For the last 20-plus years, I have been a volunteer at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, DC. Here I finally learned details about the Holocaust, the enormity of it, and how lucky I am to be alive.
My sister, Eva, was born on June 30, 1939, just two months before the outbreak of World War II.
It has been many years since World War II, and I continue to bear witness to what I remember.
An article by Washington Post columnist E. J. Dionne Jr. during the pope’s visit to Washington, DC, in 2015 touched me deeply and brought back some old memories. During World War II I was a child in Poland. I am Jewish, and I wanted to live—which was contrary to what the German occupiers had in mind. After a few close calls where we had to hide to avoid being caught and killed or transported to a concentration camp, my brave mother purchased false identity papers from a Catholic priest for my baby sister, me, and herself. She then took us to a town where we were not known and where we would go by our new assumed names and religion. My part was to go to school, attend church, and act like a Catholic child. I was eight years old and had no knowledge of this religion.
After I survived the Holocaust in Poland, my mother, father, sister, and I moved to England, where we were generously accepted as we tried to move past the terrible years of World War II. We were among the few lucky ones who survived. So many did not. According to statistics, only about 2 percent of Polish Jews lived through the Holocaust.
During my 86 years, I have experienced many countries, and not necessarily for pleasure. I have lived in Poland, England, Israel, and the United States. I owe thanks to each country for allowing me to adapt and live a good life there for some period of time.
As long as I could remember, I had always wished to learn to drive and, of course, to own a car. But I would be well into adulthood before this happened. When I was 13 years old, we—my father, mother, sister, and I—settled in England. We had survived the Holocaust and were trying to restart our lives. England was very different from Poland, but we were free and looked forward to a better future.
On November 21, 2009, I gave a speech as I was being inducted into the Sports Hall of Fame at the Jewish Community Center of Greater Washington (JCCGW). The event was a dinner and fundraiser for children with special needs, a cause very dear to me since my son Dov has Down syndrome and has needed much help from organizations such as this one.
The war was over. The Germans were gone, the Soviets were still with us and didn’t give any sign of leaving Poland, but our lives were no longer in danger. I was in the hospital recovering from the bomb shrapnel that wounded my hand. When Mother found Father in Tel Aviv, we expected him to come and get us, but he sent my cousin Arye instead to navigate our trip out of Poland.
Listen to or read Holocaust survivors’ experiences, told in their own words through oral histories, written testimony, and public programs.
