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The Number on Grandmother’s Arm Once in the summer, radiant and calm – * The number 30910 tattooed on the arm of Ester Margolis,
The seasons are changing – waiting in-line. A meeting with Alfred Vetzler* In 1972, I was invited to Vienna, Austria, in order to testify against two Nazi war criminals. In the courtroom I met some old acquaintances, former prisoners in the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp. From them I heard that Alfred Vetzler was living in Bratislava, Czechoslovakia. Fredo remained the same humble and kind person as I remembered him in Auschwitz. Unfortunately, he lived in very poor conditions and felt very depressed. He was persecuted by the Czech authorities for supporting the liberal President Dubcek. At that time he was also out of work. I spent two wonderful days with Fredo. We enjoyed each other’s company, remembering the past and discussing the present situation. I promised that as soon as I returned home I would send him a Visa application from Israel. However, as I found out later, this was not possible. At that time the Czech authorities wouldn’t allow their Jewish citizens to leave the country. ***
The day of departure! Fredo accompanies me to the railway station. We both share the sadness of the moment.
We are thankful that fate has brought us together again, but deep in our hearts we sense that this is our last meeting.
Suddenly Fredo disappears. I am standing worried on the platform, wondering where he might be. After a while he appears and hands me a small package. “It’s for you – he says and a childish smile lightens his face – a sandwich…”
I am holding the package tightly. A Gift of Life Spring. Labor camp. She offers potatoes An oath of trust Grodno, 1942
They walk in a hurry
on a cool winter day. Looking around, checking the way. One is Polish, a blond, from the village Lasky. The other is Jewish from the Ghetto nearby. They’ve grown together – in laughter and pain. Their roads separated and now crossed again. Arrive at a neighboring village alone - to get some supplies in the Aryan zone.* ____________________________________ *There was constant hunger in the Ghetto. Jewish children used to sneak out, risking their lives, in order to bring food. They’re lucky – their baskets contain some meat, some potatoes, some bread and some grain. On their way back, too tired to walk, they rest for a while, absorbed in small-talk. An old Polish woman comes out of her home: “Hello, pretty girls! ”Where are you from?” She gives them to eat – as much as they please. Then puts in their baskets some home-made white cheese. Brings them some apples, she has kept in store. To the one with dark hair she gives a bit more. Marinka grows jealous and turns inhuman: “Give her no more!” – she says to the woman. “She doesn’t belong here – A Jew in disguise! While I am a Christian! Don’t you recognize?” Esterka turns pale from unbearable tension. Marinka betrayed her, exposed with intention! The Germans surround them – no way to escape! Once they know who she is, they may kill her or rape… “How dare you! – rebukes the woman with passion – You, as a Christian, should have compassion! All people are equal in the eyes of the Savior. By treating her well you are winning His favor! Set out on your way! Be faithful and mild – Don’t break your oath to the poor Jewish child…” The right pair of shoes
The only possessions of thousands of Jews A casual meeting A casual meeting in a labor camp. Escape Dedicated to Rudi Vrba Two prisoners escaped *Auschwitz-Birkenau (1944) Time drags on endlessly - minutes - seem hour… There’s no limit to terror and the misuse of power! Two prisoners, two heroes, escaped in order to inform the world of evils far beyond conception, of crimes beyond the spoken word. Family Album
One day I asked my Grandma, Gold for Water Winter,1943. On the way from No one gets in or gets out. Jews on the train, nerves frayed from the rattle. They are locked in the wagons, like cattle. Mothers are hugging their kids in despair… Indifferent Poles on the platform don’t care! “Have mercy, Pan!* Bring some water to drink! What will happen to us, dreadful to think… Look at the children! Their fate you can change! Some water to drink!…Take gold in exchange…” Takes the gold. Disappears out of sight. Will he ever return? Will they see any light? They’ve run out of time, their hope almost gone. The train any minute may start to move on. ____________________________________ *Sir – in Polish
A miracle’s happened! Just as they go,
here comes the man with a bowl of white snow. Like for Manna from Heaven – son, mother, daughter– dozens of hands reach out for the water…  Good luck!
The war has ended. Free at last!
Loneliness and longing drive her home, to Grodno. Did anyone of family survive? The houses are ruined. The neighbors estranged. Nobody knows… So much has been changed. She keeps on searching. Never gives up on a try. Then someone remembers: Rachel? A nurse... in a village nearby! Even the winter cold won’t freeze the overwhelming tears of bliss. Despite the storm, lest she might miss her, she rushes hopeful to her sister. Walks alone on the slippery road…
A coachman slows down his horse: - Get on the cart, Panienka,* the weather is getting still worse! Climbs onto the cart. Suddenly feels she isn’t alone – a woman wrapped in a shawl slumbers while the horse’s pushing on. Ride in silence. Then the coachman starts a small-talk: - Where are you going? It’s too cold for a walk! - To find a lost sister. My faith never broke! - I wish you Good Luck! - says the man in a voice loud and deep. - Good Luck! - echoes the stranger from the back, half-asleep. ____________________________________ *a young lady – in Polish Arrive at a crossroad. Esterka gets off.
The woman jumps down, too. The horse and the cart disappear in the dark, leaving behind them the two. Stand alone - two shivering shadows, between the black of the sky and the white of the meadows. - Excuse me, could you tell me the way to the village? - To the village… Esterka?! - Rachel?! - My sister! - Five years... They embrace each other in tears… Grandma Esterka lights a torch May, 1987 Grandma Esterka lights a torchin Jerusalem, near "Yad Va-Shem",* in the name of the survivors of Auschwitz, the most dreadful of all concentration camps. Grandma Esterka lights a torch – small, fragile, not young any more, stands upright, all excited – forty years since the end of the war. The prayer of the cantor and the singing of the choir, remind her of voices from far-away lands, some screaming, some silent… the voices of parents and brothers and friends… ____________________________________ * The museum in memory of the Holocaust survivors. And the sounds of the orchestra, telling what words can’t express, take her back to the sounds of marching – of the marching to Death…** And the the merciful frost of the capital city and the wind, blowing the flags of the State, remind her of the two-thousand-year longing of Jews, surrounded by cold and by hate… Grandma Esterka lights a torch. The audience watches her with affection, while in front of her eyes burns a flame – the flame of Gas Chambers and the flame of Redemption. Grandma Esterka lights a torch, overcome with triumphant sensation. From a distance she senses my pride and the pride of the whole Jewish Nation! ____________________________________
** The Germans used to send the Jews to their death A Jewish child in Ghetto
A Jewish child in Ghetto,
surrounded by a wall. Alone, without his mother, with hands raised up, so small! He’s marching hurt and grievous on freezing roads, in cold. Light coat… Bare knees in winter… So helpless to behold! With yellow Star of David - a symbol of disgrace. He’s on the verge of crying. What fate is he to face? So vulnerable, fragile, in front of loaded guns, like blameless sheep to slaughter is led to die at once.
His eyes reflect an endless sorrow,
an endless fear of brutal deeds, because through them at me are looking more than a million murdered kids. A Jewish child in Ghetto, cries out in silent plea. In monumental picture implores: “Remember me!”  Herr Doctor *
The selection has started. The doctor is here. *Dr. Mengele, Head physician of Auschwitz, known for his sadism and cruelty as well as for his good-looks and polite manners. On Holocaust Day On Holocaust Day Today Mom lit a candle.
It’s a day of sorrow – she said – but also a day of great joy, of hopes rising high: for all our sufferings – Am Israel Hai! * And I thought - how lucky I am to have a grandmother, a grandfather, cousins, uncles and aunts and other relatives distant and close. And went to play in the yard… ____________________________________ * The People of Israel Are alive! (Hebrew) You You walk among us * People living in Israel after the establishment You walk among us
the last of survivors… Your hearts overflowing with love and with longing for your children and grandchildren. Love - so abundant in self-abnegation, ( incomprehensible to the Sabra generation )** as if your whole being depends on this word. Thus can love only those who feel lone in the world… You walk among us the last of survivors… Tied by bonds of mutual fate and wondrous kinship, which you have passed on, as your last obligation, to your children – to the next generation. ____________________________________ ** An Israeli-born is called “Sabra”. Without a coat in winter Two people: mother and son. “I’ll fetch us some wood” – offers the boy. Out of four he remained only one. “Take a coat! It’s chilly outside!” – the mother insists with a smile. He kisses her cheek, hesitates on the porch: “I’m OK! I’ll be back in a while!” …Shooting and screaming and orphan outcry – innocent bystanders beaten and cursed. Streets tightly blocked, houses ransacked, Jews being caught, deported, oppressed… Never returned. Where could he be? Was he sent to a camp? Will he ever get free? Outdoors - a storm and a future unclear. Indoors – the mother is praying in tear: “With no coat… with no gloves…with no scarf on your neck… Don’t catch a cold, my precious, my dear!” Wrapped in Tallit*
Every year since the War,
on the Holiest Day,** Esterka, the daughter, lights a candle to pray. She lights the Yahrzeit Candle *** and hears the ancient vow of Jews in Ghetto Grodno, so far from here and now. ____________________________________ * The Jewish prayer shawl.
They hope and they dream…
Despite horror and pain, still wish to believe in the mercy of Cain ! Every year since the War, on the Holiest Day, Esterka, the daughter, lights a candle to pray. Lights a candle and shudders at the fate of her father, murdered, wrapped in Tallit, with a candle unlit… Mother’s Love The mother’s heart forebodes: You are in danger, dear! Behind, a shot is heard… Her arms embrace him like the wings of mother-bird… Obeying the Law of Creation – with her body alone she protects the next generation… 
You shall live!
In a field owned by a Pole,
five Jewish people hide in a hole. They wait for the food he has promised to bring– saving a Jew was a dangerous thing! Three days have passed, but he still hasn’t come. They have already eaten the very last crumb. If he doesn’t show up, if they wait any longer – all are destined to die of thirst and of hunger! Praying in silence, as the hours run, the mother is hugging her little son – a cute, clever boy, almost four. He asks for a drink…but there is no more… Waiting in vain – exhausted, afraid. Between hope and despair a decision is made: All around is a field of ripe wheat… In the distance some windows are lit…
Like Yocheved*, the Biblical mother, facing danger , *Yocheved – the mother of Moses in Judaeo-Christian tradition. To save her son's life she puts him in a wooden chest in the Nile. He was found by the Pharaoh’s daughter who adopted him. Precious moments
To my grandmother, Mother and daughter embrace. What agony are they enduring?! The train’s moving fast… Mother’s warmth feels familiar and reassuring. “You will live! Have children! - the mother foretells - Overcome all the pain on the way! With your sister in Palestine * you will be re-united one day!” ____________________________________ * In 1943 the State of Israel didn’t exist, yet. It was under the British Mandate.
Mother and daughter embrace
while the train’s speeding up to its destination they do not know where. Their grief-stricken hearts beat with the sole expectation – to get off this Hell …anywhere! Mother and daughter embrace in a cold, stormy weather… Thus, without knowing, they share their last, precious moments together.
B.
Last station - Auschwitz. Here the Devil reigns with might: Who is to live? Who is to die? One - to the left… One – to the right…** C. Next day. Smoke rises from the chimney high, spread all around by burning heat, and smell is carried by the wind – the smell of Death, of scorched meat… “Where is my mother? - asks the girl bewildered - Spare me the lies!” “They‘re burning the transport from Grodno…” – an echo replies. ____________________________________ ** Right meant – life, left meant – death.. A Nightmare - Esterka’s dream 42 years after the
Tonight I dreamt about my mother. Esterka Joffe-Margolis, June 10th , 1985 With perfect precision * Quickly! - in German |
The Number on Grandmother’s ArmWithout a coat in winter Wrapped in Tallit An oath of trust Mother’s Love You shall live! A Jewish child in Ghetto Gold for Water Precious moments A Nightmare With perfect precision Herr Doctor A casual meeting The right pair of shoes Escape A meeting with Alfred Vetzler A Gift of Life Good luck! Grandma Esterka lights a torch Family Album On Holocaust Day You |
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Preface The book is based on the memoirs of my mother, Ester Shkurman- Joffe, a survivor of the Concentration Camp, Auschwitz-Birkenau.
Esterka Margolis (her maiden name) was born in Grodno, Poland. When the Second World War broke out in 1939, she was 16 years old. After the Germans invaded Poland Esterka and her family, together with thousands of other Jews, was transferred to Getto Grodno where she was kept during the years 1941-1943.
In 1943 the Getto was closed and the Jews who remained alive were transported in cattle-trains to Auschwitz. After spending two years in the inferno of Auschwitz, the camp was freed by the Soviet Army, in winter 1945.
In 1957 Esterka immigrated to Israel from Russia. She got married and had two daughters and four grandsons. She died in 2010 at the age of 87.
*** The urge to write the the book stemmed from a conscious decision to unfold what happened to my mother and her large family during the Holocaust – a kind of family heirloom for my children and close relatives.
The first poem I wrote on the theme was “The Number on Grandmother’s Arm”, which was first published in my children book “No one is Perfect”. One day I received a letter from a young girl, the grand-daughter of my mother’s friend. The girl wrote: “I really enjoyed reading your book but the poem I liked best was the one which you wrote about my grandmother”. I was very touched by those words. They proved that Grandma Esterka could represent the grandmothers of a whole generation of grandchildren.
My first childhood memories are connected to friendly gatherings of Holocaust survivors – my parents’ friends – held at our home. I listened to stories about survival, about mutual assistance and self-sacrifice. I heard stories about my mother – how, by risking her own life, she was saving the lives of others.
I held on to the heroic part, unable to deal with the horrors... For years I didn’t ask my mother about her past . Yet, I had a feeling of guilt and, therefore, encouraged her to describe in writing all she had gone through during the war.
For me to talk to my mother about the Holocaust was like touching a blaze and I was afraid to get hurt. It was difficult for me as a daughter to cope with the fact that my mother, the most significant person in my life, was humiliated, helpless, despised.
As the years passed, a sense of emergency arose. The generation, which experienced the Holocaust at first hand, was gradually disappearing. Suddenly, I was troubled by the thought that if one day I did wish to ask, there would be no one to answer. It is then that I started to read my mother’s diary.
Through the written text I made a new acquaintance with my mother. I found in her memoirs not only factual information but also an insight into her thoughts, emotions, anxieties, fear.
The memoirs were written in an outburst of emotions. The handwriting was sometimes illegible, the content confused. As a result – a dialogue followed. What I couldn’t clearly understand from the text, we completed by talking. For the first time in my life I dared to ask painful questions, which she eagerly answered.
By writing a book based on my mother’s diary, by telling the personal story of Esterka, a young woman in a death camp, I wanted to touch the hearts of the readers and thus to acquaint them with the most tragic-heroic period in the history of the Jewish people.
A poem emerges out of a rare combination between an idea and a strong inner sense. I got the ideas from my mother’s life-story – all the poems are based on real events – while the emotions, which give the poems their spirit and vitality, stem from the depth of my soul, from a unique empathy with the parent, which is so typical of the next generation.
After reading my mother’s memoirs I felt I had an obligation to my large perished family – people whom I have never met. I wanted to revive them, to free them from their anonymous doom - by telling the world about their tragic death. I wanted to solace them that our family tree was not extinct – that the few roots that survived, deepened and widened and with time grew into a large, blooming tree. *** The book has received warm reviews from teachers, principals and inspectors of the Ministry of Education in Israel. Enthusiastic responses come from students, as well.
The poems are recited on Holocaust Day at schools and on ceremonies organized by youth delegations to Poland.
The book can serve as a helping tool to cope with the difficulty to teach literary texts about the Holocaust in Elementary, Junior-High and High Schools. |
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