Echoes of Memory

My Street

Fruits of the Season

Going back to my childhood in Germany, my mother always had a bowl of fresh fruit sitting on our dinner table. Fruit was just one thing that was always available, so no big deal. But things changed drastically when I fled with my parents to the United States at age 13.

Have I Changed Over Time?

My best remembered early days were unfortunately my years in Nazi Germany.

In Memoriam: Marty Weiss

I had this premonition that it would happen while I was out of the country. And it did. I was in Tel Aviv when I got the news that Marty, my friend, had only a few days left to live, and I was back in Budapest when I got the note from his daughter, Gail, that Marty was not with us anymore.

Reinhart

Recently, I spoke to a group of eighth graders via Zoom. From what I could see, the students in the several classrooms were very attentive and well prepared. Using the PowerPoint prepared by the Museum’s Office of Survivor Affairs, I told the story of my Holocaust experience.

Gymnasialstrasse 11

After our father lost his linen store, we had to move from the house where we had lived contentedly and peacefully. The store had been boycotted by the Nazis at the beginning of the Holocaust. In fact, we had to move several times to different areas so that we could afford to reside in our town. Our last apartment before leaving Germany was at Gymnasialstrasse 11 in Bad Kreuznach.

The Uilenburgersjoel

The Uilenburgersjoel (Uilenburger Synagogue) was built in Amsterdam in 1735, in the center of the Jewish quarter. Regular services were held there from 1735 until 1942. The Jewish quarter was a lively area in the center of Amsterdam where people spoke Dutch with some Yiddish and Hebrew woven into the language. Next to the sjoel was a large square, het Waterlooplein. A market was held at the square every day but Saturday. The women got together to share their family news; they gossiped and bought their food for the day. The sjoel was in the center of it all.

Mukačevo: My Hometown

I imagine that my grandchildren’s generation, and certainly that of my great-grandchildren, will not be able to picture a life without even the simplest of the luxuries we have now. I am certain that when people I meet hear that I was raised in Mukačevo, they imagine it to be a shtetl, with little huts or little houses, without running water or electricity, and with mud-filled streets, with people pushing carts or horses pulling small or large carriages. Mukačevo doesn’t look like this now, nor did it look like this in the 1930s.

My Unforgettable Theatrical Experience

On the night of December 15, 2015, the Theater J, at the Jewish Community Center  of Washington, was filled to capacity. As a sign of the times, for security reasons, everyone attending this play had to be screened to enter.

If Only I Had Pictures

I lost my family in the Holocaust. I also lost the images of my past. Everything was destroyed: my home, my material possessions, including nearly every picture. Most importantly, none of my relatives survived. I was one of two children who survived the Holocaust from my town of Dokszyce in eastern Poland, now Belarus. The town’s Jewish population was about 3,000 before the Holocaust. Only a dozen or so survived.