My history is a legacy for future generations
Come take a walk into history with me.
Mind you, my history isn’t pleasant — filled as it is with memories of overwhelming fear, pain, hunger, sickness, loss, and death ... I wish I could forget it altogether. But now, even though 74 years have passed, these terrible things are etched in my mind.
At this late date, remembrance has become a sacred obligation.
The youngest of seven children, I was born in Debrecen, Hungary in 1928. An enthusiastic ally of Nazi Germany, the country was rife with antisemitic propaganda. While life was difficult, my whole world truly shattered on March 19, 1944. That was the day the Holocaust came to Hungary.
My life, my family, my country, my people — my entire world was utterly destroyed.
Within days, SS soldiers appeared on the streets. Eventually came the dreaded deportation; my family was crammed in a cattle car with 78 people from our town and taken away. Final destination: Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp. It was the hellhole of the world.
I was immediately separated from my father, and then my mother. I never had a chance to say goodbye, to hug them, to tell them I love them, to urge them to remember me. At the age of15, I was torn from their protection. They were gassed to death. More than anything, I wish I could have hugged and kissed my mother one last time.
For a short time, I was lucky to have my three older sisters with me. We suffered through the initial degradation of having to parade nude in front of Nazi officers, of having our naked bodies shaved and our belongings stolen. We were given rags to wear. We learned what true hunger and, eventually, starvation felt like. We lived with lice and filth and the constant stench of burning flesh; with the absolute terror of being sent to the gas chambers. Our bodies and our hearts were broken.
Here, in the shadows of the gas-chambers, I turned 16. My last remaining sister, Elizabeth, kissed me, and we were glad just to be alive.
At one point I was transferred to Bergen-Belsen, without my sister. From there on, I didn’t know if my sisters were murdered or not, nor did they know about me.
One day, the factory we worked in was badly damaged by allied bombardments. After that, there was no work, so we were sent on a forced march for more than a week. There was no food or water. We were all marching nowhere, but to stop marching meant certain death. I truly don’t know how we managed to endure this last attempt to destroy us.
Liberation came on May 5, 1945 — a beautiful sunny Saturday. Finally, the nightmare was over — but in many ways another nightmare was just beginning.
After months of searching for family, sick and alone, I finally found one brother had survived and, a few months later, one sister. We, who had lost so much, had a bittersweet, tearful reunion. We shared stories of the atrocities we had witnessed and the brutalities inflicted upon us. We shared what little we knew about our family, how and when they were killed.
After spending two years in a displaced persons camp, we emigrated to Canada in 1948. I was fortunate to meet a wonderful man, Sidney Jessel Cohen, have children and build a new life. But the unspeakable memories never fade.
So much time has passed, and I am now honoured to share my story with as many people as possible through my work with the UJA Neuberger Holocaust Education Centre. But one day, when I can no longer tell my own story — who, then, will be the witness to the atrocities of my past?
This is why I will continue to tell my story for as long as I can. This is why I am a champion of education, and why I encourage you to take part in Holocaust Education Week.
My history is the legacy I leave to future generations, so you will never forget the terrible consequences of racism and hate, and will use your energies to prevent such atrocities now and in the future.
Liberation came on May 5, 1945. Finally, the nightmare was over — but in many ways another nightmare was just beginning