“Tikkun olam,” said Candace Kwinter, Jewish Federation of Greater Vancouver board chair and Jewish Agency for Israel board member, about what drives her to donate so much of her time and energy both locally and globally.
“I feel it in my heart and soul to assist every Jew in the world who needs help in whatever way necessary,” said Kwinter, who is concluding her two-year term as chair. She will continue with the board as immediate past chair.
As board chair, Kwinter works alongside fellow volunteers and Federation staff.
“We provide our more than 30 partner agencies, including the day schools, supplementary Hebrew schools, Jewish Family Services, the Jewish Community Centre and more, with support, not only through funding but by bringing our partners together to collaborate and innovate to meet our community’s evolving needs today and in the future,” she said.
With the Jewish Agency, Kwinter attends the board of governors meetings twice a year; additionally, she sits on the agency’s aliyah, unity of the Jewish people, and antisemitism committees.
“With antisemitism on the rise and aliyah doubling because of Ukraine and Russia, the Jewish Agency has been extremely busy. We are working hard to connect Israelis to world Jewry and, from a local perspective, more Jews in British Columbia specifically,” she said.
According to Kwinter, the partnership between Federation and the Jewish Agency is vital because each can achieve much more by joining forces. She noted that it is the federation system across North America – not only the local federation – that partners with the Jewish Agency by financially supporting the agency’s work on the ground.
“The impact our community can make at an international level is so much greater when we work together,” she said. “Locally, Federation supports the Jewish Agency and the Joint Distribution Committee (JDC) with funding to assist world Jewry in aliyah, humanitarian needs and security concerns, as well as bridging the gaps between Israelis and world Jewry.”
Largely due to the global pandemic, needs have shifted during Kwinter’s time on both boards. “COVID changed everything. We all had to pivot when the pandemic hit and it created a lot of uncertainty,” she said.
Among the social consequences resulting from COVID-19 – locally, in Israel and around the world – have been increased food insecurity, a surge in mental health issues, inflation and isolation. In 2022, humanitarian needs were exacerbated by Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, thereby increasing the demand for aliyah.
“I am incredibly proud of the way our community responded and, because of the partnerships already in place with organizations like the JDC and the Jewish Agency, we were able to get people the help they needed quickly and effectively,” said Kwinter.
Concurrent with the European conflict, the Jewish Agency established Tzur Israel at the beginning of 2022 to unite the remaining Ethiopian Jews with their families in Israel, she said. “Once again, world Jewry came together to fund the aliyah segment – the Israeli government funds the entire absorption costs. I had the privilege of being on the first plane of Operation Tzur Israel last June, where we brought 179 Ethiopians to Israel. It was incredible.” (See jewishindependent.ca/israels-new-ethiopian-airlift.)
Kwinter’s love of Israel derives from a concern about antisemitism and the history of the Holocaust and a commitment to “Never Again.”
“To me, Israel represents ‘Never Again’ and gives me a sense of security as the homeland for every Jew in the world,” Kwinter said. “It is with great pride I speak of Israel and all it has achieved in the past 75 years. It is truly a beacon of tikkun olam and innovation, for all the world to benefit. It is a light among the nations.”
Kwinter holds 40-plus years of experience in financial services, including owning and operating her own financial services agency for 29 years, before selling it in 2017. She has been involved with Federation in various capacities and volunteers with the Jewish Community Foundation of Greater Vancouver, the Canadian Jewish Political Affairs Committee, and the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs, Pacific Region. She is president of the North Shore Jewish Community Centre / Congregation Har El, having also served as synagogue president from 2005 to 2007. From 2008 to 2011, she served on the Pacific Northwest Region of the United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism.
Sam Margolis has written for the Globe and Mail, the National Post, UPI and MSNBC.
The fourth edition of the Western Canada Jewish Book Awards, presented by the Cherie Smith JCC Jewish Book Festival, culminated in a May 24 event at the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver at which the winners in six categories – fiction, non-fiction, memoir/biography, children and youth, poetry, and Holocaust writing – were announced.
Winning the Nancy Richler Memorial Prize for fiction was Simon Choa-Johnston for House of Daughters, a stand-alone sequel to The House of Wives. Based on the author’s family, this multi-generational family saga opens when Emanuel Belilios, a wealthy Jewish opium oligarch, suddenly leaves Hong Kong, and his junior-wife, Pearl, blames Semah, the senior-wife. Pearl kicks Semah out of the mansion where the polyamorous trio had lived and shuns everyone, including her daughter. This is a story of passions and regrets, wealth and survival, set in Eurasian Hong Kong’s high society.
In the non-fiction category, the Pinsky Givon Family Prize went to Alan Twigg, editor of Gidal: The Unusual Friendship of Yosef Wosk and Tim Gidal, a selection of letters between Israeli Tim Gidal, a pioneer in photojournalism, and Vancouver scholar and art collector Yosef Wosk. In the late 1920s, with his handheld Leica, Gidal was able to travel in interwar Europe, capturing rare images of Polish Jews prior to the Holocaust. Wosk first encountered Gidal’s work in a magazine in 1991 – the photo “Night of the Kabbalist” captivated him. Wosk was determined to meet the photographer and eventually did. The two became close and the letters – selected by Twigg from hundreds the friends exchanged over two decades – both memorialize Gidal as an artist, scholar, historian of photography and “hero among the Jewish people,” and also capture the essence of Gidal and Wosk’s friendship.
The Cindy Roadburg Memorial Prize for memoir/biography was given to Marsha Lederman for Kiss the Red Stairs: The Holocaust, Once Removed. In it, Lederman delves into her parents’ Holocaust stories in the wake of her own divorce, investigating how trauma migrates through generations. At the age of 5, Lederman asked her mother why she didn’t have any grandparents, and her mother told her the truth: the Holocaust. Decades later, her parents having died and now a mother herself, Lederman began to wonder how much history had shaped her life and started her journey into the past, to tell her family’s stories of loss and resilience.
Boy from Buchenwald by Robbie Waisman (with Susan McClelland) took the Diamond Foundation Prize for children and youth writing. In 1945, Robbie Waisman, then Romek Wajsman, had just been liberated from Buchenwald, a concentration camp where more than 60,000 people were killed. He was starving, tortured and had no idea if his family was alive. Along with 472 other boys, these teens were dubbed “the Buchenwald Boys.” They were angry at the world for their abuse, and turned to violence: stealing, fighting and struggling for power. Few thought they would ever be able to lead functional lives again, but everything changed for Romek and the other boys when Albert Einstein and Rabbi Herschel Schacter brought them to a home for rehabilitation.
The Betty Averbach Foundation Prize for poetry went to Tom Wayman’s Watching a Man Break a Dog’s Back: Poems for a Dark Time, which explores the question of how to live in a natural landscape that offers beauty while being consumed by industry, and in an economy that offers material benefits while denying dignity, meaning and a voice to many in order to satisfy the outsized appetites of a few. A cri de coeur from a poet who has long celebrated the voices of working people, the collection also grapples with why “anyone, in this era so profoundly lacking in grace, might want to make poems – or any kind of art.”
Rounding out the awards was the Kahn Family Foundation Prize for Holocaust writing, which was given to But I Live: Three Stories of Child Survivors of the Holocaust by Charlotte Schallié (editor) and illustrators Miriam Libicki, Barbara Yelin and Gilad Seliktar. But I Live is a co-creation of the novelists and four Holocaust survivors: David Schaffer, brothers Nico and Rolf Kamp, and Emmie Arbel. Schaffer and his family survived in Romania due to their refusal to obey Nazi collaborators; in the Netherlands, the Kamps were hidden by the Dutch resistance in 13 different places; and, through the story of Arbel, who survived Ravensbrück and Bergen-Belsen concentration camps, we see the lifelong trauma inflicted by the Holocaust. The book includes historical essays, a postscript from the artists and words of the survivors.
Each category in the 2023 Western Canada Jewish Book Awards was assessed by five jurors, in different configurations, from the following professionals: Linda Bonder, a retired librarian; Susanna Egan, professor emeritus of literature in English from the University of British Columbia; Dave Margoshes, who writes fiction and poetry on a farm west of Saskatoon; Norman Ravvin, a writer, teacher and critic living in Montreal; Rhea Tregebov, an author of fiction, poetry and children’s picture books, and a retired professor in the UBC Creative Writing Program; Elisabeth Kushner, a librarian and writer living in Vancouver; Karen Corrin, former head librarian of the Isaac Waldman Jewish Public Library at the JCC; Nicole Nozick, former executive director of the Vancouver Writers Fest and former director of the JCC Jewish Book Festival; and Anita Brown, who is working with the Waldman Library.
Daniella Givon, chair of the awards committee, introduced the May 24 event, sharing a bit about the awards and thanking all the sponsors and participants for the high calibre and diversity of the submissions. The winning authors then said a few words, and Dana Camil Hewitt, director of the JCC Jewish Book Festival, closed the proceedings with more thank yous, and an invitation for everyone to purchase and enjoy the books.
Wilhelm von Schadow’s “The Artist’s Children” (1830).
The German city of Düsseldorf reached an agreement recently with the heirs of Max Stern (1904-1987), a Jewish art dealer forced to flee the city in 1937, ending a long-standing battle over the ownership of a painting, according to The Art Newspaper, which first reported the deal.
The family portrait from 1830, “The Artist’s Children,” by 19th-century Romantic painter Wilhelm von Schadow, has been held by the city since 1959, when it acquired the canvas from a private collector. It was discovered when a researcher from the National Archives in Ottawa found it in a catalogue for a 1967 Düsseldorf Museum Kunstpalast exhibition, which listed the painting’s location as the Stadtmuseum. In recent years, the Max Stern Art Restitution Project, based at Montreal’s Concordia University, and the Dr. Max and Iris Stern Foundation sought to reclaim it, contending that Stern sold the painting under duress.
Founded in 2002, the Stern Project, headed by Dr. Clarence Epstein, is seeking to track down the 220 Old Masters and Northern European artworks that formed Lot 168 in the November 1937 sale at Cologne’s Mathias Lempertz auction house, known as Auktion 392. The paintings constituted the inventory of Düsseldorf’s Galerie Stern that Nazi officials forced him to liquidate at vastly discounted prices. As well as the 1937 auction canvases, the Stern Project is seeking to regain the paintings the art dealer left with Cologne shipping agent Josef Roggendorf, which the Gestapo confiscated in 1938, when Stern was already in Britain.
As part of the agreement, Düsseldorf handed over the portrait on condition that the municipality immediately buys it back. The terms of the settlement, including how much the city paid to re-acquire the artwork, were undisclosed.
In a press release, Düsseldorf mayor Stephan Keller said he was pleased with the “fair and just solution” between the parties and that von Schadow’s artwork “will remain in Düsseldorf.” He added that the painting will go on view at the city’s Museum Kunstpalast starting in August.
Stern took over Galerie Stern on Königsallee, which was founded by his father Julius, in 1934. By order of the Nazi government, the gallery was “aryanized” in 1937. Its inventory was sold at a forced auction for a fraction of its value.
Armed with a single suitcase stuffed with his remaining possessions, Stern fled to London that year. But, in May 1940, when Hitler’s invasion of Britain seemed imminent, Scotland Yard rounded up more than 2,000 German and Austrian citizens, mostly Jews, and incarcerated them as enemy aliens. Stern was sent to an internment camp on the Isle of Man.
Hearing that some detainees were being sent to Canada to free up soldiers guarding British camps, Stern volunteered to join them. In North America, he believed, he would be well-positioned to help his mother and one sister in Britain, as well as his other sister and her family in France. But Canada, where he was greeted by bayonet-wielding soldiers, was even less hospitable than Britain. As Stern recalled years later, “We had to stage a hunger strike to convince the Canadian authorities that we were certainly not Nazis but, on the contrary, anti-Nazi.”
Held in a camp first near Fredericton, N.B., and later in Farnham, Que., he was put to work cutting down trees. Still, he remained optimistic, thankful for the food, shelter, clothing, exercise and 20 cents per day in pay. He also welcomed the opportunity to teach. Twelve years earlier, he had earned a doctorate in art history, which he put to use in classes for his fellow internees.
Stern’s talent and positive outlook caught the attention of William Birks, scion of the Montreal jewelry family, who headed the local branch of the National Committee on Refugees. Birks was openly critical of Canada’s restrictive and antisemitic immigration policy, which he called “narrow, bigoted and very short-sighted.” He believed the government should have sent trade missions to Europe to recruit men like Stern, “not wait for them to seek and beg us.” In 1941, he sponsored Stern’s release and move to Montreal.
Needing a job and hoping to assist in Canada’s war effort, Stern looked for work in an airplane factory. When he was not hired, he turned to the thing he understood best – art. “You’ll starve,” people told him, but he was certain he could be successful as a dealer in Montreal, because he had spotted a void he knew how to fill. Most of the city’s galleries were pushing stuffy 19th-century European genre and landscape paintings. No one was promoting or selling home-grown works because, as he later explained, “Canada didn’t have any confidence in its own artists.”
Stern pitched his vision to Rose Millman, who had just opened a space on rue Sainte-Catherine called the Dominion Gallery of Fine Art. Impressed by his assurance and expertise, she offered him a job for $12.50 a week. Stern said he wanted $17.50 and her promise to make him a full-fledged partner once he built up her business by conquering Canada, as he put it, “by selling Canadian artists.”
Within months, he was mounting exhibitions by contemporary Canadian painters. Over the years, they would include John Lyman, Goodridge Roberts, E. J. Hughes, Stanley Cosgrove, Jean-Paul Riopelle, and others whose names he would play a pivotal role in establishing. Stern secured their loyalty and best work by offering them monthly retainers for an agreed-upon number of works, already an established practice in France, Britain and the United States, but not yet in Canada.
Stern’s first major coup came in 1944, when he visited Emily Carr, then 72, at her home in Victoria. She showed him a room packed with 300 paintings. Struck speechless by her talent, he asked if he could mount an exhibition.
Laughing, she replied, “You will not sell a single painting.” The recipient of critical praise, Carr had yet to enjoy commercial success. “If you let me choose the paintings,” Stern replied, “I think I can make it a perfect success.”
In 1947, Stern and his wife Iris became the sole owners of the gallery.
Following the defeat of Nazi Germany, Stern endeavoured to track down his confiscated paintings. His efforts were largely unsuccessful. He died childless in 1987, and left his estate to Concordia University and McGill University in Montreal, as well as Hebrew University in Jerusalem.
The three schools later founded the Max Stern Art Restitution Project to reclaim the estimated 400 artworks lost during the 1930s. To date, the project has recovered 24 pieces, including paintings by Otto Erdmann, Nicolas Neufchatel and Jan Brueghel the Elder.
The case of von Schadow’s “The Artist’s Children” proved to be particularly complicated due to questions of provenance. When the city of Düsseldorf acquired the portrait in 1959, it was hung in the office of the city’s mayor. Decades later, when the Stern Foundation filed a claim for the artwork, it pointed out that, in 1937, Galerie Stern allowed for the piece to be reproduced in a book about paintings of children. But Düsseldorf city officials pushed back, arguing that the book did not prove the gallery owned the artwork at that point. There was no evidence of the painting being surrendered under Nazi persecution, the city contended.
In 2017, a scheduled exhibition in Düsseldorf about Stern and the Restitution Project was abruptly canceled due to local opposition, leading to intense controversy. The city’s stance apparently softened following the 2020 municipal elections.
“We couldn’t prove that it was not a restitution case, so we, as the city government, recommended to the assembly that it should be restituted,” Miriam Koch, the Düsseldorf city official in charge of culture, told The Art Newspaper. “The big parties in the city council supported restitution.”
According to Lynn H. Nicholas’ 1995 book The Rape of Europa: The Fate of Europe’s Treasures in the Third Reich and the Second World War, more than 140,000 pieces of artwork were looted under the Nazi regime. Most of them remain unclaimed.
Gil Zohar is a writer and tour guide in Jerusalem.
Lili Flamenco / Liat Har Lev performs two solos in the Dance Centre’s Open Stage Edition #3 on May 6, 8 p.m. (photo from Lili Flamenco)
The Scotiabank Dance Centre’s Open Stage Edition #3 on May 6 includes two solos choreographed and performed by Lili Flamenco / Liat Har Lev: We Shall Not Forget, dedicated to the six million Jews killed in the Holocaust, and Lemons, in the flamenco style Alegrias, which means “happiness” in Spanish.
“Although my family was not directly affected by the Holocaust, growing up in a Jewish family I heard and learned about it…. I created this piece with the hope that I and the audience will connect to the experience of the victims and survivors on a deeper level and remember what they endured just because they were Jewish,” Har Lev told the Independent.
In contrast, she said, “Lemons has an uplifting, joyful mood and a vibrant rhythm, harmony and pulse. It has more of a traditional flamenco flavour and will be performed with a guitarist [Peter Mole] and singer [Pat Keith]. It is inspired by my personal artistic journey and celebrates optimism and grit. I chose to perform it in conjunction with We Shall Not Forget because it has a lighter mood … and is completely different stylistically.”
Har Lev performed We Shall Not Forget last year as part of the Dance Centre’s International Dance Day events. (See jewishindependent.ca/a-celebration-of-dance.)
“I started developing We Shall Not Forget in 2020 during the pandemic with the support of the 12 Minutes Max program. I had access to support and feedback from facilitators, I received subsidized studio space at Scotiabank Dance Centre, and had the opportunity to participate in an informal public showing which, unfortunately, had to be featured on Zoom because of the pandemic. I never actually performed We Shall Not Forget to a live audience.”
In addition to Har Lev, Open Stage Edition #3 features dance works by Kiruthika Rathanaswami and Malavika Santhosh (in the classical Indian dance style of bharata natyam), Lili Shilpa Shankar (bharata natyam) and Voirelia Dance Hub (contemporary dance). For tickets, visit thedancecentre.ca.
Har Lev will also be performing at the Festival of Israeli Culture at the Jewish Community Centre of Greater Vancouver on May 14.
The Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre maintains significant holdings of Nazi and antisemitic propaganda that bears witness to centuries of anti-Jewish hatred. Acquired through the generosity of local historians and collectors – Peter N. Moogk, professor emeritus, history, University of British Columbia; Kit Krieger, Joseph Tan, Harrison and Hilary Brown, and others – the propaganda in the VHEC collection promoted antisemitic stereotypes, including Nazi ideology, in Europe and North America from 1770 to the postwar period. Although the content is offensive, these primary sources serve as an important historical record of the “longest hatred.”
The study of propaganda is critical to Holocaust scholarship. Historic antisemitica reveals a cultural tradition in Europe that the Nazis were able to exploit in pursuit of their “Final Solution.” The stereotypes found in Nazi propaganda were hardly new; Nazi propaganda was built upon the same antisemitic rhetoric and tropes that had been repeated over centuries and across countries and continents. Viewed in this context, propaganda provides insight as to why the Nazis’ message met with little resistance from an audience familiar with the language and imagery of anti-Jewish hatred.
The study of propaganda is also important to our understanding of the use of a state’s authority to control targeted segments of its population. This dynamic is explored in the VHEC’s new exhibition, Age of Influence: Youth & Nazi Propaganda. Drawing upon diverse primary sources, Age of Influence examines the Nazis’ efforts to manipulate the experiences, attitudes and aspirations of German children and teens.
Photograph of a girl wearing the uniform of the League of German Girls, circa 1940. Donated by Peter N. Moogk. (photo from VHEC)
Many of the materials featured in this exhibition will be new to visitors, such as family photographs, Nazi youth magazines and anti-Roma youth fiction. Other artifacts will be instantly recognizable, like the infamous children’s books on display at the VHEC for the first time: The Poisonous Mushroom (Ernst Hiemer, Der Giftpilz, Nuremberg: Stürmerverlag, 1938) and Trust No Fox (Elvira Bauer, Trau keinem Fuchs auf grüner Heid und keinem Jud auf seinem Eid [Trust No Fox on his Green Heath and No Jew on his Oath], Nuremberg: Der Stürmer Verlag, 1936). Age of Influence is designed to encourage active engagement with these artifacts and images. Throughout the exhibition, questions prompt visitors to critically analyze materials on display and identify common techniques used to disseminate both positive and negative propaganda.
The exhibition’s storyline begins in the early 20th century, when youth in Germany started defining themselves as a distinct socio-cultural group, attracting the attention of parties across the political spectrum. Popularized by youth-led groups like the Wandervogel, the German youth movement sought independence from adult authority and embraced communal and back-to-nature ideals. Their activities focused on hiking, survival skills and group pursuits in nature. Against this backdrop, the Nazi party emerged and cast itself as the future-facing “movement of youth.” With its Hitler Youth organization, the Nazi party tapped into the German youth movement and set its sights on this demographic to shape the future of a “racially pure” and physically fit national community.
Age of Influence examines how the Hitler Youth became the regime’s most effective tool to indoctrinate children and teens in Nazi ideology. It offered German youth a powerful group identity and appealed to adolescent yearnings such as the desire to belong, the quest for action and adventure, a sense of purpose and independence from parents. With separate organizations for boys and girls, Hitler Youth glorified gender roles. Boys were prepared for military and leadership responsibilities while girls were groomed to become wives, mothers and caregivers for the nation.
June 1934 issue of Der Aufbruch, a Hitler Youth magazine. Donated by Joseph Tan. (image from VHEC)
An array of Nazi youth magazines from 1934 to 1943 are featured in Age of Influence, as well as family photographs, collectible cigarette cards, video clips and Hitler Youth paraphernalia. Visitors can browse the pages of Nazi youth magazines to discover for themselves the eye-catching fonts, unique graphics and captivating images, which were carefully designed to attract young audiences. At its height, the Nazi youth press published 57 different magazine titles for children.
While participation in Hitler Youth was compulsory for most children, Jewish youths were banned from membership. Their experience is given voice in the exhibition by local survivors. In video testimony clips, Serge Vanry, Jannushka Jakoubovitch and Judith Eisinger describe their feelings of fear, shame and rejection as Jewish children confronted with pervasive antisemitic propaganda and excluded from the activities of their non-Jewish peers.
Perhaps the best-known propaganda tactic used by the Nazis was the creation of common enemies. Antisemitism and racism were key educational goals in the Nazi German school system, where students were taught that the health of the German nation was threatened by “inferior” groups like the Jews, Roma and individuals with disabilities. By demonizing and scapegoating these groups, the Nazis created a climate of hostility and indifference toward their treatment. Age of Influence depicts this process with reference to artifacts such as children’s books and instructional posters used in German schools.
Contextualizing Nazi propaganda within a broad historical framework is essential. For this reason, Age of Influence has been mounted in conjunction with In Focus: The Holocaust through the VHEC Collection. In Focus presents a thematic history of the Holocaust, illustrated by artifacts donated to the VHEC by local survivors and collectors. A curated selection of antisemitica in this exhibition conveys the long-held perceptions and representations of Jews through time.
This history is also important as we navigate escalating antisemitism and racism around the globe and in Canada, where reports of antisemitic incidents have reached record levels. The use of digital media has amplified hate, and the ease with which disinformation can be spread on social media platforms perpetuates Holocaust distortion and denial. In this milieu, it is imperative to equip students with the media literacy skills required to critically evaluate information they encounter. Age of Influence will assist educators to promote key curricular objectives such as digital literacy, critical thinking and social responsibility.
For more information on Age of Influence and In Focus, visit vhec.org.
Lise Kirchnerhas worked with the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre since 1999 in the development and delivery of its educational programs. She was part of the exhibition team that developed Age of Influence: Youth & Nazi Propaganda, along with Tessa Coutu, Franziska Schurr and Illene Yu. This article was originally published in the VHEC’s Spring 2023 issue of Zachor.
Dr. Kamil Kijek of the University of Wrocław, in Poland. (photo from University of British Columbia)
For Polish Jews who survived the Holocaust, the question of where to begin life anew after the cataclysm was not as clear as it might seem in hindsight.
Looking back at the successive tragedies of postwar life for Jews in Poland, it might seem obvious that the blood-soaked homeland held little hope for the future. The choices for survivors limited their options, though, and the faith that, surely, the worst had passed played a role in the decision by tens of thousands to try rebuilding their families on the soil of their ancestors.
The disastrous history of Jews in postwar Poland was the subject of a special presentation at the University of British Columbia by Dr. Kamil Kijek, an assistant professor in the Jewish studies department at the University of Wrocław, in Poland. Speaking virtually from Poland to students in-class and to a wider audience online, Kijek addressed the decision faced by Polish Jewish communities to stay in or leave post-Holocaust Poland. He was speaking to a class led by Dr. Ania Switzer, a sessional lecturer at UBC, who was born in communist Poland and who is a translator and historian specializing in Jewish studies and Holocaust education.
“Most of Poland did not become the desert of Jewish life right away,” said Kijek. “It happened over time.”
About 50,000 Jews survived the Holocaust in Polish territory. In early 1946, about 136,000 Polish Jews returned from the Soviet Union, where they had survived the war, and a few thousand others found their way back from other parts of Europe. By July 1946, there were about 200,000 Jews in Poland, compared with about 3.3 million in 1938.
The vast majority of Jews who remained in or returned to Poland after the war did not take up life in the places they had been born. The borders of the country had shifted enormously, with the Soviets taking large swaths of what had been eastern Poland and Poland being compensated with formerly German lands in the west. Jews, along with other displaced Poles, were encouraged to take up residency in these newly acquired places in the west of the country, replacing Germans who were expelled.
“It is almost impossible to understand the tragedy of the people the moment when they are freed,” said Kijek. “We need to understand that the end of the war and so-called freedom actually was a time of psychological collapse for most of these people.… These people, when they come back to the places [of their origin], they see their whole communities destroyed and it’s the first time they are sure that most of their friends and family were killed.”
Significant American and other Western funds flowed into the Jewish communities of the country, intended to rebuild Jewish society there. Hebrew schools, synagogues and other institutions were constructed and supported by the Jewish Joint Distribution Committee and other international Jewish welfare and aid agencies.
The postwar period saw continuous upheaval in Poland, with civil war between pro- and anti-communist forces. It was not immediately clear that Poland would fall to communism, nor was it apparent at the time that, even if that did transpire, an Iron Curtain would fall across the continent. Polish Jews in the immediate aftermath of the war maintained close and supportive personal and institutional connections with family and Jewish organizations abroad. A degree of political pluralism revived before the country fell into the Soviet orbit.
Government oppression was not the only concern, though. On July 4, 1946, a pogrom in the southern Polish city of Kielce saw 42 Jews murdered and more than 40 injured. This was just the most deadly and well-known of a series of attacks against Jewish survivors after the war. The immediacy of antisemitic violence by their Polish neighbours disabused many Jews of the hope that they could rebuild a life in the country of their birth.
An exodus followed, but Kijek noted that, while contemporary observers might have seen abandoning Poland as an obvious choice, for people then, there were many considerations. They may not have had any money to facilitate relocation. At middle age or later, it might be natural to resist relocating to a place where one’s language is not spoken and one’s work experience is not transferable. And the prewar barriers that left European Jews to their fate remained largely in place: Western countries still did not open their borders to refugees.
Events unfolded quickly as the communists gained the upper hand in the country, the Cold War arose and the state of Israel was founded, providing at least a place where fleeing Polish Jews could find a welcome.
About 100,000 Jews were still in Poland in 1948, when an estimated 30,000 made aliyah. There was a tremendous amount of judgment, even suggestions of sedition, toward Jews who remained in Poland when Israel existed as an alternative, said Kijek.
“For Zionist leaders, any decision to stay in Poland was an act of a kind of national treason or an act of not understanding the lessons of the Holocaust,” he said, adding that those who remained were not all driven by ideological commitment to communism. The remaining Polish Jews represented a cross-section of Jewish society, including Orthodox, socialist and Zionist individuals. Eventually, even Zionist organizations accepted that not all Jews would make aliyah.
About one-third of Polish Jews who survived the war remained in Poland by 1950, but the emergence of the Cold War isolated them from Jews worldwide.
“All these ties are suddenly cut off in the end of 1948 and 1949,” said Kijek. The burgeoning of Hebrew schools and Jewish cultural organizations was stanched by a communist crackdown on “Zionist” institutions. The state nationalized much of the Jewish community’s remaining assets.
A liberalization occurred after the Stalin era and a number of Jews were able to flee Poland in the late 1950s. Those Jews who remained in Poland into the 1960s were, to a large extent, living a non-Jewish life and may have believed that their identity was no longer a barrier to whatever success they could attain in the country. However, following the 1967 Six Day War, in which Soviet-backed Arab countries were defeated by Israel, and 1968 student demonstrations that posed a genuine threat to the continued dominance of the communist regime, the scapegoat of “Zionism” emerged again, with Jews being accused of disloyalty to Poland, some being forced from their jobs, and the final mass exodus of Polish Jews occurred.
When the communist regime fell, in 1989, there were an estimated 5,000 to 10,000 Jews in Poland, the last remaining of a millennia-old civilization.
The harrowing history of Ukraine’s past was recounted recently in the annual lecture honouring Rudolf Vrba, the late Vancouver scientist whose 1944 escape from Auschwitz brought the most concrete proof of the Nazi “Final Solution” to the world.
Dr. Nataliia Ivchyk delivered the 2023 Rudolf Vrba Memorial Lecture, titled The Holocaust in Ukraine: Violence, Gender and Memory. Ivchyk is at the University of British Columbia on a visiting fellowship that was created by Dr. Richard Menkis and Dr. Heidi Tworek to bring to Vancouver a Ukrainian scholar at risk. Ivchyk is associate professor in the department of political sciences at Rivne State University for the Humanities in her hometown of Rivne, Ukraine, and her work is focused on public history and memory politics.
Ivchyk’s presentation was based on survivor testimonies held at the USC Shoah Foundation, and narrowed in on the experiences of Jews in the western Ukrainian region of Volhynia and Podilia. Of the approximately 27,000 Jews who lived in Rivne (then known as Rovno) in 1937, it is estimated that just around 1,200 survived to the 1944 liberation by the Red Army. In a single day, on Nov. 6, 1941, about 21,000 Jews were murdered by Einsatzgruppe C and Ukrainian collaborators. The surviving Jews were imprisoned in the Rovno Ghetto, which was created the following month. In July 1942, remaining Jews, about 5,000, were transported to a stone quarry and murdered.
About 1.5 million Jews died in Ukrainian territory during the war years, most of them shot in what has been called the “Holocaust by bullets.”
“The Holocaust has long remained on the margins of collective memory in Ukraine,” said Ivchyk. Babyn Yar, a ravine outside Kyiv where more than 33,000 Jews were murdered over two days in 1941, has become a national symbol of Holocaust remembrance, she said. “However, the local level of remembrance remained low.”
There are many other sites of atrocities that were committed in Ukraine. “Some are marked by monuments, others are still forgotten and lost,” she said.
Of the several thousand Jews who survived the initial mass executions, anyone over the age of 13 was forced into slave labour.
“Nobody wanted to work for the Germans,” Ivchyk quoted one survivor, “but we had to. We hoped it would somehow balance our relationship with the Germans and would help us survive.”
Violence against women was mainly carried out by Ukrainian collaborators, she said, though Nazis also took part.
“I remember many times Germans came at night, knocked on the windows, took away beautiful girls,” Ivchyk quoted a survivor. “Sometimes, they raped and killed them right away. Sometimes, they said we will come again.”
Rabbis became a particular target of violence against men, given their social and symbolic status, and their role as spiritual leaders.
In the Soviet era, historical memorialization was subordinated to the priorities of the regime.
“The Holodomor [the deliberate Soviet famine that killed millions of Ukrainians], the deportation of Crimean Tatars, the Holocaust and the genocide of the Roma – all of these events were suppressed in collective memory by the Soviet regime,” she said.
Today, support in Ukraine for Holocaust memorialization is ambivalent.
“The activities of the state today do not prohibit academic, educational or public activities in the field of Holocaust remembrance, but neither does it act as a financial or ideological initiator,” she said.
The Vrba event was funded by the Holocaust education committee of UBC’s department of history, which is responsible for the annual lecture, as well as a number of other organizations, including the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre and the Diamond Chair in Jewish Law and Ethics.
Menkis, associate professor of modern Jewish history at UBC and chair of the Holocaust education committee, noted that the event recognizes Vrba’s contributions to two primary areas to which Vrba’s life was devoted: Holocaust education and science, particularly pharmacology. The annual lectures alternate between these topics.
Menkis told the audience how Vrba and his friend Alfréd Wetzler made the momentous decision to escape from Auschwitz after overhearing conversations around the planned deportation of Hungarian Jewry. After a difficult and dangerous trek, the pair reached northern Slovakia, where they compiled a report documenting the layout of Auschwitz and the extermination process there.
“Although the report is credited with saving many lives,” said Menkis, “Vrba and Wetzler were keenly aware that more decisive action could have saved more. After the war, Dr. Vrba continued to speak about Auschwitz and his experiences. His book, I Cannot Forgive, written with Alan Bestic, was first published in 1963 and has been issued in a number of translations and re-editions since. He is also well known for his unforgettable testimony in Claude Lanzmann’s [documentary film] Shoah and perhaps less well-known but also important was his effective testimony in the Canadian trials against Holocaust denier Ernst Zundel.”
Vrba’s widow, Robin, attended the event virtually. Vrba died in 2006.
Emerich Klein speaks to a student following his recent talk at King David High School. (photo from KDHS)
For decades, Emerich Klein kept his story of survival during the Holocaust to himself. While raising two children in Vancouver and making a life, he shared nothing of what had happened to him after he, together with his family, was deported to Auschwitz.
After years of cajoling, Klein shared his experiences with Russ Klein, his son, who is principal of King David High School. In 2019, he also sat with interviewer Hodie Kahn and recorded almost four hours of testimony for the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre.
On Feb. 14, with his son the principal at his side, Emerich Klein spoke of his survival story for the first time to an audience, addressing students in a Holocaust studies class. The students had viewed the recorded testimony in advance of the visit.
Klein was born in Uzhorod, Czechoslovakia, in 1930, and lived with his sister Judith and their parents Isidor and Rose on the site of the electric power plant where Isidor worked. They had a large extended family and Emerich remembers Shabbat dinners at his grandparents’ home, with throngs of cousins. His grandparents, who were very traditional, were in charge of the mikveh and his grandfather was a melamed, a teacher.
Emerich’s early childhood was largely uneventful, except for being taunted and beaten up on his way to and from school by non-Jewish kids. At one point, on the advice of a teacher, he loaded his school bag with rocks and took revenge on his tormentors. When one of the bullies dragged the police to the Kleins’ door urging assault charges, Emerich’s father explained how his son frequently returned from school bloody. The cop apologized and left. The father of the bully beat his own son – not for bullying, it would seem, but for being bested by a Jew.
While older people may have sensed the shifting social climate, for kids like Emerich, things seemed pretty good for a time. By 1941, though, Jewish businesses could operate only with an Aryan partner and so an uncle had to close his small bakery.
When Isidor was conscripted – first into the army and then, when Jews could no longer serve in the military, in a work battalion – the family’s fortunes suffered. His boss at the power plant eventually convinced authorities that he was an irreplaceable employee.
One day, a stranger showed up in town, speaking a language Emerich did not understand. The boy took the man to a rabbi and, after the rabbi shooed Emerich away, the man explained that he had escaped Poland and told the rabbi what was happening to Jews there. The man’s stories of ghettoization, forced starvation and worse was unimaginable to the Jews of Uzhorod.
Under the 1938 Munich Agreement, which British prime minister Neville Chamberlain signed with Hitler to partition Czechoslovakia, Uzhorod was returned to Hungary, to which it had belonged until the First World War. (It is now in Ukraine.) In 1944, the Nazis occupied Hungary, and things got much worse for the Jews living there. When they heard the word “ghetto,” the words of the Polish stranger who had shown up in town returned to them.
Emerich’s grandfather was stopped on the street, beaten up and had his beard cut off. Jews were ordered to report to a cordoned-off area but, because this ghetto was so small, it served mostly as a deportation area. The Kleins remained there only for a couple of days.
They were packed into railway cars, with only room to stand. One big drum served as a potable water supply and another as a toilet. Children were crying, people were moaning.
After several days – Emerich doesn’t know how long – the train stopped. People were banging on the outside of the cars and the doors were flung open. People in striped clothes screamed at them to get out. They had arrived at Auschwitz.
Once they got down off the train, the women and children were separated from the men. The old and sick were yanked across the tracks and packed into big waiting trucks. Rose pushed Emerich to join the men. The boy didn’t want to let go of his mother but she screamed at him to leave. He ran and found his father.
While waiting for the next step in their processing, Emerich saw what he thought were piles of cordwood but he soon realized they were human bodies. The new arrivals were taken to a building for a cold shower, then they were shaved, doused in disinfectant and handed clothing in random sizes.
When an army officer called for metal workers, Isidor volunteered and a fellow prisoner advised Emerich to step forward or risk being separated from his father. Despite his lack of knowledge in the field, Emerich passed himself off as an apprentice. Together, the father and son were separated from the rest of the group and transported out of Auschwitz, on a train again for days, until they arrived in France.
Isidor and Emerich worked at a mine in tolerable conditions, with survival rations for a time, until they were moved again, to a salt mine in Germany. There, they were joined by 1,000 inmates from Poland and Emerich and the others learned the horrors of what was happening further east.
At the salt mine, their job was to break boulders to make gravel and then level out the ground, so concrete could be pored over it. After a time, Emerich was put on burial duty, which was less physically onerous work. A Russian prisoner assured Emerich that the war would soon be over and to keep up his strength. He would move on to factory work, cleaning the floor and cutting aluminum.
In April 1945, the workers were forced on a death march. Planes were flying so low that the prisoners could see the pilots. As the march continued, Isidor insisted he couldn’t go on, but Emerich and two of their friends stuck together and forced the father to keep moving. Eventually, they were loaded onto a train and provided food for the first time in nine days. Then, in the midst of a great commotion, the incarcerated passengers realized that the German army was in full retreat. The guards abandoned the prisoners.
Emerich and his group walked into the nearest town, which was already overrun with freed prisoners. They were put up in a German army base that had been repurposed as a repatriation centre. Tables had been set up for each country and people registered their names and hometowns.
Emerich and Isidor eventually made it back to Uzhorod, but Emerich’s mother Rose and sister Judith never returned. All the extended relatives but two cousins were gone. Emerich spent most of the time crying.
After a few weeks, Emerich left by himself for Prague and registered with the Joint Distribution Committee, after which he was transferred to a displaced persons camp in Germany. He intended to go to Palestine with members of his youth movement, but word came that the British were halting migration.
A friend told him of an opportunity to go to Canada, so they signed up. Six months later, Emerich docked in Halifax and made his way to Toronto, where he stayed for two years. The Jewish community there was highly supportive and Emerich became an apprentice jeweler. Isidor, who in the new world would be known as Robert, and his new wife arrived during this time.
Isidor/Robert had remarried a fellow survivor from Uzhorod, who had a sibling in Chilliwack, B.C., so the family headed to the West Coast. Emerich met his wife, the Vancouver-born Jenny, in a bowling alley during a B’nai B’rith event.
In the King David classroom last month, students asked thoughtful questions and Klein responded. His son told students they were lucky to see the elder Mr. Klein at his most talkative, as getting a sentence from the soft-spoken senior is considered by family members to be an accomplishment.
Russ Klein, principal of King David High School, and his father, Emerich Klein, who spoke to a KDHS class in February about his experiences during the Holocaust. (photo from KDHS)
A student asked if he ever lost faith that he would survive.
“Yes, definitely,” said Klein. “We lived not from week to week or day to day, but from hour to hour. Life didn’t mean a thing.”
About liberation, he said, “I felt wonderful. I felt that I’d been given a chance to live again, to be human again.”
Asked how his experiences under the Nazis and their collaborators had affected his attitudes toward religion, Klein was blunt.
“It sort of turned me against it,” he said. Nevertheless, he insisted that his two children attend Talmud Torah elementary school. Why?
“To learn about Judaism and to learn about the Holocaust,” he said, turning to his son. “I was not able to talk about it, but you had to know about it. That was the only way that I could get my children to learn about it. They couldn’t learn it through me.”
His decades-long refusal to discuss the past with his children was intended to prevent the next generation from anguish, he said.
“Why should they suffer my pain?” he asked. “That was a terrible thing to think about. Bad enough that I suffered, [why should] they suffer the same thing through me?”
Reflecting on his postwar return to Uzhorod, Klein was again straightforward.
“I went back to see who came back from the family. I spent a month, maybe six weeks there and then I left, never to return,” he said. “It was very difficult. I came up against reality there. Up until then, we did not know what happened to the rest of our family. We were separated and that’s all I knew. I had hopes that everybody was coming back. Nobody came back. So there was no point in me staying there.”
Coming to Canada was wonderful and difficult, he said.
“Wonderful just to get out of Europe – doesn’t matter where,” he said. “I just wanted to get out of that country that was soaked in Jewish blood.” But, he added: “It was difficult – difficult to get used to a new life, a new way of living, a new language, a new country. I was 17 years old. It was very difficult but you make do. You do the best you can. You adjust.”
Settling into life in Vancouver, Klein made family and stability his focus.
“A normal person would try to make a living and get themselves a better position, work your way up in life,” he said. “To me, that was not important. To me, the important thing was family. I concentrated on one thing only. Just to give you an example, all my friends went into business – I did not. They asked me, why don’t you go into business? I said … what happens if it doesn’t go right? These children cannot be hungry. I knew what hunger was. It was so important for me to stay just at a low level but make sure that my family will not go without. That was an effect of what happened to me.”
A student asked why, after all these years, Klein decided to speak.
“Because I was convinced after an awful long time that to be silent is being complicit in what happened,” he said. “You’ve got to talk about it, even if it hurts, you’ve got to talk about it.”
He is concerned by some of the political developments he sees in the world today.
“Most of humanity is very good,” he said. “There are parts of society that are not good. Let’s face it, people can be influenced very easily. If you get a charismatic person, [they] can convince people of almost anything they want.”
In March ’68, the shocking events of the Polish political and social crisis of that time are dramatized through the eyes of two families. Hania, a young woman who is Jewish, is in love with Janek, a boy whose father is a member of the nomenklatura, a senior official whose career is endangered by the political activism his son is dabbling in.
But careers are only one of the concerns for Jewish Poles, whose very identities as citizens of the country are in jeopardy, as the society spirals with a chilling and apparent suddenness into antisemitic frenzy. The blatant antisemitism is masqueraded as an “anti-Zionist” campaign and a defence against “non-Polish” elements.
Poland was in a financial panic, with wage reductions and assorted economic turmoil. Events spiraled after the expulsion from the university of political dissidents and the closure of a theatre presentation deemed anti-government. No prerequisites are required. The film, from director Krzysztof Lang, tells the viewer all they need to know about the history – and the petty and not-so-petty indignities of living under a repressive regime.
Through the braying voices of the country’s communist leaders and parallel street-level Jew-baiting, the status of Jewish Poles deteriorates rapidly and Hania’s family is faced with a choice for their future.
This Romeo and Juliet story is endearingly told against the heartbreaking backdrop of generational divisions that were tearing at families all over the world in 1968, a microcosm of the larger tumult. In Poland, these divisions were exacerbated by a social contagion that forced an exodus of much of the tiny remnant of post-Shoah Polish Jews, a disappearance that is emotionally depicted in black-and-white at the end of the film.
* * *
Lost Transport opens like a war-era cinematic news short, an elementary map of Europe being encroached by Allied forces from the West and Red Army movements from the east.
As the Soviets advanced, the Nazis selected from among the prisoners at Bergen-Belsen a few thousand of what they called Austauschjuden, “exchange Jews,” who they imagined to be of particular value to the Allies and who, as a result, the Nazis intended to barter for German prisoners of war or money. Almost 7,000 inmates, in three train transports, were being moved from the advancing front. A train bound for Theresienstadt (now in Czechia) encountered a blown-up bridge and was stranded near the German town of Tröbitz. Within days, the incarcerated passengers were liberated by the Red Army (and, later, by Americans).
Lost Transport demonstrates the chaos and confusion of liberation for the Jewish passengers and defeat for the German residents.
It seems a tactless quibble with these sorts of dramatizations to note that healthy actors are obligated to believably depict the victims of atrocities, but in this instance the task seems particularly stark, with almost all of the liberated people well-clothed, clean, remarkably well-groomed and bright-eyed.
The story is viewed primarily through the eyes of Isaac and Simone, a Dutch couple liberated from the train; Vera, a Russian sniper; and Winnie, a young German woman who sees her mother shot by the Red Army and her home taken over by the other main figures in the film. The characterizations are often cardboard – the individuals are rough stand-ins for their respective peoples – and the script ham-fisted. The three women eventually see one another’s humanity (even if the viewer struggles to do so) and the resolution is almost painfully perfect.
March ’68 and Lost Transport screen as part of this year’s Vancouver Jewish Film Festival. For tickets and the full festival lineup, visit vjff.org.
Marie Doduck speaks with a guest at the launch of her book A Childhood Unspoken on Jan. 22. (photo by Josias Tschanz)
“We survived.” These are the words that adult Marie Doduck would tell her childhood self, Mariette, who survived the Holocaust being moved from hiding place to hiding place over a period of five years.
Doduck was answering a question during a book launch laden with emotion – deeply sad as well as celebratory and with moments of laughter – Jan. 22 at a packed Rothstein Theatre. Her book, A Childhood Unspoken, was just released by the Azrieli Foundation’s Holocaust Survivor Memoirs Program.
In a conversation with Jody Spiegel, director of the memoirs program, Doduck spoke of how she is two people – the European Jewish child, Mariette Rozen, who never grew up, and the Canadian adult, Marie, who she had to create to suit her new surroundings after arriving in Vancouver with three orphaned siblings in 1947.
“Mariette will never grow old,” she said. “The child Mariette will always be the child inside and that’s what survivors live. We left the child that was in Europe, we created a wonderful life here in Canada, but when I speak and when I leave this room Mariette stays in this room and I become Marie again.”
Doduck explained her long hesitancy in sharing her story, not only because of the vulnerability it requires, but because the experiences of survivors like her had been dismissed and diminished in the past.
“As a child survivor,” she said, “we were told that we didn’t have a story.”
For decades after the end of the Holocaust, the term “survivor” was largely reserved for those who had been in concentration camps or subjected to forced labour. Child survivors who had been hidden or otherwise managed to escape capture and murder were deemed not to have suffered like older survivors.
This silent or quietly conveyed message was underscored by the way child survivors were treated after the war, even by well-intentioned adults like the families who fostered some of the 1,123 orphans, including Doduck, who came to Canada under the auspices of Canadian Jewish Congress from 1947 to 1949.
“We were from outer space,” she said of the reactions she and fellow child refugees received from Canadians. “We saw things that children should never have seen.”
Placed in homes with new families, with little or no assistance in addressing what they had experienced, many children did not do well.
“Of the 40 children who came to Vancouver, my brother Jacques and myself, I think, were the only two lucky children who stayed with the same family,” Doduck said. “My sister [Esther] didn’t stay with her first family, she became an au pair. Henri jumped from family to family.”
In some cases, said Doduck, the children were told they would die by the time they were 30 “because we were not normal in the Canadian eyes.”
Doduck wrote the book with Dr. Lauren Faulkner Rossi, assistant professor of history at Simon Fraser University. Speaking at the event and addressing Doduck directly, Faulkner Rossi acknowledged that the process was difficult.
“You would have to become the child Mariette many times,” she said, noting that Doduck was forced to plumb memories she has tried to forget. Faulkner Rossi said Doduck had to trust her, though Doduck’s “inclination is to trust no one – a crucial Holocaust childhood lesson that is never quite unlearned.”
“It’s a hard process for any child survivor to write their story,” Doduck said, not only because of the emotional toll but also because of the imperfections of childhood memories. “Did we hear it from adults? Did we live it? I wanted the truth.”
Doduck pressed Faulkner Rossi wherever possible to substantiate her recollections with historical evidence. During the process, Doduck recalled things she thought had been lost. “Sometimes one memory triggers another that you thought you had forgotten,” she said.
Doduck is a founding member of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre, through which she has shared her history with tens of thousands of students and others. She is also a philanthropist and community leader, volunteering and leading events, including co-chairing, with fellow VHEC co-founder Dr. Robert Krell, the 2019 conference of the World Federation of Jewish Child Survivors of the Holocaust and Descendants, in Vancouver.
Before Doduck’s presentation, VHEC executive director Nina Krieger described Doduck as “a force … a formidable and sought-after champion for many community organizations. She is also a mentor and a friend to so many, including me, and has inspired more than a generation of community leaders, especially young women, with her vision, passion, tenacity and work ethic, not to mention good humour and grace.”
The book launch event was presented by the VHEC and the Azrieli Foundation. Doduck’s daughters Cathy Golden and Bernice Carmeli read from the book. Arielle Berger, managing editor of the Azrieli Foundation, noted that, since 2005, the foundation has published more than 150 memoirs of Canadian survivors of the Holocaust. The foundation provides the books for free to schools and universities and also provides teaching resources and training to educators. This was the first in-person book launch since the pandemic.
The full theatre was still during an emotional moment when Doduck addressed her family in the front rows.
“I don’t say it often and I want to say it publicly to my children, my family sitting here, thank you for accepting who I am,” said Doduck, now a great-grandmother, before acknowledging the lack of experience with which she approached parenting. “When I was blessed with my children, my husband had to teach me how to go to the library and get a book,” she said. “I never knew a story to tell the kids.”
As a child, she said, Mariette was never hugged, never put to bed, was never kissed, never had a toy and never had a bedtime story.
“My first toy, I was 36 years old, I was the guest speaker in Winnipeg at a fundraiser,” she said, “and they gave me my first doll. I still have it. The only doll I ever had in my whole life.”
As a founding member of the local group of child survivors who meet regularly, Doduck tried to explain the uniqueness of child survivors to their own children.
“We all passed something to them that we didn’t realize we were doing, a burden that we gave to our children, our firstborn,” she said. “I apologize to all the firstborn. We didn’t mean to put a burden on you.”
She takes pride and sees a sense of progress in the different ways her three daughters have viewed her.
“My middle daughter, Bernice, always accepted me. That’s the way mom is,” she said. “That’s the middle child of all the survivors’ children. And my youngest daughter, Cheryl, may she rest in peace, only thought of me as a Canadian. So, I progressed. I fulfilled my duty in becoming Marie, the Canadian.”
