I vividly remember when the movie version of “Fiddler on The Roof” was released. It was the first Broadway show I had seen in person as a child. So seeing it again in the movie theater reminded me of the special trip into New York City with my parents and the delight I felt while listening to the songs and learning about Anatevka. One of my favorite scenes occurs in a tavern where the Polish and the Jewish citizens end up in riotous dance!
The tavern scene has so much more meaning to me now. I was with my maternal grandfather the first time he saw the movie. Grandpa was from a small town in Austria/Poland called Trzciana. When he watched the tavern scene, he turned to me and said, “My family had a tavern just like that. It looked just like that.” Anatevka/Tzrciana taverns were interchangeable in my grandfather’s eyes. He said the movie brought back memories of his childhood.
Grandpa did not often speak freely about his family. Stories came in bits and pieces of memories. But it was not something you asked about. It was something that he had to offer because Grandpa’s family all perished in the Shoah. His parents, his siblings, his aunts and uncles, his cousins, everyone who was in Europe died, except for three. (See blogs below.)
But that tavern memory has so much more meaning because now I know more about it thanks to the research of Izabela Sekulska who started the Mayn Shtetele Mielec Facebook group. Izabela has been helping me find out information about my family for about a year now. The documents she finds make the stories I was told by Grandpa come to life.
Izabela recently found a document from the Chamber of Commerce and Industry that brings the family tavern to life.
Chamber of Commerce and Industry document
My great grandfather Gimple Feuer applied to open a tavern on April 10, 1912, when my grandfather was just over 12 years old. My Grandpa did grow up with a tavern in his life. This document from the Chamber of Commerce and Industry states that the location was in Trzciana, Galicia, which was then part of Austria as Poland. Throughout his life Grandpa said he was Austrian as that part of Galicia became part of Poland after the war.
At my family’s tavern they sold beer, wine, other alcoholic beverages and tobacco according to this document. I knew my great grandfather had a farm that included a crop of grains and grain silos to store the grain. So having a tavern makes sense, he had the grain to brew the beer.
Grandpa told us stories about cleaning out grain silos and how one time he and his cousin became intoxicated on the fumes from the silo. They actually became sick and ran to a nearby stream/creek to drink the water and wash the fumes away. He said they almost drowned, they were so drunk.
As I remembered this story, I looked for a map of current day Trzciana online and saw where the Cichawka stream goes through the town.
Thanks to Izabela, I know that there were no street names in Tzrciana, the homes and buildings were just numbered during the time my grandfather lived there.. And the number of the tavern was 129.
On the map that I found online all the buildings are numbered. There is one numbered 129 close to the creek. Could this be when my great grandfather had his tavern? I am not sure, but it perhaps the numbers remain the same.
Now there are addresses and streets. So perhaps with this information we can one day find out exactly where the tavern was located in the town. Perhaps this address is where the family lived, and the tavern was located on their farmland?
Izabela has asked for help in finding out where this location is now in Trzciana in the Facebook group. That would make this amazing find so much more amazing. And it might be that the number 129 is in the same place. And the numbers around it are the places where the other members of my family lived before the war.
Knowing my great grandparents had a tavern, perhaps explains to me why there was actually a trial after the war concerning the murder of my great grandmother during the Shoah. Perhaps their standing in the community created lasting friendships that existed after the war and lead to people actually testifying about her death. (See blog below.)
No matter what I find about where the tavern actually stood in Trzciana, I do know that from now on whenever I see the story of Anatevka and see the tavern scene, I will think of my grandfather and his family that perished, but I will also remember how they lived.
These two pictures are from Google. The show the new house at 129.If you look closely at the other picture you see this building right next to it. It could be the home of my great grandparents or other relatives!!
While in Isarel, I finally renewed a family connection which started 50 years ago. When I was 20, I met two survivors of the Shoah. They were married to sisters before the war. The sisters perished in the Shoah, but the two men remained connected for the rest of their lives.
I have written about both of these men before, (Lieb) Zissel Feuer and Shalom Hollander. Both were distant cousins of my grandfather. But their wives were his first cousins. I wrote about meeting Zissel and Shalom and what happened to them during and after the war, and a bit about my contact with them in Israel between 1974-76. (See blogs below.). Over the years my perception of the two changed, as I learned more about their lives.
Now I have a different story to share, because I have met Shalom’s oldest son Chaim, as well as the great nephew of his first wife, who is also my third cousin, Jeff, and his daughter.
For me it was a meeting that completed a story. For them, I hope I was able to fill in stories about the family and answer question about the family before the war. As we shared our stories, I could see where my knowledge and theirs combined and differed. I spoke about meeting Zissel at the bakery in Tel Aviv across from the Shuk HaCarmel. Chaim smiled while I told my stories about meeting Zissel there each time I came to Tel Aviv. Chaim, of course, knew the bakery and even Zissel’s address. Although I had been at his apartment several times, I did not remember the address. But we had other shared memories.
I think when I talked about the bakery, Chaim knew then that I was really a relative. I really had met Zissel. I don’t think he thought I was lying , but he had never heard of me, yet there I was a family member from the USA, unknown to him. Also when I told him about meeting his father, how elegant he seemed. And Chaim agreed, his dad had that old world charm.
Chaim actually made me feel better about Zissel. I knew he did not have a family. Shalom was not related to him at all, once their wives died. Shalom. remarried. Zissel never did. But Chaim told me that Zissel was always part of Shalom’s family. He came to be with them for all the haggim, the holidays. That eased my heart. Really, I am tearing up even now. For me Zissel was such a sad soul. So to know he was not alone, helped.
We talked about the importance of what Ziseel and Shalom did after the war to help others from Mielec who survived and to keep the memory of those who were murdered. Shalom purchased the land where a mass burial of 800 Jews were buried and put up a fence and a marker. Both men also testified against those who were the murderers, as Zissel had done for the murderer of my great grandmother, his aunt by marriage. Our discussion filled in so many blanks for me.
Chaim and his wife gave me memoirs written by both Shaom and his second wife, Ita, about what happened during the war.
I in turn could tell them about those who made it to the United States before the war.
How Julius/Judah/Yidel Amsterdam, my grandfather’s uncle, came first. As other relatives came to the New York/New Jersey area, he gave them a choice. You can be a butcher or a baker. There was a cousin who was a butcher, and Uncle Yidel was a baker. My grandfather chose to be a baker. Chiam laughed as I told the story, because his uncle who went to the states became a butcher. I said he was probably helped by my great uncle Yidel as well.
With Jeff, I could talk about his great uncle Morris, who lived in Helena, Montana. My grandfather always stayed in touch with his first cousin. I knew one of this sons because when I moved to Kansas, they gave me Jack’s phone number. He lived in Denver. To my grandfather and his cousin Morris, this was close enough. We never actually met, but we spoke several times.
For me I have a feeling of completion. When I found out about these relatives, through the research of Izabela S. I knew I had to see them when I was in Israel visiting my daughter. They lived quite a distance. But my daughter said that this was my Mother’s Day gift. It was the one thing I really wanted to do. So we took the long drive from Holon to a small Kfar near Netanya.
Over the years of my research I have found out how the members of my family were murdered during the Shoah. I know how a small numbered survived. I know that they are not forgotten. I am not the only who keeps their memory alive within the family. And there are people like Izabela in Poland, who also work to keep the memory of the Jewish population alive.
I never thought I would ever want to go to Trzciana or Mielec. My grandfather never wanted to go back there after his family was murdered. But now I do want to go. I what to see where they lived. Where Shalom and Zissel created a Jewish community after the war. Where the Amsterdam group hid in the nearby forest. The town where my great grandmother was murdered. The mass grave where my great aunts are probably buried.
But most of all I am so glad that I found out what that Zissel and Shalom did after the war. I, as a young woman, saw both Zissel and Shalom as such sad people talking about Death. I did not hear the stories about what they did to give people a reason to LIVE after the war. And to create a place of memory for those murdered.
I now know that Shalom and his wife, who was also a survivor from Mielec, had four children, a girl who survived whom they adopted and three sons. Chaim and his wife have seven children, 40 grandchildren and 19 great grandchildren so far.
I know that Zissel was not alone. That Zissel and Shalom stayed connected throughout their lives. I also know that Zissel died in Holon. I think he might be buried there. So next time I am in Israel, I hope to find his grave and put place a rock of remembrance on his matzevot.
My husband loves to assign movies to holidays that impact us. For Fourth of July, we watched 1776; for Ground Hogs Day, we watch Ground Hogs Day; for Israel Independence, we watch Exodus; and for Yom HaShoah, we watch Schindler’s List.
I have known for several years now that one of my grandfather’s cousins, one of the very few who survived the Shoah, was on Schindler’s List and survived as a member of his work force. It made me think of this movie in a different light, because now one of those working and surviving was someone I once knew.
But this year, my view of the movie will change even more. For the first time, I now know that my grandfather’s cousin, Shalom, was one of the people who served as a pallbearer for Oscar Schindler at his funeral. And for the first time, I have found out that my distant cousin was one of at least 10 people from his community who were saved by Schindler.
(Many thanks to Izabela Sekulska and Mayn Shtetele Mielec for discovering this information.)
I had to wonder, did they know each other? There were about 5,000 Jewish souls who lived in the area of Mielec. Only 100-200 survived. Once they became part of the Schindler work force, of course they new each other. But did they work together to survive? Did they become part of this unusual group together?
I know of one other story like Schindler’s list. My good friend’s mother and grandmother survived the Shoah with about 100 other women who worked making clothes and shoes for the German army. The man who ran this factory saved them several times. Once keeping them at the factory even over night when there was typhus disease raging through the camp. A second time he actually went to the camp and getting his workers out from a transport to a death camp, saying he did not want to train new workers.
Did he do this because he was emotionally attached to his workers? Did he really work to save them? We will never know. But my friend’s mother and grandmother survived. I knew them as well. Their story can be found at the San Antonio’s Holocaust Memorial Museum.
So on this Yom HaShoah, I will have a small beacon of light thinking about my grandfather’s cousin, Shalom; my girlfriend’s mother, Anna, who were saved by their work in a factory. And I will have hope because people like Izabela in today’s Poland work to keep the Jewish cemeteries in good order and to find out what happened to the Jewish people who disappeared over 80 years ago.
At 70 years old, I envisioned that I would be sailing through my retirement years comfortable with my world. Enjoying my family, watching my country continue to flourish, seeing the United States and its reputation be strong in the world, as my husband and I continued to travel and enjoy visiting new places.
This is a far distant vison than the one my great grandmother faced 82 years ago, when in April 1943, she was murdered by the Germans at age 70 in Poland. It was the Thursday before Easter, and after her husband and four children had been murdered and her farm and property had been confiscated by the Germans.
My great grandmother is a bit different than the many unknown who were murdered during the Shoah, as there is a record of her last day taken during the trial held after the war for her murder. I know what she did, what she said, and who killed her. (See blog below.)
For fifty years I had been on a quest to find out what happened to my grandfather’s family. A quest that started after I spent my sophomore of college in Jerusalem. A year when I met many members of my family who survived the Shoah and ended up living in Eretz Israel, the land of Israel.
When I returned home, I was the child who said, I need to know. I sat with all of my grandparents to hear their stories. I wrote everything down. In the 1970s there was no internet, no easy way to discovered what happened. But I kept my papers and over the years when I met other members of my family I wrote down what they said. And slowly, slowly the stories came out.
In some instances, I found out history that perhaps I did not want to know. I learned about my father’s family who came to the USA in the 1870s. I learned of both tragedies and joys.
I learned about a great uncle who ended up in a mental institution, a great aunt who died from the Spanish flu, multiple children who died in their infancies; family menbers who did not speak to each other and a child who was raised by an aunt and did not know till she got engaged.
For my mother’s family, both of her parents came to the USA in the early 1920s, I learned about the hundreds of cousins, siblings, parents, all many of relatives that were murdered in the Shoah, as well as ones who had been saved.
I learned about relatives who were on Schindler’s List. Those who were saved by the Kinder Transport and ended up in England. A cousin who survived the Kelce Pogrom. Others who hid in the forests near their home town and formed a group like the one in the movie, “Defiance,” but these were my family.
I learned about a relative who converted to Catholicism before the war, but during the war she tried to save her sibling and her children. She was not successful. Their bodies were found buried in a field when construction was being done about three years ago. The driver of the vehicle was the grandson of the relative who converted, so Catholic himself. He had dug up the bodies of his own dead Jewish great aunt and her family. Can you imagine the irony of this?
I learned that owning property or having money does not save you. What might save you is luck, fortitude, or relatives who might have a chance to get your out. But you also had to make your own luck. You had to want to survive.
My great grandmother finally gave up. Everyone was dead, she had been hiding in the forest with others for a while. But then she was done. It was too much sorrow. Too much loss.
In this world with the chaos and uncertainty surrounding the economy; the round up of immigrants, even those with legal residences; the job losses; the attacks on education; the attacks on the rights of LGBTQ communities; the rise in anti-Semitism and hatred toward Israels and Jews, I have had to re-evaluate.
Could our property be confiscated? Could our savings be stolen? Could people in the USA be forced to hide in the woods to stay safe? Will people just give up?
Am I really so different from my great grandmother whom I am named after? Should I consider my own exit strategy? Believe me my mind often mulls over the options.
But it is the Tuesday before Pesach and Easter. It is two days before the 82nd anniversary of my great grandmother’s murder by the German mayor of Czermin, Jukub Hesler.
So I am pondering and considering and hoping that our Constitution is strong enough. That our courts are strong enough. That our elected politicians remember who they vow allegiance to: The CONSTITUTION of the United States of America. And who they serve, the people of their states and districts.
I wish everyone a Zissel Pesach, a happy Pesach. And I wish all who celebrate Easter a happy Easter. And I wish to everyone throughout the countries of the Earth a peaceful and joyful 2025.
On March 9, it will be the 83rd anniversary of the deportation and mass murder of the Jews of Mielec. The end of the 5000 Jews who lived in the city of Mielec and its surrounding villages, 50 percent of the total population of the area. The home to my grandfather and his family. His father, mother, brothers and sisters were among the Jews were marched out of the town. Some were killed along the way and buried in a mass grave, some sent to death camps where they were murdered. My great grandmother somehow escaped this but died months later, murdered by a German, turned in by her old neighbors. (See blogs below.)
My Great GrandfatherMurdered, but not forgotten. Both photos by Izabela Sekulska.
Thanks to the amazing Izabela Sekulska, my family members are now remembered. Since March 9, 2020, a group of Polish people from Mielec remember the deportation of the Jews of Mielec. They will gather once again at the mass grave, read out the names of 105 more people who they now know. So far they have made stones for 1000 Jewish residents who were murdered in the Shoah. Included in this list are eight of my relatives. Gimple Feuer, Chava Amsterdam Feuer, Taube Amsterdam Feuer, Nachum Amsterdam Feuer, Shimon Amsterdam Feuer, Ceia/Tzilia Amsterdam Feuer, as well as Natan Amsterdam and Tauba and Marcus Amsterdam. For each a stone has been painted and will be left on the mass grave. You can learn more about their work on the Facebook Group, Mayn Shtelele Mielec.
I thank those who work to keep their memories alive in Poland. Who do not forget the mass graves of Jews still buried and unknown. In my heart I will be there on March 9 and I remember those who died due to hatred in the past. Now I have a date to say Kaddish for my family.
I will think about those still hostages in Gaza, also murdered and tortured and held against their will while the world is mainly silent. And I will think how once again the Red Cross and the humanitarian agencies did nothing to save them. Just as they did basically nothing during the Shoah.
I will think about the UN, whose voice was silent during the brutal rape and murders of Israelis and others who were caught in in the Hamas murder spree. Who voice was silent for 18 months toward Jewish hostages and Israel, but not silent in still supporting Hamas. I will think about the UN who recently cut off all aid to Yemen after the Houthis took over 20 UN workers hostage. But who did not cut off aid to Hamas after their violent attacks. Double standards for sure.
I will think about college students and professors who turned in support for Hamas and tormented and attacked Jewish students, faculty and administrators. And we now know that Hamas was infiltrating these groups and had a hand in the protests. And I will think about the university administrators who said the words “kill all Jews” had to be taken into context before they could say this was wrong. I am glad that now those who are violent and threatening are beginning to realize this is not free speech and are expelled from their universities. I have nothing against a civil exchange of ideas, but the violence and threats are not that.
I will think about the current administration and its two-sided ideology. On one hand saying it is working to end anti-Semitism, but on the other hand getting rid of DEI initiatives that hurt minorities and the attacks on Hispanic members of our communities using the threats of ICE to scare and threaten them. As well as their attacks and efforts to silence the LGBTQ+ community, just as the Nazis also tortured and murdered those who were homosexual.
I will think about the last two years, the present and the future. I will think about the fact that my husband told me next time I visited our daughter in Israel I should look into getting Israeli citizenship. Is America ever going to be great again for the Jewish citizens? I am not sure. I know many think that the current president supports the Jews. But I see something totally different. A support for Israel because it fits his needs now, while at the same time supporting those who would make the USA a nation with against those of different religions and ideologies.
But I will also think about the helpers. Those in Poland who remember what happened and are trying to make a change. Those in the USA who speak out against baseless hatred. And I will try to have hope that this insidious evil that seems to have arisen will soon slither back in to the underworld where it belongs.
I have six letters written from March 1931 to !932 to my grandmother from her cousin, Abram. I don’t have her letters, only what he wrote to her. We found them in a cedar cigar box with some other items that she obviously thought were important treasures.
I have had the first three letters translated by members of Tracing the Tribe and the Jewish Genealogy Portal pages on Facebook. Now I am trying to decide if I should continue in my quest to see what the letters say, because I am realizing that my grandmother had another ‘love’ besides my grandfather.
The letters were written just before and during the six months that my grandmother was in Europe with my mother and uncle while she underwent treatments at the spa/spring waters of Kalsbad. They were written in the town of Boleslawiec, where my grandmother grew up.
The first letter
In my mind the first letter is a bit obnoxious. Her male cousin, Abram, is amazed that my grandmother can still write so well in Polish. He writes, “I am completely fascinated by your intelligence, I would never have thought you would still be writing in Polish so proficiently.”
My first thought was UGH. But then I remember that my grandmother left Poland when she was 16 in 1922. So perhaps it could happen that nine years later her language skills would fade. But still!
He asks how her husband and children are doing. Whether she is getting letters from them. Hoping she was doing well. Also telling her how happy they are that she is going to visit.
“I miss you. Please tell me everything that is happening with you and let me know when you’re planning to visit because I am waiting impatiently for this happy moment to see you well and with your dear children.
“You have no idea how your beloved father waits for the mailman with unlimited patience every day two hours before his shift starts. And when he receives a letter from you he is so overwhelmed with joy he occasionally loses his ability to read!”
Can you imagine not seeing your daughter for nine years, perhaps thinking when she left that he would never see her again. To a degree, I understand. For over two and a half years, during Covid, I did not see my daughter who lives in Israel. At least we could Facetime. When she finally did come to the USA, she and I hugged and cried for a long time at the airport.
He ends this first letter:
“I am finishing this letter by wishing you all the best, whatever you may desire!
Best regards from your kind-hearted cousin, Abram and the entire family.”
The second letter was written from Boleslawiec pm June 23, 1931. This letter was written after she arrived in Europe, perhaps at the spa. She had had a difficult journey from the USA and in fact almost died. She was ill with kidney disease as a result of eclampsia.
He writes: “That you did not have a pleasant journey did not bring me joy. However, the following bright days should give you the opportunity to enjoy the good and clear air as well as admission for immediate treatment. I wish you a speedy recovery so that you can return to us completely healthy.”
Once again, he mentions how eagerly they are all awaiting her arrival in Boleslawiec. He tells her that he visited with his beloved fiancée and told her how impressed he was with my grandmother because she was so intelligent. That she also wished my grandmother a speedy recovery. (I just have to say that my grandmother was brilliant. Her brain was like a trap.). He ends this letter wishing her warm regards and good luck. Abram.
It is in the third letter, dated July 28, 1931, from Boleslawiec, that the tone begins to change. And I began to wonder if I should have the other letters translated.
He starts by thanking her for this letter, but admonishes her because the last correspondence was just a note card without too much information.
“I expected a more detailed description of your events, and I felt quite offended by your silence and short note. I still admire your intelligence and wisdom, humor and quick
wit which always digs me out of the hole that I entered by writing such a letter to you… Otherwise, I expect a terrible end for myself, but I trust that in the future you will grant me with your words, so precious to me, more generously.”
He is a bit pompous and impressed with himself. But I guess I have to think about the times, 1930s, and the male dominance of the time period, especially among the orthodox. But my grandmother was a bit different. Her Dad was a scholar/cheder teacher. And he had all his children learn to read and write in Hebrew, Yiddish and Polish. My grandmother also knew how to read and write in German before she came to the USA where she learned English. Amazing for someone whose formal education ended when she was still a teen.
He then writes: “I received your funny and humorous letter, and I thank you so much for all the giggles and fun that it provided and for setting a clear timeline for sending a more serious letter to you… I will grant that having received your letter I should have changed the subject of my writing, but you must forgive me because my mom is unwell and under these circumstances I did not have the mood for jokes nor time to write a different letter and I do not want to stall and stop you from sending an answer to my writing.”
But now comes the part that really got my attention and changed the total impression about what might have really be going on. You see she had two cousins named Abram. I am not sure which one this is. Buy I have written about one in earlier blogs. (See below.)
“My dear cousin, I am letting you know that Abram visited us yesterday, we took a long walk in the evening, and he was telling us all about your visit to him and your previous relationship. He was pouring his heart out which, as you know, is quite unlike him, because typically he is reserved and introverted. Still he was confessing to me like a broken record to put some ease to his own suffering. He also knew what was said about him… He really wanted me to share with him what your true opinion about him is. I deflected his questions about you immediately.”
“I am sending this letter with best regards, your sincere cousin, Abram.
Best regards from my parents and sister as well.”
WOW!. I think the Abram who is in love with her is the cousin in Germany. She probably got to see him when she went to take mineral water treatments. I have other items with his name in them. And I assume that they had an unrequited young love before she went to the United States.
This really touched my heart, but also made me think that perhaps future letters spoke more about the second Abram. And did I really want to know more?
But it also made me think that perhaps one reason that she went to the USA when she was 16 was the end of the relationship with the second Abram. Did he break off with her, did she break off with him. Did the family decide that this was not a good match? I know in those days first cousins did marry. So many questions that I might never know the answers to.
I did put the fourth letter up on Tracing the Tribe to see if someone would translate it. But even though it has been up for a month, there has been no translation. In my mind, I have thought pehaps it is for the best. But another part of me wants to know what the other three letters reveal. I am having an internal debate whether to repost the fourth letter.
In any case thank you to Aleksandra Leonczyk and Roman Matz, who did the translations.
I am almost 70 years old. My Hebrew name is Chava. As I say this to myself, I shiver sometimes. I am the only Chava in my family. It should not be that way. My grandfather’s mother was Chava. She had five children and should have had many grandchildren. At least one girl in each family would have been named Chava.
In the family there were multiple people named Nissan, Moshe, Mordechai, Gital, Cerla, Gimple, Chava. As the next generation goes on, there should be multiples of these names as well. But there are not. There is one Nissan, my son, who is actually named Nissan Mordechai. There is one Gimple, my cousin, who passed away and now his grandson has that name. There are no Cerla or Gital. There are no Shimon or Nuta.
Why aren’t there multitude of cousins with these names? Because they were ALL murdered in the Shoah. There is no one to carry on these names. But we still must remember them.
My great grandmother Chava was 70 when she was murdered by the Nazis. As the world is so crazy with Jew Hatred. As I am turning 70. As my name is also Chava. Should I be afraid? As I read in detail from witnesses about what happened to my great grandmother on the day she died. Should I worry about the hate in the world around me? Could it happen again?
A few years ago, I wrote about the murder of my great grandmother, Chava. I have a book called “The Holocaust and European Societies” that talks about her murder. (See blog below.). The death of my great grandmother is discussed in this book. When I found it, I was astonished. I agonized. What was she thinking as they took her to be killed? Now I know. Is it good that I know? I am really not sure.
When I first started meeting with Izabela S. online, I had no idea how much she would be able to find out. Now, through the work of history profession named, Tomek, who has investigated the death of my great grandmother, I have the testimony of first hand witnesses. I can see in my mind what happened. I can feel her suffering. I thought, should I share this? Should it end with me? Isn’t it enough that I know?
But then I again think about what is happening in the world today, and I think not. I think everyone needs to know what happened to my great grandmother. No one should be able to say, this could never happen. Because it has and it did.
The next question I have to ask myself is, “When Do I Give Up.” That is a question I know my great grandmother faced. Her husband was dead, her children were gone, probably dead. So many of her relatives murdered all around her. The one child she knew was alive, my grandfather and his family, was so far away. Safe, but she would never see him again. And if she lived, would that reunion ever happen.
Before I start, Izabela asked that I not name the Polish people who are mentioned in the testimonies. So I will not name them except for the one I have named before.
This is what happened on the day my great grandmother Chava was murdered from testimony from a trial held in Poland after the war.
The first witness is my relative Zissel Feuer, who has played a part in my families Shoah story for years, because he did survive. Zissel was hiding in the forest of Trzciana.
“I would like to mention that a few days before Goldklang was shot, while I was in the barn of a farmer in Trzciana near the forest, I saw through a crack how Josef S. from Trzciana, together with two other people, were leading Chava Feuer, my aunt; then I heard from someone that Jozef S. was supposed to take Chava Feuer to the village head in Trzciana. The village leader in Trzciana was supposed to give a signal. Then Chava Feuer wsa taken to the German colony of Czermin and handed over to the Germans, who shot Chava.
(Just so his testimony makes sense, A few days later, Zissel heard shots and the sounds of pain, he went to look and saw a man named Jakub Goldklang. He told him that he had given all his property to a Polish man who was supposed to give him food, but instead another man, Josef Sypek, came and shot him. (He is mentioned in the book as well.)
Zissel realized he could not help Jakub so we went back into hiding. )
There is testimony that another man who saw the arrival of my great grandmother to the village head, who knew her and called her by the honorific, Gimplowa (Gimple’s wife).
“Gimplowa,” he said. “Why are you wandering around? Why can’t you hide somewhere in the forest?”
They knew there were Jews hiding in the forests around Trzciana. Some of the Polish people were providing them food, even though it could lead to their deaths. Others were turning them in. This man seems be upset that she is not hiding.
But in reality, it is her answer that breaks my heart. My grandparents always said that she was a very strong-willed person. That I reminded them of her because I don’t back down and I say what I think needs to be said. For me, Chava/Gimplowa’s answer is devastating.
“I don’t care anymore,” she said. “I have already decided on everything and I can’t stand it any longer.”
Where is the line that keeps a person going; that says keep living against that line that is defeated? When do you reach it? It was already April 1943 close to Easter and Passover. She had been hiding for almost two years. I don’t fault her, I feel her pain, but my heart says, ‘If only you had waited a bit longer.’
Another witness, a woman who recognized Gimplowa, saw her being taking away by some men she did not recognize. My great grandmother called out to her by name. and told her: “Stay with G-d.” Can you imagine that you are being taking to your death and you see someone you know, perhaps a friend, and you tell them “Stay with God”. The woman does not answer. She is probably afraid also of the men she does not recognize.
Another witness states “it happened on Maundy Thursday, at 3 pm in 1944. (This is the story that was in the book I mentioned earlier.) Josef S.’s wife called a group of neighbors together and said there was a Jewish woman, Gimplowa, in her house and she did not want to leave. She said, ‘Do whatever you want with me.’ “
Josef’s wife told the villages to do whatever we wanted, to kill her or to take her somewhere, because if the Germans found out and burned the village, she did not want anyone to blame her for supporting the Jews. “So we decided to take her by foot to the village head.”
The witness continued: The village head also did not want any responsibility for her. So he told them to take her to the German colony in Czermin. She did not want to go there, so she said she was old. So they got wagons to take her to the colony and hand her over to the German’s mayor Jukub Hesler. What he did with her, I don’t know, because I didn’t see it with my own eyes.”
He did not know for sure, but he knew. The witness was asked:
Q: Were you aware that you were leading this Jewish woman to her death?
A: Yes, we were aware of it, but we didn’t want to answer to it. So we brought it to the Germans so they could do whatever they wanted.
I know that fear overcomes kindness. But this is just too much for my heart and soul. It’s not our problem, let the Germans handle it. Even though we know they will kill her.
And one last witness to the last years of my great grandmother’s life.
During the German occupation, the Jewish woman Gimplowa was hiding with other neighbors. (So at first they did help her.) But on Good Friday, they were all talking because the Germans had set fire to the town of Bodborz because they believed that the people were hiding Jews there. So a neighbor who was drunk, made the first move to say we must take the woman who was hiding in my house to the village elder. We all supported this motion. And she was taken to the village elder.
How do you decide what is evil. My great grandmother was being hidden and helped through Easter of 1943. But now the Germans were burning villages where they found Jews hiding. So was it wrong of them to turn Chava over to the Germans? I, of course, think so. Why couldn’t they just send her out with some food to the forests?
But my great grandmother said she did not want to leave. I don’t think she wanted to hide in the forest any longer. She was done. She was tired. In my work as a spiritual care volunteer, I have seen what it means when a person tells me that they are very tired. When they are tired of living. When they want it to end.
My great grandmother wanted it to end. She was not in physical pain, but I am sure she was in emotional pain. The only thing I can think and hope is that the Germans shot her in the head and she died quickly.
I have to consider what she was thinking on the way to her death. Was she thinking about all who died in the past three years? Was she thinking about her son and grandchildren in America who she knew would survive. Did that give her a glimmer of joy. She had cared for my mom and my uncle for six months in 1931-32. Perhaps that memory of happy grandchildren helped her on her way to die.
It would be nice to know where she is buried. But I am sure she is in a mass grave somewhere near the town of Mielec or Trzciana. Or perhaps not. I will never know.
Baruch dayan HaEmet. May her name and memory be forever a blessing. May her murder by the hands of those who feared and the Nazis bring some goodness into the world. I carry her memory and name with me for all my life. I hope that as I turn 70, the world veers away from its direction of Jew hatred, or any hatred, and realize we are all one.
(The dates are sometimes a bit off as to when events occurred. There are several different dates for when Chava died. But now we know it was 1943 because it happened after the burning of a certain village.)
I have found out so much about what happened to my family in Trzciana and Mielec. The revelations are sometimes difficult to understand. But at least we now know.
But within all that we do know, there is a mystery of a grave containing two women, sisters and the son of one of them. (See blog below, An Unexpected Grave Mystery.). In my talks with Izabela, a Polish woman who has helped in my search, I found out that she is also aware of this grave and the unsolved mystery of exactly who are related to these two women and boy. We have discussed it several times. We think that I have the answer to the mystery. But I want to be sure.
Morris’ rocking chair. Now owned by my brother.
When I was a child, I knew my grandfather’s cousin Morris Brenner. He and his wife owned a newsstand/candy store in Jersey City. He was a diabetic and had both of his legs amputated. So he always sat in a rocking chair and was the cashier, while his wife, (we think her name was Anna), would walk around the store and help people.
My brother and I remember going to visit several times with our parents, or with our Mom and grandparents, or perhaps with just our grandparents. My sister doesn’t remember because she is so much younger. I am the last one alive to have seen him in my family. My Mom and I visited him in a nursing home near Bayonne, New Jersey. I detail that visit in a blog. (Childhood Events Definitely Influence My Adult Choices.)
His wife died before him, and since he had no legs, he had to move to skilled nursing. He and his wife did not have children. I believe I remember that they were first cousins so decided not to have children.
Why is this important? Because there is belief that the women buried in the grave had a brother who moved to the United States before the war, named Morris Brenner. Is this the right Morris Brenner? I wish I knew because it would bring closure to this mystery.
I have been searching the Ancestry files for days. I have found a number of Morris Brenners. But not a single one is listed as running a candy store. I have searched in Jersey City and Linden, New Jersey. My grandfather owned a bakery in Linden for a while, so I thought maybe there. And there is a Morris Feuer there, but he was married with children and did not own a candy store.
My frustration is strong. I thought it was an easy find compared to finding what happened in Europe. I thought how many men with the name Morris Feuer could there be? I thought the amputation and the knowledge of the nursing home would help. I also figured he died in the late 1960s. But I am not skilled enough with Ancestry to find him.
My Morris Brenner was probably born in the late 1890s in the Mielec/Trzciana area of what was then Austria, now Poland. He was married. His wife’s name might have been Anna. They had a candy store/news stand in New Jersey. They might have lived in the same building as the store, because I remember going into the back of the store through a door to a kitchen. Perhaps Jersey City, perhaps Linden, Perhaps Newark? At the end of his life, he lived in a skilled nursing facility/nursing home near Bayonne. Perhaps it was one for Jewish people? He did have nieces and nephews. I do not know if they were from his family or his wife’s. I know my grandparents began to visit him after my one visit. I know that my family inherited the rocking chair, my brother owns it. I know he died in the late 1960s perhaps early 1970s.
I even looked for people named Nissan Brenner, because by grandfather had a cousin in the USA by that name as well.
I do admit that my brother and I could have distorted memories. We were young when we knew him. I think I was about 10-12 years old the last time I saw him. That would be 1965-67. I believe he died within a year or so of that visit. But I do not know for sure. I remember when he died, but I don’t remember exact dates that far back.
I am asking for help from those of you who are excellent at research. Members of Tracing the Tribe have helped me in the past. Could you please help me find my Morris Brenner! Thank you!
In the last week I have been in contact with Izabela S., who lives in Tarnow, Poland, which is close to both Mielec and Trzciana, where my family lived and where they were murdered in the Shoah. Izabela has been working for the past three years to clean up the Jewish Cemetery and get information about the places where the Jewish residents were murdered and put up plaques to commemorate them in the Mielic area. She also writes a blog and has a Facebook page to write and remember the Jewish residents who were murdered in the Shoah. Before the war, of the 10,000 residents in Mielec, 5,000 were Jewish. After the war, maybe 200 survived!
(See video about Izabela below.)
My quest to find my grandfather’s family started in the late 1970s after I spent time in Israel and met those who survived. My grandpa lost his entire family in the Shoah, except for a few cousins, and except for his mother, he never knew how his father and siblings died. I told him that I would find out. It has taken almost 50 years, but I never gave up! Over the years I have written many blogs about them. (Some are linked below.). But I could not find out about three of his siblings. Now I know more.
But then there is the question? When you find these things out, do you really want to know? And are some ways of dying better than other ways. In the towns my family came from people were burned alive in the synagogue and mikve, starved to death or died of disease in the Lodz Ghetto, gassed at Belzec, shot at a mass grave. Which is worse?
I guess I decided that being shot is the kindest way to die among those options. A distant cousin of mine (Her great grandfather and my grandfather were second cousins, l believe), thought her great great grandparents were burned alive in the synagogue. She now knows, thanks to Izabela, that they were shot. And in a weird way it is better. I think.
My family came from the small town of Trzciana. Before the war there were about 1000 people. The town was known for its windmills. I can imagine that it was lovely. Izabela wrote about it this way:
“Jewish families lived in Trzciana: the Amsterdams, the Hollanders, the Brenners, and the Feuers. They were closely related to each other. In Next is the night: The fate of Jews in selected counties of occupied Poland, vol. II Tomasz Frydel writes that every Sabbath, members of the Amsterdam family from the village of Trzciana went to the synagogue in Czermin, where more Jews lived among the German colonists. This family was widely respected, its members gave grants to the Roman Catholic parish and distributed potatoes and beets to local peasants.” This was my family.
I knew already how my great grandmother, Chava, died. (See blog below.) But I now know my grandfather was not killed in Belzec with his son, Shimon. Instead he was murdered on March 9, 1942 with many others of his family during a round up/deportation and slaughter of Jews. He was shot in Cieszanow. I now know that their daughter, Tova, was also in that roundup. But was not killed then. So probably died in one of the camps. I know Jews from Meilec went to four camps, Belzec, Sobibor, Treblinka and Majdanek.
I now know that outside of the town there is a mass grave of 800 Jews. Many of them my relatives. I know about one for a fact. Natan Feuer ran. He was able to get about 50 yards when the Nazis shot him and dragged him back to the pit where they threw him in still alive. And he perished. But Natan story really hits home as my grandfather’s brother was named Nueter/Natan. So is this him? I will never know.
I believe that my grandfather’s cousin, Morris Brenner, who owned a candy store in Linden, NJ, and whom I wrote about before, (See blog below.), had two sisters and a nephew who are buried in the Jewish cemetery on Traugutta Street: Cerla Kleinman nee Brenner, her son David, and sister, Sara Brenner. His mother, Gital, died in 1941, before the mass murder of the Jews. I have to admit that gives me a bit of joy. It is nice that someone died a natural death and wasn’t murdered because she was Jewish.
I had heard of the brothers Tuvia, Zus, and Asael Bielski, from the book and the movie Defiance. I now know that there was also the Amsterdam Brothers, Johanan and Abraham, who led a group in the forest near Bulcza Mielka called The Amsterdam Group. According to Izabela, it was a large group of Jews who hid and the core of this group were families from Trzciana. There were 84 Jews in Trzciana before the war, all related to me. The two brothers, who had been in the Polish Army before the war, commanded the group. They built a series shelters and hideouts where they survived the winter of 1943. They hid in bunkers and acquired weapons from the peasants as well as gaining them in battles with the police and Germans. They divided into small groups to keep more people safe.
A survivor named Ryvka Schenker wrote about the conditions in the hidden camp:
“It was very cold back then, the snow fell, You had to be very careful – every step was known. How they went out to the country Shopping, they made their feet like the birds they have. It was made of wood, They made the same traces as birds walked. No one could have Imagine there are people in the middle of the forest. We sat all day very long calmly, one read a lot, others wrote diaries, some embolden images, Everyone made it through that day. We always lived the hope that It will be after the war soon, but it was just a dream. There were severe frosts, nobody had The right clothes, let’s get out of the field little. The men were more Resilient. We had a lot of water because it froze.”
I am Amazed! And feel proud that my family tried to survive in every way that they could.
There is so much information it will take me a while to unravel all of the connections and organize in my mind so that I can write about this family that was almost wiped out. My family. But I felt it was important to write this down when the emotion of discovery was still strong. Baruch Dayan HaEmet. May their memories live through these remembrance and that we never forget those who have been murdered by hate and evil.
With the days quickly leading up to Tisha B’Av, I cannot get the destruction of my grandparent’s families out of my mind. After writing about Boleslawiec and its small Jewish community, I feel it is important to write about a town that lies six miles away. The town where my great grandmother Sarah Manes grew up: Viroshov/Wieruszow.
When I realized there were so few Jewish citizens of Boleslawiec, I had to reconsider some of the stories my Grandma told me about growing up. She always talked about all her cousins and spending time with them. Then I remembered, she told me about spending time with her grandmother Klindell Manes, and that is where she saw her cousins, in the town of Viroshov. It took me a while to figure out that Viroshov, was Yiddish for Wieruszow.
All those stories she told me were about her Manes cousins. Those were the cousins I had met in Israel so long ago. (See blogs below.)
I was right. And once again I am forced to forgive my 20-year-old self for not paying enough attention. For not wanting to hear the horrible stories. For tuning out, while trying to escape from the seemingly endless number of survivors who insisted on seeing Grandma during our month-long stay in Israel in 1976.
I have written about several of these survivors and what I discovered. (See blog below.). And I even wrote about my Grandma’s cousin Dora before. But now I need to revisit Dora and tell more of her story.
I now understand why her daughter was so protective of her when she called to set up a meeting with my Grandma. I now have rachmanes, in my mature years, that I did not have as much in my youth. I tried to be as courteous as possible, but I truly did not understand the undercurrents of everything that occurred.
Grandma had survived the war by being in the USA. She had saved her father and her sister by bringing them out of Europe in 1936. In fact, their family did not know that my great aunt had escaped, and had even added her to the Yitzkor book of the town!
My grandmother and her children were safe. She did not need to remake her life. But Dora and so many others had had a different reality. I now know Dora’s reality. And I feel, once again, the burden of knowing someone, but not really understanding and knowing what happened.
Dora was married before the war, in 1924, a few months before my grandparents. She and her husband survived. But her mother, who was my great grandmother’s sister, Mascha, did not survive. Her father, Eliazer, did not survive. Her brother, Wolf, and her sister Yocheved, did not survive. In all 13 people with the last name Manes, and more related to the family, from Wieruszow were murdered.
Before the war, in 1921, there were 2300 Jews in the community of Wieruszow, making up 36 percent of the population. In 1939, before the Nazis invaded there were 2400. That all changed. The Jewish community was slowly decimated. By 1940 there were 1740 Jews. In September 1941 a ghetto was opened where 1200 Jews were imprisoned. Then between August 11 and 23 the ghetto was ‘liquidated.’ I hate that word. Just say the Jews were killed and moved to Concentration Camps. This time, Chelmo. But before they were taken, the old and sick were shot.
In April 21, 1942, there was a mass murder of Jews and a mass grave for 86 people was dug in the Jewish cemetery. But, of course, that did not survive because the Nazis also had to wipe out cemeteries to destroy the memories. The tombstones were used for pavers. The cemetery was dismantled. But 100 tombstones still remain. I doubt I would find my great great grandparents and great grandparents gravesites.
However, that mass grave gave me another clue to my family. A stone was laid on the mass grave by a man with the last name Majerowicz. That sent a shock through me as well. Because in Israel, I also knew a man with the last name Majerowicz. He was also my Grandma’s first cousin. But he was a bit different. I wrote about him because his sister was Grandma’s first cousin and best friend. His mother and my grandmother’s mother were sisters.
In all there were 135 names in the Yad VaShem database with the last name Majerowicz, or some similar spelling that perished in Viroshov/Wieruszow. I noticed that many were duplicates, so perhaps only 80 people were listed. And although not all were related to me, once again I will claim them as being related. Because I feel I must.
Now there are over 8600 people live in Wieruszow. In a town that was once 36 percent Jewish, there are no Jews. The cemetery is destroyed. The original mikveh, where many Jews were murdered by the Nazis is gone. There is just a list, a yitzkor book and some memories.
Once again thank you to Virtual Shetl, the Yad Vashem Database, Jewish Gen, and the Viroshov Yitzkor book.
zicharonot 