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The Boston Globe Record
Samples of the Boston Globe Articles are repeating phrase: Polish death (concentration) camps
Shutterings met with protest, tears
By Matt Viser and Shawntaye Hopkins, Globe Staff and Globe Correspondent, June 26, 2006
Entries cast horrors in mundane detail
By Colin Nickerson, Globe Staff, May 7, 2006
Author: D.F. Weyermann, Globe Correspondent
Date: 3rd February, 2002
Author: Unknown
Date: 30th December, 2001
Author: Charles M. Sennott, Globe Staff
Date: 24th March, 2000
Roman Hartblay’s letter of protest published on 29th March, 2000
Author: David L. Marcus, Globe Staff
Date: 22nd January, 1998
Author: Judy Rakowsky, Globe Staff
Date: 22nd September, 1994
Author: Associated Press
Date: 22nd September, 1993
Author: Associated Press
Date: 3rd July, 1989
Author: Linda Matchan, Globe Staff
Date: 1st February, 1981
Paulina Migalska of Washington, DC shared with us a list of previously published BG articles containing the phrase.
Based on several articles from BG and Washington Post she wrote her master’s thesis, most recently published with
the help of the Polish Foreign Ministry. Is there a better start to a young writer? Congratulations!
May 16, 2006
Pope Benedict practices Polish ahead of trip (from Reuters)
"Benedict will be in Poland from May 25 to 28, visiting the biggest Nazi German death camp complex
of Auschwitz-Birkenau as well as sites associated with the late John Paul, including his home town
May 14, 2006
Poland defamed with one word - The Globe May 5. 2006
YOUR ARTICLE ''Files uncover Nazis' trail of death" (Page A1, May 7) would be without blemish if not for the wording ''Polish death camps" in one of the paragraphs. You certainly must agree that this phrase, through which the reporter may have tried to refer to the camps on the Polish territory occupied then by the Third Reich of Nazi Germany, is very ambiguous.
For years we have continued fighting this false simplification, or ''mental shortcut," which takes the blame off German Nazism and puts it on others./.../
Krzysztof W. Kasprzyk
Konsul Generalny
tel. (646) 237-2102
Email cg@polishconsulateny.org
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______________________________________________
June 26, 2006
Brighton, Lynn parishes close
Shutterings met with protest, tears
By Matt Viser and Shawntaye Hopkins, Globe Staff and Globe Correspondent
"After the service, several items were removed from the parish,
including the birth, death, and marriage records, a painting of Mary, and a small ontainer of soil from a Polish concentration camp. ``Now in Poland, they're building churches, they're growing," said Malqorzata Perkowska , a 40-year-old Topsfield resident who
immigrated from Poland 12 years ago."
(The article is removed from this web site: http://www.boston.com/news/local/articles/2006/06/26/brighton_lynn_parish
- PolBoston.com)
 "Files uncover Nazis' trail of death
Entries cast horrors in mundane detail
By Colin Nickerson, Globe Staff,| May 7, 2006
BAD AROLSEN, Germany -- The death books seem utterly ordinary, their covers inscribed with neither swastikas nor other frightening Nazi symbols. They are just the black-and-white, cardboard-covered composition books that generations of schoolchildren have used for handwriting practice. And, indeed, every entry is in neat cursive.
/.../
In any event, Germany last month abruptly dropped its longstanding opposition to granting full access to researchers -- and the Red Cross indicated that it, too, would go along. The change came after the United States intensified diplomatic pressure for openness.
The archives contain 50 million documents with the names and information on some 17.5 million people, including concentration camp inmates, forced laborers, and other victims of Adolf Hitler's Third Reich.The famous Schindler's list is part of the archives -- consisting of transport orders diverting more than 1,000 Jews from the Polish death camps to jobs at a factory operated by the courageous German businessman Oskar Schindler.The files at Bad Arolsen provide stark details of slave laborers forced to repair German railroads under bombardment from Allies, digging tunnels to hide V-2 rockets, or working on the assembly lines of BMW, Siemens electronics, and other well-known firms. Researchers say that the opening of the records is long overdue."
REMEMBERING THE HOLOCAUST
Date: December 30, 2001 Page: B10 Section: Education
They are studying, enjoying a day at the beach, or simply smiling with loved ones. Hundreds of Hitler's victims come alive in intimate portraits now on display through Jan. 13 at the Center for Holocaust and Genocide Studies at Clark University in Worcester. The stirring snapshots were culled from Philadelphia journalist Ann Weiss's book "The Last Album: Eyes from the Ashes of Auschwitz-Birkenau" (W.W. Norton, 2001). They are part of a 2,400-photo collection Weiss came across during a trip 15 years ago to a museum at Auschwitz, a Polish concentration camp. "They remained over the years, in large ledger books, not unknown exactly but forgotten or ignored," Weiss added. The daughter of Holocaust survivors, Weiss spent years identifying many of the people in the pictures. After a stop at a private school in Bethel, Maine, the exhibit returns to Clark in mid-March. The Globe spoke with Weiss about her project.
Q. How did you choose which ones for the exhibit and the book?
A. With great difficulty and with agony over the ones that I'm not choosing. This exhibition with about 140 photos is the largest one to date because I added some new photos that the staff at Clark University had particularly adored from the book. Originally I felt that I could never publish a book that didn't have each and every one of the photos in it. But I had to make some choices. Regardless of what I chose or didn't, these photos were all chosen as among the most significant by the people who once owned them. This is what they chose - what they didn't want to forget. That's one of the things that distinguishes this collection. It's not an outside person making the choice; it's the people themselves.
Q. Is there one photo that captures this project?
A. That's like asking a mother to choose among her children. It's not that one speaks more than any other, but there are certain photos that tell the story in a way that few others can. There's one I call the signature photo of the exhibition. [The picture depicts a father with his son on his lap. The boy holds a frame with photos of his paternal grandparents.] That photo to me is so telling because the father has found a very ingenious way to do a family photograph despite the geographic limitations of him being in one place and his parents being a distance away. The power of that photograph, the pride in that father's face tells as much as any photo what this is all about: People loving one another.
Q. How were these photographs saved?
A. When the Jews came to Auschwitz, their possessions were confiscated and taken to a crematorium to be destroyed. Out of the millions of photos brought to all of the death camps, only this one collection remained. These most likely came when the ghettos in south central Poland were liquidated in the summer of 1943. These were saved through a series of courageous acts. One of the leaders of the Jewish resistance in the camp said, `If we can't save the people, at least let us save their memories.' A group of young women who worked in the sorting warehouse were given the secret mission of hiding the photos. For just turning your head the wrong way you could be killed. This was an act of unbelievable heroism.
Q. How did you react when you first saw these photos?
A. I could barely breathe because their power was so enormous. I had never seen anything this beautiful, except possibly pictures of my own children. But that's different, because they were safe and alive.
Q. What message do you want the project to convey?
A. So often people think of the Holocaust and all they can conceptualize is the images that the Nazis created of dehumanized, emaciated individuals. Those images are horrifying and people can readily distance themselves from those because those people don't look anything like us. When people look at these photos, the comment I hear more than any other is, `These photos look just like a photo in my own family.' . . . On one level, I want people to understand that these are people just like us and we have an obligation to help those who need it, not to look away when we're uncomfortable but to get involved as so many people in the world did not. I also want people to cherish their own families, friends, and loved ones, even more. If these photos can do that, what a powerful message they speak even from their uneasy graves.
CLASS PROJECT ON HOLOCAUST BRINGS WORLD TO TENN. YOUTH
Author(s): D.F. Weyermann, Globe correspondent Date: February 3, 2002 Page: A8 Section: National/Foreign
WHITWELL, Tenn. - The common denominator of the German Army, a Norwegian shipping line, an American railroad, numerous labor unions, and 50 countries on six continents is a group of eighth-graders living in the hill country of Tennessee.
Three years ago, the pupils of Whitwell Middle School began a class project designed to teach themselves about diversity in the world. They chose the Holocaust because there were no Jews in their county; in this town of 1,600 all but a few residents attend fundamentalist Christian churches.
The goal then was to collect 6 million paper clips from around the country to illustrate the number of Holocaust victims.
Today, they have 30 million paper clips and an actual Nazi "cattle car" in which to display them and the thousands of letters they received.
"It really makes you think you can accomplish anything," said 14-year-old Greg Stalyon, who worked on the project this year.
"It surprised me a lot because of where we are and all," said Jessica Reynolds, 13.
Others are not so understated.
"It is nothing short of amazing," said Robin Scherch, assistant vice president for human resources at CSX Transportation, the Florida-based rail freight company that donated more than $30,000 in services to move the cattle car from Baltimore to Chattanooga, Tenn., some 50 miles from Whitwell.
"When we heard about this program, we wanted to participate because it fit perfectly with our own diversity program to teach our employees about different backgrounds," Scherch said. "Our unions stepped right up to the plate."
Like most people who stepped up to the plate for the Whitwell students, CSX heard about the project about a year ago. At that time, the students had collected about 2 million paper clips after sending out hundreds of pleas to movie stars, politicians, business executives, and others.
Although they had received warm responses from notables such as Steven Spielberg and President Clinton, principal Linda Hooper and project teachers David Smith and Sandra Roberts were mildly disappointed.
"It only took Hitler four years to round up 6 million human beings without a media," Hooper said last spring. "It seems odd we should not be able to collect that many paper clips in three, given what communications are today."
But the media did pick up on the story. By August, the students had 20 million paper clips and hundreds of letters from 50 countries. The students no longer thought it would be impossible to obtain a Nazi-era freight car of the type used to transport Holocaust victims. Offers of help poured in.
German journalists Peter and Dagmar Schroeder, based in Washington, D.C., had written a book about the project. "We thought that Germans of earlier generations were involved, and they should know about this project in Whitwell and have a chance to participate," Peter Schroeder said. The couple toured Europe for five weeks looking for a Nazi-era railcar. They found one in a private museum outside Berlin, but the owners were unwilling to part with it - until they were moved by the Whitwell story.
The Schroeders approached the German national railroad, which transported the car to a seaport 400 miles away at no charge. The German Armed Forces arranged to sail the car to Baltimore on a Norwegian ship, at no charge to the school. Longshoremen unloaded it at no charge onto the CSX flatbed cars. From Chattanooga, Fletcher Trucking Co. hauled the car to Whitwell, where it was unloaded onto CSX-donated vintage 1942 rails by B&B Crane of Chattanooga. The only item that cost the Whitwell children was the railcar. The owners wanted the $5,000 they had paid for it. That matter was taken care of by Jennie Shepard, an 18-year-old Nashville high school senior who had been invited to speak at the Whitwell school about her travels through a Polish concentration camp.
"I was taken with their determination, and I was determined to see them have it," said Shepard. She raised $11,000 by soliciting donations from 150 people, all family members or friends.
Finally, the Postal Service designed a prestamped postcard that the school has sold for $1 to the hundreds who have come to see the railcar.
The car was dedicated on Nov. 9, the anniversary of the Crystal Night violence against Jews in Germany. (Named for the shattered glass of shop windows that were looted or destroyed.)
Shepard's rabbi, Mark Schiftan, whose parents were Holocaust survivors, was one of the speakers. "I remember the brilliant sunshine of that day in Whitwell in a beautiful countryside much like Germany's and then walking into that dark place where so many thousands had suffered," he said. "The separation of that brilliant world and the darkness of the Holocaust was as simple as that railcar door shutting."
The Whitwell museum can be toured during school hours. The school asks visitors to call ahead at (423) 658-5635.
MUSEUM OFFERS ARAFAT A TOUR
Author(s): David L. Marcus, Globe Staff Date: January 22, 1998 Page: A1 Section: National/Foreign
WASHINGTON -- The US Holocaust Memorial Museum yesterday ended days of debate over an invitation to Yasser Arafat, and formally offered a VIP tour to the Palestinian leader, despite objections that he has called for the destruction of Israel.
Although Arafat has not formally accepted, he is expected to visit today or tomorrow on a tour conducted by the museum chairman, Miles Lerman, who had initially declined to invite the former guerrilla commander The museum beefed up security yesterday in preparation for the visit as the executive committee of its board of directors unanimously voted to extend Arafat a dignitary's welcome.
"Chairman Arafat, obviously, is engaged in a longstanding conflict in the Middle East that endangers the peace of that region and peace of the world, so we want to do anything we can to further understanding and help with a resolution," Ruth Mandel, the museum's vice chairwoman, said in an interview last night.
In the five years since it was opened, the museum has hosted nearly 10 million visitors and about 50 world leaders, including former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher and the presidents of Germany, Lithuania, and other countries. If Arafat goes, he will be the first Arab leader to tour the heart-wrenching displays, which include a railroad boxcar used to transport Jews to Polish concentration camps, a replica of a crematorium, tape-recorded recollections of Auschwitz survivors, and Arafat has never visited Israel's Holocaust museum and memorial, Yad Vashem, which sits on a hill in Jerusalem.
Aaron Miller, one of President Clinton's Middle East envoys, who serves on the museum's executive council, planned to issue the invitation personally, after Arafat arrived in Washington yesterday.
Several of Clinton's advisers are convinced that the peace process has stalled not because of disagreements about specifics, but because trust has broken down between Israelis and Palestinians. The advisers want Arafat to visit as a gesture of goodwill to Jews.
The administration's reasoning can be seen in Clinton's words at the 1993 dedication, which are etched on the lobby wall: "This museum will touch the life of everyone who enters and leave everyone forever changed."
Ram Shweky, a 22-year-old tourist from Israel, squinted in the winter sun yesterday as he emerged from the museum. He said he was thinking about his grandmother's family, killed by the Nazis in Poland. And he was thinking about Arafat, whose Al Fatah guerrillas in 1980 announced a resolution calling for the "liquidation" of Israel.
"There isn't a simple yes or no answer to whether he should be invited, but I think everybody needs to come and see this museum so that in the future nothing like the Holocaust will happen again," Shweky said.
For days, there wasn't a simple yes or no answer in the museum's executive offices, either. Last week, some American Jews said inviting Arafat would be an insult to the victims of the Holocaust. Lerman and the museum's director, Walter Reich, also expressed misgivings, Mandel said. "Miles said, `This is going to divide people. It's going to make the museum a political football,' " Mandel said.
Although newspapers have reported that the museum decided to invite Arafat and then rescinded the invitation, Mandel said no formal invitation was made until last night.
"This is a museum of rememberance and education," she said. "It is not about closing the front door to anyone; it is about opening the door to everyone from schoolchildren to international visitors to dignitaries."
Most visitors leaving the museum yesterday said Arafat, who shared the Nobel Peace Prize with the late Israeli leader Yitzhak Rabin, should get the red-carpet tour.
"If the man wants to come, he should come," said Della Myers, a business consultant from Maryland. "He's not coming here to throw a bomb, he's coming here to pay homage." Nurit Shatzman, 21, another visitor from Israel, looked shaken as she left the museum. She wanted Arafat to have the same experience. "This is a very important piece of history that Arafat has to understand if he wants the right perspective about the people he wants to make peace with," she said.
Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, who left Washington yesterday after 2 1/2 days of meetings with the Clinton administration and members of Congress, refrained from commenting on Arafat's visit. He sidestepped reporters' questions about the controversy at the museum, but blasted the Palestinian Authority for keeping a charter in its constitution that calls for Israel's destruction.
Israelis demand that "the Palestinian leadership and the Palestinian people meet and tear up that paper," Netanyahu said. He added that the official Palestinian media is full of venomous references likening Jews to Nazis. "If Mr. Arafat wants to turn a new leaf, I think that the best thing that he can do is to stop this stream of anti-Semitic propaganda," he said. In a meeting at the White House this morning, President Clinton is expected to prod Arafat to step up the pace of peace talks with Israelis.
Of course, not everyone wants to see Arafat at a museum that is filled with reminders of massive violence against Jews.
In Washington, the hard-line nonprofit group called Center for Security Policy denounced the invitation as "morally repugnant." The group said Arafat's visit would turn the memorial into a "tawdry prop for one of our time's premier Holocaust-deniers."
Judith Schachor, an Israeli whose 19-year-old son was killed by Palestinians four years ago, said a visit by Arafat would be "absurd."
Everywhere she went in the museum, she said, she imagined Arafat looking mockingly at the reminders of the horrors that Jews have suffered in the 20th century.
"Maybe Arafat is going to laugh at the exhibits," Schachor said. "He wants to destroy the Jewish nation, and a visit to a museum won't change that
US TARGETS NORWOOD MAN IN DEATHS OF 40,000 JEWS JUSTICE DEPT. LAWSUIT SEEKS 87-YEAR-OLD'S DEPORTATION
Author(s): Judy Rakowsky, Globe Staff Date: September 22, 1994 Page: 1 Section: METRO
The US Justice Department yesterday moved to have an 87-year-old Norwood man stripped of his citizenship and deported for allegedly signing the death warrants of about 40,000 Jews from a Lithuanian province during World War II. The suit filed yesterday against alleged Nazi collaborator Aleksandras Lileikis has been a high priority with Nazi hunters for years, and is said to be more significant than those of Klaus Barbie or John Demjanjuk. At the door of his Norwood house yesterday, Lileikis denied any involvement in the killing of Jews. "I'm not murderer," he said.
In the past year, Lileikis' role in the Holocaust was clarified by strong documentary evidence from Lithuanian archives only recently opened to Western researchers, federal officials said.
If the allegations are proven in what is said to be an unusually strong paper case against Lileikis, he would be the most notorious war criminal ever allowed US citizenship, said one former Justice Department official. "He and his men were the ones arresting Jews, seeking out Jews, and turning them over to the special commandos at Ponary," a mass extermination site in woods 7 miles outside the Lithuanian capital of Vilnius, said Efraim Zuroff, head of war crimes investigations for the Simon Wiesenthal Center for Holocaust Studies in Israel. "They did their work with tremendous zeal, tremendous cruelty, and played an instrumental role in the highest victimology rate in Europe," said Zuroff, who used to work in the Justice Department's Office of Special Investigations.
Reporters yesterday brought to Lileikis' door the allegations that he headed a regional section of a Lithuanian security force from 1941 to 1944 -- a Nazi-sponsored force that played a key role in the annihilation of the Jews of Vilnius.
In response to questions, Lileikis denied any role in the Holocaust. Looking gaunt and unshaven and wearing sunglasses and a yellow hat, he said: "I left there so long ago, what can I tell you?"
Lileikis said he had received no notice of the suit.
However, Assistant US Attorney David Mackey, civil division chief, said US marshals were given a summons to serve on Lileikis yesterday. Lileikis does not dispute his identity, in contrast to some who have been accused of being Nazis or collaborators, and the case is not dependent on Soviet records, which helped to doom the case in Israel against Demjanjuk. Lileikis admits he was a member of the Lithuanian security force, or Saugumas, in the province that includes Vilnius, once a vibrant cultural center of Judaism and home to 100,000 Jews. He has said he had innocuous duties that had nothing to do with the extermination of Jews.
In sheer numbers, Lileikis' alleged crimes far outstrip the atrocities committed by Barbie, the so-called Butcher of Lyon, who was convicted in 1987 of crimes against humanity for being responsible for the deaths of 842 French Jews. He died in prison in 1991.
Even the actual Ivan the Terrible, a brutal guard in the Polish death camp Treblinka, was a relatively low-ranking officer who did not have the power to order mass executions. Demjanjuk, of Ohio, was accused of being Ivan the Terrible, but acquitted by the Israeli Supreme Court.
In contrast, documents from Lithuanian archives allegedly show Lileikis' signature on orders that turned tens of thousands of Jews, as well as Catholic priests, Soviet prisoners of war and Polish citizens, over to a special Nazi execution force.
The filing of the lawsuit in US District Court in Boston is the first step in what could be an arduously long process that gives Lileikis two chances to appeal to the US Supreme Court -- once if federal courts strip him of his citizenship and again if he is ordered deported by an immigration court.
Lileikis also could be extradited before the Justice Department suit runs its course, officials said. Zuroff said the Wiesenthal Center will urge the Lithuanian government to request Lileikis' extradition to face criminal charges in that country.
The US does have a treaty with Lithuania that provides for extradition on war crimes charges, said Eli Rosenbaum, acting director of the Office of Special Investigations, the branch of the Justice Department that since 1979 has hunted World War II criminals.
The office has 20 cases pending in US courts and 300 other people under investigation, Rosenbaum said. Forty-two people have been deported as a result of cases brought by the office, and 50 have lost their citizenship.
In all, 96 percent of Lithuanian Jews were killed, most on the streets or in prison. In contrast, much of European Jewry was sent by train to death camps in Poland and Germany, according to Justice Department historians.
According to the Justice Department suit, on Aug. 22, 1941, Lileikis allegedly signed and issued an order directing the chief of Lukiski prison to "turn over the Jews listed below" to the special execution squad.
The next day he signed a similar order, the suit alleges, and did again on Aug. 26, Aug. 27, Sept. 16, Nov. 15 and Dec. 6. At that time, Jews were confined to a ghetto and their dispatch to the prison was almost always a prelude to a walk to nearby woods for execution, the suit says.
Of the roughly 100,000 Jews in the Vilnius province, 5,000 remained when the area was recaptured by the Soviets in July 1944, records say.
Lileikis was rejected when he first sought to immigrate to the US in 1950 because, according to the suit, US intelligence authorities determined he had been an area chief under Gestapo control, who likely was appointed "because of known Nazi sympathies," court papers say. He succeeded when he applied five years later, contending that he was an "escapee from a Communist-controlled area who fled due to fear of persecution on account of race, religion or political opinion," according to court papers.
He was questioned by a US investigator, but said his duties as the security chief in Vilnius involved "exploring public opinion, screening personnel, prevention of sabotage."
ISRAELI CLAIMS HE MET JAILED WALLENBERG IN 1972
Author(s): Associated Press Date: December 27, 1982 Page: ????? Section: RUN OF PAPER
An Israeli newspaper yesterday quoted a recent immigrant from the Soviet Union as saying that in 1972 he met and spoke with missing Swedish diplomat Raoul Wallenberg, whose fate has been a mystery since 1945.
Asher Hanukaiev said he spoke to Wallenberg over a four-day period while in Sverdlovsk Prison in Soviet Eastern Europe, the newspaper Haaretz reported.
Hanukaiev was quoted as telling a local newspaper, Sheva, in the southern town of Beersheba, that Wallenberg "lay on a stretcher, and he told me he had trouble in the stomach." Hanukaiev said Wallenberg told him he had been arrested by Soviet authorities because he had helped to save Jews from Nazi extermination camps, Haaretz reported.
Wallenberg saved thousands of Hungarian Jews from the Nazis. He opened a Swedish diplomatic mission in Budapest in 1944, issued thousands of Swedish diplomatic passports and pulled Jews out of lines, where they had been waiting to board trains bound for Polish death camps.
GERMAN DEATH CAMPS IN OCCUPIED POLAND
Date: March 29, 2000 Page: A18 Section: Letters
Pope John Paul II's actions and words in Israel have been breathtaking and highly emotional. He is truly a courageous individual, unique in history. When one contrasts him with Pius XII, it is not difficult to see who the saint is.
I must, however, take exception to Charles Sennott's front-page news story last Friday ("Pope voices sorrow over Holocaust") about the pope's visit to Yad Vashem. The story states, "In the center of the hall is a flat stone under which lie the cremated remains of victims of six Polish death camps. Please, don't refer to these places of murder as "Polish." They were German camps in an occupied and devastated Poland. These were places where the Germans could carry out their evil. Adolf Hitler viewed everyone in Poland - Jews and Christians alike - as subhuman, "untermenschen."
The Germans lost World War II, but they won the war against the Jews - a war that they conducted relentlessly and obsessively. Almost 1,000 years of European Jewish culture (much of it in Poland) was destroyed forever.
Since there has never been total justice brought to the thousands of Germans who murdered millions of innocent individuals, let us at least for the record correctly identify who the perpetrators were.
ROMAN HARTBLAY
Chicopee
POPE VOICES SORROW OVER HOLOCAUST\ \ CITES PERSECUTION OF JEWS IN HISTORY
Author(s): Charles M. Sennott, Globe Staff Date: March 24, 2000 Page: A1 Section: National/Foreign
JERUSALEM - In the somber setting of Israel's Holocaust memorial, Pope John Paul II offered a soul-searching reflection yesterday on the Holocaust's "godless ideology" and declared that the Roman Catholic Church "rejects" and is "deeply saddened" by Christian persecution of Jews throughout history.
"In this place of memories, the mind and heart and soul feel an extreme need for silence. Silence in which to remember," the pontiff said in the flickering light of the eternal flame at Yad Vashem. "Silence because there are no words strong enough to deplore the terrible tragedy of the Shoah," or Holocaust.
But for some - Israelis, Jews, and Christians - John Paul's words were not enough. They were hoping to hear him address a different kind of silence, specifically the silence of the World War II-era pope, Pius XII, despite his knowledge of the death camps in which 6 million Jews as well as many other targeted groups were killed.
Israel's chief rabbi, Israel Lau, who grew up in the same area of Poland as the pope and who had an emotional morning meeting with the pontiff at the Great Synogogue, has praised John Paul's efforts at reconciliation. Lau, however, who lost most of his family in death camps in Poland, also expressed disappointment.
The pope, Lau said, needs to directly address the official silence of the church under Pius XII. "I expected penetrating criticism of his deeds, of the complete silence when our blood was spilled," he said. "Such criticism is vital for the next generation."
Had Pius spoken out, Lau and others maintain, countless Jewish lives may have been saved. The Catholic Church has disagreed, saying that Pius's silence was a diplomatic strategy that actually helped save Jews. Catholic theologians also point out that some priests and nuns risked their lives to try to save Jews from the Nazis.
Still, the consideration of Pius for beatification, the last step before sainthood, has outraged many Jews and Christians. Critics are demanding that the Vatican open its archives on Pius to scrutiny.
Despite the disappointment that some felt about the pope's speech, his message and his genuine grief seemed to resonate with Israelis. Several of the nearly 50 Holocaust survivors in attendance, who are among some 300,000 Holocaust survivors in Israel, were brought to tears as the pope ceremoniously lit the eternal flame in Yad Vashem's stark Hall of Remembrance. The walls are lined with boulders and the floor is cold, gray concrete, as in a tomb. In the center of the hall is a flat stone under which lies the cremated remains of victims of six Polish death camps.
John Paul listened to poignant remembrances of victims and the mournful cry of a cantor praying for the souls of the dead. At one point the 79-year-old pontiff seemed overwhelmed, wiping away what many who watched thought were tears.
Several Vatican historians called the pope's visit a crowning moment of a 22-year papacy devoted to healing wounds in Catholic-Jewish relations, a drive fueled by haunting memories in his native Poland of Nazi persecution of Jews, some of whom were childhood friends and neighbors.
"My own personal memories are of all that happened when the Nazis occupied Poland during the war. I remember my Jewish friends and neighbors, some of whom perished, while others survived," he said.
I have come to Yad Vashem to pay homage to the millions of Jewish people who, stripped of everything, especially of their human dignity, were murdered in the Holocaust. More than half a century has passed, but the memories remain. . . . No one can forget or ignore what happened. No one can diminish its scale."
The pope stopped short of assigning blame to the Catholic Church or on Pius XII, Vatican observers say, because to go any further in the apology could create a historical impression that the church feels is inaccurate.
"It is important to bear in mind that the extermination of the Jews during the Holocaust was conceived and perpetrated by Hitler, not by the Catholic Church," wrote Lorenzo Cremonesi, a correspondent covering the pope for the Italian daily Corriere della Sera.
In his 15-minute speech, the pope addressed the origins of Nazi ideology, saying: "How could man have such utter contempt for man? Because he had reached the point of contempt for God. Only a godless ideology could plan and carry out the extermination of a whole people."
At the ceremony, six survivors were invited to spend time with John Paul. And in one of the more symbolic gestures of the day, the frail pope rose from his chair and walked unsteadily toward the four men and two women so that it was clear he was coming to them and not they to him.
One of them was Shlomo Breznic, 64, a Haifa University psychologist. During the Holocaust, his parents placed him in an orphanage where Catholic nuns were hiding Jewish children, and risking their lives to do so. His parents were deported to Auschwitz, where they were killed.
"I feel for the pope," Breznic said. "My heart is on his side, not on the side of those who demand more. He made a big step, a very important step and one we have been waiting for.
"I was not saved by the Catholic Church, but by a few brave nuns," he said. "This pope's relationship with the Jews is very special. . . . He made a big breakthrough when one considers the constraints of the establishment he heads. It is not a closing of the circle - one cannot close a circle in history in one generation. It's a shame words like this came so late. But we have to be grateful they came."
Israel's prime minister, Ehud Barak, gave a powerful and stirring speech that made reference to his maternal grandparents, who perished in a death camp, and of the pope's knowledge of and sensitivity to the plight of Europe's Jews, since John Paul was a seminarian in Poland while the killing was happening all around him.
"You have done more than anyone else to bring about the historic change in the attitude of the church toward the Jewish people," Barak said. "Here, right now, time itself has come to a standstill. This very moment holds within it 2,000 years of history. And their weight is almost too much to bear.
DEMJANJUK EXITS ISRAEL FOR US AFTER MORE THAN 7 YEARS IN JAIL
Author(s): Associated Press Date: September 22, 1993 Page: 11 Section: NATIONAL/FOREIGN
BEN GURION AIRPORT, Israel -- John Demjanjuk, acquitted of being the Nazi death camp guard ''Ivan the Terrible,'' left Israel for the United States early today after more than seven years in jail. An Israeli guard removed Demjanjuk's handcuffs as he boarded a plane, Israel army radio said. The jet took off at 1:30 a.m. Asked how he felt, the retired, Ukrainian-born Ohio autoworker smiled slightly as he took his seat in the front of an El Al Boeing-747, with bodyguards and relatives.
"We feel really good. We can't wait to get home," Demjanjuk's son-in-law Ed Nishnic answered.
Angry passengers, many wearing the skullcaps of observant Jews, shouted and crowded in the aisles as Demjanjuk boarded the plane.
"He should have stayed in prison. In my opinion he's as guilty as guilty can be," said 72-year-old Edward Spicer, of Los Angeles. He said he had been imprisoned in four Nazi camps during World War II.
Demjanjuk was freed from the maximum-security Ayalon Prison last night.
His El Al flight was scheduled to arrive in New York at 6:40 a.m. today for a four-hour stopover. He is to arrive in Cleveland on a TWA flight at 12:20 p.m. today.
Demjanjuk received a letter from the US Embassy permitting him to return to the United States. He was stripped of his US citizenship in 1981 for lying about his Nazi past.
He was extradited to Israel in 1986 for trial on charges he was Ivan the Terrible, a Nazi guard who operated the gas chamber at the Treblinka death camp in Nazi-occupied Poland during World War II. An estimated 850,000 Jews died at Treblinka in 1942 and 1943.
The Israeli Supreme Court in July overturned his 1988 death sentence. It said there was strong evidence he had served as a guard at another Polish death camp, Sobibor.
Demjanjuk's release was delayed five times while Nazi hunters and Holocaust survivors pleaded with the court to order a new trial. On Sunday, the court put the appeals aside and lifted a restraining order holding up Demjanjuk's deportation.
Once he arrives in Ohio, Demjanjuk still must fight to remain in the United States because his citizenship has not been restored.
IN WARSAW, SADNESS, JOY AT JEWISH WEDDING
Author(s): Associated Press Date: July 3, 1989 Page: 2 Section: NATIONAL/FOREIGN
WARSAW -- Joy was tinged by the pain of memory yesterday as an American Jew and his Polish-born bride exchanged vows in the first wedding in a synagogue in Warsaw since World War II.
Beneath a marriage canopy that had to be borrowed from the state-run Jewish theater, Robert Blum and Joanna Kan were married, surrounded by their families, television cameras and a few remaining members of Warsaw's once- thriving Jewish community.Polish. "There's no heart left. There's only one synagogue, a broken-down community, mostly of old people," Blum said. "When we saw what was happening here, we thought this would be the greatest way to add meaning to our wedding. It came from our heart."
Fewer than 300,000 Polish Jews survived the war, and emigration has reduced that number to less than 10,000, most of them elderly. In Warsaw alone, there were 380,000 Jews before the 1939 German occupation, more than in any other city except New York.
There were also 400 synagogues in the capital. The remaining one, used as a stable by the Nazis, was not rebuilt until 1983 and had not been used for a wedding since.
Nor had there been a rabbi until the arrival about six weeks ago of Menachen Joskowitz, a Polish concentration camp survivor who came from Israel for a two-year stay.
Kan was Catholic, like more than 93 percent of Poland's population today, until she converted to Judaism after moving to the United States from Warsaw six years ago. She met Blum while working at the New York firm where he practices corporate law.
Blum said the couple was saddened by the synagogue when they traveled to Poland last year to meet Kan's family. "All of my Jewish education did not prepare me for what you see here," he recalled. "We thought, this is the last generation of Jews in Poland. Considering their history here, it is very sad."
Blum said he hopes the wedding festivities will help rejuvenate the Jewish community in Poland. He said he had found that some younger Jews are "coming out of the woodwork" to rediscover their religious roots.
Prior to the wedding, there was a last-minute hunt for yarmulkes in a synagogue unaccustomed to a crowd of more than 200. It included two dozen family members and friends from the United States, more from Poland, several Jewish youth groups on tours from abroad and members of Warsaw's Jewish community, which had received an open invitation.
"It was a beautiful cermony. I've never seen anything like it," said Dorota Mroziak, one of Kan's three Polish Catholic bridesmaids.
A GENERATION LATER \ THE HOLOCAUST HAD LASTING EFFECTS ON SURVIVORS WHO CAME TO AMERICA.\ BUT MANY OF THEIR CHILDREN BELIEVE THAT THE PARENTS' EXPERIENCES HAVE\ AFFECTED THEM AS WELL
Author(s): Linda Matchan Globe Staff Date: February 1, 1981 Page: ????? Section: LIVING
A mother tells her daughter:
"We were just like cows. I was jealous of the cows . . . We were seeing the cows from Plaszow . . . I said, "Look, this cow is going free, she's on the lawn eating grass." I said I wish I could be a fly, I wish I could be a cow so I shouldn't be here behind the electric wire.
"You had no choice . . . You had to go like a blind cow. We knew we were going to go, too, we knew every day they were going to kill us. So it doesn't matter if they burn us or shoot us. We were just waiting for the death.
She spoke for three hours.
This was the first time that Edie Wieder of Somerville had asked her mother to describe her experiences as a Jewish victim of the Nazi onslaught in Poland during World War II, and Edie had taped the conversation. She wanted "to preserve it . . . I could never remember the little things my mother had told me about the war. There was a strong psychological block."
Like many children of Holocaust survivors, Edie feels the Holocaust has affected her profoundly, even though it occurred before she was born.
Edie was 26 when she asked her mother two years ago to talk about her experiences during the war - just a year older than her mother had been in January, 1944, when she and thousands of other Jews were forced to walk 65 miles in the bitter cold from a Polish work camp at Plaszow to the city of Breslau. From there they went to Auschwitz, the Polish concentration camp, and two days later they were transported to Bergen-Belsen, an extermination camp in Germany designed to facilitate Hitler's "Final Solution."
When Bergen-Belsen was liberated by the British in April, 1945, 10,000 corpses lay on the ground, but Edie's mother had survived.
She recounts on the tape that she was debilitated and emaciated: "My hand was like a finger . . . I had no breasts, nothing." She had contracted typhus and was so ill and malnourished she could barely walk, as for months her daily food ration had consisted of watery soup and an occasional piece of bread.
Her parents and one of her two brothers had perished; she never learned how or where they died. Miraculously, her husband, Edie's father, was still alive - they were separated during the war and found each other - but he too had lost his parents and all his siblings.
From an early age, Edie says, she had been dimly aware that her parents had been in "something called camps." But she didn't know many details, nor, as a child, did she want to know.
But as an adult, she said she felt a strong need to fill in the gaps about her roots. She feels the Holocaust has affected several aspects of her life, including her career: Though she was trained as a teacher and spent a few years teaching high school, she now does cultural programming for the Jewish Young Adult Center in Brookline, a program division of the Jewish Community Center of Greater Boston. "I'm really working for the Jewish community, for a sense of community," she says. "I feel that . . . it was so decimated it needed replenishment."
Her parents' ordeal has also left her angry. "I feel anger at bureaucracy. It's made me very aggressive and anti-authoritarian." Later, she smiled when two small birds - her pet budgies - flutter into the living room of the small apartment that she shares with her boyfriend, also the child of survivor parents. "And I keep my birds free," she adds with a soft laugh. "I can't cage them. I let them go . . ."
Nobody knows how many survivors' children are living in this country - or, for that matter, how many survivors - but Edie Wieder, according to best estimates, is one of tens of thousands of Jewish children of survivors living in the United States. Their parents were among the nearly nine million Jews who were living in Europe just before the outbreak of World War II. Six million were slaughtered by the Nazis, along with five million non-Jews, including gypsies, political prisoners and homosexuals.
When the war ended, survivors emerged weak and sick, some from concentration camps, some from hiding places in cellars, holes in the ground and forests, some from cities where they had assumed new, Christian identities with false papers. Many had witnessed atrocities. Most had been stripped of possessions. Most had lost members of their family.
Now, 35 years after the end of the war, their children - the first generation of Jews to be born after the Holocaust - are trying to understand what happened. Some, feel that they, too, bear the pain endured by their parents at the hands of the Nazis, sharing an anguished collective memory of the Holocaust, almost as though it had happened to them.
In the Greater Boston area, many children of survivors are grouping together to share their thoughts and experiences. Some 375 children of survivors have become members of One Generation After, a Boston-based group established in 1977 and one of more than 200 support groups in North America. One Generation After develops educational programs about the Holocaust, acts as a resource and research center, conducts an oral history project to document wartime experiences and offers awareness groups for survivors' children, among other activities, according to group president Ruth Bork.
At least four conferences for survivors' children have been organized in the United States and Canada in the last year. And several hundred sons and daughters of survivors from the New England area plan to attend the World Gathering of Jewish Holocaust Survivors in Israel this June - an event that will bring together an estimated 20,000 survivors and their families from around the world to commemorate the 36th anniverary of liberation from the Nazi concentration camps.
Few generalizations can be made about children of Holocaust survivors; there is no typical story. Some of the 13 people interviewed said their parents' background has affected them enormously, others only slightly. Some were brought up in religious households and said they are strongly Zionistic, while others said their Jewishness did not play a major role in their upbringing, and feel no particular attachment to Israel.Still others felt that the legacy of the Holocaust had made their parents overly protective toward their children and unduly paranoid.
Some children knew a great deal about their parents' background, others almost nothing. Some spoke proudly of their parents' experiences, saying they
admired their strength and fortitude. Others indicated their parents' legacy made them feel ashamed, or troubled; they said it was a burden for them, an albatross, that they felt they would never be rid of.
Some talked freely and openly, while others agreed to speak only if their names were not used. Many came close to tears when they described their parents' experiences in concentration camps or work camps. And almost all spoke of feeling different
from other children whose parents did not experience the Holocaust.
"There's almost something mysterious, it's almost as though . . . it's a miracle we're alive in the first place," said Julie Goschalk, a child of two survivors and a family therapist who has worked with other survivors' children. Sometimes she has fantasies.
Anne (a pseudonym), is in her late 20s. Her parents grew up in Poland; they spent several years of the war in a Polish ghetto, and were later sent to Auschwitz. Both lost most of their families in concentration camps.
Anne describes herself as a "gregarious, outgoing (and) funloving" person. But recently, since she's become a mother, she's had occasional dreams about babies being thrown up in the air and speared by bayonets. She calls these "fantasies about the Holocaust," just like the fantasies she had as a teenager. "I remember . . . being terrified of being abducted and being abused with a sharp instrument."
She stresses that she never felt "oppressed" by the fact that her parents had been Nazi victims; in fact when she was growing up she knew very little about what had happened to them. Her parents hid their awful secrets from her, though from time to time her father, ordinarily a "jolly sort of guy" told her "little snips and snaps of stories. But they were usually the funny ones. He'd talk about the little brave things he did . . . My parents had the idea that you should protect your children from anything bad or frightening."
Yet she recalls that as a child she "prayed for God to make sure that Hitler was really dead . . . I didn't even know what Hitler was. I though he was some monstrous thing. He wasn't a man."
Fear, she says, was implicit in her household. "My parents protected us from doing anything vaguely dangerous, like going out at night without their knowing exactly where we were or who was going to take me home . . . With my father, it was an obsession. He was very, very security-conscious . . . He would read aloud to us about children being abducted and raped, to caution us about being careful. Or he'd cut (articles) out and make us read them. For a while, I was planning to have pepper in my pockets for self-protection." Now that she is a mother, she says she has "inherited" similar apprehensions. She is terrified that her own toddler will become hurt in some way: "I'd always prevent her from doing certain things . . . My husband would say "you have to let her explore" but I die inside, I'm so scared. I literally have to just not look."
About two years ago, she learned that awareness groups for survivors were being formed, and says she finally admitted to herself that she really didn't know very much about her parents' lives. She wanted to fill in some of the gaps she had in her mind about her parents' experiences; for one thing, she had fantasized that her mother had been raped during the war. "I needed to know for my own sanity if it was true . . . Children of survivors wonder "how come my parents made it when so many didn't? What did they have to do to survive?" I really didn't want her to have done that. I wanted to know they survived in a decent way."
She interviewed her father on tape for three hours. "It brought me closer to him, made me really understand what his life had been like. It made me admire him, it made me respect him much more."
Her mother, however, broke down in tears the first time Anne asked about her experiences, saying she couldn't talk about it; later she did allow her daughter to tape her. Toward the end of the interview, Anne summoned her courage and asked her mother whether she had been sexually abused, saying she was frightened that her mother may have saved her life by allowing herself to be molested. "She said no and I believed her. It was a tremendous relief."
Still, she says it's difficult for her to listen to the tape again: "It's very painful to hear your parents cry." Some of what she does know about their experiences, she has repressed. She still can't remember the tattoo number on her father's arm, the number assigned to inmates of some concentration camps to identify them as prisoners. "It's B something. I must have looked at his arm ten thousand million times, but I can't bring myself to remember it. It's so humiliating, to be a number."
Steve, 35, is a grandchild of Holocaust victims. While his maternal grandparents fled after Hitler's election, their siblings stayed behind and were killed. Steve's mother refused to let him have Christian friends, citing her family's wartime experience as proof that non-Jews should not be trusted. She also banned him from playing baseball, riding a bike or learning how to swim. Although he realizes that her fears stemmed from the legacy of the Holocaust, he has remained aloof and resentful toward his mother and her siblings since leaving home 15 years ago.
It is not only survivors' children who are taking stock of the after- effects of the Holocaust on the second generation.
In the last few years, psychiatrists and other professionals have turned their attention to the subject. The issue of whether the trauma of the Holocaust is in some way transmitted to the children of survivors is "a hotly disputed question," says Dr. James M. Herzog, a Boston psychoanalyst and director of the Clinic for Child and Parent Development at Boston Children's Hospital.
Herzog is a member of The Group for the Psychoanalytic Study of the Effect of the Holocaust on the Second Generation, a New York-based group of psychoanalysts, co-founded by New York psychoanalyst Dr. Judith Kestenberg. Kestenberg became interested in the subject several years ago after analyzing an adolescent boy who, she says, "behaved in a bizarre way, starving himself, hiding in woods and treating me . . . as a hostile persecutor."
She later connected the boy's behavior with the experiences of his relatives in Europe. Her patient, she notes in a paper published in 1972, "came to me emaciated and hollow-eyed like (someone) in a concentration camp. Haunted by the image of this patient . . . I looked at children of survivors in Israel and thought that I could recognize in some faces a far- away look, reminiscent of the stare of survivors from persecution."
"It would be misleading to say that all children of survivor parents are severely traumatized," stresses Dr. Milton Jucovy, co-chairman of the group. "We do know of many survivor families who have shown enormous strength and unusual coping mechanisms."
But many survivor parents are distressed, even resentful of the implication that their children may have been adversely affected by the Holocaust. "For some parents it hurts like hell to even consider that maybe there are effects," says Dr. Yael Danieli, a New York psychotherapist and director of the Group Project for Holocaust Survivors and their Children. "This means that Hitler is still winning."
Ruth Bork, president of One Generation After, was one child of survivors who felt her parents passed on their strengths and "coping skills" as a result of their experiences. "I've learned a sense of values from them which I think are good values, like issues of justice and injustice." Bork, 32, is director of Services for the Handicapped at Northeastern University: "I'm intolerant of injustices . . . meted out to someone else, like if I see someone taken advantage of. In a certain sense, that's why I'm involved in working with the handicapped."
Other children interviewed, however, spoke of inheriting their parents' phobias, suspiciousness, paranoia, or other residual effects of the Holocaust. One 25-year-old woman whose father survived the war by escaping from several concentration camps believes she "picked up a lot of his insecurities." Her father, she says, is a "very, very nervous person who doesn't trust anyone, doesn't even trust himself . . . When I leave the house, I lock the doors but I always go back to check again. I'm always afraid of losing my keys - the sort of things my parents did."
Dr. James Herzog feels certain general observations can be made about children of Holocaust survivors. One is "an appreciation that their parents have suffered tremendous anguish, which may have many different manifestations. It can range from respect to feeling they can't express any anger toward their parents to feeling their parents are preoccupied and therefore unavailable to them to feeling it's a burden they don't want."
He says many survivors' children also must also cope with the fact that they have no, or limited, extended family. Says Ruth Bork: "I had no concept of the words "uncle," "aunt," or "second cousin twice removed" until I was a young adult. They had no value for me."
Dr. James Herzog has observed, too, that unusually large numbers of survivors' children are "introspective, empathetic, and in mental health- related fields." He theorizes that the fact that many of these children have turned to the helping professions indicates that they feel "one's life has to have meaning . . . that it can't be taken for granted that one is here."
Says Yael Danieli: "They have an awareness for human atrocity, an awareness of human destruction. They feel the importance of a Jewish identity, the importance of family, the importance of reaffirming that life is important . . . That life, in general is sacred."
And finally, she says, children of survivors must carry around a piece of history that, somehow, they have to integrate, into their lives, even though it's something that "humanity has not been able to do", even though it's a piece of history that is not directly their own.
But indirectly, it is very much their own. Julie Goschalk says that soon after she began to contemplate her own sadness about her parents' experiences, she attended an awareness group and introduced herself by saying she was doing an "internment" as a family therapist, when she meant to say an "internship."
"It was a slip of the tongue, but I realized I was going through an emotional internment . . . I felt I was suffering for my parents.
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