First Return to Warsaw
As soon as we arrived in Warsaw, my mother and the group from Tucson were waiting for our stories and us. We then, went straight to the Jewish cemetery. This was a second cemetery in one day. The cemetery was well kept. We said Kadish and had a ceremony by Janusz Korczac's memorial. I had always seen it in Yad Vashem. Dr. Janusz Korczak, called Father of the Jewish Orphanage in Warsaw, who was offered by non-Jewish friend to hide and save himself, refused to leave the children and went together with them to their final destination.

That evening we met at dinner with the participants of our group and members of the Jewish Community. For four decades, Warsaw was locked firmly behind the Iron Curtain. The Communists took power after the Nazis had reduced Polish Jewry by 90%. Now, Warsaw has emerged as one of Central Europe's most accessible Cities. Poland is often referred to as a giant Jewish Graveyard. In its time Warsaw was the greatest center of European Jewry. The peak of Jewish Activity in Warsaw came between 1881and 1939. The Jewish community had its own daily newspaper, theaters, schools etc. Many Israeli institutions trace their origins to Zionist seeds from Warsaw. On the eve of WWII the Jewish Community of Warsaw numbered 395,000. Some 500,000 Jews were crowded into the ghetto by 1941, but by the time of the Warsaw Ghetto uprising, only 60,000 were left in the ghetto.

Depending on how one defines community, and who is asked, estimates of Poland's Jewish population vary between 5,000 to 20,000, the vast majority of both numbers, living in Warsaw.

Warsaw has no distinguishable Jewish neighborhoods. There is a block where the Jewish Community offices, the State Jewish Theater and the city's only functioning synagogue can be found.

In recent years, new phenomena had emerged-young people exploring long dormant Jewish roots. They have their own social clubs. They meet together to add to their minimal knowledge of Jewish history and tradition, and simply enjoy the company of other Jews. These young Jews are not the children of the old Jews we find at the Synagogue. More and more people are discovering their roots. The new Polish Jews have to start from Scratch. The old Polish Jews, feel very lonely. That's why it is so important to visit them.

Key catalyst in the Jewish Revival in Poland was the Lauder foundation, which set up youth clubs and educational centers, as well as summer and winter camps for families. The American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, which supports the Jewish Religious Community, also focuses on Jewish Education as well as Social Welfare.


To Krakow
The next morning we went by train to Krakow, a city whose Jewish community had been decimated almost to dust. We visited the Krakow Jewish Quarter, Museum, Remu Synagogue and the Jewish Cemetery. While some estimate that there are between 500-1,000 Jews in Krakow and its surroundings, only 200 belong to the community. Their average age is between 70-80.

To Auschwitz--Birkenau
From Krakow, we went to Auschwitz Concentration Camp. No matter how much I have read, and heard about the camp, I was not prepared for the experience. It rained hard that day, as tears were flowing from our eyes. There were no words to describe the horror inside. We went through the camp with an excellent guide in front of us and a group of German Youth behind us. As we looked at the tons of shaved hair, glasses, shoes, prosthesis, cups, dishes, suitcases, clothes, and heard the stories of horror, we couldn't help but stick to each other as closely as possible for support. We shook and trembled uncontrollably. We stood in the crematorium, and the gas chambers. Those were extremely difficult moments!!!! A couple of miles from Auschwitz, the vast space of Birkenau chilled our bodies and minds even more powerfully. The remaining structures included a few barracks, some chimneys, the ruins of one of the crematorium and the railroad tracks that ended where life and death selections were made.

We visited the barracks and tried to imagine the tragic lives spent there for our people. The worst was the ground upon which we walked. For there we could bend down and pick up flakes of human bone and see the ashes of our people. I was afraid to walk... I did not want to take another step...

It is so important to visit these places. I believe strongly in the March of the Living program for our youth. I hope this next year we will have a nice size group going.

We said Kadish and had a very special ceremony at Birkenau. The voices of our group and the cantos rose up in the sky, as the German Youth group kept coming closer and closer to us. I wonder what they were feeling???????

Second Return to Warsaw
That evening, even though we had planned to share the events of the day, we couldn't talk. Each one of us was trying to digest the day on our own. It was a most difficult Erev Shabbat!

The next morning we went to Shul in Warsaw. We went to the Noszyk Synagogue, the only synagogue in Operation in Warsaw today. The Synagogue survived because the Germans used it as a stable. When we entered the Synagogue we saw the scorched entrance and the black walls of the halls. This was a result of a fire bomb attack in February. No one was arrested.

In spite of this site, we had the most beautiful service. In our group we had two Cantors - one from Denver and one from Tucson. They are the sons of the last Cantor of this Synagogue. Their father passed away, but they, with their mother (a survivor from Auschwitz) were members of our group. This was their first time to come to the Synagogue where their father sang. Their voices were going straight to haven. What a treat it was for all of the Jews of Warsaw and us. It was a concert of love, devotion and care beyond anyone's imagination. Their mother stood on the balcony Shepping Naches from her two sons. We all felt like saying the Shehechiyanu. Their mother later on, showed us the house that she lived in and talked about life in Warsaw before the war.

After these very special services, we had a Kiddush Luncheon at the soup kitchen operated by JDC. About 50 people a day come to eat lunch there.

Then we walked through the streets of Warsaw visiting the Ghetto area, the Umschlag Platz, Mila 18, and the Warsaw Ghetto Monument. Mila 18 was the main bunker of the Jewish fighters. The Umshlagplatz is where the Germans assembled Jews for deportation to Treblinka.

That night we saw Fiddler on the Roof performed at the Jewish Theater by non-Jewish actors for the most part.

From Warsaw to Brest
The next day we were on our way to Brest, Belarus where I was born...

I was leaving Poland stirring at the landscape which was the last landscape that millions of our people saw before they were murdered, trying to see things differently and prepare myself for the trip which was a dream come true for me, my dear mother and uncle.

On June the 22nd, the itinerary simply read: wake up call at 6:15 am, breakfast and checkout of hotel at 7:00 am, departure from Warsaw and arrival to Brest. No specific time was mentioned for arrival. The next item on the itinerary was dinner at 7:30 PM.

This schedule was written for our group but for my uncle, my mother and me it spelled anxiety, fear and remembrance of nightmares of the past.

No matter how comforting I tried to be to my mother, she just could not wipe out the pain and fear of crossing the border. In her mind something awful could have happened at any time. No assurances of any sort worked.

The bus ride from Warsaw to Brest lasted about three hours. As we approached the border, we saw lines of trucks and cars stretching for many miles. Different food and sleeping arrangements were set up on the sides of the road providing all kinds of services to travelers. One could be stuck for days, not just hours, crossing the border. We, as tourists, were able to move in a special line and even with this benefit; we were detained for almost two hours. First the Polish border police visited our bus and checked our passports. Secondly, the Belarus border officials took our passports for a check-up. The waiting aggravated my mother's nerves. At one point when I was helping my uncle Chema outside the bus, my mother fell off the bus and luckily was caught by two men who were standing next to the bus.

No ice was to be found anywhere, thus a cold can of sardines as well as other cans from the driver's tiny refrigerator were used to prevent the swelling of my mother's knee. Crossing the border was a painful experience for my mother indeed, both mentally and physically.

At this time, I was reminded of when we left Brest in 1958 and how at age five, I had to say goodbye to my Zaydeh and uncle Chema, not knowing if we will see each other again. I was also reminded of crossing the borders on the way to Israel from Poland to Italy, when border police visited our trains and did anything they wanted to do with our possessions. They threw away rugs, clothing, art, etc. without any consideration to our feelings. We did not have much but whatever we did have was confiscated.

We arrive in Brest
As we finally crossed the border, the excitement of seeing Brest, our home town, grew stronger and stronger. It has been 39 years since we left. How will things look? Will we be able to recognize the places we talked about for so many years? Brest was a big city now of 290,000 people.

Mother seemed disoriented, hurt, excited and anxious.

At first it was hard for her to recognize the streets. The Bug River-a familiar site. She was never at a hotel in Brest. Our hotel was the nicest in Brest. It reminded us of a structure and facility from 40 years ago. It was kept clean and that was important. The covers and linen looked the same as the ones I had in the 50's.

The greeting of our group was very warm and hospitable. The municipality went all out for our visit. Children in colorful costumes welcomed us with folk dancing and music, including Jewish dances and songs. This was an important event for Brest.

Months before our trip, when I was in Israel for Jewish Agency meetings and P2K work, my friend, Rivi, who knew about my up coming trip, told me she had met someone from Brest. Hours before my departure, I called that person and he told me he knew my family. He also told me that the group of Briskers from Israel was planning a visit to Brest in May. I immediately told him that the plans have to be changed and that they ought to come with our group to Brest in June. I talked to the leaders of the Israeli group and connected them with the leader of our group. Thus we were in Brest, 50 people, sharing together the pain, the memories and the future. This was a most unbelievable shared experience for all of us.

I became close to one family who knew my aunt. My aunt Yenta was killed first when the bombing started in Brest. She was engaged to David and David wanted to take her to Palestine. Zaydeh was afraid to let her go and asked David to go first. Six weeks later she was wounded and died. It was good for me to hear from someone who went to school with her.

Three persons from Brest recognized my mother. The first person was Mr. Blacher, who is in charge of the Holocaust Center and the Archives in Brest. He told my mother that he remembered her when she used to shave him. Mother was a barber after the war. The second person was Shlomo Weinstein, a friend of our family and the only person left in Brest from before the war. The third person, who ran towards my mother with tears in his eyes, was Misha Kaplan. His aunt was my Zaydeh's brother's wife. Mother never knew this connection. Zaydeh's brother Chuntche, his wife and three beautiful kids were killed at the first action when 5,000 Jews from Brest were taken out and mass murdered.

Misha's wife spoke that afternoon about Na'ale 16 program where their daughter is a participant. The wife taught Hebrew to potential olim and briefed them about Israel. Here were members of our family involved and touched by services we support in our own community.

Brest had 35,000 Jews before the war and only 11 survived. Three of the survivors were my mother, my uncle Chema and my Zaydeh. I was there in Brest with two survivors.

We toured the fortress of Brest where heroic soldiers held off the Nazis for one month. The war started on the same date that we were there, June the 22.

On that evening it was hard to focus on the dinner, the Israeli group which joined us, the many speeches given in the old soviet way, and the surroundings.

A most unbelievable memorial ceremony brought us all to Focus. At around 9:30 PM we gathered outside in the rain at the site of the Jewish deportation from Brest, in front of a cattle car. There were pictures pasted on the car of families from Brest whose lives were cut off. As we watched the pictures, a most moving ceremony took place. The rain kept falling stronger and stronger, mingling with our tears. We lit candles as best as we could, said Kaddish and sang Hatikvah. We held each other tightly and tried to be strong for each other. Some of the local people gathered around us. It was so special for them as well.

The Belarus TV crew was with us during the whole visit.

Who would have believed we were on Belarus soil participating in such a ceremony. There was so much to absorb, understand, remember and share. Sometimes we laughed at the silliest things trying to deal with our deep emotions. These were laughters as a result of not being able to use a telephone like one could in our own country or laughters caused by looking at the shmatas we had to wipe ourselves with. We had to laugh to get through this visit.

The next morning we promised Shlomo Weinstein that we would meet him at the hotel to conduct Torah Services. Shlomo had a sefer Torah that has not been used in many years. Again, this was a most meaningful experience. I was reminded of the Sefer Torah my parents rescued after the war and smuggled through all the borders to Israel where it was repaired and donated to our neighborhood synagogue.

The Brest Ghetto Site
For the three of us it was a beautiful beginning for a most emotional day. We were set to go to the hiding place where my mother, her brother and father spent 22 months after escaping from the ghetto on the last day before the final liquidation of 12,400 adults and 9,000 children.

Peter Golovchenka and his wife Sofia lived with his sister Paula and her children. Peter and Sofia hid my mother, uncle and grandfather in their attic and Paula kept two sisters in her flat and one boy as part of her family. They risked their lives. All together this one family saved 6 people.

Peter and Sofia died a long time ago but Paula was still alive. Although barely able to see, she recognized my mother and her brother by touching them and hearing their voices. The whole meeting was filmed by the Belarus TV and shown in Belarus.

Here things looked the same. The hiding place was there to climb up to. The barns, gardens and bathrooms where the three members of my family ran to when they needed to hide were there. The experiences of hiding for 22 months were recapped over and over. The familiar steps and running were practiced over and over. Tears of joy and sadness kept flowing. Reunions with the people from the neighborhood were repeated. Mother's best friend after the war met her. She looked much older than my mother did. It was hard to imagine they were the same age. Stories of the tough life were told over and over. It was hard to leave but we had to go. There was so much more to experience in Brest and so little time left. The next stop was to go to the neighborhood where I was born and spent 5 years of my life. The street has not changed. I was just able to see it in colors instead of the black and white as it was shown to me through pictures my parents handed to me. Pictures of Zaydeh holding me next to the house we lived in on a dirt road are hanging in my hallway, reminding me everyday where I came from.

Respublicanskaya # 59 was still there. Everything stayed the same as if to show us what we had remembered--The same house, the same trees that my father planted, the same barns and storage buildings, which my father built, and the same out houses which we used. The woman living in our house would not let us in. She looked very bitter and unhappy. There was no way to negotiate with the new owner. Even though I did not get to see the room where our family lived, I felt very fortunate that day. With all the changes that the City of Brest went through the two most important places that my mother wanted to show me were there untouched-the hiding place and our home.

During the summer before this trip I had helped my cousin Uzi from Israel connect with Mr. Blacher and Mr. Weinstein when he was planning to be in Brest. Uzi's father's entire family perished in Brest. His father had five sisters. Uzi warned me that nothing is left the way he heard his father talk about. He could not find the homes where his family members lived. He wrote me that the old cemetery became a football stadium. It was a most painful trip for him. I was preparing myself for this kind of pain. I did not want to be alone and that's why I went with this special group.

During the time that my mother, my uncle and I saw the hiding place and the home where we lived, our group had breakfast with Arcady Blacher and later took a city tour to see Jewish Brest: the ghetto area, the neighborhood of Louis Pozez and Menachem Begin, the former site of the Jewish Cemetery where 6,000 Jews were buried and an Exhibition at a local museum of Archival material where participants showed each other the history of their families.

A Film of the Brest Ghetto Experience
In the afternoon, the group went to see the screening of the film about the Brest Ghetto in a movie theater that was previously a synagogue. My mother, my uncle and I were planning to meet them there. Suddenly, as we were coming out of the car driven by Shlomo Weinstein, we notice a group of young people, signing. Needless to say, my uncle jumped first from the car and approached this group signaling to them. The group was very responsive. In just a few minutes they were communicating among themselves as if they had known my uncle for years. I encouraged my mother to go watch the movie. I promised to stay with my uncle and let him sign and communicate with the group. I was scared not knowing exactly how things would develop. I knew how important it was for my deaf and mute uncle to find people who are deaf and mute. Everywhere we went he looked for them as we would look for Americans when we are in foreign countries. The youth showed him the place where they worked and talked to him about life in Belarus. My uncle showed them some pictures of when he lived in Brest and was on the track team. One of the youths recognized a man who was in the pictures. He said that his father knows this man and he hurried to bring him. We waited about twenty minutes and the father came with the son. A most emotional meeting between my uncle and this man took place in front of us. They were friends in Brest. The father studied to be a tailor with my uncle's wife. They hugged each other for many minutes and cried like babies. My uncle spent the rest of the day and night with his friend and his family. I was so happy that my uncle got to share his experiences in his way of communication and that he got to have his own unique experience.

My uncle does not speak, hear, write or read. Yet, he communicated with each member of our group. He was helpful to all. Because of his high level of sensitivity and awareness, he was the first one to help out if anyone got hurt. We learned so much from him. The best moment to remember was, when we stopped at a gas station on the way to Belarus and started to dance, he danced with us and with such rhythm.

We spent the last evening with our relatives at their apartment. We hope they will come to Israel soon. We sat at their apartment, singing, eating and looking at pictures. It was hard to say goodbye. We cried!

The next day we were on the way to the capital of Belarus, Minsk. On the way there was a most important stop - Brona Gora.

Brona Gora
Brona Gora was the massacre site in a forest between Brest and Minsk. 12,400 adults and 9,000 children from the Brest Ghetto were awakened early in the morning before sunrise, and surrounded by SS soldiers with dogs. They were rounded up and lead to the railroad station and loaded onto airless cattle cars, along with other Jews from the nearby areas. On that day they were ordered to undress. Then they were forced to descend into the pits dug for them by the local people where they were machine-gunned. The next line of people lay upon the dead and the wounded and was shot. This went on until the whole area was filled. The bodies were covered with dirt. 50,000 Jews from Brest, Kobryn, Beroza, Pinsk and Bielsk Podlaski were murdered there while others watched.

On the bus, mother spoke about her experiences on this trip as well as about her experiences during the war. The group loved my mother. The young people got to be with a survivor and that was very important. She never lost her sense of humor and her love for life and gave so much of herself during this trip. We were all so proud of her and my uncle.

Other members of our group shared their personal experiences as well. It was a most important bus ride.

The bus stopped and we began to walk. The sun was shining.

The local population with school children showed up for our memorial service. We huddled around each other, holding each other, saying Kaddish, and hoping that this area would not turn into a football stadium one day. The pain our Israeli group faced was beyond imagination. Here were most of their families. Many took walks and meditated. My mother's family was there too.

We left Brona Gora with such heavy hearts! I remember being at Babi Yar and feeling some of the same pain. This time it was worse, because it was my family lying there under the ground we surrounded. At this point, members of our group felt that this would have been the time to go to Israel. They knew that in two days I would be in Israel for the Jewish Agency Assembly. They gave me notes to take to the Kotel. It is wonderful how Israel serves as a source of strength for our people.

Mir
On the way to Minsk, we stopped at Mir, an original, undestroyed shtetl. Once it was a flourishing religious and trading center, with a Jewish population of 3,000 people. The gray beige building of the Mir Yeshiva still stands, though the synagogue is now a bank and the marriage hall is a tractor school. A Schoolhouse still stands, beyond what was the rabbi's house, now a post office. The cemetery lies among the fields with horses and cows beyond the shtetle houses inhabited by women who wear their Babushkas and men who lug water cans for houses that don't have pumps. Time often seemed frozen.

Minsk
In Minsk we had a beautiful dinner with the Jewish Agency Assembly participants. It was great for me to see my other Mishpacha. It was good for my mother to see and meet the people I spend so much time with and to see the services and programs our efforts support. The Hatikvah choir entertained us that evening. We were so happy to see life after our most difficult journey.

The next day it was time to say good-bye to my mother as I and my uncle went back to Israel on an olim flight. Mother went with our original group to St. Petersburg where she got to see summer camps, soup kitchens, welfare societies, synagogues etc. She helped translating especially when the group visited the elderly.

My uncle and I enjoyed visiting the Jewish kindergarten in Minsk and summer camps. We danced with the children and celebrated life.

On the plane, I looked at the olim-there were old and young, sick and healthy people. Israel was absorbing them all regardless of their situations. We are part of these efforts. How proud I was to have this opportunity and privilege of building new lives and new futures! From the pits of death to life!