In My View: Bubby's interview

A heritage trip to Poland

By Dina Sandhaus

Issue of May 22, 2009 / 28 Iyar 5769

From my dorm room in Israel, I nervously picked up my cell phone and dialed her phone number; she answered. I could not articulate any words, I was sobbing uncontrollably and the tears were not allowing me to speak. After a few minutes, I found my voice. “I can’t believe it, why me, why do I get to go?”  I cried frantically to my sister, Gila, who was thousands of miles away in America.

I could not fathom why my parents were allowing me, their eighth child, to participate in a school-sponsored trip to Poland that they had previously denied my seven older siblings, a trip focused on viewing the historical sites that commemorated the destruction and laid testament to the murder of over six million Jews. Here I was, being offered the opportunity of a lifetime and I was terrified of bearing its enormous burden.

I continued to speak, now in a desperate tone. “I never met Zaydie, I hardly remember Bubby. I barely have an appreciation for them and their heroic stories. How can I go?” Now,less than a month before the trip, I pleadingly asked my sister Gila, who had a unique relationship with my grandmother, to give me some much needed words of strength and wisdom. I was astounded by her response — she did not offer her usual words of comfort, but rather bestowed upon me a great missive. She opened my eyes to the miraculous coming together of events that only Divine intervention could have orchestrated (or my Bubby!).

Now, it was my sister’s turn to start crying into the phone; however, her tears were of intense joy and clarification. Our Jewish faith says that everything happens for a reason yet we, as humans, are not always privy to the reasoning behind events. However, on the slim chance we can see some meaning behind our actions, the events that unfold can be startling and breathtaking. Gila said simply, “Bubby is going with you.”

We all loved my grandmother — she was always singing songs and making us food to fill our bellies, and as grandchildren we hardly knew what those numbers tattooed on her arm really meant. We understood about the Holocaust and heard stories tangentially, but Bubby was never one to seek the spotlight and, thus, her stories were almost never told. In the summer of 1987, Gila, by some strong will only a 12-year-old girl can have, convinced my Bubby to record her story. One thing my Bubby did always say was that we can never let the world forget what happened to the Jews during the Holocaust. Acting on this, Gila got hold of a tape recorder and interviewed Bubby. The tape speaks about her life before, during and after the war, testifying to this horrible time in history and speaking of unfathomable atrocities. This interview was the only time my Bubby spoke at length of the Holocaust.

Over time, this tape traveled to many places in my sister’s life. From college dorm to apartment to her first house, she always kept it close, never knowing the destiny this recording had yet to fulfill. All the time that my grandmother was alive, this tape had little meaning to our family, since we had living testimony. When Bubby passed away 10 years ago, this tape became a big part of her legacy, leaving us with her precious voice on an old cassette player.

Seemingly by chance, Gila was asked to find this tape at the behest of my aunt, who needed the tape to hear the important details of my grandmother’s life story for her son’s class assignment. My aunt had the tape restored and transferred to a CD, making it more accessible to my family. This technological miracle took place just two days before my frantic phone call from Israel to my sister. She cried because it was so apparent to her that G-d orchestrated the travels of this tape, making it come back to life, literally, just in time for my trip to Poland.

Through many tears, I listened to my grandmother’s voice tell her story. I listened numerous times until I felt as prepared as I could be to retrace the footsteps of my ancestors. Throughout my eight days in Poland, I had Bubby in my pocket, her voice resonated in my iPod and I  had chills when I realized that I had brought her voice back to Poland.

Here’s a small piece from my journal, the day I presented my grandmother’s story in a town called Majdanek, a concentration camp that my grandmother suffered through for a few months:

“My head is spinning. I did not think I would have such an intense day. I was not expecting it to be this hard. When we got to the entrance of Majdanek, I could not walk in. I was too scared. I felt my grandmother’s presence with me; I kept picturing her in my mind. I stood in place and just cried. I lost sight of the group ahead of me.”

“I realized that it was not about me — I had to walk in. I had to walk in for my grandmother. I had a responsibility to that special woman, my grandmother. I had to share her incredible story with the others. As we approached the gas chamber, I stood at the entrance, in which many of her family member’s innocent lives were taken and it was then that G-d gave me the strength to speak. I tried hard to hold back the tears but I couldn’t. As I spoke, I felt her with me. After I finished relaying her extraordinary story to the group, I played a piece of her story from my iPod. That’s when I really felt her with me. Her message resonated loud and clear (in a European accent): ‘We must not forget what happened to the Jewish people, for what? It was for nothing. Just because we are Jews. Do not ever forget.’ It was then, at that moment, that I brought my grandmother back to Majdanek.”

The journey of the tape did not end there. Since I was in Israel studying for the year, I found a perfect ending for the tape. Well in truth, this may just have been a new beginning for the tape, but at least I am comforted that it is in a good place. About two days before my return home, I recalled that there was something particularly important that I needed to accomplish. Of course, it was only with the help of G-d that was I able to achieve my goal two days prior to leaving the country. It was 10 minutes after three o’clock, 10 minutes after the closing time in the archives section of Yad Vashem, the Holocaust memorial museum in Jerusalem. Nevertheless, I approached the archives room, knocked on the door and to my surprise and joy, there was a woman inside. As she opened the door to find me on the other side, she noticed my unusual excitement, and decided to stay for a while. She sat me down and listened intently as I told her my grandmother’s fascinating story, and the story of the resurrection of this tape (now CD). I carefully handed this precious CD over to her and walked out of her office with a tremendous sense of fulfillment and accomplishment.

It seems my grandmother, Kayla Tzippa Edelstein’s, message had penetrated my heart. I will not forget her story, and neither will the world.

Dina Sandhaus, of Scranton, PA, is a graduate of Scranton Hebrew Day School, and of Bruriah High School in Elizabeth, NJ, and last year attended Michlalah Jerusalem College. The youngest of eight children, she is currently a sophmore at Stern College for Women and plans to become a nurse. Her sister, Gila Jedwab, lives in Cedarhurst with her husband and their four children and practices dentistry in Lawrence.