Growing Up Among Heroes

My father, Solomon, was born in Minsk in 1921, and my mother, Ruth, was born in Lida in 1925. Solomon was drafted into the Russian army at age 16, and the skills he learned in demolition stood him in good stead when he later blew up dozens of trains and communications lines, winning him the Order of Lenin. While in the woods in 1942, he came across the Bielski partisans and formed a life-long friendship with them. Ruth escaped her ghetto into the forest. At the end of the war, she returned to Lida, where she met Solomon. They married in December 1945.

Realizing there was no future for them in Poland, they escaped into Austria with the help of the Bricha. There they found their way to the Bad Gastein DP camp. But their losses were not over. My mother gave birth to a son, Isaac. Shortly after his first birthday, he died of pneumonia. I was born in the camp on May 19, 1948. A few months later, the camp closed, and we moved to another DP camp, Ebelsberg. My father searched with no success for relatives in America to sponsor them. Eventually, my mother located relatives, and we arrived in Brooklyn in April 1948.

When I look back, I realize that my parents didn't speak at all about the time in the DP camps. Of course, I was too little to recall my experiences there. Maybe the loss of my brother made them lump that period together with the Holocaust itself, of which they also spoke little. Yet all their friends were Holocaust survivors. My parents' closest friends were Tevia and Zus Bielski. So here I am, someone who grew up among heroes who never saw themselves in that light. My dad kept his war medals in his sock drawer! In spite of everything, my parents enjoyed life to the fullest. I miss those early years growing up and am so glad to connect with others who share this amazing legacy.