The Six Letters From Cousin Abram

15 Dec

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.

The Cigar Box: A New Family History Adventure Begins
My Grandmother’s Mysterious Black Notebook
The Mysterious Kalsbad Photos: Who Are They?
The Mystery of Abraham Prantki
Amazing What Information Two Photos Can Provide

Tags: , , , ,

The End Of Our Kauneonga Lake, Catskills Era

25 Nov

October was a bittersweet month for my siblings and me.  We sold our family home in Kauneonga Lake.  It has been in our family since 1962.  Since the late 1920s, my family has had a summer home in the Catskills of New York.  It was not an easy decision.

My grandparents first started visiting the Catskills before my mother was born in 1929.  They wanted a place away from the city, a place that would remind them of the home they left.  Grandpa from Trzciana, Mielic, Austria (now Poland); and Grandma from her home in Bolesslawiec and Viroshov in Poalnd.  Grandpa told me once, that when he was in the Catskills he could think of his family, who perished in the Shoah, and remember happy times.

I don’t know the exact year that they purchase their first place in Kauneonga Lake.  But by the 1930s they had a summer home and owned several acres of land directly across from Kauneonga Lake.  Soon they started building a small bungalow colony where they would rent bungalows out up into the late 1970s.  Eventually they sold off the bungalows individually along a road that is named after them.

Among the people who purchased the property were my two first cousins from the other side of my family.  Thus, although, my siblings and I no longer own any of the property.  We have family members who still remember the bungalows and are living on the property. Our cousins spent every summer in the Catskills with us, our parents, our grandparents, our aunts and uncles and many people who became more like family than just summer friends.

My grandparents had friends among the other colony owner and locals. We knew the plumber, the egg farmer, the trash man, the electrician and many of the business owners.  In the 1960s my grandparents decided that they wanted an all-year house in the Catskills.  They purchase a house on four acres that also had a bungalow.   The house had been divided into four little apartments. My grandparents began the process of making it one home again.  Enlarging the kitchen.  Added on a one-bedroom apartment.  Fixing the attic apartment and turning it into two bedrooms and a bathroom. They built a garage since they planned to stay there in the winters as well.

The stone room
The fireplace
Screened in porch

The best thing they did, in my mind, was creating the room that eventually became known as the stone room.  It was originally an outdoor patio that connected the house and the garage. But in winter it was so cold, that they closed in the two walls and put on a roof.  But kept the stone patio floor. The only thing they did that I hated, was removing the little eating nook that had a table and two benches. I loved sitting there. But it disappeared in the renovations and became part of a real dining room. Among the best permanent parts of the house is the wonderful stone fireplace and stone steps.

The most important thing they fixed was the furnace. When they first purchase the house, it had a coal burning stove and an open fire furnace.    You could see the fire from the furnace through a grill in the floor.  Soon that was replaced with a regulation furnace.  The coal burning stove was lovely. They did not get rid of it.  It was put in the basement where my grandfather used it to bake.

Everyone at the bungalow colony and in our family called it the Big House.  My grandparents moved in and started renting their bungalow at the colony, and eventually we moved up to the bungalow behind the Big House.  Leaving the comfort of the bungalow colony, but enjoying more space.

It was in this house that I learned to braid challah from my grandfather.  He had moved some of his bakery supplies from his New Jersey bakery there.  He baked for us and for the shul.  I loved watching his technique. He never measured anything with a measuring cup.  He would just put it up in his hand, shake it a bit and put it in the mixer. He taught he how to braid challah with one braid or with two. He showed me how to make a round challah for the holidays.  But I never learned his recipes. Mom and I tried to write them down, but they weren’t the same when baked.

It was in this house that we watched the walk on the moon in July 1969.  It was in this house that we watched the endless line of people walking up West Shore Road to Woodstock.  From our house it was an additional two miles up and down hills to get to the site of the concert.  We could feel the ground vibrate and hear the music and the announcements from our home.

Here we would lie on a blanket in the grass and watch the meteorite showers and sometimes see a flash of the aurora borealis, we would find the constellations. On rainy days it is where my friend and I would read Nancy Drew books. Our parents arranged to buy different ones in the series so we could switch when we finished. It was here that my grandfather and dad had a giant vegetable garden, and we all learned how to grow and harvest vegetables.

We would see deer, bears, woodchucks, rabbits, skunks and other forest creatures. 

We played cards and mah jong, ate meals and made memories with my grandparents, parents, relatives and friends.  The house was our summer world. And all year long we waited impatiently to return.

It was in our house that we sat shiva for my grandmother. She died in August, when all the summer people and the locals were there.  I won’t forget it. The plumber, Ab, and my grandfather, Nathan, were best buddies.  So great that when my grandmother passed away, it was Ab who took me to the hospital to sign papers and identify my grandma in death. My grandpa and my mom stayed at our house.  I will never forget the ride there and the ride back.

 It was members of the Catskills congregation of Beth El that prepared the house for the shiva after the funeral.  And that the locals and summer people came to tell stories and remember her, along with our family and the summer renters.  My grandparents, and my parents and us, belonged to the Congregation Beth-El, where my grandfather was a Cohen, so went to services often.  As a retired baker he often made goodies for after service kiddushim.  And I know there is a window that they sponsored. I think it is in the balcony area. We always went to the shul in Kauneonga/White Lake for the high holidays.

My grandfather died eight years later. It was November, so we sat shiva in New Jersey.  It was 1989.  He had over 60 years enjoying the Catskills.

After my grandparents died, my parents became the owners of the house. They remodeled the kitchen, and they added a screened-in porch.  They enlarged the master bathroom and added an on-suite bathroom.  Every wall they opened they had to update the electric from knob and tube and replace the plumbing.

It was this house that eventually we would bring our children for summer visits.  And down at the lake we had a dock where my dad had a ponton boat. My children loved their yearly two-week visit to New York and New Jersey. They got to see so many cousins and go out in the boat and run around outside in the rain.

But since my parents died nine months apart in 2010 and 2011, we have not used the house the way it should be used.  One of my nephews did live there for two years during Covid. Then it did have some love and attention. But for most of the time, it was used once or twice a summer for a long weekend.  It was not getting the attention or love it needed.

Our Dock spot.

Two years ago, we made the decision. The house needed to go to a family who would actually use it.  With our lake frontage, it was the perfect home for someone who liked boating.  This year we put it on the market.  In August we had one last family weekend in the house as we sorted through everything and packed it up.

Then in the evening, my niece asked us to tell her stories about the house and the summers.  My brother, sister and I shared our memories. We laughed, we teared up, we remembered our parents and grandparents.  It was a great way to say goodbye to our house. 

Even though the house has been sold, and another family now owns it, we have 60 years of memories that will never go away.  And with our cousins still at Kauneonga Lake each summer, we have a place to sit on the beach if we like and talk about the past and plan for the future with our cousins whenever we want to visit.

With our children spread out across the country and overseas, our time as the owners of the Big House has ended along with our family’s long saga in the Catskills at Kauneonga Lake.

Tags: , , , , ,

The Trial For the Murder of Chava “Gimplowa” Feuer

19 Nov

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.)

The Murder of Chava Feuer 1942

Tags: , , , , ,

I Need Help Finding My Morris Brenner!

17 Nov

I am feeling so frustrated right now. 

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!

An Unexpected ‘Grave’ Mystery
Childhood Events Definitely Impact My Adult Choices

Tags: , ,

The Years of The Shoah: Lieb Sussel Feuer/Zissel Feuer And Schulim/Shalom Hollander

12 Nov

So much information has come my way since Izabela S. contacted me.  But the first in-depth story I must tell is about Zissel Feuer, my grandfather’s second cousin, who married my grandfather’s first cousin. I have learned so many details about how he survived and what he did immediately after the war, before he made aliyah to Israel.

Before the war Zissel was married to my grandfather’s first cousin, Dvorah/Deborah.  Zissel then used the name Sussel or Zygmunt, the Polish version of his name. His life was intertwined with Schulim/Shalom Hollander because they were married to sisters.  Shalom’s wife, Cerla, and Devorah were the daughters of Zacharias, my great grandfather, Gimple’s brother.  My grandfather told me that Shalom and Zissel were his second cousins from opposite sides of his family.  But since his grandparents/or great grandparents were first cousins, there was much intermingling.

Both Zissel and Shalom and their wives lived on a farms in Trzciana close to where my great grandfather had his farm and both Zacharias, the father of their wives and Shalom’s parents had their farms. 

In fact in the document I have, is a list of farms taken from Jewish citizens. The Germans documented everything. Her you can see that seven of my relatives in listed  from 32 to 39: Mendel Amsterdam, Hirsch Feuer, Zacharias Feuer (Dvorah and Cerla’s father), Gimple Feuer (my great grandfather), Markus Amsterdam (Shalom’s father), Schulim (Shalom) Hollander, Sussel Feuer.  They were all inter-related.  My grandfather once told me that this entire plot of land was once owned by his great great grandfather, or even further back.  But with each generation the land was split among the sons.  There was so much intermarriage as they kept the land within the family.

Zissel was a farmer and a corn merchant. I know that they also had potatoes and other crops on their farms.  But it doesn’t matter, they were all forced to turn over their lands to the Germans in 1941.

After they were all forced off their land, Zissel and his wife; Gimple and Chava, my great grandparents; Zacharais,  along with other Jewish farmers, were resettled in Wola Mielecka, a nearby village. Shalom and Cerla and his parents were sent to Mielec where they had a home. And then began their efforts to survive.  I will let you know in advance, only Shalom, Zissel and one other cousins, the son of Zacharias lived.  The rest did not survive.

Much of this information about Zissel comes from the book “Sztetl Mielec. Z Historii mieleckich Zydow” written by Andrzej Krempa that Izabela S. translated for me. (In English, Shtetl Mielec. From The History of the Jews of Mielec.”)  Other information came from documents that Izabela has uncovered and translated for me.  Part is what Izabela and I have determined through our many email conversations and the research I did and memories I took from my grandfather. I will mix her information with the information I know from my family.

So where was Zissel/Sussel and Dvorah during the war after he was removed from his farm?  At first they hid with a man named Stanislaw Wojtusiak in Gliny Male and then with Jozef Padykula in Platkowiec.   At some point Zissel’s wife was exposed by a resident of Trzciana, then murdered by the Germans.  At this point Zissel had to run.  He hid in the Piatkowiec forest near Mielec, near the village of Piatkowiec.

In the meantime, On March 9, 1942 Shalom was sent to a Labor Camp in Mielec. He was then sent to Wieliczka, then to Płaszów. He then became one of the people on Schindler’s List and ended up in Brunnlitz.

 My one issue about this, is that Zissel told me he had two children.  I do not know where they were or their names.  But Izabela told me there is a mass grave near Tarnow where 800 children were murdered and buried.  These children came from the Tarnow orphanage and ghetto. Shalom and Cerla’s children, as well as any child Zissel and Dvorah might have had, if they were not taken to a camp with their parents, may be buried here. Or they could have been shot at the Tranow Jewish Cemetery. Or deported. In any case we do not know exactly where the children are buried.

Zissel spent the time from March 9, 1942, the date that the Jews were rounded up for deportation and many murdered, until April 19, 1944, wandering and hiding around the villages near Mielec.  For part of this time, he hid in Polaniec (July 25 until October 25, 1942).  He left that area after the Jews of Polaniec were deported and returned back to Mielec. 

He was able to stay hidden for a while. But starting in April 1943, the Gestapo was looking for him. They knew there was Jewish man hiding in the woods.  Honestly, I cannot imagine how he survived for so long, having watched so many of his family die and disappear.  But he survived!  I know he had to have help, because his freedom was always in doubt.    Finally in 1944 he was caught by the Polish Forest Administration and turned over to the Germans.  But the slippery and I think smart Zissel, escaped. On his way back from Polaniec he was attacked in the village of Otalezh, which he was stripped and robbed. But he survived.

We know this because he filled out a questionnaire at the Central Committee of Polish Jews after the war.  (Izabela says this document is now in the Jewish Historical Institute.)

Some of the Jews who survived. Zissel and Shalom are on this list.

After the war, he returned to Mielec, where he became the President of the Jewish Religions Congregation in Mielec. He was among the 55-70 Jews who survived.   Zissel, Shalom and a woman named Chava Amsterdam are listed. Zissel was now using the name Lieb Sussel Feuer.  His post war address was Maly Rynek 1.  Shalom also lived at this address for a while after the war.

I think they still had battles for survival after the war.  Padykula, who helped Sussel was accused after the war for helping in the capture of Zissel.  But Shalom Hollander wrote a letter saying this was not true.  That he actually helped not only Zissel, but also Shalom’s son Nissan.  (This is interesting because in his Yad V’Shem list, he details the names of his five children who died. There was no Nissan. There is also no Nissan mentioned on the list of survivors who returned to Mielec. So perhaps it was someone he took care of during the war.)

Zissel did leave Mielec for six months.  He visited his brother, Arthur, in the United States.  I never him.  But I did know that Zissel visited my grandparents.  He is the one who told my grandfather that everyone died during this visit.  I know from Izabela, that Zissel is one of the witnesses for my great grandfather, Gimple’s death. I know how difficult this was for my grandfather.  My mother once told me that after baking all night my grandfather would come upstairs to their apartment and sit and cry with his head on his arms on the table.  Can you imagine, not only finding out that his parents died, but his siblings, his entire family. Of those that stayed in Austria/Poland, I only know of four close cousins who survived. Shalom, Zissel and one of Zacharias’ sons. ( will write about one of the son’s in my next blog.) Shalom moved to Israel and remarried.

Zissel also went to see another brother in Berlin and then on to Israel.  He did not stay in Israel, instead he returned to Poland.  I really cannot understand why he would return, unless he had unfinished business.  Which, from what Izabela told me next, I think I know what he needed to accomplish.

In 1947 he owned an apartment building at 41 Sandomierska Street, where he lived.  As President of the Jewish Congregation, he began the work of fencing in the Jewish Cemetery on Jadernych Street.  But the Provincial Office stopped the work.  This is the Cemetery that Izabela now cares for with a group of volunteers. A few kilometers from the cemetery, at Swierkowa Street, there is another mass grave, where the Holocaust victims from Mielec are burried. In the area of this mass grave, Shalom put a tombstone in memory of his parents Tovah and Marcus/Markus Amsterdam.  (Tovah’s maiden name was Hollander). It is possible that my great grandparents are also buried in this mass grave.

Zissel also gave testimony for the Polish people who helped him, by writing letters to document what they had done.  I have photos of two of these letters, where he mentions Polish people who defended and saved other Jewish people. Two of them are Loen Wanatowicz and Stanislaw Rebis. 

Zissel also testified against those who did evil, included a war criminal named Jek.  He testified that Jek beat Jews and humiliated Jewish women by ordering them to strip naked.  In the Tarnow ghetto he also killed at least three Jewish men.

Besides these testimonies, Izabela told me that there are still rumors about  Zissel stating that he cheated some of the people of Mielec. How so? There were many homes that were now vacant because almost all of the 5000 Jews of Mielec and the surrounding area were murdered in the Shoah. They basically were available for people to move in to without having to pay anyone.   Zissel, as the President of the Jewish Congregation, said that those who survived and returned were descendants of people who owned some of the property. Therefore, the Polish people now living on the property and in the homes had to pay the survivors for the homes and or property.

I told Izabela, since the families were so interrelated it could very well be that they were distant relatives.  But even more important.  They had NOTHING left.  Everyone was dead. Their homes were gone. They had suffered.  In my mind Zissel had done honorable work.  He found a way for these people to get some money to begin their lives anew. Perhaps some of them were not really related to the property owners.  But they did not belong to the people now living in them either.

(On a side note, I once asked my grandfather if he had tried to get compensation from Germany after the war for the death of his parents or his property.  He became very angry and asked the following questions.  “Would getting the money bring my parents back?  Would getting the money bring my brothers back, my sisters?  Would it bring any of my family back?  I don’t want their blood money?”  We never discussed it again.)

When Zissel was done with this work, he left Poland for Israel.  He started using the name that I knew for him, Zissel:  no longer Lieb or Sussul or Zygmunt.   I met him in 1974.  He was living in an apartment near the center of Tel Aviv with another Holocaust survivor.  He worked in a bakery not far from the Shuk HaCarmel, the Carmel Market.

The last time I saw him was in 1976 with my grandmother.  Zissel was not a perfect man.  He stole from my grandmother.  He was a bit of a goniff. But perhaps that is what kept him alive and allowed him to help others after the war.

May his name be for a blessing.  May his memory live on from the blogs I have written.

Previous blogs about Zissel Feuer

The Necklace I Never Wear
Zysel/Ziesel Feuer, Survivor

Previous blogs about Shalom Hollander

The Sorrow of Shalom Hollanders
Survival of Shalom (Szulim) Hollander

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

An Unexpected Email Reveals Family Shoah History

30 Oct

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.

Video of Izabela S.and her work.

The Murder of Chava Feuer 1942
What Happened to Grandpa’s Twin Sisters?

About Morris Brenner

Childhood Events Definitely Impact My Adult Choices
Survival of Shalom (Szulim) Hollander
The Sorrow of Shalom Hollanders
One More Family Destroyed
Murdered In Belzec

https://www.facebook.com/groups/1318997264939643/

Tags: , , , , ,

Charleston, A Lovely City, But the History of Slavery Cannot Be Ignored

14 Oct

Every Year on the Fourth of July, we watch the movie version of the play 1776.  We love the music; we love the acting; we love the retelling of the founding of our country.  But for me the scene that always hurts my soul is when Edward Rutledge sings “Molasses to Rum to Slaves.’  That moment in the movie is so strong and so emotional.  When John Adams says, “For God’s Sake Mr. Rutledge,” I can feel the pain.

When we were in Charleston, South Carolina, we knew that part of our visit there was to learn more about the slave trade: to see where it happened.  We visited St. Philip’s Church and walked through the historic cemetery where some of those involved in the American Revolution are buried, including the infamous Edward Rutledge.  We saw the area where the slave market was held and walked down the cobblestone streets.  The historic district of Charleston is unique and extremely interesting.

I learned interesting information about the history of slavery while in Charleston.  This new- found information started with our visit to the Magnolia Plantation, which is just outside Charleston.  I never knew that Carolina Gold referred to golden rice.  Actually, I never knew that rice was grown in the south.  I always just think of tobacco and cotton.  My eyes have been opened.  What I learned created a burn in my heart.

Rbuilt slave quarters
A rice paddie area
Ashley River

While at the Magnolia Plantation where saw the area where the slaves lived. Four families to a building. There are only a few rebuilt slave buildings now.  Most were destroyed in previous hurricanes. At one time there were 11 or more ‘homes’.  Almost 250 slaves lived on the Magnolia Plantation.  Their main job was growing and harvesting rice.

We saw where the rice paddies once were located. Some of them still have water. It is from the tides that wash over the banks of the Ashley River and fill up areas that have been dug out down three feet and contained by low levees, so the water doesn’t all recede. A perfect spot for growing rice and also good homes for alligators and water moccasins. Two creatures that are adept at killing humans.

We found out that once a child was tall enough, he or she went into the rice paddies to work.  The average length of time that someone survived the rice paddies was six to eight years!!!  Someone who was 20 years old and still alive after being exposed to deadly snakes, alligators and disease, was considered old.  That was something I did not know. And that makes me a bit sick to my stomach.  How could they use children this way? Really disgusting!  No one there are people who are adamant to keeping the real story out of our schools.

Going the next day to the International African American Museum cleared up a puzzle for me.  How did these slaves know how to grow rice?  It seems when the white men came to Africa to purchase captured slaves, they were going with a list of who they wanted. And what they wanted were farmers who knew how to grow rice and indigo.  They were enslaving people who had the knowledge that would make the plantation owners rich, while the slaves would not only be enslaved but most likely die young.  It seems so unreal.  But it is true. I always knew the slave owners became rich due to slavery, but I never knew the stave traders went to Africa with a shopping list of which Africans they wanted to enslave.  A definite eye-opening experience.

We enjoyed learning at the museum.  The first section discusses the African American community in South Carolina and how the Middle Passage from African often ended up in Charleston, which was the most active port in the slave trade. Many people died on the way over and those who survived that horrible journey had more horrors ahead.

I also learned more about the Low Country Gullah Geechee population and their unique culture, which is so interesting.   The descendants of slaves, the Gullah Geechee people were able to hold on to their African heritage because they were isolated on island and costal plantations.

The second section of the museum was filled with facts and information decade by decade of the African American experience.  To be honest, this is not a museum to take young children, there is just too much reading and too much standing.  I wish they had some benches along the winding hallways to take a break both physically and mentally. There is so much to absorb.  It was difficult for me.  And after a bit I was exhausted from the stories, the reading and the standing.

A few years ago, we visited the Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History in Detroit, Michigan. The permanent exhibit, “And Still We Rise,” was so immersive and left a permanent mark in my memory about how horrible the Middle Passage was for the enslaved and captured Africans.  It does a much better job, visually, explaining the slave trade and having the visitors feel the impact, while its special exhibits focus on more cultural experiences. 

The museum in South Carolina, however, does a much better job about explaining and detailing the history of the African American community over the centuries by highlighting important events, dates and people.  But trying to see it all in one day is too much. 

There were two little exhibits that stuck out to me as I walked through this museum.  They had a display of the Green Book that told African Americans where they could stay as they traveled around the USA.  I turned to pages to Kansas, where I currently live, to see where people could spend the night.  There are not many places, which is disturbing. But in a way, being Jewish, I understand this pain, as Jewish people were also discriminated against and not allowed to stay in many places.

I did enjoyed seeing two of David Drake’s pottery pieces.  I had seen his work several times on the Antique Roadshow, so was excited to see them in person.  We saw another one at the Gibbes Museum in downtown Charleston.  It was interesting to note the fact that he could write and sign his name was a quiet protest against slavery since slaves were not allowed to learn to read or write. This knowledge could have cost him his life.

Charleston was a lovely city to visit.  There is so many places to immerse yourself into the history of our country.  But while learning about things we can be proud of, we cannot forget the darkest, bitter moments of our country’s past due to its support of slavery.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Philip%27s_Church_(Charleston,_South_Carolina)

https://www.thewright.org/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Drake_(potter)

https://www.magnoliaplantation.com/

https://www.gibbesmuseum.org/

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Remembering and Looking Forward 

7 Oct

The Anne Frank Center and Kahal Kadosh Beth Elohim

When we drove from Asheville to Charleston, before the hurricane, friends of ours who live in Charleston suggested we stop at the Anne Frank Center located on the campus of the University of South Carolina. 

I never expected South Carolina would be the home of one of four Anne Frank Centers in the world, and the only one in the United States, in partnership with the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam.  I contacted the Center before our trip and was able to make an appointment to tour the exhibits.

So today, on October 7, 2024, I feel that I must remember the distant past of Jew hatred as we mourn the one year anniversary of the vicious attack on Israel.

The Anne Frank House does an excellent job recreating the feeling of the hidden annex.  While touring the exhibit, visitors will enter a display of Anne Frank’s diary written in many languages on a wall of bookcases.  Not surprisingly one bookcase opens allowing visitors to enter a darkened room that helps tell the story of the Annex.  Having visited the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam, I was amazed about how this small display harkens to the feelings I had in Amsterdam.

Besides the onsite programs, the Anne Frank House also offers traveling exhibits that can be sent across the USA.  They teach local high school or college students to serve as the guides to the 32-panel exhibit. I would love to see this exhibit in my home community!  Our tour at the Anne Frank Center was led by a college sophomore who was doing her first tour for us and her dad!  Emma did a great job. I could see that she related to the world of Anne.

Going to the Anne Frank Center and remembering her words of hope help me see hope in the situation that we have in the Middle East today.  There are good people who want this violence to stop.  Who want terrorists to end their campaign of hatred.  No one wants innocents, like Anne Frank, to suffer or die.  So I have to believe there will be peace.

My feelings of hope continued in Charleston where we visited the 275-year-old Kahal Kadosh Beth Elohim synagogue, founded in 1749. It is the oldest synagogue in continuous use in the United States. The current building dates from 1841, after a fire in 1838 destroyed the second building.

 Originally a Sephardic synagogue with the bima in the center and balconies above for the women, it changed in 1879, when the bima moved to the front and women joined men in siting for services. Later, after the earthquake of 1886, the balconies were destroyed and were not replaced.

Standing in a building that has housed a congregation since 1840, almost 190 years, and knowing that the congregation itself is 275 years old gives me hope. This congregation has survived the Revolutionary War, Civil War, WW1, WW2, antisemitism, the creation of the State of Israel, the rise of the alt right in the south, and more.  The fact that it continuous to be an active congregation gives me hope.

Today, I remember my feelings on October 7, 2023, when my daughter called me from Israel to say she and her husband were okay, but that the situation was very bad. The entire country was in shock.  Everyone knows someone who died.  For me, although I knew no one, I do know people who lost family members and friends.  The past cannot be forgotten. However with education, like that of the Anne Frank Center, and endurance like that of Kahal Kadosh Beth Elohim, I believe we can look forward with hope to the future.

https://sc.edu/study/colleges_schools/education/partnerships_outreach/anne_frank/index.php

https://www.kkbe.org

https://sc.edu/study/colleges_schools/education/partnerships_outreach/anne_frank/index.php

Tags: , , , ,

Asheville, NC.  Not the Blog I Planned to Write

2 Oct

My husband and I were in Ashville, North Carolina from September 19-21.  We then rented a car and drove first to Columbia, South Carolina, where we went to the University of South Carolina and lunch, and then on to Charleston.

I planned to write a glowing blog about how much I loved the hotel we stayed at in Asheville: The Omni Grove Park Inn.  A lovely 1912 hotel built out of Granite and overlooking the Blue Ridge Mountains.

I will not write about the hotel.   I know it is still standing, even though it is now closed.  I will not describe the places I saw on the Hop on/ Hop off tour I took, because the downtown and the arts center of Asheville are currently underwater or covered in mud.   I won’t tell you the joke our tour guide made about the French Broad River, because it crested high above flood stage and destroyed most of the town.  

What I will tell you is that Ashville was a beautiful quaint city with a lovely downtown.  The Arts area was covered in murals created by local artists.  And all the buildings were brimming with pieces created by local artists.  Now probably washed away, destroyed or at the least covered in muck and mud.

I will tell you about the black bears that calmly walked down the street and were shooed away by people standing on their porches.  I wonder how many survived.

While I was on my tour, the tour guide stopped to show us the white painted line on the side of a building to show us how high the flood of 1916 covered the town. I think the flood of 2024 was higher.

I do not know if any of the many people I met there who worked in the hotel or in town were hurt or injured or lost loved ones.  Lost their homes, their jobs and their sense of security.

I will say, Asheville and western North Carolina needs our help.  The highway we used to leave town, Highway 26, was closed for a while.  It is now open. But many roads are still closed, power is out, phone coverage is out, internet is out. There is a lack of water and food.

I will post here some of my photos from Asheville.  I hope that everyone can do what they can to help.  I know the Red Cross is collecting money to help.

I wish I was writing the blog I wanted to write about Asheville. We had a wonderful visit and met many lovely people.  We enjoyed our stay at the hotel imagining life there in the early 1920s.  I loved the little museum with information about their annual gingerbread house competition. How F. Scott Fitzgerald lived and wrote there. And the many famous people and presidents who visited the hotel.

I hope it does not take decades to recover.  But I know the entire western edge of North Carolina needs our help. The Red Cross is asking for volunteers to help with Hurricane Helene disaster relief, specifically people from Arkansas and Missouri who can go for two weeks. They also need financial donations. Here is the link to the Red Cross donation page.

Or you can go to the American Red Cross on your own to donate:  https://www.redcross.org/donate/donation.html/.

Tags: , , , , , , ,

Viroshov/Wieruszow: A Jewish Community Destroyed

28 Aug

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.

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

https://zicharonot.com/2015/11/03/who-are-you-these-photos-call-out-to-me/

https://zicharonot.com/2016/10/01/the-rosh-hashannah-card-has-a-story/

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

Tags: , , , , ,

← Older Entries
Newer Entries →