My stepmother, Hertha, was born in Germany in October of 1909, and grew up with huge dreams and aspirations. She was a talented pianist and a stellar student. Her family was quite successful and encouraged her ambitions. Her father was a decorated veteran of WWI and a patriotic German who identified as German first and Jewish second. She loved riding horses, gymnastics, biology, theater, and music. She often attended concerts and the theater.
In the late 1930’s she married and gave birth to her first child. Hertha and her husband had a name selected, but when they tried to register the birth, they were informed that they could only use approved Jewish names.
A lover of jewelry, in 1939, she used her collection to escape Germany with her infant daughter leaving behind her husband and a large extended family. She and my step sister Bella were detained by the British in Cyprus, but eventually were fortunate to be one of the mother and child pairs that thanks to Golda Meir’s negotiations were allowed into Haifa where she joined with her sister.
In 1945, she reunited with her husband, a survivor of multiple concentration camps, in Haifa. Her father the German patriot and decorated war hero was murdered along with almost all of her extended family. All who survived were her husband, her sister, and one of several brothers.
In 1956, after the second time their trucks were commandeered, my stepmother, her husband, and their two children, Bella and John, came to the US and settled in Pasadena. In the late 1960’s, Hertha’s husband died and in 1972, she married my father. Hertha died in 2009, months before her 100th birthday.
On Yom HaShoah I remember Hertha and her story. I just directed a play that featured the concept of inherited trauma and whether it is healthier to leave the past in the past and focus on moving forward. The conclusion of the playwright was that you can’t – at least not in one generation. I question the wisdom of even trying.
Hertha survived the Holocaust, celebrated the reestablishment of the state of Israel, and survived two wars there. When Hertha died I felt that the responsibility of remembering and telling her story was passed to me. All of Hertha’s circle of Holocaust survivor friends are gone and it is up to my generation to maintain their memories and to tell their stories. It is our responsibility to, as Rabbi Dean wrote, “…make meaning of memory.”
From the President – April 22, 2022
April 22, 2022 by tbhrich • president
My stepmother, Hertha, was born in Germany in October of 1909, and grew up with huge dreams and aspirations. She was a talented pianist and a stellar student. Her family was quite successful and encouraged her ambitions. Her father was a decorated veteran of WWI and a patriotic German who identified as German first and Jewish second. She loved riding horses, gymnastics, biology, theater, and music. She often attended concerts and the theater.
In the late 1930’s she married and gave birth to her first child. Hertha and her husband had a name selected, but when they tried to register the birth, they were informed that they could only use approved Jewish names.
A lover of jewelry, in 1939, she used her collection to escape Germany with her infant daughter leaving behind her husband and a large extended family. She and my step sister Bella were detained by the British in Cyprus, but eventually were fortunate to be one of the mother and child pairs that thanks to Golda Meir’s negotiations were allowed into Haifa where she joined with her sister.
In 1945, she reunited with her husband, a survivor of multiple concentration camps, in Haifa. Her father the German patriot and decorated war hero was murdered along with almost all of her extended family. All who survived were her husband, her sister, and one of several brothers.
In 1956, after the second time their trucks were commandeered, my stepmother, her husband, and their two children, Bella and John, came to the US and settled in Pasadena. In the late 1960’s, Hertha’s husband died and in 1972, she married my father. Hertha died in 2009, months before her 100th birthday.
On Yom HaShoah I remember Hertha and her story. I just directed a play that featured the concept of inherited trauma and whether it is healthier to leave the past in the past and focus on moving forward. The conclusion of the playwright was that you can’t – at least not in one generation. I question the wisdom of even trying.
Hertha survived the Holocaust, celebrated the reestablishment of the state of Israel, and survived two wars there. When Hertha died I felt that the responsibility of remembering and telling her story was passed to me. All of Hertha’s circle of Holocaust survivor friends are gone and it is up to my generation to maintain their memories and to tell their stories. It is our responsibility to, as Rabbi Dean wrote, “…make meaning of memory.”
If I am not for myself, who will be for me?
If I am not for others, what am I?
And if not now, when? -Rabbi Hillel
~ Michael R Cohen, President, Temple Beth Hillel