Maly Trostenets
On January 27, 2014, the world commemorated International Holocaust Remembrance Day, marking the day in January 1945 when Soviet troops liberated the Auschwitz camp complex in German-occupied Poland.
Start of Main Content
Filter Essays
Search Essays
Displaying 1-10 of 33 Essays
Heroes
When the German army went against the Soviet Union, the Hungarian army followed.
Stolpersteine
For many years, our dear friend Johanna Neumann encouraged me to place what are called Stolpersteine or “stumbling stones” at the home where my family lived in The Hague, Netherlands.
Disquieting Pictures
A small black-and-white photograph has suddenly taken on a heartbreaking new significance.
Monument to a Humble Hero
I have seen many monuments to the Holocaust. The monument I deeply admire—the one that moves me not only by its appearance but also by the person it commemorates—is connected to my Polish roots.
Next Stop
As soon as the Nazis came, schools were closed and we had to wear yellow stars on our outside garments. We feared what was coming next.
A Family Photograph
This is one of about a hundred photographs of my family that survived the Holocaust and that have allowed me a glimpse of life before the Nazi invasion of the Netherlands and before I was born.
My Story
I was born in Kraków, Poland, and we lived in Zaleszczyki. My mother was an all-around athlete: a champion swimmer, skier, ice skater, and horse rider. She made sure that I would follow in her footsteps and she taught me to skate and ski when I was five. She also taught me to knit, crochet, and embroider, all skills she excelled at.
The Most Difficult Decision of My Life
The Holocaust deprived me of a father, sisters, grandparents, aunts, and uncles. I was fortunate, however, to be reunited with my mother when I was three and a half. She was one of 110,000 Jews deported from the Netherlands, and one of only 5,000 who returned. It was not until I was five or six that I became fully aware of the many missing members of my family. I boasted that I would make up for the loss and have 12 kids of my own, and I conjured up a whole loud brood around the dinner table. But that was before I learned the facts of life and that it takes more than the wish of one person to make a family. Slowly, throughout my childhood and teens, I came to understand that I was different and that marriage and having a family of my own wasn’t likely to be.
Putting a Name to a Hidden Face
Two of the most precious photographs I have of my family were taken at my brit milah, the ritual circumcision ceremony performed on all male Jewish babies when they are eight days old. Because I was born a year and a half into the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands, my parents’ friends counseled against a circumcision. “It will identify him as being Jewish,” they said. My parents’ dilemma was solved when a pediatrician who examined me shortly after I was born told my father that I needed “a minor operation, called a circumcision.” My father then reminded him of our Jewish tradition and that I would be ritually circumcised. That is how family and friends came to gather in our home on December 1, 1941, to observe this first milestone of a Jewish life.