We are all haunted...

The temple space was filled with expectant faces, a vigil about to begin. Sandwiched in between a wall and a partition, my breath caught in a glimpse of cataclysmic claustrophobia. My mother, grandparents, great grandparents, and countless aunts, uncles, and cousins—how their world must have shrunk in the horrifying dawning awareness of approaching death. Perhaps they were once crowded into an area like this with strangers, not knowing what awaited them. The walls start moving forward, slowly, maniacally, their evil intent to crush what lies in between. Suddenly, Superman swoops down, forcing the walls apart with his bare hands. A familiar rescue scenario for a child of Holocaust survivors.

A quote by Anais Nin seemed to apply: “The world shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.”

Yes, there were tales of courage in my family. Tales of Supermen and Superwomen. Some I knew, some I guessed. I held onto my few precious facts like threads through a curtain. I could feel all of them standing on the other side. No one left to pull it open. Now a thickening veil of forgetfulness.

A shift in the crowd jerked me back to the present. My friend, Nancy, also a child of Holocaust parents, was moderating a panel of four others. A woman played haunting music on a rescued viola. “We are all haunted,” I thought, “those who were there and those who suffered with them when they returned, like second hand smoke.”

People shared with urgency, now part vigil against the veil, part catharsis. Stories streamed out, releasing pent up pain. I had never taken my place in a support group before. But when I raised my hand, my body protested, and I had to leave the room, unable to stop coughing.

Perhaps it was not yet time. Perhaps I had more work to do before I could share. So many voices, all needing to be heard. I could not wait for another meeting; I’d waited too long already. Therefore, this is my attempt at making sense of my life, looking for the first time through the lens of the larger landscape through which my family traveled. I’ve woven together impressions, facts, feelings, art and artifacts, and poems and experiences in the hope of creating enough of a quilt to wrap around myself and recognize as home.