Williams / Hoag / Philbrick Letters to Rose

A Holocaust Memoir With Letters of Impact and Inspiration from the Next Gen
1. Auflage 2019
ISBN: 978-1-5439-6335-9
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet/DL/kein Kopierschutz

E-Book, Englisch, 238 Seiten

When Rose Sherman Williams was just twelve years old, the Nazis invaded her hometown in Poland. Subject to the ravages of World War II and the dehumanization of Polish Jews by the Nazis, each day was a fight for survival. Now in her nineties, this remarkable woman continues to share her story in hopes that it inspires courage and resilience, and touches the lives of those who hear it. Letters to Rose goes beyond the conventional Holocaust memoir. The book evidences her impact on the next generation by incorporating their letters throughout the text. These letters, coupled with Rose's story set in its historical context, provide a memorable read for all ages.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Williams, Rose

Hoag, Rebecca

Philbrick, Robin

Students, With

Leseproben

Chapter One: My Beginnings A Rose Is Born On an otherwise peaceful, hot June night in Radom, Poland, 1927, my father ran through the streets, looking frantically for a doctor. After struggling through seven hours of difficult labor, my mother was giving birth to a long-awaited child. Repeatedly, my parents told the story that my mother, who had only one son during the first eight years of her marriage, had bitterly longed for a second child. She went from one rabbi to another, asking for their blessings so that she might conceive. At one point, she had resigned herself to thinking that she and my father might have sinned without knowing and her sterility was G-d’s punishment. One day a rabbi’s widow, our neighbor, came to see her and prophesied that she would get pregnant again. The neighbor asked that, should Mother give birth to a daughter, the child be given her name—Rose. My mother laughed at this, but, to her astonishment, the prophecy came true. The old woman died, and a short time after her death, my mother found herself pregnant again. And so I got the name Rose. Of course, I was a most beautiful baby in their eyes. They curled my hair in long locks and dressed me up just like a little doll. Once, on a Saturday, I wanted to have an ice cream, but my father, as a devout Jew, would not buy anything before the first stars had come out ending the Sabbath. So, he waited until nightfall and bought me the ice cream, a happy moment not to be long lived. Shortly after, I fell seriously ill with pneumonia, which ended in pleurisy and the removal of two ribs. Most of my first two years were spent in a hospital where I underwent two operations. During my illness, my mother again became pregnant, eventually giving birth to twin girls. One of the twins died right away, but the other survived, my sister Binne. Looking back, given the circumstances surrounding Binne’s birth, I can understand why my parents seemed to dote on her. Two years later, a new baby brother, Motek, arrived in our house. Despite illness, I have mostly happy childhood memories. Admittedly, my relationship with Jurek, my older brother, was easier than the one with Binne. I frequently quarreled with her. In later years, Binne and I became each other’s friend and confidante as well as sisters, but the early ones evidenced constant sibling rivalry and the burdens of my being the older girl. By the time I was six or seven years old, my mom had already taught me how to take care of my younger siblings. I was practically the nurse of the newcomer Motek. When I turned eight, Dad began to leave ten cents on the counter so that Binne and I could go to the movies while he took the boys to synagogue. On a rare Sunday, he might go with us to see a movie. My sister and I were so proud when our father took us somewhere. I looked up to him as if he were a king and frequently took his hand firmly in mine. To me, he was the only father in the whole world; there were no others like him. And I will never forget one motion picture I saw with him. Of course, the name has slipped from my memory, but the actors I recall well. It was a Jeanette McDonald and Nelson Eddy film. To this day, I can hear the film’s melody in my head. Lessons Learned…from Home and School I started school at seven years old. I loved school. I learned how to read and poured over any book I could lay my hands on. Binne was just the opposite; she could care less about her lessons. While I did not often get praised for my academic success, I did get pressured to help Binne a lot, so my parents must have thought me capable. The school year always went by pretty fast for me. I loved learning and was good at it! When fall came with its typical Polish rainstorms, nothing could squelch my excitement about returning to school. I started each year out proudly with a new complete, beautiful wardrobe—a cloak, a cap, new shoes and dresses. My mother had my sister’s and my clothes custom made. We called it “made to order.” One of my favorite school memories occurred when I was nine years old. That year our school collaborated with our parents on a scientific excursion to Wieliczka, a famous 13th C. salt mine outside of Krakow. My parents got an inquiry from school about whether they would permit me to be part of the party. In that case, they had to send ten zloty (equivalent to ten dollars!) for the fare a week beforehand. Although it seems strange, I have but a blurred remembrance of the actual to and fro of the trip. I can recall boarding the train, singing, carrying our baggage. But I try in vain to remember how we arrived and where we spent the night. Nevertheless, the visit to the salt mine has remained in my consciousness as some dazzling, surreal fairy tale all these years. A miner hauled four children at a time down to the mine in a kind of elevator. When we arrived at the bottom of the shaft, another man received us and made us stand in line. Then, a guide came and led us through the subterranean caves. The walls glittered like millions of diamonds in all colors of the rainbow. Nature had built a fairy-tale castle underground, a castle with halls, towers, shining and sparkling—a perfect wonderland. Figures of the king, the queen, and the retinue, all resplendent in their magnificence, dazzled our eyes with supernatural beauty. I was so impressed that I began to cry when we had to go up to the sober surface of the earth. On the trip back, all the children were so quiet, as if touched by a magic wand. We didn’t listen to the teacher’s words. Everyone was submerged in thoughts. We had seen hidden wonders of a mysterious world. When I got back home, something extraordinary happened. My mother, who never was very affectionate with us, hugged me and told me how much she had missed me. She asked me if I enjoyed my trip. This new exchange was so unexpected that I grabbed my mom and kissed her. What a beautiful moment to remember! How can I, after so many years, describe the joy, the love I felt for my parents? Mom opened my eyes to the beauty of life. She not only helped me in my studies, but she also told us stories of her younger days. She and Dad stressed being caring and understanding toward others, lessons that guided me throughout my life. Mom was also the disciplinarian in our house. At the age of seven, my parents gave me a special stool to use so I could reach the sink. One day, Mom said, “Rose, I want you to wash the dishes.” My stool was ready for me, but I wasn’t ready for such menial labor. “What’s Florka (our servant) doing?” “I didn’t ask Florka to do the dishes. I asked you.” End of conversation and any thought of getting out of work! On the other hand, Dad found it difficult to be harsh. He was too soft-hearted. He told us to avoid even stepping on a worm because it was one of G-d’s creatures. He taught us lessons about kindness and honesty. He also stressed the value of money, taking us to the meter to show how every time we left the door open, we wasted energy and cost him money. Every click of the meter equaled a quarter. One of Father’s most memorable lessons about honesty had to do with a wealthy manufacturer who had no family. He had twenty-seven employees he considered family, but he had no one to inherit his factory. The owner decided he would test the honesty of his employees to see who deserved his trust and his wealth. He called them together one day and told them they he was giving each one a packet of seeds. Whoever could produce the most bountiful plants in six months would become his heir. Eager to be chosen, the employees used every means to become the winner. When the time came to show their efforts, the workers brought in all sorts of gorgeous blooming plants. Only one employee had nothing to show. He admitted that he tried watering, feeding, whatever he could do to make his seeds grow, but his efforts proved fruitless. He felt like he failed his boss and asked his wife what he should do. “Just tell him the truth,” his wife said. And so he did…. “This man alone has been honest and earned my complete trust. You were all given the same worthless seeds. I am disappointed that so many chose deceit, but I’m honored to call this honest man my heir.” I never knew if this was a real story, as we presumed it to be, but I have never forgotten the lesson my father taught me about truthfulness. Mom and Dad had different ideas on the importance of education. Dad wanted me to read, to learn everything I could. Mom thought I needed to learn the practical things that would prepare me to be a wife and a mother, a woman’s destiny in life. When I was ten years old, my mother wanted me to learn dressmaking in the afternoon after school. But I could not imagine myself sitting the whole afternoon, stitching on and on. I begged Mom to let me try to work in a library. My school teacher said she would give me a letter of recommendation. My mother was not convinced that this would be a proper job for me, but, for a while during the summer, she let me try. I concentrated completely on my new job. At that time, I had a very close friend who was much older than I and belonged to a Jewish organization, Shomer Hazayet. One Saturday afternoon, she took me along to a...