Simcha Jacobovici is a Canadian-Israeli filmmaker and journalist. He is a three-times Emmy winner for “Outstanding Investigative Journalism” and a …  New York Times best selling author. He’s also an adjunct professor in the Department of Religion at Huntington University, Ontario.

• At the 2014 Oscars, they celebrated the 75th anniversary of the release of the “Wizard of Oz” by having Pink sing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”, with highlights from the film in the background. But what few people realized, while listening to that incredible performer singing that unforgettable song, is that the music is deeply embedded in the Jewish experience.

The film came out on January 1, 1939. This was less than two months after the notorious Kristallnacht – night of the crystal – when Jewish businesses were looted, synagogues attacked and Jewish storefronts had their windows smashed by the Nazi regime in Germany. WWII was exactly 8 months away. In other words, the Holocaust was about to begin. Six million Jews would be murdered, one million of them children, for no other reason other than that they Jewish. 
When the clouds of anti-Semitism were gathering over Europe – as they are once again gathering now – out of the collective Jewish angst that the immigrants brought to America, a handful of Jews translated their assimilationist fantasies onto a new medium – film. As Neal Gabler has so remarkably documented in “An Empire of Their Own: How the Jews Invented Hollywood” all the Hollywood studios were created by Jewish immigrants. Columbia Pictures was founded by Adolph Zukor from Hungary, Universal was founded by Carl Laemmle from Germany, MGM by Louis B. Mayer from Belarus, Warner Brothers by Polish immigrants Harry, Albert, Sam and Jack Warner (Jack was the only brother born in North America). The list goes on. The genius of these “moguls” was that they were able to translate shtetl dreams into American feature films. Suddenly, their fantasies of white picket fences, strong fathers, loving neighbours and a society where race and religion didn’t matter became everyone’s fantasies. “Americanism” morphed into “Hollywoodism”, and Hollywoodism replaced the real America with the America of the films. For example, the American army was segregated up to and including WWII. But in Hollywood films, the American army was integrated and that’s how we remember the Second World War – blacks and whites fighting together in platoons that never existed. Similarly with the Westerns. Bad guys with high boots terrorizing religious townspeople until a new sheriff rode into town didn’t actually happen in the American West. But the Hollywood Jews managed to take the experience of eastern European Jews terrorized during pogroms by Ukrainian Cossacks and convert it into the classic American Western.
The fantasies of immigrant Jews wanting to be “real” Americans were popularized not only by Hollywood producers – there were also the Broadway and Tin Pan Alley Jews. It is no accident, for example, that the greatest Christmas songs of all time were written by Jews. For example, “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer” was written by Johnny Marks and “White Christmas” was penned by a Jewish liturgical singer’s (cantor) son, Irving Berlin. But perhaps the most poignant song emerging out of the mass exodus from Europe was “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”. The lyrics were written by Yip Harburg.  He was the youngest of four children born to Russian Jewish immigrants. His real name was Isidore Hochberg and he grew up in a Yiddish speaking, Orthodox Jewish home in New York. The music was written by Harold Arlen, a cantor’s son. His real name was Hyman Arluck and his parents were from Lithuania. Together, Hochberg and Arluck wrote “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”, which was voted the 20th century’s number one song by the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) and the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA). In writing it, the two men reached deep into their immigrant Jewish consciousness – framed by the pogroms of the past and the Holocaust about to happen – and wrote an unforgettable melody set to near prophetic words. Read the lyrics in their Jewish context and suddenly the words are no longer about wizards and Oz, but about Jewish survival:
Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high,
There’s a land that I heard of
Once in a lullaby.
Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue,
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true.
Someday I’ll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far
Behind me.
Where troubles melt like lemon drops
Away above the chimney tops
That’s where you’ll find me.
Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly.
Birds fly over the rainbow.
Why then, oh why can’t I?
If happy little bluebirds fly
Beyond the rainbow
Why, oh why can’t I?
The Jews of Europe could not fly. They could not escape beyond the rainbow. Harburg was almost prescient when he talked about wanting to fly like a bluebird away from the “chimney tops”. In the post-Auschwitz era, chimney tops have taken on a whole different meaning than the one they had at the beginning of 1939.
 
Pink’s mom is Judith Kugel. She’s Jewish of Lithuanian background. As Pink was belting the Harburg/Arlen song from the stage at the Academy Awards, I wasn’t thinking about the movie. I was thinking about Europe’s lost Jews and the immigrants to America. I was then struck by the irony that for two thousand years the land that the Jews heard of “once in a lullaby” was not America, but Israel. The remarkable thing would be that less than ten years after “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” was first published, the exile was over and the State of Israel was reborn. Perhaps the “dreams that you dare to dream really do come true”.

The Grand Opening
 

Germany's biggest synagogue,
on Rykestrasse in Berlin ,
has reopened after a lavish restoration.  
 
The synagogue was set ablaze on Kristallnacht,
or the Night of Broken Glass, in 1938 .

Friday's inauguration saw rabbis bringing the Torah to the synagogue,
in a ceremony witnessed by political leaders and Holocaust survivors
from around the world

The synagogue, with a 1,200-person capacity, has been described
as one of the jewels of Germany 's Jewish community.
  
Rabbi Chaim Roswaski, who presided at the ceremony,
described the reconstruction as 'a miracle.'

Restoration of the neo-classical building, which is more than 100 years old,
cost more than 45m euros ($60m, 30m).

The re-opening comes at the start of a Jewish Culture Festival in the capital.  
Did you ever think you would see this in your lifetime?

To My Bubbie

I must have been 5 or 6 years old and I remember running as fast as I could outside my bubbie and zeida’s house.  My mom was there to pick me up and I wanted to stay.  Bubbie was making Shabbos dinner and my zeida was watching the six o’clock news.  I hated leaving…ever having to say good-bye.  It was a second home to all of us.  It always smelled like schnitzel and chicken soup.  My bubbie was our second mommy.    She was all of our strength.

She use to work like a dog and never (figinsach) for herself. She was always concerned about other people first.  My mom and aunt did not grow up with much monetarily —once my mom told me that when she was little Bubbie use to feed the family dinner and she never took a plate for herself—just a little bread.  When her daughter’s would ask why she wasn’t hungry—her response—although untrue-- was “because I already ate.”   This is such a true example of how her needs were never at the forefront—it was always about the family.  The kinda.   Besides her own children, she always made sure that all of the grandkids were taken care of—whether it was putting us through college and graduate schools.  Nothing was too much for her.

What I learned from my Bubbie’s death was that character is essential: What she was, was how she died.  A fighter.  Not for herself but for others.

She fought hard the last three weeks not for herself but to give her sisters a chance to say good-bye and so that she could tell them she loved them.  She waited for her daughter Sheila to come down so that she could tell her what a good daughter she was.  She waited for her sister Hannah to fly down and hold her hand and tell her she loved her.  We were all so lucky to have her. 

During these last three weeks, we never left her.  She always had us by her every minute of every day through her journey. She deserved that.   She talked to us as much as she was able to.  We wouldn’t leave her—we needed to feel her, smell her and talk to her--- as much as she needed us there to help her on this journey. 

Bubbie you gave us a gift the day you died. Before you left us to see zeida –it took all of your strength but you opened your eyes for the first time in two days and looked for a long time at your grandchildren and your great grandchildren and you gave us the gift to look into your eyes one last time. Bubbie, I will never forget your last words to each of us.   You managed to say you loved us when it took all the effort in the world to even take a breath. When my brother told you it was OK to go you managed to say thank you.  You were so sad to leave us at first.  Your body was already too weak to cry but we felt your tears and sadness as you looked at all of us and felt us all around you. You knew you were going….  it was enough.  You looked at each one of us, eyes wide open after days of not being able to open your eyes.  You fought so hard not to leave us. You kept saying the kinda, the kinda.  Bubbie-the kinda will be ok- I promise you.  You made us strong.  

Your daughter did the most unselfish and hardest thing a child should ever have to do…she walked you to g-d.  She knew you were scared….she stopped crying….and calmly and quietly took your hand…. looked into your eyes….and Nancy told you that she was walking with you side by side, can you feel me mommy, she said, I am right here, it is OK Mommy, its Shaboss you need to make chicken soup for daddy, take the candlestick mommy-its ok, make Shabbos dinner for your brother Benuyamin and for all the kinda mommy.  Bubbie –  A Friday will never pass without me benching lecht and wishing you a good shabbas. But it is now time  for you to look after yourself, be with Zeida and your mama and tata and all the kinda.  Za gizint Bubbie and I promise that every Shabbos I will look up into the sky and see the three stars that you waited to appear before leaving us….I love you Bubbie.  You are my gansen laben.

Love you bubs.
 
Jennifer Lieberman

by Howard Herskowitz

I have so much to be thankful for to NEXT GENERATIONS. First, to Nancy Dershaw and then to all the wonderful NEXT GENERATIONS' members for their friendship, kindness, camaraderie and understanding. You have all been a wonderful support and positive influence for me in recent years, especially in connection with my own journey through “Aaron’s Journey – From Slave to Master.”
 
Unlike most survivors of the Holocaust my parents freely spoke about their experiences. While my mother, Helen Herskowitz, endured the tragedy of Auschwitz, Bergen-Belsen, and other death camps, my late father, Aaron Herskowitz, related an incredible tale that my siblings and I thrilled to as an epic adventure, that in its own unique way is far different than anything in Holocaust literature or history.

"So Dad, how many Nazis did you kill?" was the question I always asked my father as a young boy.
 
He often kept me spellbound with stories about his incredible struggles and fantastic escapes from the Nazis, so it was the most natural follow-up question for a boy to ask.  Somehow, though, my father always avoided answering that one question. He would manage either to waltz out of the room or to skillfully change the subject. 

But at last, after decades of talking with my father about the events of his youth, I videotaped, audiotaped and took extensive notes in a series of interviews with him. He was well known in the family and local community as a captivating storyteller, who could enhance his testimony even more so by impersonating the facial expressions and voices of other characters, including his incredible memory of the very conversations he had with these people. As he began to tell his story, it quickly became apparent that all the hours I’d spent listening to him as a boy had not prepared me for the full breadth of the horror, madness, and triumph he had endured.
 
One of the greatest impressions left upon me was Aaron’s resistance against the Nazis, especially when he had to kill his would-be Nazi assassins, sometimes with his bare hands; and then upon his escape, his ultimate revenge against his erstwhile tormentors for their crimes against humanity. To me and to my siblings, Aaron was a hero greater than any we had ever experienced in literature, history or on the silver screen. There are too few stories of Jewish resistance arising out of the Holocaust. Yes, there was the Warsaw ghetto uprising, the miraculous story of the Bielsky brothers, amongst very few others.
 
After I grew up and then became a lawyer, I maintained empathy for the innocent underdog, and experienced the same sympathetic passions in my study of history, where innocent outnumbered individuals or nations achieved victory against overwhelmingly superior odds. Drawing upon my historical and family roots as the son of two survivors, I have striven to become a champion of the underdog.
 
But as Aaron’s story continued to unfold, during my continual talks and interviews with him, and as my own research and study of the Holocaust grew, I did find myself plagued by another simple question that has fascinated many historians and observers about the plight of the Jews during the Nazi occupation: Why didn’t they fight back? And where was God? As Aaron’s tale unfolded, I began to understand the untold truth kept virtually secret until now, revealed in the book I’ve written: “Aaron’s Journey - From Slave to Master,” the site for which   can now be quickly accessed on the web at aaronsjourney.com.
 
When I completed the book in its pre-final form, I gave a copy to Nancy Dershaw. I’ll never forget when she called me the next day and said “Howard, I couldn’t put it down. Before I started to read I thought it was going to be another Holocaust story, but it’s NOT. It’s the most incredible unique action packed story of survival and revenge, and it has affected me so emotionally, that I had to call you. I had to cancel appointments and meetings just so that I could finish it without interruption. Your father was one of the greatest heroes of the Jewish people ever. This story needs to be told to the world. And you have written it so beautifully.” I couldn’t thank Nancy enough for her kind support. I told Nancy that her reaction was similar to those I’ve been receiving from Jews and non-Jews alike, since the theme is universal. The background just happens to be the Holocaust. Other NEXT GENERATIONS' members have read the book and have given me similar encouragement. And now NEXT GENERATIONS has been kind and gracious enough to have me as a guest speaker about Aaron’s Journey on a panel about heroes of the Holocaust.
 
And indeed Aaron was heroic. After surviving years of terror after the Nazis and their Hungarian allies forced him into slave labor upon their invasion of Russia, Aaron escaped to the Russian side, for whom he became a hero, crossing back over enemy lines, arresting and capturing hundreds of Nazi officers and spies. When the tide of war turned, the Russians appointed Aaron as overlord of a captured enemy town. Thus, in an incredible reversal of fortune, Aaron became master of his former tormentors. The Russians gave him full authority to punish those enemies who committed crimes against humanity. It is this ordeal that tested Aaron’s own capacity for humanity itself.
 
As the late senator Tom Lantos quoted an ancient proverb upon reviewing a draft of Aaron’s Journey: “Don’t judge a man until you have walked two moons in his own shoes.”
 
Again, many thanks to Nancy, Rose, Zvi, Judi, Brenda, and all the other members of NEXT GENERATIONS for which I don’t have the space to name for their undying support. And NEXT GENERATIONS must always be recognized for the many invaluable programs, services, and education the organization brings to the entire community. I look forward to working with NEXT GENERATIONS for many years to come.
 

Kindest Personal Regards,

Howard Herskowitz
info@aaronsjourney.com

NEXT GENERATIONS Opening Meeting/Program, Nov. 5, 2009
Meeting Closing Remarks

You might wonder why I was chosen to give the closing remarks at tonight’s program. My name is Connie Packman and I am not a child of a Holocaust Survivor. To my knowledge I lost no one in my family in the Holocaust. I was only 8 years old when the US entered into the 2nd world war and have very little recollection of the following 4 years and there was little in the history books during my educational years.

Yet I stand before you as a friend of NEXT GENERATIONS and as their treasurer and VP of fund raising. Why then was I chosen to close this educational evening. Why?

It’s called conscience.

13 Years ago right after the State of Florida mandated Holocaust education from k to 12, a group of women asked me to help organize an organization that would raise funds to train teachers to teach their students about the Holocaust. At that time I was living the life of fun and games that most live when they move to Florida and was not the least bit interested in getting involved in a charity organization. I felt I did that, done that and I liked my life the way it was. But again, what entered into it. Conscience!

My husband and I raised our grandson from the time he was 8 until he was ready to go to college. He went to Spanish River High and though we often helped him with his homework, we never questioned him about his curriculum..

When this group of women called me to help start their organization, I initially said no way, but again my conscience got in the way.

So I called my grandson who was at college at the time and asked him what he learned in high school about the Holocaust. His response was MOM-MOM- nothing. We learned about the 2nd world war, but nothing about the extermination of 6 million Jews. My first lesson about the Holocaust was in my 2nd semester at Penn State when I then realized the horrific of the war.


Once again, my conscience got to me. I believe that God puts us on earth with love and compassion, but the rest is up to us as individuals to help make this world a better place. It is then in our hands. So from that moment, 13 years ago I became obsessive compulsive to make sure that the lessons of the Holocaust will never be forgotten. And I have worked around the clock for all these years to make sure that these lessons will be heard.


But now it is 13 years later and so many of my survivor friends have left us. Think where we will be 13 years from now. So where do we go then?

Again, my conscience tells me there is only one place to go. To the children and grandchildren and heirs of Holocaust survivors to keep the message Alive. It is absolutely imperative to support the important role NEXT GENERATIONS must play in the years to come. For without them, who else? This is not an easy role for this generation. They were raised differently than most of us. Many became the mothers and their parents became the children. Many survivors could not share their painful stories with their children and only now, as adults are NEXT GENERATIONS sorting out the reasons.

In the horrifying world of the Holocaust, where evil took hold of governments and genocide became commonplace, as you witnessed in tonight’s film, courageous non- Jews risked their lives to save Jewish children and their families. These individuals knew they could pay the highest price of all--- but they knew they would pay an even bigger price, ignoring their conscience, so they did what they had to do. 

Humanity from all corners of the universe continue to suffer horrific crimes motivated by ethnic, religious and racial bias. We teach our children the lessons of the Holocaust with the hope that the world will respond differently to these cries of help, but it seems that Never Again happens again and again and again.

 So now in closing I want to ask all of you to listen to your conscience. You can support NEXT GENERATIONS by joining and becoming a friend of NG. Our dreams lie within our children and each of you can make a difference.  Albert Einstein said “ The world is too dangerous to live in- not because of the people who do evil, but because of the people who sit and let it happen.” 


I thank our friends of Temple Beth-El Sisterhood for partnering with NG tonight and especially want to thank my beautiful friend (inside and out) Asa Loof for telling her extraordinary story of the brave people of Scandinavia and to the Bick Family for being here tonight and allowing us to honor this extraordinary woman who I unfortunately knew only a short time but did know first hand the values she instilled in not only her family but in all others who knew her. 

Thank you for sharing this evening,
 
Connie Packman, 
NEXT GENERATIONS, Treasurer

by Molly Iglicki   

I had a sleepless night last, tossing and turning, thinking of so much more that I needed to write (I think this is part of my helping myself to move on from this experience).   As we walked through Auschwitz death camp, it was absolutely freezing and pouring with rain,We were wearing warm coats, jumpers, boots and had umbrellas-- We were all complaining about how freezing we were and all I could think about was my parents standing out where we were wearing nothing but a cotton striped pajama which was the uniform they were given, no shoes, socks etc. I f we were freezing what had they gone through??


We stood in the carriage of one of the original transport trains--tiny windows, no water no toilet facilities, there were 50 of us squashed on but when our parents were transported from their homes to these camps there were between 80 to 100 all squashed together, no room to move.--often for 7 to 10 hours at a time. My father in his personal testimony referred to himself as " lucky " because he had a bit of air because he had been pushed close to a window--how could he refer to himself as being "lucky" under these circumstance but I guess your values totally change--as far as he was concerned he was lucky. He also describe feeling that he was standing on corpses and having no where to move--he couldn't even move his leg to move off them.

We had 2 of the survivors with us on the train--one of them totally broke down, the other held on for dear life because he felt that the train was moving and he was heading for certain death. --such brave people to even make this trip.

We saw exhibits of tons of human hair which had been shaved off all the prisoners, 1000's of pairs of shoes taken from them , clothes taken from them--the greatest impact was seeing the baby clothes, ashes of human bodies preserved in special areas, we saw the bunks they slept on often 3 or 4 on a bunk just to try to keep warm, we tried to feel what they felt,but it's impossible even as close to it as we were.

We saw the pits where so many bodies were burned -the Nazis even had experiments to try to work out the fastest way to burn them--larger ones on top, children on top, smaller bodies on top---how can people be so cruel????
I cried a lot before I left on this journey in anticipation of how I would react,but there weren't many tears although we all broke down at times,--we were all surprisingly strong.-- it was all too surreal to believe. I t felt like we were walking through a movie set, not real life situations. Of course the camps have been cleaned up. there is now grass and there are trees, nothing like when our parents were there. As our educator told us, any grass that was there originally was eaten by prisoners who were desperate for any food that they could get.


I had the privilege of reading out my father's personal testimony and I know he would have been so pleased because one of his main aims in his life was to keep the memories of their experiences alive.

Each of my parents had a final wish--my father somehow managed to keep his striped concentration camp uniform which he requested to be buried with, and my mother had salvaged a cake of soap made from the fat of human beings which she wanted to be buried with---both their requests were granted.
  
Molly Iglicki

By Anne Cohen

I did not grow up during the Holocaust.   I was not a prisoner in Dachau or Auschwitz.  I was not freed after the war weighing eighty pounds with typhoid fever, but my father was.   I did not have a ten year old child pulled from my arms and sent to Chelmno (one of the first extermination camps), and gassed, but my mother did.  
 
I was born after the war in a displaced persons camp in Germany to these two people who were married about 12 yrs. before the war.   My mother and father were separated at Auschwitz. They both miraculously survived horrors beyond belief, and then joyously re-met in the aftermath of the Holocaust and had me.  I was a child of renewal, of new hopes, and new dreams, and so I grew up in the shadow of the Holocaust. It was not easy.
 
I was an only child and I was cherished and loved, yet the responsibility and fears that came with so much love were enormous.  I had no brothers, or sisters, or cousins to share my thoughts or feelings. I was afraid to sleep by myself. I was so scared of losing my parents.  I thought catastrophic events just happen to everyone.   My parents seemed quite normal to me. They did not dwell on the Holocaust. They were rarely sick.  They worked hard and had many friends who were also Holocaust Survivors.  They seemed happy in their new life, yet, somehow I always felt their pain.   I knew how they had suffered even though they did not talk about it.  The only way I can describe it is that it was like DNA transfer; they did not have to talk about it,
I just knew, and so I tried so hard to be the perfect child. I wanted so much to take away their pain and make them happy.
 
I used to dream about buying them a mansion and beautiful things.  I was a child, but I wanted to take care of them.   When I got married and had two children of my own, I felt that somehow I was making it up to them for the children and family that they had lost.  My parents were so much a part of their grandchildren’s lives, and my two daughters adored their grandparents, and I was happy.   
 
Even though I was a good daughter, there was a part of me that was ashamed that I was an immigrant with a Holocaust background. I  grew up watching “Father Knows Best” and longed for that pain free big family. I wanted to be all-American, cool, and sophisticated.
 
My mother-in-law was a high roller in Las Vegas, had season tickets to the opera and ballet, and did charity work, I longed for that fun care-free life.  My husband’s family has Seders with thirty people and that was so different and special to me.  I never asked questions about the Holocaust. I never asked about the little girl, my sister, who was taken from my mother’s arms. Perhaps I couldn’t, and perhaps a part of me just ran away.
 
My parents lived to their mid-eighties and saw their wonderful grandchildren grow up. I know wherever they are they would say I was a wonderful daughter and that gives me a great deal of happiness and peace.
 
My parents were mentally alert and sharp yet I couldn’t ask questions about the Holocaust. I never asked about my little sister, or how they felt in the days of the Lodz Ghetto when all the children ten and under were taken away. I never could really go there until this year when, with the loving support of my significant other, we decided to take a trip to Eastern Europe.
 
Part of our trip included Poland, so he and I decided to take a private tour to Lodz - and somehow I had a metamorphosis with connecting to my past.  I found out where my parents lived in the Lodz Ghetto (with the help of the Holocaust museum in Washington, D.C.) and we went there. My parents  lived at 14 Podrzeczna Street and it is one of the very few remaining standing buildings from the time of the ghetto.  I also went to the train station at the Lodz Ghetto and to the Lodz cemetery and lit a candle in memory of my family.  Most importantly, I traveled to Chelmno where my little sister was taken and gassed, and I lit a candle for her. Somehow I had a feeling of coming home and that she would live in my heart forever. 
 
To complete my journey, we also traveled to Auschwitz, Theresienstadt, and to Yad Vashem in Israel.
 
When I came home from my long journey I had this feeling of peace about connecting to my past and I was inspired to write this poem to my little sister, Razla. I wrote it in the spirit that all future generations will remember.  We will never forget, and perhaps
we will bring peace, respect and tolerance to all people of every race and religion in our troubled world.

                               
I HAD A SISTER     
BUT I NEVER KNEW HER
I NEVER SAW HER FACE
SHE WAS TAKEN FROM HER MOTHER’S ARMS
AND GASSED AT AGE TEN
IN THE WOODS IN CHELMNO           
HER CRIME   BEING JEWISH
AND I NEVER SAW HER FACE
NOT A COMB, NOT A PIECE OF CLOTHING
NOT EVEN ONE PHOTO REMAINED
THEREFORE, I NEVER SAW HER FACE
NOR HEARD HER LAUGH OR CRY
AND I WONDER
WAS SHE PRETTY?
WAS SHE SMART?
WAS SHE TALL OR SHORT?
WAS SHE FUNNY OR SHY?
YET I DARED NOT ASK
AND I NEVER SAW HER FACE
WHAT WERE HER HOPES?
WHAT WERE HER DREAMS?
HOWEVER NOTHING REMAINED


IT TOOK ME ALMOST A LIFETIME
TO TRAVEL TO CHELMNO
TO HONOR HER LIFE
EVEN THOUGH I NEVER KNEW HER
AND NEVER SAW HER FACE
AND IN THE DREARY WOODS IN CHELMNO
I LIT A CANDLE TO REMEMBER HER
AND I LOOKED TO THE SKY
AND IN THE DREARY WOODS IN CHELMNO
SO MANY BIRDS WERE SINGING
SO MANY BIRDS WERE SINGING
OVER THE DREARY WOODS IN CHELMNO
AND SOMEHOW I KNEW
SHE KNEW I WAS THERE
 
ANNE COHEN  |  COPYRIGHT 2010  |    ANNE7300@AOL.COM

It is now more than 60 years after the Second World War in Europe ended. 

This comic was sent as an e-mail chain, in memory of the six million Jews, 20 million Russians, 10 million Christians and 1,900 Catholic priests who were murdered, massacred, raped, burned, starved and humiliated with the German and Russian peoples looking the other way!

Now, more than ever, with Iran, among others, claiming the Holocaust to be "a myth," it is imperative to make sure the world never forgets, because the Islamo-Facists want to do it again. 

 Speech Given By Ben Oshlack's Cousin

Good evening everyone, my name is Jack Borowski. As the son of survivors of the Bielski Partisans, I wanted to introduce you to this film.

I do not want you to think that this is just a Hollywood story.
Tuvia Bielski and his 2 brothers took control in a time when all seemed so hopeless. They had special skills in that they knew the surrounding forest, were strong leaders and had a mission to save Jewish lives- 2 of those lives were my parents.

My parents and their families lived in Novogrudek, a regional town near Minsk.
 
In 1941, the Germans invaded and established a Ghetto for 10,000 Jews from the surrounding areas.

Near Novogrudek, is the Naliboki forest. This is one of the largest and densest forests in Europe.

If one could escape from the Nazis, and reach the forest, then there was a chance of survival.

A Jewish partisan group, led by Tuvia Bielski was providing a safe haven. All were welcome, women, children and old people. This was in contrast to other partisan units who only took in able bodied men who could fight. Word of their existence soon spread to the ghetto and people dreamed of escaping, knowing there was somewhere to hide.

With 12 others, my mother, Judy, escaped from the ghetto in December 1942. After many days of wandering in the forest, they reached the Bielski partisans. She always told us of seeing Tuvia for the first time.

He was very tall and handsome and rode up to them on a white horse. He put his arm on her shoulder and told her not to worry for he would protect her. They were safe at last.

When the Germans attacked the Bielski camp, the partisans fled through the swamps. While the shells were flying overhead, they all walked shoulder deep through the water. No one was killed by the shelling and she often told us that she did not even catch a cold.

My father, Velvel was still in the ghetto. From the original 10,000 Jews interned, there were only 300 survivors.

In May 1943, realising their fate was sealed, they decided to escape.

A tunnel was dug from their living quarters, 250 meters long, under the barbed wire to the surrounding fields.

After 5 months of digging, the escape was set for the night of 26 September 1943. Although many were killed, 170 reached the forest and the safety of the Bielski partisans.

My parents were reunited.

After nine months of separation, finding each other again seemed truly a miracle. To be in this remarkable Jewish partisan group was a second miracle. Although they lived in fear of German attacks, they lived as free people in control of their own lives.

The partisan camp was a well organised community. My parents told us they established a bakery, a shoemaker, an ammunition hut that made bullets and fixed rifles. They had a tailor service where my father worked. They even established a school, a theatre and a synagogue.

For ten months, my parents, lived with the Bielski partisans until liberated by the Russians in June 1944.

One thousand two hundred Jewish men, women and children walked out of that forest

Here tonight, there are many survivors and their extended families.
I am proud to say that my father Velvel is with us, and he often recounts stories to us about his life in the forest.

Also, we have Zina Bielski. She is the first cousin of Tuvia. Zina escaped from a working group outside the Novogrodek ghetto and survived with the partisans.

In July 2007, my wife, daughter and I were in Novogrudek for the opening of a museum dedicated to the escape from the ghetto. This is situated in the original ghetto living quarters from where the tunnel was dug.

We stood at the re-created opening of the tunnel, and followed the tunnel direction to freedom.

At the dedication, we were with Jews from around the world, including 4 ghetto survivors who lived in the forest with the Beilskis. Also, Robert Bielski, the youngest son of Tuvia was with us.

To be with them and their families and to hear their stories was an uplifting unforgettable experience.

We travelled to the forest, which was quite a distance from the town. We realised that often, only with the help of some sympathetic Christian farmers were many of the Jewish escapes possible.

In the forest we saw the partisan semi underground huts which were similar to the Bielski camp. To stand in them was eerie and to imagine living in them through winter was amazing.

This story depicts the largest all Jewish partisan group consisting of men, women and children. In such horrific times, the Bielskis gave them pride, hope and ultimately their survival. There is no doubt that there are many thousands of Jews all over the world alive today as a direct result of those who were saved.

This is the Bielski legacy.

My parents, Judy and Velvel Borowski together with their 7 siblings are testament to this.