What is my Holocaust story?

I’ve recently joined a local Holocaust education committee and it’s motivated me to question, what is my Holocaust story? My mother and her immediate family left Germany in 1938 to escape Hitler and the Third Reich reign. My mother was only 3 years old and my grandmother was 23 years old. My grandmother’s paternal family had lived in Berlin for 200 years and were a wealthy, well-educated Jewish family. Most of the family did not survive the Holocaust.

My mother, her younger sister, and my grandparents survived. Very few survivors of the Holocaust live today; my mother is 90 years old. Fewer and fewer Holocaust survivors live to tell their stories and now descendants are stepping up to carry on the stories. For example, my second cousin, Cortney Weill Doi has a presentation recorded,
Through My Grandmother’s Eyes: The Veit Simon Family during the Holocaust, and a more distant cousin in Australia, published her grandfather’s story in Dear Mutzi: A story of love, escape and finding the forgotten, by Tess Scholfield-Peters.

I recently listened to a wonderful article from The New York Times Magazine, This is the Holocaust Story I Said I Wouldn’t Write, by Taffy Brodesser-Akner, that resonated with me. For a very long time I felt the family Holocaust story was my great-aunt Etta’s; she survived Terezin concentration camp and spoke of the experience with me, other family and community groups. Or, perhaps I could claim my great-grandmother’s Holocaust story to share with others.

What or who is my Holocaust story? My mother and grandmother rarely spoke of the Holocaust with anyone … but yet, the shadow of the Holocaust trauma always hung over our family.

I was listening to undergraduate students’ end-of the year presentations two weeks ago about how to teach the Holocaust in schools. The lessons plans were remarkably creative and insightful! One of the lesson plans was for older elementary students, and the college student presenter said something about 11-year-olds being too young to expose to all the details of the Holocaust. And, that made me pause and think, when did I first know about the Holocaust?

Actually, when did I not know?!? I’ve always said Grandma Ulla didn’t talk about the Holocaust but the stories she told about her family always ended “and my brother or sister was killed by Hitler.” I was much younger than 11 years old when the stories were told.

My mother’s childhood stories were about immigration. After leaving Germany, the family lived in England until they immigrated to America when she was 11 years old. My mother missed her life in London deeply.

My mother and grandmother are both survivors. They always looked forward, rather than backward, as much as they possibly could. And yet, what they left behind was never forgotten, and was missed.

So, I’m still exploring my Holocaust story. Can I take my family’s losses and trauma and turn it into something that helps people understand the damage of intolerance? Can I help build empathy for others from different religions, countries, and traditions? I hope so.