Stories

Three Generations

Dr. Tova Friedman, one of the youngest survivors of Auschwitz, along with her daughter Taya Goodman, and her grandson, Aron Goodman, share their own story of what has connected them to their family history.

My Grandfather’s House Still Stands

When my mother went back to Krakow to reclaim her father’s house, there was a pogrom in progress to kill any Jew who came back. A film is being made about my family’s escape from the Krakow Ghetto. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OWTbS3WM2mg&app=desktop

Discovery

Discovery

My Mother’s family house no longer existed, but their presence existed for me on every street, store, and corner.

Department of the Tattoo

Department of the Tattoo

There was this nice lady who worked in the little cubby hole Post Office in the back corner of the Woolworth Store in the Admiral shopping center just two blocks from my home in Tulsa.

Escape From Vienna

Escape From Vienna

My grandparents and their 12-year-old daughter (my mother) left Vienna in 1938, leaving everything behind.

Sami’s Story

Sami’s Story

Lottumstrasse 15, Berlin, Germany; expropriated by Germany 3 times from the Austrian Jewish owners; Legalized Theft

Omama

Omama

A Jewish Frankfurt family in 1937

Liquidating a Life’s Work

Liquidating a Life’s Work

My great-grandfather’s business was aryanized then “liquidated” leaving him almost penniless at age 63.

House in Korczyna, Poland

House in Korczyna, Poland

My great grandfather, Abraham Chaim Horowitz owned a house in Korczyna Poland, and my grandfather Yosef Bendet lived in the family home before he was sent to his death at Belzec in August 1942.

Lorraine’s Story

“We felt that it was our inheritance to try to take back some of that sense of joyfulness that existed in the house.”

David’s Story

“The restitution of property [in Poland] will be a historical justice and will bring Polish and Jewish people closer together.”

Yoram’s Story

“Compensation is a binding chain that ties the story together.”

Greta’s Story

…then upon my return home, the memory of seeing the stolen rings of my dead sister on another woman’s hand in a café.

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