Read reflections and testimonies written by Holocaust survivors in their own words.
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Searching for My Father’s Ashes
September 17, 2006
For many years I have been sharing memories about my life as a prisoner under Nazi occupation during the time we call the Holocaust. I do so with the hope that humanity will learn the truth of what happened and, most of all, so they will not allow it to happen again to any human beings regardless of how they pray or how they look or where they came from. People always ask questions. They ask if I am still Jewish or if I believe in G-d. People also like to know if I went back home to Siauliai, Lithuania.
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A Headstone in the Air
September 17, 2006
The Bonaventure Cemetery in Savannah, Georgia—acres of land located on the Wilmington River—is visited every year by thousands of tourists. It is a unique burial place dating back to the 18th century. In addition to the famous Georgians that are interred there, there is an unusual collection of statues telling the story of the people whose graves they adorn as well as an assortment of mausoleums and headstones. The most touching are the statuettes on the graves of young children. One reads: “Papa’s Sweetheart.” The moss-draped mighty old oaks stand erect protecting the elegant statuary and headstones. The cemetery is on the National Registry of Historic Places.
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The Judgement, in Two Parts
September 17, 2006
With disbelief we watched the young men, our soldiers, looking tired, in deplorable condition, many wounded, returning defeated from the frontline after only a few days of fighting.
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January, 1945
September 17, 2006
In January of 1945, we came to Snina. We came from Kiev. The reason we came was because my friend Monica told me on the night of December 24 that the NKVD [Soviet secret police] would come and pick up my sister and the old lady, Ms. Diernfeld, whom we had met during our travels in Russia. She referred to my sister as a German spy because she had very blonde hair and I never referred to her as my sister. I never talked about my family or anything personal.
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What Mattered Most
September 18, 2005
My sister Tia came home from work ill. She couldn’t even eat the soup that Mama prepared for supper. We were putting thin slices of potato on her forehead to bring down her fever—precious potato slices that should have been put in the soup instead.
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That First Day
September 18, 2005
I don’t remember the name of the displaced persons camp, or which country I was in, but I do remember that first day.
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For a Rainy Day (Men Zol Nit Bedarfen)
September 18, 2005
I still hoped that Mother would show up in one of the forests that abounded in that area of Poland. It was autumn of 1942. At that time I believed that this nightmare was temporary, and that any day I would find Mama. Had I thought differently, I would have given up.
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The Invitation
September 18, 2005
The sound was unlike anything I’d ever heard. Bewildered, I spun around and became alarmed. A burly man about my age appeared to be having a convulsion. Steadying himself against the Information Desk, he was sobbing uncontrollably, his face crimson and contorted.
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I Never Knew Their Names
September 18, 2005
I am a Holocaust survivor. I lived through a ghetto, a concentration camp, several labor camps, and a death march. When I share memories of those four years, people from the audience ask questions.
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Dear Papa
September 18, 2005
Dear Papa, During the day I think about you. In the night I dream about you.
