Child Survivors of the Holocaust: The Youngest Remnant and the American Experience 9780813584997

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Child Survivors of the Holoc aust

Child Survivors of the Holoc aust The Youngest Remnant and the American Experience

Beth B. Cohen

Rutger s Uni v er sit y P r ess

New Brunswick, Camden, and Newark, New Jersey, and London

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Cohen, Beth B., 1950– author. Title: Child survivors of the Holocaust : the youngest remnant and the American experience / Beth B. Cohen. Description: New Brunswick, New Jersey ; London : Rutgers University Press, [2018] | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2017033849| ISBN 9780813584973 (cloth : alk. paper) | ISBN 9780813596525 (pbk. : alk. paper) | ISBN 9780813584980 (epub) | ISBN 9780813584997 (Web pdf) | ISBN 9780813596532 (mobi) Subjects: LCSH: Jews—United States—History—20th century. | Jews—United States—History—21st century. | Holocaust survivors—United States—Attitudes. | Holocaust survivors—United States—Rehabilitation. | Jewish orphans—United States—Attitudes. Classification: LCC E184.355 .C64 2018 | DDC 940.53/18092273—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017033849 A British Cataloging-­in-­Publication record for this book is available from the British Library. Copyright © 2018 by Beth B. Cohen All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. Please contact Rutgers University Press, 106 Somerset Street, New Brunswick, NJ 08901. The only exception to this prohibition is “fair use” as defined by U.S. copyright law. c The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—­Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48–­1992. www​.rutgersuniversitypress​.org Manufactured in the United States of America

To my parents and my parents-­in-­law, in loving memory: Dian Berkofsky, zt˝l and Louis Berkofsky, zt˝l Beverly B. Cohen, zt˝l and Leo A. Cohen, zt˝l who taught me about parents and children in their own inimitable ways.

Contents

List of Acronyms ix Prologue xi



Introduction 1

1

Liberation: Battles after the War

12

2

“Our Greatest Treasures”: America Responds

33

3

In America: War Orphans Find Home

50

4

No Happy Endings: Postwar Reconstituted Families

69

5

Growing Up in America: Lingering Memories and the US Context

88

6

Where Was God? Child Survivors and Jewish Identity

112

7

“Finding a Voice for Our Silence”: Claiming Identity as Child Survivors

131



Conclusion: The Road to Repair

151



Epilogue 163 Acknowledgments 165 Notes 169 Bibliography 199 Index 207

vii

Acronyms

ADL AJC CLI CTI DP(s) EJCA GJCA ITS JDC JCCA JFCS JLC JTA NCJW NYANA OSE UJA UNRRA USCOM USHMM USNA WFJCSHD WJC

Anti-­Defamation League of B’nai Brith American Jewish Congress Central Location Index, Inc. Central Tracing Index Displaced Persons European-­Jewish Children’s Aid German-­Jewish Children’s Aid International Tracing Service American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee or “The Joint” Jewish Child Care Association Jewish Family and Children’s Services Jewish Labor Committee Jewish Telegraphic Agency National Council of Jewish Women New York Association for New Americans Oeuvres de Secours aux Enfants United Jewish Appeal United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration United States Committee for the Care of European Children United States Holocaust Memorial Museum United Service for New Americans World Federation of Jewish Child Survivors of the Holocaust and Their Descendants World Jewish Congress

ix

Prologue

In the summer of 2015 child survivors of the Holocaust gathered to celebrate their friend Natalie Gold’s seventy-­fifth birthday. After the attendees toasted the honoree, the youngest among this tight-­knit group of aging survivors, Natalie’s daughter invited those present to offer reminiscences. A woman stood up and expressed her birthday wishes, which included an anecdote about Natalie’s beloved father, Leon, a survivor of the Warsaw Ghetto who had recently passed away at the age of one hundred and one. Then the guest said something startling. “Unlike so many of us, you had your father,” she began. “But for the rest of us, he became a father figure, too, and as we grew older and he aged, we were able to imagine our own fathers at different stages of life.”1 Around the room, heads nodded in agreement. It was a compelling moment that provided insight into the absences that define many child survivors’ lives. It also underscored the fact that even more than seven decades after the Holocaust, the event and its aftereffects persist, intrude, haunt. It has been a long road for Natalie and other child survivors, who came to the United States and settled in cities and towns all over America. For many the aftermath of the war did not signal peace or tranquility but profound rupture, anguish. “Liberation” meant reunions with parents who were strangers—­or a life with no parents at all. It included being used as pawns in inter-­Jewish fights over the youngest survivors, or leaving beloved rescuers for unknown US relatives. It was the revelation, for some, that they were Jewish. For many it meant that everything, everyone, familiar and loved was gone. It marked a series of moves and adjustments to a new family and culture. Starting over was not a fresh beginning but a complicated, often bewildering piecing together of fragments. And the initial help promised to them by American Jewry was often inadequate. The postwar era ushered in a time when, many emphasize, they survived the Shoah only to find their real battles just beginning. Said one child survivor, “I lived Les Misérables after the war.”2 Child survivors have lived the majority of their lives after the war. Even as children left the physical place of their trauma and moved away geographically and temporally, challenges pursued them. So did their childhood memories. They grew up in America, and have now grown old. At every turn of their lives, the reminders are there. At the same time they became part of US society, and their experiences blended with the larger American context. These combined factors shaped them.

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xii Prologue

Today child survivors are the last witnesses, the final link to a twentieth-­ century genocide that has continued to cast a pall over the twenty-­first century. They are the voice of the Survivors and they will soon be gone. Yet, in the canon of Holocaust literature, the story of how wartime experiences informed and molded the children’s postwar experiences has been largely overlooked. This study addresses that omission by bringing their voices—­front and center—­to the post-­Holocaust narrative.

Child Survivors of the Holoc aust

Introduction

“War Orphans Find Home: Children from France Arrive in Decatur,” announced the Decatur Review. Above the headline, a photograph captioned “Dreams Come True” depicts two smiling and scrubbed youngsters, newly attired in their American clothes. The article declares that “the fondest dreams of a million European war orphans are today coming true for Mary and Alfred Frydman.”1 This moment in Mary and Alfred’s life captures just one of the early encounters between child survivors and the United States that symbolized the youngsters’ fresh start. US newspapers in every corner of the country featured many of these initial arrivals in ebullient terms: the youngest survivors of Hitler’s tyranny finding a new home on American soil. Could any resolution to the horrors of World War II be more comforting? Such photographs of “war orphans” embraced by American families abounded and provided heart-­warming imagery to a public eager for happy endings to the war and encouraging beginnings for these innocent victims of genocide. It seemed the media did not miss any opportunity to tell the stories of these most sympathetic newcomers in an effort to evoke compassion from a reluctant American public. And while the coverage was largely optimistic, reporters did not omit mention of the youngsters’ traumatic past. In fact, journalists wrote graphically—­and not always superficially—­about their recent experiences. In one, seventeen-­year-­old Morritz Frischmann, survivor of three camps, described how fierce dogs had torn his fellow inmates to pieces.2 These details were, by and large, the backdrop for the stories’ redemptive message: the children had known brutality and hatred but with the proper care, they would be restored. Noted an United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA) welfare officer, “They react to that highest type of doctor—­human kindness.”3 This simple prescription, however, would prove difficult to follow once the eager anticipation of first American encounters faded. Images of children in the postwar media pushed me to learn more about children like Mary and Alfred. In this work, I scrutinize those like the Frydmann siblings who came to the United States. What brought them from Europe to America rather than Israel, the destination of the majority? How did the unique 1

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political and social context of mid-­twentieth-­century America affect them? And how did the children’s wartime years affect their adjustment? How did they come to claim a unique identity as “child survivors”? These questions propelled my work. I soon learned that child survivors’ experiences and perceptions both during and after the war were vastly different from those of adults and worthy of a closer and more nuanced look.

Definitions and Demographics First of all, how do I define a “child survivor”? Recognizing that this designation was largely determined by age, I turned to the collective for confirmation. Child survivor organizations put the age limit at those who were seventeen years old in 1945, and it is generally the standard used in this work. Nevertheless, this delineation demands some qualitative fluidity. For example, one who was eighteen years old in 1945 but twelve years old when the war started is considered a child survivor in this study. And the individuals who fall into this group generally identify as such, too.4 Just as the definition of “survivor” has expanded beyond concentration camp inmates to include a range of wartime experiences, so has the meaning of “child survivor,” to include, for example, those who went to Great Britain on Kindertransporten. However, in this study I draw on the experiences of those who lived the war years in Nazi-­occupied Europe through 1945 and after, until they left for the United States. In addition, although the term “child survivor” originated in the 1980s and is not contemporary to the period after World War II, I use it in analyzing the postwar experiences of children.5 Also important is the fact that child survivors, despite their distinctive stories, identify themselves as a collective. They call each other family, siblings. Whether she was liberated in Bergen-­Belsen or retrieved from a Belgian orphanage, whether he was an orphan, half-­orphan, or had two surviving parents, the majority generally identifies as a child survivor and accepts others who identify as such. Because their perspective is central to this work, I use this framework for my analysis.6 How many Jewish children survived? Soon after World War II ended, the extent of the genocide became increasingly clear to the larger world, with the accompanying realization that child mortality was especially high and few children were still alive. Along with the uncertainty in 1945 of Jewish statehood, a bleak future for European Jewry seemed inevitable. One observer in Europe called the implications for the Jewish people “a disaster unparalleled in Jewish history.”7 The early statistics on surviving children grimly reinforce this pronouncement. Close to 1.5 million European Jewish children had been murdered. A mere 150,000 had survived the Judeocide, a tiny shred of the Shoah’s surviving remnant.8 Before the war, Jewish children fifteen years old or younger comprised 25 percent of the overall Jewish population in Europe. After the war, the surviving

Introduction 3

children represented a tiny, precious fraction—­less than 10 percent—­of the small survivor community.9 The murder of approximately 90 percent of the prewar population of European Jewish children also highlights the devastation of prewar Jewish families—­an intact family was a rare treasure. Surviving children deservedly took on symbolic proportions, which had a significant impact on their lives. In 1946, American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee ( JDC) issued a report that described the demographics of surviving Jewish children. The JDC study analyzes the population of approximately 130,000, almost 90 percent of the estimated surviving children. Thus, while the study is not complete it is, nevertheless, a substantial effort.10 Although exact figures are elusive, the analysis of number, location, age, and gender of child survivors from 1945 is vividly and tragically revealing, even if approximate. The evidence based on both prewar census figures and postwar figures from the JDC’s European representatives combined with testimony from Jewish community members in each country starkly highlights the devastating effects of the Third Reich on its most vulnerable victims—­Jewish children. These statistics are helpful in understanding where children were living soon after the war ended, thereby providing the general context and starting points for child survivors’ postwar journeys. They also are reflective of the overall genocide as influenced by space and time: all Jews in the Nazi web were slated for death but individuals’ paths varied depending on where they endured the war years. This was just as true for children as it was for adults. The report draws on prewar census figures to put the postwar figures in context, starting with the larger Jewish communities in Poland, Hungary, and Czechoslovakia. Altogether this was a prewar total of about 1,000,000 children (nearly two-­thirds of European Jewish children) out of a combined overall Jewish population in these countries of nearly 3,900,000.11 Although Romania was not among the countries with the largest prewar populations of Jewish children, the report shows that it had the greatest number of Jewish children alive in 1945. This figure of 60,000 (out of an overall prewar Jewish population of 756,000)12 represents approximately 40 percent of the total population of child survivors in Europe. Again, the author of the report warns that exact numbers are unavailable and the Romanian example is a projection based on prewar proportions of children to total population. The numbers of child survivors by nation drop dramatically after Romania. There were 15,000 children alive in France (out of a total prewar population of 235,000).13 The prewar Hungarian Jewish population was 445,000 contrasted with 50,000 in Bulgaria. Despite the great difference between the size of the prewar communities in Hungary and Bulgaria, the surviving number of 12,000 children was the same for both locations. This reflects the varying impact of the Holocaust on the Jewish population in two different countries and confirms the low murder rate in Bulgaria, excluding Thrace and Macedonia.

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Revealingly, even given the disparity in prewar Jewish populations, Poland (3,000,000) and Italy (48,000) both reportedly had 7,000 child survivors. Belgium and the Netherlands have similar figures of approximately 4,000 child survivors out of total prewar Jewish populations of 60,000 and 170,000 respectively.14 Again, these numbers remind us of the difference in murder rates, geographically, and raise questions about rescue and location. The child survival figures for Czechoslovakia are a broad range, from 2,500 to 4,500. The lowest number of surviving children according to the JDC figures is 2,400 (out of approximately 12,000 total survivors) in Greece out of a prewar population of 72,000 Jews. The report also indicates that data from Germany, Austria, and Luxembourg is unavailable but indicates, based on observers in the Yiddish and English press, that there were some Jewish children alive in German camps. Not surprisingly, the number of children who survived concentration camp imprisonment was tiny—­but not zero. Martin Gilbert analyzed the experiences of 732 young concentration camp survivors from various labor, concentration, and death camps in his work The Boys: The Story of 732 Young Concentration Camp Survivors.15 According to one observer, there was a group of about twenty children who were subjected to “medical experimentation” and survived in the Sachenhausen Camp, in Germany.16 Kenneth Waltzer has studied a group of 900 boys in Buchenwald who survived due to the efforts of a Czech non-­ Jewish political prisoner.17 Hagit Lavsky writes about 500 children who were found alive in Bergen-­Belsen upon liberation, due to the vigilance of female prisoners and male inmates who smuggled supplies to them.18 A very few twins survived medical experiments in Auschwitz. These camp survivors underscore the fact that location of liberation does not accurately reflect the child’s country of origin and do not mirror the complexity of the child’s journeys. Irene Gutman Hizme’s travails exemplify this. As an eight-­year-­old twin, the Czech-­ born girl survived Auschwitz and, after a year with a Polish woman, then several Polish children’s homes, she ended up in a French orphanage before she was sent to America.19 A notable feature of the JDC study is that it goes beyond a country-­by-­country breakdown. To a degree it teases out age and gender, as well. Thus, it points out that although the number of male and female child survivors in the Netherlands and Greece were similar, significantly more girls than boys survived in Poland (4,000 and 3,000, respectively). This was probably due to the fact that it was easier to find hiding places for girls. To emphasize, these figures are an estimate. The JDC study illustrates with statistics, as was its goal. It does not offer explanations for the varying murder rates of children across Europe. Nor does it personalize the horrific numbers. It glaringly depicts the loss that struck European Jewry and the world with the near complete killing of a generation. Even with approximations, it shows where and how many or rather how few Jewish children were still alive after the Holocaust.

Introduction 5

How many of these surviving children immigrated to the United States? Just as there are no exact figures for surviving children, there are also none for those who came to America. There is no US census of victims of the Nazis or database of survivors to definitively answer that question. Yet, there are a few sources that have been helpful, even if not perfect, as they raise questions and offer approximations. In arriving at an estimated but reliable figure of child survivors who came to the United States, I have worked backward. There are only early figures for orphans (1,000 under the Truman Directive and 3,000 under the DP Act of 1948) and total number of survivors, which is estimated at 140,000.20 According to one relatively recent demographic study conducted by the Conference on Jewish Material Claims against Germany (Claims Conference) in 2003, there were 170,000 Holocaust survivors residing in America at that time.21 Not only does this number seem inflated factoring in for mortality rates, it has not been analyzed by age.22 Another reliable but incomplete source, the Survivor’s Registry at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, indicates that there are 23,764 registered individuals who were born after 1928 and settled in the United States. However, not every survivor registered and of those who did register, 43,504 did not include birthdates. Still another incomplete source is the number of US survivors who have applied to the Claim Conference’s child survivors’ fund (which defines a child survivor as I do—­one born in 1928 or after). That number is roughly 5,000—­considerably lower than in the Survivor Registry—­but this may be due to the fact that not every child survivor has applied for those funds. Another more recent study, underwritten by the Claims Conference, projects numbers in order to assess the needs of an aging US survivor population, and it does factor in age and year.23 This survey emphasizes that it is an estimate based on Jewish population surveys and statistical analysis. It arrived at the figure of 62,200 Holocaust survivors under the age of eighty-­five (meaning born after 1930) for the year 2015. It indicates that there were 36,300 over this age in 2015, so presumably some of them were born in or after 1928. Thus, although I emphasize that this is an estimate, it is possible that there were about 60,000 child survivors in the United States in 2015. What this does not reveal is when the survivors immigrated to the United States. Were they orphans who arrived in 1946? Did they come with parents in 1949? After the Hungarian revolution in 1956? From Israel in the 1950s and 1960s? Or much later, in the 1980s, from the Soviet Union? Still, by 2015, they were residents of the United States.

Oral Histories and Archival Records Having a good idea of how many child survivors came to the United States is important. This work, however, looks behind these figures. At every turn, I draw on child survivors’ experiences to add voice, texture, humanity to these statistics and to bring their accounts to the fore. It is important to give statistics a human

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face, and particularly vital in this case. Children are often left out of both historical sources and analyses, and the postwar Holocaust experience is no exception. Thus, oral histories and testimonies are fundamental to this work and to asserting personal experiences in the study of postwar lives. Thus, I have used a number of oral history archives: the USC/Shoah Visual History Foundation, Los Angeles; the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum Oral History Collection; the Kestenberg Archive of Testimonies of Child Holocaust Survivors, Hebrew University of Jerusalem; and the Holocaust Oral History Collection at California State University Northridge (part of the Fortunoff Collection). I have also conducted my own interviews. Whenever possible I draw on more than one source for the same individual. For example, a number of interviewees gave testimony to the USC/Shoah Visual History Foundation as well as to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum and thus I was able to use both. At times I was able to interview people in person and also use their testimonies from archives. To the interviews, I add archival documents that anchor the testimony in the larger historical account. When I have drawn from archival sources such as case files, it is usually impossible to know the complete picture of what happened to the child later on in her life, and frequently leaves long-­term questions unanswered. Nevertheless, these sources give a contemporary and generally detailed—­and critical—­look at how Jewish agencies and families interacted with child survivors. In the examples where I draw from case files, due to confidentiality issues, I do not use the individuals’ last names. The Kestenberg Archives uses initials to maintain the survivor’s anonymity. In order to personalize an individual’s oral history from the latter collection, I use a pseudonym that begins with the same letter as that of the interviewee’s first name. Survivor testimonies illustrate that there is no one monolithic or “typical” postwar experience. Just as age, gender, geography, resources, timing, and luck figured into a child’s wartime path, these factors, by extension, influenced where a child was at the conclusion of the war. This, in turn, had an impact on his future direction. Even as individuals’ histories are unique, at the same time, hundreds of child survivors’ accounts suggest patterns that ripple through testimonies and archival documents. Certain themes repeat across hundreds of survivor interviews that transcend disparate, individual narratives. What becomes clear is that children’s worlds changed radically when the war ended and not always, from their perspective, for the better. The intermediate period between liberation and immigration to the United States was generally chaotic and confusing; that temporal gap had repercussions. And once in America, children’s experiences were again complicated, compounded by new family situations and adjustments as immigrants. Trauma specific to the Holocaust reverberated across child survivors’ family groups both for those who were orphans and those in families composed of two generations of survivors. Wartime memories initially dismissed and later

Introduction 7

validated are also central themes in their postwar lives. In this work, I study some, but by no means all, key aspects of child survivors’ postwar lives. There is still much room for future research.

Overview This is a thematic work. At the same time it follows a loose chronological though not necessarily linear structure beginning in 1945 and continuing to the current day. For example, chapters 1 and 2 overlap temporally but each focuses mainly on events in different places; that is, Europe and the United States, respectively. Although Child Survivors of the Holocaust analyzes the American experience of child Holocaust survivors, chapter 1 begins in Europe as World War II ends. It highlights the fact that many steps preceded children’s arrivals in the United States. Firstly, all over Europe, children had to be found and reclaimed. This proved to be an enormous—­and at times contentious—­task. Once located, many went into homes or orphanages either because they were orphans, or their parents were ill or yet to be found. But from there the story grows murkier. Although survivors often comment, “I went to my relatives in New York” or “I was sent to a family in Chicago,” these trips were rarely direct. In fact, liberation marked an intermediate period of many months, even years before a youngster landed in her final residence. This gap, beginning with crossing the threshold from wartime to postwar and concluding with ultimate relocation and beyond, had significant consequences for the child. This prompted many to emphatically state that their war started at the conclusion of World War II.24 It is shattering to confront the notion that the most vulnerable victims of the Holocaust survived only to struggle after the war, yet this idea, at the heart of this book, must be addressed in order to be true to child survivors’ accounts of the Holocaust. Chapter 2 shifts largely to the United States and shows that Americans Jews immediately took a dynamic interest in the surviving children’s welfare. At the same time that child survivors confronted the end of the war and its impact, the American Jewish community was doing the same. Knowledge that a small fraction of Jewish children had survived the war moved numerous American organizations and many individuals to action. Here, too, varying organizational responses reflected divergent philosophies, which ultimately would have a profound effect on children’s lives. For example, Jewish agencies had fundraising campaigns around America that financed children’s homes in France, Belgium, Poland, the Netherlands, and Sweden, often competing for funds from the American public. Not only did organizations raise money, but also they often directly decided with whom and where youngsters would be placed both in Europe and later in the United States. Fundraising took a variety of creative avenues. A popular formula was the “Adopt-­A-­Child” model where potential donors were entreated to pay one dollar

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per day to support a needy child. But these organizations asked for more than money. To encourage an emotional and ongoing connection (and financial support), donors were allowed to choose a child from a collection of photographs and correspond with him or her. Gender also played a role in these campaigns. Jewish leaders specifically called on their women’s auxiliaries to help European Jewish children. Records show that all over the United States, Jewish women volunteered, soon taking the lead. Not only did they raise money, women also brought early awareness of the Holocaust and child survivors into their communities’ consciousness. Americans expressed keen interest in adopting Jewish “war orphans.” At first immigration restrictions made this impossible. This changed after the Truman Directive of 1945, which allowed over 1,000 orphans into the United States beginning in 1946. The United States Committee for the Care of European Children worked with the European Jewish Children’s Aid (EJCA) to coordinate and follow the settlement of the orphans around the country, working with local Jewish communal agencies. As the directive intended, most of the orphans who immigrated in 1946 did so through the sponsorship of US relatives. Although family, most were total strangers to the children. Chapter 3 shows that these encounters engendered tremendous challenges. Case files from Jewish agencies and academic studies of the late 1940s and early 1950s provide a window into early perceptions by and of the children. These sources show an unvarnished picture that reveals Americans’ perceptions of orphans and the latter’s earliest interactions with the US Jewish community, both on the personal and communal level. Child survivors’ later observations in testimonies expand earlier impressions and emphasize the gap between the documented welcome and the often bleak reality for the children. Studying this early phase of child survivors’ experiences offers a penetrating and often grim look at the ongoing complexity of their lives once they reached the United States. And it reinforces the notion that children’s postwar battles did not end once they arrived in America. Though the US Jewish community responded with zeal to the plight of the vulnerable victims of Hitlerism from a distance, the reality of their reception once on American soil was mixed. Sometimes their relatives, foster parents, and communities welcomed them but, at other times, they did not. A contemporary article in a social work journal shows that foster care placements were problematic and had less than a 50 percent success rate.25 Testimony from child survivors in Boston, Cleveland, Los Angeles, and other communities around the country confirm this dismal statistic. In 1948, the DP Act allowed 200,000 refugees to enter the United States, which included another 3,000 orphans in addition to those children who came with family groups (some of these were orphans, as well).26 Statistics show that, contrary to the prevalence in the media of war orphans, most child survivors

Introduction 9

had one parent; a rare few had two. These families, however, were reconstructed from fragments. As chapter 4 confirms, their prewar family life had, in one way or another, changed irrevocably—­often irreparably. Coming to America was a beginning for all family members, but for the child it signaled the challenging start of life in an alien country with a new family often composed of their single widowed parents or stepparents and half siblings. Parents who were damaged physically and emotionally by the war further complicated this picture. In instances where one or both parents had survived, children now were part of families composed of two generations of survivors under one roof. This too created complicated dynamics, as Jewish communal agency records and oral histories reveal. Many children recall that their parents believed that their offspring were too young to remember their traumatic wartime experiences and did not speak to their children about the past. Their survivor parents’ own coping strategies dominated in the home. Yet, children speak about memories or feelings of loss and displacement that haunted them. Children with a new stepparent often found that the topic of their deceased parents was taboo, which further devalued their memories. Chapter 5 scrutinizes how the aftereffects of children’s wartime experiences, combined with US social and cultural factors, including gender, influenced the direction of their childhood and adult lives in America. Some male child survivors, for example, found themselves in the US military soon after immigrating. Some were sent back to Europe. The majority of young men, however, were caught up yet again in a war. As US soldiers they were thrust into the distant Korean War conflict, which raged in the early 1950s. This had a significant effect on the young men for whom the war in Europe was hardly over. Career choices, too, reflected both the 1950s societal norms and the children’s past. According to interviews male child survivors seemed more likely to pursue higher education that led to professional careers while women often postponed careers when they became parents. Both male and female child survivors speak about choices they made because of imagined desires of deceased parents or options denied because the war had interrupted their education. Context also informed child survivors’ choices in marriage. The conventional narrative emphasizes the fact that adult survivors married other survivors in Europe soon after the war and stayed married for life. This is an example of another variation in the experiences of adult and child survivors that has been overlooked. Child survivors were fewer in number than their elders and had different opportunities to meet potential mates. Unlike their parents’ choices, their partners were often American-­born. Evidence of divorce and remarriage (sometimes to gentiles) reflects statistics in the wider Jewish and non-­Jewish community. As chapter 6 illuminates, child survivors express their Jewish identity across the religious and secular spectrum, shaped by prewar, wartime, and postwar influences. In many instances prewar upbringing determined later practice, especially

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for those with strong memories of family traditions. Sometimes wartime experiences further strengthened prewar beliefs; at other times they severed them completely, though most child survivors maintain some type of Jewish identity. Often those who were saved by loving Christian families, even if they returned to Judaism, report conflicted religious identities persisting into maturity. Some devout child survivors admit to questions even as they remain unwaveringly pious. In many ways, the range of choices in child survivors’ religious beliefs reflect the greater American Jewish landscape and at the same time are deeply informed by their European experiences. Just as Jewish organizations rushed to help children in Europe, there were those who used this opportunity to restore and bolster haredi (ultra-­Orthodox) Judaism in America. Charity toward child survivors, particularly orphans, as a sacred and obligatory task did not diminish in the United States. As a result, some boys were sent to European-­style yeshivas established by refugee rabbis. Rabbi Michael Dov Ber Weissmandl, known for his role in the wartime Working Group, exemplifies one who re-­created his Slovakian yeshiva in New York State. He created the Mount Kisco Yeshiva Farm Settlement, a new and surprisingly innovative yeshiva for boys; it combined Torah study with agricultural work, which would also be a living link to the European yeshiva world. Through these combined efforts, child survivors infused and enhanced postwar ultra-­Orthodox Judaism in America. According to the interviews with this demographic group, most, but not all, value keeping their religious traditions, particularly after the Holocaust, as paramount. Chapter 7 follows the rise of “child survivor” consciousness, distinct from that of adult survivor identity. Research has shown—­and confirmed by survivor testimony—­that child survivors’ wartime memories remained unspoken, stifled for most of their lives. They grew up in the United States, acclimated, and quickly—­at least outwardly—­shed their refugee status, a much harder task for adults. Their parents encouraged their acculturation and break from the past. Moreover, almost no one, neither family nor outside world, considered children Holocaust survivors, in part because the Holocaust experience was initially associated primarily with concentration camps, which few children had survived. Hiding, much more common for children, was thought to be relatively benign. It was assumed that children had survived largely unscathed because of the kindness of righteous gentiles. Additionally, many believed that children had forgotten their wartime experiences. Children’s history—­Holocaust or otherwise—­was not taken seriously. As the understanding of what constitutes a “survivor” was debated in the 1980s, however, the definition became more nuanced and inclusive, extending to children. During that decade, with the critical encouragement of a few key psychologists and psychiatrists, child survivors began to come forward, organize, and establish their own unique identity.

Introduction 11

Child survivors repeatedly emphasize the importance of groups in which they encountered those whose memories resonate with their own. Many recall their first participation in child survivor organizations as a profound and transformative one due to a deep sense of previously unknown connection with others who share common threads of separation, loss, displacement, searching, abandonment as well as complicated identity issues. These relationships assume familial dimensions. For some, groups also offer membership in a Jewish group without the complications of a religious organization. Today those European Jewish children born in or after 1928 are acknowledged as “survivors,” their memories validated. This has encouraged many to speak about their experiences. For most, the act of telling their stories to a wider audience and experiencing a sense of engagement with listeners has helped to give some purpose to what they endured. This takes many forms, including involvement with museums and memorials, lectures and memoirs, art, and survivor advocacy. As these efforts contribute to their own repair, child survivors shape the future of Holocaust memory, education, and legacy.

1 • Liber ation Battles after the War

At the end of the war in 1945, Sara Kay, a teenager, came out of hiding in Lublin, Poland, and immediately made her way to her hometown in search of family. She reflected on her feelings soon after she was free: “Here I am waiting to be liberated and everything is gone and I’m liberated for nothing. I thought then everything will be good again. . . . I thought I’d go to school and I’d have my parents and I’d have my sister. I didn’t realize that it’s never going be like it was before the war.”1 For many children like Sara who had held onto hopes during the war that they would find their family alive in peacetime, it would be years before they would know stability, let alone tranquility. Indeed, this period was often the beginning of unwelcome new battles. There were those who found vestiges of family while others confronted the absolute losses hidden from them during the war. Some, usually younger children, were taken from familiar foster families and returned to familial strangers. These processes were fraught; displacement and changes were common; disappointments and despair were rampant. At the same time, to the larger world, the few surviving children took on symbolic proportions. They represented the very hope of a future for the Jewish people. The end of the war pushed the adult Jewish and gentile community to move quickly on behalf of children.2 Different groups clamored over them as the children struggled with the consequences of “liberation.” Despite the political reality of immigration quotas, adult survivors had some agency in their lives. But children—­especially younger ones—­often had little voice in their postwar direction. Children had to be identified, and at the same time, they needed housing and maintenance until parents, old or new, could be found. These events occurred at parallel and overlapping times in the chaos of postwar Europe. The reclamation of this tiny but all-­important group would soon evoke profound sympathy but also long simmering tension between different ideological groups in the larger Jewish community. This was especially, but not exclusively so with orphans, for whom Jewish groups vied for control. Would they become new Jews to fulfill the dream of a national homeland in Eretz Yisrael?3 Devout 12

Liberation 13

Jews to replace the holy martyrs who had died “al Kiddush Hashem” (for the sanctification of God’s name)? Secular Jews to reinvigorate the remnant of European Jewry? Or simply children who had relatives who wanted them back? The children themselves were sometimes at odds with what others, including their own parents, saw as the best vision of a Jewish future. What was the answer? Addressing these questions, especially through the children’s voices, throws a bright light on the intersection of conflicting agendas immediately after “liberation” and highlights the external as well as the internal battles in the lives of the youngest remnant. Examining the experiences of child survivors through their own memories illuminates the numerous, often unpredictable factors at play in the context of the larger postwar chaos, and also the children’s perspectives on efforts by the larger Jewish community to help them. Although individual stories are unique, the selections in this chapter reflect overall patterns that reoccur in multiple sources such as archival documents and survivor testimonies. Individual stories represent the different geographical locations discussed in the introduction’s demographic description, and further explicate the contributing and complicating effects of space and time on children’s stories. Finally, the accounts in this chapter focus on the children who, through a variety of reasons, were destined, not for Palestine or Canada or South America, but the United States.

Finding Children/Reclaiming Children In the first instance, children had to be located, reclaimed, and then—­depending on age—­placed in children’s homes if orphaned or until surviving parents or other relatives came for them. To recover children, adults—­parents, relatives, and Jewish organizations—­found and created opportunities both formal and informal, above the law and illegal, intentional and accidental through which reconnections were sought, all amid the postwar disarray. Children did their part, too. As had happened during the war, afterward many initially used word-­ of-­mouth to locate their kin. They simply asked other survivors. Ten-­year-­old Kaja Finkler, for example, recalls rushing toward a group of newly arrived Jews in Bergen-­Belsen shortly after she was liberated there, asking if any had crossed paths with her mother.4 No one had. But Jack Arnel (né Jascha Aronowitz) still remembers with wonder the conversation in the Feldafing DP camp when he met a newcomer accidently. “What’s your name?” the man inquired of the fifteen-­ year-­old. “Jascha Aronowitz of Vilna,” the teen replied. “Did you have a mother by the name of Chaya and a sister by the name of Sonia?” the stranger asked Jascha. And then he added, “Did you know they’re alive?” The teenager learned they were living in Łódź , Poland. Before long, the three were reunited and, four years later, arrived in New York.5 One sixteen-­year-­old girl vividly remembers the constant questions in another DP camp. “Where were you? Who do you see?

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Who died, and who do you know where they was [sic] left? . . . That was the only questions that were able to ask,” she states.6 Survivors kept their eyes open and their ears to the ground seeking any scrap of evidence that might reunite the remaining members of their families. Thousands of testimonies echo the immediate rush to establish knowledge and whereabouts of family members after the war. Oral inquiries were quickly supplemented with information from ubiquitous lists of names seemingly posted everywhere surviving Jews congregated, from DP camps to the hometowns where they returned, assuming family—­if alive—­would do the same. The primary search by older children was for parents or siblings, if their fates were unknown. Though it confirmed that they were not alone in the world, other reunions were often temporary, especially if the children were teens. Bondi Horstein, cousin of sixteen-­year-­old Auschwitz survivors Elly Gross and Yboia Farkas, saw the girls’ names on a list posted at Hillersleben, a DP camp. He managed to find them, but the pair soon left him there for their former home, hoping to find their parents. After an arduous trip from Germany through Hungary and Czechoslovakia, they arrived in Romania. Elly remembers getting off the train and eagerly running to her home because “I was sure my mother, my father, my brother will be there.” But as echoed in so many recollections, “strangers were living in the house and there was nobody waiting for me.”7 Still, she remained until some years later, when many Jews left and Elly finally settled in New York. Sometimes, those caring for children in DP camps would circulate their photographs.8 Such was the case with seventeen-­year-­old Lipot Farkosz (fig. 1).9 He and his brother, Erwin, survived Auschwitz. After the war, the pair passed through Kloster Insdorf DP camp where their images soon joined the growing pool of photographs taken by adults in the camp with the goal of locating the children’s family members.10 Others turned to the DP press. One mother in Bergen-­Belsen placed an ad with a picture of her child in the Landsberg DP camp’s newspaper seeking information about her young daughter, Estusia Haberman, “born in Lodz deported to Auschwitz in 1944.”11 Two important agencies, founded during the war particularly to locate missing persons, played an essential role in the postwar tracing services. The Central Location Index, Inc. (CLI), founded in New York in 1944 by the National Council of Jewish Women, was based in America. It had at least eight member organizations—­Jewish and Christian—­with which it exchanged information.12 Immediately after the war, it offered its services. In June 1945, the Cleveland Jewish News ran an announcement that there would soon be a local clearing house set up to provide forms to be filled out by community members searching for European relatives.13 There was similar activity around the country. The Red Cross’s International Tracing Service (ITS), located in Germany, was the other main agency that focused on the reunification of families, including finding children.14 The enormous effort of the ITS is reflected in its vast archive

Liberation 15

Figure 1. Lipot Farkosz in the Klos Insdorf DP Camp holds a name card intended to help

any of his surviving family members locate him through the reproduction of this photo in newspapers, 1945. (USHMM Photo Archives, courtesy of Lilo, Jack, and Micha Plaschkes)

today, which includes a Kindersucharchiv of 250,000 files of parents seeking children and children who were found without parents.15 Sometimes these organizations’ efforts yielded results. Lithuanian-­born Shaya (Sol) Lurie is an example of one child survivor who, through the ITS, was united with his American relatives. Under the auspices of Oeuvres de Secours aux Enfants (OSE), his postwar path took him from Buchenwald to France.16 There in a children’s home he remembers “a man that came from the Red Cross; he’s the one that asked if anybody has family in New

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York—­in America, period.” Shaya knew that he did have aunts and uncles and cousins. He gave the man his family’s names. As was procedure, the Red Cross placed an ad in the US newspapers and one of Sol’s New York cousins noticed his name. She didn’t know whether or not they were relations but she wrote to him for details. And, he remembers, finally, “I gave her the right answers and it was my—­my mishpocheh—­my family.”17 Seventeen-­year-­old Jacques Ribons knew his parents were dead and one brother was alive but had no idea where—­or even who—­his US kin were. The Polish-­born boy was liberated in Buchenwald with his brother, and like Shaya was soon sent to a home for boys in France. While there, he received a letter from a man in New Jersey who was in the habit of reading the Yiddish daily Forverts and saw the two names listed. He immediately wrote to Jacques, asking about his mother’s name and if they might be related. “Yes,” confirmed Jacques, “we’re your sister’s sons.” Initially unsure of their plans, once contact with their uncle was established, the boys decided. In 1947, the siblings arrived in New York.18 Romanian-­born Bella Pasternak was sixteen and alone in Estonia by the time she made her way to a DP camp in Innsbruck, Austria. She remembers “by the kitchen there was a big board that everybody was—­was able to write down for who they are looking and from where they coming, and anybody what group they are looking.” She was old enough to remember her US relatives’ name but not their address. Bella posted: “I am looking for the Weinstein family in America if anybody knows where they are located.”19 It worked. With the help of a tracing service that collected her information, she and her American relatives found each other. In 1946, Bella went to live with them in New York. A tracing service and a surviving relative together determined Pearl’s destination. Her experiences demonstrate the role of Jewish organizations in locating relatives as well as hopes and disappointments of reunions.20 Pearl and her cousin spent the war years in a Belgian convent. One day after liberation the girls were told that a mother had come to get them. Pearl soon saw, much to her grief, that it was her cousin’s mother, not her own. Though the thirteen-­year-­old hoped her aunt would claim her, too, the woman, an Auschwitz survivor, felt unable to. Pearl recalls, “Eventually she was able to take her daughter back with her . . . she had one little room. . . . This is what always hurt me that she didn’t take me as well, she only took her daughter.” Her pain was compounded when she soon learned “my uncle came back [too] and I said, ‘This is the injustice of the world. How could both of them come back and not one of my parents or other aunts or uncles come back?’” Pearl’s aunt felt some responsibility toward her niece: she reported the girl to the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, which through their tracing department helped the child connect with her maternal uncle who had immigrated to America years before World War II. As a result, Pearl arrived in the United States in 1949 and settled in New York.21

Liberation 17

Most often, it was the European survivors who initiated the search for relatives. Such is the case with Tama Huchman and her mother. She was eight years old when the war ended. Tama and her mother had survived together first in Poland in the Mylnów ghetto and then in farms, fields, and forests. After the war ended, they made their way to a DP camp in Pöcking, Germany, hoping to get to Palestine. Her mother was the youngest of thirteen children, most of whom had immigrated to the United States many years earlier. Tama states they went to a local office that helped DPs place ads in American Jewish newspapers. Her mother gave the official a detailed list of her relatives. They heard nothing. Just as they were about to leave for Palestine, a telegram arrived from a cousin in Indiana who had seen the ad and recognized her own and others’ names in the long list. Tama remembers learning that their US family had conferred and sent off their message. “We have your name, we’re getting papers, we’re bringing you to America,” she was told the relatives declared. Tama and her mother felt it was a chance of a lifetime. “We were going to the goldene medina,” she affirmed. They arrived in New York in October 1949 and from there went to her mother’s brother in Portland, Maine.22 There were non-­refugee organizations that played a role, too, and not only in America. The British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC), for example, offered its support with a radio program that announced the names of children who were alone and might have UK relatives.23 Beginning with the words “Captive Children, An Appeal from Germany,” the announcer informed listeners about twelve children including “Jacob Bresler, a 16-­year-­old Polish boy, has survived five concentration camps, but has lost his entire family. . . . Sala Landowicz, a 16-­year-­old Polish girl, who’s in good health after surviving three concentration camps. . . .”24 One letter from the Central Location Index highlights the fact that its work began after the war but continued well beyond its immediate aftermath. Etta Deustch, executive director of the CLI, wrote to the ITS, the Central Committee of Liberated Jews, and the Joint Distribution Committee, Warsaw, in 1948, wondering whether one Sara Dank, age fifteen, might be related to three children with the same surname, all in Poland. If so, “perhaps they are not yet in contact with each other,” she wrote. “Please investigate this case and inform us of the outcome.” In addition, Deutsch offered her own agency’s services. “If these children are interested in locating relatives in the USA,” she continued, “please send us the case and we will service it.”25 Deutsch’s inquiry suggests that, more than three years after the war, there was still much work to be done helping children find relatives. All of these efforts were laudable and piqued both interest and hopes. Some indeed yielded results. But, given the death toll of Jewish youth, the majority of attempts to find children—­like Mrs. Haberman searching for her daughter, Eustusia—­would end in utter despair.

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Detours: Circuitous Paths in the Immediate Postwar Months At the same time that lists, newspapers, and other more formal channels were employed, individuals often took matters into their own hands. Some took to the roads, going from community to community in their searches. Lithuanian-­born Rivka Grodzinski recalls that surviving men from the Kovno ghetto showed up at a hospital in Kronshagen, Germany, where she was receiving treatment. They had managed to get a car and were traveling around Germany searching for women and children from their city.26 Parents seeking children who were too young to act for themselves, who might be in places where the rescuers were not inclined to look for a surviving parent or inform the Jewish community of a child’s whereabouts, often used their own resources. Motivated by the desire to find their child quickly along with recognition that non-­Jewish forces—­individual, institutional, and governmental—­might be working against them prompted some adults to action. This could be complicated not only by poor or nonexistent transportation and channels of communication but also by that fact that in order to protect children during the war, there was often no paper trail leading back to Jewish parents. Leon Weinstein, for example, had little idea of the location of his four-­year-­ old daughter, Natalie, when he began his search for her. Born in 1941 in Radom, Poland, Natalie was sixteen months old when Leon and his wife heard rumors of deportations and smuggled their daughter out of the Warsaw Ghetto to the “Aryan” side. They left her with a cross around her neck on the doorstep of an acquaintance and returned to the ghetto. Leon’s wife was murdered in Treblinka. When he set out to find his daughter in 1945, he knew barely more than what he and his wife had witnessed when they watched from their Warsaw hiding spot: that the baby had been brought to the local police station after she was discovered on the acquaintance’s doorstep. After a fruitless year, he was about to give up when he stumbled on a convent outside Warsaw. Natalie was one of hundreds of its young residents. Leon identified her by an unusual birthmark, paid the nuns a hefty sum that Natalie believes was supplied by a Jewish organization, and left with his four-­year-­old child in tow.27 Leon and Natalie soon reached their hometown where they set up a little store. Often, survivors would come through and stop at Leon’s shop inquiring of family members’ whereabouts. That was how Leon met his second wife. When she realized she had no surviving family, she and Leon married, had a child, and the new family of four emigrated from Poland to California.28 As Natalie’s story suggests, the reunion process was rarely straightforward or direct. Leon took immediate steps but was also lucky. Natalie had been moved to the convent during the war and its location fell within the general area he was scouring.

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Like Leon and Natalie, Lea Eliash and her daughter, Asya, both survived. Lea and Asya, from Kovno, Lithuania, provide an example of a mother-­and-­daughter reunion that occurred relatively quickly in part because of proximity and also because Lea, unlike Leon and others, knew exactly where to find her young daughter. It also illustrates the fact that Jewish organizations had representatives on the ground ready to assist should parents want help and even when they did not. Furthermore, it shows that some rescuers kept to the wartime bargains struck with parents even when this resulted in their own anguish.29 Asya had been placed in a loving gentile home in Kovno with a childless couple. Valia Marchulenene, the rescuer, and Lea had made a pact that Valia would return Asya to her parents, if they survived, and only to them—­no one else, neither relative nor representative from the Jewish community. Moreover, Valia stated she would raise Asya as a Christian. Lea agreed, knowing that her immediate family had already been murdered and unsure of Solomon’s, her husband’s, whereabouts. As the war was concluding, Lea visited her daughter but decided not to remove her immediately so as to make the change less traumatic for her daughter and the foster family. According to Lea, Rabbi Efraim Oshry of the Kovno ghetto felt differently.30 Before she had retrieved Asya, the Orthodox rabbi approached Lea. Fearing Asya would be saved but lost to Judaism, he wanted to intervene and remove Asya right away from the gentile home. Largely because of her promise to her daughter’s rescuer but also due to her background in the more liberal Tarbut (secular Hebrew culture) movement, Lea disagreed unequivocally and followed her own timetable to gradually reclaim her daughter from the family who had saved the little girl’s life.31 It took some time as Lea was sensitive to the rescuer and child’s mutual attachment and did not want to sever the connection abruptly for either of the two. Asya was four years old when she finally went back exclusively to her birth mother, one of the few Lithuanian children to survive, shielded by Valia from the horrific Kinderaktions in the ghetto. From there, the mother and daughter went to Germany where Lea found that her husband, Solomon, had also survived. Hasbro Toys in Rhode Island provided affidavits for them.32 The three settled in Providence, Rhode Island, in 1949.33 Sometimes, the war and its aftermath flung children far from home, which further complicated postwar searches. Often in such cases, even if children were old enough to know they had been separated from their biological family, they were still too young to physically take steps to find relatives. Events in Kaja Fink­ ler’s life, for example, took her to a different country from both her country of birth and where she ended the war. Born in Poland in 1935, she is a rare instance of a young child who, without benefit of a rescuer, survived.34 Kaja and her parents were sent to the Piotrków ghetto where, at age seven, she witnessed the deportation of her mother and the death of her father. Kaja subsequently endured several months in the Ravensbrück concentration camp and finally was deported to Bergen-­Belsen where she recalls at age ten

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“just waiting to die.”35 She also remembers quite vividly the day of liberation and the British entering the camp announcing, “Do not be afraid of us: we are your friends.” She also has a memory of the liberators giving the inmates sardines and soup, the eating of which caused the death of a younger girl in her barrack. Rabbi Klepvish, a chaplain with the British forces, wanted to assist and asked the children if they were aware of any living family members. Kaja assumed her mother had died but had managed to hold onto a small photo of her grandfather, Rabbi Taub, who, as her mother had presciently written on the back of the picture, lived in Brooklyn. Head of a Hasidic dynasty, her grandfather the Modzitzer Rebbe immigrated to New York in the late 1930s. Rabbi Klepvish thought the child was mistaken and wrote to another Rabbi Taub, a friend in London. The latter immediately realized that Kaja’s grandfather was the Modzitzer Rebbe and telegraphed him that his granddaughter was alive. Unbeknownst to either Kaja or her grandfather, Kaja’s mother had also managed to survive and made her way back to Warsaw, and then on to Łódź to the fledgling postwar Jewish community.36 From there she wrote to her father in Brooklyn, who soon realized that neither his daughter nor his granddaughter knew that the other had survived. He quickly relayed the news to both. In the meantime, before mother and child could reunite, the Swedish government offered to admit and aid thousands of refugees, including a group of orphans from several concentration camps. Kaja soon found herself headed for Sweden. By now she was very ill and was placed in a children’s home in Fiskaborde, Sweden, along with four or five others from Bergen-­Belsen. Kaja spent close to a year there. During this time, as her grandfather worked on securing visas to the United States, Kaja and her mother began to correspond with each other. Anticipating a reunion with her mother but before she experienced the difficulties awaiting them in America, Kaja notes, “I have to say, that this was one of the happiest times in my life.”37 It was almost a year before mother and daughter were reunited and several years since they had last been together in the ghetto. They arrived in America on 9 April 1946 among the very first refugees to reach the United States. Kaja Finkler’s story provides an example of steps that both parent and child took to find family, the temporal gap caused by the Swedish government’s humanitarian aid to refugees, as well as the role played by the family’s prominence in the Orthodox world. Eva Brettler’s experiences both parallel and deviate from those of Kaja. She, too, survived concentration camps and the aftermath of the war also took her far from home. Born into an Orthodox family in Koloszvar, Hungary, in 1936, she and her mother were marched out of Budapest toward Germany in 1944. Her mother was killed and Eva went to Ravensbrück and finally Bergen-­Belsen, where, at age eight she spent the waning days of the war.38 After the war ended, Belsen became a DP camp where she stayed briefly. There she met Mrs. Gross, a former neighbor from Budapest, who was headed home and wanted to take the

Liberation 21

girl with her. Eva, however, was with a group headed by Luba Tryszynksa, the main caregiver in the Kinderbaracke in Belsen, and insisted on going with them to Sweden. Despite her religious upbringing, she went to a secular Zionist boarding school to prepare for life in Palestine. Eva credits Luba with being one of the few who showed her love and affection during this transitional time. This experience, she emphasizes, gave her a positive sense of identity and belonging for the first time since separation from her mother. Eva knew her mother had been shot and because she hadn’t seen her father in over two years, she assumed he had been murdered as well. One day, about a year after liberation, she was called to the school principal’s office. She went with trepidation, fearing a punishment for misbehavior. Instead she learned that her father was alive in Budapest. How did he find out about his daughter? In part, by chance. Mrs. Gross had indeed returned home and she soon learned that Eva’s father had, as well. She assured him that his daughter was alive. He then turned to the ITS, which confirmed the news and also that she had left Germany for Sweden. The news suggests a happy reunion. Eva, however, was ambivalent about this development because the now ten-­year-­old wanted to stay with her group destined for Palestine. Nevertheless, she was persuaded to return to her father in Budapest who, in the interim, had remarried and had another child. She became part of a new family and began at yet another school. Eventually, in 1956, the family immigrated to and settled in California where, again, she adjusted to another life.39 Sometimes reunions occurred but were tragically short-­lived. Roman Kent, an orphaned seventeen-­year-­old Auschwitz survivor, describes how he and his brother decided in the postwar chaos to search for family. They went all over Germany from place to place, from DP camps to cities with any Jewish presence at all. It wasn’t easy moving between the different zones of occupation, yet they persisted. Finally, the boys met someone who had been his sister Dasza’s friend in Poland. She told the boys that Dasza was very ill and had been sent to Bremerhaven to be transferred to Sweden for treatment. Defying a curfew, he and his brother lost no time in getting to their sister. He describes haltingly, “It was something . . . very unusual . . . and touching to see my older sister lying in bed, just skin and bones . . . and when she had seen us . . . you could look in her eyes and see it’s a miracle, here we are after what we went through.” They spent a few hours together before the medical team sent her to Sweden where she passed away a short time after she was reunited with her brothers.40 Shep Drazin embodies the unusual example of a child enduring the entire war with his family of origin. The family also defied the odds: in Lithuania, the murder rate of its Jewish citizens was notably high. Due to luck, connections, timing, and ingenuity, they managed to escape death. Shep is one of the few children who did not need to be located after liberation because he and his parents managed to hide together throughout the war. Born in Vilna in 1935, he grew up in a nearby town,

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the only child of a Hasidic Lubovitcher rabbi and his wife. Just before the Passover holiday in 1942, his mother decided it was time to escape. They left food simmering on the stove to give the impression that they would be returning and departed from their home. Along with several relatives, the group survived by hiding first with farmers and then in an underground hideout in a forest. He recalls these years of his childhood as “playing hide-­and-­seek from the Nazis.”41 After the war the family traveled first to Łódź, where his father helped the fledgling Jewish community while Shep wandered in Łódź’s ruins. He remembers playing with another boy and seeing him disappear under a building that collapsed. Before long the family moved on to the American zone of Germany where they stayed in the Foehrenwald DP camp for several months. Soon their American relatives in Worcester, Massachusetts, provided affidavits. They were eligible to enter the United States quickly because they were on the underfilled Lithuanian quota. Ten-­year-­old Shep and his parents arrived in New York on 15 July 1946 on a military transport, the SS Marine Flasher, one of the early ships that brought refugees to the United States.42 His mother’s sister was there to welcome them. Before long, they settled in Providence, Rhode Island, where Rabbi Drazin found work as a shochet (ritual slaughterer), a job in the US Jewish community for which European rabbis, especially those without English skills, were qualified. While oral histories and testimonies suggest that if a parent and child had survived, one way or another, despite the sometimes seemingly impossible odds in the postwar chaos, they somehow found each other. However, the example of Alfred and Mary Frydmann offers at least one excruciating instance when a parent and her children were not reunited even though all had survived.43 For many years, the siblings believed their mother had lived through Auschwitz but died on a death march toward the end of the war. The two children had been hidden in Belgium; she in a convent and he in an adjoining monastery. After the war, the pair was placed in a Jewish orphanage in Brussels run by Jonas Tiefenbrunner that was supported by the Orthodox organization Rescue Children, Inc. In 1947, the two went to Decatur, Illinois, sponsored by a maternal uncle and his wife. Years later, Alfred’s son found evidence that Mrs. Frydmann had survived and been repatriated to Belgium where she was hospitalized. After that, the trail ends in a question mark. What happened? What accounts for this counterintuitive example? Did the mother’s health fail? Perhaps she believed her children were no longer alive or she remarried and started a new life. Possibly she was unable to care for her children after her wartime experiences or believed they would be better off without her. The questions remain unanswered. We only know that mother and children were not reunited. Undoubtedly, whether due to the dreadful possibility of missed connections or postwar physical and emotional circumstances, they remained apart. This seems to be a rare and tragic case but conceivably not an isolated one.

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Saving the Orphans: “Defend the cause of the weak and fatherless” (Psalms 82:3–­4) Crucially, for those like Asya, Natalie, Kaja, and Shep, a parent survived to retrieve them. But who would claim the many whose parents had placed them in homes, convents, and monasteries and were now orphans? How would these children be restored to the Jewish people? As an American serviceman in Belgium in late 1944 wrote to the office of the World Jewish Congress, there are “7000 Jewish orphans who for the last three years were kept in Catholic homes. . . . We got to save these children at all costs,” he insisted. “They are the hope and the sole guarantee for the continuation of European Jewry.”44 Others across the religious and communal spectrum shared the soldier’s concern. But a unified response eluded the Jewish community. The postwar reclamation of orphans was fraught on many levels; political, religious, and personal. In the absence of children’s relatives, Jewish organizations often vied for this responsibility. For one thing, the tradition of helping orphans is deeply ingrained in Jewish values based on numerous biblical injunctions to care for widows and orphans.45 The aftermath of Holocaust provided an unprecedented challenge to make good on those commandments. Undoubtedly this biblical imperative was fundamental to the work of Jewish organizations, particularly religious ones. Retrieving children from gentile environments was one goal; restoring Jewish life through the rehabilitation of children was another. But restoring Jewish life according to whose vision? The Orthodox community, for all of the above reasons, was at the forefront of this effort to reclaim Jewish children. Even before the war in Europe was completely over, Chief Rabbi Joseph Hertz of Great Britain established the Commission on the Status of Jewish War-­Orphans in Europe to assess conditions on a country-­by country basis.46 After the war, Chief Rabbi Isaac Herzog of Palestine spearheaded the effort to locate and remove children from gentile environments. In early 1946, he traveled to Europe to make the case for returning orphans to the Jewish people. As reported in the New York Times, Rabbi Herzog felt that Jewish children, especially orphans, needed to be taken out of gentile environments. That was the first essential step. Reclamation, however, did not end there. Rabbi Herzog wanted to ensure the creation of children’s homes and institutions that would “receive the children and restore them to their ancestral faith.”47 As the historian Michael Marrus has noted, to address the first part of the process, the rabbi met with religious as well as political leaders, including two audiences with Pope Pius XII who “promised ‘considerable help’ in solving the problem of recovering the Jewish children still held in Catholic institutions where they were given shelter from the Nazis during the war.”48 Rabbi Herzog also conferred with heads of state including Premier Klement Gottwald of Czechoslovakia and the Netherland’s Queen Wilhelmina and

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members of her cabinet. Again, he discussed “the return of Jewish children who were sheltered in non-­Jewish institutions and homes during the Nazi occupation and are still there.”49 At a press conference in the Netherlands, Rabbi Herzog appealed to the Dutch people to continue their “noble record” of assistance to Jews during the war by returning Jewish orphans to Jewish institutions.50 Despite Rabbi Herzog’s appeals, at least two sensational postwar clashes over orphans captured the attention of the international media and cast a glaring light on ongoing dangers still lurking for the Jewish community. One—­the case of the Finaly brothers—­represented victory for world Jewry—­but not immediately. A custody battle between a Jewish woman and the Catholic Church over her two nephews who had been hidden in France dragged on for eight long years. In the end, however, the Finaly brothers were returned to their aunt in Israel.51 The second notorious conflict, between a Dutch Christian family of adult unmarried sisters and a Dutch Jewish communal agency over Anneke Beekman, became headline news. It showed that gentile foster parents often fought back, even when there was a surviving relative. Anneke had spent the war years sheltered by five unmarried Catholic sisters in the van Moorst family. After the war, the Dutch Guardian Commission for War Foster Children recommended returning the orphaned girl to the Jewish community, partly because they felt the sisters weren’t a typical family and also because Anneke was born into an Orthodox family. The courts, however, ruled in favor of the foster family. This was appealed and overturned. Unwilling to surrender her, the foster family kidnapped the ten-­year-­old in 1949. The Beekman saga had a very different outcome than the story of the Finaly boys. Anneke remained with her foster family and was raised underground as a Catholic, proclaiming when she later reappeared at age twenty that she elected that religion.52 The two cases also underscore the role that governments played in custody battles, especially in the Netherlands, Belgium, and France. And these were places where the number of children who had been taken in by non-­Jews was notably high.53 In the Netherlands some 2,000–­3,000 surviving Jewish children were declared “war foster children” and, according to the nation’s laws, became guardians of the state. Surviving family members or the Jewish community reclaimed most, but more than three hundred did remain in gentile families.54 To some, even one child remaining in non-Jewish hands was too many. There were also intra-­Jewish conflicts. Orthodox groups believed that some US secular Jewish agencies were intentionally focusing on secular or Zionist goals while neglecting—­or worse—­challenging Orthodox ones. A letter written by an American upon his return from serving in Europe illustrates this. Like Sergeant Friedman, David Stein, a former serviceman in the US Army in Belgium, was particularly aggrieved by his observations that not enough was being done about reclaiming children who were still living with gentile rescuers. Stein believed that in Belgium there were at least “1200 children being supported by

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Jewish funds from America who are still in the hands of hostile Gentiles.”55 The timing of and determination, or lack of determination, to remove children from non-­Jewish environments and subsequently “ rehabilitate” them was a contentious and ongoing sticking point between secular and religious groups that went to the very meaning and purpose of survival. To address this pressing issue, men of the Vaad Hahatzalah (the Vaad), the Orthodox wartime rescue group, asked Herbert Tenzer, a lawyer and Barton’s Candy board chair, to form Rescue Children, Inc.56 An article in the New York Post described its mission as “the physical, mental, moral, and educational rehabilitation of Jewish children orphaned or separated from their families by war.”57 Rescue Children required participants to travel to Europe for one month at their own expense in order to visit children’s homes and interview their occupants with the goal of finding religious children and placing them in an appropriate environment. A small group of men quickly took themselves overseas to tackle the problem.58 Rescue Children cast a wide net. Though it aimed specifically to cater to the needs of surviving Orthodox children, the boundaries between who was religious and who was not were sometimes blurry.59 Tenzer himself went to Europe in search of youngsters. In order to identify religious children who were too young to recall if they were born into observant families, Tenzer stated that he enlisted older youth who might remember that a child’s father was a rabbi or a schochet (ritual kosher slaughterer), or a child’s mother wore a sheitel (Yiddish for wig traditionally worn by Orthodox women).60 The men worked diligently. By 1948, Rescue Children had established some one hundred religious children’s homes that housed and educated about two thousand children in France, Belgium, Holland, Poland, Romania, and Sweden.61 The numbers suggest some success, but the reality was mixed. True, children were removed from gentile surroundings but the alternative was not always especially warm or well equipped. This was true of many homes—­religious or not—­that were thrown together out of urgent necessity. And heads of children’s homes were not necessarily sensitive to the children’s needs. Some residences functioned as mere repositories for children after removing them from Christian families and institutions and offered little else—­at least at first—­to the youngsters. Moreover, children sometimes had to be moved from one home to another. Children often remember them unhappily. Nor did placing the child survivors in religious homes guarantee that they would become or remain religious. Irene Gutmann Hizme’s experiences illustrate her circuitous postwar path and Rescue Children’s role in it. By the time Irene was eight years old she was an Auschwitz survivor and an orphan. Born in Czechoslovakia in 1937, she and her family were deported first to Theresienstadt and then to Auschwitz where her mother and father were murdered. As twins, Irene and her brother, Rene, were both subjected to Dr. Mengele’s experiments and had survived separately, unaware of each

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other’s whereabouts or even survival. At the end of the war, a young Polish woman who lived in the town of Oswieçim came into the camp and plucked Irene out. Irene does not know the unmarried woman’s motives but she believes that she had been close to death and the woman saved her life. She brought Irene to her farm nearby where she soon expected Irene to help out with farm chores. While not particularly fond of her foster mother, Irene did become enamored of Catholicism during that time. She went to church and discovered she loved the order and beauty of the service. Although the chronology is not precise, Irene knows she lived with her foster mother many months because she recalls summertime, fall, winter, and receiving one cookie at Christmastime. After a while, some religious men whom she identifies—­based on her subsequent experiences—­as part of Rescue Children removed her and placed her in a Jewish orphanage. She was not deeply attached to the Polish woman but was less happy in the unpleasant and disorderly children’s homes where she was subsequently sent. Irene remembers being moved around several times. It was not necessarily because the adults in charge were indifferent to her well-­being. As descriptions suggest, conditions in children’s homes were better in France and Belgium, which is what prompted Irene’s numerous brief stays in Poland until, finally, she was placed in Fublaines, one of five religious orphanages in France funded by Rescue Children.62 There she met Miriam, a teenager and the first person to whom she became attached after many years of isolation and misery. She remembers sitting with Miriam, both holding rosaries, plotting their escape from the home. Eventually, Miriam decided to go to Palestine. More than anything else, Irene wanted to go with Miriam. However, she was chosen to go to America as part of Rescue Children’s fundraising campaign. There, an American couple adopted her. Although as an adult she was able to come to terms with Rescue Children’s choice, she was, at least initially, deeply unhappy about the decision that sent her to America and undermined the bond she had forged with Miriam.63 Marguerite’s experience exemplifies the confusion and disruption that many went through on their postwar journey. Her parents, who were in the French Resistance, and one-­year-­old sister had fled to Belgium after Germany invaded France. Marguerite was born there in 1941. After her father was deported in 1942, the underground helped her mother, Lea, find separate foster families for the girls. Lea was taken away sometime later. Marguerite bounced around to a few families during the war until she was placed in the Van Buggenhut household in a small village outside of Antwerp.64 Neither of Marguerite’s parents returned and it fell to the Jewish community to find her in the war’s aftermath. Because the girls had not had numerous wartime moves, it was not terribly challenging to locate them through their parents’ connections with the underground. As is often the case with young children, Marguerite is not sure who was responsible for finding them but both girls were removed from their foster families and taken to a Jewish orphanage first in

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Antwerp and then Brussels and then back again to Antwerp. Marguerite believes this was in early 1946 when she was five years old. Marguerite was deeply upset by the separation from the Van Buggenhuts who she thought of as her true and only family. At first, she refused to eat. Perhaps, she recalled, “It was my way of saying I didn’t want to be there or maybe I thought I’d be able to go back to my family.” Mrs. Van Buggenhut was, in fact, interested in adopting the sisters but was denied permission to do so. Marguerite is sure that one of the children’s homes had Orthodox support. She remembers turning on a light on the first Friday night after her arrival, which provoked a severe scolding for desecrating the Sabbath. She recalls she was taught to say the “Sh’ma,” the Jewish prayer affirming faith. She also remembers that she and the other children were instructed to say kaddish, the mourner’s prayer, for their dead parents. This was enormously confusing for Marguerite. “Weren’t my parents [the Van Buggenhuts] alive?” she wondered.65 Marguerite desperately wanted to return to the Flemish family. That was not meant to be. “It was awful,” remembered Marguerite; “it was like being given up because I really thought this was our mother.” Instead, a rabbi and his wife adopted the girls and they found themselves in Chicago in 1950 five long years after the war ended. As Irene’s and Marguerite’s experiences show, in the months following the war’s end children often had stays in at least one and sometimes multiple children’s homes before they moved on to America. And in these places designed to “save” them, handling of children could be harsh, which sometimes undermined its religious educational goals. In general, the experience and treatment was often uneven.66 This contributed to, as the scholar Diane L. Wolf notes, children’s mixed reactions to postwar environments.67 Some of the children’s homes were not intentionally cruel but the children remember them bleakly because the stays were preceded by abrupt separation from their foster family followed by a plunge into new and foreign traditions, which in religious institutions could be strict. At other times, children were indeed the recipients of punishment and even abuse.68 Certainly, though, not all remember negative or callous treatment. Nor was poor treatment absent from other nonreligious homes. One religious orphanage in Antwerp, Belgium, for example, is an unusual instance of a Jewish institution that persisted from wartime into the postwar period. Funded by Rescue Children, and led by educator Jonas Tiefenbrunner, several children recall him, and the place, with warmth. One child, who had just been deposited at the orphanage when Mr. Tiefenbrunner approached her, recalls that he asked if she knew her birth date. She did not. The director then informed her that her arrival in the orphanage coincided with her birthday and presented her with a small gift.69 She was overwhelmed by his act of kindness. In all cases, the circumstances preceding children’s arrival in postwar homes—­ their wartime experiences—­affected their stays profoundly. Eleven-­year-­old Simon Steil was brought to the Tiefenbrunner orphanage probably sometime

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in 1947. He recalls his initial unhappiness after his gentile foster mother, Bertha, told him he would be leaving her home for an orphanage. “I cried for a while in the orphanage,” he remembered. “I exchanged letters with them [his foster family] and they did miss me,” he stated. In addition, “It was rough for a while because I had to learn a whole new way of life—­from not wearing a yarmulke to wearing a yarmulke every day to the daily rituals and plenty of no-­nos.” Summing up, “It was an adjustment,” he emphasized.70 Mary Frydmann Berges, the child whose mother never found her, agrees. A surviving relative retrieved her and her brother, Alfred, from the Catholic institution and took them to the Tiefenbrunner orphanage. “I showed up with a cross,” she said, echoing others who entered postwar homes with external expressions of their Christian identities. After the convent where the nuns were exacting and punitive, she recalls feeling more relaxed in the new, Jewish environment. Still, like Simon, it was initially bumpy. Going from strict Catholicism to Orthodox Judaism “was quite a transition.” Some of the prohibitions of the Sabbath mystified her. She did not understand why “we couldn’t turn on the lights and we had to cut the toilet paper before Shabbos on Friday.”71 Both Simon and Mary and her brother, Alfred, spent less than a year there before their US relatives brought them to America, which, for Mary, would prove to be just one more move in a series of many. The direction of Goldine Teicher, a six-­year-­old orphan, was determined by a surviving, secular uncle. He could not care for her but her took her away from the Belgian family who had saved her and to whom she was deeply attached. She recalls, “When my uncle came after the war and took me to the children’s home I was very unhappy because I really felt very loved there.” Her rescuer wanted to adopt her. Repeated Goldine, “I remember being very unhappy to leave her.” Her uncle placed her in Tiefenbrunner’s orphanage affiliated with the Agudath Israel because he felt strongly that she, the only survivor from her Orthodox family of six, should be raised in a Jewish environment. Goldine reflects, “At the time I didn’t understand it. . . . They started teaching me a new religion. . . . I came there with a cross and suddenly I had to change my religion, I had to learn Hebrew. . . . It was stressful.”72 Eventually Goldine, her uncle, and his new wife came to America where she became part of an ultra-­Orthodox community in Brooklyn. She lives there to this day. Romanian-­born Freda’s memories of the conditions in the Jewish children’s home in the Eastern bloc are not pleasant but she recalls the director, Rabbi Portugal, and his religious teachings warmly. Hasidic rabbi Eliezer Portugal of Czernowitz, known as the Skulener Rebbe, was attempting to reclaim thousands of Romanian children from Bukovina, which had become part of Russia. In her testimony, Freda describes surviving a ghetto and death marches, and finally landing as a fourteen-­year-­old orphan in a Soviet orphanage where Russian officials were bribed to release her. She was then placed in Rabbi Portugal’s children’s home with some two hundred orphans. A report from the Agudath Israel office

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in Romania highlights the rabbi’s efforts within the postwar political context and describes the “zeal and mesiras nefesh” (self-­sacrifice) of the Skulener Rebbe.73 The report confirms Freda’s recollections as it lauds how “he stole children from children’s homes which belong to the State and brought them to his home.” It also describes, without details, how the rabbi and assistants “took children who lived with Gentiles in eastern Galicia and had them brought to him in Czernowitz.” Some six hundred children were gathered in Romania and placed in children’s homes organized by the Agudath Israel there.74 As with other groups, the retrieval and housing of children was the critical first step for Rabbi Portugal. Then he personally worked on the “chinuch” (education) of each child. “To understand the difficulties of his undertakings,” the report detailed, “you must realize that many of these children grew up without any education and were completely neglected.” However, Rabbi Portugal felt he was able to teach “the Jewish midos” (proper behavior) to the orphans.75 Freda’s testimony reinforces this. As an older girl she tended to the younger ones. “A lot of the children were still wetting their beds, crying, nightmares,” she remembered. But in addition to caring for the orphans she emphasizes that there, under Rabbi Portugal, “I got my Jewish education.” She noted that she had never had a chance as a child to learn about Judaism but after the war the rabbi “taught us religion, he taught us to believe in God, and he taught us to be good.” But what made the biggest impression on the child was “he taught us not to be ashamed, to be proud to be Jews.”76 Freda eventually married, had a family, and emigrated from Romania to America. Though she did not adhere religiously to the Orthodox standards of Rabbi Portugal, she unreservedly credits him with instilling in her a Jewish education and enduring pride in her religion.77

Disagreements on Tactics and the Save-­A-­C hild Foundation Even as child survivors were found and transferred to homes, some in the Orthodox and ultra-­Orthodox communities believed that the secular Jewish leadership was leaving others behind. Specifically, they argued that the reclamation of Jewish orphans from gentile families was a critical issue that needed immediate attention. The World Jewish Congress (WJC) had articulated this as a primary goal in 1945 even before the war had completely ended, and yet almost two years later there were those who felt this task still demanded attention. In January 1947, for example, Dr. Maurice Leybel, a director of Jewish homes in France supported by the Vaad Hahatzalah, visited New York and declared, “More than 5,000 Jewish children cared for during the war by Christian families in Poland, France, Sweden, Belgium, and Holland are still unclaimed by Jewish organizations.”78 Dr. Leybel’s words reinforced the belief of those in the Orthodox community that the “rescue and rehabilitation” work had been entirely too slow and

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ineffective. The war had officially ended almost two years earlier. In the meantime, the reclamation process had become more complicated and, for some, with the passage of time, more urgent. The policies of various countries, notably the Netherlands but also France and Belgium, made reclamation difficult. And gentile rescuers were not necessarily cooperative. As Rabbi Dr. Isidor Gruenfeld, chair of the Commission on the Status of Jewish War Orphans, stated in an appeal to the UN Committee on Human Rights, “Many have changed their names, many have assimilated into a Christian environment and foster parents have refused to cooperate.” He further denounced “conversionists” with the desire to “save the souls of the Jewish war orphans for Christianity.” He estimated that a much higher number of 40,000 Jewish children were in Christian homes.79 In his plea for a resolution of this issue, Gruenfeld quoted the definition in the draft of the new genocide convention of the United Nations, stating that genocide is also “the deliberate obliteration of the cultural or spiritual life of a people.”80 While world Jewry had been united with Rabbi Gruenfeld in its concern for these Jewish souls, as time wore on, their belief about how best to respond was not. Wrote Kurt Grossman, director of the WJC’s Relief and Rehabilitation Department, to Gerhart Riegner, secretary general of the WJC, upon learning of Rabbi Gruenfeld’s appeal, “Of course, a considerable amount of cases will be left where no relatives are available who would be willing or able to take the child.” Then, Mr. Grossman concluded, “We think the child should decide by itself [sic] whether it prefers to go back to a Jewish environment.”81 Religious organizations felt the JDC was similarly undermining the reclamation of Jewish children to the Jewish community because it financially supported children in gentiles’ homes when parents did not have the resources to take them back. In this time of crisis, some disputed the JDC’s attitude that the work of removing children from Christian environments “calls for tact, diplomacy, and delicate handling.”82 The following year Brooklyn-­based Elimelech (Mike) Tress, president of the Agudath Israel Youth Council, was moved to act. Tress created “Save-­A-­Child” Foundation whose mission included but went beyond fundraising to find and remove children who, in 1948, were still living among gentiles. Save-­A-­Child dispatched agents to several countries. The correspondence from one, Moshe Swerdloff, the American representative in Brussels in 1948–­49, sheds light on the project in general and the Belgian office in particular. Swerdloff ’s reports paint a nuanced and complicated picture of the operation. He noted that the first step to locate the orphans was not so difficult. The next, however, to convince the individuals or institutions to relinquish them, was less easy. Secular Jewish organizations such as the Comité Israelite in Belgium agreed to give Mr. Swerdloff names, but believed the children should not be uprooted unless removal was instigated by surviving parents or possibly relatives. For the ultra-­Orthodox Save-­A-­Child, however, the possibility that Jewish children survived only to grow up Catholic was an unacceptable outcome that it was prepared to go to great lengths to fight.

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Case histories written by Moshe Swerdloff illuminate the extent of these battles, the successes and failures by their standards, and the greater Jewish community’s response. In one instance, Swerdloff describes Sara B., a fourteen-­year-­old girl who was placed in the M. home in 1942. Since the end of the war, the JDC, according to this source, had been giving the gentile family money for the child’s support. Swerdloff learned that the girl had an aunt who survived and decided to take the case to court. When the judge ruled against returning the child to her aunt, Swerdloff ’s lawyer contacted the district attorney to find out if the case could be settled out of court. Both parties met and agreed to the sum of $600. At the writing of the report in July 1948 Swerdloff was having difficulty finding anyone either in the girl’s family or the Jewish community who was able or willing to come up with the money to, in the parlance of Save-­A-­Child, “redeem” Sara.83 In an oral history conducted in 1989, Swerdloff spoke about thirteen-­and fourteen-­year-­old sisters living in a convent. A surviving aunt contacted Agudath Israel and came to Belgium to retrieve her nieces. Swerdloff recalled how he visited the girls and took them out to a restaurant and watched the pair crossing themselves before they ate. “We couldn’t budge them,” he remembered. “We had to take them back to the convent at night”; adding, “We were going to try to kidnap them [but] that didn’t work out.”84 The Save-­A-­Child Foundation used whatever means necessary to further its goals. At times the group located people in America with similar names to the children who were willing to pose as relatives wishing to claim the children of their deceased kin. Moshe Swerdloff ’s frank descriptions highlight that Save-­A-­Child’s operations were often fraught. As he told Tress, “The truth of the matter is that wherever we go, we have made the gentiles weep with bitter tears.” He continued, “They have become accustomed to the children and to all their little ways and it is a painful process to severe [sic] relations immediately.” In the example of one little girl, noted Swerdloff, “They had had the child ever since she was about four months of age and they really adore her. We are discovering,” he confessed to Tress, “the hardest part often comes after we have redeemed the children.”85 This prompted him to suggest taking the children away from their familiar settings to Switzerland before sending them to Israel or America in order to break continued connections with their foster families. It was not just the gentile family for whom the separation was devastating. Miriam Rakowski gives a compelling illustration of one child’s perspective. Her oral testimony articulates the heartache that followed her once the process of “rescue and rehabilitation” began and did not end with her arrival in the United States. Born in December 1943 in Belgium, her family placed her with the Hickets, a Christian family who cared for her for two years. For a time, after the war, the child continued to live with the Hickets and her mother would periodically visit. Miriam reflects on these postwar encounters, noting she shied away from the “stranger who wanted to touch her.”86 Mrs. Rakowski survived Auschwitz

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while her husband did not. She could not muster the emotional or financial resources to care for her child. Mrs. Rakowski decided to leave her daughter, for the time being, with the gentile family that had rescued her. Swerdloff got a tip from someone who knew Mrs. Rakowski, and decided to intervene, which eventually led to the arrest of the Belgian family for kidnapping, a capital offense. Charges were dropped when the couple agreed to return the child to her mother even though her mother had not instigated the claim. Miriam was very young when Agudath Israel intervened. Nevertheless, she recalls the event vividly as well as her complicated feelings toward the Jewish organization, which persisted throughout her life. Miriam remembers the night a man with red hair and a beard whisked her to a train station and took her to Switzerland. Later, she learned that a representative of Agudath Israel kidnapped her from the Hickets because the family did not want to relinquish her. Indeed, as Swerdloff noted, this was a practice that Agudath Israel resorted to when foster parents and Jewish children became attached to one another and the foster parents wanted to keep the child.87 Apparently Agudath Israel did not give a great deal of thought to a postwar plan for Miriam. Once she was removed from the Hickets, it was years before Miriam and her mother were reunited. Instead, the girl was shuttled around between three Jewish families in Switzerland. Two years passed before Miriam and her older sister, who had survived separately in a cloister, arrived in the United States on the Belgian quota. In New York, they briefly stayed with Mike Tress, the founder of Save-­A-­Child Foundation, before going on to different families. Fifty years later, she insists, through tears, “my life ended after the war.”88 Her postwar story illustrates the punishing effects of the war on a child through the traumatic separation from the foster family that cared for her and the painful reunion with her biological family facilitated by a Jewish organization’s aggressive work in returning children to their families and to Judaism. For child survivors, the immediate aftermath of the Holocaust—­liberation—­ was the start of an arduous journey that brought unexpected and sometimes unwelcome changes in their lives. Some were reunited with families while others were placed in children’s homes created by Jewish organizations that had their own visions for the tiny remains of European Jewish youth. Eventually, they were sent to families. For most who were destined for America, it was many months, sometimes years, before they reached their ultimate destination. At the same time that children were found—­and sometimes lost—­in Europe, American Jewry, as the next chapter shows, was organizing to help the youngest survivors.

2 • “Our Gre atest Tre asures” America Responds

In February 1946, Lenka Schönberger had just turned sixteen. From a Rescue Children’s home in Librec, Czechoslovakia, she wrote to her benefactors in America. She described how, after Auschwitz and liberation, she returned home hoping to find her parents and five siblings. But, she recorded, “Alas, I found nothing and nobody.” Her only thought now was to get to the United States where she might forget “all the sufferings I am still having.” In the concluding paragraph she made her hopes painfully clear. “I am begging you to help me full fill [sic] my wish,” Lenka wrote. She ended, “I hope you will do all you can for me.”1 The cause of the innocent war orphan, like Lenka, immediately touched American Jewry’s heart. US Jews reached across the ocean and extended a hand to surviving children in numerous ways. The initial reaction was enthusiastic—­at least from a distance—­and it was a layered one, as well. Many factors motivated and informed the response including personal feelings, gender, Jewish leadership, fundraising, institutional agendas, changes in immigration laws, and, of course, genuine sympathy for these most sympathetic of victims. All intersected and ultimately played a role in bringing children to the United States. Initially, American assistance was largely from afar, through “Adopt-­A-­Child” programs designed to raise money for children’s homes in Europe with a personal appeal. Although immigration quotas stood in the way, the somewhat ambiguous message of the fundraising campaigns raised hopes of those who wanted to legally adopt a child. In late 1945, however, the Truman Directive opened the door for the emigration of some 1,000 orphans. By 1946 children began to come to the United States to join families—­related and not—­and start new lives.2 What were the children’s responses to American Jewry’s help? They were mixed. Real human beings, however young and not-­so-­young, had deep emotions and did not necessarily react positively to well-­intentioned efforts. Particularly in the case of younger orphans, the direction of their lives was often set by agencies’ own agendas, concerned with doing right by the children by their own 33

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lights and, secondarily, by the needs or desires of the children. Older children, too, were often pulled into arrangements that they did not choose but had little power to influence.

First Steps: American Committee for the Rehabilitation of European Jewish Children The institutionalized Jewish community is built on the values of tzedekah (charity) and helping its own. Since World War I and the establishment of the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee ( JDC), American Jews had shown their collective support to their brethren far away from their home soil. But the rupture to Jewish life after the Holocaust was unprecedented in both scope and essence and therefore required a heightened response in order to assist the remnant of European Jews. Part of this response centered on Jewish leaders’ recognition of the supreme importance of the few surviving children. At first, American Jewish organizations went on fact-­finding missions and reported back to their members about the desperate situation of survivors, including children. Their constituents immediately stepped up to raise money for these “poor victims of Hitlerism.” One of the first organizations to respond was the World Jewish Congress (WJC). Although the WJC was not created as a relief organization, its secretary general, A. Leon Kubowitzki, threw the group’s support behind the children’s cause. Upon returning from Europe, he reported, “Most of these children have been deeply wounded.’  .  .  . They need love and understanding not only to be returned to the Jewish community, but to be returned to life, to grow up as normal men and citizens.” Therefore, he announced his organization’s intent to “launch immediately a great work of rescue of destitute children in Europe, and of securing their maintenance and their general and Jewish education.”3 In keeping with the WJC’s overall philosophy, Kubowitzki envisioned a group united in its goal to help children.4 He also saw this as, to a great extent, the task of American women including his wife, Myriam, who, in fact, had accompanied him to Europe and shared his concern. Under the initiative of Louise (Mrs. Stephen) Wise, the president of the American Jewish Congress’s (AJC) Women’s Division, the American Committee for the Rehabilitation of European Jewish Children was founded.5 The committee firmly believed it was up to American Jewry to support the thousands of surviving children,6 and it pledged to assist ten thousand of them.7 American Jewish women recognized the importance of raising money for European Jewish children in orphanages and homes. But they also envisioned a more personal and ongoing connection. Almost immediately the American Committee for the Rehabilitation of European Jewish Children came up with an idea to encourage US Jewry’s commitment to child survivors: a Foster Parents



“Our Greatest Treasures” 35

Plan whereby individuals or groups, affiliated with the national organization, would “adopt” a child by pledging $300 per year to maintain him or her in an orphanage in Europe. After debating the issue, the committee decided to make this an autonomous fundraising program specifically for children rather than for the general budget for European Jewry.8 Mrs. Wise embraced the project, determined that the AJC’s Women’s Division would contribute significantly to the committee’s funds. Wise had already been an advocate for New York Jewish orphans before the war, and she now entreated women to take part in the rescue of European children. “The world’s children,” she declared, “are the responsibility of the world’s women.”9 On the day the war in Europe ended, the Women’s Division of the American Jewish Congress held its annual meeting in Baltimore. In Mrs. Wise’s absence, her son Jonathan Wise called on the audience to begin a campaign for a special fund of $500,000 for the care of the recently liberated European Jewish orphans.10 Women at the meeting agreed to the challenge and soon encouraged others to join the cause once back in their local communities. According to the records of the WJC and the Jewish Labor Committee ( JLC), both male and female leaders pushed for women’s involvement because they believed that working on behalf of child survivors would resonate with American women. They were right. A few months later, Mrs. Wise wrote to Aryeh Tartakover, director of the WJC’s Relief and Rehabilitation Department, enthusiastically noting, “It is with a feeling of great joy that I send you the enclosed check in the sum of $10,000 from the Women’s Division of the American Jewish Congress as it is the first check in an installment toward the creation of a home for children somewhere in France.”11 Collecting money was the plan’s cornerstone, but the idea that American Jews cared about the children’s emotional as well as physical needs, as the language of the fundraisers suggests, was an essential component from the start. In fact, a December 1945 Memorandum on the Foster Parents Plan to the Chapters and Councils of the AJC and the Women’s Division stated—­perhaps in an effort to appease other major Jewish charities—­that its purpose was not to be a substitute for relief programs carried out by other agencies, but rather to help the children “lose their present sense of insecurity and inferiority.”12 At a time when the United Jewish Appeal (UJA) was launching a massive campaign to raise $100 million for the displaced persons of Europe,13 and there were constant reminders in the media about the ongoing financial emergency in meeting the basic needs of survivors, proponents of the Foster Parents Plan differentiated it from other campaigns by asking its audience to help an individual child.14 Soon promotions appeared to encourage participation. “Foster Parents Wanted for Jewish Children” was the headline of one of the WJC’s early pamphlets. In it, the plan’s intentions were noted: to place homeless Jewish children with Jewish families or in children’s homes in Europe and to provide for their

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individual care and Jewish upbringing. It was more than a fundraising scheme. Importantly, the program emphasized a personal connection. In fact, “parents” were able to “adopt” a particular child that appealed to them, based on reviewing a child’s history and photograph. Exchange of letters was encouraged although not required. Photos of orphans were accompanied by brief wartime bios designed to evoke interest by giving the audience minimal but tragic details of the children’s lives. One brochure, for example, showed nine-­year-­old Karel Umschweif with a caption describing how his parents, both physicians, were killed in Auschwitz and that the boy “is now in need of loving care.” Appealing directly to its potential “foster parents,” it read, “Won’t You Help Save Them?”15 Similarly, flyers of the Dressmakers’ Union of the International Ladies’ Garment Workers’ Union had pictures of unsmiling, young children below the headline “They Need Your Help. . . .”16 And help American Jewry did. From 1945 on, their donations funded children in homes in Austria, France, Belgium, Czechoslovakia, Holland, Hungary, Italy, Yugoslavia, Poland, Romania, Sweden, and Switzerland.17

Adopt-­A-­C hild: Americans Jump In The “Adopt-­A-­Child” approach to fundraising caught on. At the same time that the AJC and its affiliates advertised its Foster Parents Program, Rescue Children, Inc., ran a virtually identical “Adopt-­A-­Child” plan. Rescue Children also asked for $1 per day to support a child for one year in the hopes of raising another $1 million exclusively for children. To do so, it launched a major campaign directed at the American, and not necessarily Jewish public through the media, using similarly emotionally evocative language as that of the AJC. Among the many Rescue Children ads that appeared in 1946 was a large display in Women’s Wear Daily with the headline: “WHO CARES what happens to the lives of these children? WE DO . . . with your help!” The article continued: This is the season of giving and sharing . . . when Chanukah and Christmas blend all Americans into a kindred spirit of joyous generosity. Today—­before you leave your office and your work to turn to holiday joy—­will you look again at these tender faces . . . these children whose fate rests entirely in the hands and hearts of kindly Americans like yourself?”

Six photos of children and brief biographies accompanied the text. “6 Sad Stories . . . 6 Happy Endings” promised that donations would secure a bright future for the children.18 Eventually, potential donors to Rescue Children were permitted to view a collection of “first-rate” photographs and brief biographies from which to choose “their” child and with whom they were encouraged to communicate.



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Not only religious and secular groups vied for funds. There was competition between religious groups, too. For example, the ultra-­Orthodox Agudath Israel Youth Council of America ran its own campaign. In a message sent out around the High Holidays in 1946, Louis Septimus, chairman of its Guardian Sponsorship Plan, wrote, “There are thousands of orphaned Jewish children in Europe . . . who desperately need the warmth and loving care of a ‘foster parent.’” Septimus reminded the reader that “these children cannot at the present moment be brought here . . . but you can help provide a friendless boy or girl with food and clothing and maintain a close personal contact with the child you ‘adopt.’”19 All believed in the idea of saving children but there was competition between groups for American pockets, and conflicting ideologies and strategies. The various and competing efforts reflected ongoing multifaceted tensions among different religious groups as well as secular Jewish communities that had long existed before World War II and persisted in the war’s aftermath.20 The words of A. L. Sachar, national director of B’nai Brith Hillel Foundations, a pluralistic fraternal order, underscore this. When asked to contribute to the Vaad, Sachar declined. He responded that although he was in sympathy with the cause, he had already lent his name to other agencies requesting support. “Hence,” he wrote, “I had better not add my name to still another agency . . . since it would hazard the sponsorship of agencies with which I am already identified.”21 Competition notwithstanding, the respective Adopt-­A-­Child programs resonated with Americans. Another round of pictures of children soon ­ appeared in the media announcing the heartwarming “adoptions.” New York mayor William O’Dywer, for example, was one of the first to step forward, through Rescue Children, to adopt a French orphan, Gaston Maurice Friedman. Soon celebrities were added to the list of “parents.” “Helen Hayes will adopt 9-­year-­old Maurice Fraykind,” wrote one reporter. “The stage star says she selected Maurice because his emaciated appearance won her heart.”22 A journalist from the St. Louis Post Dispatch asked, “What would you do if you had four sons, all clamoring for a sister? I know what Bing Crosby did. With the consent and collaboration of the mother of his four sons, he adopted a little girl—­11-­year-­old Zulme Scheinowitz.”23 Cleveland’s Jewish Independent proclaimed, “Abbott and Costello Adopt 25 Little War Orphans.”24 The article described the pair’s desire to help the unfortunate victims made parentless by Hitler. Newspapers, both general and sectarian, around the country carried numerous stories of these “adoptions.” Well-­known Jews were also featured. Wrote one reporter for the Yonkers Times about singer and actor Eddie Cantor, whose radio show featured stories of his wife and five daughters, “And now, at long last, Eddie and Ida have a boy—­but by adoption—­he is Leon Zucker, 5, a Jewish war orphan who is being brought up at Eddie’s expense by an organization know as Rescue Children.”25

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American Jewish Women’s Activism Rescue Children, Inc., and the AJC both worked to raise money for Jewish European children. However, from the start the AJC’s program, unlike Rescue Children’s, was largely the domain of women. By early 1946, 300 of the 470 foster parent commitments were pledged by the AJC’s Women’s Division.26 Perhaps fearing that interest was waning or possibly because of the competition for funds, another call to woman came in April 1947 in the form of an invitation to members of New York women’s clubs and auxiliaries to attend, in the words of Adolph Held, chairman of the Jewish Labor Committee (one of the AJC’s affiliates), “an especially important WOMEN’S RALLY [caps and underline in original] in connection with The Rescued Jewish Child in Europe and featuring well-­known columnist and lecturer Dorothy Thompson. . . . Our responsibility,” he emphasized, “to the surviving children, the greatest treasures of our people, is very great.” Now the women’s organizations “should assume the responsibility of further aiding these Jewish children,” he stated. Held entreated all to attend and “do everything possible to make this event the success that coincides with its lofty purpose.”27 Held’s appeal struck a sympathetic chord with women. By November, the New York Women’s Division, under the direction of May Vladeck Bromberg, daughter of illustrious Bundist Baruch Vladeck, responded to the challenge to reinvigorate appeals for raising money for child survivors who were continuing to live in homes affiliated with the JLC in France, Poland, Belgium, and Germany.28 This effort did include the ongoing foster parent plan as well as clothing drives and solicitations of material donations of all sorts from vitamins to fabric, which were shipped to Europe. And the female leadership continued to turn to other women for help. For example, May Bromberg wrote to Miss Gertrude Simon of the Gimbel Brothers department store asking for a donation of 200 winter coats for 200 girls and boys. In the letter Bromberg also mentions the nineteen children’s homes and several hundred children “adopted” through the JLC’s Foster Parents Plan. She closed the letter by thanking Miss Simon for any help or suggestions that might “enable us to clothe these children.”29 American Jewish women, particularly in the secular realm, continued to respond enthusiastically to European Jewish children’s plight. In their fundraising efforts, they also brought Holocaust awareness into public and private spaces. Women organized bazaars, book events, concerts, and poetry readings. In 1948, for example, the Women’s Division of the JLC sponsored a City Hall concert of songs from the ghettos and camps, asking its membership “to help our children overseas who have not yet been adopted, to whom the proceeds of the Concert will go.”30 A performance in Los Angeles featured comedienne Molly Picon and intermission speaker “Vladke [Vladka Meed], the Warsaw Ghetto Heroine.” For their 1949 bazaar, the women showcased an exhibition of the paintings of



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fourteen-­year-­old war orphan Vladek Symchowicz, resident of the JLC home in Paris. The press release noted that the boy had endured unforgettable horrors in the Warsaw Ghetto, which “together with the many stories Vladek has heard from other survivors emerge as the subject matter of an unusual series of paintings.”31 The auxiliary also promoted a very early Holocaust memoir by Warsaw Ghetto survivor Bernard Goldstein, The Stars Bear Witness. The Women’s Division invited female speakers who had been to Europe to report back to their women’s groups about visits to children’s homes. Certainly the JLC women offered a particular perspective (with an emphasis on the Warsaw Ghetto and its uprising) but nevertheless illustrate the activism of Jewish, particularly secular women on behalf of child survivors. Moreover, this postwar political involvement persisted. In the next decades it led to the activism of female membership in civil rights and numerous liberal causes supported by the AJC.32 Women were far less visible in Rescue Children’s efforts. Not that they were completely absent. Vaad HaHatzalah’s national director, Arthur Rosenkrantz, wrote to Mrs. Magda Bierman, head of Busy Buddies, the women’s auxiliary of Rescue Children, to thank her for her group’s recent, successful luncheon at the Waldorf Hotel that raised $7,500 for the Child Adoption Program. He felt certain that they collectively would continue “a highly stimulating and vigorous program that will meet with the approval of your lovely associates and yourself.”33 In contrast to the AJC, however, which had numerous chapters around the country, the Busy Buddies consisted of one group of forty-­five women in New York City. While Rescue Children records indicate that its organization assisted 2,000 children overall, Busy Buddies’ mission appears to have focused on “adopting” approximately 100 children in two French orphanages. They did so, like the AJC, by encouraging groups such as synagogue sisterhoods to support a child. Participation in Busy Buddies notwithstanding, women certainly contributed much less significantly in this organization than their counterparts in the AJC and its affiliates did, reflecting the gender differences in communal roles in the Orthodox community as well as the fact that Rescue Children, Inc. was a much smaller organization than the AJC and its numerous affiliates.

The Correspondence Service The Foster Parents Plan was designed to improve the material condition of children in homes in Europe through donors’ support of one child. Catherine Varschaver advocated for even more, another example that highlights both American Jewry’s involvement with child survivors as well as women’s roles in particular in fostering connections with them. In August 1945, Varschaver, an American social worker working for the World Jewish Congress as cohead of its Child Care Division, called on Americans to join her in supporting children’s emotional rehabilitation through personal correspondence.

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Initially conceived as a World Chanukah Celebration Project in October 1945 to send gift packages to Europe, the program soon evolved into the Correspondence Service, a letter-­writing exchange between Americans and child survivors.34 Jewish leaders in general and Varschaver in particular recognized that children suffered aftereffects of their traumatic wartime experiences. Although the Foster Parents Plan encouraged donors and recipients to exchange letters, the Correspondence Service was just that: an exchange of written communications, but not necessarily financial support. Varschaver herself made repeated visits to children’s homes and enthusiastically reported to her constituency that “always the children asked me to convey their heartfelt gratitude for your letters and gifts.” She assured Americans that the children were “impressed by the fact that they were no longer alone in the world: they had friends far across the ocean who thought about them who thought of them.”35 Sixteen-­year-­old Gitla, for example, wrote from Poland, “The package made me very happy because I haven’t any family.” Eleven-­year-­old Maurice corresponded from Belgium in late 1945 with Nina, an American girl. He told her that his parents were deported in 1942 and he was there alone with his five-­year-­old sister. “I hope they will come back soon . . . ,” he confided to his US pen pal.36 The records suggest that the letter-­writing plan was a popular activity. By 1948 the Correspondence Service numbered 10,880 participants from Hebrew schools, Yiddish schools, Jewish community centers, and youth organizations.37 The American Jewish Congress considered it an unqualified success. From looking at the PR materials, it is difficult to determine the program’s true impact on child survivors or their American counterparts. Nevertheless, networks of communication were initiated and early awareness of the Holocaust was fostered by the efforts of women who sincerely believed the initiative mattered to both child survivors and American Jews.38 Clearly, the foster and correspondence programs reflect—­albeit to varying degrees—­a connection between American Jews and child survivors that reached for something more than a nameless, faceless, financial effort. Americans were helping individual children who needed them—­or at least had the perception they were doing so. The appeals certainly encouraged interest and engagement of US Jewry at a time when needs overseas were enormous and numerous fundraising efforts were competing for their pocketbooks.39 That Jewish organizations elicited generous support for children’s homes, given the demands of the times, was a triumph likely due to the fact that American Jews believed their actions personally benefitted “war orphans,” the most sympathetic of recipients. The extent to which they actually helped the young survivors’ spiritual recovery is harder to discern. For one thing, adults and children often viewed the rehabilitation process differently. Emanuel Patt’s assessment, for example, illustrates one perspective. In 1946, the labor leader traveled to Europe to survey many of the homes supported by the JLC and reported his findings in a report entitled



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Jewish Children Return to Life. Patt’s observations emphasized the outwardly positive in the restoration of Yiddishkeit and minimized the children’s traumatic experiences. After Patt’s inspection of the Home for Children of Deported and Killed in Le Mans, France, for example, he notes: “Looking at the children now it is hard to believe that they lived through the grueling war years all alone. Le-Man [sic] is a merry place. Holidays are frequent, and the children, who only two years ago had to conceal the fact that they were Jewish, have a chance to sing Yiddish songs and recite Yiddish poetry.”40 Though Jewish leaders had continuously expressed sensitivity to the emotional toll of the war, it was easier to focus on external signs of recovery when confronted with the children, rather than look beneath the surface. The home in Le Mans that Patt visited, in fact, was one of the first established in France after the war with the help of the Women’s Division of the Jewish Labor Committee.41 True to the fundraising brochures’ promises, the appreciative young residents of Le Mans corresponded with their American benefactors. They wrote: To the Mothers in America who care for us: Dear Mothers: We are using the opportunity of Mother’s Day to thank you once again for everything that you are doing for us. We wish you much happiness in your life and we wish you have much joy from your children and families.42

No doubt the children benefitted from the women’s work and the women were encouraged by the children’s apparent appreciation. Thank-­you letters, pictures, and other exchanges between foster parents and children notwithstanding, the contact between the children and their benefactors was, of course, distant and often superficial.43 And, as with Patt’s descriptions, and the examples that Varschaver used to promote the Correspondence Service, the extent to which observers, American patrons, or pen pals truly grasped (or wanted to know) the harsh reality of children’s lives during and after the war is questionable. Possibly, too, the children were coached to limit their words to expressions of their gratitude. The recollections of Isaac Millman, one of the children who lived at the Le Mans home, speaks to this. His story does not negate the work of the women, nor Patt’s report. However, it reveals a more complex side to life in the orphanage than the glad tidings communicated in formulaic letters and reports that were essential to the Foster Parents Plan. In 2008, Isaac related how events during the war eventually brought him to Le Mans. Shortly before his mother’s deportation in 1942, she paid an acquaintance to bring Isaac to a neighbor in Paris who had agreed to hide him. Under the cover of darkness, the man followed the instructions and delivered Isaac to the

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woman’s home. When presented with the boy, though, she changed her mind. The man abandoned eight-­year-­old Isaac on the street near his former apartment building. Not sure what to do, he stood waiting. A woman approached him and determined he was a Jew. Luckily, she was one, as well. Moreover, she worked for Oeuvres de Secours aux Enfants (OSE) and had contacts with families who were willing to take in Jewish children. Through her efforts, Isaac spent the remaining war years with two gentile families. Isaac was twelve years old and an orphan when the war ended. His Jewish rescuer retrieved him from the gentile woman who had last sheltered him and placed him in the Le Mans home, run by Mr. Serge and Mrs. Rachelle Pludemacher.44 The home was affiliated with the Workman’s Circle (the Bund) in Paris and its director, Mr. Pludemacher, was a son of Gershon Pludemacher, a well-­ known secular Jewish educator from Vilna. Isaac does remember being told that American Jews supported the home. He would put on his best attire when US groups came to visit, although he does not recollect writing letters. Isaac recalls there were approximately thirty-­five boys and girls there with him. Not all were orphans. Some had surviving family members who periodically showed up to claim their offspring. “Others, like me,” he remembered, “didn’t have anybody.” It was difficult “seeing other children with family members leaving the home. . . . There was some form of jealousy and also some anger.”45 In some ways Isaac’s recollections of classes, holiday celebrations, games, and skits echo the lively atmosphere Patt described. Mrs. Pludemacher instructed them in Jewish secular topics, while Mr. Pludemacher taught them world literature and culture. About his overall feelings and memories of that time, though, he reflected: When you’re an orphan you start to withdraw within yourself. I think I learned to keep quiet. I learned to keep quiet, of course, during the war. . . . I hid during the war and I also hid afterward. And I was being careful not to be heard. When kids don’t belong to anybody and you don’t really have anything  .  .  . even though you’re given something . . . it’s not really yours. So, yes, there were some joyous moments: playing, having friends, going to the movies, forgetting things . . . there were those moments but at the same time thinking and waiting . . . for the parents.46

This disconnect between the two perspectives of benevolent adult and child emphasizes the fact that child survivors’ outward appearance belied inner wounds. Americans may have overlooked or deliberately shut their eyes to the deeper needs of children. And the latter, themselves, may have submerged their inner turmoil. US Jews’ charity, however, certainly provided some material assistance for child survivors even if the intended emotional sustenance is less easy to ascertain. Some Americans, however, wanted much more than letters from the relationship—­they wanted to legally adopt a child.



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Interest in Adoption The majority—­but not all—­of those who participated in various charitable efforts understood their role as important but physically distant supporters of war orphans. But others misunderstood, were led astray by ambiguous advertisements, or hoped for a possible opportunity to adopt a child. Emotional ads and articles that featured the placing of “homeless Jewish children with Jewish families,” as well as some that noted the hope that “when immigration restrictions permit that children may be united with their foster parents” certainly contributed to confusion and misaligned expectations.47 Changes in immigration legislation in late 1945 also raised prospective parents’ hopes. As a result, letters of inquiry began to reach the offices of the organizations promoting the foster parents’ campaigns. “My wife and I wish to adopt two refugee children,” stated one man. “We desire a boy of three to five years of age and a girl between two and four,” he added. Moreover, he stressed, “They would be brought up with all the love, care, and devotion that our own little daughter (age two) is now receiving.”48 Similarly, “We are writing to you in regards to adopting a baby,” a woman wrote. She, too, elaborated her criteria, noting, “My husband and I have decided on a girl, if not a boy will be loved just as dearly. . . . We want a baby, the younger the better.” Finally, she concluded, “We would appreciate it if you would let us know immediately as to what steps we are to take in order to turn our cherished dream [into] a reality.”49 But the JLC was not handling adoptions. “Unfortunately it is at present not in our power to bring children from Europe to America for legal adoptions,” wrote May Bromberg, director of the Jewish Labor Committee’s Women’s Division. “We do, however, have a foster parent program whereby individuals or organizations maintain a child in Europe for a period of one or more years,” she added.50 The letters by prospective parents delineating their wishes illuminate several aspects of the postwar reality versus American Jews’ perceptions and sensibilities. One is the interest expressed by families in the adoption of Jewish children. However, given America’s initially restrictive quota system, at first there were limited opportunities to do so. But the many inquiries regarding adoption also reflect the deep lack of understanding of the demographics of these survivors, a misconception furthered by the media. Couples expressed a preference for young children, but despite popular representations of child survivors, there were few to be had. This was explained, according to Leon Wulman, MD, in the American OSE Review, “by the proportionately higher rate of children murdered as compared to adults, and by the very small number of five-­to ten-­year-­old children, owing to the drop in births during the last years of the Hitler regime.” Importantly, Wulman noted, “Of these,” he estimated, “20% are orphans.”51 Nevertheless, perhaps because orphans were perceived as the most vulnerable of victims, or possibly because fundraisers tapped into the Jewish tradition of

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helping “widows and orphans,” the latter demographic was most often featured in printed requests for support from American Jews. The United Jewish Appeal’s “Facts” brochure for its $1 million Save the Survivors Campaign announced—­ erroneously—­that of the 150,000 Jewish children still alive, “most of these are orphans” who would need 35 to 45 percent of the Joint Distribution’s 1946 budget in 1946 for their care.52 In addition to misleading donors about the number of orphans, those spearheading fundraising efforts could also exaggerate possibilities of adoption. For example, Rabbi William Novick, executive director of Rescue Children, announced that its campaign to “adopt” a child “does not constitute legal adoption—­although it could very well lead to it.”53 Such ambiguous messages no doubt encouraged hopes among those seeking to adopt. Numerous letters in the agencies’ archives with inquiries about adoption of “war orphans” reflect this.

The Truman Directive: US Adoptions of Child Survivors Become a Reality In late 1945, new US legislation turned the dream of legal adoption of a war orphan into a reality, albeit for a small few. Because the US government was pressuring Great Britain to open the doors of Palestine to refugees, President Harry S. Truman made a gesture to indicate his good will toward displaced persons. In December 1945, the president issued an executive order, the Truman Directive, which allowed 39,000 displaced persons (DPs) to enter the United States under existing quota regulations. This was good news for those interested in genuine adoption. As noted in the New York Times, Truman “expressed the desire that the majority of the visas be issued to orphaned children.” He also emphasized that “responsible welfare organizations now at work in this field will guarantee that these children will not become public charges.”54 The directive gave organizations the ability to provide refuges with affidavits previously limited to US kin.55 And although this legislation most certainly encouraged hopes of those seeking to add a Jewish orphan to their families, most children were destined exclusively for US relatives, at least initially. A brief report in the Jewish Telegraphic Agency ( JTA) in July 1946, for example, announced the arrival of forty-­two orphans, all of whom were going to their relatives.56 With the enactment of the Truman Directive, preparations were soon underway in Europe to bring children to America. The main federal organization that managed the immigration of orphans was the United States Committee for the Care of European Children (USCOMM). The committee, a nonsectarian agency, established in 1940, was the first created exclusively to assist child refugees.57 Launched during the war to bring endangered British children to America temporarily, the committee was reenergized after Truman’s order. The USCOMM was chiefly responsible for overseeing these potential immigrants in



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Europe and escorting the “unaccompanied minors” to America. It ensured that the child was qualified under US immigration laws, would attend an appropriate school, and would not become a public charge. The USCOMM screened the children overseas, made travel arrangements including providing escorts, and organized transportation to special reception centers in the United States. It also designated the local US childcare agencies working directly with children, which included 164 agencies in thirty-­eight states.58 The impending arrival of war orphans also reactivated the wartime European Jewish Children’s Aid (EJCA—­formerly German Jewish Children’s Aid) and propelled it into the postwar arena as the preeminent Jewish agency that determined where children would settle.59 The EJCA coordinated the orphan’s care, working with both the USCOMM abroad and directly with local US agencies until the child turned twenty-­one. Semi-­annual reports by local agencies submitted to the EJCA provide a clear window into the contemporary treatment of child survivors by both social workers and foster families. Bella Pasternak was one of the 1,000 children who ultimately arrived due to this legislation.60 Bella had managed to get from Hungary to the Austrian Bad Gadstein DP camp to be with her surviving brother. There she saw a notice for a new program for children aged eighteen and under to go to the United States. Her thinking reflects the often arbitrary choices that determined direction. She was seventeen, an orphan, and adrift with no special plans. “So,” she notes, “I went and registered.”61 She had to fill out paperwork and undergo medical and psychological tests. By November, she was in Bremerhaven waiting for a boat in a designated USCOMM area. Bella recalls the trans-­Atlantic voyage and that were other teenagers from many DP camps among the passengers as well as agency chaperones. “Officials,” she remembers, “with three Cs on their caps” accompanied the group.62 Upon arrival in New York in December 1946, Bella went directly to the designated reception center in the Bronx. Much to Bella’s surprise—­and reflecting the misconceptions even by those working with orphans—­the teens discovered that “there were cribs waiting for us, because they said a children’s group was coming.”63 The next day, Bella’s mother’s cousin (who had found the girl through the latter’s inquiry in Bad Gastein) appeared. She invited Bella to live with her. Not everyone who showed up at the reception center was a relative. Echoing the expressed interest in the youngest orphans, Bella also remembers clearly “there were a lot of people who came to adopt children.”64 Teenagers, however, were not in great demand by prospective parents. Bella had a hand in her own direction, as arbitrary as it was. Oftentimes, however, the child’s destination was shaped, if not determined, by adults. Some were young and had no choice over their path. This was how Mary and Alfred Frydmann, for example, arrived in Decatur, Illinois. They were sponsored by their US relatives who knew from European siblings that the two were orphaned.65 The

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same was true for Ruth Krell and her sister, who went to their grandfather in New York.66 Martin and Sadie, sixteen-­year-­old twins, intended to go to Palestine, but their American relatives persuaded them to change their plans.67 Others, who had no relatives, ended up in America in a variety of ways. Just as parents searching for offspring sometimes took matters into their own hands in Europe, so, too, there were times when individuals and organizations took the initiative and found ways to adopt or to facilitate an adoption of a child who was not a relative. Ruth R’s story speaks to this.68 Born in 1940, she and her sister survived in hiding in Poland. Their parents did not survive. After the war, they were taken by a Jewish organization to a series of orphanages—­so many Ruth cannot recall the number—­and ended up in a home, St. Pierre de Chartreuse, near Grenoble, France. Ruth remembers that quite a few times Americans would come to the orphanage looking for potential adoptees. Although she spent time with several couples seeking to adopt one child, she refused to be separated from her sister, and the orphanage personnel respected her wishes, which was not always the case. After a time, Ruth remembers that an American couple showed up “loaded with chewing gum and balloons and all kinds of gifts for the children.”69 They began taking Ruth and her sister on outings and expressed interest in both of the girls. While Ruth does not remember the details, she recalls being told later on that it was not easy from a legal standpoint for the couple to adopt the sisters. This, she noted, was partially due to the US immigration quotas and also to her perception that the orphans in St. Pierre were slated to go to Israel, not America. She believes that her adoptive parents “paid under the table to pluck us from the stream going to Israel and arrange for us to be adopted in America.”70 She credits Maurice Enright of Rescue Children, Inc. and his agent Yeheiel Granetsman, who acted as their guardian in France, with, ultimately, enabling their arrival in America sometime in 1949. Similarly Marguerite, the little girl who was removed from the Van Buggenhuts in Belgium, is somewhat unclear about her path to the United States. She and her sister spent five years moving around to different orphanages after the war. In the homes where Marguerite lived, Mrs. Abelson, an American “foster mother” participating in the JLC program, sponsored her yearly maintenance.71 Correspondence between organization representatives, the foster parent, and an individual interested in adopting war orphans provides a window into the workings behind the scenes and how individuals’ desires to bring children to America, at times, undermined the ideological goals of the participating organization. The Belgian children’s home supported by the JLC was preparing the children for aliyah to Israel. Unbeknownst to the JLC, Marguerite’s uncle, her “tuteur” (legal guardian) made other plans for the girls. Exactly what transpired is somewhat murky but exemplifies that adoptions were not always straightforward. According to Marguerite’s later testimony, Rabbi and Mrs. Martin, a childless



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couple, read in the newspaper about an actor who had “adopted” a war orphan and decided to look into the possibility. Somehow this led them to a woman at the JLC’s New York office who told them that two girls were available for adoption. Rabbi Martin immediately wrote to the JLC stating that he is “very much interested in this prospect.”72 The Martins had their conditions. They wanted attractive and healthy children. Dr. George Gliksman, executive director of the JLC’s Chicago office (which suggests that Rabbi Martin, even though from the religious world, had other connections), was quick to send them the girls’ photos with a description from Brussels noting, “Unfortunately the picture of the girls is not very good, but I guarantee you that they are better looking in nature.”73 After a battery of tests including a Stanford-­Binet for intelligence, the director of the children’s home where the girls resided was pleased to write to the Martins, “As you see they are both quite normal children.”74 Still, wrote Mrs. Alter from the children’s home, “Personaly [sic] I think it would be the best thing if you could take a trip to Europe and make up your mind on personal judgment for people have such different ideas and tastes about ‘looks.’”75 The Martins did not travel to Europe but made their choice long distance. The two sisters were told that an “aunt and uncle” in America were interested in them and adoption proceedings continued. Despite the fact that the executive director of the JLC seemed to have a hand in the process, its Foster Parents Committee was not pleased with the uncle’s decision to send the girls to America. “We deem all of the events aforementioned as quite unfortunate,” wrote Dorothy Klein, assistant director of the Foster Parents Plan to Mrs. Abelson, Marguerite’s “foster mother” who paid for the girl’s annual support in the children’s home. She continued, “As you know, we have done our work with a twofold purpose: first we dedicated ourselves to saving and rescuing orphans of the war: and second, we educated, healed, and cared for them in our homes so that they would be properly prepared for life in Israel.”76 Nevertheless, the committee was powerless to intervene in the face of the wishes of the girls’ guardian. The pair arrived in the United States in 1950 and went to live in Chicago with the rabbi and his wife. There were times when children ended up in American families without either the initial instigation of a prospective adoptive parent or by choice. Irene Guttman Hizme’s experiences exemplify this. Unexpected forces brought her to America and kept her there. Magda Bierman and the women of Rescue Children’s Busy Buddies in New York voted to bring two children from their children’s homes in France on a fundraising mission to the United States. One of them was Irene. After she was moved to Fublaines from Poland, Irene developed a close relationship with an older girl, Miriam, who became, in her words, a “surrogate mother.” Like the majority of orphans there, Miriam was going to Palestine on Youth Aliyah and Irene wanted to go with her. Busy Buddies, however, had made its decision.

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When the Rescue Children representative told Irene she was to go to the United States, she was shaken: I didn’t want to go to America. I wanted to go with Miriam. She was the only person who I felt close to and so this very nice gentleman said to me, well it will only be for a little bit and we’ll bring you right back. I believed him. The next thing I knew was I was together with another little boy . . . from another orphanage. We were on this big airplane on the way to America. . . . Then, it turned out there was a lot of commotion about us. Subsequently, I learned that we were chosen to raise money for the war orphans of Europe by this organization called Rescue Children. . . . We stayed at hotels and I saw white bread. I saw things that were totally magical to me. We were taken to this store, this Saks Fifth Avenue . . . I could not believe my eyes. They bought us things and they gave us things. It was unbelievable, unbelievable.77

Irene’s experiences are captured in the November 1947 issue of Life magazine’s article “Orphans Clothed.” “For the children the visit became a wonderful round of eating, shopping,” the reporter wrote. “The sight of Irene and Charles at daily luncheons and parties,” he continued, “has already touched so many hearts that donations to Busy Buddies, Inc. have jumped 30%.”78 Rescue Children capitalized on the opportunity offered by Irene and Charles, who became, briefly, the darlings of the media. Images of them with celebrities, receiving matzoh and other gifts peppered the pages of contemporary newspapers for weeks. During that time Kate Diamant, an employee of the USCOMM who had accompanied Irene and Charles from Europe and acted as their guardian in New York, came to a decision. She believed that it was best for the children to remain in the United States because they had gotten used to life in America. She discouraged the agency from sending them back to Europe. But Irene remembers it differently. She recalls that despite the fact she was showered with all kinds of gifts, “I only wanted to go back and be with Miriam and go to Israel.” And much to her sorrow, she remembers, “When it came time to ask when am I going back, this very nice gentleman said to me, we’re not sending you back.”79 Kate Diamant and Rescue Children knew a couple who had expressed interest in adopting Irene.80 But after a weekend trial, the family decided against keeping her. Irene was not unhappy; she had been staying with a member of Rescue Children and was hoping he and his wife would adopt her. This was also not to be. Nevertheless, there was another interested family. The second adoption attempt had a positive outcome. In Irene’s words, her new mother, Mrs. Slotkin, “stood by her.”81 For Isaac Millman his choice was also not his own. After nearly three years in the Le Mans home, his guardian told Isaac that an American family wanted to adopt him. He is not sure of how the negotiations occurred, but he certainly



“Our Greatest Treasures” 49

was not pleased. Isaac stated emphatically, “I wanted to stay in France or go to Israel; this was something that was forced upon me.” He could not follow his own wishes because his guardian had made other plans. The teen resented “this stranger who commands and is in charge of your life.” Here the wishes of both the home and the woman who had saved him shaped the decision to place Isaac not in Israel with his mother’s brother as he preferred, but with a Jewish family in Brooklyn. Millman arrived in New York in 1948. He was fifteen years old and, like most orphans, had never corresponded with or met his new family.82 The majority in the first wave of orphans, particularly younger children like the Frydmann siblings did go to relatives although some like Irene, Ruth, and Marguerite went to unrelated families due to seemingly unusual circumstances. Regardless of whether or not they went to their kin, they virtually all went to strangers with whom they had no prior relationship. In most cases, the children now had to contend with new family dynamics, continuing along a bumpy path that began with liberation. And although their arrival seemed to signal a fresh start on US soil, it was one laden with unexpected challenges rather than fulfilled dreams.

3 • In A meric a War Orphans Find Home

On 20 May 1946, the S.S. Marine Flasher docked in New York. Throngs were on hand to greet the new arrivals, who included the first group of orphans to reach the United States under the Truman Directive. It was an emotional day. The description of the festive atmosphere, including a caption under a photograph of the group declaring “For Them Life Begins Anew,” reinforced the prevailing message that the immigrants were on the cusp of a better life.1 Indeed, just weeks later, another reporter echoed this theme when the next group of twenty-­seven “Unaccompanied Minors” reached the United States. While she noted the horrors the children had lived through, she also quoted Miss Ingeborg Olsen, acting director of the United States Committee for the Care of European Children (USCOMM), who declared that the war orphans were already making a good adjustment. “It really is too soon to tell definitively how they are working out for many of them have only been in their new homes four or five weeks,” she cautioned. Nevertheless, Miss Olsen was quick to conclude, “On the whole they have settled very acceptedly in American life and the number of emotional and medical breakdowns have been very few.”2 Soon more boats bringing children would follow. The S.S. Marine Marlin, the S.S. Drothingham, the S.S. Althos were among the US transport ships whose young passengers would be depicted in the press. Most of the media accounts of war orphans stop at the piers or soon after, capturing little of their future besides sporadic accounts of uplifting stories highlighting their accomplishments. With Americans’ supposedly eager sponsorship of orphans and social service organizations there to help, all stories imagined a happy ending to both the children’s heartaches and their wanderings. What was omitted was their life in new families away from the media’s glare. As the youngsters, foster parents, and Jewish communal organizations would soon find out, however, even good intentions and sponsors’ initially open arms would not ensure a smooth road for children who, in the words of one journalist, “have known no childhood.”3 50

In America 51

These next encounters with America were saddled with complexities. Most of the children who first came to the United States from 1946 to 1947 did so due to sponsorship by their murdered parents’ American sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, and cousins whom they had never met. What becomes painfully obvious is that each side in the family “reunion” often had entirely different expectations of the other. For many orphans, these relatives’ homes were their first but by no means their last stop in the United States. Just as the American Jewish agencies had organized to help child survivors from afar, they continued once war orphans began to arrive in 1946. This was more than a moral or emotional imperative; it was a federal requirement. The European-­Jewish Children’s Aid (EJCA) was the primary bureau that oversaw the youngsters’ resettlement, including those who went to relatives, and followed the children until they reached the age of twenty-­one. The EJCA sent children to families around the country where local cooperating agencies with official foster care placement services joined the effort. Social workers all over America made home visits to the foster families and duly recorded their reports on the youngsters. The communal agencies also contributed financially to the child’s expenses—­from partial to full support, which had significant consequences for the children.4 Policy was one thing; giving the children sustenance beyond the legal or material was another. Some of those who worked with the children showed genuine interest in assisting and understanding the newcomers beyond the mandatory reports, as reflected in a number of articles and studies that appeared in this early postwar period. What is noticeable is that even though the term “child survivor” would not be coined for decades, social service agencies identified this group as “adolescent refugees” or “immigrant children” and tried to understand the unique issues with which they struggled. In 1950, for example, Beatrice Glantz, a graduate student at Simmons College, wrote a master’s thesis based on twenty-­eight newly arrived orphan survivors and their first year in Boston.5 Her analysis throws a contemporary light on the intimate workings of one of the local Jewish organizations that worked with orphans, the Jewish Family and Children’s Services ( JFCS) of Boston. As it highlights a particular organizational response to the resettlement of children, it also brings to the fore issues and patterns distinct to child survivors that repeatedly surface in the EJCA case files, articles, as well as later oral histories, and that resonate with child survivors outside of this small Boston group. Glantz’s sample is not large. She does point out, however, that the group’s demographics mirror those of the larger survivor population in terms of country of origin and gender. The majority of the children are Polish and the number of boys exceeds that of girls. She also notes that most were teenagers between fourteen and nineteen years old, also reflecting the larger population of child survivors arriving at that time.6 And she emphasizes that they were adolescents with

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a tortured history. According to the federal Children’s Bureau website, in March 1948, about 80 percent of the 1,275 refugee children in the United States were teenage survivors of concentration camps.7

Upheavals in the First Year One critical point that emerges from Glantz’s thesis is that most orphans had multiple placements in their first year in America. The constant moving from one location to another was not an isolated event for orphans, either in Boston or elsewhere.8 All but four teens in her study experienced two changes within a few months, eleven had been in three places, three children went to four homes, and one boy lived in five different homes in his first year. This echoed across the United States as child survivors of all ages bounced around between various settings. Nor, as case files and survivors’ recollections reveal, were these disruptions limited to the first twelve months in America. Mary Frydmann, who arrived with her brother in 1947 under her relatives’ sponsorship, exemplifies the multiple placements although she was not a teen but an eleven-­year-­old girl.9 As the Decatur Review reported, Dr. and Mrs. Schlosser, the children’s maternal uncle and his wife, had gone to great lengths to arrange to bring Mary and Alfred to the United States. They eagerly took the pair into their “homes and lives.”10 The Schlossers, already parents of a two-­year-­old son, emphasized their generous determination to give Mary and Alfred every opportunity they possibly could for successful lives. Unfortunately, Mary’s stay there lasted a matter of months.11 Nearly fifty years later, Mary reflected on her first experiences in America, which so vastly differed from the promising newspaper account. Though the Schlossers professed commitment to their niece and nephew, from Mary’s perspective it fell short. “My aunt didn’t have the time nor did my uncle . . . perhaps they didn’t have the desire,” she suggested. Less than a year after the Decatur Review pronounced the children’s “dream come true,” the Schlossers shipped Mary to her maternal aunt and her husband in Detroit. Trying to understand her relatives abrupt turn-­ around she explained, “I was quite feisty and, in school, disruptive.” She hoped the second family would give her the attention she craved but they were working people and did not have the time or energy to invest in their niece. “Basically I was alone and even though I had people I didn’t feel accepted,” which, she added, “was a pattern throughout my life until I became an older adult.” Before long, she was living in a group foster home. From there, a Jewish family took her in so that Mary could care for their children. By the time she graduated from high school, seven years after her heralded arrival in Illinois, she had lived in four different places. “Nobody,” Mary states emphatically, “wanted an orphan.”12 Mary’s rejection by her relatives and shuffle between homes was not uncommon. Ruth Krell and her sister, Lea, survived in France through Oeuvres de

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Secours aux Enfants (OSE)’s assistance and arrived in New York on the S.S. Athos II in 1947, as was depicted in the press. A photographer caught the girls swept up in their grandfather’s embrace. He quickly deposited them with his son and daughter-­in-­law who apparently had little interest in them beyond, Lea sensed, some financial benefit.13 Ruth also felt much animosity from her American cousin, who was of similar age. After two years even the money the girls brought in was not enough to keep the relationship from deteriorating to the point of no return. Their aunt notified the Jewish Child Care Association that she no longer wanted the girls. They were sent to a Jewish institution in Texas. Eventually they were sent to different foster homes, a painful separation that social workers ignored. That the agencies and social workers involved paid attention to child survivors is clear, though the extent and quality of the focus is hard to measure. A 1949 article in the American OSE Review entitled “Adjustment of Immigrant Children in the U.S.A” is an example that suggests some attentively followed the newcomers’ first steps.14 The author, Elizabeth Hirsch, described a six-­month study of 316 children who, like the Krell sisters, were brought to the United States through OSE. The analysis is surprisingly nuanced. Importantly, the study scrutinizes these beginning months from the child’s perspective. It does not shy away from thorny problems. Hirsch touches on the expected obstacles of any new immigrant, but goes further. She delineates several problems that the investigation revealed, including the children’s initial excitement followed by ambivalence, and their disillusionment with their relatives’ treatment of them and the recognition that those relatives did not understand the children’s deeper nonmaterial needs. The author recommends better preparation for relatives before the children’s arrival in order to avoid problems, but notes that despite best efforts the results may often be a complete failure. Beatrice Glantz’s thesis supports the OSE study as do others. EJCA field representative Deborah Portnoy reaches a similar conclusion. She acknowledges between one-­third to one-­half of initial placements have not lasted and “with these failures . . . the youngsters have lost resources for emotional as well as financial support.”15 Some professionals who worked directly with the newcomers were quick to recognize the complications that arose between the youngsters and their American relatives and did try to take preemptive measures. For example, by 1948 Hilda Meyerowitz, an EJCA field representative, was very much aware of the challenges embedded in these new relationships. When she received a letter from another social worker at a Jewish communal agency in Albany, New York, stating that she was ready to start a home study of a prospective foster family interested in two French siblings, her answer was direct. “In all our planning for minor children,” responded Meyerowitz, “we want to be sure to help people realize that it is not only the question of bringing a child to this country but they have to realize what it means to raise a child that has such a different background, different experience and may need a great deal of help and a long time

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to adjust to the new setting.”16 The necessary patience, however, eluded many new foster parents.

Limits of Jewish Agency Involvement Judicious suggestions, as the files from the EJCA make powerfully clear, were hard to implement. Certainly, the EJCA was required to complete a home study of all potential foster families. But to what extent the professionals themselves participated or intervened clearly varied depending on numerous factors including the caseload, the social worker’s training, how closely the social worker was involved, and foster parents’ acceptance of agency involvement. Particularly in the case of relatives who believed they knew best, agencies were often powerless to offer much help because of familial roadblocks that undermined their efforts. Chana B.’s case file from early 1949 through mid-­1950 showcases the complex relationship between a child survivor and her US family through the lens of the Jewish agency that coordinated plans for the girl’s life in America.17 It shows that although some professionals did advocate vociferously for their young clients, even this could not avert crises. The girl’s file begins with communication between Morris, Chana’s maternal uncle, and the EJCA well before the fifteen-­year-­old’s US arrival. Although Morris has already applied to be his niece’s sponsor, he readily admits that he knows little about her save that she is his late sister’s child. He had already filed an affidavit of support two years earlier. But several key factors quickly emerge that foreshadow difficulties even before Chana appears in New York. For one thing, Morris’s economic position has changed. He still insists that he is interested in bringing his niece over but he is unable to take care of her financially. His constant harping on money pushes the social worker to wonder why the uncle wishes to sponsor Chana. Morris responds with an affirmation that “this is his duty, after all Chana is his niece” yet he is concerned that it will be expensive to support her through three years of schooling.18 The social worker is clearly no stranger to child survivors’ issues and reports that she “pointed out to him the usual difficulties that European adolescents face in America in connection with their past experiences and present reality situation.” Morris appears taken aback. His response mirrors a total lack of understanding of child survivors. He replies that he “would have nothing against taking Chana into his home if she seems ‘nice”’ but he is definitely not prepared “to face any problems with the girl.” The social worker soon concludes that any child placed with Morris and his wife “would have to face many difficulties.” It also becomes clear that Morris’s siblings—­even those in better financial circumstances—­want little to do with their niece. By the time Chana arrives the following year, her family had still not reached an agreement as to with whom Chana would live and how they will collectively support her. Nevertheless, they continue to profess interest. The EJCA caseworker tries to guide them toward a solution. An uncle’s response, recorded in

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Chana’s file, is an example of resistance that organizations encountered from relatives. He inquired “with a great deal of hostility” why the agency had to “mix-­in.” The man felt quite confident that the family could take care of their niece without anybody else “butting in.” But like it or not, because Chana had come to the United States through the USCOMM, the EJCA was legally bound to approve and follow her placement. Once in New York Chana voices her preference to settle in Boston with her friend Malka, another survivor with whom she is very close. The recording of this request sheds light on some of the emotions child survivors expressed in relation to new families. When the social worker presses her about Boston, Chana admits that it might be easier to live with strangers rather than her relatives. When her caseworker wonders about this in connection with Chana’s parents, the girl’s quick answer captures the profound emotions with which she wrestled. Chana begs the woman to never mention her family again. But the social worker continues by remarking that they “could not give her back her parents, but maybe she could find something else in her relationship with her adults, which she could use.” This did not soothe Chana. Rather, “she continued to cry with her head bent.” They discussed another appointment. Then “looking deeply hurt and pained, she rose and walked out.”19 Chana’s relatives prevail and before long she agrees to a trial placement with her aunt and uncle and their daughter, who is slightly older than Chana. The newcomer decides to chance it, she tells her contact at the EJCA, because she believes her relatives are truly interested in her. Over the course of the next few months, Chana comes to the EJCA regularly. As with so many others, in the first emotional weeks of getting acquainted, the reports indicate that both Chana and her relatives believe her adjustment is going well. But the edges soon fray. Chana expresses some concern that she is not receiving the same affection from her aunt and uncle that they show their daughter. Barely one month later, her uncle calls the social worker to report he had “bad news.” They “have had enough” of their niece and “she must be removed from the home as soon as possible.”20 His wife has left several times because she cannot cope. He reports that a school counselor told the family that Chana “needs a great deal of motherly love.” But he readily admits that this is something they cannot give her. She does not follow their advice and she is “morose and stubborn.” Although she had several sets of relatives in New York, none are willing to take her. She is soon relocated to an elderly aunt and uncle in upstate New York. Though they indicate their openness to keeping her with them, Chana expresses her wish to “proceed with placement plans outside of New York.” The agency complies and the paper trail of Chana’s first year in America ends. Agencies could change their clients’ placements, and often did, but had little influence over changing relatives’ feelings and actions toward their wards. The 1948 EJCA case file of sixteen-­year-­old twins, Martin and Sadie B., provides another example of the limited tolerance of some relatives when it came

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to dealing with their adolescent relatives and the agencies’ efforts to assist.21 In the file, a social worker documents the interaction between the teenagers, their aunt and uncle, and the Jewish agency tasked with monitoring the children. The file contains multiple recriminations from both sides. The children are unhappy. They were on their way to Palestine but changed course because their uncle asked them to come to New York. Yet, shortly after their arrival, the siblings left their new home. The twins insist to the caseworker that the uncle threw them out. He does not entirely disagree and states he and his wife were willing to keep their niece but not their nephew, which was unacceptable to the siblings. Great bitterness is expressed between the two generations. The twins complain that their uncle is stingy. They wanted expense money to continue high school but he was unwilling to provide it. But the aunt and uncle had a different perspective. “They are so very much spoilt,” the aunt told the caseworker. Tellingly, she believed that like many other newcomers, “they are just trying to get the best out of you.” When the social worker reminded the aunt and uncle that they had sponsored the pair and thus responsible, they stated they “want nothing to do with the children, that’s all.”22 Over the course of the next few weeks, the teens make and break several appointments with the social worker, who doggedly tries to help Martin and Sadie identify and plan for their future goals. She appears to be a sympathetic ear. Apparently, the twins sense this, since Martin admits to her that he shared some responsibility for the friction in his uncle’s home because he argued about little things, which grew into big ones. He gave an example that reflects the tensions as well as miscommunication between the two generations. He stated that his uncle wanted him to say kaddish, the mourner’s prayer traditionally said by a child after a parent’s death. Martin did not know the exact date of his father’s death and the aunt suggested one that the boy believed incorrect. In the end Martin refused. The report goes on, and what follows is a reminder that at the core, despite their stubbornness and outward independence, these are children whose lives have been profoundly, irrevocably ruptured. As Martin’s social worker noted after one meeting, “He said very sadly that he had no soul in the world who could help him, or his little sister.”23 Clearly, the teen was speaking about more than financial matters. Others in the agency records also articulate unmet, nonmaterial needs. With so many, the gap between what the children needed and what their relatives seemed willing or able to provide was immense. When face-­to-­face, many of those who were supposed to care for the youngsters lacked the ability to comprehend that these were not only orphans but also traumatized child survivors.

Behind Closed Doors Even though the EJCA’s semi-­annual reports were predicated on home visits, once children were in foster homes it was, of course, impossible to know the

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reality behind closed doors. Again and again, records confirm that relatives often felt the social workers’ visits were an intrusion and thus resisted them. Not unlike today, the professionals sometimes missed what appears glaringly obvious and did little to protect the children. In the case of Fred Manasse, the agency’s help only came after years of misery at the hands of his foster parents. Manfred (Fred)’s beginnings in America illustrate how both relatives and the system failed him, at first. He, too, experienced a series of initial disruptions.24 Like Mary F., he was an orphan with a brother who survived as well. Nine-­year old Fred and twelve-­year-­old Gustav arrived in the United States and went immediately but briefly to a reception center in the Bronx.25 Fred had a relative who provided the necessary papers to bring the boys over but decided not to have them in his home. Looking back, Fred accepts this because his uncle was a shipping clerk and had little money. Perhaps because of looks or personality, his brother was taken immediately into a foster family and lived there until he married. Fred’s experience, however, was vastly different from his sibling’s. Separated from his parents at age four, during the war he had lived in several orphanages and Catholic institutions in France where he was often bullied. These combined experiences left their mark. He believes he was a willful and undisciplined child and claims ruefully that he “was not a very nice person.”26 After his brother settled in with one foster family, Fred spent his first few months in several different places including a Jewish home for delinquent boys. Not only was he mistreated, but also separated from his brother for the first time, which he describes as “a torment.”27 Finally, ten-­year-­old Fred was sent to a childless couple in the Bronx where he lived for four years. He learned later that the couple had lost an infant daughter and he believed he represented some kind of a replacement to them, however unloving it turned out to be. His foster mother had a responsible job as head operating room nurse at Montefiore Hospital but she was a hard person. He vividly remembers that she did not hesitate to use “corporal punishment on me when I misbehaved, and she locked me in a closet.”28 Moreover, he had to do chores that he felt were humiliating because he saw them as the domain of girls: dishwashing and housecleaning including scrubbing toilets. But because for much of his childhood he had not lived in a nuclear family, he did not realize that he was ensnared in an abnormal situation. “It wasn’t a very nice environment for me,” he reflected, “but I didn’t know what parents were like—­I figured this is just part of what happens to you when you don’t have your own family.” Thinking back, he compares his time in the family with previous experiences, reasoning “older kids had been beating me up anyway so, you know, this is a woman beating you up.”29 Unfortunately, Fred remembers that a series of female social workers who regularly stopped by did not notice or ignored the family’s treatment of Fred. Finally, a male caseworker made a home visit and realized that something was

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amiss. He referred the boy to a psychiatrist.30 The doctor evaluated the situation and, to his credit, Fred recalls, he immediately ordered the agency to “‘get that child out of that home.’”31 From there Fred again had several temporary stops until a more permanent home was located. He continued in therapy for another one and a half years. His grades improved significantly, he started making friends, and he was placed in another family just as he started high school. This time, Fred believes the setting, though untraditional, was the best he had thus far encountered. It included an older couple, their divorced middle-­aged daughter with a son slightly older than Fred, and two other foster children. “They were living off the money they were receiving for three different foster children; none of them worked,” he commented. Still, he insists, “it was a great situation for me because I had a brother.” And while his foster brother returned his feelings, the rest of the family saw him and the two others purely as additional income. He insists “this was a business proposition for them and it had nothing to do with doing it for any kind of affection.” The fact that the telephone and the refrigerator had a lock underscored their attitude toward their charges. But he lived with them from the time he was fourteen and a half until he was twenty and he said his “brother” taught him everything. He reflected that the placement was the “best thing that could’ve happened.”32 Indeed, in his testimony, Fred humbly and surprisingly expresses gratitude to the Jewish agencies for everything they did to help him take advantage of the opportunities that set him on the path to a productive and meaningful adult life. As Fred’s experiences reflect, even when the communal organizations were aware of possible misconduct or abuse their response might be delayed. Sometimes it may have been due to social workers not recognizing a crisis when disguised by the pretense that all was well, or perhaps overburdened agencies, particularly in New York, could not keep up with what their clients so desperately needed.33 For example, a survey conducted by the United Service for New Americans (USNA) analyzed 120 adolescents who were living with relatives who were not parents.34 The data covers their living arrangements (i.e., almost two-­ thirds were living either with older siblings or aunts, uncles, and cousins), their education, their visas status, and the number who avail themselves of specific agency services. A table at the close of the study, however, stands out. It lists the unmet needs of this group. Strikingly, it shows that out of ninety-­four young people, twenty are seeking but not receiving help with family relationships.35 And yet family relationships were clearly one of the most troubling aspects of child survivors’ early years. Sometimes there was very little, if any, follow-­up by the Jewish organizations. Such was the case with six-­year old Marguerite, who along with her sister was adopted by Rabbi and Mrs. M. Even though the couple was keen to adopt the girls (see chapter 2), trouble began almost immediately after the sisters’ arrival. First of all, Marguerite was afraid to get off the ship. Still devastated by her removal

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from the Van Buggenhuts family, she believed that once she disembarked she “was leaving everything behind.” She remembers how scary it was to meet this strange couple who tried to kiss her. They seemed “old” to Marguerite—­ probably in their late thirties or early forties at the time, she suspects. Language was a bit of a problem, too; although they managed because of the similarity between Flemish, Marguerite’s mother tongue, and Yiddish, which the rabbi and his wife spoke. After a few days in New York, the four traveled by train to Chicago, which was now the girls’ home. Marguerite remembers that “they weren’t mean or cruel” in an overt way and particularly her new father could be kind and loving. But, she remembers her adoptive mother, especially, was uncomfortable and cold around her. Marguerite recalls that her adoptive mother would give her the silent treatment when angry with the girl. She also sent Marguerite for speech lessons for years because, according to the girl, her foreign accent disturbed the woman. On the whole, Marguerite reflects on the relationship in this way. “They thought they were getting these two little girls who would be so good and cute,” she explains, but “I was damaged goods.”36

The Unfulfilled Promise As case after case reveals, the examples of multiple and fraught placements that so many lived through shatter this rosy media picture of welcome for Jewish war orphans. What accounts for this strikingly unfulfilled promise? A confluence of factors contributed. Many potential foster parents had been moved to act and act quickly without thinking or knowing the long-­term implications of their gestures. No doubt the initial interest sprang from generous sentiments. Many were motivated out of desire to save a war orphan or obligation to “bring over” the children of murdered family members. Still others saw an opportunity to adopt a much-­wanted child, and the status of war orphan was secondary, even minimized. Some had cemented a bond through the correspondence and foster parents programs in which they participated and wanted to continue the relationship. And others were motivated out of economic rewards that a flawed foster care system facilitated. In the postwar rush to claim children, careful planning often fell by the wayside. Once children arrived, however, despite initial (and largely) good intentions, most foster parents—­related or not—­were totally unprepared for this group of newcomers who were both orphans and survivors of genocide. Beatrice Glantz’s study tersely notes the emotional tension brewing in the homes where child survivors initially lived. The newcomer could be “disliked by [family’s] own child, both ambivalent, removed per parents’ request because of emotional disturbance.”37 Families were not willing to accommodate a newcomer at the expense of their biological family’s equilibrium. Once children were physically present,

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not all had the time or, as Mary Frydmann averred, the desire to offer what child survivors needed. Since by the time children reached the United States, they often looked outwardly healthy, this may have convinced relatives that the children’s difficult behavior simply resulted from willful or selfish motives rather than something deeper. Although foster families expressed preferences for younger children, there were few that survived. And, of course, relatives could not choose the age of their European relations. Most, as reports and statistics indicate, were adolescents. They were often used to autonomy and independence beyond their years. In addition, their very survival may have resulted from a value system that had worked during the war but was inappropriate within an American family.38 In 1948, one field worker experienced with the young newcomers explained to her colleagues at the National Conference of Jewish Social Work that the youngsters frequently brought wartime patterns of behavior to the United States that were a carry over from the war. While previously essential for survival, she stressed that these methods were not a positive way to adapt in an American setting.39 Foster parents sometimes expected warmth and appreciation from their new charges while the latter were ambivalent about forming new bonds; wanting them and yet rejecting them simultaneously. Many foster parents had limited ability to see beyond the external to the internal damage and hurt. This resulted in little patience or interest on the part of foster parents in committing to a long-­ term effort involving both financial support and emotional security. This was just as true for relatives as it was for strangers.

Warm Welcomes Not all child survivors, however, found their foster homes wanting. Nor did all sponsors find the hurdles insurmountable. Some had the opposite experience. Harry E.’s story illustrates a teenaged boy’s largely warm experience in the home of nonrelatives. In 1948, the Jewish Family and Children’s Services ( JFCS), Denver, received a request from a social worker at the National Jewish Hospital about an eighteen-­year-­old Polish refugee, Harry E. Harry was about to be released after a year recovering from active tuberculosis. The EJCA had referred the boy to Denver and now the hospital, following procedure, asked the JFCS to make foster care plans for the boy. There is little detail about Harry’s wartime years except that he told the social worker that he was sent to a concentration camp when he was twelve. His case file spans over a year and suggests the internal as well as external factors at play in child survivors’ early postwar lives. On the whole Harry makes a good impression on everyone he meets. His foster parents, Mr. and Mrs. W., are German émigrés and appear genuinely interested in welcoming Harry. Mrs. W. notes that she believes they will understand Harry

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because of their own difficulties when they came to Denver in the 1930s. And, unlike many other examples, this does not seem to change once Harry moves in with them. He has his own room and eats meals with the family. There seems to be peace and mutual caring. The experience is so successful from the foster family’s perspective that a few months later, the Ws consider taking in another refugee child. The case manager notes that Mrs. W. spoke “with great affection of Harry, saying he is a wonderful boy and if she takes in another boy she wants him to be just like Harry.”40 Mrs. W. also comments on the relationship between Harry and her son, who includes the willing newcomer in his social circle—­a move that is rarely mentioned in other case files. In fact, the opposite was often the case. The main source of conflict is between Harry’s professed antireligious sentiment and the W. family’s Orthodox practice. However, Harry is eager to please and before long he joins the family at their synagogue for Sabbath services because he believes it will make his foster mother happy. Nevertheless, despite his caseworker’s optimistic predictions that “Harry will adjust very well as he is most cooperative and anxious to make a good adjustment,”41 the boy’s wartime experiences are lurking. Harry is reserved and introverted. Soon his social worker reports that he “is a very quiet young man, shows very little emotion and seems to hold back his real feelings.”42 Even as she exudes optimism, Mrs. W., too, is concerned about Harry’s reticent nature. Dr. Alfred Neumann, director of the JFCS, put it somewhat differently. In a letter to Lotte Marcuse, director of placements, the EJCA, he described how the agency hoped “to help him to a less angry and marred attitude about his fellow human beings.”43 Perhaps his foster family did help change Harry’s attitude toward humanity. It is hard to say. His time with the family was short. Economic and personal factors soon intervened. He lost his job and decided to move to New York to join a young woman he had met in Europe. Over the objections of the agency, but with the support of the Ws, Harry persisted and relocated to Manhattan. Before long he writes that he had found a job and would soon be married. Because he was twenty years old, he needed his guardians’ consent, which they willingly gave. His file notes that whenever he returned to Denver his foster family “welcomed him with open arms.”44 If accurate, it offers a refreshing antidote to the acrimonious relationships that seemed to be the norm between children and foster families. Perhaps the fact that Harry and the W. family were not related tempered expectations. Possibly the family’s warmth, the son’s willingness to welcome Harry, and, at the same time, respect his reserve were the keys to what appears to have been a brief but harmonious placement. Irene Hizme also had a positive experience although it was not without initial heartbreak. An Auschwitz survivor, she was the little girl featured in the pages of Life magazine, as part of Rescue Children, Inc.’s fundraising campaign. A family showed immediate interest in adopting her but decided after a weekend that she

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was too subdued for their family. She was secretly pleased because she had been staying with a Rescue Children rabbi and hoped the man and his wife would adopt her. Instead, on a snowy day they deposited her with another family, the Slotniks. Irene was bereft. She recalls chasing the rabbi and his wife’s car as they drove off. Still, she grew to love her new parents who, she states, unfailingly nurtured her.45 Eventually, they also went to great lengths to adopt her twin brother, Rene, whom they discovered had also survived Auschwitz. Bella Pasternak, who came to the United States after she saw an announcement posted in the DP camp Bad Gastein, also speaks warmly of her new family, who, unlike the Slotniks, were her relations. Although it wasn’t her initial plan, she remained with them for seven years—­from the time they picked her up at the Bronx reception center until she married. Even though Bella was eager to work, they advised her to rest after her ordeals. She recounts, “They told me after what I went through, they want me to take it easy, and then I will go to school, or to work, whatever I want.” She found a job in a dress factory that didn’t require traveling to the city and at night she attended English classes. Another point that stands out about her relationship with her relatives is that they included her in their family life. “Wherever they went,” Bella remembers, “they used to take me, and I used to go out a lot with the daughter.” Whatever they did, Bella did, as well. “I used to be part of the family there,” she emphasizes.46 But those like Bella, who speak so warmly of their American families, are in the minority. The majority has little fondness for them. Some, like Roman Kent, remembers the time with his American family with such bitter disappointment that, in his oral testimony, he was reluctant to even mention them by name.47

When All Else Fails: Institutional Placements The majority of children went to families, either to relatives like Bella or to those who were not, like Irene. In either case, the children were in private homes. But there were times when Jewish agencies looked to alternative placements, usually when a family placement was unsatisfactory. Numerous child survivors recall a variety of other settings from group homes to orphanages to homes for juvenile delinquents. The children’s experiences in these other environments varied both temporally and qualitatively. Some, like Fred Manasse and the Krell sisters, remember short periods, while others, like Julie Keefer, were institutionalized for years. Some have pleasant memories while others’ recollections are dire. Julie Keefer’s experiences speak to a family placement that went awry. She came to the United States as a seven-­year-­old orphan on papers provided by her Tante Siegel. Her brief life had been a series of traumatic disruptions. By the time she reached America she had already lived in the Lvov ghetto, in a bunker, with a Catholic rescuer in Poland, and in three DP camps.48 The disruptions did not

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end in America. She recalls going to a series of US Catholic orphanages before going to her relatives. She remembers during that time, “I was very, very sad.” It is unclear why it fell to her Aunt Helen and Uncle Jake and daughter Perry to take her in, as Helen made it clear she was not at all pleased. Julie believes that the Jewish agency decided that Helen’s duplex home was more acceptable than Tante Siegel’s tiny apartment. Aunt Helen’s first gesture to her niece, the latter remembers vividly, was cutting her hair since Aunt Helen was convinced, erroneously, that the child had lice. On one occasion, Helen’s sister Rosa took Julie shopping and upon their return with a new dress, Julie remembers she overheard Aunt Helen asking, “Why are you buying clothes for that brat?” Julie recollects that Aunt Helen promised to show her a photograph of her grandfather whom the child adored on the condition that Julie behaved herself. Though she recalls trying very hard, she apparently wasn’t “good enough” because she never did see her grandfather’s picture. As an adult Julie came to realize that as tough as the experience was for her, it must also have been challenging for her aunt to take in a child from “war-­torn Europe” who, according to Julie’s self-­effacing description, was not an attractive one, at that. The only silver lining for Julie during this time was weekend visits to Tante Siegel in the Bronx, her aunt’s affection and delicious food. After some months, she recalls a visit by a social worker from a Jewish agency.49 Aunt Helen warned her niece to tell the woman how happy she was. Julie did so the first time. But by the social worker’s second visit she decided to tell the truth and reported that she hated the home, that she was treated like a dog; her aunt left Julie’s meals outside of her bedroom on the floor. Soon the social worker returned and told Julie, “We’re going to send you to the country where you’ll see chickens and cows and other children.” Before long, she was en route to Cleveland and the Bellefaire Jewish Orphan Home for problem children. She spent the next seven years there. The Bellefaire Orphan Home was known to the Jewish agencies around the country. Founded in 1868 as the Jewish Orphan Asylum, it was originally established for Civil War orphans. Toward the turn of the twentieth century, it grew and expanded to 400 residents. In 1940, the orphanage changed its focus to include residential therapeutic care for emotionally disturbed children.50 For Julie, this turn of events was fortunate. According to her, the institution employed cutting-­edge milieu therapy, art and music therapy, and psychoanalysis. After Julie refused to speak to a series of social workers, she recollects that the institution’s director referred her to a psychoanalyst in Cleveland. The analyst told her, “I cannot be your mother but I can be like a favorite aunt.”51 The woman’s unswerving presence and commitment to Julie were critical to her emotional development. But her displacement didn’t end at Bellefaire. She also spent time with two foster families and finally, at the age of fourteen, was adopted by one of the foster families she describes as “wonderful.” Despite the fact that Julie spent a significant part of her childhood in an institution and never saw the promised

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chickens and cows, she does not appear to be bitter about it. On the contrary. She believes the institution saved her.52 By late 1946, Bellefaire had added a Refugee Reception Center for orphan child survivors coming into the United States via the EJCA—­a program separate from the one in which Julie lived. Several of the orphanage’s cottages were turned into dormitories for child survivors. According to Margaret Golton, a social worker at the Cleveland Refugee Reception Center, the purpose of the new center was two-­pronged, both practical and rehabilitative. It included relieving the congestion at the EJCA’s New York home by ensuring that children were distributed around the country in accordance with EJCA’s guidelines. In addition, Golton explained that the intent was to expose the newcomers to life in a typical American community and “to provide them with an initial testing ground for their thoughts, reactions, emotions as they approach final separation from their comrades and come face to face with normal human relationships.”53 Unfortunately, according to some residents, their relationship with the staff was far from harmonious. A letter to the EJCA penned by Alex and four other teenaged boys goes into great detail about mistreatment at the hands of Bellefaire’s staff. “My poor cottage-­life experiences,” wrote Alex, “have taken away all my good spirits and since I could not write you of pleasant things I did not want to write of the unpleasant—­but unfortunately, as days go by I see more and more of the cottage father’s injustices.” His three-­page letter to the woman who had assured his group of boys “that we would find a pleasant home here” notes numerous instances of punishment including the withholding of two boys’ food a day before the Yom Kippur fast because they were two minutes late to dinner and denying one boy’s weekly allowance because he had to be “disciplined” for questioning the chore schedule. He describes how he approached the cottage father with his grievances. The man stated, “I do as I please and you may go to anyone you please to make your complaints about me.”54 To his credit, Alex did go to Mr. Mayer, director of Bellefaire. Mayer advised Alex to try to work things out with the cottage head. After one and one-­half hours of discussion, the man again told the boy, “I am the cottage father and will do what I think is right.” Toward the end of his letter Alex wonders, “haven’t we suffered enough?” He closes by expressing his hopes for his life in his new homeland that has this far eluded him and his cohort at Bellefaire. He writes, “We would like in America, where everything is based on justice and human rights to feel that that we, too can live in an atmosphere of fair play and understanding.”55 Others also had similarly negative experiences in Bellefaire. Abraham B. believed he was headed to a family when he left the New York reception center. Instead, however, he was sent to Bellefaire. He does not thrive there and feels deceived by the agency.56 After teenaged Chaim ran away from his survivor parents several times, the Jewish Family and Children’s Services sent him to Bellefaire over his parents’ objections. He remained there for several unhappy years

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until he joined the US Army.57 Even though he thought things were going quite well with his Cleveland relatives, Ernest Kopstein’s aunt and uncle apparently felt differently. After a couple of years with them he was also sent to Bellefaire where he finished high school. He recalls it as an unhappy time when he turned inward and had little to do with people around him.58 Often it appears that children were placed in Jewish institutions when the communal agencies were unsure of a placement plan. Sometimes it was a temporary stop, sometimes a last resort for “difficult” children where some lived for years. The children’s experiences vis-­à-­vis the orphanages varied. Some felt “tricked”; others inured to a life that was already rife with temporary stays may have seen it as simply another stop in a series of many. Some like Alex and his friends voiced considerable protest over unjust treatment, which appears to have been ignored. A few, like Julie, found the stay positive and unquestionably preferable to living in her relative’s home. Bellefaire was certainly not the only institution where orphan survivors were placed. While children’s orphanages played a significant role in the Jewish immigrant community historically, overall they seemed to be poor solutions for child survivors struggling in the aftermath of the Holocaust.

A Different Response A different approach toward refuge children by the Jewish Family and Children’s Services ( JFCS), Boston, however, stands out. Beatrice Glantz’s study as well as survivor testimonies all reveal the special interest that this local Jewish communal agency’s leaders showered on child survivors and bring to light a rare example of innovative social work practice and sensitivity to the children’s needs. It illuminates how this particular agency coordinated resources, progressive social work techniques, and a great deal of compassion in its effort to help orphans find their way. As often is the case, individual leadership changed everything. As well meaning as many professionals working with children were, few outside of Boston seemed to be able to collectively organize in a way that broadly benefitted the children. Led by Beatrice Carter, director of social work, the agency experimented with different possibilities, recognizing that a group setting might be more suitable for adolescents than individual treatment. More than that, though, the JFCS agency astutely concluded that it had to create a unique environment. Noted Beatrice Glantz, insightfully, a typical institution was to be avoided as “it activates the children’s past existence too sharply.”59 In the summer of 1946, the first trial was launched—­a special unit at an existing Jewish summer camp in Maine. The facility was created especially for child survivors who were identified as “emotionally disturbed” as well as those who had particular educational goals that required some preparation for integration

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into a particular setting. All aspects of camp life was determined by the children’s needs, from English classes, to individual tutorials, to, significantly, creative writing and drama. “The classroom,” noted Glantz, “became a place where the children could be helped in working through their emotional tensions.”60 Interestingly, teachers appeared willing to adapt their curriculum to specific issues that arose with individual children and gave private lessons when the teens had difficulty with a traditional class structure. Because of the unit’s initial success, and because the orphans’ placements were precarious, Carter took several youngsters to her own home in Boston in order to continue their adjustment in a similarly supportive environment. After the size of the group grew, they were evicted, which forced them into a new location that was under the auspices of the JFCS. Two other homes were soon similarly designated.61 Descriptions of one, the Bradshaw House, depict a therapeutic milieu. Two or three children shared bedrooms but gathered in the living room for socializing. The basement became a recreational area complete with a workshop. A quiet room provided space for a teacher to work on intensive and individual educational programs. As the children learned English some also attended public high school while still remaining in the group homes. For the high school students, the JFCS worked with the educators in order to optimize the child survivors’ educational experience. If the JFCS team did not feel that the public high school was a good fit, they looked for other opportunities for the teens, including boarding schools for troubled adolescents.62 Glantz has data on the educational progress of twenty-­six of the adolescents based on EJCA’s semi-­annual reports and school reports including provisional grades. Twelve made “excellent” progress, five made “good” progress, four made “fair” progress, and five children received “poor” reports. While most of the descriptions of the students are superficial, one of fifteen-­year-­old Betty, who fared poorly in academics, shows that, at the very least, the JFCS seemed to understand that the girl’s lack of academic success was caused by numerous extenuating circumstances. This included the fact that she had lived in two foster families, attended two high schools, and ran away from school when she was placed in a much younger class because of her weak English skills.63 Recognizing that this age mismatch led to problems, the JFCS provided special tutoring and eventually she “showed indications of improvement.”64 Glantz characterizes the JFCS’s program as one that put every means at its disposal to serve the individual needs of the group and “was unusually comprehensive in its consideration of displaced children’s welfare.” And according to her, this approach was effective with the majority of its participants.65 Leonard Serkess, a former social worker at the JFCS, agrees that the program was useful in part because “the Jewish Family and Children’s Services had very strong, confident leadership” who really cared about the children, combined

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with professional expertise.66 While the descriptions are impressive, they are from the agency’s perspective. Was this view shared those on the receiving end? Indeed, it appears so. Several child survivors’ later testimonies recall their Boston experiences as deeply meaningful. Barbara Spector is one who remembers the JFCS positively. As a sixteen-­ year-­old Auschwitz survivor, she came to New York in October 1947. Because her sponsoring uncle didn’t offer to keep her, soon Barbara was sent to Boston and lived with Beatrice Carter in the group home. She recalls this period warmly. With five or six other new Americans living there, “it was like a family,” she states. She remembers that even though Carter was not Jewish and most of the teens were not religious, the social worker still insisted on maintaining a kosher home for them so that they could connect with their tradition. With the Jewish Family and Children’s Services’ help, Barbara received a clothing allowance. As an adult thinking back, she marvels at the fact that although she made some impractical purchases, “Mrs. Carter never criticized me, and never told me how to spend the money.”67 This was part of the JFCS’s policy toward their young clients in an effort to give them autonomy and self-­respect. During the summer Barbara attended the New Americans Unit at Camp Kingswood. The camp encouraged drama therapy and Beatrice Carter urged the teens to produce a play about their wartime experiences. Barbara remembers her role clearly: she played a mother who is lighting Sabbath candles just as German soldiers arrive in her town. After the performance a couple in the audience invited Barbara to live with them. She accepted and moved to Worcester, Massachusetts. Barbara thought it was going well. She tried to be helpful around the house and they provided piano lessons because they knew she loved music. But after she had spent her junior year of high school there, she apparently overstayed her welcome and, without any explanation, was sent back to the group home. Barbara did not want to start over again at another high school. She spoke with Mrs. Carter who “really listened.” As a result, she allowed Barbara to continue high school in Worcester, which necessitated a two-­hour bus commute from Newton. After a few months, a JFCS social worker found Barbara a room with an elderly couple in Worcester. Barbara remembers that they were wonderful people and also that the JFCS footed the bill. Years later in her video testimony, Barbara spontaneously and repeatedly noted Mrs. Carter’s genuine and warm interest in her.68 Robert Berger also attended the JFCS summer camp and lived in one of the residential homes. He, too, reflected back on Carter’s philosophy from a distance of many decades. “She frequently expressed her view,” he marveled, “that each one of us had a nugget of gold hidden inside and it was the task of the staff at the JFCS to dig for that nugget, bring it to the surface and to let it grow and glow.”69 Certainly, this belief in the inherent goodness of the children was a sharp contrast to so many others’ memories of family and institutional placements and

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helped nurture many, though not all, of the child survivors who were fated to be sent to Boston. Something else also had a lasting effect on the children who met in Boston through the JFCS program. Their early, shared experiences in summer camp and the group homes united them and forged bonds that persisted. Well before the idea of child survivor groups was introduced, according to both Robert Berger and Leonard Serkess, these children, despite their different wartime experiences, continued to maintain connections from the late 1940s until their later years.70 Although news accounts promised bright futures for the war orphans who began to arrive in 1946, child survivors’ beginnings in the United States were enormously complicated. While many relatives initially opened their homes and Jewish organizations continued the assistance that began in Europe, this phase in the children’s lives was often dismal. Records as well as testimonies capture mutual disappointments and rejections, and, at times, abuse at the hands of those who had taken them into their homes. Why? Were the demands of wounded children too much? Was it because their recent traumas were simply, as one orphan noted, “impossible to understand”? Did their US kin’s obligation to dead relatives carry so little depth that, when confronted with challenges posed by the newcomers, their good intentions unraveled? There are many possible reasons, and none satisfying. In some instances foster families were ill prepared for traumatized teenagers and reticent young ones. The new parents naively hoped that the newcomers would be grateful and accommodating. At times biological children were jealous of the newcomers and the family could not or would not make the emotional room necessary for another child. Child survivors themselves were ambivalent about becoming attached to new “parents” and express profound feelings of loneliness in the midst of new family groups. Many professional agencies working with the families were stymied to the point of paralysis. Still at least one agency found a creative way to truly help the children, showing that a combination of compassion, sincere interest, activism, and caring made all the difference in orphans’ lives. And there were some relatives and those without a familial connection who understood and supported their charges unconditionally. These children felt welcome and loved. But more often, adults’ interest waned, disappeared, or hardened into antipathy, which not only made a travesty of the hopeful beginnings showcased in the press but also propelled children toward yet another series of displacements.

4 • No Happy Endings Postwar Reconstituted Families

The Truman Directive allowed the first wave of child survivors, mainly orphans, to enter the United States. The next group of child survivors consisted of those who had been reunited with surviving parents in Europe. Their parents initially had limited options for immigration to America, but this changed in 1948 when Congress passed the first DP Act. According to the new law “the spouse and unmarried dependent child or children under twenty-­one years of age of such an eligible displaced person shall, if otherwise qualified for admission into the United States for permanent residence, also be deemed eligible displaced persons.” It was due to this new legislation that the larger child survivor group—­those who were part of survivor families—­came to the United States.1 If orphaned children’s placements in foster and adoptive families were replete with unexpected hurdles, the experience for those who had a surviving parent was different but no less challenging. They reconnected with a parent, but not with their familiar prewar family. In fact, some did not remember their biological families at all. They were now in new circumstances that had been irrevocably fractured by the war. And for them, starting over usually meant the complex cobbling together of the remains of what had been, rather than starting anew. There were few happy endings. A variety of family dynamics and constellations emerged in the Holocaust’s aftermath. This chapter explores these families from the perspective of the child who was reunited with a surviving parent or relative in Europe. What was it like to reunite with birth parents from whom they had been separated or leave foster parents to whom they had become attached? How did those fare who did not reunite with parents but became part of surviving relatives’ families? How did the war affect siblings’ bonds? What were some of the consequences for children who became part of, in today’s parlance, blended families uniquely composed of two generations of survivors?2 Even when a child had a parent with whom she could resume life, neither the parents nor the children were the same as before the war. Locating children in Europe after the Holocaust was complicated 69

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logistically. But once partial or whole families were together again the challenges were far from over. Repercussions of wartime separations followed both children and their parents long after their reunions. Furthermore, the line from the end of the war to life in America was not direct physically or emotionally, but often a series of bumps. The complicated and unprecedented needs of traumatized children and adolescents were often unrecognized, trivialized, neglected, or sometimes exacerbated by their own families.

Lingering Effects of Wartime Trauma Miriam Rakowski’s postwar experience in her biological family speaks to family trauma with heartbreaking clarity. Her return to her mother was deeply problematic. As described in chapter 1, she had no memories of her birth mother. Rather she thought of her foster parents as her parents. Speaking in 1997, she still recalls the separation from her foster family, the Hickets, as traumatic.3 When her birth mother, an Auschwitz survivor, visited her for the first time, Miriam shied away from her because “she was a stranger who wanted to touch her.” Similarly, she felt no connection to her older sister who was hidden separately, in a convent.4 There was no resumption of a mother’s love to mitigate the anguish of separation from her rescuers but, in fact, the opposite. Her story exemplifies profound and far-­reaching postwar consequences. In 1950, six-­year-­old Miriam and her eight-­year-­old sister immigrated to the United States alone. The sisters left Europe before their mother because they were able to come to the United States on the Belgian quota. They stayed with a few families in New York before going on to a foster family in Detroit who were prominent members of the Orthodox Jewish community. “It was a haven for me, she remembered. “I was able to relax a bit there and feel safe.” Even so, Miriam recalls missing the Hickets and “yearning to go back.” The agonizing separation from the Hickets pervaded Miriam’s days. Miriam and her sister were constantly fighting. “My sister would beat the hell out of me, “ Miriam stated. The Detroit family couldn’t control the pair. Finally the sisters were sent elsewhere. The next few Hasidic families, Miriam states, “were quite different.” In one family the girls felt very much exploited because they were used as housekeepers. In the next, Miriam was sexually abused. She became very sick and remembers wanting to die, because her life was too horrible to bear. The only good part, she recalls, was when she was able to escape to summer camp and be a child. Ironically, during this time Miriam’s photograph was on the letterhead of Bnos, the Agudath Israel camp that paid for Miriam’s attendance. Fortunately, not everyone was brutal to Miriam. She acknowledges there were several people who did help her get through the hard times, especially the rabbi and his wife in Detroit. She also remembers an English teacher at a Bais Yaacov school who was loving and kind.



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Figure 2. Sisters Miriam (born Marie-Claire, right) and Dora Rakowski arrive at the Agudath Israel Office, NY, 1950. (USHMM Photo Archives, courtesy of Miriam Rakowski)

Miriam and her mother finally reunited in 1952, after a six-­year separation. The war had left Miriam’s mother deeply, irrevocably damaged. “Her life wasn’t normal,” Miriam remembered. Her mother struggled with mental illness; she expressed paranoid thoughts and believed her own daughters were stealing from her. “You’d think,” Miriam reflected, “that people that had been victims of the war would make every effort not to fight, but there was so much stuff inside that we all acted out.”5 They tried to coexist as best they could but, noted Miriam, “it was anything but harmonious.”6 Agudath Israel continued to assist them. “My mother worked so hard to support us,” Miriam commented. But Mrs. Rakowski struggled to find her place in America. Perhaps because of their success in removing Miriam from a gentile family, possibly because of her appealing looks, Miriam’s image appeared in at least two of the Agudath Israel postwar publications as a role model of rescue and rehabilitation. Her life, however, challenges that message. The girl, her mother, and sister were all deeply scarred. Try as they might, they could never piece back or remake a stable family life together. Miriam and her sister and mother battled constantly. Occasionally, her mother threw her out of the house and she slept

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at her friend’s house where she felt safe. At one point after a disagreement when Miriam threatened her mother, Mrs. Rakowski changed the locks and called the police. As a result, sixteen-­year-­old Miriam was placed in a Jewish “club” for delinquent girls. There she encountered “everything,” from drug addicts to prostitutes. While she was relieved to have some freedom and be away from the tumultuous household, paradoxically, she missed her mother and sister. She briefly experimented with alcohol. Finally, she tried to hurt herself and, as a result, was institutionalized. For Miriam, this was a fortunate development. “I was full of despair and couldn’t see a way out, ” she reflects. Her psychiatrist was in her life for over twenty years and he helped her build her life again. She put herself through college and graduate school, which she believes she could not have done without his help. Miriam broke off relations with her family. But years later, her mother grew ill and Miriam was called to New York. She and her mother made peace before her mother passed away. Mother and daughter were able to talk without rancor. They talked about the father she never knew. She also wanted to know about her mother’s life before the war and before her mother was a victim, the only way she had remembered her mother. She was able to understand that her mother had had a hard life. Miriam was able to contemplate her mother’s perspective and impossible challenges she had faced: giving up her child, enduring a death camp, losing a husband, and struggling in a new country. Significantly, she was able to thank her mother. Still, she avoided her sister. And Miriam’s intense feelings for her foster parents never left her. “I remember them with a lot of delight . . . and pain,” she commented through tears, adding, “ A part of me is still very much connected with them.”7 Eleven-­year-­old Kaja Finkler, an only child, also had a mother who survived. After they reunited, they came to America in 1946, among the first group of survivors to do so. Their arrival was prominently displayed in the New York Times article “613 Arrive in City: Refugees among Passengers on First Scheduled Swedish Ship Docking in Six Years.”8 The article noted that 150 European refugees were among the passengers including young Kaja and her mother, Golda, who were met at the pier by Rabbi Shaul Yedidya Taub, Golda’s father. Kaja’s mother had been waiting for her visa in Belgium while her daughter spent an idyllic few months in Sweden, as noted in chapter 1. In Kaja’s testimony from 1995, she speaks about her life after the pair arrived in 1946.9 Even compared with their wartime experiences, Kaja characterizes the period after the war as an “extra difficult time.” Kaja was sent to a Bais Yakov school but after a year her mother moved her to a public school where Kaja would receive a better secular education. Even though Kaja attended public school, mother and daughter were fully part of the Modzizter Hasidic community. Kaja moved upward through the best channels of the New York public school system. She graduated from Erasmus High School, received a BA from Brooklyn



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College, an MA from Hunter, and a PhD from CUNY. All the while, she and her mother managed to attend movies, theater, and opera on a shoestring. Despite the outward appearance of success, Kaja recalls growing up with the ever-­present awareness of her mother’s inability to adjust to life in America. Once the accomplished “maverick” of the Hasidic court from which she descended, Golda struggled with accepting her loss of status and the menial jobs she took to support herself and her child. “And I grew up with that pain because she was so unhappy,” states Kaja. “I can’t say I had happy memories growing up,” she admits. Kaja and her mother were very close though their relationship was not without conflict. Kaja wanted more interaction with the wider, secular world. After college, she broke with her mother’s Hasidic community. She eventually became a professor of anthropology at the University of North Carolina. Still, she says she absorbed the values of her upbringing even as she shed the ritual practice.10 Kaja wrote a memoir with her mother; in it she emphasizes that the traumatic break and separation from her loving parents and community at a young age had long-­lasting repercussions.11

Postwar Abuse Besides their own scars from the war, and those of their children, parents had to confront life in America. Some, like the mothers of Miriam and Kaja, struggled and this had an impact on their surviving children. Much as it is comforting to believe or hope that the act of surviving and subsequent family reunions would draw parents (or adult relatives) and children closer and nurture appreciation for renewed family life, this notion does not reflect a grasp of the profound consequence of the war on those who endured it. In some tragic and extreme instances, children became victims yet again. Peter Daniels’s experiences underscore this. Peter, his mother, Hilde, stepfather Max, and baby half-­sister arrived in New York in August 1947 when Peter was eleven years old. He and his mother had survived Theresienstadt together but this did not guarantee their commitment to remaining together in America.12 Like many others, Hilde had met her new husband in the Deggendorf DP camp and quickly married him. Unlike others, Peter’s father had not been murdered during the war but had deserted Hilde when she was pregnant with Peter in 1932. Hilde was abusive toward Peter in Deggendorf, the results he believes of her misdirected anger toward Peter’s father. According to Peter, his stepfather, Max, did not feel kindly toward Peter but resented the boy’s presence and “stood idly by while I was beaten black and blue by my mother.” By the time Peter’s family reached America, his mother and Max had a baby daughter. The abuse toward Peter continued by both his mother and Max. Peter notes that by the time he was fourteen years old, he had run away from home numerous times only to be returned by the police. Finally he ran away and his mother

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made no attempt to find him. His mother told him years later that his “departure eased a source of friction between them and likely improved their marriage.”13 Peter spent his teenage years traveling and working around the country. He earned a living by taking a series of menial jobs. He was a farm hand, a delivery boy, a truck driver, a dishwasher, a carnival worker, among other occupations. Peter notes in retrospect that one of the things he missed the most was some kind of father figure. Perhaps because of this, he reflects, he tried on various identities until he adopted a “Marlboro Man” persona—­a role that was comfortable. Finally at age twenty-­two he entered the navy where he was encouraged to pursue an education. Peter eventually married and later in his life his wife urged him to renew his relationship with his parents. Even as he did so, he states the connection was superficial and he felt no grief when they passed away.14 The D. family of surviving parents and son were clients of the Jewish Family and Children’s Service in Denver. The details of their war years are scanty with brief mention of the fact that Mr. D. lived “underground” and Henry and his mother were “protected by Polish farmers.”15 Their file reveals that they came to the agency in part because Henry, their thirteen-­year-­old son, similar to Peter Daniels, started running away from home. As a result the boy was sent to Juvenile Hall. When pressed, Henry told the social worker he ran because “my father hit me all over the head and back with a stick.” Eventually, the agency removed the boy from his family and sent him to Bellefaire, a home for troubled children in Cleveland that other child survivors mention as well.16 Marie Kaufman also recalls the beatings from her father after they settled in Los Angeles which she believes was a result of the frustration he felt at his displacement and his struggles to support his family in America.17 Others, who wish to remain anonymous, indicate that they were victims of sexual abuse perpetrated by survivor stepparents.18 Whether these examples of violence are attributed to wartime experiences is impossible to determine. What is clear, however, is the bewilderment as well as strong feelings of betrayal that child survivors express. The parents who had seemingly moved heaven and earth to save their children during the war failed to do so after when the children desperately needed protection. It is impossible to determine the root of the abuse (or its prevalence) but the younger generation of survivors in these instances certainly believe that their parents’ behavior toward them was a result of postwar trauma and tensions brought on by new or renewed family dynamics.

Survivor Blended Families In addition to the wrench of leaving the foster family or returning to a damaged parent, there were other developments that had profound effects on child survivors. Eva Brettler, who was sent from Bergen-­Belsen to Sweden in 1946, was



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surprised to learn a year later that not only was her father alive in Budapest, but also she now had a new mother and baby brother.19 Eva’s experience was not uncommon. Just as unattached, single survivors in DP camps married quickly, so did young widows and widowers in the interim between the war’s end and recovering a surviving child. These unions soon produced children. As a result, the surviving child found herself not only adjusting to resumed contact with a biological parent and, for some, the pain of separation from the rescuing family, but also coping with a new stepparent and half-­ sibling born after the war, the latter a stepparent’s “real” child. In her testimony, Ellen Zitkin articulates the feeling of being a “fifth wheel” in her postwar family constellation. The expression on her face in her videotaped interview belies the superficiality of this cliché, suggesting pain still fresh forty years later.20 Natalie Gold’s feelings when her stepmother and father had a baby boy in Poland before immigrating to Los Angeles resonate with those of Ellen and Eva.21 Their postwar siblings were the “real” children of the parental unit while they, the stepchildren of one parent, remained on the fringe of the family.22 Added to this were the child survivors’ feelings of loss over the dead parent and simultaneous replacement of the latter by a stepparent. Others echo these troubling and usually unexpressed feelings, the sense of marginalization as well as the silent grief they experienced in this new dynamic as adult survivors rebuilt their postwar family with new partners. While some child survivors grew to love and become deeply attached to stepparents and half-­siblings, they also acknowledge that these relationships, particularly early on, were laden with emotions. Child survivors repeatedly emphasize that having one surviving parent was not necessarily a positive reconnection or beginning for them. For those whose parents remarried, the replacement of a deceased parent with a stepparent could evoke confusing emotions in the child. Rivka’s interview captures some of the bewilderment she felt toward her stepmother.23 In 1942, at the age of five, she went into hiding in an attic with a large group of immediate and extended family members. She witnessed her mother’s death there shortly before the end of the war. After the war, her father remarried another survivor. “I never considered her my mother; she was just not mother material,” according to Rivka. “She had her own stuff to deal with and I never felt love for her.” Moreover, she did not understand why her father remarried because she believed her birth mother would reappear. When asked to name her worst experiences, she does not describe the two years she spent in an attic with fourteen people but her father’s marriage to her stepmother, her perception of her father’s postwar deterioration, and her own profound struggle with depression as she was growing up in the United States.24 In one extreme instance, a parent could not find a place for his child within a new family and rejected her. A file from the European-­Jewish Children’s Aid reveals one such case. The father had remarried and had a child with his new wife. The man’s daughter was causing tremendous tension between the pair. As

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a result, the man turned to the communal agency and asked that his daughter be placed in a foster home. The agency complied.25

Family Fights Esther also had to cope with her father’s downward spiral immediately after the war. However, coming to America offered a second chance. Her father never remarried because “he couldn’t pick himself up and do any kind of business anymore, he was a broken man.”26 He soon started drinking. Rather than fighting, however, there was no talking between them. “It was like a silent family,” she recalled.27 Because he couldn’t support his children, he quickly married Esther’s sister off to an older man and she, at fifteen, was sent to her mother’s surviving sister and husband in Paris who wanted to adopt her. But Esther, as a teenager, took on the role of adult in coping with her father’s poor state. Rather than remaining with her relatives, her anxiety that her father wouldn’t be able to manage without her pushed her she return to him. In 1953, her paternal aunt offered to sponsor them to come to Detroit. She wanted to go, but felt fearful that her father was not capable of another change. He promised, however, that if they went he would stop drinking and turn his life around. In fact, he did. They both found factory jobs and she attended night school. Esther remembered, “This is when my life began, the day I got off the ship in the United States.”28 Rachel offers an example of a child whose wartime experiences were tumultuous yet her reunion with her mother was hardly a smooth one.29 Rather, it highlights that these postwar meetings were sometimes less about new beginnings and often about complicated familial reconnections.30 Rachel was born in Vienna in 1937. Soon after, as sometimes happened, her father left for America in the hopes of bringing his wife and daughter over once he was established in the new country. With the worsening political situation, this plan came to naught. Eventually, Rachel and her mother went to Belgium to be with her mother’s family. At age three, she was placed first in a convent and then in a series of hiding places. Sporadically she was taken to see her mother for brief visits, usually in transit to a different refuge. She spent the last part of the war in an orphanage in Belgium where she recalls feeling isolated and withdrawn. After the war, an American soldier took an interest in Rachel and wanted to adopt her. Although she told him she had a father in America he doubted this information. As he pursued the possibility of adopting her, the Red Cross’s tracing service confirmed Rachel’s assertion of her father’s existence. During that period, Rachel’s mother also returned from Auschwitz and reclaimed her eight-­ year-­old daughter. Was Rachel pleased by this turn of events? “I really don’t know,” she recalls in an interview. “No,” she clarifies, “it was another person [her mother] coming into my life. . . . I was very excited that this soldier was going to adopt me. . . . He was the closest person that I had ever been to and the longest. . . .



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I spent the longest amount of time with him than I had ever spent with anyone in my whole life.” Over the course of the soldier’s visits to the orphanage he took the girl for jeep rides, brought her chocolates and, Rachel reflects, “I developed a sort of relationship with this man.” She revealed, “He became a real caretaker for me and then my mother arrives and she interrupts this and now I have to go with her and all of this is behind me.”31 Rachel had no choice but to go, however unwillingly, with her parent. Soon after the girl returned to her mother, her father managed to locate them. As it transpired, this, too, was not a welcome development. After finding his wife and child, Rachel’s father served his wife with divorce papers. Despite her mother’s bitterness, she and Rachel immigrated to the United States in 1950, sponsored by an uncle. There her parents reunited and did remain together even though, according to Rachel, they never truly reconciled.32 Moreover, she expressed the fact that her father’s long absence left her feeling that “a father figure didn’t mean that much to me anymore.” In fact, she clarifies, “It didn’t mean anything to me.”33 With both father and mother, then, Rachel had a tenuous connection. She had to contend with tremendous challenges. In addition to a mother who had survived Auschwitz, her parents’ fractured marriage, adjusting to America, Rachel had spent the war years in a series of institutions and therefore had little experience, when she and her parents were finally reunited, with being part of a nuclear family.34 For some children, the war had created an unbridgeable crack in their relationship with family that coming to America exacerbated. Miri Semel’s case offers an unusual example of a child who knew she did not wish to reunite with a parent and was able to act on her decision. Miri and her maternal uncle, Jacob Berliner, with whom she was extremely close, thought she was an orphan. They knew her mother had died and believed her father had, as well. A chance encounter with strangers in Bremerhaven, Germany, just days before the pair were to set sail for America in June 1946, however, revealed that her father was still alive. In keeping with policy to reunite parents and children, the European Jewish Children’s Aid along with the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee succeeded in locating him and bringing him to Bremerhaven.35 Was Miri pleased? No, she was not. Her father insisted that she stay with him but she was determined to leave without him. “Having waited for our quota number, having found the uncle in America, I mean all of these—­years of waiting and Uncle Jacob said absolutely not,” she explains. Miri and her uncle left for the United States where she moved in with her aunt and uncle in Forest Hills, NY. Her father followed a year later.36 Miri had no interest in returning to her father after what she perceived as his abandonment of his wife and daughter in Europe. But there was more. She had arrived in the United States in June. In September, the ten-­year-­old began elementary school. She was eager to fit in and quickly did. Miri remembers vividly, “By the time he came a year later I had begun to . . . I had succeeded to a great

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extent in assimilating into American life, just like the chameleon I learned to be in the Ukraine.” Her old habits from the war persisted. She adapted, she insists, “of necessity, in the United States.”37 After an initially difficult year, Miri was making a life for herself. More than anything, she did not want to go backward and resume the status of a “greener.” Her father did not speak English and was living in an enclave of survivors in Brooklyn. Mr. Semel and his wife’s relatives fought bitterly over the girl and, in the end, his child remained with her aunt and uncle who adopted her when she was twenty-­one and legally an adult. But if her aunt and uncle provided her with a comfortable home and support, they fell short in other ways. They never asked about her wartime experiences although she tried to tell them. She learned to keep quiet. Yet the memories were a constant presence as she grew up.38 During her entire postwar childhood Miri felt she was living a double life, that of her present and that of her past in what scholar Lawrence Langer has characterized, respectively, as chronological and durational time.39

Family Secrets One individual’s oral history reveals another dynamic in new family configuration. Anna was approximately three years old when her mother died in Auschwitz. She met her father for the first time when she was six. She mourns the fact that she has few, if any, memories of her mother. Her father, however, “refused to talk about her . . . he lost her, he remarried.” Her added comment, “it’s a whole mess,” hints at the layers of difficulties that shadowed them. According to Anna, her father never recovered from his first wife’s death and could not bring himself to speak of her to his daughter. As a child, Anna desperately wanted to know more about her mother but had no one to whom she could turn.40 The father of Natalie Gold also remarried another survivor. Natalie found, too, that her dead mother was a forbidden topic of conversation but for reasons that differed from Anna’s case. Natalie believes her stepmother was jealous of her husband’s dead spouse, perceiving her memory as a rival in her marriage.41 Eva Brettler also recalls the tension evoked in her postwar family around mention of her dead mother. It was traumatic enough that she had lost her mother when she was six years old but when her mention of her deceased parent became a taboo subject, “it was,” Eva laments, “like she never existed.”42 Many, many others echo these recollections. The children quickly learned that neither their surviving parent nor their stepparent wanted them to raise questions about the dead parent. This silence often led to the fiction that stepparents were a child’s only mother or father, which further erased the memory, and the reality of the murdered parent’s connection to the child. Although in Anna’s eyes, her stepmother was wonderful, she remembers her stepmother did not want Anna’s children to know that their mother was not her biological



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daughter or that Anna and her sister, born to her father and stepmother after the war, are half-­siblings. Both stepmothers of Natalie and Eva behaved similarly. Natalie’s children learned the true status of their grandfather’s wife when they stumbled across an interview in a magazine about their mother. Eva’s children also discovered the truth “by accident” when Eva’s teenaged son noticed that his grandparents’ wedding anniversary didn’t align with his mother’s age. And with these revelations came feelings of unease that left the younger generation wondering what other family secrets existed. Hiding the true nature of relationships is a phenomenon that ripples through child survivor testimonies and one with which many struggled profoundly and continuously throughout their lives. Eva Nathanson’s story illustrates this secrecy at the family’s core and the long shadow it cast. Born in 1941, Eva and her mother were sheltered in several hiding places near Budapest. Her father died in a labor camp and after the war, a close friend of her father’s moved in with them. The man and her mother decided that it would be best for four-­year-­old Eva if they maintained the pretense that he was her biological father. When her sister was born in 1953, Eva overheard a visiting relative comment that “maybe now he will be happy having a child of his own.”43 Those words prompted twelve-­year-­ old Eva to check the family safe where she found her birth certificate listing her biological father’s name. She also found adoption papers. She then learned the truth from her mother; her father had been murdered in a Hungarian labor camp and the man she believed to be her father was, in fact, her stepfather. “My stepfather loved me very much,” states Eva, but when she learned his true identity she was thrown into turmoil.44 She now understood why there was so little physical resemblance between herself and her father. On the other hand, she felt betrayed by her parents and, like others, wondered what other secrets had been kept from her. Eventually she learned at least one: the relative that occasionally visited was her paternal grandmother not, as she had been told, a distant cousin. By the time she knew this, her grandmother had passed away. Even today, many decades later, Eva still feels the lingering effects of this denial of connection to her paternal grandmother and what she considers her mother’s loyalty to her stepfather over both Eva and her deceased father.45 The reasons for fostering these untruths varied. Anna believes it was out of the stepparents’ need for self-­protection. Acknowledging the truth “will kill my [step] mother, it will destroy her,” she states.46 She further explained that she thought her stepmother believed that her stepdaughter would love her less without a biological connection even though, for her part, Anna expresses the utmost admiration for the woman who she says “epitomizes great courage and heroism” in becoming her stepparent.47 Some of the secrecy, too, may have reflected societal norms of the times when families were less open about matters they believed were best left unspoken. Certainly, the late 1940s–­1950s was an era where the nuclear family was idealized.48

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While blended families existed, they were much more of a departure from the conventional norm then they are today. Perhaps survivor stepparents, negotiating the process of acculturating to US life, were especially sensitive to the external image they projected and believed they would be more accepted if perceived as the biological parents, as a “real” family. Possibly they thought that revealing their true relationship would invite questions they did not want to address. Child survivors still struggle, however, to accept the shroud of secrecy that many perceive their parents maintained at the expense of honesty, resulting in the trivialization and effacement of children’s memories of their deceased parents.

Unanswered Questions At times, additional complications arose in reconstructed families provoked by unanswered questions raised by wartime experiences. An example from the archives of the Jewish Family and Children’s Services, Denver, sheds light on unresolved doubts that lingered in minds of some parents long after the war ended. While details are scanty, we learn from the social worker’s report that Joann B., sister Ann, and their father, Mr. B., Polish survivors, arrived in America in 1951. Once settled in Denver, Colorado, Mr. B. felt he was unable, for both financial as well as emotional reasons, to properly care for his two daughters. Joann, fourteen, was placed in the National Jewish Home for Children. Buried in the file is another alarming statement: Joann’s father, who had “lost sight” of his daughter after she was placed in a convent, now was not positive that she was, in fact, his biological daughter. The social worker noted, “There had been definite signs of rejection on part of Mr. B. which had intensified Joann’s personality difficulties.”49 It is unclear whether or not Joann knew of or shared her father’s suspicions but it certainly affected Mr. B.’s attitude toward her. One child survivor who wishes to remain anonymous never discussed her fears with her father that she might not be his. Yet given that he had not seen her for years when she was a toddler, she indeed wondered. And this lingering doubt, accompanied by the unfulfilled need to know about the mother she could not remember, shadowed her childhood and adolescence.50

Intact Families Was it a smoother transition for those who had two surviving parents? Yes and no. Certainly, there were not the issues of postwar half-­siblings or suppressed memories of deceased parents. But, again, the children and parents were changed by wartime experiences. And they were refugees in a new country. Postwar case files from the New York Association for New Americans (NYANA) illuminate some of the challenges that families faced privately as they struggled to find their footing. The file of the W. family, parents Isaac and Malka, indicate that in 1939



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they had sent their eleven-­year-­old son, Max, to England on a Kindertransport while they remained in Belgium during the war. The boy lived with a foster family and rejoined his parents in Belgium in 1947 after an eight-­year separation. By the time Max and his parents arrived in New York in 1949, the family had been together for two years but they had yet to find comfort with one another. All grappled with health problems. Max, now a young adult, suffered from headaches. Treatment in both England and Belgium failed to yield positive results. Max’s caseworker suggested psychiatric help, which he agreed to consider if the situation did not improve. Both of his parents, in their early sixties, suffered from various ailments that seem to have been exacerbated by their wartime experiences, which created additional tension between Isaac and Malka. The W. family’s medical issues were also complicated by the fact that neither parent spoke English nor had a transferable trade for making a living. Isaac and Malka expected Max, as an English speaker with some training as a radio technician, to support them. While there is very little in the file about what his parents had experienced in Belgium, the caseworker reports that there is much open friction between the son and his parents as a result of their separation. Both generations expressed disappointment in their relationship. The parents articulated, “they were separated from their son for so long that he is like a stranger to them now.” From Max’s perspective, he believed they “could never really be like parents to him again.” He admitted he resented his parents’ dependence on him. Nevertheless, at least for the year of their lives that was captured in the NYANA files, until the agency closed their file as its one-­year policy mandated, Max remained living with his parents, often intervening on their behalf with the agency. It is impossible to determine the long-­term fate of this family. But the case offers a glimpse, however brief, of the tension between a child and his two parents, all survivors and, despite that, the commitment to staying together—­at least initially.51 Both of Romana Farrington’s parents survived, too. In 1996 she offered her memories of reuniting with her parents. Born in the Krośniewice ghetto in Poland, Romana and her mother were smuggled out in the middle of the war and, after a series of moves, her mother left her on a doorstep of a Polish family with a cross around her daughter’s neck. Romana recalls her earliest childhood memories in 1945 when she was four years old. A strange woman came into her room, grabbed her, kissed her, and told her she was her mother. “And, this was something horrifying to me, of course,” Romana states. “I was traumatized.” In addition, her rescuing family had been vocally antisemitic. “To find out that your parents are not your real parents, that your brother is not your real brother is a real loss and to find out on top of that, that your real parents are Jewish. . . . I was extremely upset about that . . . traumatized,” she emphasizes.52 The Polish foster family took Romana’s parents to court in an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to win custody. In 1948, the Farrington family moved to

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Israel. Despite Romana’s extreme anxiety about going to a Jewish state, she came to be happy there. Her parents, however, were dissatisfied and decided to immigrate to the United States. When their papers came through they left without her as she was determined to remain in Israel and continue her high school studies. But, her parents insisted (she calls it an ultimatum) she leave and eventually, against her own wishes, she followed them to New York. She recalls that, even as she complied, she was upset and angry with her parents. Again she had to face a new language and culture. To her surprise, her parents, who had discouraged extensive schooling in Israel, encouraged her to continue her education in America. Immediately, she attended high school, and finished in two years followed by City College, which she began at age twenty. Although she wanted to study literature, again her parents intervened. Her father who believed his practical skills had saved his life reacted strongly against what he saw as an unpractical path. He insisted she change her major. In what was quite an unusual choice for a woman, Romana became an engineer, which she now affirms was a wise choice. Romana had a problematic and ambivalent relationship both with her parents and with Judaism. She knows her parents suffered and that they saved her life by giving her away. Nevertheless, that she still refers to her rescuer as “her other mother” underscores her mixed emotions, which were complicated when her birth mother painted her daughter’s rescuer in a negative light. She recognizes that her birth parents loved her and provided her with a stable home and a sister with whom she was close, a relationship that lacked the complexities of postwar half-­siblings. Even though she was against joining her parents in the United States, once there, they encouraged her to pursue an excellent education, and a career path that she prizes. Not all families were disrupted during the war. Shep Drazin offers an unusual example of a family that survived in hiding together. After a short time in a DP camp, they immigrated to Providence, Rhode Island, in 1946. Shep’s father was a Chabad rabbi and found work as a shochet. His mother, as was a rebbetzin, a rabbi’s wife, devoted herself to community work. Shep was an only child and remained close to his parents throughout his life. His wife, Rae, attributes his positive outlook on life to the fact that both his parents survived. But added to his parents’ survival is another essential piece that rarely occurred: they were all together for the duration of the war. Moreover, even while hiding in a bunker, his father, with the group that included an aunt and cousins, maintained Jewish holidays and tried to study with his son as best he could. Under the most profoundly abnormal circumstances, they had some semblance of their former family life. And after the war his father was able to work and support his family and be a respected member of the Jewish community. Therefore, perhaps a family whose identity as a family during the Shoah was not utterly ruptured is the important factor that contributed to postwar family stability.53



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Siblings Sometimes more than one child in a family was alive when the war ended. The relationship between siblings who survived was also fraught on many levels. Such was the case with Miriam Rakowski, whose issues with her sibling raises questions about the impact of the war on these bonds. While the contributing factors, such as the quality of prewar relationships, age, and gender, are too numerous to predict any one effect on the postwar dynamics, what is clear is that events of the war had profound repercussions on family connections including those between brothers and sisters. As with parents, if they survived the siblings children got back in the war’s aftermath were not the same as before. Sometimes their wartime experiences left little possibility for postwar stability within the family. In other instances they created immutable bonds, particularly when orphaned siblings took on a parental role and assumed adult responsibilities for a younger child. Doriane Kurz, who survived Bergen-­Belsen, firmly acknowledges the importance of her relationship with her brother, Freddy, who was sixteen months her junior. Her mother survived the war but died soon after while they were still in Holland. She states, “When my mother died, in my heart I took responsibility for my younger brother and maybe he did that in his heart for me, too.” In addition to that, her brother was crucial in giving her a sense of home. When she and her brother became part of her American uncle’s family that included a girl her age, her bond with Freddy was especially important because her cousin was not overly welcoming to her.54 Over and over, Doriane emphasizes that her brother was not only her charge, but also the lifeline that kept her connected to the past and firmly rooted in the present. The relationship gave her postwar life meaning and purpose. At other times, however, siblings had grown apart or wanted different things from each other after the war. Sometimes one wanted physical separation while the other wanted the opposite. Such is the case with Mary Frydmann and her older brother, Alfred. They were together in an orphanage after the war and brought together to the United States by a maternal uncle from Decatur, Illinois. “I can’t say we were close,” admits Mary, who wanted more. As an adult she could identify her needs. “I guess I wanted him to be a parent and he couldn’t be one for me,” she states. Orphan Irene Hizme recalls a challenging relationship of a different sort with her twin, Rene. Her adoptive parents went to tremendous lengths to bring him to America from behind the Iron Curtain. They succeeded. But since the twins had not seen each other for many years they were virtual strangers to each other. And their experiences had affected their behavior. “I was used to being a quiet, good girl and he was acting out,” Irene recalled. This created a wedge between them that took some years to overcome. Eventually, though, they became extremely close.

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Some independent older siblings tried to pick up their family life together with varying degrees of success. A case file from the NYANA is another example of two brothers, Martin and Harry, whose sibling status drew them together after the war yet wartime events undermined their relationship. Martin G. was fifteen in 1945. He procured a US visa, going first to Oklahoma City but then on to New York because his brother, Harry, also a survivor, was in New York and anxious to have Martin there, too. Once in New York, however, Harry was unable to give him much help. The social worker reported that Harry showed interest in Martin but the two did not appear particularly close. Harry roomed with a friend with whom he had been with in the camps and would not give up this arrangement to live with Martin. He also noted that, unlike Martin, he had released himself from his Orthodox upbringing and did not think his brother, still observant, would be comfortable around him.55 The social worker describes Martin’s feelings of depression and loneliness, particularly around the Passover holiday, which accentuated his reaction to the fractured relationship between them.56 Barbara S.’s sister wanted her sibling to live with her and her husband and young daughter. But by the time they came to Boston, Barbara had been in the United States for a few years and she had no interest in living with them. She felt they talked about the war obsessively, which she found demoralizing. She moved out in order to pursue her dream of a college education, which she thought would be impossible in that environment.57 Irene B., on the other hand, desperately wanted to live with her married sister Margaret who had arrived in New York in 1938. Her expectations of the relationship were clear. She told her caseworker at the EJCA of her “deep feeling of joy in the fact that her sister will be like a mother to her.”58 According to the EJCA file, Margaret was willing to go to great lengths to meet her sister’s need. Unfortunately, she and her husband divorced after Irene moved in with them. Although the social worker noted that there had been signs of earlier marital discord, she believed the final separation had much to do with Irene’s “deep attachment to her sister.”59 Chana B.’s older sister wanted her only surviving sibling to join her, her husband, and baby daughter when they left Europe for Palestine. However, much as other child survivors felt ostracized when a surviving parent remarried and had a baby, Chana felt similarly marginalized in her older sister’s new family that now included a husband and child. Comments recorded in her case file indicate that Chana, who had been separated from her family when she was eight years old, was deeply disturbed to learn her much older sister had a family of her own. Instead of going with her sister and facing a new brother-­in-­law and niece, she opted to come to other relatives, who were strangers, in the United States.60 Two orphaned brothers, Anshel and Jankel G., would not be separated. During the war, Anshel assumed the role of protector to Jankel, who was eight years younger. Jankel attributes his survival in hiding to his brother’s contacts and arrangements with a Russian peasant. Toward the end of the war, Anshel was



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hospitalized for typhus and as he recuperated, was in danger of being drafted into the Red Army. Jankel, fearful of the separation and threat to Anshel’s safety, went to the authorities and recalls he cried, “‘Look, this is my father—­without him I wouldn’t have survived,’ which is the truth.”61 Anshel managed to avoid the draft and, soon after, met and proposed to his future wife. The proposal came with conditions. According to Jankel he said, “Look, I want you to know that you are marrying me but I have an eleven-­year-­old son . . . I just want you to know in advance.” Jankel notes that the young woman understood the relationship and accepted Anshel’s proposal.62 Eventually relatives sent Anshel and Jankel affidavits so they could immigrate to America. The newly married Anshel and wife, in their twenties, along with their now fourteen-­year-­old “son” arrived in New York in 1948 and continued on to Philadelphia where their American sponsors lived. Once there, their aunt encouraged Anshel to leave Jankel with her until the older brother established himself. For the next four years, Jankel lived with his aunt and uncle, visiting his brother and sister-­in-­law during summers. He finally returned to his brother in 1952, when he was eighteen years old. Jankel appears to have accepted the arrangement that separated him from his brother, Anshel, perhaps because his childhood, like others, was not a cohesive one but rather a series of interruptions to which he had become accustomed. He notes that he grew up at an early age.63 Indeed, the sense of an interrupted or missing childhood is a common yet significant theme that child survivors repeatedly express.64

Other New Families Sometimes, as the story of Anshel’s becoming Jankel’s “father” illustrates, adults cobbled together families with children who were related but not their offspring. These examples offer different models of familial units in the wake of the Shoah. Archival sources depict adults who created a two-­generation family with themselves as parents and orphans, usually blood relatives, as their children. Like Jankel, Lya Frank and her younger sister, orphaned by the war, became part of a new family composed of survivor relatives that reflects yet another type of postwar dynamic. Lya was born in Utrecht, Netherlands in 1936.65 Just before her parents’ deportation to Westerbork and Auschwitz in 1943, they arranged for Lya and her younger sister to go into hiding with separate families. By the end of the war she and her sister were orphans. But one uncle and his wife, along with their daughter, had also survived in hiding in the Netherlands. According to Lya, her uncle searched Red Cross lists and within a few months he located his two nieces. Because living quarters were difficult to obtain, Lya joined her sister’s Catholic foster family for six months while her uncle petitioned successfully, according to Dutch law, to become the girls’ guardian. Soon after the girls moved into their aunt and uncle’s home. They all immigrated to the United States in 1957.

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The consequences of multiple families in her short life as well as the ultimate impact of joining a family where her survivor aunt and uncle became her parents were not lost of Lya. By the time she was nine years old, she observes, she had had four sets of parents. Reflecting on the range of experience she recalls, “My own parents were affectionate—­hugging, kissing, expressive.” On the other hand, she notes, “My hiding parents were kind, but did not readily show emotion.” And her sister’s foster family, she knows, “were strict in their religion, but affectionate.”66 And as for her relatives with whom she remained after the war, she remembers, “My uncle and aunt were distressed by the war, and my aunt was constantly unstable.” Lya adds, “They had lost most of their family and were traumatized.”67 Lya’s aunt and uncle became her new parents and she, as other children did, became part of a family composed of two generations of survivors. While her uncle and maternal aunt believed they were fulfilling their obligation to their murdered sister’s children, it was an arrangement, unfortunately, that brought little comfort to Lya. In addition to the instability of her new mother, she, like so many, had to adjust to new familial configurations. In this case, it was both her surviving biological cousin (now referred to as sister) and a new baby cousin also called sister, as well. Lya remembers that she went from a situation where she was “the center of attention” to one where she had to get used to being on the fringe of a volatile family.68 Even though Lya was not a child of her postwar “parents,” the emotions she articulates resonate with those of other child survivors who found themselves marginalized by the postwar birth of a baby in new family constellations of two surviving generations. Lya and Jankel reveal pictures of reconstructed postwar families that, while not the norm, were also not atypical. The records of the NYANA, a New York organization created to help postwar Jewish refugees in that city, confirms this. A 1950 NYANA report indicates that while the majority in their family caseload were nuclear families, 11 percent of two-­generation families were not comprised of parents and their children.69 Just as Jewish children were especially vulnerable during the war, they were often at risk after, too. The road back to some semblance of family life was fraught with complications. In the first instance reuniting with a parent often meant leaving a familiar—­and sometimes happy—­family to live with a parent who was a stranger and often a damaged one at that. Children found themselves in families where the adult generation, in the vast majority of instances, was not only different from the sheltering family but also different from their birth family. The new groups might be comprised of parent and stepparent, aunts and uncles as parents, older siblings as parents, or even strangers, all survivors of the Holocaust. Critical to these reconstituted families is the fact that the children were not only survivors but also children of survivors. Hidden child and psychiatrist



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Sarah Moskovitz calls this “a double whammy.”70 Two generations of survivors under one roof had a deep and lasting impact on family dynamics and on child survivors on many levels. Their mothers’ and fathers’ parenting roles had been disrupted and traumatic wartime experiences sometimes left them ill equipped to resume a parental role. Parents’ divided affections between old and new family members eclipsed and diminished children’s memories of their birth parents. Children also felt the consequences of their parents experiences added to their own burdens. This shadowed and shaped them, persisting long after children came to the United States. All of these factors left deep and lasting scars as the children grew to adulthood.

5 • Growing Up in A meric a Lingering Memories and the US Context

In the years following their arrival in the United States, refugee children, both orphans and those with surviving parents, began to acculturate to American life. From New York to California and nearly every state in between, they found themselves in new communities. Even as they confronted a host of challenges both internal and external, child survivors acclimated, grew up, and moved into adulthood. They socialized and found mates, chose careers, started families, grew older. What is abundantly clear, however, is that child survivors’ Holocaust experiences, no matter what they were, affected their lives at every turn and on almost every level. Child survivor and psychiatrist Robert Krell argues that these memories are part of the fabric of child survivors’ being; existing within “like shards and fragments.”1 Or as another child survivor, Rachel Slagter, states emphatically, “You never get rid of it.”2 Resilience is a term that has been applied frequently to both adult and child survivors because most, but certainly not all survivors moved on with their lives after the war.3 Yet, what is often missed is a more nuanced analysis of the impact of genocide on children. In this chapter, I argue that child survivors faced particular lifelong hurdles that were shaped by their experiences. As they repeatedly tell us in their own words through numerous writings and oral histories, these challenges affected virtually every facet of their lives. Not to address this underestimates the impact of the Holocaust on the youngest surviving remnant. Clearly child survivors’ own memories are as unique as their experiences; ghettos and concentration camps, irrevocable breaks from parents, bleak and multiple hiding places, unalterable separation from their loving rescuers with whom they had forged deep familial attachments, multiple losses. For most it was a layered combination that spanned years of their youth. And how these experiences affected individual children, of course, also varied, but as a collective they endured a rupture in their childhood lives and, to a great degree, endured its post-­traumatic aftereffects once the war was over.4 88

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Young newcomers arrived in the United States and joined the ranks of other American children and teens. Because they matured in an American milieu of the 1950s and 1960s, many external aspects of child survivors’ lives—­unlike the lives of the older survivor generation—­mirror those of their American-­born contemporaries. Within the larger context were the children’s unique perceptions and responses even as their identity as child survivors remained largely undefined by themselves and others. Finally, in the 1980s, the process of acknowledging their status as survivors and their own self-­awareness of its impact on their development would begin. But this was decades off. At first, those who were old enough wanted to be American and “normal.” And, in many cases, they were, at least on the outside. In this chapter, I explore just a few of the many aspects of child survivors’ American lives that they themselves raise in interviews, which suggest patterns in their experiences and reactions in the US context. These themes include socialization, education, marriage and family, and military service.

Socialization Child survivors started the process of socialization as soon as they arrived in America. Because of their youth, this often began through elementary, middle, and high schools where they were immediately thrown into contact with their US peers. School usually facilitated both children’s acquisition of English and subsequent interaction with their classmates. For some, this was a speedy transition. Sometimes concerned adults took an interest in the newcomers’ welfare. Such was the case with Marie Kaufman, who came to California in 1951 at the age of ten. As a hidden child cared for by neighbors in Milhars, France, she had learned to fit in during wartime, and applied these skills once in Los Angeles. She immediately picked up English and quickly blended into her surroundings. In an early 1960s photograph Marie and her younger sister, Helene, seem to be typical American kids dressed in blue jeans and saddle shoes. Marie had no trouble making friends, both Jewish and gentile. But privately, the aftereffects of the war loomed large. Her home was no haven. Her survivor parents struggled financially, fought constantly, and were not only neglectful, but her father was abusive. Fortunately, they lived near a Jewish community center where Marie, on scholarship, sought refuge. She found positive adult role models including a modern dance instructor who nurtured Marie’s nascent talents.5 Eva Cooper, too, had no difficulty befriending her American peers. Born in 1934, she was an only child and felt loved and protected in Budapest during the war. All three family members survived and came to relatives in New York in 1947. Eva was immediately sent to summer camp. She remembers how her counselor explained to her bunkmates that she was a newcomer to the country. According to Eva, the group extended a warm welcome to her, which gave a positive glow

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Figure 3. Marie Kaufman (left) and sister, Helene, Los Angeles, CA, circa 1955. (Author’s collection)

to her overall reminiscences of her early experiences in America.6 As a thirteen-­ year-­old she quickly learned English and made a smooth transition to junior high school after summer camp. This easy adjustment, however, did not always occur. Polish-­born Ellen Kaidanow was ten years old when she came to the United States as an orphan in 1946. Ellen was the sole survivor of her family who had been killed after leaving their bunker to search for food in the Dubno ghetto. She recalls her beginning years in Long Island as challenging and bewildering ones. “It was very, very difficult,” she reflected and added once again, “Very difficult.” Although her foster home life was stable, she was in turmoil. “It’s like being scared all your life really . . . from five years on you’re always scared of something,” she said. She explained, “If it’s not the Germans, it’s new people; if it’s not new people; it’s new places; if it’s not new places, it’s new language.” Moreover, she comments that she didn’t really mix with other American kids. This was partially because she had two friends in the community who were also refugees and also because she was extremely timid. And this anxiety remained with her well into adulthood.7 Susie Schwartz also found friends among other refugees when she began school in America. She survived in hiding in Holland and was sixteen when she arrived in Baltimore, where she lived with relatives until her parents could

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immigrate. She was happy that the local high school allowed her to enter at her grade level despite her lack of proficiency in English. Her aunt was unusually attuned to Susie’s needs and spoke to the school guidance counselor who, in turn, was reassuring. She promised, “There are a number of other immigrant children and don’t worry, we’ll take care of her.” Soon the newcomer was paired with a Dutch-­speaking girl from Berlin. Susie recalled, “She and I became inseparable and that was very, very good for both of us, because she was shy and I was shy and we did not fit in too well.” Neither was comfortable with their American peer group. They met some other young immigrant girls and became friends with them. And slowly, they formed a group of both European Jewish girls and boys, which was their main social community.8 Older teenagers in particular were aware of and articulated that even as they acquired English and understood the words, they felt they spoke a different language than that of their American contemporaries. Auschwitz survivor Barbara Spector recalls the chasm between her worldview and that of American teens when she began school in Boston at age sixteen. “What seemed to be a serious matter to them,” she states, “seemed so frivolous to me.”9 She had a hard time relating to them, including those of the opposite sex, and dated men who were much older, hoping to find a partner who was more mature than boys close to her own age.10 David Bergman, Auschwitz survivor and orphan by age fourteen, wanted to go to Israel but his US relatives convinced him to come to Cleveland. There he soon started high school. He remembers, “I was one of the few, very few, of my age who made it; and when I started high school and I . . . I was looked at like [I] came from another world.” He said that no one knew quite what to make of him. People had seen the horrific newsreels “but they didn’t even know how to approach me or ask me any questions, because everything was so fresh.” He remembers his schooling as a strange experience because the teachers were unsure of his placement; he was too old for junior high school but wasn’t prepared for high school. So what did they do? “They sent me [to] both!” he laughs. It was rocky. “But I managed to keep up with them,” he recalls, adding proudly, “and I finished high school.”11 In 1947, orphaned Lilli Silbiger ended up in Buffalo, New York, where she began high school. Like numerous other child survivors this was her first encounter with formal education in many years. She, too, soon found she had little in common with her fellow students. By the time she was seventeen, she recalls, “Though in age I was young, I felt like I had lived a hundred years.” To adjust to her new life was a challenge. “To be able to concentrate and try to shut out the things that were pressing on you and crowding your mind with all those weighty things of our past was a very difficult time,” she emphasized. Nevertheless, she persisted and, like most, finished high school.12

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Education Even as child survivors struggled socially, many were able to succeed academically. Because they arrived in the United States as teens—­or younger—­they were sent to school as a matter of course, not choice. But just as education historically played a significant role in the narrative of the Jewish immigration experience, particularly for the upwardly mobile sons and daughters of the Eastern European immigrants who arrived in the early twentieth century, schooling also had an important place in child survivors’ lives. Here again wartime experiences figured heavily into individuals’ educational and eventual professional path, and so did contemporary US values and encounters with positive adult role models. Some refugees were highly motivated to pursue educational goals.13 This may have been due to an emphasis on education in their childhood or because they imagined it was what their deceased parents wanted and therefore was a tribute to them.14 For some, studies sharpened focus and channeled effort that crowded out difficult memories. Gender in the context of mid-­century values affected educational goals and careers, as well. Most followed traditional paths both in their choice of careers and marital and family roles. According to psychologist Sarah Moskovitz, a significant number of child survivors went into the helping professions. She argues that this is counterintuitive given their traumatic backgrounds. I suggest that this phenomenon was heavily shaped by past experiences and gender roles, as well as mentors and influential figures in the newcomers’ difficult early lives.15 Maya Schwartz’s story supports this. As an orphan, she admits she sought refuge in books to escape from her miserable domestic life with American relatives who did not want her.16 She attended Belmont High School in Los Angeles where she learned English in an “English for the Foreign Born” class. Fortunately, several educators noticed and helped her. One provided piano lessons for her. She had a number of other good, knowledgeable teachers who also took an interest in her. This motivated and inspired Maya to become a teacher. She was awarded a scholarship to UC Berkeley and graduated with a degree that qualified her to teach French and Spanish.17 Like Maya, Marie Kaufman, mentioned earlier, also sought refuge from her home life. Not only did she find an outlet in dance classes at the Jewish community center, she also found sympathetic social workers. They nurtured her, although they never asked about her wartime past. She spent much of her time with them after school and worked there in the summers, becoming a camp counselor. They were her role models. Eventually she chose to become a nursery school teacher there because of the warm, safe feelings that the staff evoked in her. She remarked, “I had people who helped me.”18 Both Maya and Marie’s experiences, too, exemplify traditional career paths for women, as well as the fact that both married young and immediately began families as many American

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women did at the time. Similarly, Marie Kaufman interrupted her education to stay home and care for her children. Auschwitz survivor and orphan Barbara Spector, mentioned earlier, was highly motivated to educate herself. She finished high school, which had required lengthy commutes from her group home in Boston to Worcester, Massachusetts. Then, as was typical of the day, she married and interrupted her education to raise four children. Still, she doggedly pursued her academic dreams and eventually received her college degree in 1979 when she was fifty years old. In honor of the fiftieth anniversary of her arrival in the United States, her family endowed a scholarship through Hebrew Immigration and Sheltering Aid Society (HIAS) to support other immigrants’ studies in the United States. Despite hopes for an education, however, a child survivor’s goals were sometimes undermined by their experiences in unexpected ways—­some practical and others emotional. Czech-­born Sam Burke, who was fifteen in 1945 and an orphaned survivor of Auschwitz and Mühldorf, exemplifies this. In Mühldorf, during the war, he apprenticed to a dentist, a Hungarian man, who trained Sam and promised to adopt him after the war. This was not to be. When his father figure died before the war ended, Sam assumed his duties as camp dentist. During this time, Sam witnessed the removal of gold teeth from corpses. After the war, Sam went to his aunt in Cleveland. Although he tried dentistry in America he eventually left it “because it had too many memories.” He ultimately studied sculpture and music on his own. He acknowledges, “My mind was always still in Auschwitz and the camps and missing my parents and grandparents . . . I couldn’t get that off my mind.” He found that music offers some diversion. He states, “When I sit and practice I forget about Auschwitz.”19 Sol (Shaya) Lurie, too, was influenced by the war years albeit in a different way. After surviving Auschwitz, he came to the United States in 1947 and lived with his aunt in Brooklyn. A few years later he went into the service and was discharged from the US Army in 1953. He states, “I finished my course with distinction.” He did so well, in fact, that Harvard University offered him a partial scholarship. But, he recalls, “when I came out, you know, I didn’t have parents. . . . I came out, I couldn’t expect my aunt to support me, right?” He never took advantage of the educational opportunity. He did go on to marry, have a family, and develop a successful business. Still, he rejected a prestigious academic education because, as a war orphan, he did not feel entitled to his relative’s financial assistance.20 Robert Berger was also accepted to Harvard University. In his case the Jewish organization that supervised him believed he should become financially independent and seek employment rather than study. But Robert, an orphan, was motivated by what he believed his parents would have wanted for him. This pushed him to ignore the agency and put himself through college, and then medical school. He eventually became a highly regarded cardiologist in Boston.21 And despite the fact that the agency felt he should seek a different path, he believes its

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overall support, especially from Beatrice Carter (chapter 3) provided him with the help he needed to forge ahead in pursuit of his medical career.22 Claire Boren was born in 1938 and survived in Poland in hiding. She, along with her mother and stepfather, came to the United States in 1949 and settled in Queens, NY. She remembers even as she longed to be American, she felt different. Bright and motivated to fit in, she quickly learned English and became involved in student politics, expressing an interest in law when in high school. She notes that education, not marriage, was a priority. She entered Queens College and decided to study history. Although she still entertained thoughts of a legal career, she did not follow this path. Why? Both educators and family discouraged her because she was told that it was not a good choice for a woman. She became a social studies teacher instead, a career much more consistent with women’s roles of the 1950s. She met her husband, also a survivor, on a blind date and they married a few months later. Many years later, in the 1970s, she returned to graduate school with a new goal, working with survivors and their children. This new career path was a gendered one, as well.23 In some cities, like Los Angeles, with large immigrant communities, schools provided “English for the Foreign Born” classes. But in at least one instance the schools did more. Regina Gelb settled in Brooklyn where a critical mass of child survivors prompted a public school to provide a program specifically geared to them.24 Regina considers herself very lucky in that respect. Born in Poland, she was sixteen when the war ended. By then she was an Auschwitz and Ravensbruck survivor and also an orphan. But her older sister survived, too, and soon married. The couple became her guardians and brought her along to Brooklyn in 1947. To Regina’s good fortune, when a Jewish organization was helping them find an apartment, it also referred Regina to Thomas Jefferson High School. By the time she arrived, there were about thirty-­five students who, she remembers, were “war survivors, of every background, academically and otherwise, from Hungary, from France, from Poland, from Germany.”25 Regina describes the program’s basic English class, which also functioned as an orientation to how the educational system worked. She learned that she could turn to a teacher for help or advice, a model very unlike the European one in which she was raised. “I didn’t understand a lot of it,” she admits, “but it—­ it seemed like paradise.”26 Beyond English, the curriculum included classes in “Americanization” in an effort to help the teens fit into their new milieu. Students were tested and received credit for their previously acquired knowledge. Eventually, as their language skills improved, they entered the regular classes with their American peers. The educators also helped those who wanted to pursue higher education fulfill all the necessary requirements and assist with applications to Brooklyn College, which was free and highly regarded academically. Regina graduated from high school with honors and went on with her studies. Her college years also included a stint teaching Polish at Indiana University,

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which was facilitated by one of her high school teachers. “From my viewpoint,” she recalls some forty years later, “Jefferson to me was the acculturation for all times.” Why? The administration understood the youngsters’ needs and how to meet them. “Everything was done with such discretion and with such dignity, that to this day,” she marvels, “I cannot—­absolutely cannot get over it.”27 Still, for a least one of her classmates, the trauma of war undermined even the best postwar efforts and goals. Sonia, also an orphan but without any family whatsoever, could not be healed. She appeared initially to be forging an exemplary path. After attending Brooklyn College with Regina, she eventually earned a Ph.D. in English. When she was thirty-­nine, she ended her life. Despite Sonia’s apparent postwar success, Regina stated, “The war really made her a very unhappy person and totally unfit for really living.”28 Many others struggled. Even though sixteen-­year-­old Betty Gold came to Cleveland with her parents, she found it very lonely and difficult to adjust. She remembers going to the movies and going to the balcony and sitting alone, crying. She despised high school and had little to do with her peers. She did meet a boy and fall in love and they married as soon as she graduated from high school.29 For some, like Betty, marrying was a way to escape loneliness or a difficult domestic situation, both the result of postwar factors. But it was also a sign of the times.

Marriage, Family, and Divorce Marrying young reflected both US societal norms and the aftereffects of the war. The Depression and war had led to declines in marriage and birth rates, but after the war both increased. The average age for women marrying in the 1950s was 20.3–­20.4 years old and for men 22.0–­23 years old.30 Survivors were part of their time. In Against All Odds, the sociologist William Helmreich states that 80 percent of Holocaust survivors were married to other survivors and generally stayed married for life, despite their problems. He found that singles met in DP camps where they quickly paired off or came to America and moved in circles comprised of other survivors in which they found mates.31 Child survivor Frieda Ende’s experiences largely support this. Born in Latvia in 1928, by the time she was liberated at age sixteen, she had survived three ghettos, forced labor camps, and a death march.32 She met a survivor in Łódź and married when she was seventeen. In May 1946, they arrived on the SS Marine Flasher, the first boat bringing DPs to America. “It was,” she said, “our Mayflower.”33 Frieda and other similar examples, in their teens at the end of the war, largely represent the oldest end of the child survivor spectrum and align with the model Helmreich describes of survivors marrying survivors and remaining married, despite different backgrounds, for life. Eva Brettler is one of the younger examples. In 1945, she was nine years old and a survivor of Ravensbrück and Bergen-­Belsen. In Los Angeles, she met and

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married her husband, Marten, also a survivor from Hungary, in 1957. Together they raised four children and remained together until his untimely passing in 1972. Jeanine Strauss was eight years old at the war’s end also married a survivor she met in America. They have been married for nearly fifty years. Those in this group tend to be female child survivors who married older survivors who were not children during the war. The majority of child survivors who married, however, did not marry other survivors. They clearly pose a challenge to Helmreich’s statistics. For one, perhaps obvious thing, based on the consensus that a child survivor is defined as one who was seventeen years old, at most, in 1945, the majority were too young, particularly the boys, to get marry immediately after the war. Child survivors may fall into that 20 percent of Helmreich’s sample who did not marry survivors but since he does not factor in age, we do not know. What seems clear is that many, perhaps the majority of child survivors who made their home in the United States married native-­born Americans. Often these marriages were to other American-­born Jews, although not always. Nor did all stay married for life. Unlike the older surviving generation, divorce among child survivors is anything but rare. Statistics show that those who married Americans, including American Jews, had a divorce rate that mirrored the general rate of Jewish divorce in the United States at the time, and was roughly twice that of marriages between two survivors, or 19 percent as opposed to 9 percent.34 Why might the divorce rate be higher among child survivors than adult survivors? What accounts for this gap in statistics? One possibility is that the younger group was part of the general US trend. During the mid-­1960s to the mid-­1970s divorce rates in the general population doubled. These changes were the result of a confluence of factors including the women’s liberation movement; the sexual revolution; the Supreme Court’s recognition of marriage as a “fundamental” right under the U.S. Constitution, the increase in no-­fault divorce; and women’s growing participation in the workforce.35 For some child survivors who grew up with these social changes, divorce was an option that they were willing to consider. A key factor compounded with or at times overriding the social changes, however, was the role that experiences as child survivors played in dissolution of marriages. This was manifested in numerous ways. An abundance of examples support this. For some, the absence of an older generation had a deep impact. In Rachel Slagter’s life, the effects of the war loom large. Born in 1940, she had little experience in a nuclear family before she was placed in a series of foster families. After the war she settled in the United States but went to Israel during graduate school. There she met her future husband and returned to Los Angeles with him. After years of marriage that produced two children, she and her husband divorced. Reflecting on their relationship, she believes she was totally unprepared for marriage. Initially, she noted she was very dependent on her husband

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because she spoke little English. Gradually she began to break out of her shell. As she grew, she realized she was in an unhappy marriage that she had rushed into in the hopes of finding some security. “I had no models of happy families,” or for that matter, “no models of family life,” she posits. She explains, “My experiences through life have not been stable enough for me to allow me to find some stability in life.” She never was able to form a lasting relationship after her marriage dissolved. Perhaps, she suggests, “I am incapable.” She believes that her multiple foster homes contributed to her inability to make commitments during her life. Yet, she clarifies that she is not unhappy. In fact, she states, “I am quite content.” She became a gerontologist and found a fulfilling career working with the elderly. Although she did not find another partner, she is devoted to her children and her work. In those realms, she is satisfied and able to be completely involved and engaged.36 Gerard Berg was a hidden child in Belgium. During that time he was raised as a Catholic. When the war was over, his father started working for the American Joint Distribution Committee. The family came to the United States in 1951 when Gerard was twenty-­one. His mother died from cancer a few years later. Gerard struggled with his identity. Even after the war, he attended a Catholic school. In his testimony in 1996, he readily admits that he was a shell after the war; he did not know who he was on the inside. He claims he “did not have a good sense of himself.” His family settled in Washington Heights in New York City where he was thrown together with Jews but he felt little identification with them. When he was twenty-­four, a friend introduced himself to a French hidden child. Though they shared a wartime bond, it turned out to be a combustible combination. “The way we grew up we were both defensive, very closed, and we couldn’t relate to each other,” he stated.37 They stopped being faithful to each other and the marriage fell apart. A few years later, he met his second wife, an American-­ born Jew. He readily admitted to her that he was mixed up and in group therapy. She felt she could use help, too, and joined his therapy group. They married three years later in a traditional Jewish wedding and have enjoyed a stable relationship since that includes two daughters.38 Another factor that distinguishes child survivors’ marriages from the older generation is intermarriage with gentiles. Marie Kaufman, past president of the Los Angeles Child Survivors of the Holocaust, points out that many, but not every child survivor chose a Jewish spouse.39 While exact figures are not available, intermarriage is hardly uncommon. This may reflect the fact that child survivors were part of the general rise in intermarriage among American Jews in the 1960s and later. But once again, this is compounded by the profound effect that their wartime experiences played on many child survivors’ choice of a life partner. Romana Farrington’s decision to marry whomever she fell in love with was a direct outgrowth of her years as a hidden child in Poland. Given over to a Polish family when she was an infant in 1942, she was deeply traumatized when her

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biological parents reappeared after the war. She had been raised by her rescuers in an antisemitic atmosphere and faced a long struggle to reconcile her two identities. Her foster family went to court to keep her but they lost and she unhappily returned to her Jewish family. It took a while before she recovered from embarrassment about her Jewishness. The fact that her birth parents, though Jewish, were antireligious didn’t help. In fact, her father advised her, “Don’t marry a religious Jew or a religious Catholic; marry a Protestant.”40 This is exactly what she did, although she remarks that it wasn’t because of her father’s advice but because she fell in love. She and her husband married at the UN nondenominational chapel, which she states best embodied her humanistic ideals that all people are equal in God’s eyes.41 Born in Antwerp in 1936, Sabina along with her parents and two siblings arrived in the United States in 1953. Her parents had survived Auschwitz and she and her siblings survived separately in hiding. After the war, Sabina wanted very much to get an education but she had to work to help support her family. They first settled in Detroit, and then the family moved to Brooklyn, New York, so that her father could find work as a diamond dealer. Even though her father became increasingly religious and her sister embraced a Hasidic lifestyle, Sabina did not. She married outside of the fold. An artistic personality, she was interested in becoming an impresario. During an outing to Greenwich Village in the 1950s, she met a folk singer; a black man from the Virgin Islands, and they fell in love. He saw her “screams and tears and nightmares” and was able to calm her. They married in 1961. In 1995, she spoke lovingly of their recent thirty-­fourth wedding anniversary. Influenced in part by her childhood experiences as well as the 1960s milieu, she emphasizes that her husband supports her philosophy of peace and belief in humanity’s possibility for goodness. They have no children.42 Simon Feldman’s experiences illustrate those of a child survivor who is both divorced and intermarried. By the time he was twelve, he had endured numerous traumatic close calls. He was six years old when the war broke out in Poland. He and his mother and aunt and cousin survived hiding in a bunker under their ghetto house while he overheard the ghetto guards shooting the remaining family. They managed to escape into the forest where they almost froze to death. One day “an angel appeared” in the guise of a Ukrainian farmer who took them in to his barn. When that became dangerous, he dug a hole behind his chicken coop that was big enough for them. He kept them there for many months until liberation. During that time, the farmhouse caught on fire and it spread to the straw in the coop. They were severely burned. His cousin and mother took ill and died. Vladymir, the farmer, buried them. After liberation Simon was immediately hospitalized. When discharged, Russian Jewish soldiers took him under their wing. At first, he was planning to go to Palestine with the Irgun, but heard that it was possible to get into the United States as a child through the US Committee for the Care of European Children. He registered and went to New York and on to Pittsburgh

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in 1948 at age fifteen. He explained, “I had lived through so many things and now wanted to live for myself.”43 Simon stayed with a Jewish foster family in Pittsburgh where he was well received. He studied English and then was drafted into the US Army. In 1955, he decided to marry. He notes that “his people were upset” because his fiancée was not Jewish. “All this stuff that you lived through, why are you doing it?” they wondered. Still, he emphasized he loved her tremendously and went through with his plans. He notes that his in-­laws were supportive and helped him more than anyone else in his life.44 Within a few years, he became a father of two, a daughter and son. He established a business. “Life,” he said, “was pretty good.” But, he said, his life with his wife was failing even as their family had expanded to include twin girls. By 1978, their marriage had deteriorated to the point where he felt he could no longer continue. He had also met another woman. She converted to Judaism and, although his first wife had not granted him a divorce, his second relationship produced a son who is named after his father and Simon calls his “kaddish.” His involvement with his current partner created tremendous tension between his new and old families. At his USC/Shoah Foundation testimony taping, only one of his four children from his first marriage, a daughter, was willing to participate in the family section of her father’s interview along with his second partner and their child. The daughter commented that she did not think her other siblings understood the tremendous impact that the Holocaust had had on their father’s life.45 For those who divorced, many remarried. At times, the first marriage was to a Jewish partner but the second was not. Such is the case with Lea Weems, who was sent from New York to Texas after her aunt decided not to keep her and her sister. Lea married another survivor and became a victim of domestic violence. She eventually left the man and married another. Her second husband was a Texan-­born Christian, who treated her “like a queen.”46 Henri Wittelsohn believes that his wartime experiences had a direct bearing on his two marriages. He spent the war in hiding in Belgium and after was placed in a Jewish orphanage. He started working and hoped to build a life for himself in Brussels. He didn’t want to leave Belgium but his mother had already left for New York and insisted he join her. He arrived in 1952 at the age of seventeen. The next six months were “the worst period in his life.”47 He was so miserable that he made plans to return to Europe. A chance meeting at a dance reconnected him with a friend from Europe, who encouraged him to join Habonim, the Zionist youth group. There he found a feeling of belonging among other refugees. He also found a wife. They married in 1957. When Henri and his wife had been married about five years, she learned that she had been a hidden child and the couple she assumed were her biological parents had, in fact, adopted her. Her birth parents had been shot in Poland and the couple that eventually raised her did so without telling her the truth about

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their relationship. The news traumatized her. Henri notes, “with the baggage that she had and the baggage that I had, something happened to our marriage.” He could not provide the emotional support she wanted and she could not give him what he needed in return. After nine years and two children, they divorced. He believes the inability in both of them to give each other the emotional sustenance each other required was directly tied to the trauma of their war years. Henri eventually met and married another woman. His second wife is not Jewish, “by design.” He states in quick succession, “I didn’t want any of this anymore; I didn’t want to talk about it; I didn’t want to know about it; I just didn’t want any part of this; I didn’t want to talk about it; I didn’t want to have to explain it.” He is also quick to articulate that he loves his present wife. “We’ve been married thirty years and we have two children of our own,” he proudly states.48 Marie Kaufman, who arrived in Los Angeles from France in 1951, knew her future husband from the communist Yiddish group she attended as a child with her parents. They married in 1960 when they were both nineteen. Marie agreed to the marriage because it was a way to escape the ongoing abusive life she had with her biological family, all survivors. Her fiancé was American-­born and intellectual. Her teachers at the local Jewish community center had already exposed her to music and dance and her husband’s cultured family further opened her eyes to a world of possibilities, of music and theater. They had two children but the marriage eventually began to deteriorate. They split up. She met her second husband, a gentile man, through one of the musical evenings that she had regularly hosted in her home. They married a few years later and remain married to this day. In addition, as an active participant and past president of the LA Child Survivor group for many years, Marie has had her husband’s constant support and participation.49 Not all child survivors believed their wartime experiences were necessarily a factor in the end of a marriage. For example, Eva Cooper divorced her first husband and remarried. Both husbands were Jews. Eva describes herself as happy and well-­adjusted. She emphatically believes that neither her choices nor her divorce was connected to her childhood experiences.50 Many, many others who divorced, however, either felt the war cast a shadow on their intimate relationships or, at the very least, on the path that their lives took, which had a less obvious but by no means less significant impact on their choices, including partners.

Child Survivors and Their Children Child survivors’ attitudes toward children often pivoted around and were deeply entwined with past experiences. Many project their very survival onto their children. Betty Gold emphatically states, “This is the reason I survived: my three sons.” Said Miri Pearl, “It was our intent to bring up our children and teach all the values that . . . the world is good and honest.” In her opinion, to have reared them with hatred and bitterness would have crippled her children and that would have

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been Hitler’s ultimate victory. She acknowledges the supreme importance of her children to her and her husband. “We have lived through them,” she stresses. But she also believes this comes with a price. In fact, she worries, “Though we know that they are wonderful people, they are deeply affected by what we have gone through, their parents, and I just hope and pray they will not suffer from their parents’ burdens.”51 For some, having children could not unlock their internal grief. Sol Lurie believes that his four years in concentration camps had a direct effect on the kind of father he was to his three children. He reflects, “See, my problem was—­the way I was—­where I was—­after concentration camp, I was—­I couldn’t show my feelings.” He clarifies, “In other words  .  .  . I couldn’t show my love, because I was afraid that anybody you loved. . . . During the war, you know, anybody you loved, you lost, okay?” He was fearful of expressing his love to his late wife as well as to his three daughters and admits that if he had to live his life over again, he would be completely different. He explains, “In concentration camp, that’s what happened, you just lost your feeling of love. . . . I couldn’t show it, I couldn’t—­I hardly spent any time with the kids. . . . I know I missed out a lot.”52 On the other hand, Ellen Kaidanow, who has three children, was “constantly with her children, all the time.” She tried very hard to keep her Holocaust experiences from them but wonders how successful she actually was. She does believe that she was very protective as a mother. Thinking back she remembers that she was afraid to leave her children with a babysitter. Like Sol, the fear of loss hovered. Much as she attended to her children, she “didn’t want to attach herself too much to them for fear of losing them.” She also notes that even though she has “wonderful children, a wonderful husband, and four grandchildren,” she lives with a sadness that shadows her days and undermines her ability to fully enjoy what she has.53 Auschwitz survivor Bella Pasternak raised three sons. She believes that she tried to protect her children because “I was always afraid something that’s gonna happen.” She remembers, “When they were small I used to get up from bed at night while they were sleeping to listen if they’re breathing.” She explains, “I was so surrounded with dead people, that if they didn’t cry, or . . . they were sleeping, I went to see if they’re alive.” She reflects that no matter how much time has elapsed, her fears for them—­and now her grandchildren—­persist.54 Rose Silberberg-­Skier also believes she was overprotective toward her children. She came to the United States as an orphan and later married an American-­ born Jewish man. Her face lights up as she speaks of her three children and how she showered love on then, each named for family members who, she notes, “were murdered.” She confesses that she hovered over them and laughingly recalled how they would tease her because she would not allow them to take a subway in New York City until they were adults. She also recalls that she ran after them with food, afraid that they might starve.55

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Former hidden child Ann Shore believes that her four children were largely protected from her experiences because she repressed her memories when they were young. She remarks that she was “preoccupied with living.” She also recalls that her children participated in a workshop for the second generation at the first Hidden Child conference in New York in 1991. All four had the sense that they did not share many of the issues that arose in the group of children of survivors.56 Sam Burke’s relationship with his two children is central to his life. The war left him an orphan and taking care of his own offspring was supremely important to him to the extent that when he and his wife divorced after a few years of marriage, he was awarded custody of the children. His daughter commented, “I am very happy I was raised by him.” Without elaboration she added, “It was tough, but I would not have wanted it any other way.”57 For some child survivors, their own children are what kept them going as they continued to grapple with deep grief and traumatic memories. Betty Gold admits to this. From the first days of her marriage, her despondency lingered. “I was one of the first refugees to get married in Cleveland and people came from all over to see the refugee,” she recalls many decades later. It was an emotional event on many levels. She remembers walking down the aisle and seeing all the guests crying. About her wedding day, she states, “I felt like I was at my own funeral.” She continues to live with feelings of guilt for surviving when she witnessed the torture and murder of close relatives. Still, she believes her children sustain her. “I have to go on for my children,” she insists.58 Marsha Tishler, hidden as a toddler in Poland, has a close and loving relationship with her two daughters. As they were growing up, she notes, “I think I held them tighter.” She emphasizes they are very much loved and, in turn, are loving and protective toward their mother. Marsha comments that she feels deeply grateful for her miraculous survival that led to her life with her husband and children.59 The Holocaust pervaded Claire Boren’s days, including her professional and family life. In some ways this was constructive. She worked with survivors and was married to one, as well. Because of this, their community often contacted them for comments after films or books appeared. On the other hand, although she doubts she spoke explicitly about her experiences, she believes her children were overexposed to the Holocaust. She recalls her daughter’s bat-­mitzvah and how the rabbi asked if, during the service, he could remember their murdered relatives who were not there. Claire recalls that this brought the audience to tears. She realized in retrospect that the event, which should have focused on her daughter’s milestone, instead emphasized the devastating losses the Shoah inflicted on her family. She asserts that the past she shares with her husband has been a burden for her children, much as second generation children of older survivor couples claim.60 Her twenty-­six-­year old son, Jonathan, echoes this sentiment in his mother’s interview. He states that it has “affected every aspect of their

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lives.” In fact, he reflected that they cannot do anything as a family without feeling the influence of his parents’ history.61 Finally, there were those child survivors for whom the Holocaust dominated their life and hampered their ability to forge intimate bonds. Contrary to the promising depictions of adult couples in DP camps reinforced by studies such as Helmreich’s, some child survivors did not marry nor did they have children. Some married, but remained childless. Whether this was a personal choice or, perhaps, that some women or men struggled with infertility that may or may not have resulted from their wartime difficulties, we cannot know. What we do know is that for many, the war years continued to echo throughout their later life and to cast a dark shadow on their own perceived abilities to commit to lasting familial relationships.62

Military Service: Yet Another War Just child survivors were coming of age and reaching America, the country entered the devastating Korean War that raged from 1950 to 1953.63 Despite the fact that they were not yet citizens, numerous male child survivors actively participated in the US military. Scholars such as Hana Jablonka have analyzed survivors who went to Palestine and into the Haganah to fight in Israel’s War of Independence, but little attention has been given to those who came to the United States and entered the military and were sent overseas to Southeast Asia or, in fewer instances, Europe.64 Some saw combat, others did not. Why would male child survivors who had just left the conflagration in Europe become involved in the US military? How do they remember this experience, particularly in juxtaposition against both their recent past and their acculturation to American life? Young men’s reasons for participating in the military ran the gamut from personal idealism to pragmatism to the laws of the land. Sometimes it was a determined and patriotic effort to truly feel part of the fabric of American life. There were those who felt a sense of obligation; that they “owed” America something for allowing them to immigrate. At other times, it was a much less idealistic commitment. Some joined up for practical reasons. Others—­like many young American-­born men of the same age—­were drafted into a conflict that they hardly understood, let alone supported. Some male survivors are unequivocal about their reasons for enlisting: an obligation to pay back a debt to the United States. Tibor Rubin may be the most noted example of a man who was both a child survivor and Korean War vet. He was a seventeen-­year-­old Hungarian survivor of Mauthausen when he arrived in New York in 1947. Almost immediately he decided he wanted to enlist in the military. According to journalist Daniel Cohen, who interviewed Rubin as well as other survivor friends, when Tibor announced his plans they were dumbfounded. “I thought we came here to get away from all that,” responded his friend

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Isaac. They were shocked that he was willing to expose himself to yet another war.65 Undeterred, Rubin enlisted in 1950 and after basic training was sent to Korea. Toward the end of his life, Rubin remarked: I always wanted to become a citizen of the United States and when I became a citizen it was one of the happiest days in my life. I think about the United States and I am a lucky person to live here. When I came to America, it was the first time I was free. It was one of the reasons I joined the U.S. Army because I wanted to show my appreciation.66

Yet the US Army did not necessarily show its appreciation for Rubin. Affidavits submitted by Rubin’s comrades affirm that their sergeant was virulently antisemitic. On more than one occasion he sent Rubin on dangerous missions, including one in which he single-­handedly held off enemy soldiers for over a day, allowing his fellow soldiers to retreat to safety. During this mission he was wounded and captured and spent two-­and-­a-­half years as a POW. After the war, his sergeant put up bureaucratic stumbling blocks that prevented Tibor from receiving the Medal of Honor. President George W. Bush eventually conferred the distinction on him in 2005 when Tibor was seventy-­six years old. For Tibor, his experiences in Mauthausen, which was liberated by US forces, both informed his loyalty as well as his determination to maintain his own and others’ morale while he was held captive. Still, not everyone enlisted out of idealism. Henri Wittelsohn’s decision was pragmatic. He wanted to do something with his life beyond the menial job as a delivery boy in a grocery store. He couldn’t get a better position because employers were reluctant to hire young men for fear they would be drafted. He reasoned, “why don’t I join the American the army and take on as much schooling as I can and then join a career when I can.” He did so in 1953 when the Korean conflict was winding down, although he knew there was still a strong possibility he could be sent there. However, when they learned of his background, the authorities decided “it would not be a good idea.” Henri studied radio repair and then, to his surprise, in 1956 he got his orders to go to Germany. He remembers, “The wounds were still very much open and my hatred for Germans was very much there.” Embittered, he had vowed never to set foot on German soil. But he also imagined that returning there as a US soldier could be a kind of revenge. Still, he was very ambivalent. He expressed his feelings to his commanding officer saying that he would go but, given his bitterness, he could not predict how he might react to being in Germany. His commander decided not to send him. Instead, in 1958 he was told that he would be sent to Lebanon. He realized that he might be faced with having to act on behalf of the US Army against Israel. He said he had become finally “a Jew, a Zionist” and was worried that possibly, again, he would be put in an untenable moral position.

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Fortunately, the UN declared a ceasefire and he was discharged and sent back to New York.67 Leon Berliner was born in Antwerp in 1935. He experienced transit camps and then went into hiding in multiple homes. He was a ten-­year-­old orphan at the end of the war. He came to Boston in 1948 at thirteen. When he was eighteen, he volunteered for the army so that he could take advantage of the GI Bill, imagining he would probably get shipped to Korea. Instead, in 1954, he was sent to Germany. He recalls how seeing Germans reawakened his wartime memories, which caused sweating and shaking. One night, after too much to drink, he attached his bayonet to his rifle and tried to attack two eighteen-­year-­ old Germans. His friends prevented him but he remembers wanting to kill them “to avenge his mother’s death.” The incident made him aware of the rage within him but he somehow was able to keep it in check until he left Germany. After he finished his service, he was able to go to college on the GI Bill. He hoped to be a diplomat but again the greater American context was decisive. At the height of McCarthyism, he was denied several jobs because he had friends who were communists.68 Sam Oliner was fifteen years old when the war ended. He immigrated to America five years later in 1950. Sam had managed to survive in Poland by hiding and passing as a gentile. This “hiding” persisted after the war including after he was drafted. He recalls, “Even during the days in the army I would deny my Jewishness.”69 He was sent to Korea and “at a certain point in time, I became quite violent in the army,” he explains. The traumatic memories bubbled over, triggered by antisemitic remarks he overheard. He believed he had absolutely nothing to lose by reacting with physical anger. “Listen, what else can happen to me?” he asked. But this violence also broke through his desire to remain hidden. He began to accept being Jewish. Eventually he received a PhD from Berkeley and married an American Jewish woman, Pearl. With his wife as a colleague, Sam began to channel his anger into research on altruistic behavior. Together they became pioneers in the field and established an academic institute at Humboldt State University devoted to this topic.70 One young man was drafted and sent to East Asia but not to Korea. The youngest child survivor on Schindler’s list, Leon Leyson was fifteen when the war ended. After three years in a DP camp, his American relatives brought him and his parents to Los Angeles. By then he was nineteen. “This is where I started my present life,” he believes. With little English, he started school. He had already been trained as a machinist in Schindler’s factory, which he hoped he could continue as a profession. As soon as he finished his training, however, he was drafted into the US Army. Before long he was sent overseas, to Okinawa, where he worked in a machine shop. His work supported young men in the air force leaving for Korea, where he gratefully acknowledges he was not sent. “For me, after being in German camps and then the DP camps to

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be in the army was like boy scouts,” he recalled. Yet, only years later in his sixth decade, did he think about the significance of—­having managed to endure the Holocaust—­leaving his parents to go off to another war from the place they assumed would be a safe haven.71 He returned to the United States after three years and resumed his studies. He received his bachelor’s degree and teaching credentials and taught in the LA Unified School District for many years until his retirement.72 By the time Polish-­born Jacques Ribons was liberated in Buchenwald at age seventeen, he had endured a forced labor camp and two concentration camps, including Auschwitz. Both of his parents and his only sister had been murdered. His one brother, Berek, survived. They came to an uncle in Paterson, New Jersey, but his brother moved to California for an educational opportunity. When that fizzled, he decided to try life in Israel. At the same time, Jacques spent the first years trying to get his academic footing. He finished high school. But then world events intervened. By 1950, both brothers found themselves in the military, but while Jacques was in the US Army, his brother was serving in Israel. For Jacques, unlike Berek, this step was not by choice. He was drafted and sent to Korea. Even though it was not his plan, he believes going into the army was important. “You know ever since I was a kid in Poland, I was persecuted as a Jew,” he remembers bitterly. “Then Hitler and Germany . . . ,” he adds, without elaborating. He could show his gratitude to America by serving in the military.73 Fortunately, he “wasn’t directly in the fight because I was the guy behind the lines, with the artillery.” After he returned to Los Angeles, he, as many others, took advantage of the GI Bill and started college. But without any family help, he had to work to support himself. “I just couldn’t do it,” he admits. Before long, he left college to earn a livelihood.74 Simon Feldman, mentioned earlier, survived in hiding. His arm had been severely burned during the war, which left him with limited mobility. A few years after his immigration to Pittsburgh, he received his US draft notice but never thought he would pass the physical. However, he states, cynically, “they needed fodder, and they drafted me.” He served in the Korean conflict for over a year. His wartime experiences in a paradoxical way helped him there because he had traveled around as a kind of mascot with a Soviet tank unit in 1944. As a result, “I knew my stuff, “ he said. He finished his service in thirteen months as a sergeant, first class. This motivated him to serve in the reserves for five years.75 Czech-­born Michael Blain considers himself lucky. When he was fourteen he was sent to Budapest to learn the leather trade. There, he survived in a safe house. Most of his remaining family did not. He arrived as an orphan in the United States in 1949 to join an older sister who had managed to reach New York before the war. There he found a job while attending George Washington High School at night. He graduated in 1951 and was soon drafted. After

Figure 4. Jacques Ribons (born Jakob Rybsztajnin) in his US army uniform prior to his

deployment to Korea, circa 1950. (USHMM Photo Archives, courtesy of Jacques Ribons)

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basic training he was shipped to Korea in January 1952. Michael remembers, “Here I was, I survived one war and I was sent to another.” When he learned that he would be sent to Korea, he spoke with his commanding officer and told him that he spoke several languages and perhaps he could better serve the country in Europe. He, in turn, approached his superior with the intention of recommending Michael for Europe. However, the latter informed the officer that the military needed people in Korea, which was closer to the Russian enemy. Michael considers himself very lucky—­again—­to have been somewhat behind the front lines, never having experienced direct combat. After eighteen months he returned from Korea and to his job as a leather worker. Dissatisfied, he decided to act on his dream of pursuing a college education. His army service allowed him to do so because of the GI Bill. He attended Rochester Polytechnic Institute. He married and had three children and remembers that although he didn’t speak about his experiences in the late 1940s and early 1950s, he thought of them constantly. “It’s something that you can’t get out of your mind,” he insists.76 Hurst Sommer survived the war as a child in Shanghai, China. In the aftermath, he landed in San Francisco and was soon drafted. When he learned that he was to be shipped to Korea to fight he strongly refused. Why? Hurst felt a debt of gratitude to the Chinese who supported North Korea in this war. “They saved my life,” he emphasized. There was no way he could see them as the enemy. When he was called to the Intelligence Department at Army headquarters, he was told he could help this country with his knowledge of Chinese. Moreover, he should do his duty out of gratitude for what the United States had done to help him. Still he objected. Eventually he was sent to Okinawa where he was injured during maneuvers and spent much of the rest of his service in a hospital. But he credits that experience in the military for changing his life because he believes it prepared him to succeed. After completing his service, he eventually finished college and worked in industrial relations.77 Edward Anders highlights a rare instance where a doctor at his draft office recognized his status, not as an inductee but as a Holocaust survivor. Edward was seventeen when the war ended.78 He had survived by hiding in the countryside in Latvia. Soon after he arrived in New York, he began his studies in chemistry at Columbia University. As an unemployed student in the summer of 1950, the draft board quickly notified him to report to his local headquarters. He passed the physical requirements but when it came to the psychological test, his Viennese-­ born psychiatrist “took pity on him” because of his history and recommended a 4-­F status. This was overruled and just as Edward was about to be sent to Korea, once again someone intervened. This time it was because of his potential contribution to his field. His chemistry professor vouched that the United States’ need for scientists was just as critical as that for soldiers and Edward was permitted to

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return to his studies. It paid off. He received his PhD in chemistry and had a long and distinguished career.79 Sol (Shaya) Lurie, a survivor of the Kovno ghetto and Birkenau, remembers how important it was to go into the army after he came to the United States. He felt it was his duty. He recalls in a 1998 interview at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, “I didn’t have to go to the army, but I went, because when I came to this country and I saw what the country did for me, the way I was treated, I had freedom, I could say anything I want, right?” He believed it was his obligation to fight and preserve that freedom. While most of his fellow soldiers went to Korea, he was sent to Germany. Returning to Germany in a US military uniform gave him an enormous sense of pride but also fulfilled his dream “to outlive Hitler.” He articulated, “ I came back, I showed you, you wanted to kill me, you couldn’t do that and I came back and occupied your country—­and when I used to walk in Germany as American soldier, I was like a hundred feet tall, like a giant.”80 Did his postwar experiences in Germany evoke traumatic wartime memories? His response was definitive. “No, they didn’t—­the memories didn’t bring back.” Why? “Because in my mind, I felt so good because I survived you,” he explained. “I survived you,” he emphasized and added, “I came back like a conqueror.”81 Sidney Shachnow, born Schaja Shachnowski, was not a Korean War veteran but he saw combat as a soldier in the US army in Vietnam. He was born in 1934 in Kovno, Lithuania, and was sent, along with his family, to the Kovno ghetto.82 Smuggled out of the ghetto, he survived in a series of hiding places. After the war, at age eleven he was reunited with his parents and they waited almost five years until they received permission to immigrate to the United States. He recalls arriving in Boston and witnessing the emotion as fellow refugees kissed the ground. Before he graduated from high school, he enlisted in the US Army. He remembers seeing a 10th Mountain Division ad in the post office and deciding to sign up. He had a strong admiration for GIs but this wasn’t the primary motivation. “I was having some family problems,” he admitted. He was in love with Arlene, a Catholic girl, and both families were opposed. He thought joining the army would be a way to avoid the tension. He went to basic training at Fort Dix. “I liked the regimentation . . . I liked the camaraderie,” he recalls. He was called to go to Europe but first he married Arlene, despite continued objections. Arlene encouraged him to become an officer but he soon learned that he could not do so because he was not a US citizen. Back in Fort Knox, after his first child’s birth he became a citizen, then an officer, and returned to fight in the infantry. For Sidney, the decision to join the army may have initially been partially to avoid a stressful domestic situation, yet it had a direct and lifelong impact. He went on to spend forty-­two years in the army as a commander of Special Forces. In his recorded testimony, he notes one of the effects of his later experience in the

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military is that it led to his questioning about whether more could have been done in the ghetto to resist. Yet his later military experiences also made him question himself. After the second or third time he killed someone in combat, an unarmed Vietcong soldier confronted him and he was unable to pull the trigger. He became worried about what he was becoming. It was not that he was concerned that he was becoming a murderer; rather, this incident pushed him to worry that he could not be an effective soldier because he had hesitated. Shachnow traces his later ambivalence toward violence back to his time when, as a ten-­year-­old, he was severely beaten during a work detail in the Kovno ghetto.83 David Bergman, mentioned earlier, was called up by his draft board just after he finished high school in Cleveland at age nineteen. He remembers trying to explain that he had just been through hell. But the reaction was not what he had hoped. He was told, he remembers, “Either go to the draft, or go to jail—­which one do you want?”84 He chose to enter the military. He reflects on the first night in basic training: It was the most gruesome, the most horrible experience of my life. Because it brought back all of the traumatic experiences. It was at night . . . the lights were on the perimeter of the camp, the barbed wire of the camp. And the shouting: “Get off! Get off! Get in there!” You know, it was just like a . . . and the first thing, that “You guys are the lowest scum on earth!” And I thought, “Here we go again.” And the next thing they do is that we’re going to shave. And I said, “Oh, no. They’re not going to do that!” But they did it. And to do it, I had to numb myself like I did in the camp. All that healing that I was just going through . . . was destroyed in that period.85

That was not the only time David experienced what would later be identified as post-­traumatic stress syndrome. He managed to keep up with the training until he was told that the unit would be going through an exercise with tear gas. He began to limp and by the next day he was unable to walk and had to be carried on a stretcher to the infirmary. He told the doctors about his wartime experiences and this time his story fell on sympathetic ears. Moreover, they were aghast at the draft board’s reaction. The army was prepared to give him a medical discharge but he refused. “I want to stay in, because I want to complete my military obligation . . . to pay . . . repay my debt to America for liberating me,” he insisted. His one request: that he be exempt from any training with tear gas. The authorities agreed. He worked hard, finished at the top of his group and was selected for a military intelligence course. Eventually he returned to Cleveland and studied to become an engineer.86 Child survivors grew to adulthood in the decades of the 1950s and 1960s. They began to look and live like Americans. Many, especially younger ones, shed their

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European accents and learned to speak English flawlessly. They pursued education and careers, found partners, started families, served in their new country’s military, and contributed to the larger US society. Yet their wartime experiences hovered; even as they matured and built careers and families of their own, at their core many were still children who could not shake off the shadow cast by their earlier years. This is also true regarding their Jewish identity, which as chapter 6 shows, was bound up in their wartime past as well as their lives in America.

6 • Where Was God? Child Survivors and Jewish Identity

Auschwitz survivor and orphan Elly Gross was raised in an Orthodox family in prewar Romania and remained traditional after she settled in America. She explains her feelings toward Judaism like this: I have to tell the truth. I wouldn’t be able to change my religion because I’m not so strong about it. But I always have this question: . . . what I went through . . . where was the God? I keep the traditions but these bad feelings I have and I will always have as long as I live.1

Where was God? Indeed, Elly’s words embody both the central question as well as the profound and, often conflicting, feelings toward Judaism provoked by the Holocaust.2 Theologians and philosophers alike continue to grapple with this issue. For those who were the intended victims of the “Final Solution,” however, the question is deeply personal. How did or could they come to terms with this burdensome dilemma? Adult survivors struggled with this and so did child survivors, albeit in different but equally challenging ways. For many, including children from pious backgrounds, others who had a secular upbringing, and those who did not know they were Jewish until after the war, their postwar Jewish identity was complicated. Since child survivors’ Holocaust experiences affected every aspect of their lives, not surprisingly, they were embedded in their relationship to Judaism as well. Indeed, many articulate their Jewish identity in juxtaposition to what they endured during the war. Added to this are other factors in both the public and private spheres that significantly influenced individual belief and practice. In this chapter, I explore what child survivors articulate about their Jewish identity, both religious and secular. How do they—­if they do—­live a Jewish life and what prompted that choice? What does living a Jewish life mean to them, particularly after what they experienced during the Shoah? The wide spectrum of child survivors’ responses in this chapter mirrors the complexity, diversity, and 112



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idiosyncratic nature of Jewish identity in America, further shaped and at times defined by their Holocaust experiences.3

The Mosaic of Child Survivors’ American Jewish Identity As with other life events like marriage and military service, the larger US context is key to understanding child survivors’ relationship to Judaism. The changing Jewish landscape in postwar America afforded a range of possibilities from unaffiliated to ultra-­Orthodox from which child survivors—­or their parents—­could choose.4 Geography was linked to the range of choices. US-­born Jews were fleeing the cities for new suburbs springing up in late 1940s, exercising their right to fashion their own American Jewish identity. In the suburbs, Conservative Judaism, in particular, thrived. There the synagogue became the all-­important center of Jewish social life and, argues historian Jeffrey Gurock, “conservative rabbis were on the scene to meet these challenges.”5 For some child survivors, like so many other American Jews in the postwar years, the suburbs facilitated a Jewish identity different from their parents’ Orthodox affiliation. At the same time that Jewish communities outside of urban areas were growing, there was a resurgence of Orthodox enclaves in American cities. This was largely due to an influx of refugees escaping from Europe to the United States during the war. Surviving remnants of Hasidic and other haredi (ultra-­ Orthodox) groups reestablished their communities, largely in the metropolitan New York area. Brooklyn, for example, became a center for numerous Hasidic sects. The Satmer Rebbe and the Lubovitcher Rebbe both transplanted their followings there where they grew to be much larger than their prewar communities. Smaller sects like that of the Moditzer Rebbe (Kaja Finkler’s grandfather), who immigrated in the 1930s, also set down roots there. At the same time other surviving Eastern European rabbis of the Mitnagdic tradition opened yeshivas for boys to continue their traditions. In 1943, refugee Rabbi Aaron Kotler founded the haredi Beth Midrash Govoha, or Lakewood Yeshiva, in Lakewood, New Jersey, which became a preeminent seminary in the US ultra-­Orthodox world. Some child survivors were sent to or chose to join one of the religious enclaves that supported an observant, insular lifestyle and reconnection to a lost world. These Orthodox groups had a vision—­to continue the yeshiva world that had been destroyed in Europe. Establishing their own educational institutions for children that furthered their religious values and isolated their youth from mainstream American culture was critical. And as academic institutions this also allowed them to provide student visas in order to bring survivors to America—­a useful way to circumvent some of the initial immigration stumbling blocks.6 Sometimes Orthodox organizations intervened to reclaim children in

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Europe and this, too, could influence a child’s identity and his or her attitude toward Judaism. For those who wanted a cultural rather than religious connection, America offered these possibilities, too. In some cities including New York, Los Angeles, Cleveland, and Boston, the Workmen’s Circle (Bund), founded by Yiddish-­ speaking immigrants in 1900, offered “a proudly progressive, diverse and inclusive community rooted in Jewish culture and social action.”7 After the Holocaust, the Workmen’s Circle drew survivors who may have belonged to the Bund in Europe or wanted a community based on a shared secular heritage. And some who had profoundly negative associations with being Jewish wanted no connection at all. Whatever their external Jewish involvement was or was not, however, internal dialogues and debates over their Jewish identity were—­and are—­common.

Connections to Orthodox Judaism Irene Hizme has few memories of her parents, but knows that they were secular Czech Jews (chapter 1).8 By 1945, she was an eight-­year-­old orphan and a survivor of Theresienstadt and Auschwitz, where she was subjected to Mengele’s horrific medical “experiments.” As mentioned earlier, Rescue Children discovered her in a Polish woman’s home and brought her to one of their orphanages in France. From there she was brought to the United States on a fundraising mission. Although the organization had promised her that she would be returned to France so that she could immigrate to Palestine with her friend, Miriam, Rescue Children decided to place her with a religious family in New York. In keeping with her new family’s values, she was educated in girls’ yeshivas where she excelled academically. Irene wanted to please and fit in. She states she never questioned or rebelled against religion, even after Auschwitz and Mengele. The Orthodox community offered her something she needed: a feeling of security, embraced by the group and surrounded by friends and family. To this day, she maintains a kosher home, observes Shabbat and holidays, and belongs to an Orthodox synagogue.9 Paradoxically, though, none of her three closest friends is part of her religious community. She has never felt comfortable in the affluent, religious Long Island milieu and eschews materialism—­a value that she links to her childhood experiences of deprivation. About her belief in God, she states firmly, “ I definitely have total faith in God.” She is of the opinion that the reasons for the Holocaust are theologically inexplicable and, despite her personal experiences, she emphatically does not blame or feel anger toward God. During the war, Goldine Teicher was sheltered in a loving Christian home. When neither parent returned, Goldine’s surviving secular uncle removed her from the Belgian rescuers’ home. He placed the girl in the Orthodox Tiefenbrunner’s



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orphanage because he believed it was what her murdered parents, who had been devout Jews, would have wanted. This put her on a path to her ultimate destination in America. Eventually, she moved to a thriving ultra-­Orthodox community in Brooklyn where she attended Bais Yaakov schools, entered college, married, and had a family, which now includes children, grandchildren, and great-­grandchildren, all religiously observant. She is emphatic that she would not have wanted any other outcome. Yet, she admits, one of the lasting effects of her early connection to the gentile couple and the abrupt break from them is that she envies the deep religious fervor she sees in others in her ultra-­Orthodox community, especially baalei tshuvah, those who were not born into the community but elected on their own to become Orthodox.10 Goldine’s return to Judaism got off to a rocky start but grew to feel deeply at home with her Jewish identity. Herbert Barasch also came from a prewar Orthodox home but his Jewish identity in America grew away from his roots. Herbert, born in Austria in 1937, was an only child. As a toddler, he and his parents escaped to Belgium where he survived first with a family and then in a monastery while his parents survived in hiding. Hebert was eight years old at liberation. He remembers, “When the Jewish organization took me out of the monastery I was skin and bones.” He recalls with some astonishment that his parents, who were still strictly Orthodox, took him to a restaurant where horsemeat (a nonkosher meat) was offered and ordered it for him because they feared for his health. They moved into an apartment across from a church that was led by the priest who had saved Herbert. For months after the end of the war, Herbert continued to go to church until gradually he “became aware of the Shabbos candles” that his mother lit weekly. He notes that his parents never tried to prevent him from attending church. When a Californian relative sponsored the Barasches, the family immigrated to the United States in 1948 and settled in San Francisco. Herbert learned English in three months in a public school English class “for aliens,” non-­English-­ speakers from all over the world. Soon after their arrival, his parents decided Herbert needed a Jewish education. But San Francisco did not have a thriving Orthodox community. Herbert’s parents (as Orthodox families sometimes did when there was no appropriate local school) decided to send him away to study in yeshiva. Because one of his mother’s relatives taught at the Orthodox Yeshiva Torah V’Daas, in Brooklyn, he ended up living there.11 After a year, Herbert said he rebelled and returned home to San Francisco. He did not reject his Jewish identity then; rather, it took on a new form. As a teen he joined Betar, the right-­w ing Zionist youth group. At that point, he said he did “what any normal American would do.” Herbert attended high school and City College in San Francisco and turned from Orthodoxy to Conservative Judaism. Clearly, the local synagogue offerings played into this. He explains, “If you’re in an environment that’s not Orthodox, you drift toward

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that environment.” Which is exactly what he did. In fact, he and his wife are active in a Conservative temple in their area. They raised their two sons in this community. Herbert does not express any tension between himself and his parents because of his religious choices. In fact, despite their differing practices, they remained extremely close.12 In their case, maintaining the relationship with their only son was more important than his conforming precisely to their religious values.

Restoring the Rupture: The Mount Kisco Experiment Some child survivors’ paths took them to ultra-­Orthodox communities that were transplanted from Europe to the United States by surviving religious leaders. Solomon Miller’s postwar story is emblematic of this. He was born into a Hasidic family in Slovakia in 1928.13 His testimony is rife with biblical references as well as a deep affection for the people in the town of his youth, whom he described as extremely poor but religiously devout. Solomon emphasizes that there was no rational explanation for why he lived through the ghetto and several concentration camps including Auschwitz. Rather he attributes his inexplicable survival of numerous close calls to Hashgacha Proteis (divine providence). Solomon clearly does not see himself as responsible for his survival. The opposite. He remembers existing in the camps without thinking. He insists that each survivor should tell his story as he experienced it, but especially to do so honestly, not sanitized. He reflects, “I would look at the experience I had as someone who was drugged.” Despite his faith, he does not believe it helped him survive. Rather, he insists he somehow endured the daily torture not because of hope or prayer but because “we were mechanical robots who didn’t think.”14 Little by little, after the war Solomon learned that outside of his father, his large family had been murdered. He notes that the postwar period when he was free after being a camp prisoner was not a good one because he “was on the loose.”15 It’s hard to predict what would have happened without a parent’s guidance. But Solomon had a father who stepped in and decided it was time for seventeen-­year-­old Solomon to return to his yeshiva studies. He took his son to Nitra in Slovakia where he had learned that a prewar yeshiva was regrouping. There fifty young survivors, mostly orphans, had returned to the town of their former school. Meanwhile, Rabbi Michael Dov Ber Weissmandl, a survivor and son-­in-­law of Rabbi Ungar, the former head of the Slovakian Nitra yeshiva, had arrived in the United States, alone, in 1946.16 His first wife and five children had been killed in Auschwitz while he had escaped from the train en route to the camp. According to observers, he was deeply depressed over his family’s fate. He also struggled



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with his own perception that he had failed as part of the Working Group, which had tried to stop the deportations in Slovakia and elsewhere by bribing the Nazis. To that end, Rabbi Weissmandl had sought to raise money from American Jewry during the war but the response from his US co-­religionists was lackluster both in speed and amount. The deportations, which had, in fact, temporarily stopped, resumed.17 According to Rabbi Moshe Kolodny of the Agudath Israel archives, Rabbi Weissmandl’s experiences left him broken.18 Within a year of his arrival, however, he noted to a friend “There is an obligation on the few who are left . . . to build anew our religion.”19 He determined that the only way to do this was to continue the tradition that had been ruptured by the Shoah and reestablish a Nitra yeshiva in America. By all accounts brilliant (he had studied ancient manuscripts at Oxford in the 1930s), Rabbi Weissmandl came up with a radical plan: he would bring young survivors from Europe to his new yeshiva that would combine Torah learning and agriculture; the boys would study half of the day and spend the rest of the day farming in order to support themselves.20 He soon enlisted help from another rabbi in providing student visas for the boys, which was a way to bring child survivors to America out side of the quota system. Indeed, this was how Solomon Miller arrived in New York in 1946. Initially, support for the new Nitra yeshiva was not forthcoming. Still Rabbi Weissmandl persisted. Comments a friend, Siegmund Forst, “the rabbi was a very impressive man and he won friends because his deep sincerity affected people.”21 Among his new acquaintances was Isidore Rogozin, who provided money for a down payment on an estate in Mount Kisco, New York. The arrival of the first students in March 1948 was described in the New York Times. The journalist reported, “On the 254-­acre estate of the late Robert S. Brewster, once the scene of flower exhibits and teas, seventy refugee youths from Czechoslovakia will live, learn farming and handcrafts and study the tenets of the Jewish faith.”22 According to another New York Times article, however, almost immediately the yeshiva was beset by controversy as residents protested that “the school was not in harmony with the character of the neighborhood which consists of large private homes.”23 The town of Mount Kisco was an affluent one and an area where few Jews lived, let alone ultra-­Orthodox ones. The debate swirling around the yeshiva dramatically reflects a greater American animosity toward refugees in general and the ultra-­Orthodox in particular. But the rabbi and his students remained, committed to rebuilding their devastated world in America. Several child survivors who lived in Mount Kisco remember the early days there. Philip Herzog, head of the Baron Herzog Wineries, was ten years old at the end of the war and came to America in early 1948 with his family, who had been close to Rabbi Weissmandl in Slovakia. His memories of visiting Mount Kisco

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for the first time are vivid, as are his impressions of the man: “He was a genius . . . he knew everything . . . mathematics, English, languages, Hebrew, science,” Herzog recalls, adding, “A man like that comes down on earth . . . very few in a thousand years.” About the other boys, mostly orphans, he states, “When they came from the war they were wild animals . . . most lost father, mother, sister, brother, uncles . . . they had nobody.” According to Herzog, Rabbi Weissmandl “came out with this fantastic idea . . . have chickens, have cows, let them work two, three hours . . . so that they could stabilize their heads.”24 Jacob Spitzer was liberated in Theresienstadt and came to the United States with his mother in 1948 at the age of twelve. He remembers, “We were looking for institutions that would help us rebuild our heritage and by then I knew that Rabbi Weissmandl had saved my life during the war.”25 He learned that the rabbi had founded the yeshiva and headed there. He stayed for five years, eventually receiving rabbical ordination.26 Similarly Solomon Miller stayed at the yeshiva for several years, after which he married and went into the furniture business. His business thrived. But this material success is not important, he insists. What is important is his family and who they are. In this way he feels richly rewarded. His four children are married and part of the ultra-­Orthodox community. At the time of his testimony, he and his wife had twenty-­nine grandchildren. At the conclusion of the interview, Solomon Miller’s pious son-­in-­law articulates his admiration for his father-­in-­law. He believes Miller did not give in to despair despite his many losses because he set his sights on rebuilding the world of his parents and grandparents. By those standards and with the help of Rabbi Weissmandl, he was clearly successful.27 Regardless of their varying paths to Mount Kisco or whether or not they became rabbis, Rabbi Weissmandl’s former students were unanimous in their admiration and devotion to the memory of their teacher, who died of a heart attack in 1957 at the age of fifty-­four. Said Rabbi Spitzer, “It was the highlight of my life just being in the presence of Rabbi Weissmandl,” because, he explained, “it was like a resurrection of my recollections of my hometown in Hungary.” Even more, said Rabbi Spitzer, “Rabbi Weissmandl instilled in us a great sense of responsibility . . . that it was on our shoulders to rebuild . . . and everyone our age had to replace 1,000 of what was lost.”28 He and his classmates took that charge seriously. Rabbi Spitzer has six children, forty-­six grandchildren, and numerous great-­grandchildren, all, according to him, religiously observant. Comments Herzog, “Thank G-­d, I knew these kids and they grew up to be fine people. . . . None of them strayed away . . . they married, had children.” “Rabbi Weissmandl,” he emphasizes, “gave them life again.”29 The school did not succeed as a farm settlement. Laughs Rabbi Spitzer, “It wasn’t practical.”30 Nevertheless, it did take root as a yeshiva and exists to this day, thriving in Mount Kisco, transplanting and reestablishing the link to Torah Judaism that Rabbi Weissmandl, and other ultra-­Orthodox European rabbis envisioned in America.



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The Pull of Christianity For many children who knew their Christian rescuers as loving parents, the path back to Judaism was fraught, sometimes especially so when they did not return to a nurturing family or community. Miriam Rakowski thought of the Hiquets, her Christian rescuers, as her parents. Miriam’s mother survived but after the war, she was not strong enough, physically or financially, to care for Miriam. As a result, Miriam continued to live with the Hiquets who wanted to adopt her. Instead, the Agudath Israel intervened with distressing results. Her postwar experiences in strong Jewish environments were not uniformly positive ones.31 Because she was removed from her rescuers after the war and then endured a series of unhappy Orthodox placements, her identity was conflicted and caused much unhappiness that persisted into adulthood. She repeatedly emphasizes that the day she was removed from the Hiquet family was the saddest of her life.32 Miriam also notes that her first real religious identity was as a Catholic. “To this day,” she states, “I have very tender feelings toward Catholicism.” In fact, “I would’ve been a happy Catholic,” she says through tears. Instead she faced years of misery first in the Satmer community, then in her own religious Jewish family.33 Now in her seventies, Miriam has come to some peace with her Jewish identity. As she put it, “I saw some of the best and some of the worst for many years.” With help, much of the anger she used to feel has greatly diminished. She now identifies as a Jew rather than a Catholic, calling herself “a cultural Jew.” She will attend a seder or Chanukah party if a friend invites her but she does not feel any deep, ideological connection. Nevertheless, she affirms that she believes in God and thinks of herself as spiritual person. She loves nature and, in particular spends much time birdwatching alone or as a leader of groups. It allows her to truly be in the present and not think about the past or the future.34 Romana Farrington’s complex story is another that exemplifies the subsequent and ongoing postwar identity crises with which many hidden children struggled. She was born in 1941 in the ghetto of Krosniewice in Poland. When her mother determined it would be safer to place her with a Christian family, she managed to smuggle Romana out of the ghetto.35 A family friend accompanied them to a small village known to be sympathetic to the underground. Her mother put a cross around her neck and left her on the doorstep of a prosperous-­ looking house. Tacked to Romana was a note stating that she was the daughter of a Resistance member, who would reclaim the baby in the unlikely event that she survived, and also a request to baptize the child. As it turned out the house belonged to the village elder who announced in church that he had a foundling. A woman volunteered immediately to foster the child and Romana became her new daughter. Romana recalls that the family who sheltered her was devout and there was a crucifix over her bed. She also remembers being taught that the Jews killed Jesus.

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Both of her parents survived and when her mother returned three years later to claim her, Romana was distraught to learn that this stranger was her parent. She states that this was the most traumatic event of her life. It was a double torture. “Not only that your parents are not your real parents but also that your real parents are Jewish,” she explained. Since her rescuers did not want to relinquish her, her biological parents took the case to court, which decided in their favor. Romana remembers clinging, screaming, and having to be physically separated from “my other mother.” The terms of the agreement dictated that Romana would continue to receive a Catholic education until she was twenty-­one. Her birth parents were also required to pay a considerable amount of money to the Polish family.36 Perhaps atypically, once Romana went back, her mother kept her promise. She allowed her daughter to keep her pictures of Jesus and even attend church while they remained in Poland. Perhaps as a way of staying connected to her Christian family or possibly because it was what she knew and knew well, Romana continued to be a devout Catholic. Unlike the examples of children who returned to a more traditional Jewish environment, Ramona observes, “Both of my parents were not religious at all so it’s not like I had something to learn from them—­other than Roman Catholicism—­I didn’t.” In fact, she says unequivocally, “My father hated religion with a passion and my mother was totally not religious at all so I was never shown anything else.”37 Despite the fact that she was terrified by the very real threat of violent antisemitism in postwar Poland, she continued to attend church and pray with fervor that she was not actually a Jew. She admits that it was not easy to come to terms with her roots since she felt that everything bad in her life could be attributed to being Jewish. Gradually, as she saw her birth parents’ kindness and generosity, she started to question fanatical antisemitism, although she admits the negative attitudes persisted for a long while. When Romana was fifteen the family left Poland, another trauma for the child. Because of communism, they had to go first to Israel and then to America, where two surviving uncles sponsored them. The detour to Israel was positive because she saw a range of Jewish life that humanized Jews. Even then, however, she had no interest in any kind of religious Jewish identity. Her formerly Bundist parents refused to join a synagogue. Despite living in Israel where holidays are generally observed—­albeit in different ways—­by secular and religious Jews alike, no Jewish customs or holidays were celebrated in their home. Well into her teens she still recited Christian prayers before she went to sleep. At eighteen, Romana experienced another major change when she and her parents immigrated to New York. There she entered City College and pursued an engineering degree. Religiously she was still “very mixed up.” Laughing, she states that she still is. But she accepts this internal conflict saying that she feels equally comfortable praying in a church or praying in a synagogue. When she



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was in her forties she married a Protestant man in an ecumenical service at the United Nations’ chapel. They have no children but her ardent wish, based on her experiences, is for a better world with no religious intolerance.38

Conversion to Christianity There are some who lost faith in Judaism and actively converted to Christianity as a result of their wartime experiences. Born Shloma Krychman into a Polish Orthodox Jewish family in late 1927, by the time the war was over, seventeen-­ year-­old Shloma was Boleslaw Kornatowski.39 The teen survived the Kostopol ghetto after escaping from a massacre, due to his mother’s and relatives’ encouragement. But his escape took its toll; he states that at that moment, his entire world collapsed. Shloma managed to find shelter with the help of a Catholic family. At one point, he was given a catechism. He remembered one of his rescuers telling him, “If you survive you should thank God and become a Christian.” At the time he was indifferent to this advice, although he was decidedly angry at his God. Even though he professed indifference, his rescuers baptized him on 11 May 1945, just a few days after the end of the war. He states quite matter-­of-­factly that he became a Catholic. Shortly after his conversion the authorities wanted to place him in a Jewish orphanage but he told them he was not Jewish. They sent him to a Polish Catholic orphanage, instead. He subsequently married a Polish gentile woman, divorced, remarried another, and had four children. They all lived in Poland until 1972 and then came to New York with the help of a Polish organization. Boleslaw states that he never spoke of his experiences because he wanted to put his past behind him. He chose to give testimony for the first time to the USC/Shoah Foundation in 1997 because he feels he must tell the story of “the good people who helped” and in the hopes of “educating the youth so as to avoid future hatred.”40

Family and the Influence of Early Experiences Relationships with parents—­both living or dead—­played a fundamental role in child survivors’ postwar choices. For those who had surviving parents who exercised commitment to their beliefs, children had both pre-­and postwar role models in their lives. Such was the case with Shep Drazin, born in Lithuania in 1935, who survived with his two parents, an aunt, and cousins in hiding (chapter 1). His father was a respected Hasidic rabbi and diligently adhered to religious study and ritual even when they lived in an underground bunker. Shep still has in his possession the Jewish calendar that his father made while the group was in hiding and which they lived by during the war. He recalls a time just before the Passover holiday when his father managed to procure some wheat and carefully

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prepared it so that they could make matzohs for their underground seder. After the war, Shep remembers his father finding a Torah that he brought to Lodz for the Jewish holidays and the powerful and emotional first postwar yizkor (memorial) service that he witnessed as a result of his father’s efforts. After a few months in a DP camp, relatives sponsored the Drazin family and they immigrated to Providence, Rhode Island. His father felt the multicultural environment was not the proper one for a religious boy. Without a local option, Shep, at age eleven, was sent to a Hasidic yeshiva in New York, similar to the step that Hebert Barasch’s parents took. Shep studied both at yeshiva and college in New York where he met and married a woman who was a student at Stern College and a feminist.41 Shep did not maintain the Hasidic lifestyle of his parents; rather, he and his wife chose a Modern Orthodox one, believing in the importance of secular education and engagement with the wider American world, although still living according to halacha ( Jewish law). They moved to a thriving Modern Orthodox community in Los Angeles, where they raised two sons and now have six grandchildren. About his beliefs, Shep states that he feels that he and his family survived because of divine intervention. How else can he explain the inexplicable—­the so very many close calls where they should have been discovered but were not. When children were old enough to remember their earlier upbringing, and this was infused with a strong, positive environment and connection to family, these values sometimes inspired children to continue after the war even without a surviving parent for guidance. Ruth Finkler’s unwavering faith before, during, and after the war exemplifies this. Raised in a religious family, she recalls a moment in late 1940 when she, her four siblings, and mother were in a bomb shelter in Mannheim, Germany, shortly before her thirteenth birthday. Her father had already died in Buchenwald and she and her family would soon be deported to an internment camp in France where her mother contracted pneumonia and died. She remembers her mother told them in the shelter, “Kinderlach [children], do not be afraid; Hashem [God] will watch over us.” She avers that in that moment she understood the meaning of emunah (faith).42 The Finkler children were soon sent to Chateau de Chabannes in southern France, a haven for Jewish children.43 Ruth and her fourteen-­year-­old brother felt that they had to be parents to their three younger siblings. In that role, they decided that the family group would not attend school nor would they take showers on the Sabbath as the other children did, but wash in cold water according to their traditions. However, they also permitted their family to eat nonkosher food in order to save their lives. As one of the few religious men, her brother led a Passover seder for the other children. She acknowledges that this imposed role of motherhood gave her a sense of responsibility as well as opportunity to carry on her traditions. Once in the United States, the children chose to go to an Orthodox aunt and uncle in a religious community in New Jersey. The siblings



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all remained observant and raised religious families. Ruth emphasizes, “It’s what we wanted.”44 Miri Weingarten’s experiences challenged her faith and yet she could not let go of the connection to her childhood practice. Moreover, her choice of mate kept her on a path from which she might have strayed. She, too, was raised in an Orthodox home in Sighet, Romania, attending public school as well as an afternoon Bais Yaakov program. By the end of the war, out of a family of seven, only she and an older sister remained alive. They managed to survive seven months in Birkenau, which she states was “accidental” rather than providential. Miri remembers that she and her sister tried to maintain some semblance of observance while in Auschwitz. They tore tiny pieces of fabric from their dresses every Friday evening so they could cover their bits of bread in order to chant the Sabbath blessings. When her sister told her that her parents were killed in the nearby flames of the crematoria, she denied it. “No,” she insisted, “God wouldn’t let that happen.” She went on to explain. “I was such a strong believer,” she says through tears, “and I really thought God was shielding us.”45 After the war she thought a great deal about God’s existence. When she met her husband-­to-­be, he was a yeshiva student and a strong believer. She asked him, “How can you believe after all that happened?” He responded, “Is there a better way?” While she continued to maintain a religious lifestyle, marrying and giving her children a yeshiva education, she affirms that the experience of being in Auschwitz changed her and complicated the simplicity of her earlier faith. Nevertheless, she frames her survival in divine terms. “God was good to me and I still say I feel belief is a good thing,” she reflects. Still, she admits with ambivalence, “I don’t know what I believe in, but once you lose hope and belief, there’s nothing.”46 To what does she credit her survival? It was not divine intervention rather, at every turn, she states emphatically, people helped her in small ways. For Malka Schick, the behavior of gentiles helped reinforce Jewish values and practice. Malka was born in Italy in 1944.47 By then her family group had been on the run for five years, starting in Poland, followed by Belgium, then France, where her aunt and uncle were killed by a bomb. The group, including another aunt and uncle, a three-­year-­old cousin, grandmother, and parents, continued over the Alps to an Italian village. There a local priest who was involved in rescue operations placed the three women and young boy with an Italian family where they were given false identity papers.48 Malka’s father and uncle joined the partisans. A few months later Malka was born. Shortly after her birth, her father was murdered on his way to visit his newborn daughter. His death made it dangerous for the women to stay in their hiding place so they were moved to a nearby town. “You hear about all the horror that was so pervasive but there were the good people; the people whose names are not memorialized,” Malka states. “These were simple people,” she explains, and adds, “I’ve come to believe that simple people are the best people.” While recognizing that most “stood idly by,”

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she emphasizes the fact that this tiny community in Italy saved many Jews and it continues to actively remember what happened there. Malka’s family had been religious before the war. In 1950, the five surviving members came to an ultra-­Orthodox community in the United States. Malka is completely positive and unconflicted about her religious beliefs. She teaches English literature in a Bais Yakov high school in Brooklyn and has three children, all observant. Malka talks about the essence of her beliefs based on her experiences. She knows firsthand that some people risked their lives to save others while seemingly good people behaved in horrific ways or did nothing. That, she emphasizes, fundamentally contributes to her belief in “the importance of having moral codes.” Therefore, she avers, “If you go by the spirit and letter of the Torah, it gives you a full framework of how to behave.” That is the essence of her religious grounding. She firmly believes in the dictates of Orthodox Judaism and those who adhere to them “will make you a person who learns Torah and perpetuates Torah and lives well according to the highest moral standards.”49

Disappointment with God and Religion Ester Fiszgop’s belief in a benevolent God was shattered irrevocably by her experiences in the Holocaust, especially the deaths of her parents. Still, she could not completely leave her Jewish identity behind. Born in 1929, Ester grew up in B ­ rzesc [Brest] and Bugiem, Poland, with her parents, younger brother, and maternal grandmother. Her parents kept a traditional, kosher home that yeshiva students frequented. Perhaps because of her age she remembers fasting for the first time in the Bialystock ghetto. “I thought,” she says through tears, “if I’ll be good, my parents will survive.” She recalls, “In desperation, I turned to God.” But her prayers were not answered. Her entire family was murdered and this crushed any beliefs she had. “I have never fasted since and I never will,” she insists, “because they did not survive.” But she still remains part of the Jewish world. She married a survivor she met in Europe and raised her three children as Jews. They celebrated some Jewish holidays such as Passover and continue to do so with her extended family that includes four grandsons. Still, her belief in a divine presence was forever destroyed. “I do not question his existence,” she emphasizes, rather “I know his non-­existence.”50 Helen Rieder was born in the Carpathian Mountains into a close-­knit Spinka Hasidic family of eight children.51 Devoutly observant, but quite unusual for a Hasidic girl, she was also a Zionist. She attended a Mizrahi (religious Zionist) youth group with other teens, which no doubt figured into her later anger toward the religious leadership that discouraged their followers from leaving for Palestine. She recalls the last night before the family’s enforced move into the ghetto.



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It was Passover and the family gathered for a seder. When her father read the Haggadah he told them, “We are living Mitzraim [Egypt].”52 The entire Rieder family was eventually deported to Auschwitz. The last time she saw her father, he begged her and her sister to survive so that someone from the family would come back. Helen did but her sister did not. Nor did her father or mother. One brother also survived. Helen soon learned that out of an enormous family, including fifty-­five cousins, five returned. After the war, Helen could not find her place. She went first to Israel, but still restless, eventually moved to California. There, near Los Angeles, Helen and Abraham, her Slovakian-­born husband, raised two children. Helen and Abraham both had decades-­long careers in Jewish education, Helen as director of a Conservative synagogue’s preschool. Although she shed her Hasidic upbringing for a very American Jewish identity, she feels she can now say to her father that she kept his wish. “We did it,” she affirms. Helen, however, is somewhat less sure about the future. She articulates that she hopes her two grandchildren remember they are Jewish and contribute to their community. She herself continues to maintain traditions but her childhood experiences changed her beliefs. “I obey the laws,” she states. But she no longer feels as strongly as she once did. “Deep down in my heart, I am not an atheist, but,” she confesses, “I am disappointed in the rabbis.” Why? It is not God who betrayed Helen but Jewish leaders. She is of the opinion that the religious leaders misled their people. She insists, “My family could have survived if the rabbis had instructed them to leave Europe.”53 For David Berger, it took nearly fifty years of intense wrestling before he felt he could say he has come to terms with God. Still, it is not the God of his youth. Born into a scrupulously observant family of five in Czechoslovakia, he recalls being sustained during the war by memories of his family life and yearning to go home. He was barely fourteen and completely alone when the war ended. After liberation he was emotionally dazed. “I had no feelings,” he remembers. When he joined a B’nai Akiva (religious Zionist) kibbutz in Germany, he recalls praying in a service but without any of the feelings he had had before the war; it was “just a carryover from home life” rather than a belief in God. During his time in Auschwitz, he never turned to God for help but mechanically followed “that invisible guidance that carried me through.” After the war David underwent a period of anger. In his rage he turned to rabbis and others to seek an answer to his question, “God, how could you have let this happen?” Dissatisfied with their responses, he embarked upon years of study. He believes this led him discover who he is and how he survived. It also helped him come to his own understanding of a divine being, which is different from the benevolent one of his youth. He could no longer accept the God of his childhood because that concept of God, he reasons, would not allow the

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brutality of Auschwitz to happen. Rather, he sees the world as one where God created a life of balance and imbalance. In his postwar view, God gave him the tools to want to persevere when others gave up. David married, and raised two sons and four grandchildren. He, like Helen Rieder, was able to find a place for himself and his family in the distinctly American branch of Conservative Judaism rather than the Orthodox Jewish practice of his childhood.54 Necha Sirotta’s Jewish identity was strongly impacted by her parents’—­ notably her father’s—­postwar behavior. She survived as an infant in Budapest, as did her brother and parents. After the war, her family settled in a religious community in Brooklyn. None of her father’s extended family had survived. Rather than losing his faith, Necha remembers her father grew more and more religious as time went on and often spent hours each day saying tehillim (psalms) as a way to cope with the enormity of his loss. She was sent first to a Bais Yaakov school (in fact, the same school as Miriam Rakowski, although they discovered this later) and then to a Satmer Hasidic school because her father felt the former was not religious enough for his daughter. Because of the few girls her age at the Hasidic school, she eventually returned to the Bais Yaakov school. More than anything, Necha still remembers her father’s attitude with troubling emotions. He rarely spoke to her except to reprimand her for some religious infraction. Nor does she recall any physical affection from him. Nevertheless, she remembers growing up in her ultra-­Orthodox neighborhood in Brooklyn with unquestioning faith. After an arranged marriage, Necha and her husband moved to Israel where they lived with their four children. But the marriage “was never a good one” and they divorced. She notes that she started meeting Israelis who were not religious but were good people. She worked and attended university. She began to question. Necha eventually returned to Brooklyn. She is engaged with Jewish ideas and reads Jewish philosophy widely, perhaps searching for answers. No longer Orthodox, she is hard-­pressed to label her identity. Still, she cannot nor does she “want to let go of the idea of a merciful God.”55 Additionally, numerous child survivors expressed their disappointment that the Jewish world had not adopted a more inclusive vision of Judaism in the post-­ Shoah world. Rachel Slagter, who identifies as modern Orthodox, has a dream—­ thus far unfulfilled—­for the future of Judaism. She emphasizes, “All of us are one.” She reflected, “In these experiences that we all went through, nobody asked if we were Orthodox, Conservative, had converted—­all were under the same knife.” She imagines a time when Jews see no differences between themselves. “If you can live on that kind of tolerant basis and you can accept your fellow Jews then you’d have a much happier life,” she asserts.56 Similarly, hidden child and educator Rabbi Boruch Majerowicz, a member of an ultra-­Orthodox community in Borough Park, Brooklyn, remembers the mood in the Jewish community in postwar France at his summer camp. It was a time he recalls nostalgically when



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religious, Bundist, and Zionist children and adults all cooperated and respected each other. He notes that he always thought that mutual acceptance of differences among Jews would persist, especially after the Shoah. Sadly, he laments that has not happened.57

The Next Generation Sometimes it was the generation after that mended a fractured relationship to Judaism. Aaron Elster was born in 1933 into a family in Sokolow Podlaski, Poland.58 Although his father was from a religious family, his mother was not. Aaron attended a cheder with other Jewish boys. He recalls—­perhaps because of his parents’ differing backgrounds—­that even as a young child of five or six he grappled with religious questions, worrying that he would go to hell because he ate treif (nonkosher) meat. Aaron was eight years old when he and his family were sent to the ghetto near his hometown. He recalls hearing rumors of Treblinka, which was only about seventeen miles away, and praying to God to spare him. At the same time he also remembers asking himself “why should I be spared when there are so many more pious than I am?” These kinds of questions pursued him his entire life. When deportations increased, Aaron’s mother managed to secure a hiding place for his older sister on a nearby farm. Aaron remembers that the day after Yom Kippur, 1942, they heard rumors that the ghetto would be liquidated. He and his parents secured a hiding place in the ghetto where he witnessed a mother next to him smothering her crying infant for fear the noise would alert the Germans. Nevertheless, the group was discovered. They were taken to the town square where he remembers thinking, “Why is God allowing this? What did we do? What did I do to deserve this?”59 Aaron remembers his desperation. He recalls being extremely fearful of death, and he wanted to live. He asked his father what to do and his father instructed him to run. Instead of running, he slithered through a pipe away from the square to his uncle’s abandoned house. Aaron found his mother at his uncle’s. Instead of offering help, she told him he had to fend for himself. Ten years old, alone, he eventually located the place where his sister was hiding. The Polish couple, who had originally agreed only to help his sister, reluctantly took him in and allowed him to hide in their attic. Although they sheltered him for over a year they constantly cursed him and gave him little to eat. He would sneak into their pigsty at night in order to find food. He remembers making bargains with God during this time. By liberation, Aaron and his sister were orphans. They spent two years in a DP camp, until elderly relatives sponsored the siblings, who arrived in the United States in 1947. After a series of orphanages and foster homes, Aaron landed in Chicago, again with a series of foster parents. He met his American Jewish wife in high school and they were married in 1954.

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Aaron articulates that he has a problem with his religion. He states that he is not comfortable in a synagogue but admits that part of this is practical; he doesn’t remember how to pray in Hebrew. But more to the point is his anger toward God. He repeatedly asks, “Why would God allow this to happen?” “And if he did allow this as a punishment to his people, why the children?” he wonders. Aaron has struggled with these questions for his entire life. Because he believes the greatest atrocities are committed in the name of God, he did not want to give his sons “any baggage” from his own childhood. Neither of his sons had a bar mitzvah when they turned thirteen and yet one of his sons decided to have one in his thirties. Despite his own ambivalence, Aaron states he “couldn’t be happier.” In fact, he attended classes with his son so he could learn alongside him. In Eli Stern’s case, his children also influenced him. Eli was born in a small town in Romania in 1930. He recalls his Hasidic family, being together on Shabbos and yontifs (holidays) with grandparents, parents, siblings, aunts, and uncles. “It was a sweet life, a nice life,” he remembers. “I miss that life a lot,” he states wistfully. After he immigrated to New York, he met and married another Auschwitz survivor. But his experiences during the war, and the death of his mother, three siblings, and many of his relatives changed him. “I didn’t observe, I didn’t believe,” he acknowledges.60 As Eli he grew older, he wanted his two sons and daughter to have a religious education. When his children were in middle school, he and his wife decided to send them to Jewish day schools in New Jersey. As a result, “we slowly started to come back to being Orthodox,” he said. Even as his family was devastated from another blow when one of his sons died from Hodgkin’s disease in 1993, he did not lose faith. The opposite. As he and his wife try to cope as well as they can, they focus on the blessings they do have rather than their loss. “Thank God,” he affirms, “we’ve got four beautiful, sweet grandchildren.” Eli and his wife, Helga, take comfort from watching their grandchildren grow. “We have a lot of nachas [joy] from our children,” he says with emotion.61

The Pull of the Secular World Coming to an ultra-­Orthodox community in America did not necessarily keep people in the fold as the larger world beckoned. Kaja Finkler arrived in New York with her mother, Golda, in 1946. Her experiences illustrate the pull that New York secular culture and education of the 1960s had on her religious practice. Descended from a Hasidic dynasty, the pair settled in Brooklyn near Kaja’s grandfather and his community. Even as they remained staunchly part of that world, Kaja’s mother—­herself trained in law in Warsaw—­encouraged her daughter’s switch from a religious girls’ school to an excellent New York public school because of the inferior secular studies in the religious school. Perhaps



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Golda believed that the values she imparted to her daughter would be enough to cement the girl to the world of her roots. Through high school and college, Kaja remained devoutly Hasidic. Yet, as she met open-­minded, intellectually curious college students she began to think of what it would be like to drift away from the insular religious world. She recalls, “Early on I often wrestled with the thought of whether my beloved deceased family would approve of any persons I felt were appealing.” Around the same time, “I began to move away from the religious upbringing and move into the secular world experientially but not physically.”62 Although Kaja thought of the world she had descended from with much affection and emotion—­and also wistfully about losing her place in it—­she wanted to engage in the larger world in a way that being strictly Orthodox would not permit. She eventually left the Hasidic community, which brought heartache to her mother. Unfortunately, she discovered the alternative was not as rich as she imagined. She became a successful academic, choosing anthropology because the discipline helped her understand her own internal turmoil over inhabiting two competing cultural worlds that left her unable to feel fully a part of either. While rejecting Hasidic religious practice, she continued to observe holidays with her mother and to feel a spiritual connection to synagogue services when they went. She also believes that she absorbed many of the highly valued traits of her childhood community, such as modesty and concern for others at the expense of self, that shaped her professional life.63 For Marie Kaufman, religion had little place in her life. But it was not because she rejected it. Rather, secular Jewish politics were the core of her family’s Jewish identity both before and after the war. Bundists in Europe, her parents remained staunchly so after the war. And they lived in a community where there were options that fit their secular beliefs. As a result, she recalls going to the Yiddish Culture Club as she was growing up in Los Angeles. There she socialized with the children of other like-­minded socialists. She also joined a local branch of HaShomer Hatzair, the left-­w ing Zionist youth group. In fact, it was there that she met her first husband, the son of prominent activists in the movement. For Marie, these liberal humanist values helped her understand the motives of the French village that saved her family. And they also were the basis of her involvement in the US women’s movement and the counterculture of the 1960s.64 For Daisy Miller, a brush with the American synagogue system turned her away from organized religion. Born in Yugoslavia in 1938, she and her family managed to escape to Italy where, with help from residents, they hid for over two years in numerous places. Eventually the family immigrated to Los Angeles. Although not particularly religious, Daisy remembers as a young adult walking many miles because she fervently wished to go to a synagogue for the high holidays. When she arrived, she learned that she needed a ticket to enter.65 Daisy was

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shocked. She was so upset that participation was contingent on a ticket that she avoided synagogues for many, many years. Still, Daisy felt the need for community. And, after her wartime experiences of being rescued, she wanted to work for others who suffered from injustice. She threw herself into volunteering in the civil rights movement and later the Chicano community with which she identified strongly. For many years, until she joined a child survivor group, her passion for social justice was how she felt she could best express her Judaism, much like other American—­particularly Reform—­Jews.66 But she did want her children to have some kind of Jewish, though not religious, upbringing and sent them to a Socialist “Kindershule” (children’s school) in keeping with her cultural Jewish values. Child survivors’ relationship to Judaism falls along a spectrum from deeply pious to total estrangement from their Jewish roots. Some remained true to their childhood upbringing while others refashioned a new identity from the possible options available in America. Surprisingly few completely walked away from the fold. Like wartime experiences, there is no monolithic Jewish identity for child survivors. Numerous factors contributed to their connection to Judaism, or lack of it. Nevertheless, whether the war represented rupture or continuity with the past, whether the child survivor struggled, embraced, rejected, or was indifferent, the effects of the Holocaust combined with social context and familial dynamics infused their postwar American Jewish identity. Linked to this was their identity as child survivors, which, as the next chapter shows, eluded them for many years.

7 • “Finding a Voice for Our Silence” Claiming Identity as Child Survivors

November 2016. Child survivors from around the world gathered in Los Angeles for the 28th Annual Gathering of the World Federation of Jewish Child Survivors of the Holocaust and Descendants (WFJCSHD). Five hundred people including spouses and second generation and now even third generation (children and grandchildren of survivors, respectively) participated. The three-­ day event had the air of a large family reunion. During the gathering, participants busily attended small group workshops, embraced old friends, mourned those absent, and shared meals. After dinner, there were speeches, then music and dancing—­an antidote to the intense emotions of the daytime events.1 Among the honorees at the 2016 conference was Sarah Moskovitz, an author, developmental psychologist, and pioneer in the study of the impact of the Holocaust on children. Moskovitz is a beloved figure among child survivors. The warmth goes beyond professional respect and friendly affection. Many child survivors credit her with being one of the first to acknowledge their wartime past and help them articulate what is the essential core of their being: their identity as child survivors. Today, many, though not all, European Jewish children who were born in 1928 and after embrace their unique identity as child Holocaust survivors.2 The larger community does as well. The survivor status of this group is virtually unquestioned. It is now a given that the Holocaust is profoundly, irrevocably etched into the lives of those who were children during the war. But it has not always been so. In fact, it has been a long and uneasy road in reaching this day when Jewish children who endured the Holocaust are recognized as “survivors.” The world was slow to acknowledge that children were “real” survivors. Although “war orphans” fascinated the public after the war, by the early 1950s the spotlight on them dimmed as they adapted to American life and society moved forward. For many decades, in fact, their past was entirely dismissed by adults, 131

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including older survivors, and even by themselves. How did they eventually claim this status; who and what were responsible for this change? Crucially, how has the significance of this designation affected them and Holocaust memory? This identity shift was a fraught process, not a linear or speedy change. It would take forty or more years, in different locations and in various ways, before the doors to recognition began to finally open.

The Silence Persists A confluence of factors contributed to children’s postwar silence and the overall marginalization and trivialization of children’s experiences by the larger society immediately after the war. Just as their American relatives and friends urged adult survivors to forget and move on, so, too, did they communicate this message to the younger generation. If the outside world was not interested in hearing from adults about their Holocaust experiences, it certainly—­after a brief postwar media romance with the youngsters—­was not concerned with the children’s wartime memories.3 This was more than lack of interest. Children’s attempts to speak were actively stifled, usually by their parents, first of all, if they survived and, if not, by relatives or other adoptive parents. Many recall that this came as a recommendation, perhaps well-­intentioned, to put their memories behind them and move on. States Ann Shore, current copresident of the Hidden Child Foundation, “Everyone said, ‘forget about the past.’”4 Auschwitz survivor Leslie Schwartz was sixteen when he arrived in Los Angeles to join two uncles who told him, “You are now living in the United States—­forget everything that happened to you.”5 Leslie kept silent for sixty-­five years. Echoes Ernie Marx, who remembers after his arrival in 1947, “The first thing they said: ‘Forget the past, forget about it.” But then Leslie adds, “It’s easy to say, right?”6 But, “it was not easy to do.”7 Renee Fink, a hidden child, remembers, at age eleven, her efforts to repress her memories. “Even though it was there,” she reflects, “I kind of pushed it, I kind of pushed it [away].”8 Ten-­year-­old Miki Berliner Pear did not, could not, forget. And, as a result, she emphasizes, “I lived kind of a secret life with my memories.”9 Even as their memories persisted, child survivors got the message.10 Most were motivated or pressed to adapt externally to their new settings. Many felt “different” from their American peers but still wanted “normalcy.” Sometimes their schoolmates did not know how to deal with the European newcomers and, as a result, avoided them. This also reinforced child survivors’ silence and sense of alienation. Younger children were often unable to articulate the feelings that gnawed at them. When advised to “forget and move on” many desperately tried to do so. Those who had to adjust to a new identity or other extreme circumstances during the war, now had to adapt to another identity or set of circumstances in the aftermath. They learned English and jumped into educational systems, often



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excelling in these efforts. Auschwitz survivor Irene Hizme was on her school’s cheerleading team and graduated valedictorian of her high school class, all the while keeping her Auschwitz tattoo hidden from view.11 Dorie Kurz, who was ten years old in 1946 when she arrived to her relatives in Kew Gardens, Queens, New York, also graduated at the top of her class. Just as adapting was necessary during the war, many did so after by throwing themselves into their studies and activities once in their new US environment.12 And as they did so, they kept quiet about the past. Psychiatrist and child survivor Robert Krell, who went to Canada after the war, emphasizes that the mindset of their wartime experiences, especially with hidden children, remained long after the war was over. In some ways, he argues their postwar silence could be seen as a continuation of their wartime lives, a strategy of self-­protection. “Hidden children remained silent for a long time for a lot of good reasons,” he states. Krell further explains, “Obviously, the first was their comfort with silence and seeking safety in silence and I think if you’ve had two, three, four years of practice of staying quiet and not causing any problems that becomes your style of life because that is what makes you feel secure.”13 Well-­intentioned adults may have truly believed that reviving the memories would cause children pain and were best left unspoken. Sometimes it was the adults who were uncomfortable with the topic. Raymond Fridmann, who survived both Auschwitz and hiding, recalls that his mother never questioned him about their multiyear separation during the war. He does not understand her lack of curiosity but, inured to keeping quiet, the boy obliged.14 In other instances the children themselves were indeed reluctant to think about their painful memories.15 Eva Nathanson states emphatically, “I didn’t want to have anything to do with the past.” Even with a close friend in the United States (who she would learn later was also a child survivor), who spoke English with a foreign accent, curiously, the two never asked each other about their childhoods.16 Some were able to find satisfying emotional outlets for their unexpressed emotions. Samuel Burke had music. So did Kurt Lewin. Marie Kaufman channeled her thoughts into modern dance. “What I couldn’t say in words, I said in dance,” she affirms.17 Silence had consequences. Avoidance could be a minefield that was never far from the surface and threatened children’s exterior calm. Jack Trompettor admits, “I realize now I have been a depressed man for many, many years.” He was not alone. “There are others like myself,” he notes, “who have problems because of what happened right after the war because denial was the order of the day and it meant that those of us who are younger could not delve into our story.”18 Even as they were urged to forget, their memories threatened to resurface. Said Auschwitz, Ravensbruck, and Bergen-­Belsen survivor Gloria Lyon, who was a teenager when she arrived in St. Louis in 1947, “I was restless . . . I wanted to keep busy . . . to keep my thoughts away from me.”19 Samuel Burke remembers, “My

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mind was always still in Auschwitz and the camps and missing my parents and grandparents . . . I couldn’t get that off my mind.”20 On rare occasions, children tried to tell the significant adults in their lives about their experiences, especially soon after they came to the United States. As adult survivors have also recounted, this was sometimes met not with advice to forget but with utter disbelief.21 Miki Berliner Pear, for example, who had years of torturous losses and hiding, reflects on her attempts to talk about the war years. “I did speak of them once or twice, relating anecdotally things that had happened,” she recounts. But shortly after, the ten-­year-­old overheard one of the adults in her life say, “That child has some imagination.” As a result she avoided verbalizing any memories.22 Daisy Miller was seven when the war ended. She, too, was met with disbelief. In her case, however, it was because of her age. She was told dismissively, “You were only a child, it didn’t affect you, and you don’t remember anyway and what you remember is incorrect.” She emphasizes, “That is how it was viewed.”23 Jack Trompettor and his parents all survived in hiding but he recalls that the main story in the family was that of the adults. He believes that children’s experiences were overlooked because “we were very young; we had no story to tell.” As a result, he maintains, “our story kind of fell into the background.”24 Occasionally, a few adults did ask. Doriane Kurz, who survived Bergen-­ Belsen, was an orphan and newly arrived in New York when her fifth-­grade sewing teacher—­whether out of curiosity or concern—­took her aside and asked her what had happened during the war. She willingly and dutifully told the woman.25 She also recalls speaking about her mother and father with her relatives who knew her parents well. Her aunt and uncle did not try to suppress their niece’s memories, although Kurz remembers “the conversation was much about the times gone by but they did not try to draw me out on the experiences during the war.”26 Nor were these topics of discussion outside of the family circle. Still, she maintains, “these exchanges helped me remain connected to my parents.” It underscores that children, of course, did remember. But also, importantly, given the right circumstances, youngsters wanted to and did articulate their memories and emotions. And when these attempts were met with sympathy or interest, children found comfort. But such responses were rare. Most frequently child survivors were denied the opportunity, which served to devalue their memories. Adults’ uninterest was rampant for many reasons. Suppression, avoidance, denial, trivialization were all the order of the day. Many whose surviving parents remarried after the war recall that surviving parents discouraged questions about a deceased parent (see chapter 4). At other times parents did not want to hear about children’s attachment to rescuers. For example, orphan Suzanne Knoepel recalls that she wanted to continue to write to Maman, her French “mother” to whom she was deeply attached.27 But after a few months with her aunt and uncle in New York, they put a stop to the correspondence, explaining that it would be



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best for her to break with the past. Jack Trompettor was an infant when he was placed with a Dutch family. He recalls the wrench when he was removed from them by his birth parents. But when he tried to learn more about his rescuers, he states, “I always came up against some form of denial, always, always.”28 By severing children’s link to their past lives, their wartime memories were further undermined by adults in their postwar lives. This also communicated to children that their memories were invalid, unreliable, taboo. There were times when the children avoided their own memories because they believed they paled in comparison to their surviving parents’ sorrow. Said Eva Nathanson, when her mother lit ninety-­nine yahrzeit candles for her murdered relatives, “how could my suffering compare to hers?”29 There was much she wanted to know from her mother about their prewar family life but felt she could not ask. Others, too, genuinely felt they had no right to speak. Inquired Anya, “How can I compare my experiences to someone who was next to corpses in a concentration camp?”30 It was not only the children who felt their experiences were trivial in comparison to the older generation. As Diane L. Wolf points out, many adults cemented this feeling in their offspring by reminding them “they, the parents, had suffered more.”31 Anya, Eva, and others believed their experiences were insignificant next to those of their parents. And their parents reinforced this. But it also mirrored the general consensus of what constituted a “survivor” in the postwar era, and one that persisted for many years, was limited to those who had endured concentration camps. Today the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum (USHMM) has quite a different definition. It defines survivors as “any persons, Jewish or non-­Jewish, who were displaced, persecuted, or discriminated against due to the racial, religious, ethnic, social, and political policies of the Nazis and their collaborators between 1933 and 1945.” It goes further to explain, “In addition to former inmates of concentration camps, ghettos, and prisons, this definition includes, among others, people who were refugees or were in hiding.”32 The USHMM’s definition today is a far cry from the postwar era when most thought of a survivor exclusively as a “survivor of the concentration camp.” Within this limited definition no one, neither family nor the outside world, considered children Holocaust survivors, in part, because of the link to concentration camps, which few children had survived. But even those who experienced camps, like Eva Brettler, states that she was not an acknowledged part of this group because of her age and the assumption that she would not remember. Despite the fact that she lived through Ravensbrück and Bergen-­Belsen by the time she was ten years old, she was not considered a Holocaust survivor.33 Brettler was in the tiny minority of young children who survived the camps. Most youngsters who survived, however, managed to do so because they were hidden. The perception was that they were saved, much like Anne Frank, because of the kindness of those “Righteous Gentiles” who helped them.34 Anne Frank’s record of

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hiding became emblematic and notable—­despite betrayal that led to Anne’s and others’ murder—­for the positive, universalistic message she communicated. Anne Frank’s account helped underscore the belief that the hiding experience took place in a fairly stable environment where a youngster could find first love, quarrel with parents, keep a diary, and depend on devoted rescuers.35 In fact, her “secret annex” was an anomaly in another important way; few families were able to hide together.36 Much later, children would speak of a more nuanced and dangerous experience: multiple hiding places, betrayal, as well as torment and abuse at the hands of their rescuers during the war. As previous examples like those of Miriam Rakowski and Goldine Teicher show, there were also the instances of positive bonds with rescuers that were abruptly cut off, leaving children bereft but “lucky” to have surviving parents.37 Despite all of these factors, initially, children were not considered bona fide survivors. It was not only others, however, who overlooked children’s identity as survivors. A critical aspect of children’s postwar experience was that they did not think of themselves as such. Part of this, notes Daisy Miller, was because they absorbed the message that “only those who were in camps often were considered survivors; so that when we thought of survivors, we always thought of someone else.”38 Simone Weil Lipman, a therapist who survived in France with the help of the Jewish welfare agency Oeuvres de Secours aux Enfants (OSE), stated that many child survivors told her, “Since we survived, we didn’t feel that we had a voice in all of this . . . we were not victims, we survived.”39 And those who had surviving parents, as mentioned earlier, often felt their parents’ experiences, not theirs, were the genuine ones. In addition, as much as they experienced their postwar lives through the veil of previous experiences, there was no language to describe them, no designation beyond initial labels as “war orphans” or “refugees” that soon wore off. Thus, a myriad of factors: denial of children’s memories, encouragement to forget, adaptation, equating the definition “survivor” exclusively to camp survivors, self-­perception all contributed to a general wall of silence around child survivors. In the late 1970s, however, this began to change. A more nuanced awareness of Holocaust experiences eventually—­though not at first—­extended to children. Gradually, a small shift began that triggered major changes first within the children themselves and then to the larger world’s perception of them. What started in small ways as an ad hoc effort would snowball into an organized worldwide movement by the 1990s.

Factors in Breaking the Silence: Emerging Holocaust Awareness Just as numerous causes contributed to the postwar silence, a combination of forces merged that encouraged child survivors to find their voice. Claiming this new identity took place in the United States within a larger, changing awareness



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of the Holocaust. Beginning in the late 1970s, the Holocaust appeared more and more in the public limelight in significant ways. The miniseries The Holocaust that aired in April 1978 was a resounding success and paved the way for increasing representation of the Holocaust in popular culture. Importantly, in November 1978, President Jimmy Carter established the President’s Commission on the Holocaust, chaired by Elie Wiesel.40 In 1980, Congress voted unanimously to establish a Holocaust museum on the National Mall in Washington, DC. Interest in capturing eyewitnesses’ stories was also growing, particularly on video. Survivors in New Haven began recording their stories, which led to the establishment of a collection in 1982 that became the Fortunoff Video Archives. This was a model for later oral history projects.41 In 1982, New Jersey established the first state Holocaust commission.42 Other states soon followed including Tennessee in 1984 and Georgia in 1986.43 The Bitburg controversy in 1985, when President Ronald Reagan visited a cemetery for Nazi troops, also focused attention on the ongoing relationship between America and the Holocaust. As the Holocaust was becoming increasingly visible on the national and local fronts, another significant event took place in 1981 in the survivor community when 4,000 met at the first international World Gathering of Jewish Survivors of the Holocaust in Jerusalem. The New York Times and other major newspapers around the country covered the event. But, although children of survivors figured prominently at the meeting (and were mentioned in the media reports), child survivors were on the fringe.44 Despite the fact that the third day of the four-­day program was devoted to the Second Generation (children of survivors born after the war) and a memorial program to commemorate “the more than 1,500,000 million children who perished during the Holocaust” was held, children who survived were overlooked.45 Nevertheless, Robert Krell credits the World Gathering with opening his eyes to his own status as a survivor. After Krell heard Chief Rabbi Israel Meir Lau speak about his experiences as an eight-­year-­old in Buchenwald, the rabbi’s words and the realization that children were also witnesses to the Holocaust “struck me like lightening.”46 Soon after he would meet Sarah Moskovitz for the first time and contribute to creating the LA child survivors’ group. A few years later the American Gathering, established in 1982 after the World Gathering convened, would be an important launching spot for a child survivors’ organization—­but not because older survivors were encouraging to them. At the same time that Holocaust awareness was increasing, interest in children’s history and issues, too, was growing. Beginning in the 1970s, American historians started paying attention to the topic. Works including three volumes edited by Robert H. Bremner, Children and Youth in America: A Documentary History and Joseph F. Ketts’s Rites of Passage: Adolescence in America, 1790 to the Present encouraged academics to view childhood as a topic worthy of scholarly pursuit. a development that gained momentum in the 1990s.47 Finally, in 1991

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the subject of the Holocaust and children merged in Debórah Dwork’s landmark study Children with a Star: Jewish Youth in Nazi Europe, the first by a historian to turn scholarly attention to Jewish children’s wartime experiences.48

A New Identity: The Early Child Survivor Recognition of child survivors’ singular identity, however, came earlier and not from the public or historians. Rather, a small circle of mental health practitioners composed largely, though not exclusively of women, believed that it was not just concentration camp inmates who were affected, but children, too. Importantly, they listened to the children and believed that their wartime memories were valid and had a decided impact on their postwar lives. These professionals drew upon contemporary models of group therapy and support like the “rap,” “T,” or “encounter” groups in which they brought younger survivors together to talk.49 Being part of a group was critical for those who had never met others with similar experiences. Once groups gained momentum, it was often female child survivors who were the backbone of both national and local endeavors. Initially, it was a small, grassroots effort that had enormous impact on child survivors’ lives. A few stand out for bringing children’s identities as child survivors forward, fostering groups, and changing the perception of what the designation “Holocaust survivor” meant. One was the WFJCSHD’s 2016 honoree, Sarah Moskovitz, an American-­born developmental psychologist, who had familial connections to Poland. Moskovitz broke ground in the late 1970s when she began studying children who had lived through the Holocaust. Until then, Holocaust-­related research in psychology reflected the general definition of a “survivor” and was focused on concentration camp survivors. Her work was one of the first in the field to recognize child survivors’ unique status as both Holocaust survivors and children.50 Moskovitz’s interest began when she visited England and met Alice Goldberger, who had photographs and materials on children who had been under her care after the war. With the latter’s encouragement and the blessings of Anna Freud (who headed Hampstead House, as their home for refugee children was known), Moskovitz set about locating and interviewing twenty-­four child survivors who had lived at Hampstead House. This study became Love Despite Hate: Child Survivors of the Holocaust and Their Adult Lives, which appeared in 1983.51 A book on children born to Holocaust survivors after the war, Helen Epstein’s Children of the Holocaust: Conversations with Sons and Daughters of Survivors appeared in 1979.52 The author, a journalist and child of survivors, wrote, “I set out to find a group of people who, like me, were possessed by a history they never lived.”53 The book was a New York Times “Notable Book” and critically acclaimed, reflecting the growing interest in the effects of the Holocaust on the second generation. The success of Epstein’s book contributed to further misunderstanding



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and marginalization of child survivors. As a result, Moskovitz states she coined the term “child survivor” because “I had to distinguish between what [Epstein] did and what I was doing.”54 The new terminology was essential, according to Moskovitz, to avoid confusion and differentiate between the children who had lived through the war from children of survivors born after the war. In the early 1980s, Moskovitz began to lecture publicly about her work. Often audience members approached her to tell her that their own experiences resonated with those she had studied. Believing that child survivors, by identifying themselves, were expressing a need to confront their past, Moskovitz, along with a colleague, Florence Kinsler, decided to organize a meeting that would be therapeutic in nature. Both Moskovitz and Kinsler had practiced group therapy and thought this approach would be effective with this population. The first meeting was held in 1982 at the University of Judaism (now the American Jewish University, Los Angeles), carefully chosen because it was considered to be a convenient and neutral territory. Despite care over the choice of venue, however, the participants’ response was not just lukewarm, it failed to generate interest in any future meetings. As a result, Moskovitz turned to hidden child and psychiatrist Robert Krell for help. The previous year, Krell had spent a sabbatical at UCLA. He heard Moskovitz lecture at the Simon Wiesenthal Center and after learning about her work, Krell stated, “I had found a soul mate.”55 The feeling was mutual. They soon began collaborating on scholarly research that led to numerous publications and conference presentations. One year later, in 1983, a group was again convened at the University of Judaism, this time with Krell’s participation. Krell spoke about “Some Unique Aspects of Child Survivors” and made the case for child survivors’ exploration of their experiences within their own group. His personal and professional credentials were key in galvanizing the group, remembers Marie Kaufman, past president of the LA Child Survivors’ Association.56 Moskovitz also notes that his positive Jewish identity was an important model for the group. Among those at an early meeting was Daisy Miller, who had spent the war hiding in Italy. Miller remembers that she questioned going because she believed that she had dealt with her past and moved on. Miller describes how Moskovitz “broke us up into smaller groups and for the very first time in my life I sat among people who had experiences similar to mine and issues like mine and we began to talk.” Quite simply, she states the encounter was “a revelation.” Moreover, Miller heard the term “child survivor” for the first time and felt its resonance immediately.57 Miller did not want the events of the evening to fade. She recalls, “I raised my hand and said, ‘Something very special happened here and I would like to pursue it further, is there anyone here who would like to pursue it with me?’” Several people felt similarly.58 Moskowitz, who had recognized the need for more meetings, “was thrilled.”59 She offered to continue to lead the discussions and in the summer of 1983 they began to meet regularly. Eventually the nucleus became

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the Child Survivors’ Association. According to Miller, “we formed the very first child survivor group.”60 Stephanie Seltzer, current president of the WFJCHSD, captures the significance of the first members’ relationship with Moskovitz. They are called “Sarah’s children,” she states.61 It is not difficult to understand why child survivors attribute this role to Moskovitz. Those who participated in the early groups say that the experience of meeting other child survivors for the first time profoundly and irrevocably changed their lives. For Daisy Miller, being with this unique peer group finally opened a door into her past. Miller notes, “I was able to run free; it was almost like the day of liberation.” Most importantly, children’s experiences were acknowledged and validated—­an essential step for those whose memories had always been dismissed. Suddenly, too, for the first time, “I felt a part of a group that could identify with me and I could identify with and it felt wonderful,” remembers Miller. For her, this sense of belonging has never waned. The members continue to share a common language on a very deep level that transcends words. When Miller comes together with other child survivors, she emphasizes, “I really feel a bond.”62 Others had equally profound reactions. After attending one of the meetings Paula Bronstein recalls, “It was just unbelievable, and people were talking and all that—­I thought, wow!” She did not speak initially, but started to go whenever the Child Survivors’ Association had the gatherings. Soon she did begin to talk. And as she did, she began to find out more about herself. She remembers, “It felt so good.” She repeats with emphasis, “It felt so good to do that.”63 Maya Schwartz, hidden in a convent in France, remembers that she saw an ad in a newspaper announcing “an encounter group.” She went. “It was the first time I found myself with people under similar circumstances,” she says stifling a sob. Maya states, “It was catharsis . . . it was beneficial and so I became active and joined in all the activities.” As a result Maya was able to contact an international network that connected her with children who had been in the same French convent. These links helped restore and authenticate Maya’s memories.64 At the same time that Moskovitz and Krell cultivated the group in Los Angeles, in New York another woman, Judith Kestenberg, was also taking this population seriously although for somewhat different reasons. Kestenberg was born in Poland and left Europe in 1937 after medical school for her residency in psychiatry in the United States. Working in the child development field of trauma, she and her husband, Milton, an attorney, founded the International Study of the Organized Persecution of Children (ISOPC). According to its website the organization was created “in response to the growing concerns among child survivors of the Holocaust that their experiences and their traumas had been neglected.”65 In the mid-­1980s she launched an oral history project through the ISOPC. With a team, she taped over 1,500 interviews of child survivors around the world that is now archived at the Hebrew University, Jerusalem. Part of Kestenberg’s



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extraordinary legacy is that she was one of the first to seek out, listen to, and record child survivors’ testimonies exclusively.66 Kestenberg also started convening “rap” groups for child survivors in the New York area. Soon after, a few other local groups began to emerge. It was not always easy. Many people needed convincing that belonging to a child survivor group was important. An Auschwitz survivor in Boston approached dozens of people who stated that they did not want to “dwell on the past.”67 But in 1983, after over a year of reaching out to local child survivors, the Massachusetts group coalesced. Others did, as well. Eva Fogelman, a social psychologist and author, worked closely with Judith Kestenberg.68 She describes how a key moment in the formation of the early groups occurred in 1985 at the American Gathering of Jewish Holocaust survivors in Philadelphia, which ultimately led to a national organization of child survivors.69 Fogelman describes how she and Judith and Milton Kestenberg, an attorney working in restitution, attended the event to recruit children for their interview project. This resulted in an unplanned, spontaneous meeting with those interested in being interviewed.70 Stefanie Seltzer, hidden child, was there in Philadelphia. She remembers, too, that a group of sixty child survivors met for the first time with Judith Kestenberg, who emphasized that their traumatic memories were important. Seltzer recalled with emotion how she had previously tried to join the main survivor group. Her interest had been met with “but you were only a child, what could you possibly remember?” She quickly learned that the others had experienced a similar reaction from older survivors.71 Dana Schwartz, who belonged to the LA group, stood up and announced, “They tell us that we cannot remember because we were too young but I remember how they took the children by the legs and swung their heads against the wall.” Seltzer recalls, “The room was silent.” She added, “My lap was wet with tears.”72 Once those present did begin to talk, they couldn’t stop. Seltzer was convinced that it was important to continue meeting and gathered names of those present who shared her interest. Kestenberg, whose expertise was trauma, was reluctant to encourage the group to meet without a psychiatrist or psychologist. Nevertheless, she eventually agreed that need trumped approach and gave Seltzer the names of children she had collected in Boston, Washington, Detroit, and New York and of groups that had formed or were forming. A short time later in 1987 Seltzer invited representatives from different cities to a picnic at her home. Some thirty-­five people showed up. As the meal wound down, one of the guests, Michael Glauberman, commented that there was still so much to talk about. He owned a motel in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and offered it as a base for future gatherings. Seltzer recalls thinking, “Who would want to do that?” Eighteen people did, along with Kestenberg, Fogelman, and Moskovitz. These “Lancaster 18,” as they dubbed themselves, decided to hold a conference.

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“We stayed up all night talking—­we never went to sleep,” remarks Seltzer. Indeed, many of the participants remember that this was “the pajama party they never had.” At the subsequent conference, 174 guests attended. Participants exchanged contact information, which was critical—­for several weeks after they went their separate ways, they continued to speak by telephone. As in other instances, once the initial connection was made, child survivors did not want to let it go. The meeting in Pennsylvania sowed the seeds for the first national conference of Child Survivors, which took place 1988. An executive committee was formed and Stefanie Seltzer became its president. The members laughingly note that it became international when an individual from Canada joined the group. From the start, workshops were a critical component of the annual conferences. The topics reflected a spectrum of issues with memory initially occupying a central place. Robert Krell articulates, “The single most important piece of business to child survivors is their attempts to validate memory; in the first instance to recapture it.”73 These comments bring into sharp relief the issues that were unique to children; for them there was no one to confirm their often fragmentary memories and some had been told that their recollections were invalid. Speaking to this point, Seltzer describes a memory from when her mother retrieved her from her hiding place in Warsaw. She remembers, “I couldn’t walk because I . . . had sores, I was malnourished and I remember going on a rickshaw.” Later she describes how “my adult brain said “rickshaw . . . in Warsaw?” Years later, she came across a book about wartime Warsaw with photographs that verified her memories.74 Another workshop addressed the complicated topic of “the mothers we got back after the war.” This was a fundamental and layered issue for those who were reunited with a surviving parent as chapter 4 underscores. Averred Seltzer, “the mothers we got back weren’t normal and never would be.”75 Sometimes workshops allowed participants to discuss their orphan status such as “Who Am I and Who Were My Parents? The 60-­Year Search for the Lost Identity of Child Survivors” that speaks to the ongoing questions that remain unanswered for some. As the demographics have changed, so did the conferences’ workshops both in content and membership. Titles such as “How Do We See Ourselves after the Passage of Time”; “The Impact of One Holocaust Event on the Rest of Our Lives”; “The Role of Memory: Who Will Speak the Truth about the Shoah When the Witnesses Are Gone” all highlight how the topics reflect changing needs of the survivors’ members. Separate meetings like “Our Aging Parents and Ourselves” are now held for the second generation, and even the third generation is included. An early decision, however, and one that has been consistent, is the survivors-­ only policy for workshops. Attendees felt that including nonsurvivors in the group changed the dynamics and left survivors feeling vulnerable to insensitive comments. To this day, most are closed to nonsurvivors, including spouses. “People want to feel that it is a totally safe space just for them,” explains Seltzer.76



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Daisy Miller echoed this, too. “This is our safe place,” she emphasized.77 This need underscores larger questions of safety for those whose childhood lacked security and who feel that few outside of this group can understand what they experienced. The policy’s duration also speaks to the ongoing feelings that are continuously present in child survivors’ lives. Due to the delicate nature of the topics, members also reached a decision early on that trained mental health professionals would facilitate the sessions. Aside from Moskovitz, Kestenberg, and Fogelman, the leaders were and continue to be child survivors, themselves, who were also social workers, psychologists, or psychiatrists like Robert Krell.

A Leap Forward: Hidden Children Acknowledged In 1989, the child survivor movement took a critical leap forward with the founding of the Hidden Child Project. According to several of its members, their organization came into being through the efforts of Myriam Abramowicz, who was born in Brussels after the war to survivor parents. Abramowicz stated, “It all began because my mother, Lea Abramowicz, had the ability and the will to tell me of her wartime experiences of having been in hiding in Belgium, of having to separate from my brother George at the moment of his birth—­and the image of my father, Mendel, and her leaving the hospital empty handed.”78 Abramowicz knew some details of her parents’ history but was largely removed from it. It was only when one of her mother’s rescuers, Oskar Ruyts, passed away and her mother asked Myriam to make a condolence call while on a business trip to Belgium that the force of the Ruytses’ actions hit her. During her visit in 1976 to his widow, Nana, Abramowicz described the moment, which she called “heightened consciousness” when she “realized that, by the grace of this woman, I’m alive.”79 Abramowicz left her job in publishing and—­with the encouragement of Studs Terkel—­spent four years collecting stories. The result was a documentary film Comme Si C’etait Hier (As If It Were Yesterday) that made its American debut in August 1980 in the Flaherty Seminar, a distinguished venue for documentaries. The film focuses on rescue in Belgium through the lens of Abramowicz’s mother’s and others’ stories.80 Well-­received and critically acclaimed, promotional efforts were lackluster when the film’s distribution changed hands. Undeterred, Abramowicz promoted the film by bringing it to conferences around the world. Wherever she had a screening, she passed around a notebook that allowed audience members to record their names. In doing so she collected contact information for hundreds of hidden children. One was Dori Katz, who would later write in her memoir, Looking for Strangers, “It all started with watching a movie about my life playing at noon in a movie theatre in midtown Manhattan.”81 The film affected many who saw their own experiences reflected on the screen and it also brought

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opportunities for them to meet others who shared similar histories. At Abramowicz’s behest, the idea of a gathering for hidden children jelled. Judith Kestenberg and Eva Fogelman lent their support and expertise, too. The group decided to host an event in May 1991 in New York City and, using Abramowicz’s notebooks, invitations were sent to four hundred people. A few months before the gathering, New York magazine journalist Jane Marks heard about the conference and wrote an article entitled “The Hidden Children” in which she highlighted seven children’s biographies.82 When asked in an interview why this history has been neglected, Marks repeats the trope that the story of hidden children has been ignored because people perceived they were the lucky ones, having survived in hiding away from concentration camps.83 The details of the children’s experiences she writes about, however, glaringly challenges the assumption that they came through the war years unscathed and helped bring child survivors further into the public eye. The magazine article provoked immediate attention. Other stories soon followed. If the attention was loud in the media, in the survivor world the reaction was deafening. Ann Shore, who was interviewed by Marks, clearly recalls her astonishment at the response. “It was shocking,” Shore remembered.84 Shortly after the piece appeared, the Hidden Child project received 3,000 telephone calls. A few weeks later, 1,600 participants came from all over the world to attend the first Hidden Child Conference over the Memorial Day weekend, 1991. Although groups had been cropping up around the country since 1983, many feel that it was the first Hidden Child Gathering in 1991 that gave child survivors greater visibility and credibility on the domestic and international stage. Perhaps this was due to the sheer numbers that showed up, or possibly due to publicity, combined with the considerable support lent by notable personalities. Abraham Foxman, national director of the Anti-­Defamation League and himself a hidden child, gave his personal and professional backing. Serge Klarsfeld, renowned with his wife, Beate, for bringing Nazi criminals to trial, participated, and Elie Wiesel, due to Robert Krell’s persuasion, spoke at the closing dinner. The event also received tremendous media coverage before, during, and after the two-­day meeting both at home and abroad. This included the Wall Street Journal, the New York Times, and on television NBC’s Today Show and ABC’s 20/20, which brought the story of hidden children into thousands of homes around America. Even more important was the conference’s impact on its participants. For many hidden children, the conference signified a turning point. For one thing, for all the above reasons, many moved to attend had never before confronted their past. Renee Fink, who was born in 1937 in Holland, saw a newspaper clipping with the headline, “Could This Be You?” She decided to go. She had never spoken about her past and her “odyssey of names”—­three first names and five last names—­suggests the complexity of both her wartime and postwar years. She describes the conference as both “frightening and life-­affirming.”85 Renee



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was fearful that her involvement would push her into unchartered and dangerous territory that had been unexplored for decades. One of the features of the gathering that speaks to that, she recalls, is that there were first aid stations that offered not physical but psychiatric assistance. After the meeting, Renee states, her “whole world changed.” She was no longer hiding, and she began to speak about her past. As she tells it, “I began to come out.” This description, according to Diane L. Wolf, was a common trope among hidden children as they began to discuss their wartime childhoods.86 But this also brought pain. Ann Shore states that in the process of becoming more open, “I became more vulnerable, too.”87 Jack Trompettor attended the conference in 1991 and he, too, believes it was remarkable. He comments, “For people like myself who were younger during the war the matter of having a voice is crucial and the matter of being able to feel our experience was authentic is crucial.”88 Others speak similarly of the importance of encounters with those whose memories resonate with their own. Many recall their first meeting as a profound and transformative one due to a deep sense of previously unknown connection with others who share common threads of separation, loss, displacement, searching, abandonment as well as complicated identity issues. For Eric Cahn, a child survivor from Denver, Colorado, the gathering in New York was the first he had ever attended. His describes his sense of belonging as “so wonderful I wanted it to continue when I returned to Colorado.”89 This feeling of belonging to a group was key. Diane L. Wolf argues that the sense of a collective identity that came out of the initial conferences was a critical step in healing for hidden children.90 And many like Eric Cahn did not want that connection that was forged with the group to diminish once the gathering was over. One of the enormous changes brought about by the 1991 conference was the establishment of numerous chapters of Hidden Child/child survivor groups both in the United States and abroad. Cahn and others returned to their communities motivated to bring child survivors together and maintain the shared histories they discovered in New York. As a result, many groups sprang up around the country including: the Bay Area Hidden Children; Child Survivors Group of Orange County, CA; the Denver Group; the Florida Hidden Children; the Hidden Children, Chicago; the Hidden Children of the Holocaust of Bergen County; the Hidden Children of Rockland County; Hidden Children of Westchester County, and others.91 Carla Lessing, who was an organizer of the first Hidden Child gathering, commented on the support groups that appeared in the conference’s wake. “We did not want to part with this new family of ‘brothers and sisters’ who had shared our experiences,” she declared.92 Over and over, child survivors express the feeling that other child survivors are family they never had. Within the groups, in fact, many refer to each other as siblings. It is no accident that the World Federation’s newsletter is called Mishpocha (Yiddish for family). Halina Peabody spoke about her relationship to others in her group. She searched for the words to communicate how important the

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other members are to her. “This is my—­this is my—­how can I say it?” she asks. “My home away from home,” she offers finally.93 This perception that their connections feel familial, as well as the sense of a common language and experience along with encouragement to articulate their memories contributed to the hunger for contact, both in the groups of the 1980s and in the creation of later hidden child groups. Whenever they met, they drew up lists of names so that people could stay in contact with one another. In addition, virtually every group created its own newsletter in order to continue their communication. In the pre-­computer age, this took considerable time and dedication. The newsletters delineated upcoming events, news about members’ important milestones, creative writing, topics of special relevance, and more. The national and international newsletters also included coverage of major meetings, usually held annually. Within the local groups, the membership determined the focus. Some wanted to have support groups while others wanted a social network, and eventually some wanted to advocate for child survivor issues. Early on, a participant in the LA group commented, “We need to have holidays together.”94 Others felt the same. It was, and still is common for chapters to hold Passover seders, Chanukah get-­togethers, Purim parties.95 Several have created their own Haggadah for Passover that expresses their unique identity.96 Sharing holidays and personal events together has further cemented bonds that can assume familial dimensions.

Groups as an Expression of Jewish Identity For some, groups also offer membership in a Jewish—­though not religious—­ community. For those who have a complex and perhaps unresolved relationship to Judaism, child survivor groups offer one avenue for a positive, comfortable, and, perhaps uncomplicated Jewish identity where they can be together in a Jewish environment without having to define it religiously. Celebrating holidays—­ Passover, Purim, and Chanukah—­together is meaningful but the focus is usually more social than religious. In addition, these can be less solemn holidays that are an occasion to have fun together.97 On the whole, those in the religious community—­for the most part—­do not participate in child survivor groups. Interviews with observant survivors suggest that this demographics’ significant community affiliation is with their local Orthodox community and not with child survivors. This is true for Rabbi Boruch Majerowicz and Mrs. Mirl Meisels, both part of ultra-­Orthodox communities in Brooklyn, New York. It is also the case with Perla Marks and Shep Drazin in Los Angeles who belong to separate Modern Orthodox synagogues. Their identities as religious Jews and their involvement in their own community is paramount. Not that they deny the impact of the Holocaust on their lives. Hardly. Rather, their communal energies focus on their own synagogue circle including their large multigenerational families within them.



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Because child survivor groups’ membership is largely made up of those who do not identify as Orthodox Jews, the more observant child survivors—­ mainly ultra-­Orthodox ones who do not typically socialize outside of their own communities—­are not drawn to them. This is, in part, due to the overwhelmingly secular, though culturally Jewish, tone of the survivor groups. It might also be attributable, states Robert Krell, to the fact that many child survivors were raised as Christians in their formative years.98 This organized community of child survivor groups that are socially and secularly Jewish is a viable and positive fit for child survivors who lived in Christian environments during the war. Still, the WFJCHSD is sensitive to the needs of Orthodox participants in many ways. Kosher food can be preordered, while the majority eats “kosher-­ style” meals. “Sabbath-­friendly” rooms and Orthodox Shabbat and daily services are available (if there are enough men for the minyan required for prayers). Nevertheless, the annual gathering takes place over the Sabbath. Speakers use microphones, cell phones ring, both prohibited on the Sabbath in Orthodox Judaism. Yarmulkes and women’s head coverings, identifying observant Jews, are rare although not entirely absent. Child survivor groups do not resonate with everyone. Although many feel that joining a child survivor organization was a turning point in their lives, not all survivors are active participants in groups nor do they want to be involved in organizations. Nathan Kranowski, for example, is involved with a number of Jewish and even Holocaust institutions but is not personally involved with a child survivor organization. Despite his strong identity as a survivor, and his own admission of the shadow his experiences continue to cast over his life, he chooses to refrain from joining survivor groups.99 Susie Schwartz feels similarly. She admits, “I don’t very much believe in all these organizations, you know, how helpful that is or how meaningful all that is.” She adds, “to join together and to discuss what happened, I don’t think it’s very productive.”100 Even though some are not drawn to these groups, as child survivors’ identities emerged and the definition of “survivor” broadened, so did the number of those wanting to affiliate with a group. In 1990, for example, the Kindertransport Association of North America, Inc. started holding annual events and publishing a newsletter.101 My Knees Were Jumping, a documentary film, appeared in 1996, thus further expanding the public’s understanding of children’s war years. Survivors assisted by the French Jewish welfare organization OSE created the Friends and Alumnae of OSE (Oeuvre de Secours aux Enfants), USA, Inc. The proliferation of different groups reflects the fact that members did not always share a common vision. When child survivors wanted very different things from their local chapters, a schism occasionally occurred. Such was the case in Los Angeles. In 1998, the group split because of a debate over the sensational Wilkomirski book, Fragments, states Marie Kaufman, former president of the LA Child Survivors, Inc. In addition to disagreements over the book, she

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notes some members wanted to direct its energy to securing reparations instead of social gatherings and workshops.102 On another front, Eva Fogelman commented that some in the early groups felt marginalized by the focus on hidden children in 1991 and maintained their own chapters apart from the latter’s groups.103 For example, even though there was a preexisting Holocaust Association of Child Survivors in Chicago, a group for hidden children in that city is a distinct entity. But they regularly join together for meetings and commemorations. Children of the Holocaust Remember: Fiftieth Anniversary Commemoration speaks to that. On 7 May 1995, representatives from the Hidden Child Foundation, the Kindertransport Association, and Holocaust Child Survivors of Connecticut came together to remember the children who were murdered during the Holocaust. The program incorporated traditional candle lighting and recitation of kaddish along with readings of works by children who survived and of those who did not.104 Through the 1990s, child survivors were diligently organizing and finding their own unique voices. Still, the larger Jewish institutional world was slow to hear them. This pushed groups to action. In 1997, a giant step forward took place when members of the Child Survivor Association, the Hidden Child Foundation, and the Kindertransport Group voted to form an umbrella group, the Federation of Jewish Child Survivors of the Holocaust, that would “speak with one united voice as the Last Eyewitnesses.”105 In joining the three major groups together, the federation inclusively expressed solidarity with “anyone who was a child in Europe between 1933 and 1945.”106 But more importantly, it made its goals clear. In an early letter to the members of the new federation, George Pick, interim secretary, clarified why its creation was essential. “It is time for us to speak up as a Federation of a large number of Child Survivors and demand to be recognized as a legitimate part of the survivor community and therefore, be entitled to the same treatment as the older groups.”107

Restitution The disparate groups were motivated to unite as a federation in part because they still felt marginalized, particularly regarding financial restitution that older survivors received but had eluded them. As interested as Jewish communal agencies like the World Jewish Congress (WJC) and the American Jewish Congress (AJC) had been in helping European Jewish children at the end of the war, they did little advocating for child survivors’ rights later on, especially regarding financial restitution. Particularly grievous to many, child survivors were on the back burner of the Conference on Jewish Material Claims Against Germany’s agenda (Claims Conference).108 It took time to convince the Claims Conference that child survivors were victims worthy of compensation equivalent to that which older survivors were entitled.



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In 1999, Sarah Moskovitz and Robert Krell wrote to Edgar Bronfman, president of the WJC, who was crucial in brokering the Swiss Bank reparations deal. They urgently requested his help in giving child survivors their due. Moskovitz and Krell state that it would seem obvious “these vulnerable persons of tender age that should have received the most attention and appropriate compensation.” Instead, they were faced with obstacles that represent a “travesty of justice” including: missed deadlines for applying (because of their age), documentation requirements (which they may not have or know), the “means” test that awards compensation based on financial means, time requirement of eighteen months for those in hiding or in ghettos, time requirement of six months in a concentration camp. In the authors’ study of 664 child survivors’ responses in which they asked about experiences seeking restitution, the child survivors emphasized challenges in the process. It showed that 22 percent had never applied for funds because they were not informed, had no documentation, or were discouraged from applying at all. It also noted that 32 percent applied but were rejected and that overall 54 percent of the respondents had received nothing.109 The tide in favor of restitution for children did eventually turn, but not until well into the following decade. Moskovitz believes that an essential factor was the support of Roman Kent, an advisory board member of the Claims Conference. Kent, born in 1929 in Poland, is a survivor of the Lodz ghetto and Auschwitz who has devoted his life to survivor affairs. He was one of the early founders of the American Gathering of Holocaust Survivors in 1983 and has been deeply involved at the highest levels of most major Holocaust survivor organizations. According to Kent, the case of child survivors was on the Claims Conference’s agenda for years but it was continually set aside because of the difficulty in determining child survivors’ needs. In 2014, just before the WFJCSHD’s annual meeting in Berlin, he was finally able to get action.110 At the Berlin gathering, the Claims Conference announced that it had reached an agreement with the German Finance Ministry whereby the two would jointly bestow financial assistance on Jewish child survivors of the Holocaust. Said Claims Conference President Julius Berman, “The joint fund will recognize survivors worldwide who were in camps, ghettos, hiding and false identity for psychological and medical trauma caused during their deprived childhoods.” Claims Conference special negotiator Ambassador Stuart Eizenstat remarked, “As you can imagine, this distress and the horrors of the Shoah have permeated so many aspects of their lives.” For the “distress and horrors” of those born after January 1, 1928, each would receive a one-­time payment of € 2,500.111 As of 2016, there are 5,111 child survivors in the United States who have received this payment. In keeping with its mission to support education, the Claims Conference also now funds workshops at the annual WFJCSHD’s gatherings. In addition, at the last world gathering in 2016, a representative from the Claims Conference was available to assist anyone who wanted to apply to the Child Survivor Fund. For

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many in the United States this is a token gesture that does not make a significant difference in their day-­to-­day lives. For others, it came too late. What is important for many, however, is the acknowledgment, the validation from the prime Holocaust compensation organization that they are, indeed, survivors—­a major, and hard-­won victory. Money can never restore the world that was. However, by giving child survivors some compensation, however small, Germany has recognized its role in destroying their world and takes some responsibilities for the consequences. This is something Robert Krell learned from a fellow survivor. “Reparations is not just about money, it is also about justice,” he believes.112 The WFJCSHD is now a large, robust international organization. In the United States alone it has nearly thirty chapters including four in California, six in the greater New York area, two in New Jersey, two in Illinois, and two in Florida. Missouri has one and so does Seattle and New Mexico.113 The 2016 conference was a far cry from the early meetings in 1982 when a small contingent came together and tentatively took its first steps. At those first meetings, no one could begin to imagine that the tiny group would swell to include thousands of members all around the globe, spawn numerous subgroups, and become a political and social advocate for the changing needs of the Holocaust’s youngest victims. Old age and declining health, combined with decreasing numbers of the last witnesses, have pushed the older generation to turn to the next generation to accept their legacy. The inevitable march forward of time has reminded many of the 2016 WFJCSHD attendees to confront the hard truth that it may be the last conference they will attend. Nevertheless, conference organizer Daisy Miller announced that the board is already planning the 2017 gathering, possibly in Israel. Many have signed up. It is a group that believes in the future. And when they are together they stubbornly celebrate the present. Long-­time president Stefanie Seltzer remarks, “I’ve been to weddings . . . but when that dancing starts at our conferences . . . everybody gets up to dance.” She explains, “It’s just an assertion of life.”114

Conclusion The Road to Repair

Many decades have elapsed since 1945 when child survivors from all parts of Europe crossed the threshold of liberation and, remarkably, stumbled forward. For most, the postwar period marked the beginning of arduous and tumultuous relocations, first in Europe and then in the United States. The battle did not end with the war’s conclusion; rather, their early steps were fraught as they faced the postwar aftermath in America, privately in family life and publicly in a new culture. It was hardly a seamless experience. As this work shows, all significant aspects of their lives were informed by the Holocaust experiences that launched and framed their early years, intertwined with the US context in which they found themselves. As the Holocaust grew temporally more distant, child survivors mingled increasingly with American life. They went to school, began careers, chose mates, served their country, raised families, and grappled with their complex Jewish and survivor identities. In short, they engaged with life and the larger world, most becoming productive citizens. But the threads of their past histories, as they themselves tell, are inextricably woven into their present lives and constitute a much longer, more complicated story. Now, as they advance into old age, their Holocaust years represent a small temporal fraction of their lifespan. How have they integrated their wartime past into the sum total of their experiences in America? For much of their postwar childhood and adulthood, the scars of child survivors’ losses were submerged, stifled, hidden, trivialized. Reclaiming their memories and finding their unique identity as child survivors were enormous steps forward in validating their early lives that started many on the road to repair. Complete healing can never occur, but as adults, child survivors have found numerous avenues for integrating their past into their present in ways that are meaningful to them. This is knitted into the greater American context and, often, Jewish values, as well. The concept of tikkun olam (repairing the world), for example, is central to Judaism and one that figures prominently and broadly among many child 151

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survivors who have expressed the idea that they, through their lives, wish to make the world better. In doing so, some feel they are able to attach some purpose to their traumatic experiences. And this, in turn, is personally restorative. Some pursued tikkun olam through their career choice. Others found this sense of purpose later as they began speaking publicly about their experiences, a step that has been facilitated and encouraged by the proliferation of Holocaust museums and educational programs. As younger survivors, they could assume the place of older survivors as the latter’s numbers diminish. Responses range from the public to the personal. Many have found creative venues of expression through writing memoirs or artistic pursuits. There are those who have made trips to Europe to reconnect with their rescuers’ families. Some are still on personal quests, trying to answer ever-­elusive questions of families’ fates. There are others for whom the time spent with family is what reassures, a firm anchor in the present and a simultaneous reminder that there is indeed a Jewish future. Against all odds, they have lived to see a new generation, perpetuated by their own survival. Often, it is not just one thing but rather these possibilities overlap, and when woven together, repair and enrich the fabric of child survivors’ lives. Many others, of course, worked at jobs completely unrelated to their war years. And there are some who still struggle and for whom the weight of the war years continues to shadow and throw them off balance. Nevertheless, it is usually not an either ­or dynamic. All have been affected, and many have found meaning in their lives that they relate to their experiences, which has, in turn, played a role in repair. They have found ways to integrate what marked them uniquely as child survivors; they contribute to scholarship, create artistic works, add to Jewish life, and are the voice of today’s survivors.

Professional and Volunteer Work Informed by the Holocaust Some child survivors have turned to lives in public service on the highest levels. One child survivor sought to improve the lot of his fellow human beings on a meta-­level. Thomas Buergenthal survived Auschwitz as a ten-­year-­old and channeled his traumatic childhood into a quest to seek a measure of justice in the world. He arrived in the United States in 1951, aged seventeen, and chose to study law. About his career path, he writes in his memoir A Lucky Child, “It might seem obvious that my past would draw me to human rights and international law, whether or not I knew it at the time.” He goes on to note, “It equipped me to be a better human rights lawyer, if only because I understood, not only intellectually but also emotionally, what it is like to be a victim of human rights violations.” He explains, “I could, after all, feel it in my bones.”1 This feeling served him and the greater good, as well. From 2000 until 2010, Buergenthal was a judge on the

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International Court of Justice at The Hague. He has been particularly recognized for his work on the protection of human rights in Latin America. This dedication is similarly exemplified by the late Tom Lantos who was the only Holocaust survivor to serve in Congress. Born in Hungary in 1928, Lantos was saved in a Raoul Wallenberg safe house in Budapest. He came to the United States on a scholarship in 1950 and earned degrees in economics before starting his political career. Lantos was particularly devoted to the issue of defending human rights, the direct result of his Holocaust experiences, and a cause that most defined his three decades as a Democratic congressman from California. For Roman Kent, born in Lodz in 1929, his Holocaust experiences have directly fueled much of his considerable energies as a tireless advocate for other survivors. After coming to Atlanta, he finished high school and graduated from Emory University. He became a successful businessman and philanthropist, and as such he devoted himself to many Holocaust-­related causes. He is a founding member of the American Gathering of Holocaust Survivors; the president of the Jewish Foundation for the Righteous, which helps needy rescuers; and a board member of the Claims Conference.2 Abraham Foxman was head of the Anti-­Defamation League of B’nai Brith (ADL) for decades.3 Born in 1940 in Baranowicze, Foxman was hidden during the war by his Polish nanny for the first five years of his life. This act of rescue that saved him informed his passion for his work in two significant ways. He believes it is important to have knowledge about bigotry and that one can effectively stand up to injustice. Through his work, he strives to live by these two ideas that he feels contribute to Jewish survival. Importantly, he gave the Hidden Child Foundation a home at the ADL in 1991, which provided the organization with a firm and reputable foundation on which to build.4 Daisy Miller’s social activism was both her Jewish identity and her calling for many years Her commitment drew her to work for civil rights in California, especially for migrant farm workers. As the child survivor movement grew, however, her energies shifted and she became deeply involved in the survivor world. It was a natural transition for her to become professionally involved with the nascent Shoah Foundation, first as an interviewer and then—­giving up her own business—­as a fulltime staff member for “twenty incredible, wonderful, impactful and meaningful years.” Even after her retirement, Daisy continues to focus her “energies and attention into sensitizing people everywhere about the human experiences of those who survived.” She believes she has a responsibility to remind young and old everywhere of what can happen as a consequence of unchecked hatred and racism. Long silent and lacking a sense of belonging, she ardently hopes that she has “helped make some contribution toward allowing all of our voices to be heard.”5 In an effort to analyze the catastrophe, some child survivors have drawn a direct line from their early experiences to their professional lives as academics,

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one informing the other as they seek to explore the Holocaust through an a scholarly discipline. For example, the sociologist Nechama Tec has brought her time as a hidden child in Poland to bear on both her memoir Dry Tears: The Story of a Lost Childhood as well as her sociological works. Her volume that followed, When Light Pierced the Darkness: Christian Rescue of Jews in Nazi-­Occupied Poland, added a scholarly lens to the topic she had written about in her memoir.6 Hidden child Saul Friedländer inaugurated the 1939 Club Chair in Holocaust Studies at UCLA. Friedländer is the author of two memoirs, and many highly regarded volumes on the history of the Holocaust including his 2008 Pulitzer Prize–­winning The Years of Extermination: Nazi Germany and the Jews, 1939–­ 1945.7 As a historian, Friedländer is acutely aware of the danger of bias in studying a subject to which his early life experiences are so inextricably linked, and thus is careful about distancing himself emotionally. Nevertheless, his life’s work is motivated by “a desire to preserve and to set the record straight. . . . For me, it was one way of coming to terms with my past,” he emphasizes, and adds, “It was my way of handling it.”8 Hidden child Robert Krell (though a Canadian citizen) belongs here because of his influence on US child survivors. His activism as both a child survivor and a psychiatrist was a significant impetus in the establishment of the first child survivor group in Los Angeles. This, in turn, led to the creation of many other groups in the United States and elsewhere. In addition to his many scholarly contributions to his discipline, he has been a leading voice and advocate for child survivors. He writes and speaks often about the meaning of memory and its role in healing, always urging child survivors to speak, record, tell. Ghetto-­survivor and hidden child Samuel Oliner channeled his emotions into a career in the sociology, specifically the study of altruistic behavior. He met his American-­born wife, Pearl, on a blind date set up by an army buddy from the Korean War. They married and settled in California where he pursued his graduate studies in race and ethnic relations, eventually earning his Ph.D. and teaching in the field. In the 1960s, he became involved with the establishment of the Institute for Righteous Acts. He reflects that he grew more and more “indignant about evil” and focused his research, assisted by his wife, on pro-­social behavior and altruism, which he believes can be taught. From the institute, which became the Altruistic Personality and Prosocial Behavior Institute in 1982, Sam and Pearl began their study of rescuers that culminated in The Altruistic Personality: Rescuers of Jews in Nazi Europe.9 Teaching altruism, he affirms, along with Pearl, has become their mission.

Reunions with Rescuers Some like Samuel Oliner and Nechama Tec study the motivations of rescuers. For other child survivors, a critical and important restorative act in adult years

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has been an effort to reconnect with their rescuers. In 1996, Marie Kaufman decided to travel to the village of Mihars, France, where she, her father, mother, and baby sister had been sheltered but of which she had few memories. She did not know if any of the rescuers were still alive so she wrote to the town’s mayor to inquire. She received a letter saying that the older generation had died but the children—­ten to fifteen years older than Marie—­were still alive and all remembered her and had stories to tell her. When she arrived in Mihars, the entire town was out to welcome her. People approached her, introduced themselves, and told her stories about the Kaufmans’ wartime presence in the village, including descriptions of Marie as a very young girl. Marie recalls emotionally, “It was as if I was getting a picture of what I didn’t know but what I felt.” Some of the most memorable moments were when the rescuers’ children gathered with Marie and exchanged their recollections all together. For Marie this trip was life-­changing, both for the chance to thank her rescuers as well as to enrich her own memories of this time in her life. She believes “it validated that I existed.”10 Importantly, after Marie opened this door, she was able to speak with her mother about it, which also helped rebuild and mend their fractured relationship. Judith Koeppel Steel always missed her French rescuer whom she though of as her Maman. A few months after Judith came to New York, her relatives insisted she discontinue their correspondence and move on with her new life. For many years she wanted to write but held herself back because she had been out of touch for so many years. After attending a Hidden Child conference in 1992, she decided to make a trip to France. She telephoned her foster mother. Her fears were quickly dismissed. “As soon as we connected,” Judith remembers emotionally, “it was the love all over again and I didn’t get the rejection I was afraid of.” Judith asked if she should come to see her and she immediately responded in the affirmative. Judith made the trip to France, finally reuniting with her Maman. She confirms, “It was an incredible experience.” Two years later “my mom came to visit me in the United States and we were very joyful.” Their contact importantly restored the relationship with the woman who Judith considered her mother and from whom she had been separated for much of her life.11 In more recent years, Rachelle Goldstein confirmed that the Hidden Child Foundation through its Family Tracing Services has helped members locate relatives or rescuers. For Miriam Rakowski, acknowledging her rescuers has been a fundamentally important connection to herself, past and present, and she notes it has helped with the healing process. Several years ago, she began steps to recognize the family’s act that saved her life. Through Yad Vashem, she submitted the Hiquets’ name to receive the Righteous Among the Nations award. Though the Hiquets had passed away, Rachelle Goldstein and Evelyne Haendel, the director of the Hidden Child’s Family Tracing Services,12 located Jean Hiquet,

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the Hiquets’ only living nephew and one who had clear memories of Miriam when she was Marie Claire Hiquet. The two met in November 2013 in Serignan, France. It was an affecting and important meeting, as were the steps leading up to that day. Through Yad Vashem’s research, Miriam was also able to learn about her father’s death and, thus, another important piece of her early life—­of which she has few memories—­was restored to her. Honoring the Hiquets was critical to Miriam because she believes the fact that she ultimately became a teaching fellow in New York City and went on to a fulfilling and meaningful life as a classroom teacher, mathematics teaching coach, and intervention specialist was due to her rescuers. She attributes “the healthy and loving foundation with them” to her ability to endure her earlier struggles and persist in seeking a happy life for herself despite her lengthy, difficult, and fractured years after arriving in the United States.13 Many have found some comfort in restoring the thread of their past through their rescuer or a descendent. For others, it is the elusive quest for family that persists, still searching for relatives or any connection to their early lives—­ wondering, questioning. This emphasizes the unavoidable fact that, for many child survivors, answers to questions about the fate of their loved ones have remained beyond their grasp. But the quests continue. More than seventy years after the end of the war, people are still looking for missing relatives. For children, especially orphans who never knew when or where a parent or sibling died, the hope for many that they still might be reunited remained alive for decades. With the passage of time, the possibility that parents were alive grew dim, but they continued to harbor hopes that a sibling near to their own age might still be living their lives somewhere, somehow, or that a landsman (Yiddish, person from place of origin) might be alive to offer some information about a parent’s earlier life. Julie Keefer’s infant sister, Tola, was placed in an orphanage that was evacuated by the Germans. Julie never located her, a source of tremendous anguish throughout her life. For many years Fred Manasse, hoped he might still find his sister. Even though he has given up the search, sometimes when he encounters older woman he imagines what his sister might look like today.14 In 1992, Jack Gun returned to Rozyszcze, Poland, his birthplace, with other survivors from his town to erect a monument to remember his murdered community who had been killed in a ravine outside of the village. There he was able, as children traditionally do, to say kaddish (memorial prayer) for his parents. It was “a very emotional experience,” he states.15 For Jack, this event helped address what has been identified among survivors as “the missing gravestone syndrome.”16 In the absence of a grave for his family, the monument became a substitute, a very real physical marker where he fulfilled his responsibility to his parents at the location of their murder and also memorialized Rozyszcze and its people.

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Artistic Pursuits Fred Manasse found an outlet for reckoning with his past in a creative pursuit. He received a Ph.D. in physics and, after years as a successful engineer, he retired when he was sixty-­seven. “I had always loved art, “ he explained about his decision to try his hand in various artistic media. He first apprenticed to a stained glass artist, but decided after a number of years he wanted to expand to a three-­ dimensional medium. He started in ceramics but soon also felt it didn’t truly reflect his emotions. This led him to sculpture and then to tackle his past. In 2005, “I decided to create something to memorialize my sister.” He took the last photograph he had of his sister and used it to cast a figure to which he added other images of his parents and himself and brother in a kind of inverted family tree, called “My Diaspora.” It was a difficult process. He admits, “It wrenched my guts.” But these and other sculptures of his family have had a significant purpose. The work, states Fred, “allows me to grieve.” Confronting his past through art has also convinced him of the source of his creativity. Now, “I sculpt from an emotional point of view,” he states. He has won awards for his work and has also become part of a community of local artists. He also speaks about his experiences to students in the greater Boston community. These combined activities, Fred believes, have made his retirement rich and purposeful.17 Irene Hizme also found an artistic outlet “that keeps her grounded.”18 As an adult she attended Hunter College, worked as a biochemist and computer programmer, married and raised two daughters. Her family now includes four grandchildren. Sometime around 1978 she decided to take up calligraphy. She reflects, “I’ve always loved letters, but I wasn’t aware of the so-­called ‘art of calligraphy’ until about 1978.” Irene immersed herself in the precise and demanding craft, making delicate, intricate pieces for friends. Irene was struck a blow when she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, which forced her to adapt to using a mouth stick and hand weights. Despite the challenges, she continues to send her artwork to friends. Recently, one told her that she still treasures a birthday card she received from Irene in 1981. “This makes me happy,” she affirms.19 Irene also combines her artistic skills with her volunteer support of the Blue Card, a charity for aging, needy survivors. In 2015, Irene’s exceptional work was included in the volume 100 New York Calligraphers.20

“Tell the World”: Writing and Speaking The reclamation of memory and thus, access to the road to healing has been broadly expressed through child survivors’ writing and speaking. In the case of writing, the canon of Holocaust memoir includes many by child survivors who wanted to record their experiences.21 In doing so, they engrave their memories on the page, an important counterbalance to the injustice of the event that robbed

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them of so much. Writes Kaja Finkler in her memoir Lives Lived and Lost, “Only individual narratives can bring back to life the violation perpetrated against an entire people.” Finkler weaves together her own narrative with that of her mother, Golda, whom she interviewed before her mother passed away in 1991.22 For some the narrative is personal and done solely to transmit their stories—­ and thereby leave their legacy—­to their families.23 Others are directed toward a wider audience. One, Night by the late Elie Wiesel, has notably shaped Holocaust memory and its intersection with popular culture. The majority, however, while lesser known, play a significant role for the individual and also, at times, arouse public interest in survivors’ accounts. Two works by Isaac Millman, who graduated from the Pratt Institute with a degree in fine arts, are directed toward a younger audience. His first, Hidden Child, is his personal story. The second, Arbeit Macht Frei: Work Sets You Free, depicts a child survivor and his two grandsons who travel to Auschwitz to retrace the final steps of the father’s parents. In fact, the book is based on a “pilgrimage” to Auschwitz Millman made with his two sons. The author’s hope is spelled out in its conclusion. The book ends with the words of one grandson who promises that he will tell his children about his pilgrimage to Auschwitz and “in turn, their children will tell their children and their children will tell theirs, for generations to come.”24 At times, writing a memoir is a group effort. Such is the case with How We Survived: 52 Personal Stories by Child Survivors of the Holocaust (2011), which includes the accounts of members of Child Survivors of the Holocaust, LA, the largest such US group. Many of the individuals quoted in this work can be found in that collection, including Eva Brettler, Peter Daniels, Lya Frank, Natalie Gold, Marie Kaufman, Eva Nathanson, and Maya Schwartz. A unique aspect of this endeavor is that it partnered students in an English class at Loyola Marymount University who listened to and recorded stories in the child survivors’ own words. Thus, it fulfilled the need for survivors to “tell” and simultaneously provided a rich dialogue with students, which educated them and also communicated to the survivors that their memories would be heard and remembered. Many child survivors have found the avenue to healing through remembering orally: transmitting their memories through speaking publicly. The proliferation of Holocaust centers over the last two decades helps provide occasions for these exchanges. Not only do they have the inclination but they also have the framework. Today the United States is home to ninety-­nine Holocaust centers and eighteen museums according to William Shulman, president of the Association of Holocaust Organizations.25 The vast majority were established in the 1990s following the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum’s opening in 1993. Some states—­like New York, New Jersey, California, Florida, Pennsylvania, and Ohio—­have multiple institutions including university affiliations. A number are

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located in places far from large urban centers. For example, Arkansas, Kentucky, Maine, and Wisconsin have centers that include speakers’ bureaus.26 What motivates some child survivors to speak? Sometimes it springs from a sense of obligation. “My mother used to tell us, when we survive we have to tell the world what happened to the Jewish people,” hidden child Ann Shore remembers with emotion. After her mother died in 1983, Shore began to think seriously about how to interpret that responsibility. For Ann, telling her story to students fulfills that charge and honors her mother’s memory, as well. Shore finds young audiences—­in the ten-­to eleven-­year-­old range—­especially receptive because she feels they respond honestly, especially those who have experienced discrimination. Ann goes beyond her personal story to offer a message that is the essence of her experience: humankind is capable of great evil but also that goodness has the potential to prevail.27 Eva Brettler never turns down an invitation to speak from the numerous museums and education centers in Los Angeles. The constant requests from the Museum of Tolerance, the LA Museum of the Holocaust, and area high school and university classes keep her busy on a regular basis. Sensing that students are listening and connecting to her reassures her that the experiences will be remembered. “This is especially meaningful for me,” she emphasizes.28 Miriam Rakowski was one of the organizers and key speakers at the first Hidden Child Conference. This opened doors into her past. While it is difficult, she believes “there is a high cost to not speaking” both for the individual and the greater public. It is liberating for her to tell her story and once others hear it, she feels she is passing along a legacy—­her history, buried for much of her life and now finding receptive ears.29 Not all, however, are able or want to speak about their experiences. Some feel they lack the skills. Others simply cannot. The “rocks and shards” are still unremittingly painful.30 Sonia Shwartzstein did speak to school groups in the 1990s, but stopped as she grew older and it became increasingly painful to talk about her childhood.31 Speaking became agonizing, rather than healing. That does not mean necessarily that those who refrain from speaking publicly are prisoners of their past but they have made the very personal choice not to tell their stories to a larger audience. Many remain ambivalent even as they do give voice to their experiences. As a survivor of Auschwitz and Dr. Mengele’s experiments, Irene Hizme is often asked to speak. She has mixed feelings about it and does not readily accept invitations, usually restricting engagements to Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day). She states, “It brings back a lot of memories and leaves me in a funk.” Even more she wonders if it really makes a difference. She finds, though, that high school-­age students are the audiences she most prefers because she feels they really listen. Then, she reflects, “I feel a sense of reward.”32

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Similarly, Jack Gun in Detroit is ambivalent about telling his story. Nevertheless, he does speak at a local center and college about his childhood as an eight-­ year-­old orphan first in the ghetto in Rozyszcze, Poland, and then in the forest and bunkers. It is not an easy process for him. “I have a hard time talking but I do it because I feel it is my duty for future generations.”33 In 2000, Peter Daniels retired at age sixty-­four from the corporate world, and spent the next six years as a docent and speaker at the LA Museum of Tolerance. He returned to the workforce as a consultant in 2007 and retired again in 2009. Since retirement, he still speaks at the Museum of Tolerance as well as to schools and synagogues whenever he can. Peter’s goal resonates with others. He tells his own personal story because he firmly believes that “our young people who will inherit this earth must carry on this legacy, stories and lessons so that the Holocaust and its six million Jews and eleven million non-­Jewish victims will never be forgotten.”34 Marie Kaufman began to speak in the 1990s after she volunteered as an interviewer for the USC/Shoah Foundation. She had finished her master’s in social work and was recently divorced and was ready to start a new chapter. She now speaks frequently. Because of her experiences of being sheltered by a village as a youngster and also because her story played out away from ghettos and camps, she finds she can easily communicate with audiences too young to confront the most graphic horrors of the Holocaust. Marie believes it’s important for students “to hear from a witness and interact with a real person because they can forge a connection.” For Marie, the process of speaking is always healing. Why?

Figure 5. Panel at California State University, Northridge, 26 March 2015. From left, child survivors Peter Daniels, Eva Brettler, Marie Kaufman, and psychologist Sarah Moskovitz. (Author’s collection)

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“Speaking connects me to my past and to the people who decided to save me for no other reason than they thought it was the right thing to do—­it’s uplifting and keeps me going,” she affirms.35 Simon Steil worked in the defense industry, married, and raised four sons. In 1980, he returned to Belgium to learn about his parents’ fates but he left frustrated by his inability to find much information. Simon doesn’t remember what his brother looked like and, without any photos, he mourns the fact that he never will. He wishes he had more to pass on to his children just as he wishes he could share his accomplishments with his parents.36 Simon does speak in schools about being a hidden child in Belgium and his efforts to piece his story together. In one instance family and public speaking merged. One student in the audience remarked, “I sat there in my history class, almost forgetting that this remarkable man telling his horrifying story is my grandfather.”37 In every pocket of the United States where child survivors now live, there are those who take the notion of informing the world to heart. Indeed, as the last living witnesses to the event, they bring their stories to us in all their complexity—­through art, memoir, speaking. By doing so, they are deepening our understanding of “Holocaust survivor.” For them, these acts honor the memory of the lost generation, the past. At the same time, engaging with an audience—­the future generation—­that is ready to see, hear, and acknowledge child survivors’ memories helps them heal and attaches some kind of meaning and purpose to the Holocaust experiences they suffered and endured. For many, this has become their legacy—­and ours—­an expression of how profoundly they have enriched American life.

Epilogue

Soon after the Passover holiday in the spring of 2016, a Los Angeles synagogue hosted its annual Yom Hashoah program. Eighty-­year-­old Shep Drazin addressed the assembly. He reflected on the connection between his life today and his childhood over seventy years ago: “Every year when I sit down at our Pesach Seder with my family and we read from the Haggadah, my mind always goes back to the war. We lived the ten plagues during that time. There was blood, there was lice, there were boils, there was darkness, and, of course, the slaying of the first-­born. . . .”1 The war resides within child survivors still, a constant presence. States Robert Krell, “What happened never goes away.” He repeats, “It never goes away.”2 Irene Hizme emphasizes, “I can only really say that no matter how hard I try, everything in my life always leads back to the Holocaust and Auschwitz—­it’s just always, always there beneath everything.”3 “I can’t help it,” states Perla Mark, now in her eighties, with a large and loving family that includes her husband, devoted children, grandchildren, and great-­grandchildren. “Even if I don’t want to think about it,” she declares, “I think about it and I start to cry.”4 Says Rachel Slagter with finality, “It never goes away until you close your eyes.”5

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Acknowledgments

This book came about by listening to child survivors’ stories. In the first instance, therefore, I want to express my deep appreciation to the child survivors who first encouraged me onto this path and allowed me into their lives and their pasts. It is their collective voice that gives life, texture, and meaning to my work. In particular, I thank Eva Brettler, Shep Drazin, Lya Frank, Natalie Gold, Rachelle Goldstein, Irene Hizme, Lelah Hopp, Marie Kaufman, Fred Manasse, Daisy Miller, Marguerite Mishkin, Eva Nathanson, Miriam Marie-­Claire Rakowski, Stefanie Seltzer, Ann Shore, Necha Sirotta, and Goldine Teicher. I hope they understand that their—­and so many others’—­histories are all pieces of the mosaic that makes up the larger story of child survivors of the Holocaust. The question of child survivors’ identities led me to Dr. Sarah Moskowitz, whose insight was critical in understanding the formation of those identities. On this same topic, I thank Dr. Robert Krell for his careful reading of chapter 7 and wise and constructive advice. Thank you, also, to Eva Fogelman for her thoughts on early child survivor groups and to the late Flo Kinsberg for her enthusiasm about my work. My appreciation goes to Sharon Kangisser Cohen, now at Yad Vashem, who invited me to me part of a group using the Kestenberg Testimony collection at Hebrew University. Participation in this consortium was the impetus behind my research for chapter 4 on postwar families. Likewise, I am grateful to Margarete Feinstein and Avi Patt for their work on displaced persons and our numerous related discussions. Christine Schmidt, a former grad school buddy and now a respected colleague at the Wiener Library, London, generously pointed me to resources available there. I am indebted to my colleague and friend Diane L. Wolf, for paving the way with her groundbreaking work on the postwar experience of hidden children in the Netherlands. Wolf ’s research is impeccable and her ear is keenly attuned to children’s voices, too. I value her careful reading and insightful comments on this manuscript. In the course of my research, the staff in many archives and libraries has offered invaluable guidance and resources. Dovid Reidell at the Kleinman Family Holocaust Center in Brooklyn, NY, was key in providing information from its collection as well as from his own personal collection from his grandfather, Mike Tress. Rabbi Moshe Kolodny at the Agudath Israel Archives, New York, was very kind to speak with me as well as refer me to others. The staff at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum (USHMM) has been unstintingly generous with help. Judy Cohen, head archivist, always extends 165

166 Acknowledgments

insightful assistance. Daniel Jordan was particularly helpful regarding statistics from the Survivor Registry now at the USHMM. In grappling with this question of child survivor demographics in the United States, Michael Berenbaum provided critical suggestions. Wesley Fisher at the Claims Conference gave essential information in the pursuit of these figures, as did Roman Kent. The testimony archives at both USC/Shoah Visual History Foundation and the USHMM have been the foundation for this work. When drawing from these archives I often reminded myself of my good fortune at the wealth of testimonies that are readily available. My thanks to both institutions for permission to use their collections. I acknowledge the USHMM for use of the following oral histories: David Bergman, Avrom Bichler, Paula Bornstein, Eva Cooper, Renee Fink, Ruth Finkler. Regina Gelb, Irene Hizme, Sara Kay, Julie Keefer, Nathan Kranowski, Doriane Kurz, Simone Weil Lipman, Sol (Shaya) Lurie, Ernie Marx, Malka Schick, Susie Schwartz, Lilli Silbiger, Chanie Singer, Rene Slotkin, Jack Trompettor, and Miri Weingarten. From the USC/Shoah Visual History Foundation I drew from the following: Edward Anders, Jack Arnel, Gerard Berg, David Bergman, Mirka-­Miki Berliner-­Pear, Michael Blain, Claire Boren, Abba Bronspiegel, Sam Burke, Kate Caro, Peter Daniels, Aaron Elster, Frieda Ende, Romana Farrington, Simon Feldman, Tama Fineberg, Kaja Finkler, Ester Fiszgop, Abraham Foxman, Raymond Fridmann, Betty Gold, Elly Gross, Jacob Jungreis, Eva Kahn, Ellen Kaidanow, Marie Kaufman, Roman Kent, Judith Koeppel, Ernst Kopstein, Boleslaw Kornatowski, Olga Liebhard, Gloria Lyon, Mirl Meisels, Daisy Miller, Solomon Miller, Marguerite Mishkin, Bella Pasternak, Halina Peabody, Mike Popik, Miriam Rakowski, Helen Rieder, Freda Rosenblatt, Ruth Rosenfeld, Simon Saks, Maya Schwartz, Susan Schwartz, Sidney Shachnow, Ann Shore, Rose Silberberg-­Skier, Rachel Slagter, Barbara Spector, Eli Stern, Sabina Wagschal, Bronia Weber, Henri Wittelsohn, and Ellen Zitkin. I would like to express my appreciation to the Hadassah-­Brandeis Institute for twice granting me senior scholars awards that supported work that was the basis of chapters 1 and 2. Some of the research for this book has appeared elsewhere in somewhat different forms. I thank Valentine Mitchell for permission to reprint a version of chapter 3 and to Taylor and Francis for permission to use previously published material in this work’s introduction and chapter 1. Although it has been over a decade since I finished my graduate studies at the Clark University Strassler Family Center for Holocaust and Genocide Studies, the training from my mentor, Professor Debórah Dwork, continues to guide and inform my work. I thank her for her landmark scholarship on children during the Holocaust, which opened my eyes to children’s perspectives and their importance to the historical record. I also appreciate our ongoing conversations, which always provide much food for thought. My good friends and relatives who show enthusiastic interest in my work: Toby Zaitchik, Judith Brodie, Mindy Menschell, Barbara Wettstein, Rae Drazin,

Acknowledgments 167

Yolande Weiss, and Deborah Cohen. And to my siblings Anita Minkin, Carol Ostroff, and Joseph Berkofsky, my thanks. If child survivors first pushed me onto this path, it is my own children and grandchildren who have sustained me along the way; my love and gratitude to Etan, Emily, Rami, Tamar, and Yair. And to the next generation; Dani, Beverly, and Maccabee—­pure joy. Lastly, but really ties for first place, I want to thank my high school sweetheart, my husband, Steve. How do I count the ways? This book quite simply could not have happened without his love and support every single day.

Notes

Prologue 1.  Birthday party for Natalie Gold, 25 July 2015, Los Angeles, CA. Comments by Dana Schwartz. 2.  EG 16–­38, Kestenberg Archive of Testimonies of Child Holocaust Survivors, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Israel, 8. I am indebted to the historian Debórah Dwork, who first acknowledged “my war began in 1945,” in Children with a Star: Jewish Youth in Nazi Europe (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1991), chap. 7.

Introduction 1.  Joyce Thompson, “War Orphans Find Home: Children from France Arrive in Decatur,” Decatur Review, 18 April 1947, 20. The newspaper misspelled Mary and Alfred’s last name as Frydman rather than the spelling Frydmann that the family used. 2.  Gertrude Samuels, “Children Who Have Known No Childhood,” New York Times Magazine, 9 March 1947, 12-13. 3.  Quoted in ibid. 4.  Stefanie Seltzer, President’s Message, World Federation of Jewish Child Survivors of the www​ .holocaustchild​ .org/. The Holocaust and Their Descendants (WFJCSHD), http://​ Conference on Jewish Material Claims against Germany also uses these parameters: www​ .claimscon​.org. 5.  The origin of this term will be discussed more fully in chapter 6. Sarah Moskovitz states that she was the first to coin it when she began working with and speaking about child survivors in 1982. Sarah Moskowitz, interview with the author, Los Angeles, CA, 18 November 2013. 6.  Not all child survivors do identify as such. For some, it is due to the fact that they were never reclaimed and were raised as non-­Jews and, thus, never identified as Holocaust survivors. Some discovered later in life that they were Jewish, but an untold number lived their lives never knowing that they were orphans and their biological parents were Jewish. There are no numbers that accurately reflect the number of orphans who remained unclaimed in gentile environments, especially the younger population of children who would not have remembered their prewar Jewish roots. 7.  Jewish Telegraphic Agency, “Nazis Killed Nine-­tenths of All Jewish Children in Europe, U.J.A. Leader Reports,” 31 January 1946. 8.  These numbers are approximate but they are ones that appear repeatedly in the literature. The range for the death rate appears to be 1.1 million–­1.5 million. See USHMM, “Children during the Holocaust,” http://​www​.ushmm​.org​/wlc​/en​/article​.php​?ModuleId​=​10005142, 4 November 2014. The contemporary report Jewish Children in Liberated Europe: Their Needs and the J.D.C. Child Care Work (New York: American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, 1946), YIVO Library, NY, also uses these figures. 9.  Jewish Telegraphic Agency, “Nazis Killed Nine-­tenths of All Jewish Children.” 10.  Leon Shapiro, Jewish Children in Liberated Europe: Their Needs and the J.D.C. Child Care Work (New York: American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, 1946), YIVO Library, NY. The American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee ( JDC) was founded in 1918 to assist poverty-­stricken Jews in Europe. It continued to aid Jews during the Holocaust, particularly

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Notes to Pages 3–8

in the Warsaw Ghetto. After the war it set up offices throughout Europe to help in the rescue and rehabilitation of European Jews, including surviving children. It funded programs in DP camps and also supported Jewish communities in Europe and mandate Palestine and the Israel. 11.  These numbers are consistent with those listed in the 1945–­1946 American Jewish Yearbook based on the census of 1931–­1939 (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1946), 638. 12.  The USHMM puts the number of Romanian Jews somewhat lower at 728,115. It also notes a death toll of Romanian Jews at 270,000. See Holocaust Encyclopedia, s.v. Romania, http://​ www​.ushmm​.org​/wlc​/en​/article​.php​?ModuleId​=​10005472. 13.  The JTA reports that 2,500 children are being cared for in Oeuvres de Secours aux Enfants (OSE) homes, which is less than the JDC report of 2,900. However the difference is likely attributable to the varying dates as the JTA report was from June 1945 while the JDC report was January 1946. During this time children were often moved from place to place. 14.  Diane L. Wolf reports a slightly lower figure in Beyond Anne Frank: Hidden Children and Postwar Families in Holland (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), 116; however, her source notes that the same number of children survived in Belgium, i.e., between 3,000 and 4,000, which is a significant range but the uppermost number does support the JDC report in both countries. 15.  Martin Gilbert, The Boys: The Story of 732 Young Concentration Camp Survivors (New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1996). 16.  See WFJCSHD website, http://​www​.holocaustchild​.org​/index​.php​/survivor​-­­search​ /seeking​-­­other​-c­­ hildren​-­­from​-­­sachsenhausen/. 17.  A JTA report puts the number of child survivors from Buchenwald and Belsen at 6,000. However, it does not give details about their ages and may include those who were older teens. 18.  Hagit Lavsky, “The Role of Children in the Rehabilitation Process of Survivors: The Case of Bergen Belsen,” in Children and the Holocaust: Symposium Presentations, Center for Advanced Holocaust Studies (Washington, DC: USHMM, 2004). From the Jewish Organization for Child Care, Children’s Aid Society, Jewish Chronicle, 13 July 1945, 1. 19.  Interview with Irene Hizme, RG-­50.549.01*0004, USHMM, RG-­50.549.01, Oral History, Oral History Interviews of the USHMM Post-­Holocaust Oral History Collection, Washington, DC. 20.  See Leonard Dinnerstein, America and Survivors of the Holocaust (New York: Columbia University Press, 1982), 288. 21.  The Conference on Jewish Material Claims Against Germany, founded in 1951, represents world Jewry in seeking compensation and restitution for Holocaust survivors and their heirs. For details see its website: http://​www​.claimscon​.org​/what​-­­we​-­­do/. Accessed 1 December 2016. 22.  Sergio DellaPergola, Review of Relevant Demographic Information on World Jewry, Final Report Presented to the Honorary Secretary Lawrence S. Eagleburger, Chairman the International Commission on Holocaust Era Insurance Claims ( Jerusalem, 2003), http://​www​ .claimscon​.org​/forms​/allocations​/Review​_Della​%20Pergola​%20ICHEIC​_​.pdf. Accessed 3 December 2016. 23.  Ron Miller, Pearl Beck, and Berna Torr, Jewish Survivors of the Holocaust Residing in the United States: Estimates and Projections, 2010–­2030, 23 October 2009, tables 2, 10. http://​www​ .claimscon​.org​/wp ​-­­content​/uploads​/2011​/10​/Jewish​- ­­Survivors ​-­­USA​_v2​-­­​_3​_25​_14​.pdf. Accessed 9 December 2016. 24.  This resonates with Wolf ’s findings on the postwar experiences of children in the Netherlands. See Beyond Anne Frank. 25.  Ella Zwerdling and Grace Polansky, “Foster Home Placement of Refugee Children,” Journal of Social Casework 30 ( July 1949): 277–­282. 26.  Dinnerstein, America and Survivors of the Holocaust.



Notes to Pages 12–14

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1. Liberation 1.  Interview with Sara Kay, RG 50.091*0082, USHMM, RG 50.091, Oral History, National Council of Jewish Women, Cleveland Section, USHMM, Washington, DC. 2.  This vision of children’s importance in nation building was not limited to the Jewish community, as Tara Zahra argues in The Lost Children: Reconstructing Europe’s Families after World War II (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2011). In fact most European countries saw children and families as critical to postwar national regeneration. 3.  While the majority of child survivors went to Israel, this work is not focused on the Zionist cause. For a discussion of efforts to help children immigrate to Palestine/Israel and their integration see Hana Yablonska, Survivors of the Holocaust: Israel after the War (New York: New York University Press, 1999). Yosef Grodzinsky, In the Shadow of the Holocaust: The Struggle between Jews and Zionists in the aftermath of World War II (New York: Common Courage Press, 2004) argues that survivors were exploited in order to further the Zionist cause. Avinoam Patt, Finding Home and Homeland: Jewish Youth and Zionism in the Aftermath of the Holocaust (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2009) takes a more nuanced look at Jewish youth in the US Zone of Occupation and what Zionism offered young people. 4.  Kaja Finkler, Interview 35068, 20 October 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 5.  Jack Arnel, Interview 35068, 29 August 1996, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 6.  Bella Simon Pasternak, Interview 15621, 22 October 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/ Shoah Foundation. 7.  Ibid. 8.  The United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA) established the Kloster Indersdorf children’s center to house thousands of non-­German children who were left homeless after the war. In 1946 it became an exclusively Jewish home and kibbutz until it closed in 1948. The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum has initiated the “Remember Me” project, which seeks to identify and learn more about what happened to children using contemporary photographs of children taken at various homes in postwar Europe. USHMM, Remember Me? http://​rememberme​.ushmm​.org​/gallery​.php. Accessed 10 June 2016. 9.  USHMM, Remember Me? https://​rememberme​.ushmm​.org​/updates​/lipot​-­­farkosz​ -­­identified. Accessed 10 June 2016. 10.  Ibid. Although Lipot’s photo failed to yield results, a fellow survivor gave his own US relatives details about the Farkosz brothers, and their friend’s kin were able to locate their father’s siblings in New York. Those relatives provided the necessary documents to bring Lipot and Erwin to America. 11.  An advertisement with photo published in the Jidisze Cajtung by a Jewish DP mother in Bergen-­Belsen seeking information about her daughter, Estusia Haberman, who was born in Łódź and deported to Auschwitz in 1944. USHMM, Photo Archives #29716. Courtesy of Abraham Greenstein, Copyright, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. 12.  The Central Location Index, Inc., was cofounded in 1944 by the National Council of Jewish Women (NCJW). See Ben Winett, “The Story of Service to the Foreign Born,” American Jewish Historical Society, n.d., circa 1969. The members included the American Committee for Christian Refugees, the American Friends Service Committee, the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, HIAS, the International Migration Service, the National Council of Jewish Women, the National Refugee Service, and the Unitarian Service Committee. 13.  “Establish Clearing House to Locate Lost Relatives,” Cleveland Jewish News, 25 June 1945, http://​digital​.olivesoftware​.com​/Olive​/APA​/ClevelandJewishNewsFree​/default​.aspx​ #panel​=​search​&​search​=​1. Accessed 1 November 2016.

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Notes to Pages 14–19

14.  The Central Tracing Service (distinct from the US Central Tracing Index) was established in Europe in 1943 but taken over first by Supreme Headquarters of the Allied Expeditionary Forces (SHAEF) in 1944 and then by UNRRA in late 1945, at which point it largely functioned as a tracing service for individuals. It became the International Tracing Service in 1948. For more on the history of the ITS see https://​www​.its​-­­arolsen​.org​/en​/about​-­­its​/history/ and a recent work by Suzanne Brown-­Fleming, Nazi Persecution and Postwar Repercussions: The International Tracing Service Archive and Holocaust Research (Latham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield in association with the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, 2016). 15.  Kindersucharchive of the International Tracing Service, https://​collections​.ushmm​.org​ /search​/catalog​/pa1165338. The ITS was started by the Red Cross and then taken over by the International Refugee Organization. 16.  Oeuvres se Secours aux Enfants (OSE) was a Jewish childcare agency established in 1912. During World War II it went underground and became a resistance organization focused on saving Jewish children. After the war it continued with their rehabilitation. For a discussion of OSE’s wartime activities see Renée Poznanski’s Jews in France during World War II (Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press in association withy the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, 2001). 17.  Interview with Sol Lurie, RG-­50.549.02*0031, USHMM, RG-­50.549.02, Oral History, Oral History Interviews of the USHMM Post-­Holocaust Oral History Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. 18.  Jacques Ribons, interview with author, tape recording, Los Angeles, CA, 8 September 2010. 19.  Pasternak, interview. 20.  Interview 22–­ 9_PS-­SG, 24 January 1993, Kestenberg Archive, Jerusalem. Pearl is a pseudonym. 21.  Ibid. 22.  Tama Fineberg, Interview 17867, 28 July 1996, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 23.  “Tracing the Children of the Holocaust,” BBC News Magazine, 7 May 2013, http://​www​ .bbc​.com​/news​/magazine​-­­32589411. 24.  Ibid. 25.  Letter from Etta Deutsch, Executive Director, Central Location Index, to American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, Warsaw, IRO Ludwigsberg, Central Committee of Liberated Jews, Munich, 22 January 1948, American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee Archives, http://​archives​.jdc​.org/. 26.  Rivka Wolbe, Faith in the Night (New York: Judaica Press, 2009), 132–­133. 27.  Natalie Gold, interview with the author, tape recording, Los Angeles, 28 July 2009. Natalie has no clear memories of her early experiences before the age of four when he father claimed her. In her interview Natalie Gold repeats what was told to her by her father. 28.  Ibid. 29.  Presentation by Lea Eliash at the Rhode Island Holocaust Memorial Museum, 9 November 1991. 30.  Rabbi Ephraim Oshry, author of Shaalot U’Tshvot Mi’Maakamin, subsequently published in English as Responsa from the Holocaust, was an Orthodox rabbi aligned with the Agudath Israel, founded in 1912 as an umbrella organization for observant Jews who opposed the Zionist movement. He survived the Kovno ghetto and worked to retrieve Jewish children and place them in religious environments after the war. 31.  Eliash, presentation. In the interwar period, Lea’s father was very involved in the establishment of a local Tarbut school, a secular Hebrew-­speaking school system that was part of the Haskala movement, and where Lea was educated.



Notes to Pages 19–24

173

32.  By the time the Eliash family was ready to immigrate, Congress passed the DP Act of 1948. This, along with the Truman Directive, gave nonfamily such as Jewish agencies, employers, and others the ability to provide affidavits to DPs and facilitated the family’s immigration to Rhode Island. 33.  Eliash, presentation. 34.  Finkler, interview. 35.  Ibid. 36.  See Shimon Redlich’s Life In Transit: Jews in Postwar Łódź, 1945–­1950 (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2010) for an analysis of how Jews returned to and became a community in postwar Łódź. 37.  Finkler, interview. 38.  Eva Brettler, interview by author, tape recording, Los Angeles, 6 July 2014. 39.  Ibid. 40.  Roman Kent, Interview 14613, 29 April 1996, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 41.  Shep Drazin, interview by author, tape recording, Los Angeles, CA, 3 November 2015. 42.  Ibid. 43.  Rabbi Sholom Friedmann, telephone interview with author, tape recording, 12 January 2016. The author is grateful to Rabbi Friedmann for speaking about his father and aunt’s experiences as well as discussing the research he conducted on his grandmother’s postwar whereabouts. 44.  Letter from Sgt. Leo Friedman to Dr. A. Leon Kubowitzky, Secretary General, World Jewish Congress, 24 November 1944, World Jewish Congress Records, Series D, Relief and Rescue Departments, 1939–­1969, D 71, Folder 2, American Jewish Archives, Clevland, OH. 45.  For biblical references to orphans see Exodus 22:22–­24, Deuteronomy 10:18, Deuteronomy 14:29, Deuteronomy 16:11, and Job 31:21–­22. There are numerous others. 46.  Report by the Commission on the Status of Jewish War-­Orphans in Europe, 6 June 1947, World Jewish Congress Records, Series D, Relief and Rescue Departments, 1939–­1969, D 77, Folder 11, American Jewish Archives, Cleveland, OH. 47.  “Jews to Seek Return of 10,000 Children,” New York Times, 24 February 1946. 48.  Michael Marrus, “The Vatican and the Custody of Jewish Child Survivors after the Holocaust,” Holocaust and Genocide Studies 21, no. 3 (Winter 2007): 378–­403. Michael Bar-­ Zohar also makes reference to this in his biography of Rabbi Herzog’s son, Yacov Herzog: A Biography (London: Halben, 2005), 55–­57. See also Jewish Telegraphic Agency, “Pope Will Help to Recover Jewish Children from Catholic Institutions, Chief Rabbi Reports,” 31 March 1946, http://​www​.jta​.org​/1946​/03​/31​/archive​/pope​-­­will​-­­help​-r­­ ecover​-­­jewish​-­­children​-­­from​ -­­catholic​-­­institutions​-­­chief​-r­­ abbi​-­­reports. Accessed 15 November 2015. 49.  Jewish Telegraphic Agency, “Palestine Chief Rabbi Received by Dutch Queen; Pleads for Return of Jewish Orphans,” 18 June 1946, http://​www​.jta​.org​/1946​/06​/18​/archive​/palestine​ -­­chief​-­­rabbi​-r­­ eceived​-­­by​-d­­ utch​-q­­ ueen​-­­pleads​-­­for​-­­return​-­­of​-­­jewish​-­­orphans. Accessed 15 November 2015. 50.  Ibid. 51.  Rebecca Benhamou, “Jewish Children Hidden Twice Over by the Church,” Times of Israel, 27 May 2013, http://​www​.timesofisrael​.com​/jewish​-­­children​-­­hidden​-­­twice ​-­­over​-­­by​-­­the​-­­church/. Also for an analysis of the Finaly Affair, see Zahra, Lost Children, 138–­143. 52.  Joel Fishman has written extensively about the Jewish orphans in the Netherlands and the Beekman case. See “The Annike Beekman Affair and the Dutch News Media,” Jewish Social Studies 25, no. 1 (1978): 3–­24. Diane L. Wolf has also explored the controversy in Beyond Anne

174

Notes to Pages 24–29

Frank: Hidden Children and Postwar Families in Holland (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), 121–­122. 53.  Yad Vashem’s website indicates that in Western Europe the highest number of documented rescuers resided in (in descending order) the Netherlands, France, and Belgium. The statistics do not differentiate who those rescued were, i.e., adult or child. See http://​www​ .yadvashem​.org​/righteous​/statistics. 54.  USHMM, Holocaust Encyclopedia, s.v. “Hidden Children: Quest for Family,” http://​ www​.ushmm​.org​/wlc​/en​/article​.php​?ModuleId​=​10006127. Accessed 11 January 2016. 55.  Report from Mr. David Stein to Vaad Hatzala, 6 December 1945, Rescue Children, Inc. Collection, Box 44, Folder 2, Yeshiva University Archives, Mendel Gottesman Library, New York, NY. 56.  For more about the Vaad’s wartime activities see David Wyman, The Abandonment of the Jews (New York: The New Press, 2007) and Efraim Zuroff ’s The Response of Orthodox Jewry in the United States: The Activities of the Vaad Ha-Hatzala rescue Committee, 1939–1945 (New York: KTAV, 2000). 57.  Mary Braggiotti, “Rescue Children,” New York Post, 11 July 1947. 58.  Hebert Tenzler, transcript of interview by David Kranzler, Rescue Children, Inc. Collection, Box 16, Folder 19–­11, Yeshiva University Archives, Mendel Gottesman Library, New York, NY. 59.  Ibid. 60.  Ibid. 61.  Most of the children’s homes were funded by the World Jewish Congress and the JDC but the Vaad and Agudath Israel had separate fundraising for their homes. 62.  Documents in both the JDC and Rescue Children, Inc. Archives note Fublaines as a school funded by Rescue Children, Inc. 63.  Interview with Irene Guttman Hizme, RG-­50.549.01*0004, USHMM, RG-­50.549.01, Oral History, Oral History Interviews of the USHMM Post-­Holocaust Oral History Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. 64.  Marguerite M., telephone interview with author, tape recording, 1 June 2011. In certain instances, I have not used the interviewee’s full name at her request. 65.  Ibid. This seems strange that Marguerite would be instructed to say kaddish, as it in not required before bat-­/bar-­mitzvah age nor would it be expected of a girl. It seems likely that there were older children in the group to whom saying kaddish was directed or even more likely that it was part of a holiday yizkor service, when kaddish is generally recited by both males and females (though not those who are pre–­bar mitzvah age). 66.  While I focus on religious children’s homes these experiences are typical of nonreligious ones, which could be terribly harsh, too. 67.  Wolf, Beyond Anne Frank, 273–­274. 68.  Isaac Millman, interview with the author, New York, NY, 19 September 2008. Isaac describes a child being locked in a closet as punishment for misbehaving. Maya Schwartz, in her interview with the author, Los Angeles, CA, 4 December 2008, recalls similar mistreatment in a children’s home. There are numerous others. 69.  Bronia Weber, Interview 27923, 21 January 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 70.  Simon Saks, Interview 463, 3 January 1995, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 71.  Mary Berges, telephone interview with the author, tape recording, 7 January 2016. 72.  Goldine Teicher, telephone interview with the author, tape recording, 18 August 2010. 73.  TRANSLATION (confidential report about the saving of children) ACTION FROM RUSSIA CARRIED THROUGH BY AGUDAS JISROEL RUMANIA, Agudath Israel Archives, New York, NY.



Notes to Pages 29–34

175

74.  Ibid. 75.  Ibid. 76.  Freda Rosenblatt, Interview 523, 10 January 1995, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah

Foundation. 77.  In 1959, Rabbi Portugal and his son were arrested for “illegal activities” by the Romanian government. They were eventually given asylum in the United States and settled in Brooklyn where he continued his work helping Jewish immigrants. 78.  Jewish Telegraphic Agency, “5,000 Jewish Children Still Unclaimed in Europe, Vaad Hatzala Aide Says,” http://​www​.jta​.org​/1947​/01​/22​/archive​/5000​-­­jewish​-­­children​-­­still​ -­­unclaimed​-­­in​-­­europe​-­­vaad​-­­hatzala​-­­aide​-­­says. 79.  Report by the Commission on the Status of Jewish War-­Orphans in Europe, 6 June 1947. This number is higher than others, such as Rabbi Leybel, noted at that time. There is no exact figure for the number of children in gentile homes. 80.  “Orphans’ Return to Judaism Urged,” New York Times, 19 June 1947. 81.  Letter to Gerhart Riegner from Kurt Grossman, Box D 71, File 6, 9 December 1947, MS-­ 361, World Jewish Congress Records, American Jewish Archives, Cincinnati, OH. 82.  Leon Shapiro, Jewish Children in Liberated Europe: Their Needs and the J.D.C. Child Care Work (New York: American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, 1946), the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee Archives, Folder, Publications and Press Releases, December 1945–­February 1946. 83.  Letter to Mike Tress from Moshe Swerdloff, 25 August 1948. Collection of Dovid Reidell, grandson of Mike Tress. Copy given to author by Dovid Reidell. 84.  Moshe Swerdloff, oral history interview by Dr. David Kranzler, n.d. Collection of Dovid Reidell. Copy given to author by Dovid Reidell. 85.  Letter to Mike Tress from Moshe Swerdloff, n.d. Collection of Dovid Reidell. Copy given to author by Dovid Reidell. 86.  Miriam Rakowski, Interview 42161, 17 April 1998, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 87.  Ibid. 88.  Ibid.

2. “Our Greatest Treasures” 1.  Lenka Schönberger, Letter to Rescue Children, Inc., from Liberec, Czechoslovakia, February 1946, Rescue Children, Inc. Collection, Box 1, Folder 150–­174, Yeshiva University Archives, Mendel Gottesman Library, New York, NY. Lenka, now Lily Hollander, ended up in Australia, not America. Lily Hollander, Interview 7170, 13 December 1995, Visual History Archive, USC/ Shoah Foundation. 2.  US Statutes at Large, Vol. LXII, C. 647, 1010 (1948) in Beatrice Glantz, “Factors in the Adjustment of New American Children in Their First Year in the United States: A Study of Twenty-­eight Unaccompanied Children under Care of the Jewish Family and Children’s Service of Boston” (Master’s thesis, Simmons College, May 1950), 2. 3.  Report by Dr. A. Leon Kubowitzki, National Board Meeting, 26 April 1945, Series D, Subseries 4, 71–­8. MS-­361, World Jewish Congress Records, American Jewish Archives, Cincinnati, OH. 4.  The World Jewish Congress is an umbrella organization that was founded when 230 delegates from thirty-­two countries met in Geneva in 1936 to respond to increasing antisemitism in Germany and Europe. According to its website, “The main aims of the new organization were to mobilize the Jewish people and the democratic forces against the Nazi onslaught, to fight for equal political and economic rights everywhere, to support the establishment of a

176

Notes to Pages 35–37

Jewish National Home in Palestine, and to create a world-­wide Jewish representative body based on the concept of the unity of the Jewish people, democratically organized and able to act on matters of common concern.” See http://​www​.worldjewishcongress​.org​/en​/about​ /history. Accessed 11 November 2016. 5.  Minutes of World Jewish Congress’s Committee for Health and Child Care, New York, 2 May 1945, Series D: Relief and Rescue Departments, 1939–­1969, Subseries: Child Care Division, 1942–­1953, Box D 77, File 5, MS-­361, World Jewish Congress Records, American Jewish Archives, Cincinnati, OH. 6.  Aims and Objectives of the American Committee for the Rehabilitation of European Jewry, 3 August 1945, World Jewish Congress, Child Care Division, Box D 72, File 2, MS-­361, World Jewish Congress Records, American Jewish Archives, Cincinnati, OH. 7.  Aryeh Tartakover, Minutes of First Meeting of Committee for Relief to Children, n.d., World Jewish Congress, Child Care Division, 1942–­1953, Box D 76, File 7, MS-­361, World Jewish Congress Records, American Jewish Archives, Cincinnati, OH. 8.  See Merle E. Curti, American Philanthropy Abroad: A History (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1963) in which he notes that this model originated in Great Britain in 1937 and was first used in Spain with children who were affected by the Spanish Civil War. 9.  Letter from Louise Wise on the Child Care Division of the Women’s Division of the American Jewish Congress and the American Jewish Congress, n.d., World Jewish Congress, Child Care Division, 1942–­1953, Box D 76, File 7, MS-­361, World Jewish Congress Records, American Jewish Archives, Cincinnati, OH. 10.  Ibid. 11.  Letter from Louise Wise to Aryeh Tartakover, 13 September 1945, World Jewish Congress Series D, Box D 76, File 7, MS-­361, World Jewish Congress Records, American Jewish Archives, Cincinnati, OH. 12.  Memorandum on the Foster Parents Plan to the Chapters and Councils of the AJC and the Women’s Division, American Committee for the Relief of European Jewish Children, World Jewish Congress, Child Care Division, Box D 72, File 4, MS-­361, World Jewish Congress Records, American Jewish Archives, Cincinnati, OH. 13.  Jewish Telegraphic Agency, “U.S. Jewish Leaders Gather to Map Plans for Extensive Aid to Jews in Europe and Palestine,” 16 December 1945, http://​www​.jta​.org​/1945​/12​/16​/archive​ /u​-­­s​-­­jewish​-­­leaders​-­­gather​-­­to​-­­map​-­­plans​-­­for​-­­extensive​-­­aid​-­­to​-­­jews​-­­in​-­­europe​-­­and​-­­palestine. Accessed 3 March 2016. 14.  “2,600 Hear Appeals for Help of Jews: Relief for Homeless in Europe Urged by Leaders in UJA Drive for $100,000,000,” New York Times, 14 January 1946. 15.  “Foster Parents Wanted for Jewish Children,” pamphlet, World Jewish Congress, Child Care Division, Box D 73, File 5, MS-­361, World Jewish Congress Records, American Jewish Archives, Cincinnati, OH. 16.  “They Need Your Help  .  .  .” 12 February 1949, http://​ www​.nyu​.edu​/library​/bobst​ /collections​/exhibits​/tam​/JLC​/7pic1​.html. Accessed 4 March 2016. 17.  Ellen Hild, Report, 1946, World Jewish Congress, Child Care Division, Box D 72, File 4, MS-­361, World Jewish Congress Records, American Jewish Archives, Cincinnati, OH. 18.  Women’s Wear Daily, 1946, Rescue Children, Inc. Collection, Box 16, Folder 19–­11, Yeshiva University Archives, Mendel Gottesman Library, New York, NY. 19.  “HERE’S A PRACTICAL NEW YEAR RESOLUTION FOR YOU . . . ,” Louis J. Septimus, Chairman, Guardian Sponsorship Plan, Agudath Israel Youth Council of America, Inc., 1 October 1946, Vaad Hatzalah Collection, Box 45, Folder 34, Yeshiva University Archives, Mendel Gottesman Library, New York, NY.



Notes to Pages 37–40

177

20.  Efraim Zuroff. Response of Orthodox Jewry in the United States: The Activities of the Vaad Ha-Hatzala Rescue Committee, 1939–1945 (New York: KTAV Publishing, 2000). 21.  Letter from A. L. Sachar, National Director, B’nai Brith Hillel Foundations at American Universities, to Vaad Haztzalah Rehabilitation Committee, 10 July 1946, Vaad Hahatzalah Collection, Box 45, Folder 2–­1, Yeshiva University Archives, Mendel Gottesman Library, New York, NY. 22.  New York Post, 1947, Rescue Children, Inc. Collection, Box 16, Folder 19–­11, Yeshiva University Archives, Mendel Gottesman Library, New York, NY. 23.  St. Louis Dispatch, 18 September 1947, Rescue Children, Inc. Collection, Box 16, Folder 19–­11, Yeshiva University Archives, Mendel Gottesman Library, New York, NY. 24.  Jewish Independent, Friday, August 22, 1947, 7. http://​ digital​.olivesoftware​.com​/Olive​ /APA​/ClevelandJewishNewsFree​/default​.aspx​?action​=​tab​&​tab​=​search​#panel​=​search​&​ search​=​0. Accessed 1 November 2016. 25.  Yonkers Times, 20 September 1947, Rescue Children, Inc. Collection, Box 16, Folder 19–­11, Yeshiva University Archives, Mendel Gottesman Library, New York, NY. 26.  Ellen Hilb, Child Care Division Report, November 1945–­February, 1946, World Jewish Congress, Child Care Division, Box D 73, File 4, World Jewish Congress Records, American Jewish Archives, Cincinnati, OH. 27.  Letter from Adolph Held, Chairman, Jewish Labor Committee, “To the Secretaries of the Women’s Branches, Women’s Clubs and Auxiliaries of the Workman’s Circle and Various Other Women’s Organizations,” 29 April 1947, Jewish Labor Committee Archives, Series V. Departments, Chapters and Divisions, 1940–­2009, Women’s Division, Box 284, Folder 58, Tamiment Library, New York University. 28.  Ibid. 29.  Letter from May Bromberg, Chairman, JLC Women’s Division, to Miss Gertrude Simon, Jewish Labor Committee Archives, Series II, Child Adoption Program Correspondence, Box 125, Folder 4, Tamiment Library, New York University. 30.  Letter from May Vladeck Bromberg, Chairman, JLC Women’s Division, inviting members to “Songs of the Ghettos and Camps,” on 15 June 1948, Jewish Labor Committee Archives, Series II, Child Adoption Program Correspondence. Box 125, Folder 4, Tamiment Library, New York University. 31.  Jewish Labor Committee Records, Series V, Departments, Chapters, and Divisions, 1940–­2009, Women’s Division, Box 284, Folder 57, Tamiment Library, New York University. 32.  Edith Kroll, Executive Secretary, Women’s Division of the Jewish Labor Committee, circa 1950, Jewish Labor Committee Archives, Series V, Departments, Chapters, and Divisions, 1940–­2009, Women’s Division, Box 284, Folder 57, Tamiment Library, New York University. 33.  Letter to Mrs. Magda Bierman, Chair, Busy Buddies, from Arthur B. Rosenkrantz, National Director, Vaad HaHatzalah, 12 June 1946, Vaad HaHatzalah Collection, Box 45, Folder 2–­1, Yeshiva University Archives, Mendel Gottesman Library, New York, NY. 34.  Catherine Varschaver, Report on Correspondence Service for European Jewish Children, April 1946, 1, WJC, Child Care Division, Box D 74, File 12, MS-­361, World Jewish Congress Records, American Jewish Archives, Cincinnati, OH. 35.  Catherine Varschaver, Correspondence Service for European Jewish Children, Vol. III, no. 1–­4, 1, WJC, Child Care Division, Box D 73, File 4, MS-­361, World Jewish Congress Records, American Jewish Archives, Cincinnati, OH. 36.  Ibid. 37.  A. Leon Kubowitzki, Unity in Dispersion: A History of the World Jewish Congress (New York: World Jewish Congress, 1948).

178

Notes to Pages 40–45

38.  Ibid. 39.  Jewish Telegraphic Agency, “UJA Estimates Needs for 1947 at $215,000,000; Raised

$102,000,000 in Current Drive,” 1 December 1946, http://​www​.jta​.org​/1946​/12​/01​/archive​ /uja​-­­estimates​-­­needs​-­­for​-­­1947​-­­at​-­­215000000​-­­raised​-­­102000000​-­­in​-­­current​-­­drive. Accessed 3 March 2016. In 1946, this was the largest sum ever raised by American Jewry. 40.  Emanuel Patt, Jewish Children Return to Life (New York: Jewish Labor Committee, 1947). JLC Records, Subseries Supplement, V:A:2, Box 53A, Reel 161. 41.  The Jewish Labor Committee was aligned with the American Jewish Congress. 42.  Letter from Children in Le Mans to JLC Women, May 1948, Jewish Labor Committee Records, Series I, Administrative and Organizational Records, Box 70, Folder 13, Reel 209, Tamiment Library, New York University. 43.  Judging from the formal tone of the Le Mans letter, it may have been written by the staff and not the children, or written with adults’ prompting. 44.  Isaac Millman, interview with author, tape recording, New York, NY, 19 September 2008. 45.  Millman, interview. 46.  Ibid. 47.  “War Orphan Care Planned by Group,” New York Times, 11 January 1946. 48.  Letter to Mr. Max Bressler, American Jewish Congress, 24 May 1946, Jewish Labor Committee Records, Series II, Child Adoption Program Correspondence, Box 124, Tamiment Library, New York University. 49.  Letter to May Bromberg from Mrs. B., Director JLC Women’s Division, Jewish Labor Committee Records, Series II, Child Adoption Program Correspondence, Box 125, Folder 4, Tamiment Library, New York University. 50.  Letter from May Bromberg to Mrs. B., Jewish Labor Committee Records, Series II, Child Adoption Program Correspondence. Box 125, Folder 4, Tamiment Library, New York University. 51.  Leo Wulman, M.D., “European Jewish Children in the Postwar Period,” from a paper presented to the XIXth Yearly Conference of the Yiddish Scientific Institute, January 1948, American OSE Review 5, no. 1–­2 (Winter–­Spring, 1948), New York: American Committee for the Protection of the Health of Jews-­OSE, Inc., 4. 52.  United Jewish Appeal, “Facts” brochure in its 1946 Save the Survivors Campaign, Vaad HaHatzalah Collection, Box 45, 1–­3, n.d., probably early 1946, as it is after the Truman Directive (December 1945) but designed for the 1946 campaign. 53.  Rabbi Novick, “Quick Quotes: Thirty Seconds With . . . ,” Grossinger News, Ferndale, New York, 13 September 1947. 54.  Quoted in Jewish Telegraphic Agency, “Jewish Groups Hail Truman Directive on Refugees, Offer Aid to Speed Immigration,” 24 December 1945, http://​www​.jta​.org​/1945​/12​/24​ /archive​/jewish​-­­groups​-­­hail​-­­truman​-­­directive​-­­on​-­­refugees​-­­offer​-­­aid​-­­to​-­­speed​-­­immigration. Accessed 6 June 2016. Also in New York Times, 22 December 1945. 55.  See Beth  B. Cohen, Case Closed: Holocaust Survivors in Postwar America (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press in association with the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, 2006) and Leonard Dinnerstein, America and Survivors of the Holocaust (New York: Columbia University Press, 1982) for a fuller discussion of the Truman directive and corporate affidavits. 56.  Jewish Telegraphic Agency, “Orphans from Europe Will Be Reunited with Relatives in U.S. and Latin America,” 17 July 1946, http://​www​.jta​.org​/1946​/07​/17​/archive​/jewish​ -­­orphans​-­­from​-­­europe​-­­will​-­­be​-­­reunited​-­­with​-­­relatives​-­­in​-­­u​-­­s-​ ­­and​-­­latin​-­­america. Accessed 10 November 2016. 57.  Curti, American Philanthropy Abroad.



Notes to Pages 45–50

179

58.  Evelyn Smith, “America Welcomes Displaced Orphans,” The Child 14 ( July 1949): 8. 59.  EJCA was a branch of the United Service for New Americans (USNA). For more about

the agency see Lyman Cromwell White, 300,000 New Americans: The Epic of a Modern Immigrant-­Aid Service (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1957). 60.  “795 Immigrants Reach US Haven, First Under Truman’s Alien Order,” New York Times, 21 May 1946. 61.  Bella Pasternak, Interview 15621, 27 May 1996, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation.. 62.  Ibid. The three Cs were the logo for the USCOMM. 63.  Ibid. 64.  Ibid. 65.  Rabbi Friedmann, telephone interview with author, 6 January 2016. 66.  Ruth Steinfeld, Interview 6816, 15 December 1995, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 67.  EJCA Case file, Martin and Sadie B., 6 June 1948–­20 May 1948, 1–­7, GJCA, RG 249, MKM 8.23, Roll 23, File 401, YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, New York. 68.  Ruth Rosenfeld, Interview 31599, 28 July 1998, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 69.  Ibid. 70.  Ibid. 71.  Marguerite Mishkin, telephone interview with the author, tape recording, 1 June 2011. 72.  Letter to Mr. Lichtenstein, c/o the Jewish Labor Committee from Rabbi M., 14 July 1949. Copy given to author from Marguerite M.’s personal collection. 73.  Letter from Dr. G. Gliksman, Executive Director, Jewish Labor Committee, Chicago Office, to Mrs. M., 5 October 1949. Copy given to author from Marguerite M.’s personal collection. 74.  Letter from M. Alter, Comité Center Israelite, Brussels, to Mrs. M., 15 October 1949. Copy given to author from Marguerite M.’s personal collection. 75.  Ibid. 76.  Letter to Mrs. Sidney Abelson, The Friendly Club, from Dorothy Klein, Assistant Director, Foster Parents Division, Labor Zionist Committee, 9 May 1950. Copy given to author from Marguerite M.’s personal collection. 77.  Interview with Irene Guttman Hizme, RG-­50.549.01*0004, USHMM, RG-­50.549.01, Oral History, Oral History Interviews of the USHMM Post-­Holocaust Oral History Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. 78.  “Orphans Clothed,” Life, 17 November 1947, 57. 79.  Hizme, USHMM interview. 80.  Kate Caro, Interview 42364, 19 May 1998, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 81.  Irene Guttman Hizme, telephone interview with author, 3 September 2008. 82.  Millman, interview.

3. In America 1.  “795 Immigrants Reach U.S. Haven, First Under Truman’s Alien Order; War Refugees: For Them Life Begins Anew in the Land of Liberty,” New York Times, 21 May 1946. 2.  Quoted in “War Orphans Take Life in Stride,” New York Times, 20 July 1946. A similar article by Dorothea Anderson appeared in the Washington Post, “It’s Operation Unaccompanied,” 23 June 1946. 3.  Gertrude Samuels, “Children Who Have Known No Childhood,” New York Times Magazine, 9 March 1947, 12-13. 9 March 1947.

180

Notes to Pages 51–58

4.  Hilda Meyerowitz and William Posner, Manual on the Children of the European Jewish Children’s Aid in Care of the Foster Home Bureau, December 1945, 3–­5. German-­Jewish Children’s Aid (GJCA), RG 249, Folder 95, MKM 8.5, YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, New York. 5.  Beatrice Glantz, “Factors in the Adjustment of New American Children in Their First Year in the United States: A Study of Twenty-­eight Unaccompanied Children under Care of the Jewish Family and Children’s Service of Boston” (Master’s thesis, Simmons College, May 1950), Author’s collection. 6.  Zelda Strickon, A Study of European Children under Care of the Foster Home Department of the Jewish Child Care Association of New York, as of January 1947, Table I. Age, Sex, and Number of Years in Care of European Children, GJCA, RG 249, Folder 284, MKM 8.16, YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, New York. 7.  The Children’s Bureau Legacy: Ensuring the Right to Childhood, https://​cb100​.acf​.hhs​.gov​ /sites​/default​/files​/cb​_ebook​/cb​_ebook​.pdf, 85. Accessed 25 March 2016. 8.  Glantz, “Factors in the Adjustment.” 9.  Mary Frydmann Berges, telephone interview with the author, tape recording, 7 January 2016. 10.  Joyce Thompson, “War Orphans Find Home: Children from France Arrive in Decatur,” Decatur Review, 18 April 1947. 11.  Berges, interview. 12.  Ibid. 13.  Lea Weems, telephone interview with the author, tape recording, 3 January 2002. 14.  Perhaps this also has to do with the fact that OSE was a leading child care agency and monitored the children during WWII in France, too. Elizabeth Hirsch, “Adjustment of Immigrant Children in the U.S.A.,” American OSE Review 6, no. 1 (Spring 1949): 11–­20. 15.  Deborah S. Portnoy, “The Adolescent Immigrant,” Jewish Social Service Quarterly (1948): 268–­273. 16.  Letter to Mrs. Rhea Jacobs, Refugee Secretary, Albany Jewish Social Service, from Hilda Meyerowitz, Field Representative, EJCA, 5 November 1948, GJCA, RG 249, MKM 8.23, Roll 23, File 401, YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, New York. 17.  Chana B. EJCA Report, 28 April 1950, 1, GJCA, RG 249, MKM 8.23, Folder 359, YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, New York. 18.  Ibid. 19.  Ibid. 20.  Ibid. 21.  EJCA Casefile, Martin and Sadie B., 6 June 1948–­20 May 1948, 1–­7, GJCA, RG 249, MKM 8.23, Roll 23, File 401, YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, New York. 22.  Ibid. 23.  Ibid. 24.  Fred Manasse, telephone interview with the author, tape recording, 29 July 2010. 25.  Although Fred notes that this was under the jurisdiction of the Jewish Child Care Association ( JCCA), in all likelihood, this was the temporary reception center that the European Jewish Children’s Aid ran for orphans. However, EJCA, the national organization, worked with local cooperating agencies, like JCCA, around the country in an effort to follow up on the children’s progress. 26.  Manasse, interview. 27.  Ibid. 28.  Ibid. 29.  Ibid. 30.  Ibid. 31.  Ibid.



Notes to Pages 58–64

181

32.  Ibid. 33.  Since New York had the largest Jewish community in the United States, those sponsored

by relatives usually ended up in New York, at least initially. 34.  USNA was the national umbrella organization for survivors established in 1946, of which EJCA was a branch that supervised the placement and adjustment of children. See Lyman Cromwell White, 300,000 New Americans: The Epic of a Modern Immigrant-­Aid Service (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1957). 35.  Special Study of Adolescents Living with Relatives, 12 July 1948, United Service for New Americans Records, I-­93; box 21, folder 9, American Jewish Historical Society, New York, NY, and Boston, MA. 36.  Marguerite M., telephone interview with the author, tape recording, 1 June 2011. 37.  Glantz, “Factors in the Adjustment.” 38.  See Diane L. Wolf, Beyond Anne Frank: Hidden Children and Postwar Families in Holland (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007).Her research with the postwar experiences of hidden children in the Netherlands found similar dynamics within their new European and Israeli families. 39.  Portnoy, “Adolescent Immigrant.” 40.  Harry E., Casefile Report, Box 5, File 130, April 1948–­June1949, RG I-­065, Jewish Family and Children’s Services, Denver, American Jewish Historical Society, New York, NY, and Boston, MA. 41.  Ibid., 11 June 1948, 5. 42.  Ibid., 6. 43.  Ibid. Letter from Alfred Neumann, Director, Jewish Family and Children’s Services, Denver to Lotte Marcuse, Director of Placements, EJCA, 22 February 1949, American Jewish Historical Society, New York, NY, and Boston, MA. 44.  Harry E., Casefile Report. 45.  Irene Hizme, telephone interview with the author, 29 December 2016. 46.  Bella Pasternak, Interview 15621, 27 May 1996, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. Also in USHMM, Interview with Bella Pasternak, RG-­50.106*0081, USHMM, RG-­50.106, Oral History, Oral History Volunteer Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. 47.  Roman Kent, Interview 14613, 29 April 1996, Visual History Archive, USC USC/Shoah Foundation. 48.  Interview with Julie Keefer, RG-­50.106*0198, Oral History, USHMM, RG-­50.106, Oral History Volunteer Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. 49.  Keefer states that the woman overseeing her case was from the Joint but this is unlikely. Probably the social worker was from the Jewish Child Care Association, the New York agency that worked with the EJCA. 50.  Reena Sigman Friedman, “Orphanages in the United States,” in Jewish Women: A Comprehensive Historical Encyclopedia, 20 March 2009, Jewish Women’s Archive, http://​jwa​.org​ /encyclopedia​/article​/orphanages​-­­in​-­­united​-s­­ tates. Accessed 9 February 2016. For specifics on Bellefaire see http://​www​.bellefairejcb​.org​/about​-­­us​/history​-­­timeline/, accessed 2 October 2015; and Encyclopedia of Cleveland History, s.v. “Bellefaire,” http://​ech​.case​.edu​/ech​-c­­ gi​ /article​.pl​?id​=​B10. Accessed 15 March 2016. 51.  Keefer, interview. 52.  Ibid. 53.  Golton Report on Cleveland Reception Center, January 1947, GJCA, RG 249, Folder 216, MKM. 8.12, YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, New York. 54.  Alex B., Case Material from Reception Center, 21 September 1947, GJCA, RG 249, Folder 216, MKM. 8.12, YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, New York.

182

Notes to Pages 64–72

55.  Ibid. 56.  Casefile Report, Box 13, File 424, RG I-­065, Jewish Family and Children’s Services, Den-

ver, American Jewish Historical Society, New York, NY, and Boston, MA. 57.  Ibid. 58.  Ernest Kopstein, Interview 35091, 28 October 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 59.  Glantz, “Factors in the Adjustment,” 26. 60.  Ibid. 61.  Leonard Serkess, interview by author, tape recording, Newton, MA, 27 February 2002. 62.  Ibid. 63.  Barbara Spector, Interview 35762, 20 November 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/ Shoah Foundation. 64.  Glantz, “Factors in the Adjustment.” 65.  Ibid. 66.  See also Cohen, Cased Closed, for a discussion of JFCS’s programs. 67.  Spector, interview. 68.  Ibid. 69.  Robert Berger, Jewish Family and Children’s Services, Boston. http://​www​.jfcsboston​ .org/. Accessed 13 March 2016. 70.  Serkess, interview. Others such as Wolf, Beyond Anne Frank; and Martin Gilbert, The Boys: The Story of 732 Young Concentration Camp Survivors (New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1996), report that orphans who spent time in postwar group settings continued to maintain contact with friends made there throughout their adult lives.

4. No Happy Endings 1.  The law, which allowed 200,000 DPs into the United States, had certain criteria that were perceived to be unfavorable to Jewish DPs. Congress amended the act in 1950 but by then many DPs had left Europe for Israel. Still, approximately 140,000 survivors had come to the United States by 1956 due to the combined legislation. For explanation of DP Acts of 1948 and 1950 see Leonard Dinnerstein, America and Survivors of the Holocaust (New York: Columbia University Press, 1982). For text of the DP Acts see: http://​library​.uwb​.edu​/static​ /USimmigration​/1948​_displaced​_persons​_act​.html. Accessed 22 November 2016. 2.  See the Proceedings from the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum’s conference on displaced persons, “Life Reborn: Jewish Displaced Persons 1945–­1951” (USHMM and Its Second Generation Advisory Group in association with the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, January 2000), which emphasized the model of survivors marrying and starting new families in DP camps, noting in its introduction by Menachem Z. Rosensaft that “more than 2,000 Jewish children were born in the DP camp of Bergen-Belsen in Germany between 1945–­1950.” 3.  Miriam Rakowski, Interview 42161, 17 April 1998, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. Miriam was the child that Agudah Israel removed from the Hickets and then sent to a series of three Jewish homes in Switzerland before sending her to the United States. 4.  Ibid. 5.  Rakowski, interview. 6.  Ibid. 7.  Ibid. 8.  “613 Arrive in City: Refugees among Passengers on First Scheduled Swedish Ship Docking in Six Years,” New York Times, 6 April 1946.



Notes to Pages 72–77

183

9.  Kaja Finkler, Interview 35068, 20 October 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 10.  Ibid. 11.  Kaja and Golda Finkler, Lives Lived and Lost: East European History before, during, and after World War II as Experienced by and Anthropologist and Her Mother. Holocaust: History and Literature, Ethics and Philosophy Series, (Brighton, MA: Academic Studies Press, 2012). 12.  Peter Daniels, Interview 1721, 11 April 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 13.  Peter Daniels, “Peter’s Story,” in How We Survived: 52 Personal Stories by Child Survivors of the Holocaust, ed. Marie Kaufman (Los Angeles: Child Survivors of the Holocaust, Inc., 2011), 48–­49. 14.  Ibid. 15.  Henry D., Jewish Family and Children’s Services, Denver, Case file128, 1, Jewish Family and Children’s Services, Denver, American Jewish Historical Society, New York and Boston, MA. 16.  Ibid., 7. 17.  Kaufman, How We Survived. 18.  Interview with author. Interviewees wish to remain anonymous. Diane L. Wolf, Beyond Anne Frank: Hidden Children and Postwar Families in Holland (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), also heard this from hidden children in the Netherlands after they were reunited with parents and stepparents. 19.  Eva Brettler, Presentation to author’s class, California State University, Northridge, CA, 27 April 2013. 20.  Ellen Zitkin, Interview 13577, 16 May 1996, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 21.  Natalie Gold, interview with author, tape recording, Los Angeles, CA, 28 July 2009. 22.  Under any circumstances, a new baby requires much attention. And the birth of a new baby could also be imbued with significance for a survivor couple, too, as many survivors articulate. 23.  RL-­EJ, 19–­19, 31 July 1992. Kestenberg Archive of Testimonies of Child Holocaust Survivors, Hebrew University of Jerusalem. These testimonies are in transcript form and I designate page number whenever possible. The Kestenberg Archives designates an individual by initials. I refer to the child survivors from this collection with pseudonyms based on the same first initial to personalize the individual. 24.  It is interesting to note that research has been done on the mental health of the second generation and the transmission of trauma from their parents to them. Regarding child survivors who grew up with survivor parents, however, these questions seem to be unasked. 25.  M. Family Case file, 1949, Jewish Family and Children’s Services, Denver, American Jewish Historical Society, New York and Boston, MA. 26.  EG-­JK, 16–­38, 24 April 1993, Kestenberg Archive, 8–­9. 27.  Ibid. 28.  Ibid. 29.  RF-­JK, 16–­19, 4 December 1993. Kestenberg Archive, 6–­10. 30.  Ibid., 8. 31.  Ibid. 32.  Ibid., 10. 33.  Ibid. 34.  Ibid. 35.  Cecelia Razowsky, Memorandum re: Miriam Semel, 20 June 1946, P-­290, Box 6, Folder 2, American Jewish Historical Society, New York.

184

Notes to Pages 77–86

36.  Interview with Miri Pear, RG-­ 50.233.0100, Oral History, USHMM, RG-­50.233.0100, USHMM, Washington, DC. 37.  Ibid. 38.  Ibid. 39.  See Lawrence L. Langer, Admitting the Holocaust: Collected Essays (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995), 14, 18, 22. 40.  A-­FH, 14–­2, n.d., Kestenberg Archive, Jerusalem. 41.  Gold, interview. 42.  Brettler, presentation. 43.  Ibid. 44.  Ibid. 45.  Eva Nathanson, interview with the author, tape recording, Los Angeles, CA, 3 May 2013. 46.  A-­FH, Kestenberg Archive, 1. 47.  Ibid. A.’s interview notes that when she finally tells her stepmother this (when her children are adults), her stepmother does not remember demanding this secrecy of her although she doesn’t discount it. Eva Brettler also stated that her stepmother was the one who insisted on keeping the true nature of her relationship to her stepdaughter hidden from her grandchildren. 48.  See Mary Jo Maynes and Ann Waltner, The Family: A World History (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012). 49.  JB, Case File 102, Jewish Family and Children’s Services, Denver, American Jewish Historical Society Archives, Brandeis University, Waltham, MA. 50.  N.W., interview with author, tape recording, Los Angeles, 28 July 2010. 51.  Isaac, Malka, and Max W. Case file, October 1949–­October 1950, New York Association for New Americans Collection, New York, NY. Author agreed to use only initials for last names in keeping with agency’s policy of confidentiality. 52.  Romana Farrington, Interview 16214, 10 June 1996, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 53.  Shep Drazin, interview by author, tape recording. Los Angeles, CA, 3 November 2015. 54.  Interview with Doriane Kurz, RG-­50.549.02*0001, USHMM, RG-­50.549.02, Oral History, Oral History Interviews of the USHMM Post-­Holocaust Oral History Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. 55.  Martin G., Case File 363, 3 June 1950, NYANA Archives, New York, NY. 56.  Ibid. 57.  Barbara Spector, Interview 35762, 20 November 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/ Shoah Foundation. 58.  Irene B., Summary, EJCA Case File, 27 September 1947, RG 246, YIVO Institute, New York. 59.  Ibid. 60.  Chana B., EJCA Report, 28 April 1950, 1, GJCA, RG 249, MKM 8.23, Folder 359, YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, New York. 61.  Ibid., 12. 62.  JG-­JK (17–­7), 24 April 1993, Kestenberg Archives, Jerusalem. 63.  Ibid. 64.  Natan P.F. Kellermann, Holocaust Trauma: Psychological Effects and Treatment (New York: iUniverse, 2009), 54. 65.  Lya Frank, interview with the author, tape recording, Los Angeles, CA, 19 February 2013. 66.  Ibid. 67.  Ibid. 68.  Ibid.



Notes to Pages 86–92

185

69.  “Demographic Characteristics of the Recent Jewish Immigrant,” NYANA Executive Report, 1950, NYANA Executive Meeting, NYANA Archives, New York, NY. NYANA was a postwar Jewish communal agency created in 1949 to help resettle Holocaust survivors in New York City. See Beth B. Cohen, Case Closed: Holocaust Survivors in Postwar America (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2006); and Joshua M. Friedland, The Lamp Beside the Golden Door (New York: New York Association for New Americans, 1999), for a fuller history of the organization. 70.  Sarah Moskovitz, interview with the author, tape recording, Pacific Palisades, CA, 13 November 2013.

5. Growing Up in America 1.  Interview with Robert Krell, RG-­50.582*0026, USHMM Collection, Gift of Aviva Films N.Y. Corp. and Aviva Slesin, RG-­50.582, Oral History, Aviva Slesin Oral History Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. The interview was done for the film Secret Lives: Hidden Children and Their Rescuers during World War II. 2.  Rachel (Shelly) Slagter, Interview 36583, 24 November 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/ Shoah Foundation. 3.  See Sarah Moskowitz and Robert Krell, “The Struggle for Justice,” in Remembering for the Future: The Holocaust in an Age of Genocide, edited by John Roth and Elizabeth Maxwell (London: Palgrave, 2001). 4.  Research now suggests that childhood trauma may cause permanent biological changes. See Robin Karr-­Morse and Meredith S. Wiley, Scared Sick: The Role of Childhood Trauma in Adult Disease (New York: Basic Books, 2012); Bessel van der Kolk, M.D., The Body Keeps Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma (New York: Penguin Books, 2015). 5.  Marie Kaufman, interview with the author, tape recording, Los Angeles, CA, 4 May 2016. 6.  Interview with Eva Cooper, RG-­50.549.02*0047, USHMM, Jeff and Toby Herr Collection, RG-­50.549.02, Oral History, Oral History Interviews of the USHMM Post-­Holocaust Oral History Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. The production of this interview was made possible by Jeff and Toby Herr. http://​collections​.ushmm​.org​/search​/catalog​/irn507310. 7.  Ellen Kaidanow, Interview 6989, 20 September 1995, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 8.  Interview with Susie Schwartz, RG-­50.549.02*0024, USHMM, Jeff and Toby Herr Collection, RG-­50.549.02, Oral History, Oral History Interviews of the USHMM Post-­Holocaust Oral History Collection, Washington, DC. 9.  Barbara Spector, Interview 35762, 20 November 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 10.  Ibid. 11.  Interview with David Bergman, RG-­50.030*0020, USHMM, RG-­50.030, Oral History, USHMM, Washington, DC. I also used David Bergman, Interview 42574, 10 June 1998, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 12.  Lilli Silbiger, Interview 1254, 24 February 1995; Maya Schwartz, Interview 22652, 11 November 1996, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 13.  Of course, even with a highly motivated student, higher education was often only possible with financial support of some kind. 14.  Robert Berger, interview with the author, tape recording, Chestnut Hill, MA, 12 January 2002. 15.  Sarah Moskowitz, “Children in the Holocaust and After,” Presentation to Yale Conference, 28 October 1984, 8.

186

Notes to Pages 92–99

16.  Maya Schwartz, interview. 17.  Ibid. 18.  Kaufman, interview. 19.  Samuel Burke, Interview 29464, 20 May 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah

Foundation. 20.  Interview with Sol Lurie, RG-­50.549.02*0031, USHMM, Jeff and Toby Herr Collection, RG-­50.549.02, Oral History, Oral History Interviews of the USHMM Post-­Holocaust Oral History Collection, Washington, DC, http://​collections​.ushmm​.org​/search​/catalog​ /irn507310. 21.  Berger, interview. 22.  “Our Stories: A Big Dose of Chutzpah,” Jewish Family and Children’s Service, http://​ www​.jfcsboston​.org​/About​/150​-­­Years​/Our​-S­­ tories. Accessed 28 November 2016. 23.  Claire Boren, Interview 18572, 14 August 1996, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 24.  Interview with Regina Gelb, RG-­50.549.02*0013, USHMM, Jeff and Toby Herr Collection, RG-­50.549.02, Oral History, Oral History Interviews of the USHMM Post-­Holocaust Oral History Collection, Washington, DC, http://​collections​.ushmm​.org​/search​/catalog​ /irn507310. 25.  Ibid. 26.  Ibid. 27.  Ibid. 28.  Ibid. 29.  Betty Gold, Interview 2316, 16 April 1995, Visual History Archive, USC USC/Shoah Foundation. 30.  http://​www​.census​.gov​/populations​/socdemo​/hh​-­­fam​/ms2​. xls, accessed 30 June 2016. 31.  William Helmreich, Against All Odds: Holocaust Survivors and the Successful Lives They Made in America (New Brunswick: Transaction, 1996), 121. 32.  Frieda Ende, Interview 775, 1 February 1995, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 33.  Ibid. 34.  Ibid., 123. 35.  Betsey Stevenson and Justin Wolfers, Marriage and Divorce: Changes and Their Driving Forces, National Bureau of Economic Research Working Paper No. 12944, March 2007, 2–­6. 36.  Rachel Slagter, Interview 36583, 24 November 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 37.  Gerard Berg, Interview 14304, 22 April 1996, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 38.  Ibid. 39.  Marie Kaufman, interview with the author, Los Angeles, CA, 7 May 2016. 40.  Romana Farrington, Interview 16214, 10 June 1996, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 41.  Ibid. 42.  Sabina Wagschal, Interview 1965, 3 March 1995, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 43.  Simon Feldman, Interview 28387, 13 April 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 44.  Ibid. 45.  Ibid. 46.  Lea Weems, telephone interview with the author, tape recording, 3 January 2002.



Notes to Pages 99–106

187

47.  Henri Wittelsohn, Interview 5810, 5 October 1995, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 48.  Ibid. 49.  Kaufman, interview. 50.  Cooper, interview. 51.  Interview with Lilli Silbiger, RG-­50.037*0074, USHMM, RG-­50.037, Oral History, Holocaust Resource Center of Buffalo Oral History Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. 52.  Lurie, interview. 53.  Kaidanow, interview. 54.  Pasternak, interview. 55.  Rose Silberberg-­Skier, Interview 33261, 11 September 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/ Shoah Foundation. 56.  Ann Shore, Interview 39906, 28 March 1998, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 57.  Sam Burke, Interview 29464, 20 May 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 58.  Gold, interview. 59.  Marsha Tishler, Interview 35684, Visual History Archive, 28 November 1997, USC/Shoah Foundation. 60.  Boren, interview. 61.  Ibid. 62.  This includes Miriam Rakowski, Kaja Finkler, and Marguerite Mishkin. 63.  It is difficult to get figures for the number of child survivors who went into the military. Approximately 4,000 Jews served in Korea during 1950–­1953. See Michael Toiba, “Korean Embassy Honors Jewish War Veterans,” Jerusalem Post, 17 June 2011, http://​www​.jpost​.com​ /Video​-­­Articles​/Video​/Korean​-E ­­ mbassy​-­­honors​-­­Jewish​-­­war​-­­veterans, but this does not reveal how many survivors were among them. 64.  See Hana Jablonska’s Survivors of the Holocaust: Israel after the War (New York: NYU Press, 1999). Also see “New Beginnings” at Holocaust Resource Center, Yad Vashem, http://​ www​.yadvashem​.org​/yv​/en​/holocaust​/resource​_center​/item​.asp​?gate​=​2–­63#!prettyPhoto. Accessed 27 May 2016. 65.  Daniel  M. Cohen, Single Handed: The Inspiring True Story of Tibor “Teddy” Rubin—­ Holocaust Survivor, Korean War Hero, and Medal of Honor Recipient (New York: Random House, 2015), 99. 66.  http://​www​.jewsingreen​.com​/2005​/11​/tibor​-­­rubin/. Accessed 19 April 2016. 67.  Wittelsohn, interview. 68.  Leon Berliner, Interview 36386, 14 December 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 69.  Sam Oliner, Interview 49767, 15 January 1994, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation (part of the San Francisco Oral History Collection). 70.  For their best-­known work in the field, see Samuel Oliner and Pearl Oliner, The Altruistic Personality: Rescuers of Jews in Nazi Europe (New York: Free Press, 1988). 71.  Leon Leyson, conversation with the author, Orange, CA, 27 October 2011. 72.  Interview with Leon Leyson, RG-­ 50.493*0096, USHMM, RG-­50.493, Oral History, Holocaust Oral History Project of the Anti-­Defamation League, Orange County, California Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. 73.  Jacques Ribons, interview with the author, tape recording, Los Angeles, 8 September 2010. 74.  Ibid.

188

Notes to Pages 106–113

75.  Feldman, interview. 76.  Michael Blain, Interview 11631, 2 February 1996, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah

Foundation. 77.  Hurst Sommer, Interview 52474, 4 November 2002, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 78.  Edward Anders, Interview 53114, 23 June 2008, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 79.  Ibid. 80.  Lurie, interview. 81.  Ibid. 82.  Sidney Shachnow, Interview 52911, 26 November 2013, Visual History Archive, USC/ Shoah Foundation. 83.  Ibid. 84.  Bergman, USHMM interview. 85.  Ibid. 86.  Ibid.

6. Where Was God? 1.  Elly Gross, Interview 2097, 21 April 1995, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 2.  For example, Reform rabbi Richard Rubenstein in After Auschwitz: History, Theology, and

Contemporary Judaism (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992), argues that the Shoah had irrevocably broken God’s covenant with man, while philosopher Emil Fackenheim in To Mend the World: Foundations of Post-­Holocaust Jewish Thought (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994), makes a case for a 614th commandment, to teach future generations about the catastrophe. Orthodox rabbi Eliezer Berkovits in Faith after the Holocaust (New York: KTAV, 1973) looks to traditional sources in order to answer these questions. These are three Jewish theologians whose works have made important contributions to this field. 3.  Jewish identity is a multilayered, complex topic with a large body of literature in both popular and scholarly literature. It is not part of this work to analyze it per se. Just a few works that discuss American Jewish identity and its many facets include Orthodox rabbi Tsvi Blanchard’s “A New Model for Jewish Identity,” in which he notes that Jewish identity has increasingly become a matter of personal choice rather than an obligation to the greater group, http://​ www​.myjewishlearning​.com​/article​/a​-­­new​-m ­­ odel​-­­for​-­­jewish​-­­identity/; Edward S. Shapiro, whose analysis includes how American Jews reconcile their dual identities, We Are Many: Reflections on American Jewish Identity (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2005). Noam Pianko explores the notion of Jewish peoplehood that embodies a sense of belonging rather than religious or ethnic identity. He argues that this has overtaken religious identity in Jewish Peoplehood: An American Innovation (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2015). These are just a few of relatively current works of this topic. 4.  For a discussion of postwar Judaism that examines the migration to suburbs, liberalization religiously and politically, and relocation of European Hasidic centers to America, see Edward S. Shapiro, A Time for Healing: American Jewry since World War II (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995); Jonathan D. Sarna, American Judaism: A History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004), chapter 6, “Renewal”; Hasia Diner, Part III in The Jews of the United States, 1654–­2000 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004); Arthur Goren, The Politics and Public Culture of American Jews (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1999), chapter 9, “The Golden Decade: 1945–­1955.”



Notes to Pages 113–118

189

5.  Jeffrey S. Gurock, Orthodox Jews in America (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2009). 6.  These institutions that refugee rabbis founded include the Telshe Yeshiva in Cleveland by Rabbis Eliyahu Meir Bloch and Chaim Mordechai Katz in 1941, the Lakewood Yeshiva by Rabbi Aaron Kotler in New Jersey in 1944, the Mirrer Yeshiva in Brooklyn, the Nitra Yeshiva in Mount Kisco, NY. For a fuller description of the refugee rabbis and establishment of yeshivas during and after World War II see Gurock, Orthodox Jews in America. 7.  The Workmen’s Circle, https://​circle​.org​/who​-­­we​-­­are​/our​-­­mission​-­­and​-­­vision/. Accessed 10 May 2017. 8.  Interview with Irene Hizme, RG-­50.549.01*0004, 22, USHMM, RG-­50.549.01, Oral History, Oral History Interviews of the USHMM Post-­Holocaust Oral History Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. 9.  Irene Hizme, telephone interview with the author, 29 December 2016. 10.  Goldine Teicher, telephone interview with the author, 18 August 2010. 11.  Yeshiva Torah V’Daas was founded in 1917 and was not one of the schools established by refugee rabbis. 12.  Herbert Barasch, Interview 52562, 8 November 1990, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 13.  Solomon Miller, Interview 24131, 11 December 1996, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 14.  Ibid. 15.  Ibid. 16.  See Abraham Fuchs, The Unheeded Cry, the Valiant Holocaust Leader Who Battled Both Allied Indifference and Nazi Hatred (Brooklyn: Mesorah Publications, 1984) for a discussion of Rabbi Weissmandl’s wartime and postwar activities. It is not a critical study but nevertheless one of the few sources that provides some detail about the postwar yeshiva. 17.  See Yehuda Bauer, “Gisi Fleischman and the Working Group,” in Rethinking the Holocaust (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1999). While Bauer argues that this was not because the money was not delivered, Rabbi Weissmandl believed otherwise. 18.  Rabbi Kolodny, conversation with author at the Agudat Israel Archives, New York, NY, 10 June 2010. 19.  Siegmund Forst, Claude Lanzmann Shoah Interview, http://​data​.ushmm​.org​/inter media​/film​_video​/spielberg​_archive​/transcript​/RG60​_5004​/31F57DBB​-­­A08E​-­­43D5 –­8402–­05BB044E89F9.pdf, 46. 20.  Fuchs, Unheeded Cry, 233. 21.  Forst, interview. 22.  “70 Refugee Orphans to Farm and Study on Million-­Dollar Estate in Westchester,” New York Times, 16 March 1948. 23.  “Seminary Wins Right to Teach Refugees,” New York Times, 17 November 1948. 24.  Philip Herzog, telephone interview with the author, tape recording. 23 September 2010. 25.  Spitzer was Slovakian and believed he was saved by the Working Group. Rabbi Jacob Spitzer, telephone interview with the author, tape recording, 2 November 2010. 26.  Ibid. 27.  Miller, interview. Solomon Miller introduces his family members at the conclusion of his videotaped testimony and his son-­in-­law volunteers his comments. 28.  Spitzer, telephone interview. 29.  Herzog, telephone interview. 30.  Spitzer, telephone interview. It should be mentioned that although the men I interviewed gave the impression that the survivors that came to Mount Kisco all remained religious, at

190

Notes to Pages 119–126

least one example exists of someone who did not. However, I was unable to conduct an interview with him before this book went to press. 31.  Miriam Rakowski, Interview 42161, 17 April 1998, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. Miriam recalls there were some kind teachers in the Bais Yaakov school she attended. 32.  Ibid. 33.  Ibid. 34.  Miriam Rakowski, telephone interview with the author, tape recording, 27 December 2016. 35.  Romana Farrington, Interview 16214, 10 June 1996, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. Romana’s mother left the ghetto where Romana was born and managed to get them both to the Warsaw Ghetto. From there she once again fled with her daughter. 36.  In Romana’s testimony, there is a picture of the court document that delineates the terms that her parents agreed to in order to regain custody of their daughter. 37.  Farrington, interview. 38.  Ibid. 39.  Boleslaw Kornatowski, Interview 32895, 9 September 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/ Shoah Foundation. 40.  Ibid. 41.  Stern College for Women, established in 1954, is the women’s undergraduate college of Arts and Sciences at Yeshiva University, the flagship Modern Orthodox university in the United States. 42.  Interview with Ruth Finkler, RG-­50.677*0010, USHMM, RG-­50.677, Oral History, Oral History Interviews of the Orthodox Jewish Holocaust Survivors Collection, Washington, DC. 43.  Chabannes was one of the homes in Vichy, France, in which at least 140 Jewish children were sheltered with the help of local residents and the OSE. In 2000, Lisa Gossels, a filmmaker whose father lived in Chabannes during the war, produced a documentary The Children of Chabannes about the rescue effort. See https://​childrenofchabannes​.org​/about​ -­­the​-­­ose/. 44.  Finkler, interview. 45.  Interview with Miri Weingarten, RG-­50.677*0020, USHMM, RG-­50.677, Oral History, Oral History Interviews of the Orthodox Jewish Holocaust Survivors Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. 46.  Ibid. 47.  Interview with Malka Schick, RG-­50.677*0012, USHMM, RG-­50.677, Oral History, Oral History Interviews of the Orthodox Jewish Holocaust Survivors Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. 48.  In 2000, Yad Vashem conferred the Righteous Among the Nations Award on Father Don Viale Rodondo. 49.  Schick, interview. 50.  Ester Fiszgop, Interview 41607, 12 April 1998, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 51.  Helen Rieder, Interview 7026, 21 September 1995, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 52.  Literally Egypt, likening their experiences to the Jews who were slaves in Egypt. 53.  Rieder, interview. 54.  David Bergman, Interview 42574, 10 June 1998, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 55.  Necha Sirotta, telephone interview with author, tape recording, 18 December 2016.



Notes to Pages 126–133

191

56.  Rachel Slagter, Interview 36583, 24 November 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 57.  Rabbi Boruch Majerowicz, interview with the author, tape recording, Brooklyn, NY, 4 August 2016. 58.  Aaron Elster, Interview 8527, 10 November 1995, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 59.  Ibid. 60.  Eli Stern, Interview 13623, 24 March 1996, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 61.  Ibid. 62.  Kaja Finkler and Golda Finkler (posthumously), Lives Lived and Lost: East European History History before, during, and after World War II (Brighton, MA: Academic Studies Press, 2012), 267. 63.  Ibid., 269–­276. 64.  Marie Kaufman, interview with the author, tape recording, Los Angeles, CA, 20 June 2016. 65.  Daisy Miller, Interview 49953, 9 August 1999, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 66.  Ibid.

7. “Finding a Voice for Our Silence” 1.  The 28th Conference of the World Federation of the Jewish Child Survivors of the Holo-

caust and Their Descendants took place in Woodland Hills, CA, 4–­7 November 2016.

2.  It is unclear how many out of the total child survivor population are involved with child

survivor organizations, but it is important to acknowledge that there are some who have no interest in identifying as child survivors or in belonging to such organizations. 3.  Child survivor groups occasionally happened organically when children found themselves placed in English-­language-­learning classes, usually in urban areas where greater numbers of immigrants concentrated, or in rare instances like the camps and homes organized by the Boston Jewish Family and Children’s Services specifically for New Americans (see chapter 5). 4.  Ann Shore, Interview 39906, 24 March 1998, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 5.  “Holocaust Survivor Breaks Silence After 65 Years,” interview for WBUR’s Here and Now, http://​www​.wbur​.org​/hereandnow​/2014​/02​/28​/holocaust​-­­survivor​-­­students. Accessed 6 September 2016. 6.  Interview with Ernie Marx, RG-­50.106*0019, USHMM, RG-­50.106, Oral History, USHMM Oral History Volunteer Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. 7.  Mirka-­Miki Berliner Pear, Interview 48408, 29 December 1998, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 8.  Interview with Renee Fink, RG-­50.865*0004, USHMM. RG-­50.865, Oral History, Oral History Interviews of the Marcia Horn Collection, Gift of Marcia Horn, USHMM, Washington, DC. 9.  Pear, interview. 10.  Diane  L. Wolf, Beyond Anne Frank: Hidden Children and Postwar Families in Holland (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), found the same for hidden children in Holland who learned to hide their personal experiences. 11.  Interview with Rene Slotkin (Irene Hizme’s twin brother), 50.549.02*0008, USHMM, Jeff and Toby Herr Collection, RG-­50.549.02, Oral History, Oral History Interviews of the USHMM Post-­Holocaust Oral History Collection, Washington, DC. The production of this interview was made possible by Jeff and Toby Herr.

192

Notes to Pages 133–136

12.  Not all adapted easily or quickly. For example, see Mary Frydmann in chapter 5. 13.  Interview with Robert Krell, RG-­50.582*0026, USHMM, RG-­50.582, Oral History, Aviva

Slesin Oral History Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. The interview was done for the film Secret Lives: Hidden Children and Their Rescuers during World War II. 14.  Raymond Fridmann, Interview 22452, 21 November 1996, Visual History Archive, USC/ Shoah Foundation. 15.  See Beth B. Cohen, Cased Closed: Holocaust Survivors in Postwar America (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press in Association with the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, 2006). 16.  Eva Nathanson, conversation with the author, LA Child Survivor’s “Summer Bash,” Los Angeles, CA, 21 August 2016. 17.  Marie Kaufman, Interview 38050, 31 October 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 18.  Interview with Jack Trompettor, RG-­50.233.0137, USHMM, RG-­50.233.0137, Oral History, USHMM ID Card Project, USHMM, Washington, DC. 19.  Gloria Lyon, Interview 25639, 9 February 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 20.  Samuel Burke, Interview 29464, 20 May 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 21.  See Cohen, Case Closed, for a discussion of the reaction of American Jewry to survivors who tried to talk about their experiences in the early postwar period. 22.  Berliner Pear, interview. 23.  Ibid. This was expressed by Miller in an interview with the author, Los Angeles, CA, 4 August 2010. 24.  Trompettor, interview. 25.  Interview with Doriane Kurz, RG-­50.549.02*0001, USHMM, RG-­50.549.02, Oral History, Oral History Interviews of the USHMM Post-­Holocaust Oral History Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. 26.  Ibid. 27.  Suzanne Cohen, Interview 42525, 18 June, 1998, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 28.  Trompettor, interview. 29.  Eva Nathanson, interview with the author, tape recording, Los Angeles, CA, 3 May 2013. 30.  A-­FH, Kestenberg Collection, n.d., 9. 31.  Wolf, Beyond Anne Frank, 318. 32.  “Frequently Asked Questions,” no. 11, USHMM, https://​www​.ushmm​.org​/remember​ /the​-­­holocaust​-­­survivors​-­­and​-­­victims​-­­resource​-­­center​/benjamin​-­­and​-­­vladka​-­­meed​-­­registry​ -­­of​-­­holocaust​-­­survivors​/registry​-­­faq​#11. Accessed 30 August 2016. 33.  Eva Brettler, interview with the author, tape recording, Los Angeles, 6 July 2014. 34.  “Righteous Gentile” is one of the terms used to refer to Christian rescuers of Jews. “Righteous Among the Nations” is the title bestowed by Yad Vashem on those who saved Jews. 35.  Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl, trans. B. M. Mooyaart (New York: Bantam, 1993). 36.  In Wolf, Beyond Anne Frank. 37.  Ibid. Wolf points out that some hidden children felt that their hiding experience was the highlight of their childhood. 38.  Daisy Miller, Interview 49933, 9 August 1999, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 39.  Interview with Simone Weil Lipman, RG-­ 50.549.02*0018, USHMM, Jeff and Toby Herr Collection, RG-­50.549.02, Oral History, Oral History Interviews of the USHMM



Notes to Pages 137–140

193

Post-­Holocaust Oral History Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. The production of this interview was made possible by Jeff and Toby Herr. 40.  Although Elie Wiesel had a prominent role in these events, and was largely the “voice of survivors,” he was not perceived as a child survivor, even though he was born in 1928 and thus fits the definition that would ultimately determine who is one. This may be due to the fact that he was nearly seventeen when the war ended and also because he was a camp survivor who spoke for all survivors. 41.  Geoffrey Hartman, “What the Dead Have to Say to Us,” Tablet, 4 February 2013, http://​ www​.tabletmag​.com​/jewish​-­­arts​-­­and​-­­culture​/123189​/what​-­­the​-­­dead​-­­have​-­­to​-­­say​-­­to​-­­us. Accessed 12 November 2016. 42.  John Mooney, “Profile: He’s the Only Director NJ Holocaust Commission Has Ever Known,” NJ Spotlight, 16 July 2014, http://​www​.njspotlight​.com​/stories​/14​/07​/15​ /profile​-­­the​-­­only​-­­director​-­­nj​-­­holocaust​-­­commission​-­­has​-­­ever​-­­known/. Accessed 12 September 2016. 43.  Tennessee Holocaust Commission, http://​tennesseeholocaustcommission​.org​/about​ .php. Accessed 12 September 2016. Georgia Commission on the Holocaust, https://​holocaust​ .georgia​.gov​/about​-­­us. Accessed 12 September 2016. 44.  See, for example, Philip Shipler’s coverage in the New York Times, “4,000 Survivors of Nazi Horror Gather in Israel,” and “Survivors of Nazi Camps Mingle in Joy and Horror,” 15–­16 June 1981. Again, in the articles “survivors” were generally designated as “survivors of the camps.” 45.  Sam Bloch, ed., From Holocaust to Redemption: Bearing Witness (New York: World Gathering of Jewish Survivors of the Holocaust, 1981). 46.  Krell, “30 Years of Friendship, Healing & Education—­Our Legacy,” Address at Child Holocaust Survivors Gathering in Cleveland, Ohio, 27 October 2012. 47.  Robert H. Bremner, ed., Children and Youth in America: A Documentary History, 3 vols. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1970); Joseph F. Kett, Rites of Passage: Adolescence in America, 1790 to the Present (New York: Basic Books, 1977). 48.  Debórah Dwork, Children with a Star: Jewish Youth in Nazi Europe (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1991). 49.  Louis A. Gottschalk, E. Mansell Pattison, and Donald  W. Schafer, “Training Groups, Encounter Groups, Sensitivity Groups, and Group Psychotherapy,” California Medicine 115, no. 2 (August 1971): 87–­93. 50.  Sarah Moskovitz, interview with author, tape recording, Pacific Palisades, CA, 13 November 2013. 51.  Sarah Moskovitz, Love Despite Hate: Child Survivors of the Holocaust and Their Adult Lives (New York: Schocken, 1983). 52.  Helen Epstein, Children of the Holocaust: Conversations with Sons and Daughters of Survivors (New York: Penguin, 1979). 53.  Ibid.,14. 54.  It is possible that others were using this term; however, Moskovitz brought it front and center to the conversation. Moskovitz, interview. 55.  Krell, “30 Years of Friendship.” 56.  Marie Kaufman, interview with the author, tape recording, Los Angeles, CA, 9 September 2016. 57.  Daisy Miller, Interview 49933, 9 August 1999. Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 58.  Ibid. 59.  Moskovitz, interview. 60.  Quoted in Krell, “30 Years of Friendship.”

194

Notes to Pages 140–145

61.  Stefanie Seltzer, interview with the author, tape recording, Palm Springs, CA, 5 December 2013 and 26 March 2014. 62.  Quoted in Krell, “30 Years of Friendship.” 63.  Interview with Paula Bornstein, RG-­50.030.0547, USHMM, RG-­50.030.0547, Oral History, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum Oral History Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. 64.  Maya Schwartz, Interview 22652, 11 November 1996, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 65.  Child Development Research, http://​holocaustchildren​.org/. Accessed 13 September 2016. 66.  Eva Fogelman, telephone interview by author, 11 September 2016. Fogelman stated that Yaffa Eliach, a child survivor, was the first to record child survivors’ testimonies beginning in 1974 in her oral history project at Brooklyn College. In a telephone conversation Esther Brumberg at the Museum of Jewish Heritage, which acquired the collection, indicated that Eliach interviewed children as part of her overall project at Brooklyn College, 8 August 2016. 67.  In “Greater Boston Child Survivor Group,” on the website of the World Federation of Jewish Child Survivor (WFJCHSD), http://​www​.holocaustchild​.org​/index​.php​/about​ /chapters​/greater​-­­boston​-­­child​-­­survivor​-­­group/. Accessed 13 September 2016. 68.  Fogelman is the author of Courage and Conscience: Rescuers of Jews during the Holocaust (New York: Doubleday, 1994). As a child of survivors she was also involved in leading some of the early Second Generation groups. 69.  After the World Gathering, the American Gathering was founded in 1983 and began to hold annual meetings. 70.  Fogelman, interview. 71.  Stefanie Seltzer, interview with the author, tape recording, Palm Springs, CA, 5 December 2013. 72.  Ibid. 73.  Krell, “30 Years of Friendship.” 74.  Seltzer, interview. 75.  Ibid. 76.  Ibid. 77.  Daisy Miller, interview with the author, tape recording, Los Angeles, CA, 4 August 2010. 78.  Myriam Abramowicz, “Meeting One Another After All these Years,” in The Hidden Child, edited by Renee-­Fersten Olsen (April 1991): 2. Newsletter published by the First International Gathering of Children during World War II. 79.  Quoted in Nancy Lefenfeld, “When We Were Young and Extraordinarily Gutsy: The Making of the Film Comme Si C’etait Hier (As If It Were Yesterday), 1980” (2015): 2. 80.  Myriam Abramowicz and Esther Hoffenberg, coproducers, Comme Si C’etait Hier (As If It Were Yesterday) (National Center for Jewish Film, Brandeis University, 1980). 81.  Dori Katz, Looking for Strangers (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2013). 82.  Jane Marks, “The Hidden Children,” New York magazine, 25 February 1991. Marks went on to write a book, Hidden Children: The Secret Survivors of the Holocaust (New York: Ballantine Books, 1995). 83.  Jane Marks, interview by Marcia Alvar, University of Washington TV. https://​www​ .youtube​.com​/watch​?v​=​x xOknn980tY. Accessed 17 August 2016. 84.  Anne Shore, telephone conversation with the author, tape recording, 8 August 2016. 85.  Interview with Renee Fink, interview, RG-­50.865*0004, USHMM, RG-­50.865*0004, Oral History, USHMM Collection, Gift of Marcia Horn, USHMM, Washington, DC. 86.  Wolf, Beyond Anne Frank, 18. According to Wolf, “many hidden children used the same terminology as gays revealing their long-­hidden sexuality. 87.  Shore, interview.



Notes to Pages 145–150

195

88.  Trompettor, interview. 89.  Eric Cahn, Interview 7882, 23 October 1995, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah

Foundation. 90.  For a discussion of this see Wolf, Beyond Anne Frank, chapter 9, “Creating Postwar Lives, Creating Collective Memory,” 293–­327. 91.  Report on Survivor Groups Around the World, op. cit. 92.  Carla Lessing, “Finding a Voice for Our Silence,” The Hidden Child 2, no. 1 (Winter 1992). 93.  Halina Peabody, Interview 21723, 25 October 1996, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 94.  Moskovitz, interview. 95.  Purim is the annual Jewish holiday that celebrates Queen Esther’s saving the Jews of ancient Persia from a plot by Haman to massacre them. In addition to reading the Scroll of Esther in the synagogue, people wear costumes, give food gifts (Shalach manot) to friends, have a festive meal, and are encouraged to make merry. 96.  Marie Kaufman, interview with tape recording, Los Angeles, 8 May 2016. 97.  This didn’t necessarily replace home holiday celebrations. Those with families usually did both. 98.  Thank you to Robert Krell for noting this important point regarding explanation for child survivors’ comfort with a more secular Jewish identity. 99.  Interview with Nathan Kranowski, RG-­50.865*0011, USHMM Memorial Museum Collection, Gift of Marcia Horn, RG-­50.865, Oral History, USHMM, Washington, DC. 100.  Susan Schwartz, Interview 36132, 2 December 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 101.  Two plays about Kindertransporten appeared in 1995. Irene Watts wrote Goodbye, Marianne for school-­aged children. Kindertransport by Diane Samuels was produced Off-­Broadway and in the West End. 102.  Wikomirski ‘s book Fragments: Memories of a Wartime Childhood, trans. Carol Brown Janeway (New York: Schocken Books, 1996), in which he claimed to be a child survivor, garnered much attention and accolades including the National Jewish Book Award, before it was found to be a fabricated work of fiction by the non-­Jewish author. According to Kaufman, the LA child survivors split into two groups after the discovery; those who supported Wilkomirski’s literary effort and those who rejected it. Marie Kaufman, interview with the author, tape recording, Los Angeles, 9 September 2016. 103.  Fogelman, interview. 104.  Program, Children of the Holocaust Remember: Fiftieth Anniversary Commemoration, Stephen Wise Free Synagogue, Chicago, 7 May 1995. 105.  Letter from Rene Lichtman, Hidden Children/Child Survivors of Michigan, summarizing notes from meeting, 18 September 1996. Last Eyewitnesses is capitalized in original. Author’s collection. 106.  Ibid. 107.  Boldface and underlining in original. 108.  The organization was founded in 1951 and funded by Federal Republic of Germany to provide monetary compensation to Holocaust survivors. 109.  For discussion advocating for child survivors’ right to receive restitution see Sarah Moskovitz and Robert Krell, “The Struggle for Justice,” in Remembering for the Future: The Holocaust in an Age of Genocide (London: Palgrave, 2001). 110.  Roman Kent, telephone interview with author, tape recording, 4 December 2016. 111.  Claims Conference, www​.claimscon​.org. Accessed 22 August 2016. 112.  Robert Krell, “Berlin Address Urging Restitution for Aging Holocaust Survivors,” 17 August 2014, in Memoiries: Sounds from Silence (Vancouver: Behind the Book, 2016), appendix, 373–­381.

196

Notes to Pages 156–157

113.  See the homepage of the WFJCSHD, http://​www​.holocaustchild​.org/. Accessed 16

August 2016.

114.  Seltzer, interview.

Conclusion 1.  Thomas Buergenthal, A Lucky Child: A Memoir of Surviving Auschwitz as a Young Boy (New York: Little, Brown and Company, 2009). 2.  Roman Kent, telephone interview with author, tape recording, 12 December 2016. 3.  The Anti-Defamation League was founded in the United States in 1913 to fight injustice against the Jewish people. 4.  Abraham Foxman, Interview 41475, 27 March 1998, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 5.  Daisy Miller, e-­mail to the author, 8 January 2017. 6.  Nechama Tec, Dry Tears: The Story of a Lost Childhood (New York: Oxford University Press, 1984); idem, When Light Pierced the Darkness: Christian Rescue of Jews in Nazi-­Occupied Poland (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987). 7.  Saul Friedländer, The Years of Extermination: Nazi Germany and the Jews, 1939–­1945 (New York: HarperCollins, 2007). 8.  Meg Sullivan and Reed Hutchinson, “Spotlight on Saul Friedlander, 1939 Club Chair in Holocaust Studies,” 1 April 2001, http://​www​.spotlight​.ucla​.edu​/faculty​/saul​-­­friedlander​ _holocaust​/?​_ga​=​2​.38788515​.1414173710​.1501509667–­706861299.1501509667. Accessed 22 December 2016. 9.  Samuel P. Oliner and Pearl M. Oliner, The Altruistic Personality: Rescuers of Jews in Nazi Europe (New York: Free Press 1988). For more about the institute and additional publications by the Oliners see http://​www2​.humboldt​.edu​/altruism​/institute. Accessed 22 December 2016. 10.  Marie Kaufman, interview with the author, tape recording, Los Angeles, 8 May 2016. 11.  Judith Koppel Steel, Interview 3893, 12 July 1995, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 12.  Evelyne Haendel is a hidden child who was raised as a Christian in Belgium after the war. She only learned of the existence of her Canadian and US relatives in 2006 and as a result relocated to Canada. She now volunteers for the Hidden Child Foundation as director of Tracing Services. Her story appears in the Hidden Child 14 (2006). 13.  Miriam Rakowski, telephone interview with the author, tape recording, 28 December 2016. 14.  Fred Manasse, telephone interview with the author, tape recording, 29 July 2010. 15.  Jack Gun, Interview 18627, 16 August 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 16.  James E. Young. The Texture of Memory: Holocaust Memorials and Meaning (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993), 7. 17.  Manasse, telephone interview. 18.  Irene Hizme, telephone interview with the author, 29 December 2016. 19.  Interview with Guttman Hizme, RG-­ 50.549.01*0004, USHMM, RG-­50.549.01, Oral History, Oral History Interviews of the USHMM Post-­Holocaust Oral History Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. 20.  Cynthia Dantzic, 100 New York Calligraphers (New York: Schiffer Publishing, 2015). 21.  For a list, by no means exhaustive, of child survivor memoirs, please see the memoir section in the bibliography.



Notes to Pages 158–163

197

22.  Kaja Finkler and Golda Finkler, Lives Lived and Lost: East European History before, during, and after World War II as Experienced by and Anthropologist and Her Mother (Brighton, MA: Academic Studies Press, 2012). 23.  Many child survivors note in their oral testimonies that they agreed to be interviewed so that their children will have a record of their experiences. The majority of testimonies were taken in the 1990s, just as child survivors were beginning to identify as survivors. 24.  Isaac Millman, Hidden Child (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2005); Millman and Jennifer Leslie, Arbeit Macht Frei: Work Sets You Free (New York: Create Space, 2011). 25.  William L. Shulman, e-­mail to the author, 29 December 2016. 26.  William L. Shulman, ed., Associations of Holocaust Organizations, 2016 Directory (Houston, TX: Holocaust Museum, Houston, 2016). For more information see: http://​www​.ahoinfo​.org​ /affiliatedmembers​.html. 27.  Ann Shore, Interview 39906, 24 March 1998, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 28.  Eva Brettler, interview with the author, tape recording, Los Angeles, CA, 14 July 2016. 29.  Rakowski, interview. 30.  Himze, interview. 31.  Sonia Schwartzstein, conversation with the author, Los Angeles, 13 April 2017. 32.  Irene Hizme, telephone interview with author, tape recording, 29 December 2016. 33.  Jack Gun, Interview 18627, 16 August 1996, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 34.  Peter Daniels, “Peter’s Story,” in How We Survived: 52 Personal Stories by Child Survivors of the Holocaust, ed. Marie Kaufman (Los Angeles: Child Survivors of the Holocaust, Inc., 2011), 50. 35.  Marie Kaufman, conversation with the author, Los Angeles, CA, 5 January 2017. 36.  Simon Steil, Interview 34819, 19 October 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation. 37.  Benjamin Steil, “Holocaust Survivor Speaks to Heidelberg History Class,” 25 March 2011, https://​www​.army​.mil​/article​/53815​/Holocaust​_survivor​_speaks​_to​_Heidelberg​_history​ _class/. Accessed 19 December 2016.

Epilogue 1.  Shep Drazin, Yom Hashoah program, B’nai David Judea Congregation, Los Angeles, 5 May 2016. 2.  Interview with Robert Krell, RG-­50.582*0026, USHMM Collection, Gift of Aviva Films N.Y. Corp. and Aviva Slesin, RG-­50.582, Oral History, Aviva Slesin Oral History Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. The interview was done for the film Secret Lives: Hidden Children and Their Rescuers during World War II. 3.  Interview with Irene Hizme, RG-­50.549.01*0004, USHMM, RG-­50.549.01, Oral History, Oral History Interviews of the USHMM Post-­Holocaust Oral History Collection, USHMM, Washington, DC. 4.  Perla Mark, conversation with the author, Los Angeles, CA, 22 September 2016. 5.  Rachel Slagter, Interview 36583, 24 November 1997, Visual History Archive, USC/Shoah Foundation.

Bibliogr aphy

Archives and Libraries Agudath Israel Archives, New York, NY. American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee Archives, New York, NY. http://​archives​.jdc​ .org/. European-­Jewish Children’s Aid (EJCA). YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, New York, NY. German-­Jewish Children’s Aid (GJCA). YIVO Institute for Jewish Research, New York, NY. Henriques Archives. Wiener Library, London. Holocaust Oral History Collection. Oviatt Library, California State University, Northridge, CA. Jewish Family and Children’s Services ( JFCS), Denver, CO. American Jewish Historical Society, New York, NY and Boston, MA. Jewish Labor Committee ( JLC) Holocaust Era Archives. Tamiment Library & Wagner Labor Archives, New York University, New York, NY. Kestenberg Archive of Testimonies of Child Holocaust Survivors. Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Israel. Kleinman Family Holocaust Center Archives, Brooklyn, NY. National Center for Jewish Film. Brandeis University, Waltham, MA. New York Association for New Americans, New York, NY. Rescue Children, Inc. Collection. Yeshiva University Archives, Mendel Gottesman Library, New York, NY. United Service for New Americans. American Jewish Historical Society, New York, NY and Boston, MA. United States Holocaust Memorial Museum (USHMM), Washington, DC. USC/Shoah Foundation, Institute for Visual History and Education, Los Angeles, CA. Vaad Hahatzalah Collection. Yeshiva University Archives, Mendel Gottesman Library, New York, NY. World Jewish Congress (WJC) Records. Series D. Relief and Rescue Departments, 1939–­ 1969. American Jewish Archives, Cleveland, OH.

Books and Articles American Jewish Year Book. Vols. 47–­48, 50–­51. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1946–­1950. Bar-­Zohar, Michael. Yacov Herzog: A Biography. London: Halben, 2005. Bauer, Yehuda. American Jewry and the Holocaust: The American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, 1939–­1945. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1981. ———. Out of the Ashes: The Impact of American Jews on Post-­Holocaust European Jewry. Oxford: Pergamon Press, 1989. ———. Rethinking the Holocaust. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1999. Berenbaum, Michael. After Tragedy and Triumph: Essays in Modern Jewish Thought and the American Experience. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1990. Berkovits, Eliezer. Faith after the Holocaust. Hoboken, NJ: KTAV, 1973. Birnbaum, David. God and Evil: A Jewish Perspective. Hoboken, NJ: KTAV, 1989.

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200 Bibliography Bloch, Sam, ed. From Holocaust to Redemption: Bearing Witness. New York: World Gathering of Jewish Survivors of the Holocaust, 1981. Bogner, Nachum. At the Mercy of Strangers: The Rescue of Hidden Jewish Children in Poland. Jerusalem: Yad Vashem, 2009. Braggiotti, Mary. “Rescue Children.” New York Post, 11 July 1947. Bremner, Robert H., ed. Children and Youth in America: A Documentary History. 3 vols. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1970. Brostoff, Anita, ed., and Sheila Chaimovitz, contrib. Flares of Memory: Stories of Childhood during the Holocaust. New York: Oxford University Press, 2001. Brown-­Fleming, Suzanne. Nazi Persecution and Postwar Repercussions: The International Tracing Service Archive and Holocaust Research. Latham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield in association with the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, 2016. Cesarani, David, and Eric J. Sundquist, eds. After the Holocaust: Challenging the Myth of Silence. London: Routledge, 2012. Clementi, Federica K. Holocaust Mothers and Daughters: Family, History, Trauma. Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press, 2013. Cohen, Beth B. Case Closed: Holocaust Survivors in Postwar America. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press in association with the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, 2006. Cohen, Daniel M. Single Handed: The Inspiring True Story of Tibor “Teddy” Rubin—­Holocaust Survivor, Korean War Hero, and Medal of Honor Recipient. New York: Random House, 2015. “Corporal Tibor Rubin, Medal of Honor, Korean War.” US Army Features, Valor, https://​www​ .army​.mil​/medalofhonor​/rubin​/http://​www​.jewsingreen​.com​/2005​/11​/tibor​-r­­ ubin/ Curti, Merle E. American Philanthropy Abroad: A History. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1963. Dantzic, Cynthia. 100 New York Calligraphers. New York: Schiffer Publishing, 2015. DellaPergola, Sergio. Review of Relevant Demographic Information on World Jewry. Final Report Presented to the Honorary Secretary Lawrence S. Eagleburger, Chairman the International Commission on Holocaust Era Insurance Claims. Jerusalem, 2003. Diner, Hasia. The Jews of the United States, 1654–­2000. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004. ———. We Remember with Reverence and Love: American Jews and the Myth of Silence after the Holocaust, 1945–­1962. New York: New York University Press, 2009. Dinnerstein, Leonard. America and Survivors of the Holocaust. New York: Columbia University Press, 1982. Dobkowski, Michael, ed. Jewish American Voluntary Organizations. New York: Greenwood Press, 1986. Doron, Daniella. Jewish Youth and Identity in Postwar France: Rebuilding Family and Nation. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2015. Dwork, Debórah. Children with a Star: Jewish Youth in Nazi Europe. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1991. ———, and Robert Jan Van Pelt. Flight from the Reich: Refugee Jews 1933–­1946. New York: W. W. Norton, 2009. Epstein, Helen. Children of the Holocaust: Conversations with Sons and Daughters of Survivors. New York: Penguin, 1979. Fackenheim, Emil. To Mend the World: Foundations of Post-­Holocaust Jewish Thought. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994. Farbstein, Esther. Hidden in Thunder; Perspectives on Faith, Halacha, and Leadership during the Holocaust. 2 vols. Jerusalem: Mosad Harav Kook, 2007.

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Index

Abbott and Costello, 37 Abramowicz, Myriam, 143 abuse, 73–74, 136 academics, professional lives as, 153–154 acculturation, 10, 88 activism, by American Jewish women, 38–42 adjustment problems, 50–68; Boston JFCS approach to, 65–68; difficult placement experiences, 56–60, first year upheavals, 52–54; institutional placements, 62–65; Jewish agency involvement, 54–56; positive placement experiences, 60–62 adolescents, 13–14, 45, 51–52.; difficulties between relatives and, 54–56, 58, 60; emotional problems in, 61; socialization of, 91 See also child survivors Adopt-a-Child programs, 7–8, 33, 36–37 adoption: by American families, 8, 43–49; Truman Directive and, 44–49. See also adjustment problems adult survivors, 12, 69–87, 135 Against All Odds (Helmreich), 95 agency, 12 Agudath Israel Youth Council of America, 31, 32, 37, 71, 119 American Committee for the Rehabilitation of European Jewish Children, 34–36 American Jewish community, 7, 8; Adopta-Child programs and, 7–8, 33, 36–37; adoption of children by, 43–49; American Committee for the Rehabilitation of ­European Jewish Children, 34–36; Correspondence Service and, 39–42; response of, 33–49; tensions in, 12–13; Truman Directive and, 44–49; women’s activism in, 34–35, 38–42. See also Jewish organizations American Jewish Congress (AJC), 34, 35, 38, 148 American Jewish identity, 112–130 American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee ( JDC), 3, 16, 30, 34 American OSE Review, 43, 53 Anders, Edward, 108–109

anger, 42, 73, 105, 114, 125–126, 128 Anti-Defamation League (ADL), 153 archival records, 5–7 Arnel, Jack, 13 artistic pursuits, 157 assimilation, 77–78 Auschwitz, 4, 61, 62, 67, 70, 76, 77, 78, 85, 91, 93, 94, 98, 101, 106, 114, 116, 123, 125–126, 133, 158 Austria, 4, 16, 36, 45, 115 Barasch, Herbert, 115–116 Beekman, Anneke, 24 Belgium, 4, 7, 22, 23, 24–27, 29–31, 36, 38, 40, 46, 72, 76, 81, 97, 99, 115, 123, 143, 161 Bellefaire Orphan Home, 63–65, 74 Berg, Gerard, 97 Bergen-Belsen, 2, 4, 13, 14, 19–20, 74, 83, 95, 134, 135 Berger, David, 125–126 Berger, Robert, 67–68, 93–94 Berges, Mary, 28 Bergman, David, 91, 110 Berliner, Jacob, 77 Berliner, Leon, 105 Berman, Julius, 149 Bialystock Ghetto, 124 Bierman, Magda, 39, 47 birth rates, 95 Bitburg controversy, 137 Blain, Michael, 106, 108 blended families, 74–76, 79–80 B’nai Brith Hillel Foundations, 37 Boren, Claire, 94, 102–103 Boston, Jewish Family and Children’s ­Services ( JFCS), 65–68 Bradshaw House, (Boston) 66 Bresler, Jacob, 17 Brettler, Eva, 20–21, 74–75, 78, 95–96, 135–136, 159 British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC), 17 Bromberg, May Vladeck, 38, 43 Bronfman, Edgar, 149 Bronstein, Paula, 140

207

208 Index Buchenwald, 4 Buergenthal, Thomas, 152–153 Bulgaria, 3 Burke, Samuel, 93, 102, 133–134 Bush, George W., 104 Busy Buddies, 39, 47–48 Cahn, Eric, 145 Camp Kingswood, (Maine), 65, 67 Cantor, Eddie, 37 career choices, 9, 92–93, 152–154 Carter, Beatrice, 65, 67–68, 94 Carter, Jimmy, 137 Catholic Church, 24 Catholic institutions, 23 Catholicism, 119, 120 Central Location Index (CLI), 14, 17 charity, 10, 34 children, 100–103; finding/reclaiming, 13–17. See also child survivors; war orphans Children, history of as an academic discipline, 10–11 Children of the Holocaust (Epstein), 138–139 children’s homes, 25–29, 32, 41–42 Children with a Star (Dwork), 138, 166 Child Survivor Fund, 149–150 child survivor organizations, 11, 144–148 child survivors: abuse of, 73–74; acknowledgement of, 143–146; adjustment of, to life in America, 50–68; career choices of, 9, 92–93, 152–154; children of, 100–103; of concentration camps, 4, 52; consciousness, 10; correspondence with, 39–42; definition of, 2, 10; demographics of, 2–5; emotional problems in, 59–60; gender differences in, 4; of ghettos, 17, 18–20, 28, 38–39, 62, 81, 88, 90, 95, 98, 109–110, 116, 119, 121, 124–125, 127, 149, 154, 160; growing up in U.S., 88–111; healing in, 110, 145, 151–161; identity as, 89, 97, 131–150; in institutions, 18, 23–24, 25, 27–28, 30, 53, 57, 62–65, 67, 72, 77; intermediate period for, 7, 12–32; Jewish identity of, 9–10, 112–130; lack of autonomy for, 45–46; marriages of, 95–100; memoirs of, 157–161; military service of, 103–110; number of, 2–5; positive experiences of, 60–62; in postwar period, 12–32; reception of, in U.S., 8–9; rehabilitation process for, 1, 40–42; relationships

between, 11, 145–146; in religious communities, 112–127, 130; restitution for, 148–150; reunited with parents, 69–87; silence about, 132–136; socialization of, 89–91; symbolism of, 12; testimonies of, 5–7; in U.S., 1, 5, 50–68; war memories of, 6–7, 9, 10, 88, 93, 102, 109, 133–135, 138, 142; workshops, 141–143. See also war orphans Child Survivors’ Association, 140 Christian identities, 28 Christian rescuers, separation from, antisemitic feelings in, 119–121 Christianity, 119–121 circuitous journeys, 18–22 Cleveland Jewish News 14 Claims Conference. See Conference on Jewish Material Claims against Germany Comme Si C’etait Hier, film, (As if it was Yesterday) 143–144 Commission on the Status of Jewish WarOrphans, 23, 30 concentration camps, survivors of, 4, 52, 135. See also specific camps Conference on Jewish Material Claims against Germany (Claims Conference), 5, 148–150 conversionists, 30 Cooper, Eva, 89–90, 100 Correspondence Service, 39–42 creative expression, 152, 157 Crosby, Bing, 37 Czechoslovakia, 3, 4, 14, 23–24, 25, 33, 36, 93, 106, 114, 117, 125 Daniels, Peter, 73–74, 160 Dank, Sara, 17 Decatur Review, 1, 52, demographics, 2–5 Depression, 95 Deustch, Etta, 17 Diamant, Kate, 48 displaced persons (DPs), 44 displaced persons’ (DP) camps, child ­survivors in, 13–17, 20–22, 44, 45, 62, 73, 75, 82, 95, 103, 105–106, 122, 127. See also ­specific DP camps. divorce, 9, 77, 96–97, 99, 100 DP Act of 1948, 5, 8–9, 69 Drazin, Shep, 21–22, 82, 121–122, 163

Index 209 Dubno Ghetto, 90 Dwórk, Deborah, 138 education, 91–95, 105, 106, 108–109, 115, 132–133 EJCA. See European Jewish Children’s Aid Eliash, Asya, 19 Eliash, Lea, 19 Eliash, Solomon, 19 Elster, Aaron, 127–128 emotional needs, 56, 59–60. See also adjustment problems emotional scars, 71–72, 125–126 Ende, Frieda, 95 English language, 22, 62, 66, 81, 89, 90, 91, 92, 94, 97, 111, 115 Enright, Maurice, 46 Epstein, Helen, 138–139 European Jewish children: murder of, 2–4; prewar, 3. See also child survivors; war orphans European Jewish Children’s Aid (EJCA), 8, 45, 51, 54–56, 64 families: blended, 74–76, 79–80; fighting in, 76–78; foster, 24, 31–32, 46, 51, 53, 56–62; in hiding, 21–22; immigrant, 8–9; influence of, on religious identity, 121–124; intact, 80–82; new, 85–86; postwar, 8–9; prewar, 3, 9; reconstituted, 69–87; reuniting with, 13–22, 18–19, 69–87; secrets in, 78–80 family dynamics, 69–70 Family Tracing Services, 155–156 Farkas, Yboia, 14 Farkosz, Lipot, 14, 15 Farrington, Romana, 81–82, 97–98, 119–121 Feldman, Simon, 98–99, 106 Finaly brothers, 24 Fink, Renee, 132, 144–145 Finkler, Golda, 72–73 Finkler, Kaja, 13, 19–20, 72–73, 128–129, 158 Finkler, Ruth, 122–123 Fiszgop, Ester, 124 Foehrenwald DP Camp, 22 Fogelman, Eva, 141, 144, 148 Forst, Siegmund, 117 Forverts 16 foster care, 8, 12, 24 foster families, 31–32, 46, 51, 53; experiences

in, 56–59; home visits to, by social workers, 57–58; motivations of, 59; positive ­experiences in, 60–62; problems in, 56–60; separation from, 70, 81–82 Foster Parent Plan, 34–36, 39, 47 Foxman, Abraham, 144, 153 Fragments (Wilkomirski), 147 France, 3, 7, 15–16, 24–26, 29–30, 35, 36, 38, 41, 46, 47, 49, 52–53, 57, 89, 94, 100, 114, 122, 123, 126–127, 136, 140, 155, 156 Frank, Anne, 135–136 Frank, Lya, 85–86 Fraykind, Maurice, 37 Freud, Anna, 138 Fridmann, Raymond, 133 Friedlander, Saul, 154 Friedman, Gaston Maurice, 37 Frischmann, Morritz, 1 Frydmann, Alfred, 1, 22, 45–46, 52, 83 Frydmann, Mary, 1, 22, 45–46, 52, 60, 83 Fublaines children’s home, 26 fundraising, 7–8, 34–38, 44 Gelb, Regina, 94–95 gender differences, 4, 92 genocide, 30, 88 gentile families, Jewish children in, 23–25, 28–32, 123 gentiles, intermarriage with, 97–99 German Jewish Children’s Aid (GJCA), 45. See also European Jewish Children’s Aid (EJCA) Germany, 4 Ghettos, children in, 17, 18–20, 28–29, 38–39, 62, 81, 90, 95, 98, 109–110, 116, 119, 121, 124, 127, 135, 149, 154, 160. See also specific ghettos GI Bill, 105, 106, 108 Gilbert, Martin, 4 Glantz, Beatrice, 51–52, 53, 59, 65, 66 Glauberman, Michael, 141 Gliksman, George, 47 God, disappointment with, 124–127 Gold, Betty, 95, 102 Gold, Natalie, 75, 78, 100 Goldberger, Alice, 138 Goldstein, Bernard, 39 Goldstein, Rachelle, 155 Golton, Margaret, 64

210 Index Gottwald, Klement, 23 Granetsman, Yeheiel, 46 Greece, 4 Grodzinski, Rivke, 18 Gross, Elly, 14, 112 Grossman, Kurt, 30 group homes, 65–68 group therapy, 139 Gruenfeld, Isidor, 30 Guardian Sponsorship Plan, 37 Gun, Jack, 156, 160 Haberman, Estusia, 14 half-siblings, 75, 79 Hampstead House, 138 haredi, 10 HaShomer Hatsair, 129 Hasidic sects, 113, 121–122, 128–129 Hayes, Helen, 37 Hebrew Sheltering and Immigration Aid Society (HIAS), 93 Held, Adolph, 38 Helmreich, William, 95, 96 helping professions, 92 Hertz, Joseph, 23 Herzog, Rabbi Isaac, 23–24 Herzog, Philip, 117–118 Hidden Child Conference, 103, 144, 155, 159 Hidden Child Foundation, 132, 148, 155 Hidden Child Gathering, 144–145 Hidden Child Project, 143–146 hiding experiences, 135–136 Hiquets family, 119, 155–156 Hirsch, Elizabeth, 53 Hizme, Irene Gutman, 4, 25–26, 47–48, 61–62, 83, 114, 133, 157, 159, 163 Hizme, Rene, 83 holidays, 41, 82, 114, 120, 122, 124, 128, 129, 146 Holland, 4, 25, 29, 36, 83, 90, 144 Holocaust awareness, 136–138 Holocaust museums, 5, 135, 158–159 Holocaust survivor, meaning of, 2, 10, 135, 138 Home for Children of Deported and Killed, 41–42 Horstein, Bondi, 14 How We Survived: 52 Personal Stories by Child Survivors of the Holocaust, 158 Huchman, Tama, 17

humanitarian aid, 20 Hungary, 3, 14, 20, 36, 45, 94, 96, 118, 153 identity: as child survivors, 131–150; Jewish, 9–10, 112–130, 146–148 immigrant communities, 114 immigration laws, 45 immigration quotas, 12, 33, 43, 46 infertility, 103 institutional placements, 62–65 intact families, 80–82 intermarriage, with gentiles, 97–99 International Study of the Organized ­Persecution of Children (ISOPC), 140–141 International Tracing Service (ITS), 14–16, 21 interviews, oral histories and archives, 5–7 Israel, 46, 47, 82, 96, 103, 104. See also Palestine Italy, 4, 36, 123–124, 129, 139 Jablonka, Hana, 103 Jewish Child Care Association ( JCCA), 53 Jewish children: in concentration camps, 4; in gentile environments, 23–25, 28–32, 123; murder of, 2–4. See also child survivors; war orphans Jewish education, 28, 29 Jewish families. See families Jewish Family and Children’s Services ( JFCS), 51, 60, 65–68 Jewish identity, 9–10, 112–130, 146–148 Jewish Independent 37 Jewish Labor Committee ( JLC), 35, 46–47 Jewish organizations: fundraising by, 7–8, 34–38, 44; limited involvement of, postplacement, 54–56, 58–59; reclamation of orphans and, 23–29; response of American, 33–49; role of, in locating relatives, 16, 19; secular, 30–31 Jewish Telegraphic Agency ( JTA), 44 Judaism, 29, 82, 112–130; disappointment with, 124–127; next generation and, 127– 128; options in the United States, 113–119, 126; Orthodox, 10, 113–116, 122, 147 Kaddish (prayer for the dead), 27, 56, 99, 148, 156 Kaidanow, Ellen, 90, 101

Index 211 Katz, Dori, 143 Kaufman, Marie, 74, 89, 92–93, 97, 100, 129, 139, 147–148, 155, 160–161 Kay, Sara, 12 Keefer, Julie, 62–64, 156 Kent, Roman, 21, 62, 149, 153 Kestenberg, Judith, 140–141, 144 Kestenberg, Milton, 141 Kesttenberg Archives, 6 Kindertransport Association, 148 Kindertransporten, 2 Kinsler, Florence, 139 Klarsfeld, Serge, 144 Klein, Dorothy, 47 Kloster-Indersdorf displaced children’s center Knoepel, Suzanne, 134–135 Kopstein, Ernest, 65 Korean War, 9, 103–110 Kornatowski, Boleslaw, 121 Kotler, Rabbi Aaron, 113 Kovno Ghetto, 18–19, 109 Kranowski, Nathan, 147 Krell, Lea, 52–53 Krell, Robert, M.D., 88, 133, 137, 139, 140, 142, 144, 147, 149, 150, 154, 163 Krell, Ruth, 46, 52–53 Krośniewice Ghetto, 81, 119 Krychman, Shloma, 121 Kubowitzki, A. Leon, 34 Kurz, Doriane, 83, 133, 134 Landowicz, Sala, 17 Langer, Lawrence, 78 language skills, 22, 66, 89, 91, 94, 97 Lantos, Tom, 153 Lavsky, Hagit, 4 Le Mans children’s home, 41–42 Lessing, Carla, 145 letter-writing exchanges, 39–42 Lewin, Kurt, 133 Leybel, Maurice, 29 Leyson, Leon, 105–106 liberation, 12–32 Life Magazine, 48, 61 Lipman, Simone Weil, 136 Lithuania, 21 Lives Lived and Lost (Finkler), 158 Lodz Ghetto, 149

Love Despite Hate (Moskovitz), 138–139 Lurie, Shaya (Sol), 15–16, 93, 109 Lurie, Sol, 101 Luxembourg, 4 Lyon, Gloria, 133 Macedonia, 3 Majerowicz, Boruch, 126–127, 146 male child survivors: career choices of, 9; military service of, 9, 103–110 Manasse, Fred, 57, 62, 156, 157 Marchulenene, Valia, 19 Mark, Perla, 163 Marks, Jane, 144 marriage, 9, 95–100 Marrus, Michael, 23 Marx, Ernie, 132 materialism, 114 McCarthyism, 105 media coverage, of war orphans, 1–2 medical experimentation, 4, 25–26, 159 Meisels, Mirl, 146 memoirs, 157–161 mental illness, 71 Meyerowitz, Hilda, 53–54 military service, 9, 103–110 Miller, Daisy, 129–130, 134, 136, 139–140, 143, 150, 153 Miller, Solomon, 116, 117, 118 Millman, Isaac, 41–42, 47–48, 158 Mishpocha (family), 145–146 missing childhood, 85 missing gravestone syndrome, 156 missing persons, locating, 13–17 Modzitzer Rebbe, (Shaul Taub) Moskovitz, Sarah, 87, 92, 131, 137–140, 149 Mount Kisco Yeshiva Farm Settlement, 10, 116–118 multiple placements, 52–54, 57, 59 Mylnów Ghetto, 17 Nathanson, Eva, 79, 133, 135 National Council of Jewish Women, 14 Netherlands, 4, 7, 24, 30, 85 Neumann, Dr. Alfred, 61 New York Association for New Americans (NYANA), 80 New York magazine, 144 New York Times, 23, 44, 72, 117, 137, 138, 144

212 Index Night (Wiesel), 158 Novick, Rabbi William, 44 O’Dywer, William, 37 Oeuvres de Secours aux Enfants (OSE), 42, 52–53, 136 Oliner, Pearl, 105. Oliner, Sam, 105, 154 Olsen, Ingeborg, 50 oral histories, 5–7 orphanages, 26–28, 46, 63–65 orphans. See war orphans Orthodox Judaism, 10, 113–116, 122, 147 Orthodox organizations, 24–25, 27, 29–30 Oshry, Rabbi Ephraim, 19 Palestine, 13, 17, 21, 23, 26, 44, 46, 47, 56, 84, 98, 103, 114, 124. See also Israel parents: abuse by, 73–74; adjustment diffi­ culties for, 73; deceased, 78–79; foster, 24, 31–32, 46, 51, 53, 56–62; mixed emotions toward birth, 82; relationships with, 121– 124; remarriage by, 74–76; reuniting with, 18–22, 69–87; searching for, 14; survivor, 9, 80–82, 135; traumatized, 71 Pasternak, Bella, 16, 45, 62, 101 Patt, Emanuel, 40–41 Peabody, Halina, 145–146 Pear, Miki Berliner, 132, 134 Pearl, Miri, 100–101 peer relationships, 89–91, 132 pen pals, 39–42 photographs: of orphans, 36; of survivors, 14 physical abuse, 73–74 Piotrków Ghetto, 19 Pius XII (Pope), 23 Pludemacher, Rachelle, 42 Pludemacher, Serge, 42 Poland, 3, 4, 7, 12, 13, 17, 18, 19, 21, 25, 26, 29, 36, 38, 40, 46, 47, 62–63, 75, 81, 94, 97, 98, 99, 102, 105, 106, 119–121, 123, 124, 127, 138, 140, 149, 154, 156, 160 Portnoy, Deborah, 53, 60 Portugal, Rabbi Eliezer Zusha, (Skulener Rebbe) 28–29. post-traumatic stress syndrome (PTSD), 110 postwar abuse, 73–74 postwar period, 6, 7, 12–32

President’s Commission on the Holocaust, 137 prewar Jewish families, 3 prewar Jewish population, 3–4 public service, 152–154 Rakowski, Dora, 71 Rakowski, Miriam, 31–32, 70–72, 83, 119, 136, 155–156, 159 Ravensbruck, 19 Reagan, Ronald, 137 reclamation, of Jewish orphans, 13–17, 23–32 reconstituted families, 69–87 Red Cross, 14–16 refugees: difficulties for, 80–82; humanitarian aid for, 20 rehabilitation, of child survivors, 1, 40–42 relatives: missing, 156; problems between child survivors and, 50–60, 68; rejection by, 52–53; search for, 13–22; social service agencies and, 54–57; survivor, 85–86; in U.S., 8, 16, 20, 44–46, 51–54 religious identities, 10, 112–113, American Jewish identity, 113–114; Christianity, pull of, 119–121; disappointment with God and religion, 124–127; family and early experiences, 121–124; Mount Kisco experiment, 116–118; next generation experiences, 127–128; Orthodox Judaism, 114–116; secular influences, 128–130. See also Judaism religious orphanages, 25–28 remarriage, 9, 74–76, 78, 99–100 Rescue Children, Inc., 25–26, 36–39, 46, 47–48 rescuers, 18, 19, 119; reclaiming children from, 23–32, 120; reunions with, 154–156; separation from, 70, 88, 114 resilience, 88 restitution, 148–150 reunions: with families, 13–21; with rescuers, 154–156 Ribons, Berek, 106 Ribons, Jacques, 16, 106, 107 Rieder, Helen, 124–125, 126 Riegner, Gerhart, 30 Rogozin, Isidore, 117 Romania, 3, 14, 16, 25, 28–29, 36, 112, 123, 128 Rosenkrantz, Arthur, 39

Index 213 Rubin, Tibor, 103–104 Ruyts, Oskar, 143 Sachar, A. L., 37 Sachenhausen Camp, 4 Save-A-Child Foundation, 30–31 Save the Survivors Campaign, 44 Scheinowitz, Zulme, 37 Schick, Malka, 123–124 Schönberger, Lenka, 33 school experiences, 66, 89, 91–95, 115, 132–133 Schwartz, Dana, 141 Schwartz, Leslie, 132 Schwartz, Maya, 140 Schwartz, Susie, 90–91, 92, 147 secrets, around family and identity, 78–80 secularism, 128–130 Seltzer, Averred, 142 Seltzer, Stefanie, 140, 141–142, 150 Semel, Miri, 77–78 Septimus, Louis, 37 Serkess, Leonard, 66–67 Shachnow, Sidney, 109–110 Shoah Foundation, 153 Shore, Ann, 102, 132, 144, 145, 159 Shulman, William, 158 Shwartzein, Sonia, 159 siblings, 83–85; half, 75, 79; problems between, 70; searching for, 14, 156 Silberberg-Skier, Rose, 101 Silbiger, Lilli, 91 silence of survivors, cultural expectations for forgetting, 132–136; emerging Holocaust awareness, 136–138; hidden children, acknowledgment of, 143–146; Jewish identity, groups for, 146–148; recognition of early child survivors, 138–143; restitution, 148–150; writing and speaking for public consumption, 157–161 Simon, Gertrude, 38 Sirotta, Necha, 126 Skulener Rebbe. (Eliezer Portugal) 28–29. Slagter, Rachel, 88, 96–97, 126, 163 social activism, 152–154 socialization, 89–91 social service agencies, 51, 53–59, 65–68 social workers, 51, 53, 54, 57–58 Sommer, Hurst, 108

speaking, public forums, 157–161. See also silence of survivors Spector, Barbara, 67, 91, 93 Spitzer, Jacob, 118 S.S. Althos, 50 S.S. Drothingham, 50 S.S. Marine Flasher, 50, 95 S.S. Marine Marlin, 50 Steel, Judith Koeppel, 155 Steil, Simon, 27–28, 161 Stein, David, 24–25 stepparents, 74–76, 78–80 Stern, Eli, 128 St. Louis Post Dispatch, 37 Strauss, Jeanine, 96 survivor, definition of, 2, 10, 135, 138 Survivor’s Registry, 5 Sweden, 7, 20–21, 25, 29, 36, 72, 74 Swerdloff, Moshe, 30, 31, 32. See also Save-aChild Foundation Switzerland, 31, 32, 36 Symchowicz, Vladek, 39 Tarkotower, Aryeh, 35 Taub, Rabbi Shaul Yedidya, 20, 72 Tec, Nechama, 154 teenagers. See adolescents Teicher, Goldine, 28, 114–115, 136 Tenzer, Herbert, 25 testimonies, 5–7 Thrace, 3 Tiefenbrunner, Jonas, 27 Tiefenbrunner orphanage, 22, 27–28, 114–115 tikkun olam, (repairing the world) 151–152 Tishler, Marsha, 102 tracing services, 14–16 traumatic experiences, effects of, 70–73 Tress, Elimelech “Mike” 30, 32. Trompettor, Jack, 133, 134, 135, 145 Truman, Harry, 44 Truman Directive of 1945, 5, 8, 33, 44–49, 50, 69. Tryszynksa, Luba, 21 tzedekah, (charity) 34 UJA. See United Jewish Appeal. ultra-Orthodox communities, 29, 113, 115–118, 126–128, 146

214 Index ultra-Orthodox organizations, 37 Umschweif, Karel, 36 United Jewish Appeal (UJA), 34–35 United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA), 1 United Service for New Americans (USNA), 58 United States: growing up in, 88–111; immigration of survivors to, 1, 5, 50–68; reception of child survivors in, 8–9; relatives in, 8, 16, 20, 44–46, 51–54 United States Committee for the Care of European Children (USCOMM), 44–45, 50 United States Holocaust Memorial Museum (USHMM), 5, 135, 158 United States military service, 9, 103–110 University of Judaism, 139 Vaad Hahatzalah, 25, 39 Varschaver, Catherine, 39, 40 volunteer work, 152–154 Wall Street Journal 144 Waltzer, Kenneth, 4 war orphans, 131–132; adoption of, 8, 43–49; conflicts over, 24–25; emigration to U.S., 33–34, 44–49; media coverage of, 1–2; multiple placements of, 52–54; organizations helping, 23–29; photographs of, 36; reclamation of, 23–32; in U.S., 1, 50–68. See also child survivors Warsaw Ghetto, 18, 38–39 wartime experiences, 27–28, 61, 78, 133; effects of, 9, 70–73, 80–82, 88, 151; unanswered questions from, 80

wartime memories, 6–7, 9, 10, 88, 93, 102, 109, 133–135, 138, 142 Weems, Lea, 99 Weingarten, Miri, 123 Weinstein, Leon, 18 Weissmandl, Rabbi Michael Dov Ber, 10, 116–118 Wiesel, Elie, 137, 144, 158 Wilhelmina (queen), 23 Wise, Jonathan, 35 Wise, Louise, 34, 35 Wittelsohn, Henri, 99–100, 104–105 Wolf, Diane, 27, 135 women: activism of American Jewish, 34–35, 38–42; career paths for, 92–93; marriage by, 95 Women’s Division of the American Jewish Congress, 34–35, 38–39 women’s liberation movement, 96 Workmen’s Circle, 114 World Chanukah Celebration Project, 40 World Federation of Jewish Child Survivors of the Holocaust and Descendants (WFJCSHD), 131, 140, 147, 150 World Gathering of Jewish Survivors of the Holocaust, 137 World Jewish Congress (WJC), 29, 34, 148, 149 written memoirs, 157–161 Wulman, Leon, 43 yeshivas, 10, 116–118 Yonkers Times, 37 Yugoslavia, 36, 129 Zitkin, Ellen, 75 Zucker, Leon, 37

About the Author

Beth B. Cohen has been involved in Holocaust studies for over twenty-­five

years. She was the director of the Rhode Island Holocaust Memorial Museum from 1988 to 1998, after which she pursued her PhD in Holocaust history from Clark University. Cohen is the author of Case Closed: Holocaust Survivors in Postwar America (Rutgers University Press in association with the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum). She has also contributed to many scholarly collections and consults regularly on Holocaust-­related educational projects. She lives in Los Angeles and teaches at California State University, Northridge.