Read reflections and testimonies written by Holocaust survivors in their own words.

Blog Home > susan warsinger

Page 3 of 3

  • The Tray

    Six yellow flowers, four rather aged pieces of vanilla cake, three cookies of different designs that had been around for quite a while, a few pieces of candy that had wrappers with French writing in large red and blue letters, five dates stuffed with coconut, and several doilies cut out of paper napkins daintily peeking out below the delicacies were all lavishly laid out on a tray that had been used many times. It came out of the old kitchen of the Chateau de Morelles. This brown tray, so caringly decorated, was placed on my bed before I woke up early on my tenth birthday.

    Tags:   susan warsingerechoes of memory, volume 6

  • The Errand

    The park, which housed a small museum and a caretaker’s cottage, could be entered by walking down a short concrete staircase. It was located across the street from our home and stood between us and the small shopping area of our town. It was a shortcut for me every time my mother asked me to go to the store for some item to prepare our dinner. The errands were of great value for me because they were my first forays into the world. I was doing something that an adult does by having the responsibility of taking care of my family. So it was always with great pride that I strolled through the park, with Phennigs in hand, to accomplish what was needed to nourish my parents, my brothers, and me.

    Tags:   susan warsingerechoes of memory, volume 6

  • The Interpreter

    It looked like the Fourth of July from our attic window in a small village in France. Only it was not fireworks that were exploding in midair; it was bombs being dropped from German airplanes on our beloved city of Paris. We watched in awe at the spectacle that was being displayed in front of us. We were young children, and we could not imagine what was to come.

    Tags:   susan warsingerechoes of memory, volume 5

  • Belonging

    My biggest dream upon coming to the United States from France was to become an American citizen because I thought that if I was a citizen, all of my memories of the Holocaust would disappear.

    Tags:   susan warsingerechoes of memory, volume 5

  • Separation

    After the night of broken glass, when the Nazis organized and carried out a pogrom of anti-Jewish violence, my parents—like most Jews in Germany—wanted to leave. There was no more waiting to find out if events such as Kristallnacht would cease, or if life would ever be normal again for all of us. Our first choice was to come to the United States, where we had cousins living in New York. They were most anxious to assist us by sending us tickets for the voyage and helping us settle in this new land. However, like most countries, the United States had a quota which had been established many years before and, therefore, we found it impossible to immgrate.

    Tags:   susan warsingerechoes of memory, volume 4

  • My Mother’s Birthday

    My brother has always been braver than I. On a night when we were little children (he was eight and I was nine), when the rocks and bricks came crashing through our bedroom windows, it was he who looked out to see what was happening. I stayed under the cover, hiding my face in the dark shadowy room because I was afraid. He did, however, give me a full report of what was happening outside while he was leaning on the low windowsill. It was our neighbors, adults and their children, who were hurling the missiles while the civil policeman was watching at the edge of the crowd doing nothing to stop the bombardment.

    Tags:   susan warsingerechoes of memory, volume 4

Page 3 of 3