An Exploration of History, Memory and Connections Past and Present
Can the past be buried and erased completely? Or does the past continue to live on and course through the present like an unsuppressable force? Consider the following: In the Winter 2017 edition of the Jewish Review of Books, there was a fascinating–and deeply disturbing–article by Devin E. Naar. His piece explores the author’s connection …
Zambrow had a beautiful synagogue. I’m sure that my Zaidy and his father and his mother from the upstairs balcony davened (prayed) there. I’m sure its walls echoed the voices of prayer and the cries and “shries” on Yom Kippur, when the Kol Nidrei prayer began the service and the women would wail when the the …
I hope these thoughts will help others who plan to visit Auschwitz: 1) There is no one Auschwitz. There is Auschwitz 1 and Auschwitz 2. Make sure you give yourselves enough time to visit each. By the time we finished with Auschwitz 1, we were already worn out. 2) Go with a tour guide. We …
I am the first in my immediate family to go back to Poland since my Zeidy (grandfather) left in 1920. My mother had some desire to see Zambrow, but she and my father focused their travels on places they really wanted to see and experience, such as Italy, Spain, Australia, New Zealand, Canada. The idea …
One of the biggest mysteries surrounding my Zambrow family’s fate is where they died. Actually, it only became a mystery to me when I started researching the Zambrow Yizkor book, whose translation into English I oversaw. The book states that the Jews of Zambrow met their end on January 16, 1943, in Auschwitz. This contradicts …
Last sunday, the 12th day of the Hebrew month of Shvat, I observed the yahrzeit of my Zambrow family. This was that date that, in 1943, 72 years ago, my great grandmother Sheindl, my Zeidy’s mother, and three of his sisters and their families, were murdered by the Nazis. At least I believe this was …
There was, as long as I can remember, a special book on my parent’s bookcase. I knew it was special because of the reverence in which my parents held it. I rarely pulled it off the bookcase and looked at it, nor do I remember my parents ever reading it. All I knew was that …