Tag Archives: Judaism

Jewish Museum in Berlin, Germany

Jewish Museum in Berlin, Germany

The zinc-clad, jagged structure of the Jewish Museum in Berlin is likened to a deconstructed Star of David, which I find genius. Zig zagging turns, slopes, voids all designed by Daniel Libeskind, a Polish-Jewish architect based in the U.S. His idea was to invoke disorientation, loss and the destruction of Jewish Life. Every facet of the museum from the plan, shape, style, interior and exterior arrangement of the building are part of a complicated philosophical programme to illustrate the history and culture of Germany’s Jewish community and the repercussions of the Holocaust.

I purposely set out early in the morning so I could savor the silence before I entered the space located in what was West Berlin before the fall of the Wall. I believe that a Jewish Museum in Berlin offers not just a memorial but dedication to the rebirth of the Jewish people and their history. The Jewish Museum (Jüdisches Museum) has succeeded. Every place I visit, every word I write and every time I share, I honor the memory of my father, who survived eight Nazi forced labor camps.

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Entrance to The Jewish Museum – Berlin, Germany (Jüdisches Museum Berlin)

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Jewish Museum – Berlin, Germany

In March 1939, the Berlin couple Ruth & Wolfgang Prager, sent their children on a transport to Sweden. Because Ruth required treatment in a sanitarium, she and Wolfgang put off emigrating until it was too late. In October 1941, they were deported to the Lodz ghetto, where they died the following year. Here is the letter they sent to their children.

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“My dear children, I don’t know what to tell you because my heart is so full and words are so small and say so little. I had always hoped that we would be reunited but we are probably at a fateful juncture just now.”

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Windows in the main building seen from the interior.

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Farewell scene,
Julius Rosenbaum
(1879-1956)
Berlin, 1934, chalk
The drawing shows Jewish emigrants departing from the Anhalter Bahnhof in Berlin.

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When Hitler came into Power, Felix Nussbaum was on a scholarship in Rome. He did not return to Germany, but went via Switzerland and France to Belgium. After the invasion of the German troops, Nussbaum was arrested and interned in Southern France. He fled and, together with his wife, hid in Brussels. In July 1944, both were deported to Auschwitz & murdered.
Nussbaum’s late paintings tell of the period of persecution, of life in the camps, & living illegally.
“You call out and shout but not an echo returns.” wrote Nussbaum in 1937 in a letter to Ludwig Meidner.

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The public debate about the murder of European Jews began in the courtroom. In 1958, German authorities started systematically investigating Nazi criminals. However, these investigations only seldom resulted in indictments. There was a lack of concrete evidence that could be used to prove suspects were personally responsible for murder. As a result, most of the charges had to be dropped. On the other hand, the court proceedings also served as a means of researching and documenting events that had taken place in the camps.
The Frankfurt Auschwitz Trial (1963-1965) ended the long silence about Nazi trials. Over 200 camp survivors gave testimony. International media reported from the courtroom.
The Dusseldorf Majdanek trial (1975-1981) was the longest trial ever held in a German court.

The Holocaust tower is a void of intimidating height with no windows, blank walls and a small slit just under the ceiling which allows in a tiny amount of light and amplifies the outside sounds. Being in this room one is completely separated from the rest of the museum (and world) which invokes a feeling of isolation while feeling the cold. This room is best visited alone to receive the full experience. It felt like having a moment, one tiny space of what it must have been like to be a prisoner in a camp, being incarcerated by the Nazis. Victor Frankl wrote of camp inmates experiencing shock, apathy, and depersonalization in Man’s Search for Meaning. I remember my father, when interviewed for Spielberg’s Shoah project, cried and explained that he choose not to share with his children when we were young because “I didn’t want them to know the suffering I went through.” The heavy door is opened and I couldn’t get out fast enough. As a second generation survivor, I experienced a brief feeling of discomfort that can never, ever come close to what my father experienced in the labor camps for years.

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Inside the Holocaust Tower.

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Inside the Holocaust Tower

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Inside the Holocaust Tower

The Jewish Museum is dedicated to 2,000 years of history, culture and traditions of the Jewish communities in Germany. I loved the physical voids that Libeskind created throughout the building. These so-called voids extend vertically throughout the entire museum and represent the absence of Jews from German society.

The Memory Void contains a work by the Israeli artist Menace Kadishman, who calls his installation, “Shalekhet,” or “Fallen Leaves.” He has dedicated the over 10,000 faces covering the floor not only to Jews killed during the Shoah but to all innocent victims of war and violence. These 10,000 faces punched out of steel are distributed on the ground of the Memory Void. You can walk on the faces and listen to the sounds created by the metal sheets as they clang and rattle against each other. I think it’s powerful and made to unnerve.

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hannah kozak – Self Portrait at
Menace Kadishman’s Shalekhet – Fallen Leaves

The Garden of Exile is forty-nine tilted pillars to represent the foundation of the state of Israel in 1948 plus one for Berlin. The garden symbolizes the forced exile of Germany’s Jews. There are concrete columns with oleaster (which look like olive but are wild) trees surrounding them. It’s not truly a garden to relax in and that’s precisely the point and intention.

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Garden of Exile:
49 tilted pillars to represent the foundation of the state of Israel in 1948 plus one for Berlin. The garden symbolizes the forced exile of Germany’s Jews.

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My prayer for my mother. I believe in miracles.

As I exited the museum and began to find the train station that I came from, I began my solitary walk looking at people, trees, sidewalks, cafes, buses, bicyclists. Walking helps me to simultaneously quiet my mind while thinking. My thoughts flow better when I am moving my legs. Walking helps me reclaim myself as I am recently overworked, which feels like self escape. Unable to turn off the demands at work by not switching off my phone, I am invigorated by walking and being disconnected. I am inspired by the cold air and rain and relish the surprises I find when simply wandering. I have always been motivated to photograph exactly what my eyes see.

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As I was leaving the Jewish Museum.

In Augustiner’s Restaurant, I was captivated by these two men’s faces while the Festival of Lights was endlessly compelling.

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Augustiner’s Restaurant

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Berlin Festival of Lights

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Self Portrait – Jewish Museum

“A Jew must believe in miracles. If a Jew doesn’t believe in miracles, he is not a realist.” – Simon Wiesenthal

Jewish Museum in Berlin, Germany


Auschwitz – Remembering and Not Forgetting

Auschwitz – Remembering and Not Forgetting

@ hannah kozak

“Work Sets You Free”
Entrance to Auschwitz

I made my first sojourn to Auschwitz in 2013 and I have been haunted by the images I saw ever since. Yet I have also found Auschwitz to be a place of contemplation – an invitation to meditation. Photography has always kept me from forgetting, so camera in hand, I return to this place of killing of innocent souls hoping to honor the nameless and faceless. I can’t help but wonder if evil can’t be overcome by looking it square in the face.

Visiting Auschwitz required me to not forget the significance of its’ past, while simultaneously being forced to remember it. I read many books about the Holocaust throughout my entire life -beginning with Escape from Warsaw when I was in grade school and throughout my teens. I continued to devour similar culturally and historically relevant books when I started a project on my father’s journey from his hometown of Bedzin, Poland to many forced labor camps in Markstädt, Klettendorf, Hundsfeld , Hirschberg, Bad Warmbrunn and Ermannsdorf. He was sent to Hirschberg twice before he was liberated from Dernau on May 8, 1945. Even with such emotional proximity to this history, I still wasn’t prepared for seeing tools designed to kill people in person. Fences, barbed wire, barracks, crematorium. The controversial historian Ernst Nolte refers to the Holocaust as “a past that will not pass away.” Indeed, I have always felt the more I study the Holocaust, the less I understand about humanity.

I felt an existential delirium being in Auschwitz. Standing in line with people for the tour felt too confining, so as I have always done, I got out of line and went off on my own. Getting out of line is what saved my father’s life at the very end of his stay in those forced labor camps. He was told to get in line with all the other remaining inmates at Dernau. My father’s angels, (as he called them) or his intuition ( how I refer to his knowing), was always marvelous whether it came to people or situations. So when it told him to get out of line, he did and went immediately into the barracks. Had he not listened to that subconscious nudge, he would have ended upon a death walk with everyone else in that line. They were forced to dig their own graves before they were machine gunned down. Because my father broke the rules and got out of line, he was liberated by the Soviet armed forces one day later.

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Auschwitz by hannah kozak

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Auschwitz by hannah kozak

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Auschwitz by hannah kozak

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Auschwitz 24 block by hannah kozak

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Auschwitz by hannah kozak

In some places, the pulse beats more than others. Poland is one of those places for me. I’ve heard people say that they could never visit Auschwitz but perhaps if they had a father that survived eight forced labor camps they would feel differently. I can’t imagine not wanting to see the labor, concentration and killing centers ** in person. Duality; making others wrong, is always judgment. I needed to see this place to help me keep remembering.

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Auschwitz block 15 by hannah kozak

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Auschwitz museum

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Auschwitz museum

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Auschwitz museum

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Auschwitz museum

The Talmud describes the difference between remembering and not forgetting. Forgetting first occurs in the heart. It’s not cognitive. It’s the natural course of events that dispossess us from the event and then tragically, we are left devoid of the reason it was ever important to us to begin with. Remembering, on the other hand, is to engage in activities that promote remembrance.

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Auschwitz museum

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Auschwitz museum

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Auschwitz museum by hannah kozak

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Auschwitz museum by hannah kozak

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Auschwitz museum by hannah kozak

My father found a way to make something out of nothing, so that he could survive. He created life out of a world of darkness. As a second generation Holocaust survivor, I feel it is my duty to not forget and to present the upside of my heavy heritage so it can be a catalyst, and not a yoke.

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Auschwitz museum by hannah kozak

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Auschwitz

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Auschwitz

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Auschwitz

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Auschwitz

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Auschwitz Krematorium

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Auschwitz Krematorium

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Auschwitz

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Trees – Auschwitz

I kept mostly to myself in school almost as if I was still hiding. One side of me was a happy girl that loved to laugh; the other side was a girl with sadness so overwhelming, I could never understand where it stemmed from. As a second generation Holocaust survivor, I understand that my father’s unprocessed grief and sadness was handed down, and it’s up to me, to transform that sadness into understanding the carefully orchestrated plan of genocide because the Jews believe, “He who saves one life, saves the entire world. ” I think it’s dangerous that the suffering and struggle of my ancestors will be forgotten with the passage of time. I must tell and retell the stories of our past, so that we will remain free, in the future.

** death camp is too vague, since taken literally it evokes the image of a place in which a large number of people died, such as the footage of dead bodies taken in Dachau and Buchenwald, which misleadingly, are often shown as backdrop in documentaries on the Holocaust. “Death camp” could in theory apply to most concentration camps, many labor camps, and, in the winter of 1941/1942, virtually all camps for Soviet POWs. We prefer killing center because it denotes exactly and explicitly what the facility was established to achieve–to kill human beings as quickly and as efficiently as possible.

Auschwitz: Remembering and Not Forgetting


Kraków, Poland for spiritual renewal

Kraków, Poland for spiritual renewal

Krakow has been called the second Rome for its vast amount of churches – places of worship, prayer and spiritual elevation. People in Poland would go to Krakow during hard times for spiritual renewal, consolation and strength. That is why I am here as well. First I saw where my father lived in Bedzin as a child and viewed the station where he would have boarded the train that took him to the first of eight Nazi forced labor camps where he “lived” and spent the next day viewing the grounds at Auschwitz. I am exhausted on many levels; emotionally, mentally, spiritually and physically yet I feel the hidden, almost intangible but present spirituality in the air here.

© hannah kozak

Wandering through Krakow late one night

Transformative trips tend to be psychologically and physically challenging and push me way out of my comfort zone. I’m immersed in an authentic experience in a dramatically different environment with people of a different culture. This is life; allowing encounters. I find solitude healing and purifying. Every exposure I make is a discovery of my subjects and myself.

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The Jewish Quarter

The town of Kazimierz near Krakow was founded in 1335 by Kazimierz the Great. It became a leading centre of Jewish culture. I love the narrow streets, the low buildings. I feel as if I’m bearing witness to centuries of peaceful co-existence of two nations, Jewish and Poles. I sense a sacredness simply viewing the coherent architecture all around. I also love the sound of the Polish language and accent.

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Church of St. Francis of Assisi, Kraków, Poland

I choose to stay in Kazimierez because it was an active centre of Judaic culture and learning. Tens of thousands of Jewish people from the late middle ages until the Holocaust, called it home. There was a specific interest in welcoming Jews with an environment where they weren’t a minority but instead settlers. I think of it almost like Ellis Island. Visiting the synagogues, the Jewish cemetery and bookstore feels comfortable and familiar and Krakow is filled with cafes, bars, restaurants and dogs.

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dog in Kraków – Who is your mom?

The Nazis annihilated this Jewish, unique world but many of the monuments are being restored. The Jewish renewal in Poland is everywhere with cutting edge projects being done at The Galicia Jewish Museum.

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Paulina Lichwicka – 4th year Graphic Design student at the Academy of Fine Arts in Kraków.

I can close my eyes and feel the magic of when poets and writers in Krakow were treated like movie stars. There was a great artistic freedom that prevailed in Krakow. I feel the landscape of Jewish history being revealed here.

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Doorway in Kraków

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Doorway in Kraków

The main square in Krakow is Rynek Glowny but what I resonated with was the stalls at Plac Nowy in Kazimierz where there is a daily market from 5:30 am to early afternoon. I found it to be the spiritual center of Krakow sub-culture. There is not a great splendor like the Old Town and in fact, you’ll see chipped green market stalls and pigeons flapping about. What I love is the history. Plac Nowy began as far back as 1808 and for 200 years served as a market place with its central landmark, the Okraglak (rotunda) which was added in 1900. The locals line up outside the dozens of hole-in-the-wall fast food hatches that operate from the rotunda. This is where you can find the best zapiekanka – a halved baguette topped with mushrooms and cheese, vegetables and meat, in all of Poland.

I visited the Old Synagogue built in the 15th century, the oldest in all of Poland where I saw a bimah, an elevated platform with an iron balustrade used for readings from the Torah. The Nazis destroyed the interior of the synagogue, turning into a storage room and executed thirty Polish hostages in 1943. Restoration began in the 1950’s and it is now a museum of Jewish history, culture and tradition. I’ve read that the synagogues in Kazimierez were all used as storehouses, and not burnt down like the rest in Poland.

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Bimah in Old Synagogue, Kraków, Poland

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Old Synagogue, Kraków

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Baroque Money Box @ Synagogue

The Remu’h Synagogue is dedicated to the rabbi and philosopher Remu’h, who was reputed to be a miracle worker and is buried just outside the walls of the synagogue. Pious Jews make the pilgrim to visit his grave. Again, under Nazi occupation, both the synagogue and cemetery were destroyed but restored in the 1950’s and 60’s.

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Interior at Remu’h Synagogue, Kraków, Poland

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Jewish cemetary at Remu’h.

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Chassidim paying respects to Remu’h.

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Original Renaissance money box at Remu’h Synagogue, Kraków, Poland

I ate at Ariel, the restaurant Steven Spielberg favored while he filmed Schindler’s List here. The exterior looked like a house from a fairy tale.

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Ariel Restaurant, Kraków, Poland in Jewish Quarter

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Ariel Restaurant

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Dinner At Ariel Restaurant.

To go from the Jewish quarter to Podgorze, which became the Jewish ghetto during the Holocaust, is the Father Bernatek Footbridge. The bridge has become a “love lock” bridge where couples place a padlock on the bridge to show their everlasting love. Maybe the ones that aren’t so sure use the combination locks.

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Father Bernatek Footbridge in Kraków

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Boys outside Remu’h Synagogue

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Children in front of The Old Synagogue, Kraków

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The Jewish Quarter

“We can be redeemed only to the extent to which we see ourselves.” – Martin Buber
Martin Buber

Kraków, Poland for spiritual renewal


The long & winding road to Masada with Hummus

The Judean desert overlooking the Dead Sea is home to an ancient site in Israel; Masada. Anything on the World Heritage List fascinates me. It’s true. Why am I in Israel? Being in Israel brings me to my family on my mother’s side, the home of the Jewish people, and a country that not only has the Mediterranean Sea, the Red Sea & The Dead Sea plus pretty mountains and a bonus of yummy falafel and hummus.

Sitting in a bus is relaxing as we drive in the desert since I don’t have to worry about directions. I feel my breath slow down. When we physically don’t move, our minds become still. I don’t need any mantra or teacher or technique. Our minds were given as tools to serve us not to be our master. I recognize my breath in broader terms than simply respiration. As I slow my breath down, I close my eyes remembering the story of Masada.

It’s a great, awesome yet tragic story. Not to be flippant but if nine hundred sixty Jews committed suicide so the Romans wouldn’t force them into slavery, the least I can do is climb the snake path. You can either take the snake path, which is eight hundred thirteen steps, ( I love minutiae) and was the original and only way the ancient inhabitants walked or you can take the cable car to the summit. The 1st century Roman-Jewish historian Joseph Flavius wrote of the snake path “And one of these ways is called the Serpent, as resembling that animal in its narrowness and perpetual windings and he that would walk along it must first go on one leg and then the other; there is also nothing but destruction in case your feet slip, for on each side there is a vastly deep chasm and precipice, sufficient to quell the courage of everybody by the terror it infuses into the mind.”

You’d never see something like this in America without rail guards. Frankly I think it’s completely safe and I doubt anyone is going to fall. I have the fear chromosome. I just refuse to let it run me & my life. Honestly the walk was challenging but it’s worth the pain. I had an injury that I’ve never been quite the same from and whenever I attempt to do things like this, I pay for it dearly. In my head I’m still able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.

I go off into a fantasy where I see Jewish people climbing this path and I hear them singing my favorite songs from Hebrew school. Hevenu Shalom Aleichem which means we brought peace onto you. Don’t worry if you don’t get the first verse. Second verse is exactly the same. I always liked mantra because I was trying to quiet my thoughts. I just didn’t know that it had a name back then.

I wish I had shorts on instead of jeans. I start to remove my layers of clothing as I begin the steep climb. It’s just me and my favorite MJ Off The Wall t-shirt all the way to the crown.

I was nearing the top as a group of four was coming down the stairs. A woman, noticing my obvious discomfort says “take some water”  in a tone that is part stern teacher and part loving mother. “I don’t have any” I replied. “Honey, give her some water” she said to her husband in a tone that was not negotiable. For a split second I saw a “why do i want to give up my water to a complete stranger when I still have to climb this entire mountain down the hill” look in his eyes. Without missing a beat, he handed me his Arrowhead water bottle. “Keep the bottle” she said my discomfort so apparent anyone could see. They continued their descent down the mountain.  I leaned my right hand on the mountain as I was shaky, stopped and drank the entire bottle and was thankful for this person reaching out to me. I would have done the same. That is if I had any water.  I love when we see each other.

I reach the summit. I feel the light of god’s presence which swallows my loneliness whole. As the group around me chit chats with each other I am off with my camera recording what I see. The force of holiness is looming in every crevice in this all at once sacred and god forsaken spot.

I have a meeting with G-d. I ask if he can take away my mother’s pain and sorrow from living in a home for the aged for thirty one years. I further make a request to remove my sister’s hurt and anguish because she’s the only one who visited my mother most all those decades. Please G-d grant me acceptance of my mother’s life. I beg him. I have no choice but to feel everything I have been running from.”Sorry but it’s all yours” he says. Mine’s so big he can’t make any arrangements. It’s karma that belongs to me because I choose her to be my mother so I could learn forgiveness. Who was it that said no matter where you go there you are? I flew all the way to Israel and I still can’t get away from me.

Freud defined neurosis as the separation of self. If I’m a child of G-d then the love is inside of me. It has been all along. It’s so simple but we mess it up. Whenever love disappears we become fearful. Fear is to love just as darkness is to light. Anytime your mind goes south, it’s fear that the love is gone. G-d didn’t create fear. We did. If it’s not love, it’s an illusion. Speaking of illusion, next stop is the Dead Sea. It doesn’t seem like it could be real.

The Dead Sea is the lowest place on earth. But the translation is not accurate. Yam Ha-Melah, means the Salt Sea. It’s the lowest place on the earth, 33.7 % salt and eighty six times saltier than the ocean. It’s so dense you can’t really swim rather you float. You can see my view from the Israeli side looking across to Jordan.

As I sit silently in the bus as we make our way back to the bus station in Tel Aviv I begin to think of my father and what it took for him to leave Poland after losing his entire family during the Holocaust, seven siblings, his mother, father and both sets of grandparents. No one. He was completely alone. He didn’t speak English, not a dollar in his pocket and he boarded a ship to make his way to America. He had nowhere to go simply because he was a Jew. Out of nowhere I feel the emotion well up inside of me like a wave. I have no family on my father’s side because he is Jewish. That seems insane. I’m in Israel because I feel connected to the people here. There’s an unspoken understanding we have. Even if I feel as if I don’t belong sometimes; which I struggle with less and less; in Israel I am part of a group.

I moved to Israel thirty years ago to deal with my feelings and emotions surrounding my mother. Now I am back in Israel and am thinking of my father and what a survivor he is. In the dictionary there is a photo of my father next to survivor. He worked a nine to five job for thirty years at Hughes Aircraft as an aircraft inspector. On his lunch hour some days he’d sell porn out of the trunk of his Chevy Nova and/or leather jackets he would buy wholesale. Once a week he’d tell his co-workers to cover for him as he would drive to downtown Los Angeles from Culver City, a half hour drive, to buy clothes second hand which we’d sell every weekend at the swap meet. “These pants are too small.”  someone would say trying on clothes. “They’ll stretch” he’d swiftly reply.  “These pants are too big.” from another.” They’ll shrink.” he’d come back just as quickly. He bought real estate on the side; renting out homes in the San Fernando Valley. My father was raising five children so he had to hustle. His motto of stay hungry kept him working non-stop seven days a week. I never saw my father kick back on a couch on Sunday with a Budweiser can in his hand. He makes most men look like bums my father. He taught me to sell just by watching him. My eyes are so filled with tears now that I can’t see the road anymore. I don’t need to see it. I’m not driving. I’m thinking about a friend that I miss so much that I flew to Israel for the holidays so I wouldn’t have to be at home. I have a tendency to run when I start to feel too much.

I’m noticing the beauty that is in front of me and all around me. G-d created the mountains on either side of the road and the sun is beginning to set as the sky turns a brilliant orange and pink. I have a bag filled with bath salts from The Dead Sea that I purchased to give to a friend along with olive oil to bring a friend because she practically lives on it.  Michael Jackson is singing to me from my iPod and in between the tears from thinking about how inspiring my father is; I am humbled with how blessed I am. I am in Israel, I’m thinking to myself. I have my mother’s family here that I love, friends like Hope and her beautiful family are nearby and I have time to be alone when I need to. When I return home I am going to visit my father. I will call him just to say how are you doing Dad. I have my breath. My life is a blessing and a gift. I’m off to search for the perfect hummus and falafel in Tel Aviv when I get off this bus. And a side of forgiveness.Now we’re talking.

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My father, Holocaust Survivor

My father is a Holocaust survivor. He was never a victim. His unresolved grief and sadness became a catalyst for ambition. His parents were Orthodox Jews who in my fathers’ words “never had money in the bank and lived hand to mouth.” One of eight children, he is the only one to survive in his entire family including his parents and grandparents. His education stopped at the seventh grade when he was taken away from his home by the Germans. They came for his father but my dad talked them out of taking the grandfather I never knew and to take him instead. He was in nine work camps in Poland from the age of fifteen to twenty and suffered from Tuberculosis because of the conditions he was forced to live under.

On the day the Russians came in he heard in Yiddish, “the Russians are coming, the Russians are coming”.When Dernau, the final camp he was in was liberated May 8, 1945, he collapsed at sixty-five pounds.He spent a year in a sanitorium called Marin House, a place mainly for people for Tuberculosis. He would suffer from Asthma and Bronchitis his entire life.I remember when we were driving he’d frequently have to pull over to open his driver’s door, lean his head out and spit.

A self made man, at one time he had eleven homes in the San Fernando Valley. He never spent money he didn’t have. He was street smart and knew how to talk to people. He worked as an aircraft inspector for Hughes Aircraft for thirty years but he always sold something on the side. At lunch time at work guys would line up for leather coats and porn, which he sold out of the trunk of his car. He also went to downtown Los Angeles on his lunch hour where he bought thousands of pairs of seconds of jeans and shirts.When most people were eating lunch, this hour became another way for my father to make money. All his children knew not to call him at work for this reason.I remember him telling us not to call him at work on his lunch hour. We spent the eighties working the swap meets on Saturday and Sundays selling the clothing. I learned how to sell from watching him.

My father married twice. After his second wife died from a brain tumor when he was eighty years old, he sold his home in Los Angeles and moved to Las Vegas, a city he always loved. He has a full time, live in caretaker.

He is a proud, resilient man. Even though he suffered a stroke and a heart attack, he continues. He has a spiritual outlook on life and believed it was because of G-d that he survived the work camps. He told me recently that he thinks he has ten years left.

My photos show him at home, in casinos and at dinner. His capacity to go on is unlike any person I have ever known. I remember when I was a little girl and my mother went into intensive care.He said “Hannah, you have to control your emotions and not let them control you”. He is an inspiration to me to keep going especially when my emotions get the best of me.

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