After the War
I remember one event that changed my childhood: In 1945, France was liberated and its citizens who were in refugee camps in Switzerland were offered train tickets to return home.
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Being Refugees
Telling my story, verbally or in writing, is part of my attempt to describe the impact the Holocaust had on my parents and on me.
Telling My Story
When asked to talk about how I survived World War II, I am fortunate that in my family we talked freely about the war and what happened to us.
I Planted a Rose Bush
In 1965, I bought my first apartment in a residence near Saint Cyr, some 25 kilometers (15 miles) from Paris.
I Am Grateful
Why am I still around when so many others are gone? I have asked myself this question so many times.
My First Vehicle
It was the cheapest car available in France, for about 1,000 francs.
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.
My First Few Days in the States
The first person to come to the United States from my family was my elder sister Jacqueline, who was hired by the United Nations as a secretary. It was in 1953. I was not even 15, and it made me dream of America, which I had discovered through movies, like How to Marry a Millionaire, with the beautiful skyline of New York City and Marylin Monroe.
Moments of Great Joy
I remember three moments of great joy in my life. The first one was the day we were liberated.
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.