Archive | November, 2019

Survival of Shalom (Szulim) Hollander

25 Nov

Over my years of researching my family, especially my family who remained behind in Europe, I have found relatives who perished in both Belzec and Auschwitz Death Camps.  Those who died in the Lodz Ghetto.  Those who were probably burned to death in their community synagogue or mikveh. Those who were murdered after the war ended. They died in so many places, that I no longer am shocked, even though after each discovery, I feel a pain in my soul.  A pain that makes me stop searching for a month or so as I recover from the finality of my search.

I have a great grandmother who survived the war years hidden by a righteous Christian friend, but who could not save her from the final indignity:  murdered when she returned to her family property by the people who had squatted on their land.  I am named for her.  I keep her photo near my computer so she is watching my search.

There is at times a happier outcome.  I have also found those who survived.  My grandmother’s first cousin who survived the Shoah and the Kielce Pogram, and even wrote a testimony about her experience.   I have two distant cousins, the children of another of my grandmother’s first cousin, who survived the war after being put on the KinderTransport. Their parents did not survive. I have relatives who made their way to France, the United States, Australia, England and Israel.  Where once my families were in a small area of Poland, Austria and Russia before the war, now they are on four continents.

Now I add another story of survival through an extraordinary circumstance.  A relative, perhaps two, who survived the Shoah thanks to being one of almost 1100 names who were on Schindler’s List.

To be honest, I am a bit stunned.   I wrote about Shalom Hollander several times, in most detail in a blog that I published in June 2018.  This week Shalom’s story changed.

I was contacted by a distant cousin who read my blog.   She just recently has been researching her family and by goggling family names found my blog, “The Sorrow of Shalom Hollanders” (see below.). She sent me a message: “I must be an extended family member of yours. I am related to Tova Hollander, Mordechai/Marcus Amsterdam, Szulim (Shalom) Hollander, and all the people on this story. I found this while googling names and have been looking into ancestry.com. I would love to connect if you are willing.”

Of course, I was willing to connect.  I emailed her immediately.  I was delighted to find out that her great grandfather was Shalom’s brother.  He had come to the United States before the war, and so survived much like my grandparents.

The words that caught at my heart were these: My great grandpa’s brother was Shalom Hollander who you wrote about in your blog (not sure if you are aware but he is listed on Schindler’s List under the name Szulim Hollander). 

I had to look, and there he was:

Holocaust Survivors and Victims Database:   Schindler’s Lists: Electronic data regarding Oscar Schindler’s inmates, complied from two separate lists.

Szulim Hollander : Date of birth: 8 Feb 1906                                                             Persecution Category: Ju. [Jew] ;   Occupation:  ang. Tischler  (carpenter)         Nationality:  Po. [Polish] ; Prisoner Number:  69073

He survived because he was on Schindler’s List, but was it a good survival?  This knowledge hurt my heart.  While he was surviving, he lost his wife, his children, his parents, his sister.  So many relatives murdered.  I wish when I met him in 1976, I would have listened and learned more. But then, no one knew about Schindler or his list.  I am not even sure he spoke to my grandmother about how he survived.  Wait, I take that back.  Everyone we met with that trip told my grandmother their Holocaust story.   (see blog below.)

In the same email, she mentioned her Aunt Susan also told her about me.  I remember Susan, I connected with her through Tracing the Tribe.  We met about five years ago and exchanged information.  We knew that her husband must be related to my family.  But I did not know of the connection with Shalom.

Now that I know Shalom had a brother in New Jersey, where my grandparents had a kosher bakery, many little pieces came into place. I had an ‘aha’ moment.  My grandparents definitely knew this family.   We knew many Amsterdam families in New Jersey.  I never connected them because Shalom’s brother in New Jersey used the last name Amsterdam, which is their father’s last name, while Shalom used Hollander, which was their mother’s last name.

My grandparents and parents could not have known Shalom and not his brother in New Jersey. They were probably some of the many relatives I met as a child, who just blurred together in my grandparent’s European connections.

One other bit of good news about Shalom.  He did remarry after the war and started another family.  What strength!  He truly was a survivor.  My grandmother and I only met with him that day in Israel.  I rejoice in knowing this news.  I wish I could meet his family.

I must add that there is another Hollander on Schindler’s List: Rachela Hollander was born on March 23, 1917.  She was just a young woman when the war began. She is listed as a metal worker.  I will assume that some way she is related to us as well.

KinderTransport, Schindler’s List, Kielce, Belzec, Auschwitz, Lodz Ghetto: My family went through the worst of the Shoah.  But it comforting to know that some connected with people who had a bit of goodness left in their souls and somehow they survived.

 

https://zicharonot.com/2018/08/12/discovering-karolas-kielce-pogrom-testimony/

https://zicharonot.com/2018/11/05/how-the-kindertransport-touched-my-family/

https://zicharonot.com/2018/06/07/the-sorrow-of-shalom-hollander/

https://zicharonot.com/2018/06/05/murdered-in-belzec/

https://zicharonot.com/2018/09/06/one-more-family-destroyed/

https://zicharonot.com/2014/09/13/my-familys-holocaust-history-impacts-my-observance-of-rosh-hashannah/

https://zicharonot.com/2014/04/28/speaking-yiddish-always-brings-me-holocaust-memories/

 

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The Gift of a Photo Becomes a Gift of Genealogy

23 Nov

When my paternal grandmother died, my dad and his siblings divvied up the photos in her albums.   It made sense at the time, as it was before the internet and the scanning of photos.  But it left each of the families with an incomplete overall picture of whose photos exist.

I have been going through family photos for a number of years.  One of my paternal first cousins has been going through the photos her father had from my grandparents over the two years or so, and when she finds something interesting, she emails the photos to me.  Last week was special.  She found a photo of our paternal grandfather’s mother.  I have written several blogs based on these photos.  (See list below.)

But I had NO photos of my grandfather’s parents.  ZIP.  It was a hole in my genealogy puzzle.  In July, I wrote a blog about my grandfather’s family and its many mysteries.  And last week,  my cousin sent a photo of our great grandmother with my uncle that she discovered.  WOW.  I was struck my how much my grandfather looked like his mother! I immediately put the photo into the blog. (See below.).

But I think the acquisition of this photo needs its own blog, as now I have photos of seven of my great grandparents and four of my great great grandparents.  That is amazing!  I think of my children and my cousins’ children and grandchildren, and I realize that to have these photos labeled is an important gift I can give them all.  For my future grandchildren as well, they can now look back and see some of their four times great grandparents.  That to me is quite wonderful!

I did know one great grandmother, Rae/Ray.  I have vague memories of how she looked. But I remember seeing her when we went to my paternal grandparents’ home.  She lived with them always.   We have the most photos of her as she lived until 1957.  I have photos at different stages of her life and her husband, my great grandfather who passed away in the late 1930s. (See blog about him below.)

Because of this great new photo, I thought it would be great for my family to see all of these photos in one place: my grandparents, my great grandparents and the two sets of great great grandparents.  I also used both their Yiddish/Hebrew names and their English names when they were different, so that everyone knows these names as well.  Also you will notice my great great grandfather Jacob Zev Litwack.  This is not the last name that my great grandfather used when he moved to the United States.

This is my Thanksgiving gift.  The gift of identified photos!  Happy Holidays to all.

 

MATERNAL Family

Maternal great grandma Sara, she died very young.

Great grandma Chava when younger.

Maternal great grandparents/Chava and Gimple

Maternal great grandfather/Shlomo/ Solomon Avraham .

Maternal grandparents. Taube/Tova/Thelma and Nissan/Nathan

PATERNAL Family

Paternal great grandma Sarah (The new photo!)

Baruch Lev/Louis and Rasha/Ray when they married

 

Paternal great grandparents Baruch Lev/Louis and Rasha/Rachel/Rae/Ray when older

Paternal great great grandparents Elka/Esther and Avigdor/Victor

 

Paternal great great grandmother Rasha/Rachel

 

Paternal great great grandfather Yaacov/Jacob Zev. (My great grandfather did Not use this last name in the USA )

Paternal grandparents Harry/Hirsh Zvi and Esther

Blog about my great grandmother and family mysteries: https://zicharonot.com/2019/07/18/some-of-my-paternal-family-mysteries-solved-but-not-all/

Other photos from my cousin:

https://zicharonot.com/2017/12/19/my-familiar-ancestor-who-we-cannot-identify/

https://zicharonot.com/2018/01/26/your-heart-just-gets-larger/

 

About my great grandfather, Baruch Lev:

https://zicharonot.com/2016/03/08/louis-of-the-blessed-heart/

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Life Is An Adventure; How Key People Changed My Life

21 Nov

I think everyone has at least one person in their life that makes a comment or a suggestion that changes the course of life.  I know I do. Below are three of my important people.  Two were educators, to which I am sure many can relate.

I grew up in New Jersey, but now live in Kansas.  I did not get here by happenstance.  Rather, it was a series of people who made the right comment at the right time, that changed the direction of my life.

First comment came from Professor Jacqueline Berke at Drew University.  I was taking one of her classes when she told me that I should become a writer.  She loved how I wrote and told me that I had talent.  Up to that time, I never thought of being a journalist.  I did work on the school’s newspaper, “The Acorn,” and I had been an editor of my high school newspaper, “PawPrints.”  But I had not thought of journalism as a career.  Professor Berke’s comments set me on to a path that has guided me for over 40 years.

I applied for graduate school in journalism. I was only going to apply to Columbia University in New York City.  A visit to my high school changed that opinion. I visited with Celia Whitehouse, my English teacher and the advisor for both yearbook and newspaper at North Bergen High School.  I was one of the editors for both these publications.   I told her I was thinking about journalism.  She thought that was a great choice and suggested I apply to the University of Missouri-Columbia’s School of Journalism as well as Columbia university.  She had been a mentor throughout high school and college, so I listened and applied to both schools.

I got accepted to both schools!  Now I had to decide.   My Mom’s comment sealed the deal.  My parents made it clear that they expected me to live at home if I went to graduate school in New York City.  Then my Mom commented, “How will I sleep at night knowing that you will be going to Harlem every day.”  My answer was sincere and to the point.  “I am going to Columbia, Missouri, that way you will not have to worry about me, as you will have no idea what I am doing at night.”

Which is why I attended graduate school in Missouri.  I will admit, it was a major change for me to move from New Jersey/New York to Missouri.   But I survived.

My second day in Missouri, I met the person who would become my husband a few years later.  Being a St. Louis boy, he wanted to remain in the Midwest.  My fate was just about sealed. But one more person had to make an important comment.

We married while he was in medical school.  Then moved to Kansas City where he was a intern then a medical resident. I got a job at a Girl Scout Council working half time as their public relations director and half time as a field advisor.  In this role I would go to different areas within the Council to train Girl Scout leaders, meet with leaders and give advice.  But in reality, I learned as much from the leaders as they learned from me.

One of the areas I was in charge of was Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas.  I went monthly to the military base to meet with all the Girl Scout leaders providing information about what was going on in the Council, camping and other activities.  The woman in charge of Girl Scouts at the base was Jane Stilwell, the wife of the base commander.  I can still see her when I close my eyes.

In any case, after three years working for the Girl Scouts, I was going to have to quit my job, which I LOVED, and move to Michigan, where my husband was to begin a fellowship.  I was unhappy.  I wanted him to accept an offer as a general pediatrician and stay in Kansas City. I was miserable and I let everyone know how unhappy I was about moving.

Jane was not happy with me.   At the end of each year on the base, we had a luncheon at Jane’s home, a lovely Victorian home right on the river.  As everyone was leaving, she told me to stay.  Jane then gave me the most important lecture of my life.

She explained that being a military wife, meant you packed up and moved on a moment’s notice.  That not moving could destroy a career.  That I needed to think about what my husband wanted to do in learning more; how my decision, to be unhappy, could change the course of his life and mine.

She then told me that I had a choice in life.  I could look at this move as a prison or as an adventure.  If I chose to look at it as a prison, it would become a prison. But if I looked at it as an adventure, I could have a wonderful time and marvelous life.

She was RIGHT.  From that point on, I decided that Life was an adventure to be lived.  Her words touched my soul. I loved my two years in Michigan.  We traveled to Canada, Chicago and around Michigan. We made new friends. My husband completed his fellowship and we moved back to Kansas.  Jane Stillwell was gone. But her words continued in my mind and heart.

I still live in Kansas.  My husband has had a wonderful career that gave us the opportunity to travel as he gives lectures.  I have had so many adventures!

I still think of Jane’s most wonderful advice.  I tell that to people all the time.  You chose!  You decide if your life will be happy.  You cannot change other people, but you can change your reaction to what happens.  And if you chose to be happy and go on adventures, then you will enjoy the ride.

 

End of the School Year Has Me Bringing Out My Old Yearbooks

My Days in the English Department Office at NBHS

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Amazing Connections Once Again Thanks To Tracing The Tribe

18 Nov

Amazing! That is the word my cousin in Israel and all her first cousins from her father’s side keep posting.  This has been an amazing week for them. I am glad that I played a part making a connection possible.

Last week while browsing through the Tracing the Tribe Facebook group I saw a post that caught my eye.  Many times people post passports, photos and letters to get them translated.  I have done that and have had wonderful help from the members of this group, as we all search for our family and our roots.

But this post was a bit different.  Someone was posting the photos of a passport her husband had purchased on EBay.  (It is also amazing what is for sale on EBay.)  The passport of a young man from Poland who made Aliyah to Israel in 1937.  This time my eyes stopped moving and my heart stopped, because I knew that name.  I knew that face.  I also recognized the town he was from in Poland.  I knew who she was searching for, as my cousin had married one of this man’s four sons over 45 years ago.

Hillel Kalmarski/Kalmarsky!  I knew him!  I met him when I was 19 years old and spending my sophomore year of college in Israel.  My cousin, Sara, whose parents were Holocaust survivors, had married his son when she was 18.  We were the same age.  On many of my weekends and holidays from school, I would spend time with Sara and her husband, Moshe.  And sometimes we would go to see her in-laws.

Hillel was a scribe, a sofer.  He usually made the kosher scrolls that go into mezzuzot.  But for me, he made something special.  He made my ketubah.  He thought I was crazy to have him write out my ketubah in his perfect Hebrew print.  But in the USA it was the style to have a special ketubah made.  I did not want one from an artist.  I wanted one made by Hillel.

img_6959

My ketubah written by Hillel.

It still hangs in my dining room for all to see. Which is a good place to remember Hillel.

I had dinner in his house.  I ate at the dining table belonging to him and his wife. I went to the wedding of his youngest son, Avram, to the lovely Leah.  I was always welcomed.

But the Hillel I knew was an older man, in his 60s.  The photo of the young man did not look like the Hillel I knew. But it did look like was my cousin’s husband and his brother.

I commented on the post that I thought this was the father-in-law of my cousin.  Someone had already found Hillel’s grave in Israel and had reached out to the son.  But I knew that my connection would get results.

Since I knew that they would not see the post on Tracing the Tribe, I shared the post on my Facebook and tagged Hillel’s two granddaughters who were also related to me.  I also wrote to them on our family What’s Ap.  It started an avalanche of comments.  Yes, it was their grandfather.  Their first cousins from their Dad’s side started commenting.  My post was filled with comments from their cousins.  They were stunned, amazed and in disbelief.  Comments focused on how crazy and amazing this was to them!

One of the granddaughters, my cousin, joined Tracing the Tribe, so she could comment directly onto the original post.  She posted additional pictures of her grandparents and her parents.

I am glad that I was able to facilitate some of the contact.  I am glad that the passport will be returned to Avram, the only surviving son.

I was so shocked and amazed that someone I knew was the object of a quest in Tracing the Tribe.  But amazing things have occurred before. Through this group I have met distant cousins who have helped me in my genealogy search.  I have had so many people help translate Polish, Yiddish, German for me.   I connected with Schelly, whose grandparents were best friends with my grandparents, and so we share stories as well.

For the past two days I have been rereading the post and the comments people have made.  I thank Esther for reaching out to find Hillel’s family.  And I thank all the members of Tracing the Tribe who have helped so many people connect, understand, discover and learn.

 

 

(I know that someone is wanting to write an article about this, so I am not posting any photos other than my ketubah.  I just wanted to write about how I felt throughout this experience and how I appreciate Tracing the Tribe.)

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Completing My Personal NASA Mission

10 Nov

In honor of the 50th anniversary of the Apollo 11 landing on the moon, I decided I needed to revisit the space centers. In June I went to Kennedy Space Center, which you can read about below. Yesterday I completed my mission with a visit to the Johnson Space Center in Space City … Houston Texas.

I had visited this Center 30 years ago with my husband and then three-year-old daughter. I found it much changed with an excellent museum area that caters to children and families with many hands-on exhibits.

Luckily for me the hotel I was out could sign me up for a tour of sorts. If two people wanted to go, the Houston Tour Company would provide a van for the round trip and the entrance tickets for the Space Center. When I first went to the concierge desk, I was the only one who had signed up. But I left my name and room number in case someone else was interested. My plan succeeded. Within a few hours I got a call that my trip was on. And then a friend of mine decided she would go as well.

The next morning we met our new friend and traveling partner along with our van driver, Ruby, for our adventure.

I first need to say that years ago when I went to the Johnson Space Center, we just wandered the lovely campus of the Space Center, walking to the different buildings on our own. Now it is much more controlled. The entrance ticket included everything. But to see the actual Johnson Space Center you now have to take a tram. There are two to chose from. The blue line, which we took, goes to Mission Control and to see the Saturn V rocket.

Seeing the control room where most of the space shuttle missions, and in a few short years, the Orion Missions, will be watched over by a flight director and his crew was interesting as was the presentation. We could see a live feed into an active control room where the space station was being watched.

Along the way to the next stop, our tram driver told us about the other buildings, including the Astronaut Training Center, which is the first destination of the red tram line. He also pointed out a grove of trees planted in memory of the astronauts who perished during a mission and others who had an important role in the space program. Both lines stop at the Saturn V building.

It is exciting to see the size of the Saturn V Rocket. It lies on its side so visitors can walk around it and see how it connected the different stages and fuel tanks. The Apollo capsules were just a tiny portion at the top of the rocket.

We took the tram back to the museum area, and went to a 15 minute movie about the history of the space program. When it is over you then tour an area that has the original Apollo 17 capsule and much more space memorabilia. But the highlight is the Discovery Space Shuttle perched on a 747. You can go up and enter both. In the place is an exhibit on how the space shuttle was attached for transfer. And you can enter the Space Shuttle and see how astronauts lived while on it.

Another highlight for me was seeing all the moon rocks and actually getting to touch one. The museum employee in the room said that this stone was once rough and thicker, but over the years has become as smooth as glass. I can attest to that as I ran my thumb over it along with all the children.

There is so much to do. We were there for five hours and could not see everything. There were two shows at the I-Max Theater, which we did not see. I wish we had checked the times of the shows when we entered. We might have arranged our visit a bit differently. However, it was fun and exciting to see all the artifacts from space.

I loved walking the exhibits and trying out some of the interactive activities. There are virtual rides to help you experience the actual feel of space. Many families stood on line for these activities.

I believe I have celebrated mankind’s space accomplishments with these two visits. I look forward to seeing the start of the Orion Missions.

For true space enthusiasts, I also recommended a visit to the Cosmosphere in Hutchinson, Kansas, and the US Space and Rocket Center in Huntsville, Alabama. I have visited both places when my daughter and son went to Space Camp. (See blog below.)

https://zicharonot.com/2019/06/06/visiting-kennedy-space-center-my-celebration-of-the-walk-on-the-moon/

https://zicharonot.com/2019/03/07/our-daughter-not-an-astronaut/

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