Ode to My Three Daughters
When I gave birth to my three perfect baby daughters, each born almost two years apart, little did I think what they would be like when they themselves would become mothers.
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Keeping My Husband’s Presence
Memory becomes less retentive, sometimes drifting in the shadows. There’s a hole in my heart that remains constant.
A Moment of Great Joy
After two weeks of sailing on the Atlantic Ocean, the Serpa Pinto sailed deliberately towards the shore of our new destination, the United States of America.
Waiting
On the outskirts of a small village near Vichy, France, Looms the antediluvian castle the Château des Morelles Housing not grand dukes and duchesses But children from Germany, France, and Italy—waiting Lost from their individual families Scattered by the Third Reich. They eat their meager food Pretending it is the feast of royalty.
Times Change
The sign at the entrance to the park at Mayo Beach on the Chesapeake Bay revealed that the area was closed for the day. Of course, I was disappointed. It was the fall of 2022 and I had been invited by my friend Donato for lunch to enjoy German food and music for Oktoberfest in a country restaurant near the small town of Edgewater, Maryland, near the Bay. I had not been a great fan of attending German cultural events. However, over time, my attitude had changed.
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.
Friedel
The red clay mixed with brown earth makes a somber noise as it is shoveled onto the plain pine casket. It contains the body of my second cousin Friedel.
A Monument, a Museum, a Sculpture
There is no other monumental structure more powerful than the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum.
Step into a Photo
The smiling children sitting on the well-worn step are my brother Joe and me. We look happy because our mother is in the house about to have our baby brother. We know nothing about her not being able to go to the hospital because we are Jewish. The battered wooden door behind us is dense and solid, so we cannot hear any noises coming from the inside. When new, this door must have been especially elegant because of the intricate paneling that is embossed on its lower part. The photo was taken 84 years ago.
My Father
The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum owns the original photograph that I donated to the collection when the Museum first opened. It is a picture of me when I was around three years old. My father and I are walking across the bridge over the Nahe River in Bad Kreuznach, the town where I was born in Germany. The time is probably just before the Nazis and Hitler came into power. My father is young and handsome, wearing a double breasted pinstripe suit with a white handkerchief in his breast pocket. It looks like he has a newspaper casually folded in his jacket pocket. He is smiling and his head is slightly bent towards me. He seems to be proud walking with his little daughter garbed in her beautiful white dress, embroidered with vibrant flowers. What makes me happy now, looking at this picture, is that he is holding my hand, and that I am walking confidently into whatever is going to happen to me in the future.
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Survivor Reflections and Testimonies
Listen to or read Holocaust survivors’ experiences, told in their own words through oral histories, written testimony, and public programs.