Intro:

I am the child of two Holocaust survivors. I am also the granddaughter of a woman who came to visit the United States in August, 1939 to see the World’s Fair in NY and lost all of her family while she was prevented from returning home to them, and the first cousin of a man, George Topas, who survived 7 concentration camps between the ages of 14 and 20 but lost both parents and all of his siblings.

The excerpt I’m going to share with you is from George’s book, The Iron Furnace, which excerpt tells the story of the Death March that ended up to be his Liberation Day in Poland. It was one of many forced marches George and other concentration camp residents were forced to endure in the middle of Polish winters, marches where these brave and resilient souls had to dig deep to find the will and the way to survive the physical and mental torture of the Nazi genocide. In George’s case, among other ways he found to maintain the will to live was repeatedly humming the tune to the march from Aida, known as the Triumphant March.

That singular death to liberation march was just Day 1 of a long and sometimes unsuccessful journey to be truly liberated from the horror and impact of the experiences. It was, in fact, a journey that continued to be passed down from the survivors to their children and even grandchildren. But that April 23rd, 1945 was definitely a day in which triumph, so long delayed, at last, prevailed.

Evacuation March from Flossenberg April 23, 1945

...on that sunny afternoon in April {1945] , we walked out of [the Flossenberg Concentration Camp] through the front gate, even though we had previously been told that the only way out was up through the chimney as smoke... Escorted by SS guards and snarling dogs, we began our march... While many of us were surprised by this turn of events, no one was deceived about the odds of survival; our chances of getting through this last march were dim indeed.... Freedom and death both felt very close- and we had no idea which would it be?

This was no spring outing. We had been going four to five hours; it was dark now, but there had been no indication of stopping to rest for the night. We were tired and hungry as well as anxious. I saw the first man fall down ahead; then another prisoner broke ranks to try to help the fallen one up, but the guard ordered him back into place. One shot broke the evening silence. This set the pattern: anyone who fell and could not get up by the time the rear guards caught up with him was dispensed with. Escape attempts too were met with rapid automatic rifle fire.

Not until the crack of dawn were we led into a large clearing in the woods and ordered to rest. A fine April drizzle added to the dew and made everything moist. At about noon, unbelievable as it seemed, we were given rations. Meager as a slice of bread and a spoon of jam was, it was chewed slowly because it had to last indefinitely as far as we knew.

As darkness fell again, we were all soaked from the rain. When we finally halted before dawn and fell down by the roadside to sleep, our rags had turned into cold compresses and our ranks were now much thinner because a number of men had developed chills and high fever and had neither the will nor the energy to rise.

Thank God my feet were all right so far, despite the wooden shoes. Anyone who limped noticeably or began to fall back was usually grabbed by the collar and tossed into a ditch by the side of the road; then a guard would put a bullet through his head.

At first light, we heard bursting explosives; then the sounds died out though, at times, I thought I heard artillery fire. The drizzle continued through the new dawn and there was a stony silence all around us, interrupted by the distant noise of a solitary airplane coming closer. The guards ordered us to stand in formation while they jumped into the ditches on both sides of the road with their rifles aimed at us. We all stood looking up at what appeared to be a small observation plane with a strange insignia- something like a star of Solomon, which, unlike David’s, is five-pointed.

“It’s an American,” someone called out excitedly. The plane circled. Ignoring the guards, the men began to wave their prisoners’ caps and yells went up from many throats. The guards again ordered us to close ranks, and again a couple of them pointed their guns at the sick lying on the ground, but before they got started, shooting we heard a loud rumbling noise some distance to the rear of our column. As the noise grew louder, we could feel the ground tremble. All eyes turned toward the west. Tanks emerged on the horizon, moving in a broad line, and soon they burst into full view. ... The sight of the white star brought shouts: “American! American!”

At the magic word, the ranks broke up. The guards began to run, leaving forty stretched out would be corpses, some still hanging on to life. The excitement bordered on pandemonium. Soon the tanks were all over the place. When those following the road slowed down and stopped, our men began to kiss them and to kiss the hands of the crewmen, who were tossing out food rations for the starved.

After so many years, it had all happened so quickly- and at the last moments of our endurance. Chewing on a cracker, I watched the breathtaking sight, and as in a dream, the drizzle stopped and the sun broke out to welcome this longed-for day- our day of liberation.

—Chapter 18, The Iron Furnace by George Topas

Ending

How did George and others manage to rise like a phoenix from these ashes? How did they, how do we all, bear the trauma which has cast its shadow over generations beyond the survivors themselves? How do we face today’s traumas? And how do we meet the inevitable pains that will surely come our way in the future

In the case of my family, my mother would be the first to say it isn’t easy. She was hypervigilant to danger and took pills to allay anxiety. She had nightmares and took pills to sleep. She got deeply depressed as she aged and took pills to banish the sadness. She knew, however, that in spite of the difficulty, it was her job and privilege to teach me and my children, by her example of how to create a good life in spite of the obstacles..This, of course, is not a task unique to Holocaust survivors and their progeny. It is the human condition. Life is hard and it takes courage to embrace it with joy though it is fair to say that some lives are harder than others and it is difficult to imagine life being much harder than what they endured. Nonetheless, those who survived were determined to not only endure but to thrive- or at least for their children to thrive.

Each survivor faced what we call the liberation after liberation in his or her own way. The other stories in our Liberation After Liberation program tell us how other survivors managed to keep on walking and hopefully inspire us and strengthen our resolve to do the same today.