Reflecting on Grandma Irene and Identity
Below are some reflections I had from a recent trip to Hungary. I hope they inspire you to think deeply about your ancestors and how you can intentionally lean into their experiences. As always, thanks for reading.
When I was 9 years old my family went on a trip to Yellowstone National Park. While there, my parents posed a question to me and my two brothers: “What would you do if you were able to spend time with Adolf Hitler (without any consequences) if he was around today?” I think I gave some barbaric answers around torture back then, but truth be told I didn’t really have a good answer.
For a bit more context, from a young age, my parents asked philosophical questions when we were on vacation. While the Hitler question was “different.” it wasn’t out of the ordinary for them to challenge us to think critically. But the Hitler question has stuck in my memory because of the emotion it elicited from my family. It felt more personal.
My grandma Irene survived the Holocaust. When I was a kid, she didn’t talk about what she experienced often. It wasn’t that she was unwilling, it just wasn’t something she focused on when communicating with her grandkids. When she did talk about her experience, it was mainly about how grateful she was to be in America and to have the family she had. It always seemed as though she was focused more on the present and the future than the past. My grandma died 4 ½ years ago, and at her funeral, my parents showed a moving video that captured her experience. I’d like to share a bit more about her journey and how it has impacted me over the course of the last week.
My grandma was born on June 7th, 1927, in Debrecen, Hungary. She was the youngest of 5 and, by all accounts, had a relatively normal childhood. However, in 1944, the Nazis entered Debrecen and things changed drastically. Hungarian Jews had to wear yellow stars on their clothes. My grandma and her mother were taken to the Debrecen ghetto where they lived with 4 other families in an apartment. She experienced harassment and a 3-day trip in a cattle car as she was transferred to an Austrian labor camp, being separated from her 4 siblings.
My grandma and her parents were the lucky ones in Hungary. They survived the labor camp and walked back to their home in Debrecen where they stayed for a year. From there my grandma was able to board the first boat that brought children to the US. As she arrived in New York, she reunited with her sister Margaret who had been fortunate enough to get out of Hungary before the war broke out. Her parents stayed behind and later moved to Israel.
One of the stories that always stuck with me about grandma was, upon arriving to New York and seeing the Statue of Liberty, a soldier turned to her and said, “You have no idea how happy I am to see that lady again.” To which my grandma replied, “No, sir. You have no idea how happy I am to see her.”
My grandma always talked about how lucky she was; how grateful she was to be in a country like the United States. Beyond her sister, she also had three brothers. Laszlo was married and living outside Budapest with 4 children. I found out prior to this trip that grandma would come to visit in the summertime and attend Shabbat services at the Great Synagogue in Budapest -- she’d often tell my mom how magnificent the Synagogue was. Unfortunately, Laszlo wasn’t as fortunate as Margaret and my grandma. He perished two days prior to liberation in 1944. His wife and children died in Auschwitz. My grandma’s other brother also perished. Fortunately, her third brother Mordechai was able to move to Israel and my family often breaks bread with his family when we visit.
I’ve known pieces of this story for some time. It’s always been part of my identity. My Grandma passed away 4 ½ years ago and I got the opportunity to eulogize her then. She was a special woman for a lot of reasons. But really, she was your typical Jewish grandma. She would spoil us. Dote on us. Babysit. Cook. Play dominoes. I didn’t even realize she had an accent until I was an adult. She also was the first philanthropist I knew as she often held events to raise money for Hadassah.
When I heard that Cabinet was going to Hungary, I signed up immediately. I knew it would be an incredible trip and I had been itching to go on a mission. But I wasn’t expecting my trip to Hungary to be accompanied by the emotion I’ve felt since landing here. I’ve cried my way through Hungary. Some tears were tears of pride, and some tears were tears of sorrow. Some tears were tears of joy, and some tears were tears of anger.
They say that trauma lives in the body. While I have lived a ridiculously privileged life with very little trauma, perhaps my grandma’s trauma is what is pouring out of me this week.
I cried while looking out my window in rural Hungary as I thought about her experience in a cattle car and potentially looking out the window at the same sites I was in.
I cried while in the Great Synagogue as I thought about the possibility of looking at the same gorgeous Bima and ceiling that she did.
I cried in the shower.
I cried on Shabbat as I closed my eyes to pray.
I cried at the JCC as I learned about Hungarian Jews supporting each other.
I cried at the shoe memorial thinking about those who she knew who were ruthlessly murdered.
I cried at the Szarvas camp as I listened to Ukrainian mothers and daughters share the horrors of war.
I cried at the Holocaust Museum as I saw the names of my grandma’s brothers listed with thousands of others, many of who bared the same name.
I am crying as I write this on Shabbat as I reflect on the experience, I had this week.
My grandma said that the Holocaust turned people into “survival of the fittest.” That she saw the worst of humanity in her Hungarian community. She loved America. She had no love for Hungary. She didn’t want to come here but I can’t help but cry as I think about how proud she would be to witness what is going on here. She would be blown away by the young people who are teaching and helping the older generation reconnect with their Judaism. We must never forget what happened and we must never forget that we are a team. We must support each other; have perspective on what can happen if we don’t. When I say a “team,” I am referring to the Jews. But I also mean humanity. All of it.
So, as I prepare to leave Hungary, I am reflecting on what to do with all these tears. I will go back home to my comfortable and privileged life. I believe life should be enjoyed and lived with gratitude in the present. But I know I can hold more space than just that. I need to carry some of my grandma’s trauma with me. It will help me step up and step out against inhumanity. I don’t want to leave the tears here. I won’t.
Back to my parent’s question of what I would do to Hitler if he was alive today. I’d take him on a week-long tour of Hungary with my chevre (translated in English to “close friends”). And not because listening to them kvetch about food, schedules, bus rides, hotel beds, and a lack of sleep is so torturous (well maybe it’s a little bit of torture), but I would show him how we are thriving as a people, and we are helping the world’s Jewry begin to do the same. I am not sure he’d be able to handle that. I’d want him to see it all. But this trip wasn’t about Hitler. It was about us. Jews. We are a resilient bunch, and we aren’t going anywhere.
When my grandma was interviewed for Spielberg’s Shoah project, she said clearly and confidently, “Hitler did not succeed.” She thought about that every time her grandkids were bar or bat mitzvah’d. In that same interview, she said (about her grandkids), “I hope they learn more about what happened and can fully understand it.” I hope I am doing that this week. I hope we all are.
I wish grandma could witness us and know that Hitler did not succeed and will never succeed. I wish she could see this group of Jewish leaders touring Hungary. I think she would cry a bit. And perhaps that would be most appropriate.
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