Tonight and tomorrow mark Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance day. This memorial day holds special significance to me as the grand-daughter of survivors.
Tonight I participated in a special seder, originally developed by Rabbi Avi Weiss, to ritualize remembrance of the Holocaust. We read from a short book, sitting on the floor as mourners in a darkened room around six candles to represent the 6,000,000 Jews who perished. The evening had four sections: physical destruction, spiritual destruction, destruction of children, and resistance. An important part of the seder is to pass the first-hand experiences of survivors to future generations so that the memories never extinguish and can continue to be passed l’dor va dor (from generation to generation).
Since no survivors were able to join us, I asked my mother to share with me some stories from her mother so that I could re-tell her experience as part of the “resistance” portion since my Bubbie’s attitude, wit, and courage is what helped her survive. Here is what my mother wrote as if she were speaking as her own mother:
I was born in a small town named Sandz (Novisoncz (sp?) in Polish), Poland. Since my mother was busy working in the family business, I was sent to live with my older sister in a larger city Katowicz. I went to school there and because at some point this was a town in Germany (borders changed a lot in those days) the schools taught German as well as Polish and I learned a “high German.” Who knew that it would later help save my life.
Money and diamonds helped some people live through the war if it wasn’t taken away from them by the Germans; knowledge/education was something that they couldn’t take away from you.
I was sent to a labor/work camp when the war broke out. I was in my late teens and thin and pretty; I always looked taller than I was so they thought I was older and would be a good worker. I worked in the kitchen, mainly peeling potatoes for the “potato soup” to be fed to the worker Jews in the camp — peels and water for the Jews, real hearty potato soup for the Germans. There was an adjacent men’s work camp and I could see young teenage boys, 11-12 years old, skin and bones, through the barbed wire fence. They were working hard too and quite hungry. One evening I was leaving the kitchen and stole a pail of potatoes, intended mainly for the teenage boys to keep them alive. On the way back to the barracks with the pail of potatoes, I was seen and stopped by a German guard. He asked me what I had in my hand and I answered in German that it was some potatoes and I was hungry. He said that I was carrying way too many potatoes just for myself and asked what was I going to do with them. I answered him in the best High German that I knew and said, ” They are just for me. Did you think I would be so stupid to just take a few every day and risk getting caught each time? ” He answered, “Verschwind!” in German meaning disappear, and said that I should get out of his sight quickly and never do that again.
My wise-ass German answer helped save my life.
One story that my mother had never heard, but that Bubbie shared with my younger sister was that in addition to working in the kitchen, she also worked in the laundry. This afforded her the opportunity to actually cook the potatoes in hot water under cover.
When my sister was in Israel a few years ago, she took some photographs in Yad VaShem‘s Valley of Destroyed Communities of the cities where my grandparents grew up: Poppie was born in Chrzanów and grew up in Krakow; my Bubbie learned the German that saved her life in Katowice.
I am proud to say that though my grandparents are no longer alive, they worked hard all of their lives, passing on the legacy of higher education to their children and grandchildren, and even managed to save a few dollars to help provide for future generations. They had “made it” in America. And they did make some investments in jewelry and left this necklace to me which I cherish and wear regularly.
In preparation for the seder, I thought about the potato peels that my grandparents often sustained themselves on. To help reenact part of the resistance experience, I made potato peel crisps. Don’t be mistaken – this is NOT a dish to remember my grandmother by — I think of her when I eat grapefruit or Chinese food (we used to take her out to Kosher Chinese in Miami and she would always order a hamburger, insisting that she didn’t like Chinese food, and then proceed to pick from all of our plates, exclaiming how much better our dishes were…).
Potato Peel Crisps
I chose russet potatoes for this “recipe.”
Preheat oven to 500°F.
Wash potatoes well to remove any dirt. Peel potatoes and soak in water. Spread in single layer on baking sheet and spray with oil. Sprinkle lightly with salt and pepper. Roast for 20-25 minutes until crisp.
Zachor. Remember.
[Thank you to Elisha for sharing this special ritual with me and other members of our community, and encouraging my family to document our stories.]
You are a wonderful testament of the strength and perseverance of your grandmother. She would be proud.
Although she would say that it is time to get rid of those dishes (or is that the grandmother on the other side).
-Meira
Gayle,
What a loving testament to your grandparents. As a fellow grand-daughter of survivors it is so important to share their stories and remember that it wasn’t just 6 million but one, plus one, plus one…. Thank you for sharing with our LEADS group. Hope to see you Thursday.
Rikki
Wow. What can I say. I got sick to my stomach and tears of joy at the same time! No one really knows how we all feel and think from day to day. Being of German and Luxembourg ancestry. We all have no idea who all was murdered. Parts of my grandmothers family came over before it happened. BUT most of them stayed and perished. As I sit here in my cozy office and great comfort. They suffered so much.
Praise be to Hashem that we are here now.
Suzy
Thank you Gayle – not only for reminding us but also for sharing this very personal story of your grandparents.
Rianne
This is a beautiful way to remember and make your grandmother’s story and life come alive for the rest of us.
May her neshama have an aliya.
It is a beautiful story and a beautiful way to remember. I am a great-grandchild of grand-grandparents who did not survive. They had sent their children away (my grandfather and his siblings) but did not want to leave their land and their people because my great grandfather was a roshi in the village. Brave or stupid, I don’t know. They were shot by the Nazis. The hardest part for me is to remember without bitterness because the ones who died and the ones who survived do not deserve bitterness.
Its one of the best stories I’ve read!..
No doubt you really love your grand-parents!..
Thank you, everyone, for visiting, keeping the memories of survivors alive, and sharing your own stories.
– Meira – Thank you for reminding me that my Bubbie would be proud. She was the ultimate at persevering and I only hope to live up to her example. (And my flowered dishes are my other Bubbie’s…good memory though)
– Rikki – You put it so well – the number six million can be so overwhelming, but each of those people was an individual with a story and a life and a future extinguished.
– Suzy – Bittersweet it is to have these memories.
– Rianne – I’m glad my grandparents’ story served as an important reminder.
– Caroline – What a beautiful sentiment — I’m sure her neshama is causing mischief with another neshama we know!
– Irene – Thank you for sharing. One of the elements of the seder hagadah is that at the end, we praised as heros those who survived and those who didn’t. Those who went to the camps, those who hid, those who resisted, and those who didn’t.
– Honey – Yes indeed, I did love my grandparents
A truly moving story. I am glad that you connected the dots between the emphasis on a good education in your family with a longer family history – I guess we never know how ‘useful’ our knowledge actually is. I also think it is amazing that your grandmother worked in a concentration camp kitchen and now you have taken food to a joyous level in your lovely food blog! This is probably the best revenge on the plan to terminate us Jews – by living on with the same skills, talents, grace and courage as those they tried to kill.
Chazak v’Amatz! [Be strong and carry on!]
thank you for sharing that story. My grandmother hiked the alps from france to Switzerland, and crawled across the border. they ran out of food and foraged in the forest for their food. eventually, they boiled poison ivy and my grandmother refused to eat it. when they crawled across the border, they thought they walked into Germany because of the boots the guards were wearing. Luckily they didn’t, and made it to safety in Switzerland.
Such an amazing story of resourcefulness and resilience. Thank you for sharing.