"The camera is an instrument that teaches people how to see without a camera." - Dorothea Lange

Saturday, September 29, 2007

survivors, part 2


The house where Sigmund Mandelbaum (of blessed memory) lived in Dzialoszyce, Poland is still standing, but it is locked and empty. Once, 5600 Jews lived in Dzialoszyce, more than 75 percent of the town’s population. In 1942, the Nazis took the elderly Jews of the town, including Sigmund’s father and stepmother, to a pit and shot them. The rest – Sigmund, his sister and brother-in-law and their children among them – were marched to trains and sent to concentration camps. Only Sigmund survived. He spent three years in the camps – Auschwitz, Stuttgart, Stutthof, Buchenwald and finally Theresienstadt, from which he was liberated. Sigmund came to Kansas City in 1946. Within two years, he married Helen and owned a grocery store. “I didn’t know the language; I didn’t know the goods,” he said, “but Helen told me: ‘Honey, I trust you. You’ll make it.’”


After the war began, Molly Nagel was in the synagogue with her family as the Nazis were searching for Jews. Her father covered everyone with a prayer shawl, preparing to die martyrs’ deaths for the sanctification of God’s name. Instead, a bomb exploded at a door near Molly, injuring her leg. The family was able to flee to Bialystock. So hungry that she ate grass, Molly was fortunate to eventually find a job sorting potatoes. She met and married her husband, Sam, in Siberia. “We put up a chuppah [bridal canopy],” she recalls. “My husband brought me two eggs, and I got a bit of flour and made cookies.” Released from Siberia, the Nagels returned to Poland, only to have rocks thrown at them. From there, they stayed in a displaced persons camp in Germany. They immigrated to Kansas City in 1949. Sam earned $40 a week, saving enough in 18 months to buy a house. Molly took a job with a toy company and later worked as a salesperson in Sam’s shoe shop. They have two children and three grandchildren.


Iser Cukier (of blessed memory) was born in Czestochowa, Poland. His parents employed eight people to run a bakery that produced pretzels and crackers. The bakery occupied the same building as the Cukier’s apartment. A live-in maid made it possible for Iser’s parents to work together. Iser was the seventh and youngest child. Iser became a men’s tailor. He had his own shop in Zawiercie and employed ten people. He married and took his new wife on a six-week honeymoon skiing. The Nazis appreciated Iser’s skills enough to let him live and supervise 300 people making uniforms. His wife and 18-month old child, having no such value to the Nazis, were murdered, as was the rest of his family except for two brothers. After liberation, Iser went to Paris. He worked for a designer and married Tola Gottlieb. They stayed in Paris for seven years; Iser taught design at the university. In 1952 they immigrated to the U.S. Iser thinks everything is relative. He didn’t suffer as much as his first wife, as Tola, or as his family, so in some ways he feels fortunate. Nevertheless, he says, “This is in our heart and mind. We live with it, we sleep with it, we think of it, and we pray that it won’t happen again.”

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Gloria,

I thank you for your entries and for all you do to educate your readership. I shared your link yesterday with a teacher just after she shared with me that she teaches about the Holocaust. You never know the ripples you send out into the world. Even when the news is grim, positive change can come from the lessons learned.

I would like to share a poem with your readership, one I recently shared with you. I thank you for allowing me to use your forum for this sharing.

Wislawa Szymborska, "Hunger Camp at Jaslo"

Szymborska was born in Cracow in 1923. The Polish Communist government attacked her first book of poetry as incomprehensible and overly morbid. In "Hunger Camp at Jaslo," she insists on the importance of creating a written record -- a lasting testament -- of the horrors experienced in the camp.

Hunger Camp At Jaslo

Write it. Write. In ordinary ink
on ordinary paper: they were given no food,
they all died of hunger. "All. How many?
It's a big meadow. How much grass
for each one?" Write: I don't know.
History counts its skeletons in round numbers.
A thousand and one remains a thousand,
as though the one had never existed:
an imaginary embryo, an empty cradle,
an ABC never read,
air that laughs, cries, grows,
emptiness running down steps toward the garden,
nobody's place in the line.
We stand in the meadow where it became flesh,
and the meadow is silent as a false witness.
Sunny. Green. Nearby, a forest
with wood for chewing and water under the bark-
every day a full ration of the view
until you go blind. Overhead, a bird-
the shadow of its life-giving wings
brushed their lips. Their jaws opened.
Teeth clacked against teeth.
At night, the sickle moon shone in the sky
and reaped wheat for their bread.
Hands came floating from blackened icons,
empty cups in their fingers.
On a spit of barbed wire,
a man was turning.
They sang with their mouths full of earth.
"A lovely song of how war strikes straight
at the heart." Write: how silent.
"Yes."


Note: other Symborska poetry is accessible via Internet. I highly recommend her books, especially the Trzeciak translations.

Thank you,

Kathy Biagioli

Anonymous said...

Is it possible to still get a coy of this book? If so, where could I find it? I love the portraits and the bits of stories you have included and would like to see more!

Gloria Baker Feinstein said...

Kathy - Thanks so much for sharing Szymborska's poetry with us all. This particlur poem leaves me without words of my own.

Sarah - The book is available at Amazon.com and at the Midwest Center for Holocaust Education's website: mchekc.org.

Gloria