I keep a desk calendar in my office and was turning the page from March to April when I noticed a day on April 14, recognized as Holocaust Remembrance Day (although this day is different each April.)
I haven’t written a great deal on this website about my Oma, my father’s mother.
There is so much I want to write but I know that when I take that project on, I want to involve more than just my own memories.
However, there are two memories of note that I wanted to share this week: the earliest one I can recall when I was first told by my father about my Oma’s experience in the concentration camps, and one of the last memories I have when I was able to visit her before she passed in 2015.
Sometime in the early 80s, our family had been transferred to Lawton, Oklahoma.
My Oma and Opa came to visit us and I was probably close to 5 years old at the time.
Like many young boys, I enjoyed some manner of “cowboys and Indians” or “cops and robbers” and I had a small collection of toy guns in my room.
Excited to show one of them off, I wandered into our living room to show the gun to my grandparents and my Oma started shrieking.
My Opa, in no uncertain terms, let me know that I shouldn’t bring a gun around Oma.
At the time, I didn’t understand.
So, I took that gun back to my bedroom, found another toy gun that perhaps they would like better and went back to the living room.
Again, the same expression from my Oma.
Again, the same admonishment from my Opa.
At which point, my father took me back to my bedroom and told me, for perhaps the first time in my life, that my Oma had survived the concentration camps in World War II and that I could not bring any toy guns around her.
My Opa passed in 1993 and during his life, rarely did I hear my Oma speak about the camps.
What I did see, what we all saw, was the reminder she kept about the camps, a “stamp” of identification on her forearm with the numbers 81830.
It was only after Opa passed that Oma began to share more about the camps, in bits and pieces, with many of us in the family.
Fast forward to around 2014 and we were visiting Oma at her home in North Carolina. She would have been around 92 at the time.
There is a book, perhaps you’ve heard of it, called “Man’s Search For Meaning” by Viktor Frankl. It is typically referred to as a must-read book because Dr. Frankl, like my Oma, was also a Holocaust survivor.
I had just read the book prior to our visit and I asked her if she had ever heard of it.
She had not.
I said: You know, Oma, he was also a survivor at the camps. He was in four different camps including Auschwitz (a location they shared in common, though likely at different times.)
She looked at me and said: Four different camps. My oh my, I was in fourteen!
And it was then that I was reminded how little I knew about what she had experienced and how she managed to survive.
What I do know is that despite what she endured in those camps, Oma was never anything but kind, considerate, thoughtful, and loving.
She is a consistent reminder for me that kindness should prevail over everything else.
Some books I would encourage everyone to read:
-The Choice: Embrace The Possible by Edith Eger
-The Happiest Man On Earth: The Beautiful Life Of An Auschwitz Survivor by Eddie Jaku
-Man’s Search For Meaning by Viktor Frankl









