out my story with the name of the street I had lived on, the names of my parents, brothers and sisters.My last name, Kocsis, a good old Hungarian peasant name, which was written into my cherished documents.Obtaining food coupons was now easy. I headed to the nearest refugee community kitchen, looking hungry and exhausted, and was given a bowl of soup and food coupons.

Then visiting a number of offices and received coupons for clothing, and a card that allowed me to sleep in a refugee shelter. I was assigned a small place in a hospice and the local police station issued a temporary residency card for that address.

These papers were of limited use as they were only valid for a certain amount of time.

But they provided temporary cover and gave me the self-confidence I needed to move around the city without fear of arrest.

The author Andrew Salamon and his older brother David.My New IdentityI went through a period of refining my story so that it would be sufficiently detailed and believable.

When going for a meal or a rest at one of the shelters and people asked me why a 12-year-old boy was living alone, I would tell them my sob story.

Someone would say: “Oh, I am also from Kolozsvar! Where did you live?““On Rakoczy Street,” I would respond, hesitantly.“Me too. What number?“I would mumble a number and some story about forgetting the details during the turbulence of the past few months. The stranger would nod and say that he lived on the other end of the street, near the Catholic church named Sainte Catherine.

The next time adding the Catholic church to my story. Or if someone asked about the Katona family who lived on the same street?

My answer was evasive, but the Katona family became our neighbours in my story from that point on.

When it came to my people, just had to start talking about how they had both perished at the cruel hands of the damned Bolsheviks. Shed a few tears and all questioning on the subject would cease.

I selected a fictitious school- the Petofi Street Gymnasium – and a few popular names for teachers. When someone pointed out to me that I must be wrong because there was no Gymnasium on Petofi Street?Maybe it was Arpadi Street, I would laugh out of embarrassment and admit my mistake. The next time, my school was situated on the correct street.My story was pretty solid by the time it was critical to have all the details worked out.

In the meantime, learning to live on my own, away from our yellow star home for several days at a time. It was more dangerous to go to and from our “mini ghetto” than to live on my own in the refugee shelters.

The few catechism lessons I had taken from a priest back in 1943 came in very handy now.

In the public shelter before we sat down to eat, we always recited a few prayers. The “Our Fathers” and “Hail Marys” came rolling off my tongue, as if saying them forever.

Also made the sign of the cross when walking by a church or reciting prayers. When a priest was present, we had to greet him humbly and genuflect in front of the crosses that hung on almost every wall of the shelter.

Another aspect of hiding my religious identity was more difficult and embarrassing. In washrooms, I had to hide my penis behind my hands if others were present.Similar difficulty taking showers at the shelters, as you could never count on being alone. Being discovered as circumcised was the surest, deadliest giveaway.

All in all, I kind of enjoyed my privileged status as a poor refugee child from the east. Never forgetting posing as someone else, but it made me laugh inside to see how easy it was to fool people and milk their sympathy.

“If only they knew…“, I sometimes thought, when selling my story to yet another person. Felt myself to be quite the little actor.

Reign of Terror in the Hungary HolocaustFerenc SzalasiOctober 15th, 1944 is a date that is forever etched in my memory.

On that day, the Hungarian Nazi Party took control of the country and unleashed a reign of terror:

The leader of the Hungarian Nazi party, Ferenc Szálasi, became prime minister.
The police forces were put under the control of the Hungarian fascists.
Jews not yet living in the ghetto were ordered to move in, and the ghetto gates were locked and placed under strict Nazi surveillance.
Jews were ordered to stay inside their marked houses, 24 hours a day.
All the marauding nazi units, comprised mostly of 12- to 15-year-old youths, were armed.

The Nazi take-over was swift and complete. Within days, it seemed like all the residents of Budapest turned into ardent Nazis.

The day after the take-over, I headed home to our yellow star house to tell David, Mother and the others the tragic news.

About the atrocities I had witnessed in the city. At this time, the first air raid of the day was signaled.

The bombings started again with great force. Finally both Russian and American planes attacked the city, destroying entire city blocks and leaving roads and streetcar lines in ruins.

Hungary Holocaust – the Arrow CrossI found our yellow star house in shambles. The door had been broken down and the women were hysterical, sitting in a corner crying.

An Arrow Cross group had raided the house the day before. They had smashed everything, beaten up the women, stolen anything worth stealing, and threatened to come back.Five minutes after they left, Mother had taken her already packed bag and left for her planned hideaway. She moved to the relative safety of a fake orphanage, where there was no room for David and me.

Mother, David and I had decided earlier that moving to the ghetto would be a death sentence. We would die of starvation, disease or as a result of Nazi violence.

Or we would be deported to a concentration camp, and deportation also meant death. So David and I decided to go our separate ways and fend for ourselves.

As I made my usual tour around the food and shelter places, I discovered that every location was being guarded by Nazis.

Papers were closely scrutinized and people were dragged away when there was the slightest suspicion of false documents. One day while waiting in a lunch line, this happened not too far ahead of me.I wasn’t sure what to do since walking away was just as dangerous as staying in line. But fate decided for me: the Nazi inspector had to go to the toilet and I managed to receive my last lunch from that place in peace.

At the shelters, where there were also Nazis checking documents and questioning each one of us before letting us in, luck once again intervened.

Some people in the line called out to the Nazi guard, reassuring him that I was truly an innocent victim of the Bolsheviks. And he let me in.

How much longer could this luck of mine last?

A Young Nazi Is Born…a Hungary Holocaust storyI had heard stories about young Jews stealing uniforms and pretending to be Nazis, thinking:

‘This is a brilliant idea! Why can’t I do that?‘

Siimply steal the necessary clothing and a few documents.

It was surprisingly easy. There were many bodies on the sidewalks and in building doorways, as they were no longer collected off the streets.

Jews, people suspected of being Jewish, and soldiers who were caught hiding among the civilian population were all shot on the spot. Fortunately, with the cold weather, the corpses froze, preventing the spread of disease.So there was a constant supply of dead bodies with valuable documents, weapons, army and Nazi uniforms, shoes, boots, and so on.

As the air raid marshals no longer supervised the streets, I could, in relative safety, scout around for a corpse to strip of its belongings. It had to be done swiftly and adroitly.

I spotted the body of a young person about my size, lying under the ruins. Many of these poor soldiers were children who had been conscripted in the emergency rush of the past weeks.

I crawled up to him, took his leather jacket, boots, money, and documents. From another corpse, peeled off the Nazi armband and wide belt with a holster.From a third body, obtained a weapon and bullets.Now I was dressed and armed like a little Nazi. The clothes didn’t fit me perfectly, but the streets were full of urchins wandering around in oversized overcoats, with hats covering their eyes.

Budapest, in November, 1944, was no fashion show.

That first time I “robbed” a corpse, fighting the feeling that it was actually alive, that it would open its eyes, slap my hand, and say, “Don’t touch me!”

It was so strange to touch a dead body, but after doing it a few times, I got used to it.

Also took some getting used to being a member of the “select race,” the worst scum my beloved city had ever produced.

But with a little practice, I managed to shout the Nazi greeting just as loudly as anyone else, while stretching out my right arm:

“Hang in there, Brother! Long live Szálasi!“

Finding Food and Shelter in the Budapest Hungary HolocaustFrom the day I left the relative safety of the yellow star home, the days, weeks and months became one blurry period of sheer animal survival.

Wake up, under ruins or in the doorway of a house, and look for water to clean myself with. Then the daily walk began.

It was important to be on the move, and not stay in one place for too long. I would enter a church for a short “prayer.”Once in a while, a priest would come out and offer me some food – a piece of bread or ersatz sausage, or a hot drink. This was one source of breakfast, although unreliable.It was also dangerous, because the Nazi gangs regularly searched churches for Jews. And young fascists were supposed to be free of the superstition of religion.During or shortly after a bombing raid, I would climb through the blown out windows of an abandoned apartment.

Scavenge around for food. This had to be done fast, before the owners returned home from the shelter.

if they were still alive, that is. Sometimes I managed to put a small package together, which would last me a day, or even for a few days.

Come night time, I had to figure out where to sleep again.

The question was never: What am I going to do tomorrow?

Nazi “Party Houses”Strangely enough, one of the safer ways to spend a few hours was in the company of young Nazis. When I met a group of them on the street, they always wanted to know where you were from and where you were heading.After telling my sob story, they would invite me to their party houses, offering me food and sometimes shelter for the night. These party houses were set up all over the city, in abandoned homes, shelters and basements.

They were used to house the young Nazis, and store food, weapons, ammunition and robbed loot. Some of the larger houses also had cellars used for holding Jews and other “suspect” characters.

But mostly, these houses were places for young Nazis to hang out in between raids, a place where they could boast about their escapades and adventures.

Their stories were, without fail, about the atrocities they had committed against Jews. They would compete to see who could use the foulest language to describe their victims, and who had the most vicious stories to tell.Beatings, rapes, executions, every possible method of degradation was employed by these children and recounted in great detail.Boys between the ages of 12 and 15 raped and killed young Jewish girls and women. Then they bragged about their exploits!I couldn’t compete with their foul mouths, telling my tale about being a heroic refugee from the east, and recounting in detail the horrible way in which the Red soldiers behaved towards us good Christian Hungarians.

My delivery improved with each telling, the horror stories became more detailed, the atrocities worse. They declared in loud childish voices that they would defend Budapest and that the Russians would never be allowed to capture the city.

As an eyewitness, my stories had a ring of truth to them. I became popular.

For a few months, I ate, slept and hid wherever I could. Every day, the challenge to survive became harder and harder.

The temperature dropped below zero early on in the winter of 1944. Sleeping under rubble, I would try to cover myself with an old overcoat or a blanket, but was perpetually cold.And the little food I could find was never enough. Sometimes going for a day or two without anything to eat.

After a while, the hunger became less painful and the gut-wrenching stomach cramps eased. I would gnaw on a dry piece of bread, or on a piece of leather just to satisfy my craving to chew on something.

Graves of the Danube in the Hungary HolocaustIn those days, death lurked just around every corner, all the time. The Nazi killing squads swarmed the city unchecked.

One time, while forced to join one of these squads on one of their daily forays, I witnessed what I had only heard about before.

We were marching around, keeping close to the walls to avoid flying shrapnel and exploding shells. Ahead of us, we saw two figures disappear through a doorway.Suspicious, our leader rushed after them. There, behind the door, huddled in the corner, was an elderly Jewish couple.They couldn’t produce any papers and after being slapped a few times, the old man confessed that they had escaped from the ghetto.This time, there was no on-the-spot execution. The leader told us, grinning, that these victims would be “sent to have a swim.”We surrounded the couple and marched them to a nearby party house, which served as a collection centre for captured Jews and other “criminals.” The couple was literally kicked down the stairs, into the cellar.

The gang leader received praise from the local head man for his alertness. Then we were told that they would need people for the next morning’s “swim,” and that we should stay around for the night.

Luckily, I wasn’t carrying a firearm and had a good excuse for not participating in the “action.”

We were woken early the next morning and handed a cup of ersatz coffee. Some hot black water trying to pass as coffee.

Then the prisoners were ordered to climb up from the cellar. Out came an assortment of people, mostly elderly, some bleeding, limping and supporting each other.Although none wore yellow stars, they were likely all Jews. I stood away from the victims as much as I could.They were tied together with ropes in groups of three, and marched towards the Danube river. I stayed back at the party house.I found out later what happened, from the foul mouths of the returning heroes. This is the story my “kameraden” told upon their return…

On the way to the river, everyone was silent as they walked through the semi-dark, deserted city streets.

It took a long time in the cold winter morning to reach the river. They knew what was going to happen.

all of them, victims and murderers, just walked on, without a word.

Near the river, someone joined them, also carrying a rifle. It was a priest dressed in a black cassock. As they arrived at the quay of the Danube, the priest stepped aside. The younger Nazis were told to stand back and wait.

None of the victims were hit or abused any more.

These people were condemned to die at the hands of their captors and that fact seemed to dampen the usually crude behaviour of the gang.

The victims were quickly lined up along the edge of the river. The ropes were checked and tightened.

(It was at this point in the story that I realized what the ropes were for.in case some of the victims were not killed by the bullets, they would be pulled into the river with the others and drown anyway.)Next, the older Nazis walked away from the group, and away from the river.

They lifted their guns and began shooting. No orders were given.

it was just a slow, almost lazy process of execution.

The bodies jerked as they were hit, then fell backward under the impact of the bullets into the river.

The executioners could hear the heavy thump of the bodies as they hit the ice.

It lasted perhaps one minute. The last body disappeared over the edge of the quay.

the last rifle was lowered.

the shooting stopped abruptly, and a deadly silence descended over the river’s edge.

At that moment, the man in the black cassock, Father Kun, stepped forward.

Raising the large wooden cross that hung around his neck, he began to pray. Some of the Nazis in the group knelt down to receive absolution from this representative of the Catholic Church.

Never found out who the victims were. Finding myself on the other side caused me tremendous grief and a deep sense of shame.

I had been afraid to look at the victims, remorseful for witnessing their humiliation and for being so powerless to do anything.

Stop the murders, or at least alleviate their suffering. Been afraid to look at my Nazi “brothers,” worried that my burning cheeks might give me away.

After the shooting, the killers walked to the edge of the Danube and looked down.

The ice was littered with the dead bodies. still bound together. None of them moved.

The ice was slowly floating downstream.

after a minute or two, the bodies started sinking into the water that opened up between big ice floes. A couple of minutes later, the victims had completely disappeared. One of the ice blocks, still stained with the blood of some of the murdered, got caught in an ice jam. the red blotches of blood remained visible from the distance. The rising sun was already washing over the hills across the river.

Some of the murderers went up to Father Kun and kissed the cross hanging from his neck.

The Church instantly absolved them of the crimes they had just committed.

When one of them recounted this episode, deep inside, I hoped that our society would not absolve them and that they would meet justice one day.

In the meantime, pretending they were my “brothers” and joining in in the merriment, which now broke out unfettered. It was time to celebrate a job well done.

These murderers were used to all this, as this was a routine visit to the Danube. One of them casually remarked that they had just wiped a few more vermin off the face of the earth.That’s all, just a few vermin!CaughtIt was December, around the middle of the month. The streets had become increasingly unsafe.

The bombing attacks continued unabated and flying bricks and shrapnel made any movement on the streets extremely dangerous. Dead bodies lay frozen on the pavement.

Piles of rubble became mountains, at the foot of walls which were teetering, ready to collapse with the next explosion.

It was a bad day for me: finding neither food nor warm shelter for the night. Darkness fell early on the city, which lay dead under the snow and darkening skies.Decided to go to sleep early, not looking too carefully for a good shelter. Cold and exhausted, I just wanted to lie down, cover up with something warm and sleep through the night.I climbed under a pile of rubble, somewhat protected by pieces of lumber. Dragging with me old rags that I had removed from one of the bodies.

My boots were wet so wrapped my feet with other bits of rag and stretched out.

The next thing I knew, waking up to somebody kicking my feet to see whether I was dead or alive. It turned out that I stuck my feet out a little too far.

An angry voice shouted: “Get out of there immediately!” I crawled out and tried to stand up.Immediately knocked to the ground by a powerful slap on the face, which brought me to the feet of young Nazi thugs who were brandishing rifles and looking at me with contempt.Instantly understood my predicament: here dressed up like one of them, yet sleeping under rubble, as if hiding. I had some explaining to do.

Started mumbling my explanation to the Nazi “brothers.” The leader demanded to see my documents.

I pulled out my bundle from my jacket pocket and handed them over. They were genuine, but quite an assortment of papers stolen from different sources.

After scanning them, he demanded angrily: “If these documents are real, why are you sleeping on the street, like one of the Jewish dogs or escaping soldiers?

I started with my refugee routine, but this time it didn’t work. Caught off guard, losing my confidence and stammering something incomprehensible.The truth was that I could think of no reason why a uniformed Nazi would sleep among the ruins, in the cold open air rather than entering a party house for the night.“Pull down your pants!” one of them ordered. I refused, claiming that it was too cold. They grabbed my arms and one of them pulled down my pants and shorts.

Seeing my circumcised penis, they started to beat me up with their gun butts and fists. Then they ordered me to stand up and pull up my pants.

With shaking hands, I obeyed. The game was clearly up. I had fallen into enemy hands.

They demanded to know how I had obtained the uniforms and the documents.“They’re false,” said the leader “and we will beat out of you the names of the people who supplied them.”With this threat, they ripped off my armband, knocked the Nazi cap off my head. Took off my belt and used it to tie my hands behind my back.

They ordered me to remove my boots, which were instantly scooped up by one of them. Then with a few kicks and blows from their rifle butts, they marched me away, barefoot and shivering.

The party house we went to was one of the larger ones. The leader of the group that had captured me reported me to his leader and I was shoved in a room.

They sat me on a chair and tied me up, my hands behind the back of the chair. A few older men entered and started interrogating me about the origin of the documents, which they waved in my face.

One of them pushed his face against mine. His spittle showered my face as he spoke:

“Dirty Jewish swine, your pocket is full of false documents. From whom did you get them?““No Sir, they are not false,” answering with exaggerated politeness totally wasted on the brute.“I took them from dead peoples’ pockets.”

This triggered a violent series of slaps by a second man, while the first one continued to scream:

“We know you got them from the Zionists! These are fake and you will tell us who gave them to you.

Names! Give me the names of the document falsifiers!

Where are they hiding out?“

I was slapped and interrogated for quite a while. Each blow to my face felt like an electric shock.

My head twisted from side to side, the shocks shook my skull and made my ears ring. They knocked the chair over, with my battered body tied to it, then set it up again and continued the interrogation.At one point, I lost consciousness and came to as they poured ice cold water over my head. More slaps. I kept mumbling that I was innocent, but no one was listening anymore.

It is impossible to say how long the beating lasted. It could have been only minutes, or it could have been half an hour. But it seemed like forever, as if the blows would never stop.

At some point during the beating, I stopped mumbling my explanations and began a monologue inside my head.

‘If I survive this,‘ I told myself, ‘nobody will ever again be allowed to touch me or to hit me. No one will ever slap my face again. If I live…‘Somehow, this inner conversation helped me survive the beating.

They eventually stopped slapping me and left me alone in the room, still tied to the chair. My head cleared up gradually, the urge to vomit went away and my hearing slowly returned.

I had suffered no serious injury. However, the rope was tight, and my arms and legs were numb.

I started to feel extreme discomfort and prayed that somebody would remove the ropes from my wrists.

One of the thugs entered, untied me, pulled me up by my hair, and pushed me toward the door. We went outside and he opened another door that led to the cellar below.With a shove and a kick, I was sent rolling down the stairs into the cellar. With my numb arms, I tried to protect my head from further damage.My body landed on the damp and smelly cellar floor, where I lay for a while, then slowly stood up.Brush With Death in the Hungary HolocaustI wasn’t alone. A group of shadowy figures, who had been captured earlier, huddled around the walls.

They didn’t react to my unceremonious arrival. Nobody stood up to lend me a helping hand, no one greeted me.

They just stared in front of them, blind and deaf to their surroundings.

For a long time the silence continued. My senses slowly recovered. I touched my swollen face and felt a burning pain.“If I live, no one will slap me again,” I mumbled into the silence, feeling feverish, weak, and faint.I looked around the dark cellar to see who my fellow captives were. Altogether we were about a dozen people, standing around listlessly, almost lifelessly.

There were a few old, religious Jews, one of them mumbling prayers into his beard. There were a few younger men, possibly soldiers on AWOL.

One of them had blood all over his face and swollen eyes from the beating he had received. Two old women were weeping silently. I realized that I had become a victim of the next death squad.

My hours were numbered, my destiny sealed.

Some of the people started to whisper, discussing what would happen next. They had been captured a day or two earlier and had been kept in the damp, cold cellar, without any food or water.Weak from thirst, hunger and cold, they were already like living dead. They guessed that we would all be deported. Marched on foot towards the west, perhaps forced to enter the ghetto.But I knew what was awaiting us.Jews collected from the protected buildings or the yellow star buildings were taken to the ghetto. But another fate awaited escaping soldiers and those of us who had been hiding out as non-Jews.

Should I tell these people how hopeless our situation was? How, come dawn, we would be ordered outside, marched to the river and shot into the icy waters?

I decided to tell them the truth. Most of them didn’t listen, but just continued to pray or stare into space.

Some of the younger ones said that I was crazy, that those killings were only rumours.

Fell silent and retreated into myself. So did the others. Silently, we lay on the cold, dirty floor.

Strangely, I almost felt relieved. It was all over now: no more hiding, no more hunger and cold, no more role-playing. Tired of the daily struggle. Now captured and that was that.This was the end. It had all lasted far too long and had become too hopeless as our liberation seemed more and more distant.We were surrounded by the Nazi hordes who ran the city and everyone in it. It was hopeless to believe that any of us stood a chance of surviving.

I thought: ‘There should be a God watching over me. But he’s certainly not here.’

What kind of God could I turn to from inside this dark cellar, among people who were condemned to die?

To the God of my father, once my God too, who had abandoned us all? There was no use in praying.

Knowing about the execution routine gave me a feeling of finality. I had no tears to shed, no one to say final goodbyes to. Thought of my family and hoped that they would all survive.

They would cry over me when they realized I wasn’t coming back. My body would disappear under the floating ice as if it had never lived, never existed. That was that.Sometime late that night, fell asleep. In the morning, we heard the door burst open and heavy boots coming down the stairs.

It happened exactly as I had imagined. It was still dark when we were marched outside to the street.

The young Arrow Cross members were dressed, shouldering their rifles. We were tied together in twos and ordered to start marching.

I had a feeling that this was not happening to me, that I was watching a film seen a long time ago. As if outside my body, a silent observer of a strange ritual.

It was a repeat performance of the execution scene that had been described. The streets were empty, shrouded in the darkness of early winter morning.

No light escaped from behind the shuttered windows as we made our way silently, in almost total darkness.

There was a lull in the bombing and shelling and the only sound was the echo of marching Nazi boots.My good boots were gone now and was limping with my wet, frozen feet, wrapped in the rags worn inside my boots.But the cold didn’t bother me. I felt nothing.

We were marching towards our death and wanted to live my last minutes on this earth at peace with myself, without being bothered by small inconveniences.

I felt something deeply spiritual, a warm closeness to the man whose hand I was tied to, and to the other captives. We were fellows in suffering and in death.

Then, a miracle happened. Suddenly, we saw a group of Nazis and soldiers marching towards us.

Leading them was a tall, well-fed SS man who was heavily armed and imposing-looking in his clean uniform. In fluent German, he started yelling at the leader of our group.

The Hungarian Nazis didn’t understand German, so one of the soldiers from the other group translated.The leader of our group explained that they were taking a bunch of Jews and other scum to the Danube to be executed.Hearing that, the man behind me let out a muffled cry.There ensued a sharp exchange of words. The SS man called the Hungarians a bunch of idiots for wasting bullets instead of preparing to defend the city against the Russian onslaught.

Our Nazi responded that they were doing what they did almost every day. Eliminating the traitors before the final battle.

But the SS man and his comrades slowly gained the upper hand.

One of them grabbed the beard of one of the older Jews and began pulling him away. Another delivered a few hard blows to two of the captives.

Ordered them to move over to where they stood. The SS man said with a grin:

“We know how to handle this scum without wasting a single bullet. Leave them to us and return to your place.”With that, they began marching us in the direction they had come from.

The Hungarian Nazis marched away. We didn’t utter a word.

The SS man and his cohorts looked even more frightening than the other Nazis. I couldn’t even guess what would happen to us now.

We stumbled along, receiving an occasional blow on the back to speed up our march. Eventually we found ourselves in an empty lot where all the houses had been bombed.

The SS man stopped, turned towards us and said in fluent Hungarian:

“You are saved. We are not fascists, we are rescuers. At the end of this lot there’s a passageway to another street. Move fast and disappear before the Nazis return or the shelling begins.”They quickly pulled out knives, cut our ropes with a few swift movements, and began moving away.

Zionist Rescue GroupOur group reacted to this amazing announcement like robots in a daze. Most of the captives, immediately, unquestioningly, started walking away as fast as they could.

There was no time to feel relieved, express our thanks or celebrate. No time to shake hands or exchange words of encouragement with the others.

We had to keep moving, to clear out of the area fast and find new hiding places.

I was stunned. We had been saved by one of the Zionist rescue groups

But there was no time to contemplate the fantastic turn of events. Saved or not, I was now in a desperate situation.

My cover had been blown and my documents were all gone. Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

Telling the “SS man” about my predicament in a few words, that I wanted to join their group.He looked at me for a moment and said:“You can come with us and we can help you, but we can’t offer you permanent shelter.”With that, they tied me up again and marched on, with me, a captured Jew, in the middle.

Now alive again and filled with new hope. We went to a safe house, that was under international protection, in the heart of the city, called the Glass House.

It was completely full and couldn’t shelter another person without endangering the safety of the others. The Zionists paraded in full nazi uniforms and pretended to guard the house.

Inside the building, confusion reigned. It was packed with people of all ages, waiting for washrooms and food.

I was sent to have something to eat and to lay down to rest. They provided me with new false documents, clothing, food and shelter for the day, along with a pair of shoes to protect my cold bare feet.Later that evening, invited to join one of the groups that left to scout the city for news.When we reached a quiet, safe corner, I was told to beat it. Once again, I was on my own.It was confirmed later that my rescuers, the group that saved my life, was Hanoar Hazioni, one of the famed Zionist groups that masqueraded in uniforms and intimidated real Nazis.

They were very well organized, equipped with uniforms, weapons and false identification papers. They were also connected to other similar groups through a messenger service.

Young men who risked their lives, commuting between buildings, carrying documents and news from one group to another.

I later met the members of this liberal Zionist organization, when becoming a member after the war.

Survivors of the Hungarian HolocaustThat night I resumed my life of wandering and hiding, but didn’t feel lonely any more.

Now I knew that there was still Jewish life in the city, that there were resistance fighters and survivors. Determined to survive and live to see the arrival of our liberators.

My mother, my father, David and I were all still alive, thanks to individual miracles. Let me briefly recount each one of these.Mother was hiding in the lumberyard cum orphanage, where I visited her a couple of times. David and a Polish boy also snuck in once in a while.The place had enough basic food supplies to last for a few weeks, if necessary. Each time I left feeling reassured that at least Mother was safe. If only she could have felt the same way about me…David had also survived these rotten months. Since escaping from his labour unit, like me, he had been hiding out in Budapest.

However, late in December 1944, we decided that the city had become too dangerous a place to live.

We both joined Mother and stayed with her till the end.

Death MarchIn late November, the great retreat from Budapest towards the west had begun.

Leading Nazis and their families fled in cars and trucks loaded with loot stolen from Jews. Racing for time against the encircling forces of the Red Army.

Escaping Nazis also herded Jewish labour units towards the Austrian border. Thus, the infamous Death March began.Thousands of Jewish men without food, water or adequate winter clothing, were forced to march on the Budapest-Vienna highway. They slept on the side of the road, and ate the odd potato or root dug out of the frozen earth with their bare hands.Each day, hundreds dropped dead from exhaustion, or were shot by the soldiers guarding them. This was indeed a death march, without any purpose or destination.

The mad Hungarian Nazis could no longer exterminate the remaining Jews all at once, so they sentenced them to slow death.

It was from these columns of doomed that the Swedish envoy Raoul Wallenberg rescued people. Wallenberg was a businessman who was sent to Budapest to help the Jewish population however he could.

He personally rescued thousands of people, never stopping, never giving up, right up to the last days of the war.

Father Saved by Wallenberg (and many others during the Hungary Holocaust)The Swiss Embassy which helped rescue many during the end of the Hungary Holocaust.In late October of 1944, Mother heard by word of mouth that Father was alive.

His forced labour unit, stationed on the eastern front, was on a Death March, slowly moving back towards the city, and then on to Austria.

She also managed to find out from a visiting soldier what Father’s unit number was and the names of a few other men in his unit.

Mother, the lioness, was not going to give up on her man at this late point in the war. She visited the Swedish building housing Wallenberg.Gave them Father’s unit number, the names of other men in the unit, and their approximate location.Precisely the information Wallenberg needed to do his work.They prepared letters of protection and then raced after the targeted group by car.

Upon reaching the marching unit, wherever they were, Wallenberg would jump out of his car. In impeccable German, order the Hungarian Nazis to stop the march.

Raoul Wallenberg who organized rescues.He would whip out his documents and call out the names. As the men stepped out, he handed each one his document and ordered them into the car.

Before the Nazis realized what was happening, his car was already speeding back to Budapest with the rescued Jews in it.

That is how Father was saved.

Wallenberg brought Father back to the Swedish house in Budapest, from where Mother picked him up and brought him to her hiding place.How my father, a slightly built, not very strong man survived years of mistreatment, hunger, cold and physical exertion, I cannot tell.

I never had a chance to question him about those days and now it is too late. But survive he did.

Swiss Vice Consul Carl Lutz – In 1941 about 742,800 Jews lived in Hungary. In Budapest, some 124,000 survived the war. Between 15 May and 9 July, 437,402 people died in Auschwitz. Carl Lutz helped 62,000 Jews to surviveWoman of ValorMother of Andrew SalamonThanks to Mother, all four of us survived the war. She hid David when he escaped.

She rescued Father from certain death. She encouraged me to keep on living.

And she organized what became the hiding place for all four of us.

During the last weeks of the siege, we all ended up in the lumberyard, her choice of a safe place proving to have been the best one.

If the expression Eshet Chayil, meaning “woman of valor,” should be applied to anyone, my mother deserves it many times over.My Last Hiding Place in the Hungary HolocaustThe remote location of the lumberyard offered a relatively safe hiding place.

The family of one of the owner’s employees smuggled in food supplies.

Thanks to the organizational abilities of Mother and other women, supplies were rationed out frugally so that they lasted throughout the siege.

By December, two or three dozen people were living in the yard. Including individuals and families of all ages.

There were work sheds in the yard, containing woodworking machinery and a larger warehouse that was connected to the office building.

Andrew Salamon’s last hiding place in the lumberyard.Under each machine in the work sheds was a large cement-lined pit with a concrete lid where the sawdust was collected.This is where we hid. Each family was assigned its own shed and pit.When the siege of Budapest started around mid-December, emergency measures were implemented. During the day, everyone stayed in their pits until dark.

There was no food, no access to toilets, no room to walk or even stand up straight.

The pits were just large enough for three or four people to sit or crouch in.

After eight to ten hours in these cramped spaces, we would cautiously climb out.

Then we’d gather in the warehouse or the converted office space, which was the designated night time living area.

The many shelves in the warehouse that used to hold large sheets of plywood and lumber now served as bunk beds. The small kitchen was used for primitive cooking.Boiling water, cooking weak pea soups, dried peas and vegetarian stews were our meals. On lucky days, a piece of horse meat was added to this stew to provide some variety.

Electricity and water supplies were cut off by that time. But there was plenty of sawdust available for burning in the cooking stove.

Water was melted from snow and ice. Considering the primitive conditions, our basic survival needs were met quite well.

The conditions were extremely unsanitary. Washing and keeping clean were practically impossible tasks.

There was a humiliating head lice inspection every week, which involved pouring kerosene on the heads of those who were infested. The toilets often got blocked and backed up due to the cold and the lack of running water.This was the source of constant bickering, as was food distribution.

But under the circumstances, it was surprising that the arguments weren’t sharper. We all managed to get through those months together.

When David and I arrived in mid-December and shared our parents’ pit with them, the space became even tighter. But we were hopeful that our liberators would arrive in a matter of days.

We were in one of the eastern most suburbs of the city and the Russian armies were only a few kilometres from us. But the front moved very slowly.

It took almost another month for the front line to reach our area. That was a very long month.Tales From the Hiding PlaceAmong the families hiding was a Polish mother and son. After the father of the family had been murdered by the Germans in the Polish ghetto, they escaped into Hungary, surviving like animals in the forests.

In Budapest, they were caught by the Nazis who took them to the Danube, to shoot them into the river.

On the way to their execution, knowing what was about to happen, the boy told his mother to fall backwards into the river as soon as the shooting began.

Luckily for them they were standing at the end of the line. Together they fell into the river, pretending to be dead.The son floated on top of an ice floe, dragging his mother through the freezing water until they were out of sight from the Nazis.They climbed out of the water and hid until nightfall, then retraced their way to the city where they found a group of Jews who helped them.The boy was a member of the Betar Zionist movement in Poland. The Hungarian Betarniks had provided help, as well as the German parachutist uniform he wore when making a sortie outside to find food.

During the long evenings together he told us many stirring and eye-opening stories about Jewish pride. About the need to fight back and the desire to go to Palestine after liberation.

David and I absorbed every word and, not surprisingly, it was Betar that both of us joined as soon as we could in 1945.

Immediately after liberation, the Polish mother and son joined their Zionist brethren and left for Palestine.

Food FantasiesA favourite game, which we younger children played, was called “imaginary banquet.”

One player would recall a memorable meal he or she had eaten and describe it to us.

Using the greatest possible detail for each of the various courses, from appetizer and soup through to the main dish and, most importantly, the dessert and fruit.The game called for maximum exaggeration in recalling appearance, smell and flavour.

Occasionally, an argument would erupt over the relative merit of one kind of caviar over another, or the best wine to serve with a certain dish.

There was great competition to make the group swoon at the mere mention of delicacies we hadn’t seen for years and which we might never live to enjoy again.

The mention of chocolate, linzer or dobos tortes elicited the strongest reaction from the small band of starving dreamers.

We would fantasize when the war is over. What quantities of palacsinta we will devour, how many slices of watermelon we will eat…when the war is over.Mother Near DeathEven though we walked around the yard very carefully at night, a sliver of light or a faint sound must have escaped to the outside from time to time.

Twice in late December, this nearly brought disaster upon us. One time, a guard from the neighbouring factory led groups of Nazis and policemen into the lumberyard, claiming that someone was hiding in the area.

A few of the older people were discovered and were at once taken to the ghetto, from where they managed to escape after a fortnight and return to us.

The other time, the searchers seemed more certain than ever that people were hiding in the yard. But lifting up the concrete lids covering our hiding places never occurred to them, or perhaps they were too cold and lazy to make the effort.As they marched around the yard and inside the sheds for a long time, their heavy boots thumping on the floor above our heads, Mother had a hernia attack.

Suddenly, she clutched her side and turned deadly pale. We could see the bundle of hernia bulging out from under her dress.

We carefully made as much room for her as we could, so she could lie down ever so slowly.

She was pale, biting her lips in pain, as tears rolled down her cheeks. One moan and we would have been doomed.

As the Nazi searchers walked just above us, we sat still, not daring to even breathe, separated from our pursuers by only a thin cement slab. Mother twisted in agony on the floor while the searchers walked around above us, for what seemed like an eternity.We felt terribly helpless. We couldn’t even move to hold her hand, to wipe the perspiration off her forehead, or massage her hernia.

All we could do was huddle as close together as possible to make room for her. Mother’s breathing became erratic and she mercifully passed out from the pain.

Then we heard a command above us, and the boots marched away. We didn’t dare move, in case they were pulling their trick of marching away while one of them stayed behind in stealth to see if there was any sound or movement.

Those of us who had survived this far knew about these games. We remained still and silent for a long time.

Then Mother gradually came to and began the painful exercise of pushing her hernia back in place. We began to move around.

One of us handed her some water, and somebody else loosened her dress and wiped her forehead.

By nightfall, Mother was able to slowly get up and crawl out of the pit. This was probably the closest call we had during our underground period.

I don’t know if anyone else would have managed to suffer the pain in silence, determined not to give in and not to fail us. Once again, our mother’s determination and bravery saved our lives.

Red Army: The official name of the army of the Soviet Union during World War II.

Szálasi, Ferenc (1897-1946):
The leader of the Hungarian fascist Arrow Cross party. On October 15th, 1944, he replaced Horthy as head of state with the help of the Germans.

Szálasi’s brutal and murderous regime lasted until the end of the war.

When the war ended, he was captured by the Americans and extradited to Hungary. Found guilty of war crimes and crimes against the people, he was executed on March 12, 1946.SS: Originally, the SS acted as Hitler’s bodyguards. As the organization grew, it became the Third Reich’s principal instrument of terror, and the body responsible for murdering the Jews of Europe.

Zionism/Zionists: Zionism is an international movement, originally for the establishment of a Jewish homeland in Palestine, and later for the support of modern Israel.

A Zionist is an advocate or supporter of Zionism.

In the 1930s, there were several small Zionist youth movements in Hungary. These grew when Hungary reoccupied the territories it had lost after the World War I.

They grew further after each wave of anti-semitic laws, and when Jewish refugees arrived after 1942.

These youth movements played an important role in the Hungarian resistance, creating false identification papers, getting news out about what was happening in nazi-occupied countries, rescuing Jews, smuggling refugees across the border to Romania, and setting up homes to protect thousands of Jewish children and adults.death marches: Forced marches of prisoners under heavy guard to evade the advancing Red Army.

Jewish prisoners were marched deeper into Nazi-held territory, often with no clear destination in mind.

Many prisoners died of disease, mistreatment or exhaustion, and were simply left where they fell.

Wallenberg, Raoul (1912-1947):
A Swedish diplomat who led a rescue operation that saved the lives of approximately 100 000 Jews in Hungary. He is one of the great heroes of World War II.

Appointed first secretary of the Royal Swedish Legation in Budapest in June 1944, Wallenberg’s mission was to rescue Jews from Nazi persecution.

With the help of several hundred Jewish co-workers, he issued thousands of Swedish passes to protect Jews from the Germans and Hungarians.He erected approximately 30 “Swedish houses” in Budapest which were declared Swedish territory, providing shelters where Jews could seek refuge.Before long, the population in these houses reached 15 000. Wallenberg’s initiatives influenced other legations in Budapest to offer similar protections.Raoul Wallenberg also rescued hundreds of Jews from Eichmann’s death marches.He saved approximately 100,000 Jews in Budapest’s two ghettos from a joint SS/Arrow Cross plan to blow them up right before the city was liberated.

After liberation, Wallenberg was summoned by the Soviets -who were very suspicious of the Swedish mission -to army headquarters in Debrecen.

On January 17th, 1945, he was escorted back to Budapest by two Soviet soldiers, and was overheard saying that he didn’t know whether he was their guest or prisoner. That same day, he disappeared.

In 1956, the Soviets informed Sweden that they had discovered a report saying Wallenberg died in a Soviet prison in 1947.

Book Chapters

1. Before the War | 2. War in Europe

3. Darkening Skies | 4. The “Final Solution”

4. Part 2 “THE FINAL SOLUTION” | 5. Liberation & Beyond

6. Epilogue

House of Terror Museum Visit in Budapest, Hungary | Nazi and Soviet Headquarters

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This Auschwitz poem is by my Mother, Professor G. Stendig-lindberg, who went through hellish conditions in WWII; from Krakow Ghetto to labor and concentration camp Plaszow, to Auschwitz, and then to Bergen Belsen.

During her imprisonment in the concentration camps, she wrote poetry, and my grandmother Felicia taught her Mathematics and English to make her focus on productive things and keep an agile mind.

The poetry became a way for my Mother to endure the horrible conditions, and to share the emotional suffering, into words of expression.

Stendig-Lindberg-Infeld-Kahane: The Family StoryAUSCHWITZAsh-red the burning sky

the cannons of chimneys

spit out souls

Here come you who want to warm

your hands in the hell of fire

partake in crime made legal

beyond all record

of man’s violence

Here come you, abjectly cowed

able to turn a deaf ear

to the cry – the children’s cry

in this low building

where murder is industry

A civilized people

outdo the Genghis Khan

outrank the hordes of Huns

thus seal their doom

Put a white sheet of silence

over the low building

hang a veil over the burning sky

hush the cry of terror

Cut out this unbelievable

from the heart of memory

too much for human eye or ear

too much for human soul to bear

Earth never knew such crime

Free us from a witness’s burden

Such sorrow is God’s to bewail

I saw Him cry.

Sweden, 1956

Along with the Auschwitz poem here is another poem, Life, by her daughter, Miriam.Life – a poem by Miriam Lindbergh, daughter of Prof. Gustawa Stendig-LindbergAnd one more poem by Prof. Gustawa Stendig-LindbergREQUIEM TO MY MOTHERDEDICATION: TO MY MENTOR AND MAINSTAY*

I seek you in the shadowed valley of pain

the sockets of my sorrow hollowed eyes

telescoped through the thicket

of the dark, where tears guard silence;

spiky stalactites of salt solidified,

in prismic facets of the void

which took you to its own

dissolved the contour and the form

I knew by love.

Maybe you found peace there

and I disturb you and alarm,

selfish with the longing of a child

call you, see you as you were, stately,

young, copper-haired, your hands so white –

that in relief, the blue of veins

like trees on silk – warm, smooth,

remembered on my cheek.

No hand, as yours, could soothe in terror’s hour.

Pining for its touch on my burning head

I clutch the pillar of your wisdom.

And it stays.

Felicia Stendig, dead, Bergen-Belsen, May 2nd, 1945

Co -Vision Holocaust Remembrance Day Event – April 20, 2020Presenters and LinksEva Ariela Lindberg and Lea Saslav, Co-Hosts

Engineering: Jonathan Font Moxo

Video poster is the official Co-Visioning logo which is an original artwork by Eva Ariela Lindberg

Opening remarks: Eva Ariela, Lindberg Peace Foundation ~ www.lindbergpeacefoundation.org

Prof. Stendig-Lindberg’s Holocaust Poems

www.profmagnesium.org

Music by Yale Strom, Klezmer Violin

www.yalestrom.com

David Lenga, Holocaust Survivor shares ~ Stories from Lodz Ghetto and from his memoir book. “The Compassion of a Deadly Enemy: Even in the Darkest Hours, a Ray of Hope”

Music by Yale Strom & Elizabeth Schwartz

Klezmer Violin and Contralto Website: www.voiceofklezmer.com

Philip Raucher – Los Angeles Polish origin, featured at the LA Museum of the Holocaust

Music by Jonathan Font Moxo –Hlicha Lekesariya(Eli Eli)

Bruce Bierman ~ Dance with the Holocaust, Berkeley

Stand up to dictators! ~ poem read by Gilberto Melendez

Myra Goodman, author, “’Quest for Eternal Sunshine’—A Holocaust Survivors Journey for Darkness to Light,” co-authored posthumously with her father, Mendek Rubin. questforeternalsunshine.com

The story of Ilana Kahat, shared by Eva Ariela

Donna Kanter – “The Presence of their Absence” Trailer

thepresenceoftheirabsence.com

Second Generation Sharing (Q&A)

Fred Zaidman, the principal in Donna Kanter’s documentary Trailer

Yvette Nachmia – Poetry

Music by Jonathan Font Moxo – Prayer of Transformation

Music by Eric Alderfer, (Psalm 126) New York

Tes Kempner – Six Million Candles: New World Anthem

Piano Accompaniment and Arrangement by ShaRone Shmuel David Kushnir

Closing Circle and Prayer ~ Eva Lindberg

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A private in the 3rd platoon, (Military ID 359-1-38), Erik Viggo Ringman (1918 – 1945) drove a Volvo Spetsnos, a light truck converted for this journey. Gift #9: Erik Viggo Ringman How does one say ‘Thank You’ to those who risk death to save strangers in need? Does history even remember these 308 bus drivers, […]

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“The Nuremberg Code rejects the ideology of Eugenics and unequivocally asserts the primacy and dignity of the individual human being – as opposed to “the greater good of society.” Read the Nuremberg Code Download the PDF Get the Book on Amazon Vera Sharav, Holocaust survivor and human rights advocate, speaks first at the 75th […]

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A brilliant mind and photographer left us this week, and my heart misses my friend Alan Jacobs whose Auschwitz Concentration Camp Virtual Tour is a breakthrough way to see the camp, even if you never are able to visit it. Missing my friend, Alan Jacobs Enter Auschwitz Krematorium 1 and take the tour with videos […]

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Listen to the poem. The Holocaust: A Poem of Remembrance, by Tamara Beryl Latham Skeletal frames, whose beaten hearts once bore, the heft of Hitler’s war, who knelt en masse, in silence quaked with stifled groans beneath the veil of death. Through reddened tear-stained eyes they prayed in vain, for meager crumbs of hardened moldy […]

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One of the extraordinary aspects of the Eichmann trial is that no one knew very much about the Holocaust when the trial began. Holocaust survivors did not speak about their ordeals at the hands of the Nazis until the trial. While over 60 years ago, Eichmann Trial Lesson Plans and Research into what drove Eichmann […]

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Gift #4 Lise Borsom Born September 18, 1908, Norwegian citizen Lise Borsum was “just the wife of wealthy Norwegian doctor Ragnar Børsum”[1] until her circumstances required her to become much more. When World War II broke out she rose to the occasion becoming part of a network to help Jews escape to Sweden. Taking great […]

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The Reality Of What Happened At Jasenovac Concentration Camp During World War II, Croatia was ruled by the fascist Ustashe regime under Ante Pavelić. His government ran Jasenovac concentration camp, where Serbians, Jews, and Roma were most forcibly executed in Croatia. From 1941 to 1945 it’s estimated that more than 83,000 men and women perished […]

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The Nordhausen Camp Liberation photos from Milton Geller, in the Big Red 1, 18th infantry who was there. NOTE: Graphic photos at the bottom of the page. Email Intro with Steven Geller “My father was with the Big Red 1, 18th Infantry and was there at the liberation of Nordhausen. You have one picture with […]

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COMPLETE PODCAST TRANSCRIPT “Hello and welcome, I’m Shauna Hoffman. Today I am sharing my journey back to Hungary with my mom and the joys and the lessons I learned. My mom was born in Miskolc Hungary, a large city outside of Budapest. She lived there until the Nazis killed her mom, dad, and baby sisters […]

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Joseph Weismann’s story is remembered for Holocaust Remembrance Day (Yom HaShoah) 2020. Joseph Weismann – After the Roundup Background On the nights of July 16 and 17, 1942, French police rounded up eleven-year-old Joseph Weismann, his family, and 13,000 other Jews. After being held for five days in appalling conditions in the Velodrome d’Hiver stadium, […]

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After the Roundup INTRO LETTER to Remember.org: “During the night of July 16-17, 1942, twelve thousand eight hundred forty-four Jewish men, women, and children were rounded up by the French police in Paris and the surrounding area. 8,160 of them, including 4,115 children, were taken to the Vélodrome d’Hiver, or Vel’ d’Hiv, a cycling stadium […]

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As the world commemorates the Liberation of Auschwitz after 75 years, strange things are happening. At Remember.org we focus on people’s history, not the political games or storytelling surrounding the events at Auschwitz, especially in recent years.

In one of the original interviews for Remember.org, Yehuda Bauer of Hebrew University at that time shared:

Liberation of Auschwitz – Holocaust as Code Concept “So there is a tremendous credibility crisis for Christianity, there is another credibility crisis for Judaism too, because where was God at Auschwitz? The usual question, but for both these monotheistic religions there are tremendous crises, out of this event, so the importance of the Jew in Western civilization is another reason why this has become a

code, a code concept.”

Holocaust has become a code concept for many political leaders, and as this poem by Alan Forrest Smith shares, we need to move beyond this code concept.

Knock knock

Who is this

It is I please open the door

Who is I

It is I and I have to speak with you

The door opened

A long face of an old Jewish man peers from the space between the door frame and the door

Are you Isaac?

Yes I am he

Isaac you and your family must come with me must come with us

Who are you?

I am, we are death and we have to come to devour you?

Death identify yourself

We are fear

We are hatred

We are nationalist

We are populist

We are those that follow a command of a man to do as he commands.

We are nazi

We are the final solution

Death why do you do the things?

We are saved and our salvation belongs to our leader

Come quickly and die

The millennial reign has begun

The guns pointed to my face

I called my family

As one we left our home and followed death

We walked in the cold

We starved in the cold

We traveled in the cold until the train reached its deathly destination

Once the train stopped all I could hear were the sounds of the birds outside

Fear had prevented all occupants of the train from making a single sound despite some of us sitting next to the corpses of travelers that had to leave early

Death finally opened the door of the cart

It is I death again

Follow me in shame

Prepare for your glorious moment in pain but glorious all the same

This was the moment they took my wife

“Eve I love you my darling”

I never saw her again.

This was the moment they took my children

My sons and daughters I love you”

I never saw them again

Death asked me …

Isaac what do you do?

I make things

What kind of things?

I make people look and feel wonderful I am a tailor

A tailor of fine clothes?

Yes I replied to death

Death then took me away from the vanishing and set me to work on a new suit for death and the friends of death

More arrived

More were torn apart

More died

Death was busy and still waiting for me

Now look at me

The years have passed and death forget about me

I am found

I am alive

My skin is all that holds my body together

I am devoured and worn and eaten and degraded

Sir who are you asked a man

I am a son of Adam

A son of Abraham

A son of God

Where was God when you needed him?

Are you death?

No I am here to help you

Where is your God?

Are you life?

No I am just a soldier, why did your God allow this?

God never left me

God never left anyone

God is here right now

I am a son of Adam

A son of Abraham

A son of God

I saw the man look at me as if I was crazy. Perhaps I was, perhaps I have become crazy, perhaps I am crazy itself.

All I know is death brought me to hell

I lost everything

My Eve

My children

My everything

Yet I cannot allow death to remove all I had and that was my faith

I am a son of Adam

A son of Abraham

A son of God

We are the Children of the Holocaust – poem by Rudi Raab The Holocaust has a way to bring us together as well, to remember so those lives lost are not repeated. Of course we are not close, though if you honoring the memories and the humanity lost is the goal, we have to keep trying.

Compare that understanding that the Holocaust can bring us together, instead of divide us, no matter where we live.

For example, this week commemorating the seventy-fifth anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz,

It is hard to imagine a more succinct description of the meeting that took place, this past Thursday, in Israel. Some forty heads of state or state representatives—Vice-President Mike Pence and Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi; Prince Charles; Presidents Vladimir Putin, of Russia, Emmanuel Macron, of France, and Frank-Walter Steinmeier, of Germany (though, significantly, not Andrzej Duda, of Poland)—travelled to Jerusalem to attend the commemoration of the seventy-fifth anniversary of the liberation of the Auschwitz-Birkenau camp, and to participate in the fifth World Holocaust Forum, hosted by Yad Vashem, Jerusalem’s Holocaust museum and historical institute. The Israeli President, Reuven Rivlin, speaking at a welcoming reception on Wednesday evening, said, “Tomorrow we will gather to remember and to promise: Never again!” Ilona would not have doubted Rivlin’s sincerity or his erudition, yet she grasped that, for anyone born at a distance from, or after, the war’s atrocities, the claim “to remember”—to present oneself as scarred—is to engage in a kind of anachronistic moral positioning. For liberal writers and politicians, “to remember” is a cue to invoke the supreme cruelty of the Holocaust and to commit to institutions that promote tolerance. But, for nationalist writers and politicians, “to remember” is also an opportunity to appropriate moral prestige, adding to their distinction or shielding their cause from scrutiny.The New Yorker Vladimir Putin upped the Holocaust ante last week by claiming 1.4 million Jews died in the Ukrained alone. Russian armies basically created some of the most important reminders we have at Auschwitz, after blowing up many original buildings and replacing them later.

“The Israeli, Polish, and Russian governments, all custodians of grim histories, are also reactionary populists—all using memory to make their nations dangerously self-justifying. For Israel, this means insisting that Polish anti-Semitism is endemic; for Poland, it means seeing Polish anti-Semitism as episodic. But this is not a real fight over history. It is a rival ‘memory’ in the service of a similar politics.” Amos Goldberg, professor at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem

Liberation of Auschwitz 75th Commemoration Instead of allowing the memory of the Holocaust to be used for political purposes, today let’s remember that it’s about the people, not the politics. That using history in this way denies so much of what was created by the act of survival itself.

So many seemed interested in reshaping the history of the Holocaust instead of moving to compassion and understanding. In a way, it is our own kind of Holocaust denial.

“Well that is a fairly obvious reaction; the denial of the

Holocaust stems from the incapability of a society to accept what

it did. In a broader sense, not in an American sense, also all

these professors who stand up and say what you said they say, are

really aiming at American democracy, let’s become Hitlerites you

know, turn America into a well ordered, law and order society and

for that we don’t need the Jews. And how wonderful the Nazi

society was, they never did anything to the Jews. So the aim is

not the Jews actually, the aim is American society.” Yehuda Bauer

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Forever Alert German Child Survivors in Action Before 1945 and Beyond 2019 by Philipp Sonntag

A new book, published by Child Survivors Germany in October 2019.

Publisher Beggerow in Berlin, 240 pages; ISBN 987-3-936103-75-5, 16.- €, see

Get the Book Email – phil.sonntag@t-online.de

As children, we survived the Holocaust. Now, at over 80 or even 90 years-old, we still see challenges and chances, and we still remain alert.

In 2001, we founded our association CSD (Child Survivors Deutschland). We developed a unique compassion for each other. In public, often in schools, we report on:

The Holocaust and its cruelties and causes. We try to unmask current antisemitic fake news.
Hope and frustration after 1945. We had to confront antisemitic politicians and stubborn bureaucrats in Germany.
The challenges now and beyond 2019. We fight against ntisemitism and we are passionate about democracy.

The author attempts to illustrate the lifetime efforts of victims by reporting on a dramatic life: his own. For centuries, our families tried to be Germans. For too many, we still seem like aliens.

We are good friends with some, but would still like to eventually be seen simply as Germans. We have to cope: for us global society is in a pre-stage of civilization. Our sensitivity to Survival is always on alert: the book offers modern survival projects as models aimed toward making constructive change.

Forever Alert – German Child Survivors in Action

Introduction

We “Child Survivors” survived the Holocaust as children. On April 13, 2001, we founded our membership association “CSD,” 56 years after the end of the Holocaust:

– Surviving Children of the Shoah

Child Survivors Deutschland – Überlebende Kinder der Shoah e.V. (CSD)

www.child-survivors-deutschland.de

Common Understanding

Our group, initially modest in its aims, soon became a vital new organization, which served as a kind of “surrogate family” for many survivors. It offered them a retreat, as well as much needed social and emotional support. Survivors could provide each other with a common understanding of their shared experiences.

Our bi-annual meetings are essential for our members:

Child Survivors at a meeting in Petershagen in 2018

(((hint: quality of printed pictures, in the book, is better than here)))

In Petershagen, we are particularly warmly supported by the local “Association of the Old Synagogue Petershagen” and its chairman, Wolfgang Battermann. Together we organize events, such as public musical evenings and lectures, visits to Jewish museums and memorial sites.

Child Survivors at an old Jewish cemetery near Petershagen in 2018; on the left side, Wolfgang Battermann.

No Competition

Our Child Survivors Germany association decided there would be no competition among its members as to who had the worst fate. It is obvious that each survivors’ experience was trying and every victim tells a different “story.” Of course, there were and are varying intensities of suffering, before 1945 and until today.

The basic messages of this book consist of the common characteristics Child Survivors share. Our individual fates (in camps, in ghettos, in hiding, etc.) vary. Nevertheless, there are similar challenges we have to overcome. From the association’s founding in 2001 through 2019, we have experienced many adventures and have had a lot to share.

Forever Alert – German Child Survivors in Action

Unsettled Before 1945 and Beyond 2019

In this book, we present our experiences as witnesses, who apply their experiences to present-day problems. This is supplemented by expert opinions about us.

We distinguish and focus on three points in time:

Persecution and plight until 1945
Frustration after 1945, as German society granted neither mental (empathy) nor adequate financial compensation
Inner restlessness in 2019, and according actions.

In order to become survivors, we had to constantly be alert until 1945. From 1945 until now, we have had to cope with our wounded identity. We have to be alert in order to protect our wounded inner selves, even when we are alone or when we are having nightmares. We feel that this challenge will last until our deaths.

We are aware how much damage the Holocaust has done to our descendants, mainly to 2G (our children, second generation) and to 3G (our grandchildren, third generation), and beyond. Our descendants are aware of the long period of anti-Semitism and its cruel impact – thus, many will also be “forever alert.”

For human beings, society poses an ongoing challenge. For us, it was even more difficult, for instance, to cope with hard work in the workplace. We had to compete in spite of our disadvantages, such as more frequent illnesses, less education, forced adaptation to adverse conditions and so on. In our old age, as survivors, preparation and presence are still difficult for us. Even when trying to relax, we may remain nervous – alert!

Reports about us talk a lot about our suffering during the Holocaust. However, this book also focuses on our achievements, whereby we have to cope with several limitations. For instance,

we tend to be too cautious, too shy, too easily alarmed
by too many issues and so we may lose composure quickly –
but then we may become alert, and fight.

Get the Book Forever Alert – German Child Survivors in Action

The Main Topics of the Eleven Chapters

Chapters 1 and 11 characterize and summarize our specific sufferings and reactions to the challenges we face. Our concerns and nightmares keep us alert. We consider our “shy resilience” during the Holocaust, as well as our sensitivity to basic dangers in 2019 to be unique characteristics.

The question remains: what can a Child Survivor do in defiance of the Holocaust? In chapters 2, 8 and 9, I use my own personal experiences as an example. I report on my life, first during the Holocaust, then my attempts to cope as scientist and then as an artist afterwards. The reason I could achieve anything in my life was mainly due to my privilege as a child of a mixed-marriage.

Thus, I was among those who had a better chance to survive and I did not have to face the horrifying situations other child survivors did, such as imprisonment in a camp or in a ghetto. Until I was 50 years-old, I didn’t even consider myself a victim. However, I had to realize that I had several basic deficiencies, which are characteristic of all Child Survivors. Thus, I am just another example of how we Child Survivors are “forever alert,” given

our common “inner restlessness.”

During the Holocaust, four out of five Jewish children were murdered. Many survivors became overwhelmed by cruelty and tried to hide for the rest of their lives. Nevertheless, as soon as we had the chance, some of us displayed enormous resilience and made great achievements.

In the meantime, any damage anti-Semites cause to victims usually hurts their own society, nation, identity, etc. The “achievement” of the fascist culprits created remarkable damage to their own country: the destruction of Jewish life was also a damaged German society because it lost its own Jewish citizens and er 1945, even though most Jewish children had been killed, the few Child Survivors and their descendants immediately made valuable contributions to the recovery and rebuilding of German society.

We, as surviving victims, still wait for an according admiration from the perpetrators, who, as fascists, prefer to revel in evil hallucinations about us. In Germany Jews, as survivors and German nationals receive both support and rejection. For me, German and even global society seem to be far away from peace and tolerance, as

mankind is in a pre-stage of civilization.

As an “80 year-old child” I protest, I refuse to get used to this. For me as victim, “forever alert” exists amidst a somewhat odd global society:

I have asked myself all my life: in this world, what should be “normal”?

I presented questions about the situation and our tasks to our members and many responded. Chapters 3, 4 and 5 describe the results of our recent books about CSD, published in German in 2017 and in 2018. We are witnesses not “only” to the Holocaust, but also to its destructive impact until today. Nothing we do seems sufficient in the face of the rise of right-wing movements across Europe, so we are caught in the position of being “forever alert” in never ending protest without escape.

Several members of CSD have published numerous books and articles. One example is the recent book by Horst Selbiger (see chapter 3).[1] He is a founding member of our CSD association, a long-time chairman of the board, current honorary chairman and, despite his age, often present in the public. He was born in 1928 and suffered great injustices throughout his lifetime. It is amazing how he, as an active journalist, became a master of justice, a righteous man engaged in promoting real justice. His life is a reminder that one can create a better future.

Furthermore, there are eight volumes at two publishing houses, which I edited in 2017 and in 2018 (see chapters 4 and 5). These examine the experiences and recommendations of more than a hundred Jewish Holocaust survivors and experts on the subject. These eight volumes aim to emphasize the traumatic memories of the Holocaust (pre-1945), frustration after 1945 and inner restlessness in 2019.

Chapters 6, 7 and 11 focus on specific current and future dangers and challenges. What enrages us Child Survivors, and actually tortures many of us in nightmares, is a bad, menacing situation, where we feel we are helpless. What depresses us is being in a situation, in which we are aware of the dangers around us, while society seems to ignore the indicators and neglects according investigations.

What gives us hope is benevolent support for us within – although not yet really as an accepted part of – German society. Jewish opportunities are better than in previous centuries. Fine Jewish culture is re-establishing itself. We may even hope and try to become integrated, to feel at home in a modern Germany, in an accordingly new way.

Get the Book World Federation for Jewish Child Survivors of the Holocaust & Descendants in 2014 in Berlin

Together with Max Arpels Lezer, the European president of Child Survivors associations, I organized the 26th annual meeting of the WFJCSH&D in 2014 in Berlin.[2]

Top four board members of WFJCSH&D in 2014 at the 26th annual meeting, their first time in Berlin; from the left: Melissa Hacker, Philipp Sonntag, Stefanie Seltzer, Steven Adler and Max Arpels Lezer.

Throughout the planning process, I was inundated with questions from participants regarding whether or not they, as a survivor, would be safe in Berlin. Lezer and I took care to ensure that precautions for the meeting were taken and we advised participants to avoid wearing a kippah in town. Everything went smoothly.

The participants were visiting numerous Jewish sites, including museums and synagogues.

Orthodox Synagogue, Berlin, Joachimsthaler Str. 13; c: Miriam Magall

Liberal Synagogue, Berlin, Pestalozzistr. 12-14; c: Miriam Magall

None of the participants were attacked – as told to Lezer and me by the security service we had ordered. But there were a number of anti-Semitic incidents in Berlin in 2014 and in the years thereafter, and some positive public reactions. Again and again disturbing events were reported by the Jewish community of Berlin[3], such as an anti-Semitic agitator assaulted a man wearing a kippah with a whip while onlookers failed to intervene; a rabbi and his daughter were attacked in the street; Jewish cemeteries were vandalized with swastikas and Jewish children were attacked at school. Yet, the public response has not been one of passivity. On April 25th, 2018, there was a well-publicized demonstration supporting the wearing of kippahs with both Jewish and German organizations participating.

Alert for the Future

As Jews, we are able to be resilient, modern, innovative, even spiritual. Given this background, I use chapter 10 as a science-fiction utopia, which is quite the opposite of a nightmare. This chapter shares dreams about themes, which might help to prepare for a better future for Jewish Germany and beyond.

Horst Selbiger, Verfemt – Verfolgt – Verraten. Die unglaubliche Lebensgeschichte von Horst Selbiger. (Baunach, Spurbuchverlag, 2018). ↑
“2014 Berlin Conference of the World Federation for Jewish Child Survivors of the Holocaust and their Descendants,” Child Survivors Deutschland. Aug. 27, 2014, http://wfbc.child-survivors-deutschland.de/ ↑
www.jg-berlin.org ↑

Forever Alert – German Child Survivors in Action Get the Book CONTENT

Introduction ………………………………………………………….7
Alert as Witnesses: Today and Beyond ……………………………16
My Victimization: My Experiences as an Example of Mixed Marriage 21
Horst Selbiger: Abused, Persecuted, Betrayed – Demolition of My Life 36
The Four Volumes of the Book Series: “Bitter Past! — Better Future?” 40
The Four Volumes of the Book Series: “Restlessness of Contemporary Witnesses of the Holocaust” and Other Experiences ……………………53
Tensions with 2G ……………………………………………………..80
Anti-Semitism and Pro-Bureaucracy ………………………………87
My Life as a Scientist in Political Exasperation ……………………145
My Life as an Artist: Tasting a Whiff of Freedom ………………….167
Future Research Themes ……………………………………………187
Alertness, Resilience, Hope and Positive Change ………………..225

Data about CSD and Phönix, the two German associations of Child Survivors 234

Vita of author …………………………………………………………………. 236

RECENT BOOKS

After the Roundup with Joseph WeismannJoseph Weismann – Separation, an excerpt

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When looking for a Holocaust Curriculum for middle school and high school, the following is shared from:

Holocaust Curriculum for Middle School for Human Rights and Genocide Published for the California State Board of Education

Part 1 of the Holocaust Curriculum for K-6th Grade.

Grade Seven

7.2 Students analyze the geographic, political, economic, religious, and social structures of the civilizations of Islam in the Middle Ages.

Trace the origins of Islam and the life and teachings of Muhammad, including Islamic teachings on the connection with Judaism and Christianity.
Explain the significance of the Qur’an and the Sunnah as the primary sources of Islamic beliefs, practice, and law, and their influence in Muslims’ daily life.

7.6 Students analyze the geographic, political, economic, religious, and social structures of the civilizations of Medieval Europe.

Know the significance of developments in medieval English legal and constitutional practices and their importance in the rise of modern democratic thought and representative institutions (e.g., Magna Carta, parliament, development of habeas corpus, an independent judiciary in England).
Discuss the causes and course of the religious Crusades and their effects on the Christian, Muslim, and Jewish populations in Europe, with emphasis on the increasing contact by Europeans with cultures of the Eastern Mediterranean world.

Holocaust Curriculum for Middle School Grade Eight

Students understand the major events preceding the founding of the nation and relate their significance to the development of American constitutional democracy.

Analyze the philosophy of government expressed in the Declaration of Independence, with an emphasis on government as a means of securing individual rights (e.g., key phrases such as “all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights”).

Students analyze the political principles underlying the U.S. Constitution and compare the enumerated and implied powers of the federal government.

1. 1. Discuss the significance of the Magna Carta, the English Bill of Rights, and the Mayflower Compact. 2. Analyze the Articles of Confederation and the Constitution and the success of each in implementing the ideals of the Declaration of Independence. 3. Evaluate the major debates that occurred during the development of the Constitution and their ultimate resolutions in such areas as shared power among institutions, divided state-federal power, slavery, the rights of individuals and states (later addressed by the addition of the Bill of Rights), and the status of American Indian nations under the commerce clause. 4. Understand the significance of Jefferson’s Statute for Religious Freedom as a forerunner of the First Amendment and the origins, purpose, and differing views of the founding fathers on the issue of the separation of church and state.
Enumerate the powers of government set forth in the Constitution and the fundamental liberties ensured by the Bill of Rights.
- Students analyze the divergent paths of the American people in the South from 1800 to the mid-1800s and the challenges they faced.
Trace the origins and development of slavery; its effects on black Americans and on the region’s political, social, religious, economic, and cultural development; and identify the strategies that were tried to both overturn and preserve it (e.g., through the writings and historical documents on Nat Turner, Denmark Vesey).
1. Students analyze the divergent paths of the American people in the West from 1800 to the mid-1800s and the challenges they faced.
Describe the purpose, challenges, and economic incentives associated with westward expansion, including the concept of Manifest Destiny (e.g.,the Lewis and Clark expedition, accounts of the removal of Indians, the Cherokees’ “Trail of Tears,” settlement of the Great Plains) and the territorial acquisitions that spanned numerous decades.
Describe the Texas War for Independence and the Mexican-American War, including territorial settlements, the aftermath of the wars, and the effects the wars had on the lives of Americans, including Mexican Americans today.

Students analyze the early and steady attempts to abolish slavery and to realize the ideals of the Declaration of Independence.

1. 1. Describe the leaders of the movement (e.g., John Quincy Adams and his proposed constitutional amendment, John Brown and the armed resistance, Harriet Tubman and the Underground Railroad, Benjamin Franklin, Theodore Weld, William Lloyd Garrison, Frederick Douglass). 2. Discuss the abolition of slavery in early state constitutions. 3. Describe the significance of the Northwest Ordinance in education and in the banning of slavery in new states north of the Ohio River. 4. Discuss the importance of the slavery issue as raised by the annexation of Texas and California’s admission to the union as a free state under the Compromise of 1850. 5. Analyze the significance of the States’ Rights Doctrine, the Missouri Compromise (1820), the Wilmot Proviso (1846), the Compromise of 1850, Henry Clay’s role in the Missouri Compromise and the Compromise of 1850, the Kansas-Nebraska Act (1854), the Dred Scott v. Sandford decision (1857), and the Lincoln-Douglas debates (1858). 6. Describe the lives of free blacks and the laws that limited their freedom and economic opportunities.

Students analyze the character and lasting consequences of Reconstruction.

1. 1. List the original aims of Reconstruction and describe its effects on the political and social structures of different regions. 2. Identify the push-pull factors in the movement of former slaves to the cities in the North and to the West and their differing experiences in those regions (e.g., the experiences of Buffalo Soldiers). 3. Understand the effects of the Freedmen’s Bureau and the restrictions placed on the rights and opportunities of freedmen, including racial segregation and “Jim Crow” laws. 4. Trace the rise of the Ku Klux Klan and describe the Klan’s effects. 5. Understand the Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth Amendments to the Constitution and analyze their connection to Reconstruction.

Students analyze the transformation of the American economy and the changing social and political conditions in the United States in response to the Industrial Revolution.

Identify the reasons for the development of federal Indian policy and the wars with American Indians and their relationship to agricultural development and industrialization.
Discuss child labor, working conditions, and laissez-faire policies toward big business and examine the labor movement, including its leaders (e.g.,Samuel Gompers), its demand for collective bargaining, and its strikes and protests over labor conditions.
Identify the new sources of large-scale immigration and the contributions of immigrants to the building of cities and the economy; explain the ways in which new social and economic patterns encouraged assimilation of newcomers into the mainstream amidst growing cultural diversity; and discuss the new wave of nativism.

Grade Ten

Students relate the moral and ethical principles in ancient Greek and Roman philosophy, in Judaism, and in Christianity to the development of Western political thought.

1. 1. Analyze the similarities and differences in Judeo-Christian and Greco-Roman views of law, reason and faith, and duties of the individual. 2. Trace the development of the Western political ideas of the rule of law and illegitimacy of tyranny, using selections from Plato’s Republic and Aristotle’s Politics. 3. Consider the influence of the U.S. Constitution on political systems in the contemporary world.

Students compare and contrast the Glorious Revolution of England, the American Revolution, and the French Revolution and their enduring effects worldwide on the political expectations for self- government and individual liberty.

List the principles of the Magna Carta, the English Bill of Rights (1689), the American Declaration of Independence (1776), the French Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen (1789), and the U.S. Bill of Rights (1791).

Students analyze patterns of global change in the era of New Imperialism in at least two of the following regions or countries: Africa, Southeast Asia, China, India, Latin America, and the Philip- pines.

Explain imperialism from the perspective of the colonizers and the colonized and the varied immediate and long-term responses by the people under colonial rule.
Describe the independence struggles of the colonized regions of the world, including the roles of leaders, such as Sun Yat-sen in China, and the roles of ideology and religion.
1. Students analyze the causes and course of the First World War.
Discuss human rights violations and genocide, including the Ottoman government’s actions against Armenian citizens.

Students analyze the rise of totalitarian governments after World War I.

1. 1. Understand the causes and consequences of the Russian Revolution, including Lenin’s use of totalitarian means to seize and maintain control (e.g., the Gulag). 2. Trace Stalin’s rise to power in the Soviet Union and the connection between economic policies, political policies, the absence of a free press, and systematic violations of human rights (e.g., the Terror Famine in Ukraine). 3. Analyze the rise, aggression, and human costs of totalitarian regimes (Fascist and Communist) in Germany, Italy, and the Soviet Union, noting especially their common and dissimilar traits.

Students analyze the causes and consequences of World War II.

1. 1. Compare the German, Italian, and Japanese drives for empire in the 1930s, including the 1937 Rape of Nanking, other atrocities in China, and the Stalin-Hitler Pact of 1939.
Describe the political, diplomatic, and military leaders during the war (e.g., Winston Churchill, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Emperor Hirohito, Adolf Hitler, Benito Mussolini, Joseph Stalin, Douglas MacArthur, Dwight Eisenhower).
Analyze the Nazi policy of pursuing racial purity, especially against the European Jews; its transformation into the Final Solution; and the Holocaust that resulted in the murder of six million Jewish civilians.
Discuss the human costs of the war, with particular attention to the civilian and military losses in Russia, Germany, Britain, the United States, China, and Japan.

Students analyze the international developments in the post–World War II world.

Analyze the Chinese Civil War, the rise of Mao Tse-tung, and the subsequent political and economic upheavals in China (e.g., the Great Leap Forward, the Cultural Revolution, and the Tiananmen Square uprising).
Describe the uprisings in Poland (1952), Hungary (1956), and Czechoslovakia (1968) and those countries’ resurgence in the 1970s and 1980s as people in Soviet satellites sought freedom from Soviet control.
Analyze the reasons for the collapse of the Soviet Union, including the weakness of the command economy, burdens of military commitments, and growing resistance to Soviet rule by dissidents in satellite states and the non-Russian Soviet republics.

Holocaust Curriculum for Middle School and High School Grade Eleven

1. Students analyze the role religion played in the founding of America, its lasting moral, social, and political impacts, and issues regarding religious liberty. 1. Describe the contributions of various religious groups to American civic principles and social reform movements (e.g., civil and human rights, individual responsibility and the work ethic, antimonarchy and self-rule, worker protection, family-centered communities).
Cite incidences of religious intolerance in the United States (e.g., perse cution of Mormons, anti-Catholic sentiment, anti-Semitism).
Discuss the expanding religious pluralism in the United States and California that resulted from large-scale immigration in the twentieth century.
Describe the principles of religious liberty found in the Establishment and Free Exercise clauses of the First Amendment, including the debate on the issue of separation of church and state.

11.5 Students analyze the major political, social, economic, technologi cal, and cultural developments of the 1920s.

Analyze the international and domestic events, interests, and philoso phies that prompted attacks on civil liberties, including the Palmer Raids, Marcus Garvey’s “back-to-Africa” movement, the Ku Klux Klan, and immigration quotas and the responses of organizations such as the American Civil Liberties Union, the National Association for the Advance ment of Colored People, and the Anti-Defamation League to those attacks.
Analyze the passage of the Nineteenth Amendment and the changing role of women in society.

11.7 Students analyze America’s participation in World War II.

Identify the roles and sacrifices of individual American soldiers, as well as the unique contributions of the special fighting forces (e.g., the Tuskegee Airmen, the 442nd Regimental Combat team, the Navajo Code Talkers).
Analyze Roosevelt’s foreign policy during World War II (e.g., Four Free doms speech).
Discuss the constitutional issues and impact of events on the U.S. home front, including the internment of Japanese Americans (e.g., Fred Korematsu v. United States of America) and the restrictions on German and Italian resident aliens; the response of the administration to Hitler’s atrocities against Jews and other groups; the roles of women in military production; and the roles and growing political demands of African Americans.
1. Students analyze the development of federal civil rights and voting rights. 1. Explain how demands of African Americans helped produce a stimulus for civil rights, including President Roosevelt’s ban on racial discrimina tion in defense industries in 1941, and how African Americans’ service in World War II produced a stimulus for President Truman’s decision to end segregation in the armed forces in 1948.
Examine and analyze the key events, policies, and court cases in the evolution of civil rights, including Dred Scott v. Sandford, Plessy v. Ferguson, Brown v. Board of Education, Regents of the University of California v. Bakke, and California Proposition 209.
Describe the collaboration on legal strategy between African American and white civil rights lawyers to end racial segregation in higher educa tion.
Examine the roles of civil rights advocates (e.g., A. Philip Randolph, Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcom X, Thurgood Marshall, James Farmer, Rosa Parks), including the significance of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “Letter from Birmingham Jail” and “I Have a Dream” speech.
Discuss the diffusion of the civil rights movement of African Americans from the churches of the rural South and the urban North, including the resistance to racial desegregation in Little Rock and Birmingham, and how the advances influenced the agendas, strategies, and effectiveness of the quests of American Indians, Asian Americans, and Hispanic Ameri cans for civil rights and equal opportunities.
Analyze the passage and effects of civil rights and voting rights legislation (e.g., 1964 Civil Rights Act, Voting Rights Act of 1965) and the Twenty- Fourth Amendment, with an emphasis on equality of access to education and to the political process.
Analyze the women’s rights movement from the era of Elizabeth Stanton and Susan Anthony and the passage of the Nineteenth Amendment to the movement launched in the 1960s, including differing perspectives on the roles of women.
1. Students analyze the major social problems and domestic policy issues in contemporary American society. 1. Discuss the reasons for the nation’s changing immigration policy, with emphasis on how the Immigration Act of 1965 and successor acts have transformed American society. 2. Discuss the significant domestic policy speeches of Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon, Carter, Reagan, Bush, and Clinton (e.g., with regard to education, civil rights, economic policy, environmental policy).

Grade Twelve

1. Students explain the fundamental principles and moral values of American democracy as expressed in the U.S. Constitution and other essential documents of American democracy. 1. Analyze the influence of ancient Greek, Roman, English, and leading European political thinkers such as John Locke, Charles-Louis Montesquieu, Niccolò Machiavelli, and William Blackstone on the devel opment of American government. 2. Discuss the character of American democracy and its promise and perils as articulated by Alexis de Tocqueville.
Explain how the U.S. Constitution reflects a balance between the classical republican concern with promotion of the public good and the classical liberal concern with protecting individual rights; and discuss how the basic premises of liberal constitutionalism and democracy are joined in the Declaration of Independence as “self-evident truths.”Explain how the Founding Fathers’ realistic view of human nature led directly to the establishment of a constitutional system that limited the power of the governors and the governed as articulated in the Federalist Papers.
Describe the systems of separated and shared powers, the role of organized interests (Federalist Paper Number 10), checks and balances (Federalist Paper Number 51), the importance of an independent judiciary (Federalist Paper Number 78), enumerated powers, rule of law, federalism, and civilian control of the military.
Understand that the Bill of Rights limits the powers of the federal government and state governments.
1. Students evaluate and take and defend positions on the scope and limits of rights and obligations as democratic citizens, the relation- ships among them, and how they are secured.
  1. Discuss the meaning and importance of each of the rights guaranteed under the Bill of Rights and how each is secured (e.g., freedom of religion, speech, press, assembly, petition, privacy).
  2. Explain how economic rights are secured and their importance to the individual and to society (e.g., the right to acquire, use, transfer, and dispose of property; right to choose one’s work; right to join or not join labor unions; copyright and patent).
  3. Discuss the individual’s legal obligations to obey the law, serve as a juror, and pay taxes.
  4. Understand the obligations of civic-mindedness, including voting, being informed on civic issues, volunteering and performing public service, and serving in the military or alternative service.
  5. Describe the reciprocity between rights and obligations; that is, why enjoyment of one’s rights entails respect for the rights of others.
  6. Explain how one becomes a citizen of the United States, including the process of naturalization (e.g., literacy, language, and other require ments).
2. Students evaluate and take and defend positions on what the fundamental values and principles of civil society are (i.e., the autonomous sphere of voluntary personal, social, and economic relations that are not part of government), their interdependence, and the meaning and importance of those values and principles for a free society.
  1. Explain how civil society provides opportunities for individuals to asso ciate for social, cultural, religious, economic, and political purposes.
  2. Explain how civil society makes it possible for people, individually or in association with others, to bring their influence to bear on government in ways other than voting and elections.
  3. Discuss the historical role of religion and religious diversity.
  4. Compare the relationship of government and civil society in constitutional democracies to the relationship of government and civil society in authoritarian and totalitarian regimes.
3. Students summarize landmark U.S. Supreme Court interpretations of the Constitution and its amendments.
  1. Understand the changing interpretations of the Bill of Rights over time, including interpretations of the basic freedoms (religion, speech, press, petition, and assembly) articulated in the First Amendment and the due process and equal-protection-of-the-law clauses of the Fourteenth Amend ment.
Explain the controversies that have resulted over changing interpreta tions of civil rights, including those in Plessy v. Ferguson, Brown v. Board of Education, Miranda v. Arizona, Regents of the University of California v. Bakke, Adarand Constructors, Inc. v. Pena, and United States v. Virginia (VMI).
1. Students analyze the origins, characteristics, and development of different political systems across time, with emphasis on the quest for political democracy, its advances, and its obstacles. 1. Explain how the different philosophies and structures of feudalism, mercantilism, socialism, fascism, communism, monarchies, parliamen tary systems, and constitutional liberal democracies influence economic policies, social welfare policies, and human rights practices. 2. Compare the various ways in which power is distributed, shared, and limited in systems of shared powers and in parliamentary systems, including the influence and role of parliamentary leaders (e.g., William Gladstone, Margaret Thatcher).
Describe for at least two countries the consequences of conditions that gave rise to tyrannies during certain periods (e.g., Italy, Japan, Haiti, Nigeria, Cambodia).
Identify the forms of illegitimate power that twentieth-century African, Asian, and Latin American dictators used to gain and hold office and the conditions and interests that supported them.
Identify the ideologies, causes, stages, and outcomes of major Mexican, Central American, and South American revolutions in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.
Describe the ideologies that give rise to Communism, methods of main taining control, and the movements to overthrow such governments in Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and Poland, including the roles of individuals (e.g., Alexander Solzhenitsyn, Pope John Paul II, Lech Walesa, Vaclav Havel).
Identify the successes of relatively new democracies in Africa, Asia, and Latin America and the ideas, leaders, and general societal conditions that have launched and sustained, or failed to sustain, them.

Holocaust Middle School Resources German Propaganda Archive at Calvin College. The German Propaganda Archive includes both propaganda itself and material produced for the guidance of propagandists. The goal is to help people understand the two great totalitarian systems of the twentieth century by giving them access to the primary material.

Ghetto Fighters Kibbutz. The Ghetto Fighters’ House – Itzhak Katzenelson Holocaust and Jewish Resistance Heritage Museum was founded in 1949 by a community of Holocaust survivors, members of the Jewish underground in the ghettos of Poland, and veterans of partisan units, to be a place of testimony that would tell the story of the Jewish People in the 20th century in general, and during the Second World War in particular.

Raphael Lemkin on Genocide – Key Writings. An online collection of writings by the man who coined the word “genocide.” The collection spans the years from 1933-1947 and includes items in English, French, German and Spanish. This collection is a resource for all who want to understand the origins of the concept of genocide and the efforts of Raphael Lemkin to have genocide recognized as an international crime. It also includes an overall introduction, a brief commentary on each document and chronology of Lemkin’s life.

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Holocaust Curriculum for Human Rights and Genocide Published for the California State Board of Education

NOTE: The Holocaust Curriculum shared below is from a class taught by two of the original advisors to Remember.org, and is shared so teachers can get an idea of attempts to create a model Holocaust Curriculum in California.

What still works today? What needs to be adapted? How does this apply to your Holocaust Curriculum?

Check out the Remember.org Holocaust Study Guide

The document was developed pursuant to Assembly Bill 1273 (1985) and was published for the California State Board of Education by the California Department of Education, 721 Capitol Mall, Sacramento, California (mailing address: P.O. Box 944272, Sacramento, CA 94244-2720). It was printed by the Office of State Printing and distributed under the provisions of the Library Distribution Act and Government Code Section 11096.

ISBN 0-8011-1513-2

Acknowledgment

The California State Board of Education acknowledges especially the Connecticut State Department of Education for permission to reprint several sections of Human Rights: The Struggle for Freedom, Dignity and Equality, which was published in 1987

Holocaust Curriculum Foreword 2000 “It is of deep importance in our increasingly multicultural society and our interdependent world that our students recognize the sanctity of life and the dignity of the individual.

We want to instill in our students a respect for each person as a unique individual. We want our students to understand that concern for ethics and human rights is universal and represents thea spirations of men and women in every time and place.”

These words are no less true today than they were when the Model Curriculum for Human Rights and Genocide was issued in 1988. The reprinting of this model curriculum reflects the wishes of the people of California and their legislative representatives to give local curriculum leaders and teachers continued guidance in classroom practices.

As in 1988, this model curriculum supports the curriculum and instruction described in the History–Social Science Framework. Since then the history–social science curriculum has been reinforced with academic content standards, and this model curriculum is supported by the history–social science content standards that were adopted by the State Board of Education in 1998.

Thanks are due to the California State Legislature for providing the resources to update and reprint this model curriculum. It is hoped that teachers will prepare students to be rational, humane decision makers and active citizens in our democracy.

By understanding what has happened in the absence of democratic principles and rule of law, students, the future citizens, will be dedicated to the protection of human rights in the twenty-first century.

Preface 2000 In 1995 Governor Pete Wilson signed Assembly Bill 265 into law, which mandated the formation of the Academic Standards Commission. In 1998 the State Board of Education adopted academic content standards for history– social science that were aligned with the History–Social Science Framework.

The framework references in this model curriculum are still accurate, but it is also necessary to cite the different content standards that support this curriculum. Just as the framework has an ethical literacy strand that runs through all the grades, so too do the standards. Those that support the model curriculum are identified below. Users of this document may find this curriculum supportive of other history–social science standards.

Kindergarten

K-6 Students understand that history relates to events, people, and places of other times.

1. 1. Identify the purposes of, and the people and events honored in, commemorative holidays, including the human struggles that were the basis for the events (e.g., Thanksgiving, Independence Day, Washington’s and Lincoln’s Birthdays, Martin Luther King Jr. Day, Memorial Day, Labor Day, Columbus Day, Veterans Day). 2. Know the triumphs in American legends and historical accounts through the stories of such people as Pocahontas, George Washington, Booker T. Washington, Daniel Boone, and Benjamin Franklin.

Grade One

1.1 Students describe the rights and individual responsibilities of citizenship.

Understand the elements of fair play and good sportsmanship, respect for the rights and opinions of others, and respect for rules by which we live, including the meaning of the “Golden Rule.”

1.5 Students describe the human characteristics of familiar places and the varied backgrounds of American citizens and residents in those places.

1. 1. Recognize the ways in which they are all part of the same community, sharing principles, goals, and traditions despite their varied ancestry; the forms of diversity in their school and community; and the benefits and challenges of a diverse population. 2. Understand the ways in which American Indians and immigrants have helped define Californian and American culture. 3. Compare the beliefs, customs, ceremonies, traditions, and social prac tices of the varied cultures, drawing from folklore.

Grade Two

2.5 Students understand the importance of individual action and character and explain how heroes from long ago and the recent past have made a difference in others’ lives (e.g., from biographies of Abraham Lincoln, Louis Pasteur, Sitting Bull, George Washington Carver, Marie Curie, Albert Einstein, Golda Meir, Jackie Robinson, Sally Ride).

Grade Three

3.4 Students understand the role of rules and laws in our daily lives and the basic structure of the U.S. government.

Discuss the importance of public virtue and the role of citizens, including how to participate in a classroom, in the community, and in civic life.
Know the histories of important local and national landmarks, symbols, and essential documents that create a sense of community among citizens and exemplify cherished ideals (e.g., the U.S. flag, the bald eagle, the Statue of Liberty, the U.S. Constitution, the Declaration of Indepen dence, the U.S. Capitol).
Describe the lives of American heroes who took risks to secure our freedoms (e.g., Anne Hutchinson, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, Frederick Douglass, Harriet Tubman, Martin Luther King, Jr.).

Grade Four

4.4 Students explain how California became an agricultural and industrial power, tracing the transformation of the California economy and its political and cultural development since the 1850s.

Discuss immigration and migration to California between 1850 and 1900, including the diverse composition of those who came; the countries of origin and their relative locations; and conflicts and accords among the diverse groups (e.g., the 1882 Chinese Exclusion Act).
Describe rapid American immigration, internal migration, settlement, and the growth of towns and cities (e.g., Los Angeles).

Grade Five

5.3 Students describe the cooperation and conflict that existed among the American Indians and between the Indian nations and the new settlers.

Discuss the role of broken treaties and massacres and the factors that led to the Indians’ defeat, including the resistance of Indian nations to encroachments and assimilation (e.g., the story of the Trail of Tears).

5.6 Students understand the course and consequences of the American Revolution.

Understand how the ideals set forth in the Declaration of Independence changed the way people viewed slavery

5.7 Students describe the people and events associated with the devel opment of the U.S. Constitution and analyze the Constitution’s significance as the foundation of the American republic.

Understand the fundamental principles of American constitutional de mocracy, including how the government derives its power from the people and the primacy of individual liberty.
Discuss the meaning of the American creed that calls on citizens to safeguard the liberty of individual Americans within a unified nation, to respect the rule of law, and to preserve the Constitution.

Grade Six

6.3 Students analyze the geographic, political, economic, religious, and social structures of the Ancient Hebrews.

Identify the sources of the ethical teachings and central beliefs of Judaism (the Hebrew Bible, the Commentaries): belief in God, observance of law, practice of the concepts of righteousness and justice, and importance of study; and describe how the ideas of the Hebrew traditions are reflected in the moral and ethical traditions of Western civilization.

6.4 Students analyze the geographic, political, economic, religious, and social structures of the early civilizations of Ancient Greece.

Trace the transition from tyranny and oligarchy to early democratic forms of government and back to dictatorship in ancient Greece, including the significance of the invention of the idea of citizenship (e.g., from Pericles’ Funeral Oration).

6.5 Students analyze the geographic, political, economic, religious, and social structures of the early civilizations of India.

Explain the major beliefs and practices of Brahmanism in India and how they evolved into early Hinduism.
Outline the social structure of the caste system.
Know the life and moral teachings of Buddha and how Buddhism spread in India, Ceylon, and Central Asia.

6.6 Students analyze the geographic, political, economic, religious, and social structures of the early civilizations of China.

Know about the life of Confucius and the fundamental teachings of Confucianism and Taoism.

6.7 Students analyze the geographic, political, economic, religious, and social structures during the development of Rome.

Describe the government of the Roman Republic and its significance (e.g.,written constitution and tripartite government, checks and bal ances, civic duty).
Note the origins of Christianity in the Jewish Messianic prophecies, the life and teachings of Jesus of Nazareth as described in the New Testament, and the contribution of St. Paul the Apostle to the definition and spread of Christian beliefs (e.g., belief in the Trinity, resurrection, salvation).

Holocaust Curriculum – a Model The post Holocaust Curriculum Model Part 1 – K-6 appeared first on The Holocaust History - A People's and Survivor History - Remember.org.

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Today is the day of the Abe’s Story Yahrzeit, and on this day I’ll share a story of friendship and hope developed over 23 years.

If you visit Remember.org and wonder who the gentleman in our logo is, that’s Abram Korn from Abe’s Story (the book is even in the Stanford Libraries). Back in 1995 when Remember.org began, Joey Korn shared his father’s book with me, Abe’s Story, and was kind enough to share excerpts and photos on the site.

Since then we’ve become long time friends, and it’s been an honor to share his father’s story. That’s why Abram Korn’s photo is integrated into the Remember.org logo, because this site is always about remembrance, the stories of life and survival that grew out of the Holocaust.

And each year, Joey contacts me on the anniversary of the first sharing of Abe’s Story on Remember.org, on Abram Korn’s Yahrzeit:

yahr·zeit

ˈyärˌtsīt,ˈyôr-/ noun

(among Jews) the anniversary of someone’s death, especially a parent’s.

I’m sharing some emails we’ve shared over the past 7 years to give an idea of how one story, and the sharing of that story, connects so many people.

It’s my honor to share Abe’s Story with the visitors at Remember.org, where so many have viewed the book, the excerpts, the photos, and the map.

And for me, it’s where a friendship began with a child of survivors, and continues to this day. Thanks Joey for sharing your father’s story, and helping me remember why Remember.org began – to share stories of life and survival during the Holocaust.

All the following are excerpts of emails from Joey Korn shared since 2011.

August 7, 2018 Today is Dad’s Yahrzeit, the anniversary of the day you set up the first Abe’s Story pages in 1995, Just a few months after the first edition was published in April 1995. I still remember the story of how I found you, and when. It was just after July 4.

2017 Today is Dad’s yahrzeit. It’s also the 22nd anniversary of the first pages of Abe’s Story going up in the Cybrary. Much has happened since then, for sure! 2012

| Abe‘s Story: A Holocaust Memoir |

| One of the proudest and most meaningful accomplishments of my life was when Longstreet Press published my father’s story in April 1995. We got our rights back and published the softback edition ourselves in 1999, but it has been out of print now for about year. I’m honored that it is now available again. Dad’s story is tragic, yet powerfully inspirational. My father was an incredible human being, who survived more than six years in Nazi ghettoes and concentration camps with his dignity intact. He’s my hero. It would be an honor to personalize this wonderful book for you. Abe‘s Story: A Holocaust Memoir by Abram Korn & Joseph Korn |

Today is Dad’s Yahrzeit and the seventeenth anniversary of getting Abe‘s Story up at Remember.org. Remember that??? I always look for special things to happen on this day. Today, Jill and I mailed 150 copies of Abe‘s Story to two different schools, with more orders coming. That’s more than we mailed out in many years. Also, I got a call from this nice guy who wrote the email below. He’s writing an article about remembering the Holocaust for the US Air Force. It will initially go to over 1000 reservists in his unit, but if it gets picked up by them, it will go to every member of the Air Force in the world.

I’m sure permission would be fine. Please email him. Chuck’s wife will be glad to hear about it. Joey

On Aug 7, 2012, at 2:40 PM, “RHODES, SHAWN C SSgt USAF AFRC 927 ARW/PA” wrote:

Hello-

I would like to request permission to use excerpts from this page on your

website:

http://remember.org/witness/chuckf

In particular:

“The smell burned my nostrils and permeated my pores,” he commented.

“Most of us have some idea of the horrors the Nazis perpetrated on the

European Jews,” Ferree said in an interview decades later. “No one knows

how many humans suffered and died at the hands of these ordinary men.”

I write for our unit webpage, which can be found here:

https://www.927arw.afrc.af.mil/

I will cite Mr. Ferree and give credit to the website in my article. Thanks

for your consideration-

Shawn Rhodes

Public Affairs Technician

927th Air Refueling Wing, USAFR

Google Analytics showing visitors from 2011-2012, amazing how 16 years later, 1000 people a month still view this important book. 2011 We’ve got some exciting stuff going on with Abe‘s Story, at least in potential. We’ve arranged for Esther Gilbert to do a detailed index like she does for her husband’s book, Sir Martin Gilbert. I’ve been in touch with her for several years. She’s at least read parts of Abe‘s Story, but I don’t think she’s read it straight through. She just used it as a reference to make connections with some survivors she wrote about in her Holocaust Memoir Digests. I’m hoping she will see how wonderful Abe‘s Story is and maybe Martin will read it and no telling whose hands it will fall into.

So I’m going to make a few minor changes, including a new family photo, and will publish as we’ve talked about asap, but as a reprint of the Second Edition. Then we’ll do the index and make more editing changes for the Third Edition.

We ran out of Abe‘s Story a couple of months ago. I’ve been doing some minor editing, but haven’t felt good about printing another run of several thousand copies and continuing as we have been. We’ve consistently sold 500 copies a year since we printed it in 1999, mostly through speaking in schools. My sister does more of it than I do now.

Anyway, I’ve been down on Print on Demand, as I’ve seen a lot of poor quality and high cost prices. But it seems to have come a long way.

I’m talking with a friend who’s had lots of experience with POD and he has gotten me excited. I hope to talk with him today to clarify things. Assuming I do this, it will soon be available for POD as well as Kindle, Nook and more. I’ll keep you informed.

Hope all is well.

2010 Do you have a higher resolution image of the Abe‘s Story Banner that you put together (attached). A lady from the Pentagon wants to have a poster made with me, Abe‘s Story and Remember.org to display in the Pentagon during April.

Many more emails have been exchanged over the years, and this gives an insight to the power of digital stories, and of stories of survival. Our mission at Remember.org is to take the memory of these events away from the horror – the obsession with Hitler and the Nazis – and remember the people who lived through it, with family and love, and remembrance for those who didn’t make it.

It’s our honor to serve the memories, and many friendships on Remember.org.

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|| Return to How Dark the Heavens ||

November 1944 to Allach Liberation on April 30, 1945 This material, copyright 1990 by Sidney Iwens, is excerpted from his prize-winning book “How Dark the Heavens”. This conclusion includes the Allach Liberation, a sub camp of Dachau where Sidney was located at the end of the war. This material may not be reprinted or reproduced in any form without the expressed written permission of Sidney Iwens.

You can order your own hardcover copy of “How Dark the Heavens”, which includes shipping costs. This section is approximately 44 printed pages. You can also order this book online: click here for How Dark the Heavens : 1400 Days in the Grip of Nazi Terror, available from Amazon.com Bookstore.

This is approximately 42 printed pages.

Month of November l944 Now that we had been living in our wooden barracks, it was somewhat warmer at night, but during the day we all suffered a great deal from the cold.

Today, as usual, we were already chilled to the bone by the time Appell was over. Later, after our work brigade delivered wooden boards some distance away, we had to wait in a yard. It was gray and cloudy, and the cold wind went right through me. The thin stuff we were wearing was just no protection from anything, and every part of my body yearned for a bit of warmth. I looked longingly at the radiator of a small auto. I knew the water in the radiator got hot when the auto was driven, but although it had been standing there lifeless, with an irrationality born of despair, I hoped I might still find some warmth there. We were not supposed to move from the place, but slowly I shuffled over and touched the metal. It was, of course, ice cold.

Five people of our camp were taken to Camp No.1 and executed by hanging. The crime of the offenders? They’d been caught wearing underwear crudely made out of blanket material or some other kind of cloth.

I had a surprise. A truck with inmates from Camp No. 10 stopped for a few minutes close to where I was working. Shmulke Palec was among them! I found out that there were only about 600 people in their camp, all from the Siauliai ghetto. Even now some of the ghetto leaders–Burgin, for example–were in positions of power inside the camp, but Pariser was not there. Conditions in No. 10 were much better than in any of the other camps in the area.

We were all issued brightly colored overcoats, probably belonging to some European army or police force. Although the material was quite thin, we were glad to have them; they were better than nothing.

Every day people died here–how many I didn’t know. But those whose end was near were easily recognizable. Some got swollen up and walked around with puffed-up faces. But most became extremely thin, just skin and bones with a certain empty look in their eyes, which seemed to become very large. When a person reached that condition, he was called Musel-mann–a name brought here by the Aryan kapos. It was sad, but most prisoners who had not yet reached that stage tried to think of them as little as possible.

But in our own barracks, there were about half a dozen people whose suffering was very hard to ignore. They were barefoot. I looked at their swollen, purple-colored feet and could well imagine their torment. The increasing cold had begun to cover the puddles on Appellplatz with a thin layer of ice, and we had already had some snow. These people slept close to the entrance, and every time we ran to Appell, I saw them huddled together, waiting until the last possible moment before hobbling out to what was obviously an extraordinary torture: standing barefoot on the freezing ground as long as everyone else. They were all German Jews and spoke only German. They had probably arrived with one of the later transports, I knew nothing else about them. How much longer could they last now that it was growing colder every day?

A transport of Hungarian Jews was brought here. They had lived in comparative freedom until last spring when they were abruptly deported to the Auschwitz extermination camp. Now they all looked like Musel-manner.

The work at Moll was very hard. But it was the distance we had to cover to get there and return that made it unbearable. It was very far, maybe six kilometers. Lately, I wound up there quite often, though luckily not every day. This was how it went yesterday. . . .

As usual, we were jarred out of our sleep by the banging of metal and the hysterical screaming of the kapos–“Aufstehen! Raus!”–the daily wake-up call. The suddenness of the brutal sounds never failed to have a jolting effect as we jumped up to face another day in Camp No. 2.

It was so very early, and I hadn’t had enough sleep, but there was no time to think much. I ran outside to get my bread ration, and devoured the few bites of bread with black ersatz coffee, standing in the cold. It only took a couple of minutes. There was the usual agonizing: The voice of reason told me, “You have to leave at least something for later, remember the long day ahead of you until you get the soup.” But on the other side was Terrible Hunger, and reason had a tough time; it was a toss-up. Today I managed to leave a tiny piece of bread in my pocket.

The Appell–it went on and on. I caught sight of one of the barefoot men of our barrack, his face distorted in a grimace of pain, as he kept jumping from foot to foot. As soon as Appell was over, there was a rush of people to the various work commandos. Those who had their established work places were lucky, but most of us who didn’t, had to play a grim game of chance every day. We milled around, we began pushing and rushing toward an area where we hoped small commandos were being formed. Kapos cursed, clubs were swung. But eventually I wound up with the majority–the Moll work brigade.

After more counting and rushing around by kapos and guards, our column was at last on the way. By now we had been up a long time–felt like hours–but it was still dark when we left camp. Time went by, our long column kept moving ahead, then it was daylight. Two German boys passed us on bicycles probably on the way to school, and I wondered for a moment what they thought of the hundreds of ragged, exhausted men they saw. I was tired and hungry, and the thought of that small piece of bread in my pocket nagged at me constantly. But I remembered the days when I succumbed to temptation and swallowed the few bites in the morning. I knew I wouldn’t feel less hungry, just guilty and worried that I’d have no food until evening. Still, the pull of that morsel of bread was so strong that twice I was ready to pull it out–I even touched it with my fingers. But today I was successful in fighting off the terrible temptation after all.

At last we arrived. The site was enormous. We were sorted out by several kapos, along with other columns that had already arrived earlier from Camp No. 1. A Kaunas Jew from No. 1 was in charge here, shouting orders in a rough, loud voice. There was pushing and jostling around as people tried to position themselves to be chosen for an “easier” commando. The kapos swung their clubs, and after a while we were all assigned to our various work places.

The kapo led us to the main worksite, which was a gigantic cavity in the ground. Standing at the rim for a moment, I looked down at a tremendous hole from which enormous bites of earth had been scooped out and removed; it was the future underground aircraft factory. It was so big that the people and equipment down on the bottom looked like children’s toys. I thought with contempt, The stupid Germans! How can they expect to finish this before the end of the war? We were led down a long earthen ramp to the bottom, and our workday began.

Our job was to smooth out and grade a stretch of ground with spades. The OT people and kapos dashed around, shouting, “Los, los, bewegt euch, schneller! [come on; bestir yourselves, faster!]” I felt lucky, not to have wound up with some of the “bad commandos.” But even so, it was very hard work. The kapos yelled and cursed, and every so often we got clubbed by them.

The long day stretched ahead of me–the weariness, the hunger, the cold–like an unending road. How would I ever get to the end of it?

I glanced with envy at a fire the kapos had built for themselves in a large steel drum. Then I started thinking of Daugavpils: a winter evening . . . Golda and I in the laundry room by the fire . . . the glowing embers. . . . I lost myself in thought, and time moved much faster.

The half-hour break for lunch amounted to little or nothing. I swallowed the bite of bread and didn’t feel one whit less hungry. In the afternoon the shovel seemed to weigh a ton in my hands. I thought of the warm soup awaiting me at camp. One never knew. Tonight I might find something solid in it, something that had a few calories.

And again I began to daydream. These other people–did they daydream as much as I did? Perhaps some did. But no one else had a Golda in his life. I was certainly luckier than most. How would I ever get through the day without her? She was with me always, and all I had to do was plug in one of many episodes, of which I had a large memory supply, and I was far away from here. . . . Poor Golda, she might not even be alive anymore, and still she was with me, aiding me, helping me endure every single day.

At last it was dark, and we were ordered into columns again. The guards who were part of the Postenkette–cordon of guards– now surrounded our column. After some counting and recounting, we were on the way.

There was still the long way back to camp, and that was no small feat after such a long day, but there was the soup to look forward to and at last the chance to stretch out and rest.

Too soon, my hopeful mood evaporated. It was such a long way; we were just too exhausted and weak, and the wooden shoes made walking difficult. The guards tried to keep us in straight lines, but in the darkness they had to give up. We shuffled along in broken lines, every step an effort.

When I heard some commotion in the back, I knew what it meant: Someone had collapsed. Whenever a man died or just collapsed and could not move anymore (and that happened on every trip) he had to be carried back to camp on a makeshift stretcher. Anyone nearby stood a good chance of becoming one of the stretcher bearers. The very thought of having to carry someone now was enough to make me shudder. I sped up, and got to the front rows.

It was late, and we seemed to have marched for hours, at last we were in view of the camp. But as we entered the kitchen compound, there was a sudden wailing of sirens: an air-raid alarm. The lights went off, and we were plunged into darkness. We were told that we could enter the camp proper and go to our barracks, but if we did so, we would not be allowed to return for soup. If we wanted to get the food, we had to stay right here and wait for the all clear. Each of us had to make an agonizing decision: go in and forgo the warm soup we had been looking forward to all day, or wait here, with no way of knowing how long the alarm would last. Most of us stayed. I could not think of giving up the soup, but some of the people were just unable to stand it any longer and went to their barracks.

The Allied planes passed our area on the way to bomb larger cities. They never dropped any bombs here–I wished they would– but they would have to return before the all clear sounded, and it took them a long time. More people gave up, and went inside. And still I waited. It was cold, I was beyond exhaustion, but I wasn’t going to give up the calories, especially after having waited so long. It was very late, and the camp had been asleep for a long time when we finally heard the all clear. Lights went on in the kitchen, and after a while, we got our portion of soup at last. It was tepid and not very thick, leaving me hungry and dissatisfied.

While we were standing at the evening Appell, a prisoner was brought by a guard and made to stand at attention. We were told he had been captured while trying to escape from the work site. They beat him for a long time and then made him stand in between the two rows of electrically charged barbed wire. He was a young fellow, and as I looked at him, standing there without a coat, trembling, his face stained with blood, I wondered how long he could survive in the cold and snowy night.

Later in the barracks, people talked about him. We assumed that he had slipped through the guard chain during the day and that he would be kept standing until he died. Before going to sleep, I went over to the fence again. He was still standing on the same spot. I tried to imagine what was going through his mind.

Next day I was astonished to hear that the boy had been allowed to stay alive after all. He had apparently convinced the Germans that he had not tried to get away, he just fell asleep at work, waking up after his commando had left. You never knew with the Germans.

In the four months we had been here, much had changed, and not only in the amount of food we got. When we first arrived, there was still a feeling of community among us; we were all from Lithuania, from the ghettos of Kaunas and Siauliai. The kapos were well known and were former friends and acquaintances. But with people dying at an accelerating rate, the composition of the camp population had been changing rapidly; the kapos were now our chief tormentors. The most vicious were the German criminals, but some of the Jewish kapos were not much better.

A hierarchy among the prisoners was much in evidence–which was encouraged, at least implicitly, by the SS. The great majority starved, worked, and died, but a small privileged class was also in existence. Those various functionaries who ran the camp under the authority of the SS, or were our kapos at work, helped the Germans keep us in a constant state of terror. Most of them did it in a most brutal way and were compensated with food and other privileges.

We all dreaded the Appell, but today’s was certainly one of the worst. It started out the usual way, with Muetzen ab and Muetzen auf, the counting and recounting, and with kapos running around shouting and striking people with their clubs. But more than the usual time passed, more counting and more harassing. We could see there was some problem, and as time went on, we became aware that there was one person too many. The irritation and anger of the kapos and Unterscharfuehrer kept increasing, translated into a cascade of blows. And it was only after about two hours that the mystery was solved at last. A Musel-mann who’d been reported dead–he did not wake up and looked lifeless to his comrades–had somehow pulled himself up, after everyone had left the barracks, and dragged himself over to Appell. I heard a little scream. Meir told me later that the Aryan kapo, Willy, was so enraged that with a few blows of his club, he killed the man. “Now the numbers will balance,” Willy said.

Month of December l944 The misery here was increasing every day. I swallowed my piece of bread early in the morning, unable now to hold back any part of my ration. It was just beyond my power to withstand the terrible craving. Twice more, while on the way back from Moll, we were caught by air raid alarms as we approached camp, and once I went to sleep without the soup; it was beyond my endurance to wait. The cold, the hunger, the lice, the Appelle, the mud and the rain and the hard work–I got some relief only in my daydreams about Golda and in some other fantasies.

I saw Gershon.

“How are you doing?” he asked, looking at me closely. I said I was OK, but he seemed concerned.

“So you work sometimes at Moll.” It was more a statement than a question.

“Not that often. I got out of it today too.”

“We’ll have to do something about that,” he said as the orders for Appell were being shouted out.

We called it the Scheisserei (the shits)–severe diarrhea, the condition that precipitated dying in most cases. We looked at it more as a final stage in the deterioration of the body, rather than the actual cause of death. A Musel-mann who had become very weak and emaciated with that particular “look,” got the runs. He could keep nothing inside, and at times could not even make it to the latrine. After a few days he died. That was the course it ran. Sometimes it took a little more time, sometimes a little less.

I spent most of the day in a warehouse fixing wooden racks. This was the Sommerkeller, the dream commando of the camp. A carpenter was needed there, and Reibstein arranged for me to get the work. My job was not only inside–a rare privilege–but in a place full of shelves containing a variety of foods. I had to be careful–Germans were always around–but I did manage, besides chewing bread, to swallow mouthfuls of sugar and even a bit of margarine. In the afternoon I was sent to a noncommissioned officer’s quarters to repair a stuck window. Eventually I got it loose, but the German who was watching me must have seen that I was no expert.

After work I was told not to return the next day. I don’t know whether it was because my work was unsatisfactory, or because they only needed someone for one day. The next day it would be back to the usual hell, but at least I had this one great day, and I was thankful for that.

There had been a change lately–and for once, for the better. Our commandant had been killed in an air raid while home on leave, and the new one was apparently more human. Perhaps it was the swiftness with which the camp was emptying that had something to do with the change in attitude toward us. Lately, there had been no new arrivals while the dying continued unabated. The cart filled with spindly bodies was a familiar sight at camp. Every day many died here, but others who were sick were sent to die at camp No. 4–the “camp for the sick,” from which no one ever returned. At any rate, the soup lately seemed thicker and more plentiful, and the Appell didn’t last so terribly long.

I was now working in a new commando where I hoped I could continue a long time. Our work involved sorting potatoes that had been stored in the ground and covered with a roof of straw and earth. We had to dig them out, remove the rotten ones, and load the rest on trucks. Already on the first day, we each managed to bring a few spuds into camp, and I had myself a feast. I cut them in very thin slices, roasting them until tender on the hot metal of the small iron stove in our barracks. Surely, there could be nothing in the world so good as sitting near a hot stove and eating roasted potatoes!

The job was arranged for me by Reibstein and other fellows of the Sommerkeller. I didn’t not know any details. But in this place, if one had food, he had power and influence. Most used it for their own advantage only; a few helped others as well. But Gershon Reibstein risked his life daily for the sole purpose of helping friends.

Most people in my commando were from Kaunas, and so was our kapo. He looked like a regular guy.

After I’d worked at potato sorting for a week or so, it was announced that our camp was going to be closed, because there weren’t enough people left. We were to be distributed among the sister camps in the area. I didn’t know what would happen to our “potato commando” and was very uneasy. How galling it was for this to happen now–just when I got the new job and after the change for the better in camp conditions.

Monday, January 1, 1945: The 1290th day So, 1944 had departed. I thought of the end of l94l, the scare we’d had that New Year’s night. How long ago it seemed now. Surely war could not last much longer, but hadn’t we thought so for a very long time?

We were dispersed among the various Dachau satellite camps, and I was now in camp No. 11, close to the town of Landsberg. This place looked very much like No. 2. The same tormentors were here: our old big-shot kapos, Unterscharfuehrer Schreyer, Antonas. Luckily, our commando continued to function from here, and I was still working at potato sorting. Dov Shilansky was able to transfer to No. 1.

Month of January 1945 The majority of the people here were brought from Auschwitz. For a long time I had heard frightening tales of what was taking place in certain camps; judging by the details I heard now, none of it was exaggerated. But as usual with the Germans, you just could not figure them out. Thousands of people were killed in Auschwitz every day, but last fall when the advancing Red Army approached that area, prisoners were evacuated, and many of them were here.

The barracks, as in our old camp, was built partly below ground, with long, double-tier, wooden platforms on both sides, and a very small, round iron stove in the middle. I slept on the upper tier. In our hut there were about ninety inmates, brought here from many countries of Europe. Besides me, there was only one Lithuanian. Many are from Poland and Hungary, as well as from Romania, Germany, France, Greece, and probably some other countries; at least one person was from Italy. My neighbors to the right were an older man and his son–from Paris.

I was usually called Litvak or 999, the last three digits of my number. No one here knew my real name, except for Yanek, a fellow from Poland who slept to the left of me.

Most of us spoke Yiddish, although each in the dialect of his country of origin. But there was also a babble of different languages. Some of the Hungarians and Romanians of the so-called educated class didn’t speak Yiddish at all, and some of the Polish intelligentsia spoke it very poorly; the German Jews spoke nothing but German. Still, in general, communication was not a problem; most of us spoke more than one language and knew German–except for the Greeks and the one Italian, who spoke neither Yiddish nor German.

At work most days we were able to “organize” a few potatoes, on occasion only a single one, and sometimes nothing at all. One day we had to deliver a load to camp and had a real chance to fill up our pockets. After work I was able to cook them and ate almost all of them. I knew I shouldn’t, but for once I wanted to eat until I felt no more hunger. That was impossible–I could not imagine ever not wanting to eat. In my case, the control mechanism that told me when to stop eating simply didn’t work. I ate too much and had to run to the latrine several times.

Five people in our commando were replaced by new workers. No one was talking, so I could only surmise what’s been happening: Our commando was considered one of the best in camp, and people with influence were trying to get their proteges in. Why I was not replaced, I didn’t know, but I suspected that the fellows from the Sommerkeller must have made a strong effort on my behalf.

Electrifying news! Golda was alive! At least she was last summer, when Mark, one of the new fellows at work, last saw her. He was from the Netherlands, but had spent some time at the Kaiserwald Camp. I asked him whether he had ever met a girl from Daugavpils named Golda Gutterman, and to my surprise he answered, “Yes, I remember her well.” He described her to me and said, “She used to talk to me about you.”

“Do you remember anything specific she ever said about me?” “Yes, a few times she remarked sadly, ‘Wehr weisst wu zeine beindalech zeinen yetzt.'”

“This is just what Golda would say!” I told him happily.

Conditions here were pretty much what they were in our old camp before it got better. Here, too, the SS men walked around with whips and the kapos with clubs–it didn’t take much of a transgression to get whipped. My personal circumstances, however, were much improved, due to the potatoes I am able to “organize.” Of course, I might get caught any time, but meanwhile I felt wealthy and lucky. I usually ate them baked, but once in a while I exchanged some for bread. Either way, I had something extra most days. And after the news I got of Golda, I was full of hope.

The prisoner hierarchy here was much more pronounced than in Camp No.2. The brutality and viciousness even of Jewish kapos knew no limits. Perhaps that was because we had so many toughened camp veterans from Auschwitz. But some Lithuanian Jews were just as bad. Hanging over them was the reality that since they themselves were also inmates, their benefits and rights could be withdrawn at the slightest whim of an SS man. They had to keep proving themselves constantly. Even so, a few of them tried to be humane when possible, others fulfilled their duties as tyrants with much gusto and, I suspect, enjoyment.

Not all of the privileged people were equal in the power they had and the benefits they received. But there was a sort of understanding among most of them, concerning exchanges of favors, sometimes not only for themselves but for friends and proteges as well. That applied, to some degree, even to tailors and shoemakers, who worked in camp. For example, it was quite natural that a shoemaker who had fashioned a pair of leather boots for an SS man should expect extra food and sometimes certain favors from his pleased German master.

Sleeping across from me were about half a dozen men who always kept together. I believe they came from the Bedzin-Sosnowiec area in Poland. One of them, who seemed to be a teenager, had quite an extraordinary voice. He often sang at night after the lights were turned off when we were all in our bunks. I’d never heard anyone sing so enthrallingly as this boy did; the sad melodic Jewish folksongs tore at one’s heart. But the song he favored most was “Gypsy Love,” which he sang often, with great feeling. It was truly a beautiful song.

Month of February l945 The “potato commando” was dissolved–no more work. I was back at the bottom.

I was again working at jobs of many kinds, having to depend on my luck every day. But while the work was unpredictable and changed from time to time, the intense hunger for food was always there, unrelenting in its ferocity. In Camp 11 our rations were distributed in the barracks, not in the kitchen, and it was all in the hands of the barracks chief, the Blockaelteste. Ours was a Jew from Hungary, with reddish blond hair, who must have been about forty or so. He was a very religious man; I often saw him praying–he even wore a prayer shawl. (I could not imagine how he got it here; he certainly must have had a lot of pull.) All the same, he was not a nice man, to say the least.

To pour a ladleful of soup into an outstretched bowl seemed like a simple enough feat. But there was more to dispensing soup than that, a lot more. When the two men would carry the soup vat into the barracks, we would already be waiting eagerly, people hovering around with their eyes fixed on the precious liquid. The barracks chief would stir it around a bit, while we all looked transfixed, at the solid pieces that floated up to the top. Once in a while there was something that even looked like a scrap of meat, but I was never quite sure–nothing like that ever landed in my bowl. The first to get their portions would be the Blockaelteste’s cronies; they were the ones who got the best morsels. There was a fine art to the process of stirring the soup and then pulling out a ladleful that contained the best there was in the huge vat. Usually, the farther back one stood in line, the less chance there was to get a piece of potato or some other unrecognizable vegetable, but there was no certainty. Everything depended on the man with the ladle. He determined what you would wind up with. Sometimes there was some soup left over after all the portions were meted out, and a few lucky ones got seconds. Since the Blockaelteste hardly knew me, I wasn’t one of the lucky ones.

I suppose the German SS were all needed at the front. Our guards now were of the Hungarian SS, their uniforms were different. They may have been Hungarian Volksdeutsche.

There were some bad apples among us, but not many. What was more surprising was how much decency still remained, and sometimes one came across it in a most unexpected way.

I was in a column of about fifty people being marched to a different work location when a group of prisoners approached us from the opposite direction. As they came closer, I recognized Joshua Lutzewski who’d been with me in the same hut, in Camp No. 2, and was transferred to No.1 last December. From the way he smiled, I knew he noticed me, too, and in the split second that we passed each other, he pushed his hand into my coat pocket and was gone.

What he put there was a cigarette! My God, a whole German cigarette! Even if he managed to keep from smoking it, he could have exchanged it for bread. But instead, he gave it to me, though we had known each other only a few months. Of course, I was happy to get it, I hadn’t smoked a real cigarette since Siauliai, but it was his act of generosity and selflessness that made me feel good all over.

At Appell today I stood next to the only Italian fellow here. He was trembling. It was probably harder for him to take the cold than for us who came from a colder climate. Whenever I saw him outside, he seemed to be freezing. He could hardly communicate with anybody and was trying to tell me something; I couldn’t understand him, nor did he grasp what I was saying to him in German. I felt sorry for him.

I had had a running sore on the ankle of my left foot for some time. Although I’d rearranged the rags on my foot and the shoe didn’t rub me there anymore, the sore refused to heal. There were also several sores on my neck that did not dry up. Malnutrition, I suspected.

The free time we had on Sunday or in the evenings we usually spent trying to free ourselves from the hordes of lice. We sat half-naked, some of us with only a blanket around our shoulders, checking the seams of our clothing and squashing the vermin between the nails of our thumbs. For a while I itched somewhat less but I knew that as hard as I worked at delousing, I could never eliminate them completely. In a short time it was as bad as before. Yet, I kept on hunting them. I had the feeling that, if I ever stopped, they would eat me alive.

Most of the time I’d managed to avoid beatings, but however careful you were, it was hard not to get hit. This morning there was some pushing as the work commandos were formed, and the chief kapo struck out with his club left and right. I was standing quietly but got hit on the shoulder anyway. Nothing unusual. But certain people got hit repeatedly. I wasn’t sure what made them such tempting targets. As for me, I had learned certain rules of demeanor back in Daugavpils; I made myself as inconspicuous as possible and never looked a Nazi straight in the eye. For such “insolence,” at the time of the Aktionen, you could have been sent off with those who were to be shot. Here you could be beaten, and in our weakened condition, the result might have been catastrophic.

It was logical that, as time went on the daily death rate should increase. Scheisserei, still remained the most common prelude to the end. To a few, death came right here in the barracks, to some in the hospital, but to most it was the Scheunensblock, a barracks where Musel-manner were sent; no one returned from there. Sometimes men on their last legs were shipped off to “sick camp,” also a one-way trip. It was curious, that Musel-manner got so little sympathy from other inmates. The kapos and bullies among us treated them with derision and contempt, while the rest of us just avoided or ignored them.

Four people in our commando, where I’ve been working for about a week, each received a package of Russian mahorka–stem tobacco. This had never happened before. I guess it was among supplies captured from the Russians. (I used to smoke it in the partisan village, Bobily). The Germans didn’t like to smoke it, so during our unloading of gravel and mixing concrete, the OT Meister said he’d give the tobacco to the “good workers.” As it turned out, this grand prize was given in an arbitrary fashion, and I was very disappointed not to have been among the lucky ones.

Because people in other commandos were also recipients of this prize, the exchange rate for that tobacco dropped quite low, and in the end I was able to get a package of tobacco in return for my portion of bread. I knew it was not wise and thought of the calories I’d be losing, but the piece of bread had been so small lately–just a few bites–while that tobacco, if I was careful with it, could last for days. Anyhow, I wouldn’t do it again. This I promised myself.

The ration of bread still presented me with my daily struggle. I’d been feeling guilty about the tobacco, and in an effort to be sensible, I decided to divide my ration in several parts and make sure to eat bread at least twice a day.

After about a week, I was surprised by how well my new system worked. Not only did I eat bread more often, but I actually managed every day to save a tiny piece of my ration, and in my pocket I carried around bread that amounted to almost a daily ration. Although I could swallow it in a few seconds, that morsel made me feel almost wealthy and more self-assured: I had a reserve of bread. The fact that I saved something, even a crumb, made my hunger more tolerable. I usually ate the older bread and kept the fresh and was surprised at the ease with which I could keep to my strict regimen.

But after I had accumulated more than a portion of bread, I ate up my whole reserve. Not because I had trouble controlling myself, but because I’d started worrying. There had been thefts in the barracks before, but last night a portion of bread was stolen not far from where I slept. I shuddered when I thought that it might happen to me and decided to take no chances. No, I wasn’t any less hungry, but at least I had those few calories in my own stomach.

Yanek told me about Auschwitz-Birkenau; he was there for a year and a half and worked at sorting the belongings of new arrivals. Many former Auschwitz people were here, and I heard the stark facts of the selections, the gassing, and the crematoriums. But Yanek told me some details of what went on at the unloadings, of the hundreds of tragedies played out there every day, haunting stories. And this went on for years! Truly, even if someone should survive the war and tell about Auschwitz, no one would believe him.

On the way to work, we were stopped at a railroad crossing while a passenger train passed by. As the cars went clattering past, I could see people in their seats facing each other, and a man sitting comfortably reading a newspaper. I had a momentary thought: How splendid that would be! To travel in a train and leisurely read a newspaper!

Actually it was hard to think at all about “after the war.” I just wanted to survive, and my dreams were mostly of how to put something in my stomach. Once in a while there was some talk in the barracks about what one would do if he survived. But it seemed to be half-hearted. Hunger took up most of our thoughts, dreams, and emotions.

Some mornings I woke up just moments before those early- morning wake-up calls. I had a vain hope that there would be some minutes left to me before the sudden banging and brutal shouting. It happened only rarely, but when I did get those quiet moments, they were the only time when I belonged to myself. Everyone was still asleep, and I, covered with blanket and coat, for once felt snug, almost warm. Usually, though, I was disappointed, for almost the minute I awakened, all hell would break loose, and I was abruptly thrust at another harrowing day at camp.

We had a selection. All the inmates had to stand in line while several SS men inspected us; those who were in very poor physical condition were taken away. We were told they were going to a “recuperation camp,” but we all knew that no one came back from wherever he was being taken. We were all pretty thin, but I suppose this too was relative. In general, I trusted no hospital, infirmary, or sick camp. It was obvious that they only spared us at all because we were needed for work. The minute one admitted to being in some way incapacitated, he was as good as dead.

I noticed some men whispering together secretively. Yanek said he’d heard that they’d killed a dog at work and brought it into camp. I was very envious.

I could think of nothing but food. Even fear, even the acute awareness that I might be murdered at any moment, receded into the background. All concern was centered on food.

It was Sunday, we could rest a bit. I watched the Greek fellows, whose bunks were close to mine. They looked different– tall and dark and always jabbering excitedly. I had to remind myself that they were Jews. I couldn’t understand their language, but I could tell, by the way they were smacking their lips, that they were now talking about food. One of them tried to tell me in broken German all about the different foods they used to eat in Salonika–the sausages, the meats, the cakes, the pastries, and other delicacies.

There was no more “Gypsy Love.” The boy who used to sing so beautifully was moved away. A pity. Someone said the Germans liked his singing so much they gave him a job in the kitchen.

I exchanged my portion of bread for a full bowl of potato peels and was glad for the opportunity. The fellow said they came from a German kitchen and really, the potatoes had apparently not been peeled too skimpily. They had to contain more calories than the small piece of bread, but what really appealed to me was the volume. I could almost feel them swelling up in my poor shrunken stomach.

Behind the barracks, I put the peels in a can with water and put the can on a small fire I’d made from scraps of wood. We were not allowed to use the small stove inside. With great anticipation I watched the water get hot, and impatiently waited for it to boil. Suddenly, our Hungarian block chief appeared.

“Put out the fire and take the stuff away!” he yelled.

“But I’ve seen other people do it. Just–just five minutes more, a couple of minutes . . . ”

“Put it out immediately, or I’ll dump your junk on the ground!”

I had no choice. I stamped out the fire, cursing him in my mind: Damn you a thousand times.

And this man prayed with fervor several times a day–with prayer shawl yet. How was one to understand somebody like that?

With great bitterness I went to my bunk and ate the raw potato peels. At least they were warm. Surprisingly, they did not taste as bad as I had expected.

On my way to evening Appell, I ran into Reibstein.

“Shaike, I haven’t seen you for so long. How are you?” he asked with concern.

“Fine.”

“Why don’t you ever come to see me?”

I said nothing.

“Stop in my place after Appell. Be sure to come.”

I knew what he meant. If I’d gone over to his barracks from time to time, as some others did repeatedly, I’d have been receiving bread from him. But I couldn’t do it. Reibstein had done a great deal for me, I wouldn’t be around anymore if not for that stint with the potato brigade, and I had often thought of him with gratitude. But to push myself on him like the others, would be the same as begging–I couldn’t beg. But now that I was asked specifically, I did go.

It was as bad as I’d expected. At least half a dozen people stood around, obviously waiting for a handout, while I hung back, feeling awkward. After a while he noticed me and called out, “Ah, Shaike, why are you standing there like that? Come here.”

He gave me a piece of bread. We exchanged a few words, and I left.

Even as we were becoming more and more emaciated, our lice were getting fatter, more ferocious. Truly, they tortured us constantly.

At work today, the cold, hunger, and exhaustion were as usual, but the itching seemed worse than ever. I had a momentary flash: If I die here, at least, that the lice will die with me. suppose I’m their–sort of world, I mused, and when I’m gone, they’ll be gone too. That would be some consolation, but I knew it wasn’t so. When I died, the lice would just move to someone else.

Month of March l945 Quarantine. Our camp was sealed. No one was allowed to leave for work. We were told there was an outbreak of typhus. Small wonder, with all these lice around.

Weeks were passing and nothing was happening. We were shut off from the outside. At first not having to work seemed like a dream come true. But more people died of starvation now than before.

Our ration was reduced still further, much of it just plain mold. Each piece of bread had two shades, a layer of the usual sand-colored bread and a layer of green, somewhat powdery mold. The proportion of bread and mold depended on luck: the dividing line usually ran at an angle, as the mold ate the loaves in an uneven way. It was not unusual to wind up with as much as half the ration consisting of the green stuff. I heard that the mold did no harm and was even used in some drug, but there were no calories in it. Some threw it away, others ate it. I not only ate my own but sometimes took it from people who were afraid of the mold. It had a sweetish kind of taste.

We spent a lot of time on our bunks, experiencing a general feeling of lassitude. No one had any idea how long we we’d be kept shut away. We also didn’t know how widespread typhus was here. Although we could rest all we wanted, I felt quite weak; so did most of the other people.

I was lying on my bunk watching a man gnawing a bone. As one of the cronies of the block chief, he’d gotten it in his soup. This bone was not the kind to be easily ground up with one’s teeth, nor was it as hard as stone; it required hard work to extract its juice. It held me like a magnet; entranced, I was unable to take my eyes away as the man went on and on, working with his teeth. I was hoping that, when there was almost nothing edible left, he’d throw it away, since he always got extra food. Would I have picked it up? Yes, if no one had seen me doing it. But he went on and on. I kept watching and I thought: Just like a dog. I’m watching that man the way my dog Rex used to watch me back home when I ate supper. And only last fall, I would not pick up the cigarette butt the German threw away. . . . The man still kept on with the bone, and at last I turned away.

Hunger. How was one to describe our kind of hunger, an all- absorbing yearning for food? The need to put something in one’s belly–the craving of the body for any kind of nourishment–was so strong that other normal concerns lost their urgency. We had a single desire–food.

I felt tired all the time. The weather had been good; I walked over with Yanek to a barracks where the roof had a southern exposure. The bottom of the sloping roof was flush with the ground; all we had to do was just lie down on it and feel the sun’s warm rays. I got to know some fellows, and we talked about different matters. Sometimes we reminisced about the “time before,” which now seemed so very remote, or about a war rumor that filtered through to us even now in our isolation. We knew that the situation of the German army was getting worse all the time. We conversed quietly, without much passion.

I suppose man is both very strong and very vulnerable. After years of being in the hands of the Germans, I often marveled at how much one could endure when he had to! On the other hand, we were absolutely at the mercy of their whims. All they had to do was cut our ration just a bit, and probably an additional twenty men would die every day. If the next day, they’d cut out the bread, maybe another fifty would die. And if they gave us an additional few ounces of bread, many people would continue to live. It takes so little to make the difference.

As the days went by, I seemed to get weaker; we all did. We still came to the roof. Mostly, we just lay in the sun. I was baffled by the fact that at times it took an effort just to talk. Surely it doesn’t take much energy just to move one’s mouth!

There was a rumor that we were to receive Red Cross packages. But we’d heard plenty of glorious rumors before, and the events predicted never did come true.

But miracles did happen after all. We actually received packages! “Package” is probably not the correct description. What each of us received was one small can of sardines, one can of evaporated milk, about a pound and a half of cube sugar, and a package of twenty cigarettes. The women got a can of sweetened condensed milk instead of the cigarettes.

After receiving our treasure, we all returned to the barracks, sat down on our bunks, and feasted our eyes on the unbelievable wealth we’d just acquired. What to start with? The Frenchman said, “You have to make two holes in the can of milk.”

Someone had a nail and made a hole with it in the lid. He tried to drink it, but the milk did not come out easily.

“You’ve got to make another hole,” the Frenchman insisted. He was right; two holes let the milk flow easily.

Many of us used the nail to punch the holes. When I put my mouth to the can and started to drink the thick savory liquid, it felt as if life itself were pouring into my insides.

Yesterday I only drank the milk. Today I ate the sardines. The sugar I kept in my pockets; from time to time I took a cube in my mouth and sucked on it.

I had decided not to smoke the cigarettes. I could not see myself using up, in this manner, something that was of so much value. Until yesterday, one could get more than a loaf of bread for them. Now that everyone had some, the exchange rate dropped precipitously, but I intended to hold onto them until supplies were used up, and then exchange them for bread at a decent rate.

In the afternoon it was announced that everyone would receive a supplement of one more food item; I came away with another can of evaporated milk.

Something terrible happened during the night–someone stole my cigarettes. I had kept them in the pocket of my pants, concealed under my head rest, but when I woke up in the morning, the cigarettes were gone. Obviously someone lifted them while I was asleep. I had not even opened the package, dreaming of the bread I’d get for it. That dirty rat, whoever it was!

It must have been done by someone who knew where I kept the cigarettes, someone who’d been sleeping near me. I had a strong suspicion but could’t prove it. My neighbor, the old Frenchman, had been puffing away like mad. Was he the one?

The loss of the cigarettes ate at me the whole day, and I became more and more convinced it was the Frenchman. Still, I could not accuse him openly without proof, but from the hostile way I acted toward him, he must have become aware of my suspicion. In late afternoon, he came over, handed me a somewhat wrinkled cigarette box, and said:

“I couldn’t help myself. Temptation was too strong. Here, that’s what I have left.”

Inside were eleven cigarettes.

I felt quite disgusted. I wasn’t going to take any more chances. I smoked the eleven cigarettes myself.

After three, four days, the glow that had engulfed the camp the moment we got the packages was fading fast. I held on to a few cubes of sugar a little longer and then was back where I’d been before, living on a few bites of bread and some soup.

Month of April 1945 Quarantine was lifted. It had lasted more than a month.

On the way to work, we passed some dandelions. Someone said the leaves could be eaten. I picked some and ate them.

Lately we had been hearing the sound of planes flying overhead almost every day and were sure they were American. Even here, evidence of the bombing that German cities were experiencing was visible. A work commando of about twenty of us was taken to Landsberg several times to clean up the rubble after the bombing.

Another big surprise! For the first time since our arrival in Germany, we had a chance to take a shower. We were marched off to the delousing facility at Camp No. 1, and while we were in the shower room, our clothing was being treated with intense heat. I hoped all the lice were killed.

Someone stopped in from the neighboring barracks to tell us that the American President, Roosevelt, had died; the Germans had been passing the news around with much glee. But it wasn’t going to help them; their end was near. Too bad about Roosevelt, though. As long as I could remember, he had been the President of America; he was always known as a good person and a great man. But his death could not possibly help the Germans much. Let them gloat.

The end really must have been near. At work one day a guard watched me struggle to dump a wheelbarrow heavily laden with dirt. No one else was around. Handing me a piece of bread, he said, “It won’t last long for you anymore. Soon I’ll be in the position you’re in now.”

We went to work the same as always, and the SS were still as threatening as ever.

We had waited so long for our deliverance–for the defeat of the Nazis. I tried to imagine how it would come about, what they would do with us at the very end; the Germans were so unpredictable. Would they shoot us or try to dispose of us some other way? There could be a lot of confusion and chaos at the end, and that might be of help to us.

I said to Yanek: “We’ve got to run if we see that they mean to finish us. Remember, just because someone shoots at you doesn’t mean he’ll hit you–run like the devil. . . .”

Meanwhile, the only indications of battle were the many planes flying overhead. We knew few details. The general camp routine continued, and our main preoccupation was still food. We were as hungry as ever, and people got the runs and they died.

I hadn’t seen Reibstein since the time when he had asked me to come to his barracks.

I walked by a large rubbish heap, which hadn’t been there before. Somewhat to the side I noticed a small prayer book on the ground. Back when we were children, if a prayer book accidentally fell to the floor, we’d pick it up fast and kiss it. I felt a twinge, seeing it abandoned in the dirt, and picked it up. Small, only about three by five inches, but thick and printed on very thin paper, it contained prayers for many occasions, something that a religious Jew might take along on a trip. I wondered what the owner was like as I was putting the little book in my pocket.

Monday, April 23, l945 As the day wore on, our feeling of nervousness and expectancy kept increasing. There was no doubt–the Americans were coming closer and closer, bringing either deliverance or death at the hands of the SS

. Late at night, maybe eleven or twelve o’clock, someone threw our barrack door open and shouted:

“The kitchen is wide open! The guys are helping themselves to the food!”

I took off like mad, finding the kitchen unguarded and unlocked. Inmates swarmed all over, but by now there was hardly anything left, except for a few potatoes. I managed to grab two.

My hopes rose. If no one bothered guarding the kitchen–was freedom at hand…? But as we returned to the barracks, I could see the SS guards at their usual posts.

*Tuesday, April 24, l945* Since early morning, there had been confusion and uncertainty. They counted and recounted us, ordered us into marching columns, but then made us wait again. The talk was of evacuating us–where and how no one knew.

At last, we were told that we were being evacuated by foot. We were warned to keep in line and that we would be shot for any infringement of the usual rules; the ill and weak would be transported alongside in vehicles, together with the hospitalized inmates. But very few admitted to being sick, and some who could hardly stand up refused to accept the offer of transportation.

An extra bread ration was issued to us, and at last around ten o’clock, we left camp. Surrounded by many SS guards, our column of perhaps 2,000, stretched a long way. They wanted us to walk fast and kept urging us on:

“Five in a row! Five in a row! Keep in line! Faster!”

For a while we kept up, but after a few hours all the shouting and hitting with rifle butts could not keep the column in orderly lines. Finally they gave up, but were still very strict about our keeping up with the column, and were ruthless with anyone who fell behind.

Later in the day I saw the same scene repeated quite often: a man, unable to walk any farther, lying on the side of the road, and being threatened and beaten by a guard, who was trying to make him get up. I had to move on and could not see the outcome. Sometimes I heard rifle shots, but I also saw a few people who had collapsed from exhaustion, being thrown in a truck traveling in the same direction we were.

The guards kept hurrying us on. I was very tired.

At last it was night, and we were led to a low-lying area, which was marshy and wet and had a small stream passing through it. When the guards took up positions on the high ground surrounding us, some people were alarmed. “This might be the place where they’ll finish us all,” I heard someone say.

There was a rumor that we were being led to the Swiss border to be exchanged for Germans, but we didn’t believe it. We didn’t trust the SS at all; they might shoot us down any time.

On arrival here, a kapo had said, “A truck with bread is on the way. We’ll get our rations tonight.” To my surprise, late at night, we each received a slice of bread.

Wednesday, April 25, 1945 We were on the road since early morning without food or water, straggling along in broken lines. I knew none of the people around me. Everyone seemed to be on his own, absorbed in the aches and pains of his body. The guards had completely given up trying to keep us in any marching formation.

I think of past grueling marches when I learned that one can go on for a long time just by putting one foot in front of the other. But now . . . many ended up in the ditch. How weak we all were….It was our lack of food . . . and the damn wooden shoes . . . the aching feet . . . the sores. . .

We were led along roads that were little traveled and passed very few villages. At one point, I found myself near the end of the column. Behind me on the empty stretch of road, a German civilian on a bicycle was drawing nearer to us, and way in the back were stragglers with guards urging them on to catch up. As the German came closer, I could see in his wire basket two loaves of bread. I kept walking, but the next moment–commotion. The German, with a startled expression, was standing next to his overturned bicycle; the loaves were on the ground, and a pile of men struggled to get at them. He must have tried to give it to us! flashed through my head. I dove into the midst of the mound, and for a few seconds became part of the clawing, intertwined mass; I managed to tear off one small piece of bread and push it into my mouth. Then an SS guard started hitting us with his rifle butt, and for a split-second, I was aware of the scene and seeing it as an observer: the men hurling themselves at the bread . . . fighting each other . . . tearing at it. . . . Within a minute all was back to normal, and we speeded up to catch up with the rest.

I still had my two raw potatoes. There had been no chance to make a fire last night. From time to time I thought of eating them raw but kept postponing it. I told myself that, when we stopped for the night, I’d get a chance to cook them. Meanwhile, having the potatoes in my pocket gave me a bit of hope, of expectation. I kept seeing before me the soup I’d make of them.

Thursday, April 26, 1945 We spent the night in a quarry and were again on the way in the morning.

I kept on plodding ahead with my eyes riveted to the ground. . . . What did I expect to find? Still I kept looking, searching. I picked up a tin cigarette box–it was empty. A little later, I found a three-inch pocket knife with two blades and a corkscrew. But it was food that every fiber of my body cried out for–food . . . . We passed through a village. People offered us water, but the guards wouldn’t allow us to take it.

The street narrowed, and we passed close to the houses. We were overcome by a frenzied desperation. Ignoring the threat of being shot, some dashed into doorways, hoping for food. I, too, darted in through a door, and found myself in an enclosed porch. I saw a flat wooden box with some greenery–might be salad leaves or just flower plants. . . . I grabbed a handful of the long, slender leaves, crammed them into my mouth . . . zoomed out again. The street was filled with the frantic mob, and the guards, in their effort to keep order, shouted and cursed hysterically, threatening us with their guns.

We had reached the end of the village. It was calmer. I noticed a civilian standing at a doorway, motioning. Five of us scrambled over, and each got a boiled potato.

Late in the afternoon we came to an abandoned camp. We were ordered into wooden barracks with three-tiered bunks. I still had my two raw potatoes.

Friday, April 27 1945 We were up early. The bunks were actually more comfortable than the ones we’d had in our camp. But I felt tired–as if I had never rested at all. My feet and legs felt heavy, they were swollen.

Limping along, dragging our feet, we were back on the road again. Mind dulled by exhaustion and hunger, gaze fixed to the ground, I was driven by the one clear thought: To fall back, to stop, means the end. . . must go on.

After some time we were stopped at a camp, and word was passed throughout the column: “Whoever is too exhausted or too sick to continue may stay in this camp.”

I had only a few minutes to decide. I knew that to admit to being weak was always dangerous. But if I continued marching, I’d wind up in the ditch. I had no more strength. I stayed at the camp, and so did many others. The rest continued on their way.

The camp, called Allach, was packed. I was told to go to a barracks, which I found so crowded that there was no place to sit down. We had received no rations since the first night on the road, and there seemed to be no chance at all of getting any in this camp.

Outside people were milling around, most looking like Musel-manner. An inmate hovering over a small fire was cooking something in a tin can.

My potatoes! I thought excitedly. “Can I use the fire after you’re done?” I asked.

“Yes, in a little while.”

What luck. I got water in my tin dish, and with my newly acquired knife, cut up the two potatoes into small pieces, then waited anxiously. The few pieces of wood could not last very long, and I could see no way of getting any additional kindling. At last he was finished and walked away with his can. But as I was about to put my dish on the fire, two brothers appeared; they were from our camp, and I knew them to be bullies.

“Wait!” one of them said with authority. “We’re going to use the fire first–then you can have it.”

Of course, the fire would be burned out by then.

I jumped up and snarled at them: “You-just-try-to-come-any- closer . . . !” They looked at me for a few seconds with blank uncertainty, and then walked away. I had always avoided any confrontation with potential for violence, but now–the expression on my face must have left no doubt about my determination. At any rate, I was not bothered again, and at last was able to eat my precious potatoes.

I spent some time resting on the ground next to the barracks, which were large and built of concrete. From people who were seated next to me, I learned a little about this place. Allach was also a branch of Dachau, and only about eight kilometers from the main center. It had been a camp for Aryan prisoners, and they were still there. But during the latest evacuation, Jewish prisoners from various camps, who were unable to march any longer, were dumped at Allach also. We were allowed to use only a few of the barracks, and most of the camp was off-limits to us.

Later, knowing it would be dark soon, I went back inside the barracks but could find no place to lie down. The floor was completely covered with stretched-out bodies. At last I found a spot on a table, with just enough room to sit down. It was uncomfortable to sit with my legs dangling, but I spent the whole night sitting on that table.

Saturday, April 28, 1945 In the morning there was no change. People moved around aimlessly. I kept to myself. I didn’t know anyone here. I had seen no Germans inside the camp since our arrival.

While at the outdoor latrine, my gaze fell on the row of half-undressed, squatting men. They were skin and bones, with practically no buttocks. These men are almost Musel-manner, I thought to myself. Then I looked down at my own legs, my thighs, and touched my buttocks–only bones. I looked the same as the rest . . . strange, I hadn’t thought of myself in that way.

In the afternoon, a rumor: “The war is over.” But a while later I heard the sound of far-away explosions, and I knew that the war was still going on.

When it got dark, I found a place to lie down on the floor, but didn’t dare leave for fear of losing it. To be on the floor was better than sitting on a table, but I could not sleep much for there were no lights, and people on the way out had to step over our prone bodies. In the darkness I was stepped on quite often. Every once in a while I heard an outcry of pain, as one or another of those heading for the latrine stumbled over sleeping people.

Sunday, April 29, 1945 Inside the camp there was no real authority, just some kapos and bullies, who still had their strength; it was best to stay out of their way.

How long could I go on without food? How long had it been since I last ate bread? Five days? I didn’t have much strength, but after a while I could no longer sit in the barracks. I tramped around outside–searching, looking. I moved away from the milling crowds toward the fence. No people there. At the hospital building, I stopped abruptly. On the ground, next to a trash can, were a few chicken bones. The source of the bones was apparent: An overflowing garbage can. The lid could not quite conceal a bundle loosely wrapped with newspaper, now partly open; it was crammed with chicken bones. It was hard to believe but shreds of chicken had been left on them. Certainly, they must have been discarded only minutes ago; otherwise someone else would have discovered them by now. What luck! I crammed them into my pockets and slunk away from there fast.

Careful not to be noticed by anyone, I chewed on the soft bone of a wing. I was in seventh heaven!

Shells had been exploding since before noon, becoming increasingly louder. I thought: Artillery . . . the battle must be moving nearer.

In the block someone said that the guards outside the fence had disappeared earlier, but now were back again at their posts.

In the evening the explosions sounded closer, and the firing went on without stop. I found a place to sleep on the third tier of a wooden bunk. The crowd must have been thinning out, many people died every day.

During the night, there was an ever-increasing crescendo in the sound of the battle. It seemed that our camp lay between the two opposing forces; I could clearly distinguish between the two sides in the cannon duel. Some shells might have fallen inside the camp or near it, but I was beyond fear, absorbed in grinding and chewing my bones. I did it deliberately and with relish. During the day I ate stealthily, concerned that my windfall might be noticed. But now, enveloped by the protective darkness, with the luxury of a bunk, I felt contented and relaxed, chewing away. A few explosions sounded so loud I felt certain that the shells had landed in the next barracks.

Sometime in the night the shelling quieted down, and I fell asleep.

Monday, April 30, 1945: l409th day In the morning we found that shells had hit the hospital during the night, destroying part of a wall. Several patients were killed and more wounded.

Outside people shuffled around, weak and hungry, minds set on their desperate need for food.

Someone said, “I heard American soldiers are at the gate.” Another rumor? I wondered.

I walked to the gate. There, a file of about twenty inmates moved quietly in line past three tall soldiers in khaki uniforms. Each inmate, as he passed, kissed the hand of one of these bewildered-looking soldiers. They Were Americans.

I went to the end of the line.

I am the only survivor of my entire family.

No one of the Gutterman family survived.

They were actually deported to Riga, Kaiserwald Camp, in November of l943 and from there in 1944 to Stutthof Camp. Their brother, Leiser, was shot in Kaiserwald while trying to bring in food for the family. In Stutthof, the three sisters refused to part from their mother and lost their chance of being transferred to a work camp, where a more reasonable chance for survival existed. The first of them to die was Hinda. While she was standing at Appell, the string of the pendant Max had given her broke. She treasured that tiny plastic disk with his engraved initials. Frantically, she looked for it in the deep mud. When a kapo ordered her to stand up straight and began hitting her with a club, she refused and continued her desperate search. The kapo hit her until she collapsed, and Hinda never recovered from the beating. Although I never learned the details, Golda, Ella, and Mother also died in Stutthof.

Max lives in the United States.

After we were separated at Stutthof, he was sent to Muehldorf, a camp in the south of Germany, east of Munich. He was liberated by the American army.

Berke lives in Israel.

Just as we were certain that Berke was killed when we stumbled upon the German outpost, so he too was sure that Max and I had died in the same hail of bullets. He later managed to join up again with Antonov’s partisans and continued fighting in their ranks until the area was recaptured by the Red Army.

Shmulke Palec lives in the United States.

Haim Kuritzky lives in Israel.

Dov Shilansky lives in Israel and is currently a member of the Knesset.

I married Ita Tabrisky. We live in the United States and have two married daughters and four grandsons.

Of the roughly l7,000 Jews who were in Daugavpils when it was captured by the Germans, less than a l00 survived. Among those who perished were all my other friends, those from Jonava, as well as the citadel, ghettoes, and camps.

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“Holocaust survivors are growing older and frailer and their needs are more complex than ever before. In addition to the myriad problems associated with ‘normal aging’, many survivors have numerous physical and psychological problems directly attributable to their experiences during the Holocaust.

Prolonged periods of starvation and exposure to unspeakable atrocities take their toll on body and mind. Further exacerbating their situation, more than 50% of the survivors living in New York City can be classified as ‘very poor’ or ‘near poor’ under Federal guidelines.

Through the steadfast support of The Claims Conference, UJA-Federation of New York’s Community Initiative for Holocaust Survivors (CIHS), the Jewish Federations of North America (JFNA), through the Federal Government’s Administration for Community Living initiative, the Jewish Communal Fund, The German Government, New York City and New York State Governments, and the generosity of numerous individuals and foundations, Selfhelp is able to provide these high quality services to the survivors in our care.

If you (or someone you know) survived the Holocaust, you may qualify for special benefits and services, including:

• Subsidized horne care/housekeeping

• Emergency financial assistance

• European reparations

• Social programming specifically for Holocaust survivors

If you live in the New York City area, Selfhelp Community Services’ Holocaust Survivor Program may be able to connect you with these benefits. For more than eighty years, our program has been connecting Holocaust survivors to the care they need.

If you would like to speak with one of our trained social workers, please do not hesitate to contact us at 212-971-7795 or email hspoutreach@selfhelp.net.

We look forward to hearing from you soon!”

Sincerely,

Desiree Nazarian

Read the interview here http://remember.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/PPY1345055442.mp3 From the Unorthodox Podcast Interview:

“The organization was founded in 1936 under the name “Selfhelp for German Refugees” by a group of recently arrived German refugees in New York, with the mission of offering support to others who had been forced to flee. Providing services to survivors continues to be at the forefront of Selfhelp’s mission.

Who is eligible for services? And how is a survivor defined? Beyond those who survived concentration camps, the term survivor extends to anyone who disguised their Jewish identity, fled their home, went into hiding during the period of the war, or experienced persecution because of their Jewish heritage. Even those in utero until 1945 qualify as survivors.

The Holocaust survivor program has 7 sites in New York including, Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx and Nassau County. The Russian speaking population has faced severe difficulty, with 80 percent living at or below federal poverty line. The Russian population has faced challenges not only due to aging and lingering physical trauma, but lack of steady employment and negotiating language barriers.

Last year, 970 survivors approached Selfhelp, and in 2018 Selfhelp expects to surpass that number as word travels and survivors continue to come forward as they realize their eligibility.”

About Selfhelp services for Holocaust survivors “Selfhelp’s services for Holocaust survivors honor the sacred pledge made by our founders: to serve as the last surviving relative to victims of Nazi persecution. This promise remains our imperative. Our overarching goal is to provide Holocaust survivors with the services they need so that they may live with the comfort and dignity they so richly deserve.

Selfhelp operates the oldest and largest program serving Holocaust survivors in North America, caring for over 4,300 elderly and frail individuals. The defining feature of Selfhelp’s program is that survivors are served by professionals who work solely with Holocaust survivors – their caseloads are not co-mingled with other elderly.

Remarkably, we have served this population for 80 years – assisting refugees before the war began, and providing vital care to Holocaust survivors since they began arriving on our shores. As this population reaches their 80s and 90s, we remain a steadfast presence in their lives, enabling them to retain their independence, dignity, and quality of life. Our program operates out of seven community-based sites, with locations in midtown Manhattan, Washington Heights, Brooklyn (2), Queens, the Bronx, and Nassau County.”

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Holocaust Survivor Tamara Deuel Questions and Answers With Students INTERVIEWS

See Paintings by Tamara Deuel View paintings by Tamara Deuel

My Story I am one of the survivors of the hell in Europe. I went through the Holocaust as a child. I was born in Kovno, Lithuania and had a normal and beautiful childhood. The day when the first bomb fell on my town, my childhood came to an end.

My family tried to go to Russia but the Germans were faster than us and we returned to Vilna after innumerable frightening experiences. Within a short time we were placed in the Ghetto.

After two and a half years, the Vilna Ghetto was liquidated. My mother was murdered by the Germans the next day and my father was transported to a camp in Estonia and was murdered there.

My grandfather and grandmother who were a very important part of my life were murdered in the Ghetto in Kovno. My sister and I were sent to the concentration camp Kaiserwald in Latvia. Afterwards, we were transferred to a number of work camps, in which our only food consisted of several pieces of bread and a bowl of barely eatable soup in exchange for many hours of slave labor. I was in the camps for 18 months.

In this horrible era I did not stop hoping that everything would finish soon. This gave me the opportunity to hold on to the humanity inside of me. Only at the end of the war did I realize that the world of yesterday would never return – not my family and not my childhood, nothing.

Before the liberation, we were forced on a death march to the gas chambers. During the march many people were dying. Every moment was dangerous because the guards knew that we were all going to be murdered. I wanted to help those who were dying and ran from one to the other but there was not much I could do.

I felt desperate but an older woman came up to me and told me that I must not try to help but just continue walking. She said “Child, look upward in faith and forward in hope”. What she said has helped me ever since. We were passing through a small town in Poland just before the death camp and I heard someone who was watching us go by say that the Soviet (Red) Army was just a day or two away. When the guards were not looking, I pushed my sister out of the line of the march and when I was sure she was safe and the last houses of the town were coming up, I took the next opportunity to escape and was hidden by a Polish family for about 10 days until the Red Army came.

I am in Israel where I have been since 1945. I came to Israel because I wanted to help build a country for Jews where we would be free and there would be no hatred.

I came to Israel separately from my sister and passed through Rumania, where I was cured of TB. Several months later I came as part of the Youth Aliya. I fought in the war of liberation in one of the kibbutzim of Gush Etzion. We were captured by the Jordanian Army and released a month later.

I studied to finish high school at Mikveh Israel (מקוה ישראל; “Hope of Israel”) and continued to study in different schools, and I am continuing to studying until today. I managed to raised a family – a privilege for the few who had survived. I act like every other human being so as not to transfer my burden to my children, but the memories of the horrors accompany me day and night. I am learning to live with the heaviness in my heart.

I was never painting but started more than 20 years ago and have been painting, sculpting and writing poetry in remembrance ever since. I feel that by my art I am helping to transfer my experiences and feelings to others to help prevent this from ever happening again.

Every individual who survived that other world has a duty to leave documentation, art, music and personal stories behind so that future generations will not forget.

I hope that we will all live in a better world and that the horror of the Holocaust will not be repeated.

The war ended in 1945. For me, the Holocaust will never end.

A preface to one student’s request:

I am usually not talking about my experiences.

I feel that it is a duty of every survivor to translate the tragedy to the world in different ways according to their ability. Apparently my way is not to talk and not to write but to paint, sculpt, and mention the tragedy in my poems. But, because your work in my opinion is sacred, please ask me specific questions and I will answer them as much as I can.

Answers by Tamara to questions asked by students

DURING AND AFTER THE WAR

As a child I lost everything, my parents, my friends, my childhood, the joy of feeling safe and having a sense of freedom without any worries, making plans for tomorrow and beyond, and the ability to have certainty in adults. For a while I lost my belief in all of that.

When the war was over I was still a child. I had some fears in the ghetto and the concentration camp. However, I knew I would stay alive I think mainly because of the safety and sureness that I had as a child. Even as a child I felt that I had control over my own life.

ESCAPING THE DEATH MARCH

Is it possible to mention what camps you were in and how many months/years you were held before the march? About escaping from the death march, we walked days and many kilometers surrounded by German soldiers. After a couple of days, in the early morning, we saw the last houses of the last town (in Germany? Where?) before the concentration camp (which one?) and I heard some people in the street saying that the Russian army was not far from this place – a question of a week or so. At a certain point the soldiers did not look in our direction and my sister and I escaped into a house of some Polish people who hid us for a week or so until the Red Army came and freed us.

MY BELIEFS

After I was released I started to build within myself a new belief system. I never lost my belief in myself because of my parents who gave me certainty and so much love.

The concern of others reaffirmed my sense of security and helped me continue with my life providing the basis in certain ways for my rebuilding of my belief in others and once again let life flow with and through me.

HELP FROM OTHERS

What helped me to go through this terrible period by myself, having lost almost all of my family, was an older woman on the death march when many people were dying and I was running from one to another trying to help them. She said “Child, look up with faith and forward with hope”. And I remember it to this day and it has helped me. We cannot change the past but we can help mold the present and by that change the future.

STARTING TO PAINT

I never painted as a child. I was playing piano and dancing. Painting was not in my mind. I do not know why but I started painting and sculpting about 20 years ago. When I am painting or sculpting I do not stop until I feel that all of the parts are complete. Then I stop for a while but I am not planning or thinking about continuance. When I am not creating I am afraid that I have nothing else to say. But then it comes back as though my soul needed to rest before any continuation.

MY INSPIRATION

I don’t believe in inspiration due to a place or an event. It comes from a certain place which causes us to express ourselves in specific ways through the abilities which we possess. What I do know is that it comes from a place I do not fully understand. I have always believed in the metaphysical world. I am sure of it.

There is a connection between the ethereal world and here although not everyone is aware of it or is simply afraid to believe. Thoughts and in fact our whole being come from the ethereal world to which we are connected. There are a lot of questions but there are not always answers. I do believe that the continuation of life is on the soul level.

The soul is the essence of life and never finishes. It is endless with the endless purpose of existence. Once I showed my painting to a boy who was about 7 or 8 years old. I left him alone to look at the paintings. Ten or fifteen minutes later, I talked to him and he said that he felt as if he was surrounded by souls, that they were very lifelike. As a child as well as now I believed that everything has a soul, even inanimate objects.

HEALING

I believe that we can heal ourselves spiritually and physically and we can ask for help in different ways.

PLANNING

One of the things which I can not change in myself is the concept of planning. I never plan anything in my life – even for the same day and certainly not for the day after.

PURPOSE

Our being here is not only for egoistic purposes and to please ourselves. Everyone has a goal toward the existence of our planet. The more we are sensitive to this and think about the universal goal which each one of us has, we are helping the planet survive in a much more positive way. Our self destruction or self realization has an effect on the universe. For me there is no compromise. I am doing what I believe in with all of my heart and soul. If I am mistaken in the end, that is what had to happen at that time and I must learn from it.

CHANGES

We should be aware that we are all equal and think of all of the beauty which we have been given. We have been given everything for basic existence. We should be thankful for what we have received. Instead of increasing that which we have been given, we destroy it. We end up thinking only about our own personal needs. We should increase our awareness of others without thinking about differences and be ready to help each other and not destroy, hate, or attempt to accumulate what has been given to others.

HOPE

What gives me the greatest hope for the continuation of the planet in a much purer way is the children who are writing letters to me from all over the world asking questions, showing their pain and grief and promising not to allow evil to happen again.

LEARNING

We are here for learning. We are given lessons all of the time. The lessons we are learning while we are here are a part of the continuation of the existence of the soul in its broadening of the understanding of life making it richer and more meaningful.

The only choice we have is to learn and give to others, or to make life miserable for ourselves and for the environment – meaning for the world. I believe everything we are doing and everything we are saying has an influence not only on us and the people surrounding us but also influences the events of the world.

LOVE

My deepest belief is that nothing can be done without deep love, an attempt to understand, to respect, and have awareness and concern for everything both animate and inanimate for in the end it is all connected. Love is the most meaningful gift.

LEARNING

We are here for learning.

Finally, what words of wisdom would you give our generation?

Only understanding and the acceptance of all human beings around the world. All of us are equal and if some of us are weaker or need help, it is our duty to help them to be on the same level as all others, to live and achieve all that as human beings we are capable. We came to the world to help, not to humiliate each other. There is one God for everyone. Our duty here, and especially for youth, is to build, and create a better world. By that we can live in a world which was given to us of beauty and love.

Painting by Tamara Deuel Holocaust Survivor Tamara Deuel Excerpts From Reply To Two Students Excerpts from a letter written to two children writing a report on the Holocaust[/b] I will add several pieces of information and stories which are not on my site.

I was born in the 1930s.

Both my sister and I have remained in Israel since we came here. Several years ago my sister passed away. We both have families – children and grandchildren. I gave my children a normal life like everyone else here by not involving them in my past.

More than 20 years ago one day out of the blue I started painting and have continued every since. I had never painted as a young child. I do not feel that it is therapeutic. The importance of it is the transfer of my experiences and feelings in memorializing the Holocaust and the death of my parents, grandparents and the six million who were killed.

It is impossible to have good memories about what I went through in the Holocaust except for one incident which I remember.

It was when the women, who were captured together with me, cut a 3 cm piece from the meager bread (4 pieces a day) which each received per day and built a cake of it for me on my birthday. This showed the humanity and the caring of those who had been together with me.

We worked in a factory as slaves. My head was shaved, and during the winter I was wearing only a thin dress and a cloth jacket in the freezing cold. Once, I looked out the back of the truck which took us to the factory, at all of the children my age going to school, running, playing, laughing, throwing snow balls and I could not understand why it was that I was so different.

I feel that it is a duty I have as a survivor to memorialize the Holocaust. It is the best way for me to transfer my feelings and experiences, and perhaps the only way I can because I do not talk about this experience. Every survivor must leave behind a story of what happened and this is my way.

Despite everything, I am very optimistic and continuing and not reliving the past, although the past is the basis of my life. I enjoy many things that the positive world is giving. Every day we are waking up in the morning to a new day, new beliefs, new hopes and opportunities. We never know what to expect with every new day but the hope and the desire gives us a new challenge and by that we can experience the most beautiful aspects of life.

I hope that the tragedies that happened and continue to happen due to the blindness of hatred can make people sit down for a while, think and ask themselves the question why and find the answer. It is a sin to discriminate. God created all of us equal. The beauty and love in the world was given to everyone, should caress everyone and cause joy and not suffering.

I wish you success on your report.

Tamara’s Advice To Youth Dear Kamryn,

Thank you very much for your words to me

I do not attempt to preach but if I can give you my humble

opinion and advice which is truthful and comes straight from my heart. I have been working on myself all these years and I do not hate anyone even those who killed my family.

It is important to stop hatred.

Do not make any difference between people. There is no difference.

All people are one in the eyes of God.

Be tolerant of others.

Do not belittle the beliefs of others.

Learn from history about injustice and evil and know that history can repeat itself.

Take an example of the relationship between friends and transfer it to relationships with people.

Listen to yourself and to each other. Talk and argue with

yourself, and work on yourself to fulfill the beauty of the soul.

The most important thing is love.

These are not cliches for me, I have been working every day to fulfill the human side in me like my father taught me as a child.

With love, Tamara

I Pray To God My Prayer to God

I look around me

outside myself

and see much sadness,

pain and loss.

All striving to continue

on broken shreds of life.

To live with what was given

and survive.

I pray to God

when I am taken

please leave so love

will feel no loss

what was given to me

what is with me

that which is in me

my essence.

Standing in Line For Life

Standing in line

to eat

a plate of befouled soup

four pieces of bread

Standing in line

to be silent

to work and fall apart

Standing in line

to receive a blow

Standing in line

to be saved from the hell

Standing in line

towards a new life

Standing in line

for illusions and hurts

Standing in line

for happiness

for love

Standing in line

before being born

in front of counters

for giving

length of life

beauty

Wisdom…

Fate

There are lines

waiting that they be shortened

There are lines

we wish will never finish

that there will never be

a time to part

to forge into the unknown

to wonder why

the unfinishing lines finished

then the last line

the shortest

the End

When In Life’s Dreams and Illusions When in life’s dreams and illusions

it is frightening to live

feel the pulsing of the universe.

Feel life flowing through you

and not beside you

the broad expanse of space

caressing

as if protecting you from harm.

And in minutes of forsakenness,

do not be afraid

just live.

Was Wandering I was wandering

between joy and pain

between dream and reality.

I went to a rendezvous.

It was hope.

The Blinding Light First Felt From blinding light first felt

the sinews growing

outwards towards decay

grabbing and losing

in exhilaration

the disillusion seeds

cycles of movement

folding in upon themselves

in desperation

destroying all that hope created

returning once again in

to conquer darkness

and continue the eternal quest

Tamara Deuel

Translated from the original Hebrew 2006

Purpose:

On this site, the attempt has been made by the site administrator to present much material which is not to be found on the two previous sites of Tamara. There has been some overlap in order to preserve the continuity of materials and periods. The major theme running throughout the site and the art is the Holocaust. Through this experience is the hope that such an event will never happen again.

________________

Below is a review by Bella Shomer Zeichik, the curator of the exhibition of Tamara’s paintings at the the new museum at Yad Mordichai.

KADDISH

Tamara Deuel

The museum “From Shoah to Establishment of the

State of Israel” at Kibbutz Yad Mordechai opened a

new exhibition of the painter Tamara Deuel.

In the series “Kaddish” done in mixed media, the

artist raises the spirits of those who died in the

Shoah.

Her works hang in the gallery on the second floor of

the museum and are seen as a series of visions and

depictions derived from other worlds and spheres.

The wail of Tamara is a singular voice flowing from

the soul and deals with a spiritual expression of art

which is almost religious. The paintings and

the pieces of biography are the journey from death

and remnants of the loss of life to belief and healing.

Her creation penetrates the heart and expresses a

testament and a ritual of endless prayer.

**“I swear that to the last day of my life I will not

forget nor forgive in remembrance of the multitude and

the precious two who on the day that I was born, gave

me life.”**

________________

Links to Other Sites of Tamara Deuel

Extensive Letters and Writings – Tamara Deuel with Bernard Banville

remember.org – Major Holocaust remembrance site – portal to Tamara’s site

List of Museums and Exhibitions

[*]Yad VaShem, Israel 3 paintings Donated

[*]Yad Haad Museum for the Holocaust Moshav Nir Galim

[*]Museum Tel Yithak, Israel 7 works donated

[*]Achva College in the Negev, Israel 1 donated

[*]Holocaust Museum Washington DC., U.S. various photographs

[*]Auschwitz-Birkenau Memorial.Museum, Poland 3 paintings donated

[*]From Shoah to Establishment of the State of Israel Museum, Kibbutz Yad Mordechai – Exhibition

________________

Review Upon First Viewing Tamara’s Work

“Abyss of the Dispossessed”

I am greatly moved by the work of Tamara Deuel. I

visit each tableau with a sense of wonderment,

noticing with subsequent viewings very subtle changes

in content. Hidden images emerge, eliciting from the

minds eye new interpretations of dreamlike amorphous

shapes. Forms dissolve and become new forms. Bodies

interlace with bodies, appearing and disappearing like

ghosts in foggy whisps of despair entwined with

occasional flourishes of hope. Faces emerge, some gray

and almost lifeless, corpselike masks of anguish.

Others materialize seeming more filled with life

energy, wraithlike forms punctuated with occasional

innocent smiles from a lost childhood. Light and

darkness grapple with each other, and strong colors

accentuate the foreboding atmospheres which permeate

the paintings.

Unlike much other art of the holocaust, which,

although powerful, tends more toward literal

representation of life conditions in the death camps,

Tamara Deuel’s work contains imagery filled with

metaphor and metonym, poetically rendering horrors

witnessed and experienced. It documents the memory of

brutal journeys and severe hardships endured. In the

poetical expression of its vision is found a

disturbing beauty and transformational essence. It is

work made, not by attempting to create a

representational likeness of the external world, but

by engaging the imaginative apparatus and powers of an

intuitive inner mind, and bringing forth original

images from the labyrinth of emptiness…it is an

oeuvre which navigates the dark and endless corridors

of the abyss and ignites the inner flame of conscious

awareness.

The works are crowded with the melancholic perfume of

death…the virulent scent of living too closely

together under unimaginably harsh conditions of

oppression. They are also overwhelmingly endowed with

the light of transcendence…the illumination of souls

traversing shadow lands of oblivion and emerging

beyond all hope of survival to experience one more day

of life…evoking as well, the stark reality of trying

to preserve existence when the only sustenance is from

steaming kettles of bland lifeless broth, gray liquid

devoid of nutrition…barely enough for physical

survival.

The images are overwhelming in their portrayal of a

humanity dispossessed of its due right to

existence…of beings erased from the continuum of the

living. There is as well, a sense of solitary survival

in figures surrounded by displaced foregrounds and

shifting firmament of a hell beyond all

description…an unreality, a psychosis of existential

fragmentation so extreme as to render the likelihood

of survival impossible…unthinkable…a delusional

dream…yet in all this, there is a tender rendering

of hope for the coming of dawn, of a new day, of a

change in the dank ruthless climate, of reprieve from

the relentless darkness ceaselessly hovering on the

edges of awareness.

Tamara Deuel’s art remembers the past, and does not

allow us to forget…forged by treacherous

deportations across landscapes of suffering and death,

it exists nonetheless as the most gracious gift

possible from an artist who has navigated the worst

nightmares this misguided world has ever brought into

existence. In gazing upon this rich and vibrant work,

one contemplates the miracle of human capacity for

endurance.

Ben Banville 2005

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