Holocaust Museum - 3G

Don and I traveled on a bus trip with a local synagogue to the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC. Through a chance meeting, Sue, our leader, learned grandchildren of Holocaust survivors tell their stories through the group 3G. She connected with Rachel, whose grandfather William Loew was the only member of his family to survive.

The third generation, or 3Gs, is a movement to preserve the memories of their grandparents.

This was Rachel's first time sharing his story at the Holocaust Museum. Her aunts were in attendance, which would have made me extra nervous. She has told his story to school groups.

Her grandfather was born to a prominent Polish family in 1925. They were winemakers. Today Rachel and her family are keeping that tradition alive at Loew Vineyards in Maryland. His story is preserved on their website. My notes are not as powerful.

William Loew was born Wolf Low. He was Rachel's favorite person in the world. In the end she shared pictures of him, and a brief video. His smile lit up a room. Looking at him in his 80s and 90s, you would not imagine the atrocities he saw.

In 1939 war broke out and life changed. Poland was divided between the Germans and the Soviets. His city of Lvov was on the Soviet side. Their business was forced to close. Curfews were instituted. Life went from being great to becoming difficult. 

In 1941 war broke out again. The Ukrainians were in charge. The moved into the Lvov ghetto. Young Wolf (later William) had tuberculosis. He survived and got a job working a roofing paper company carrying 65kg of asphalt into trucks. His boss took a liking to him. Wolf had papers allowing him to move in and out of the ghetto to his job. Pietr (his boss) told him of a home where he could hide if things turned. In the Spring of 1943 there were mass roundups of Jews. He went to find his mother hiding in a specially built couch.

In the summer of 1943 there were rumors the factory would be liquidated. Wolf went into hiding in a home with five other Jews. He stayed there for eight months until January 1944 when he walked to move to Hungary (which was unoccupied at the time). There he enjoyed a brief respite. He was a refugee, but Budapest was free. He had nothing, but himself. He became a courier for the Resistance.

In July 1944 while out delivering a message to Romania with the scantest of information who to pass the message onto, he was captured. Since he spoke multiple languages they thought he was a spy. He was interrogated and beaten for three weeks before being sent to Auschwitz on September 12, 1944 and tattooed with the number 193229. Placed in Barrack 20, which was for infectious diseases, he felt somehow he was protected. Once he was in the line to be murdered and was pulled into the other line at the last moment after someone noticed his number. After that he considered #13 his lucky number.  

In January 1945 as the camp was being liquidated, he was sent on a 12 day trip without food or water in an open cattle car. As the passed under overpasses, locals threw them loaves of bread. For the rest of his life he said the Czechoslovakians were the nicest people. 

From February 1945-April 17, 1945 h was in Flossenberg and sent on a death march. On April 23, 1945 the 99th division of the US Army freed them.

"Bittersweet" was how he described being freed. He was the sole survivor of his family. He lost friends, he was in poor health, and did not have much education. Worked with the US Army as a translator (quickly adding English to his list of languages) and moved to the United states in 1949. In 1954 he met his future wife (Rachel's grandmother).

The sweet smell of honey mead in barrels haunted him for the rest of his life. Today the family makes that in honor of their family. In 1982, as he was nearing retirement, he bought 37 acres of land and built the vineyards.

He found hope in the sky. "I had to survive because someone had to tell" what happened.

This 45-minute session was the most powerful of the day.

Holocaust Museum - Thoughts

Though I walked through Washington, DC's Holocaust Museum clutching my notebook and pens, I did not take any notes. I did take some pictures to help jog my memory.

I consider myself fairly well versed in the atrocities of the Holocaust. I'll never understand how it could happen, but I know the basics. I know it happened, and also cannot understand how there are Holocaust deniers out there. 

I left learning (or being reminded) that after the Americans freed Auschwitz, half of the prisoners still died within a week, and more kept dying. 

I learned the military leaders debated the pros and cons of bombing Auschwitz. Would that have made a difference?

I was reminded that non-Jews were also rounded up. Homosexuals. Jehovah Witnesses. Mennonites. Political prisoners. Others I did not note. People who tried to hide anyone in the above categories.

A couple of weeks ago at McCarter Theater in Princeton I saw the powerful play "Here there are Blueberries." If it ever hear about it in your area, go. I'm surprised I did not write a blogpost about it at the time. The play is based on the Holocaust Museum's decision whether or not to accept a donation of a photo album of snapshots taken at Auschwitz at the height of the Holocaust, and their subsequent research. Their hesitation was that their mission is to honor the victims and this photo album showed the perpetrators celebrating and having fun while people were being murdered and worked to death. 

The play unfolds talking about ordinary Germans and their roles in the Holocaust. In the end, none of them were punished or took responsibility. They were just doing their jobs. The doctor who decided as they came off the cattle cars who should live and who should die. The person who pulled the lever said "someone else had already decided their fate." Each person was a cog. One person's grandfather told him "that was the best time of my life." Those words will forever haunt me.

As I'm watching the play, I wondered for the first time what my extended family was doing in Germany. My grandfather was born in 1916 in New York City. His parents were also born in New York in the late 19th century. What about their parents? My great-great grandparents. Presumably they left behind siblings, cousins, friends, etc. What did they do during World War II? What would I have done? We all want to be the hero, but most of us are not heroes, only people trying to survive.

Walking around the museum, I did not see a reference to the photo album.

The exhibits start on the fourth floor as we exited from an industrial elevator designed to transport you to the past. The fourth floor is called The Nazi Assault, 1933-1939. The Nazis got their ideas for eugenics from the belief in the United States that some were deemed "racial inferior" or "enemies of the state." People were desperate to leave before things got worse.

Down a flight of stairs to the middle floor: The Final Solution, 1940-1945. As the programs against the Jews grew from persecution to separation to extermination. Much focus was on the ghettos to the gas chambers. On this floor was a chamber filled with family photos taken by four prominent portrait photographers from the 1890s to the 1930s. With the use of a handheld computer, you could learn more about a select number of the pictures. You could see they went down the the floor below us.

Names of places that no longer exist

Hall of family portraits

Down another flight of stairs to the second floor: The Last Chapter. The present. How we respond matters. How to render justice. The efforts of the Holocaust survivors. The photos from the floor above are visible here with more stories.

A boxcar that would have transported
100 prisoners. We walked through it.

Rather than being allowed to cross
the street, Jews had to walk on bridges built
above the street.

Photographer of many of the prisoner
photos. He risked his life to save them.

As we left we had the opportunity to take the identification card of a real person. Mine was of Ludmilla Schatz, born November 10, 1896 in Ukraine. Despite living in France at the time, she perished in Auschwitz in 1942 at the age of 45. 

Don had someone else's card.

On the first floor was a moving story told through Daniel, a Jewish child growing up in Nazi Germany as his world changed.

The number of years to get a visa
to move to the United States

In the basement was a temporary exhibit on how ordinary Americans were reacting. Polls about should we admit more Jews? Should was participate in the 1936 Berlin Olympics? Were the rumors of concentration camps true?

We were running late to catch the bus back, so we did not spend as much time here as we could have. I was reminded that in that day most people got their news from ten-minute newsreels shown before movies. While limiting news to only a few minutes a week (and only if you go to the movies) plus sporadic radio updates is one extreme, so is today's non-stop barrage of news. We need a happy medium to have time to absorb all that is happening in the world. The constant repeating and twisting of events is too much.

Holocaust Museum - Rise to Nazism movie

The times we are living in are historic. It seems every day we are hearing about a chainsaw making cuts to the United States government, when it should be a scalpel. It is overwhelming.

When I learned about a local synagogue sponsoring a bus trip to the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC, I decided I wanted to go for two reasons. One, I want to study the past to understand the present. Two, I fear a chainsaw will be taken to the Smithsonian Museums, especially the museums of African-Americans, the Holocaust, and American Indian, i.e., the ones certain people would call catering to "DEI." 

I believe as we grow, our lens on life changes. Five years ago I visited the Ghetto Fighters' House Museum in Israel, which is the world's first Holocaust Museum. At the time I said I didn't think the Holocaust museums in Jerusalem or DC would impress me as much, and I was right, but that's only because that museum set the bar sky high.

Sue, our leader, must have ordered us our free timed tickets as we had to check in before we were ushered to an industrial elevator that eerily took us up four flights. I'm not a fan of elevators, and this one designed to make us feel like prisoners did not help my opinion. Given a choice, I will nearly always opt for a flight of stairs. There was no choice.

We were told to take as much time as we wanted, but we were to meet up for the bus in 2.5 hours, and it usually takes people two hours to cover the three floors. Don't forget the special exhibit in the basement on what America knew about the Holocaust.

Around the corner from the elevator was a 14-minute movie called the Rise to Nazism. It was about to start. 

Normally I would not want to use that large a chunk of time sitting still, but at this time, in this place, the big question in my heart: how did this happen? The bigger question in my heart is: how do we stop it? But that was not covered.

As I watched in horror, I took notes.

Fifteen years before 1933, as World War I ended in 1918, Hitler was an unknown. In the 1920s, he was an early joiner of the National Socialist German Party (the Nazis). The Nazis were an outcrop from the national frustrations that came about after the Treaty of Versailles where they felt Germany was unfairly treated. There were long breadlines. Huge inflations. Demonstrations against capitalism and the war. They wanted Marxism to end.

Sounds like today's MAGAs who have frustrations over how the United States has been running.

In 1923, they had about 50,000 members (no idea how many people were in Germany at the time). There was a failed copy in Munich. Hitler was imprisoned.

Failed coup? January 6th ring any bells.

While in prison he writes Mein Kampf spelling out how to fix Germany and create a world without Jews.

Project 2025 sound familiar?

By 1925 the economy was improving and Hitler was forgotten as he sat in jail. Berlin was a cosmopolitan city.

In 1927 there was a protest march with 15,00o Nazis in it. Nazism was an outlet for frustration. They used propaganda to get their message out.

Social media, propaganda sound familiar?

In 1929 the world economies collapsed when our stock market collapsed. Unemployment grew..

The Social Democrats were the largest party, but they could not unite the left. In the early 1930s, the Nazis were deemed to be fascists.

Paul von Hindenburg and Franz Van Poppen were aging leaders in charge of the government.

Biden?

The election between Hitler and Hindenburg resulted in no clear majority, so a run off election took place. Hitler flew from rally to rally (covering 21 cities)to get more votes while Hindenburg stayed put and one radio message. Hitler used a message of bread, work, Germany restored to greatness to gather the votes.

Eggs? Lower groceries? Make America Great Again? 

Still Hindenburg barely won the election, but Hitler gained in popularity.

The Nazis gained delegates.

Tea party?

Hindenburg did not like Hitler, but recognized his popularity. He thought he could control him if he gave him a role in the government.

Within 53 days democracy fell in Germany.

We are at day 36 in the United States watching it fall.

Learned something new in New York City

"It was a dark and stormy night."

Scratch that, "It was a cold and windy day."

We were early for our Broadway Up Close tour and it was cold out. It was sunny, but the bitterly cold wind made gave the temperature a "feels like" in the teens. We stopped into the New York Public Library to keep warm. After looking at the long line for their Treasure, we walked over to the visitors center. I noticed a sign saying anyone could get a library card and thus gain access to their vast eBooks collection.

I got my first library card from the Paramus Public Library as soon as I was old enough to have my own. When I lived in Belgium, I signed up for one from the main library in Liege. In college, my ID was also my library card. When we lived in Trenton I was able to get a Mercer County library card because I worked in Mercer County. When I lost it along with my job I was most disappointed, and made sure to sign up again as soon as I had a new job.

But a NYPL card in that moment felt magical.

Our wonderful 5-star library cut back on eBooks due to budget restrictions. I prefer books made out of paper, but eBooks are a lot lighter to carry on trips. With my new library card, I can now fill up my Kindle before a trip.

While reading a Facebook post I learned about another benefit to having a NYPL card -- I can request a pro shot of any Broadway show and watch it in a carrel. This opens up new possibilities on those days we have a few hours and nothing specific to do in New York, especially on those blustery cold winter days. 

There are catches. You also need an archival pass (also granted for free), and the viewing room has different hours from the rest of the library, so bring some patience, but it can be done. Shows I wanted to see on Broadway, but did not get a chance to see, or that I loved when I did see it, can be viewed.

What I really need to do is start a list!

PS: One caveat, the pass has to be renewed in person every three months. 

Memoir of a Snail

A few months ago on a rainy afternoon Don and I wandered into Melbourne's ACMI (formerly Australian Center for Moving Images). At that time, most museums in Australia and New Zealand were free making it a cheap place to escape the rain.

As the name suggests, the museum is dedicated to Australian films, something I am not that familiar with. One exhibit, though, caught our eye: the making of "Memoir of a Snail," a stop motion film made in Melbourne during the pandemic when the government enforced Draconian efforts to keep COVID-19 from spreading.

Through the glass we could see the sets which featured lots and lots and lots of snails to the point of pure clutter. It was impossible to see the vision behind the stuff. 

Still, though, I was curious. I made a mental note to look for it in the States, then promptly forgot to do so with the hubbub of the holidays and inauguration. For some reason, though, I searched Google for showtimes around me. There was ONE -- Tuesday at 7 pm at the Readingn Cinema, about 45 minutes away.

The rest of my family was busy, so I went alone. 

Still unsure of what to expect, I sat in the reclining leather seat, and adjusted my tray (maybe I should have studied the food options more). The film was charming. The accents reminded me of Australia. It takes place in Melbourne and in the small town of Canberra.

"Life can only be understood backwards, but we must move forward," is the tagline of the movie.

It was a small, but enthralled audience. I frequent live theater much more often than filmed, so I laughed when I thought things were humorous. I worried I crossed a movie theater line until I heard others laughing and reacting to the movie. No one was rude, just engaged. At the end, all ten of us stayed to watch the credits. Just as I was getting up to leave, I noticed something else on the screen. If it was live theater, I'd call it a talk back. It was an interview between the creator (director Adam Elliott) and Australian director George Miller (best known for the Mad Max series). 

I would describe the movie as "claymation," until Adam said that term is under copyright, so he uses "clayography" -- a combination of clay with biography to describe his stop motion film.

It takes 25 frames PER SECOND to feel realistic. Indeed, it is easy to forget the actors are really pieces of clay.

Adam talked about how the film has very little dialogue because of its low budget and moving mouths realistically is expensive. That's also why their feet are not shown when they walk. Instead there is a voice over actor describing what is happening.

He really likes to bring viewers through a wide range of emotions. I know I cried at the end, and laughed at some of the dark humor.

The main character, Grace Pudell, is a hoarder. The inspiration for this film came after he discovered three sheds of things his father hoarded in his lifetime. He was originally thinking the animal would be a little bird, but changed that when something in pop culture came out. He toyed with different animals, finally deciding on snails because of their mathematical shape. Afterwards, he realized it was the perfect animal because snails can only move forward. They cannot go backwards. 

A note from IMDB, all of the characters are based on people Adam Elliott has met in real life.

Nominated for one Oscar for best animated feature, this R-rated movie is available on streaming services. I'm glad I saw it on the big screen as it wouldn't be the same on my laptop.

Protests

"Here we are again," said a woman who was 16 when Roe v. Wade was codified into law in 1972, echoing a sign I saw at the Million Women's March in 2017. Eight years later we are older and a bit more frayed around the edges. This time rather than traveling to Washington, DC to protest, I traveled one town away to Trenton, NJ for the closest Not My Presidents Day event.

As I walked up to an event, a woman behind me stumbled on the uneven sidewalk. I immediately saw her surrounded by half a dozen people wanting to help her back to her feet. Reminded me that that is the world I want to live in, not the one we feel like we are heading to at the moment.

It was 30 degrees out with 60 mph winds, but the sun was shining! We gathered at Veterans Park across the street from the State House on State Street in Trenton. Dedicated in 2008 to World War II soldiers, Veterans Park still feels brand-new. I've been near it, but this was my first time walking in the paved park. I was struck by the statues such as Lady Victory, but for me, the most moving was of a helmet resting on a rifle. I should go back and read the names of those who served.

Yesterday, the park was filled with 500 protesters holding signs and chanting. It felt as if we were doing something. More somethings are in the plans, including designating February 28 as Buy Nothing Day, March 14 as Do Not Work Day, and others.

There were hastily scrawled signs, signs that were works of art, and signs that were mass produced in honor of LGBTQ+ youth and handed out to those who did not bring their own signs. 

Though there was a 20-something woman with green hair talking into a megaphone as she wove through the crowd with a purple-haired contemporary holding the electronics, it did not feel as if there was a leader. During pauses, people chimed in with chants to repeat. My favorite chant was HAY HAY HO HO, ELON MUSK MUST GO. That one seemed to go on for a while. Some were more complicated, taking a while to work from their origin to my ears. It felt organic. All of our voices matter.

I saw pink pussy hats, which reminded me to dig mine out for the next protest. We know there will be another one.

Then there was the dissent. "They should have a drum to keep the beat." "Ooo....they shouldn't say THAT [Free Palestine], it is too divisive." "We should all carry the same signs." "We need to be more unified." "TRANS LIVES MATTER, what about the rest of us? We matter, too." Ugh. To which I said, feel free to organize your own event. 

I noticed most of the people were in my demographic: suburban. White. Over 50. I did see a few Black, and a couple of Asian, people. I mentioned the protest to my girl afterwards. She said she works in Trenton and did not know about it. We must figure out how to reach others. While there are few people out there happy with the change in government, there are many more who are not. They are the ones we need to include.

Five hundred people turned in weather that is more conducive to staying home in PJs than it is to being outside. I counted my blessings that this area was protected from the wind, making it easy to latch onto the warmth of the moment. Walking back to the car, though, was a challenge. 

It was a great next step in the fight.

Living Their Dreams

A thread that kept uniting conversations I had with random people during our trip to Vancouver was living your dream. It seemed each person I really talked to had a dream life they were either currently living, or had lived. Simply talking about the experience made their faces light up. I realized I want my face to light up the same way. I need to figure out what my dream is in order to make that happen.

Their dreams involved leaving home for someplace new, and all the risks involved with that.

The first person was our server who moved from Vermont to Vancouver. Extremely curious, we asked how she did that. She said her father is a Canadian citizen. Still she left the US East Coast for the Canadian West Coast. She manages a café and by all external indications, is very happy.

The next person was the bus driver on the Vancouver to Capilano route. Best as I could determine, he is in his sixties, but maybe in his late 50s. In 1986 Greyhound offered a deal: for $99 they would take you anywhere within Canada. His friend wanted to go as far as Manitoba, the next province over from their home. Our driver said for that price, he wanted to go all the way to the other coast: Vancouver. His friend left after a couple of weeks. Our driver is still living in Vancouver and has never regretted his decision.

The third story came from the woman at the bookstore. Orignally, from Oregon, in 2016 she lived in Turkey before moving to Germany to rock climb full-time and teach English to support her lifestyle. Based on the sparkle in her eyes, it was the best time of her life.

The fourth story came from our friendly ice cream scooper in Whistler. Six weeks ago he moved to Canada from London, England after Uni. He has a degree in landscaping. He decided to get a two year visa and live in Whistler. He skis all day and scoops ice cream at night. The scooper has encouraged a friend to move in with him. He is living his dream.

What is my dream? 

That's the big question.

How am I going to make it happen?

That's the even bigger question.

Little Shop of Horrors -- FINALLY!

Back in February 2020, in what feels like a different lifetime, I took the train into New York City to support Noemi with her then-latest creation. Looking back at blog posts it was a crazy time! Ashley was a high school senior and all the pomp was starting to gear up. My second gala was less than a month away. The sun was shining. The birds were starting to sing. 

Okay, maybe I exaggerated a little bit about the birds, but it was a beautiful day to walk around Manhattan.

Because I was taking a rare day off that close to the gala, I decided to make the most of it. I spent the day on foot. I splurged and bought tickets to three Broadway shows: Diana, Mrs. Doubtfire, and Little Shop of Horrors. The first two were for Don and I, the third as a family outing.

I then walked for about an hour popping in and out of shops. I remember falling in love with Olde Good Things, a salvage store. I even signed up for their emails. Walking through the store I dreamed about living in an old home and using their treasures to bring the house back to life. A fantasy, or perhaps an alternate life I could have lived.

The day was about as perfect as they come. Except the day ended with me coming down with an odd bug that took away my voice, and left me tired.

Three weeks later the world shut down for COVID. Along with the rest of the world, including (especially?) Broadway, we stayed close to home.

A year later, Netflix showed Diana, filmed without an audience in a theater in New Jersey.

Two years later, we won lottery tickets to see Mrs. Doubtfire. Masked up, Don and I went into New York.

It took nearly three more years before we finally saw Little Shop of Horrors. Seymour and Audrey have been recast a number of times. I don't remember who we were supposed to see then. It doesn't really matter. What matters is, the three of us went into New York City to see the show in Westside's upstairs theater. 

This February day, the weather was MUCH colder. We did not walk nearly as far. But, we got to see the show, and, more importantly, we spent time together.