November 01, 2017
by Peter Gorog
How can you say “thank you” to someone who gave you the most precious thing anyone can have: your own life? And, what if you never had a chance to get to know him? This is a question I face a few times every year, when our Jewish traditions compel us to remember those loved ones who are not with us anymore.
I was only three months old when my father last saw me, before he was taken to a forced labor camp. Two years later, he died somewhere in Ukraine, where he had been taken by the Hungarian army. He had never had an opportunity to be personally involved in my upbringing; I never heard his encouraging voice when I needed it the most. He could never share laughter with me, he could not express his joy about my accomplishments, and he never shared my sorrows. Although I have his DNA, there is something beyond the physical realm that made me what I am today that kept me going when I was about to give up. It was my mother’s heroic fight for survival during the Holocaust and the subsequent Communist regime, her unceasing love for me, and the loving memory of my father she implanted in me that helped me through the darkest moments of my life.
As far back as I can remember, every time I was in a difficult situation, in physical pain or emotional distress, in seemingly hopeless situations, I conjured up an image. It was an image I had never seen, but it was more real than anything you can imagine implemented in a high-definition, 3-D movie. In this scene, I see my father walking in knee-high snow in the endless Ukrainian steppe, in his worn-out civilian shoes, wearing clothes that were not meant for the brutal Russian winter, hungry and fearful that he would be shot if he stopped for a little rest. At that moment, all of my pains dissipate, my hopelessness turns into vision, and my disappointments become negligible. I realize the sad truth—that he never had a chance to pursue his dreams, that he was half my age when he was robbed of the opportunity to see me growing up and to have fun with his grandchildren.
This imaginary scene gives me hope and strength when all else fails. In spite of the tragedy that robbed me of a normal childhood and took my father away, I am thankful for the memory of my father’s unfinished life.
©2017, Peter Gorog. The text, images, and audio and video clips on this website are available for limited non-commercial, educational, and personal use only, or for fair use as defined in the United States copyright laws.
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