Paris to Toulouse 26th May 2013

As I course over the French countryside on a high speed InterCity train it has occurred to me that the most beautiful days seem to be travel days when I cannot enjoy the sun and its warmth because I am stuck in a metal tube hurtling along at 165 km/h. C'est la vie, I suppose. It is still snowing in Vermont, though. Rebecca posted a picture this morning that I feel warrants attention here:

So I will take a sunny day on the train in France.

Leaving Paris was a strange experience. My time there was certainly the most rewarding yet. In numerous places I have seen the Hebrew supplication Zachor, "remember." This concept, as I have immersed myself in my research, has taken on a new and personal meaning.

I think that one of the most intriguing and worrisome truths regarding Holocaust studies is that while the Holocaust as an event is one of the most researched topics in human history it seems that remembrance, true zachor, is more and more difficult to ensure. This is a nascent idea for me and I welcome comment and apologize in advance if it is controversial.

In my own American education I was taught a good but overwhelmingly broad history of the Holocaust. I worry that this teaching style might be damaging. "Six million Jews were killed," we are told, "simply because they were Jewish." But when we view the issue through such a wide lens we lose sight of the fact that each of those six million was a person, a human being with a life story. Perhaps they were Heinz Najman, a 13 year old boy, never devoutly Jewish but hunted for it anyway. Perhaps they were Bernard Najman, only 2 years old, never given the chance to decide what Judaism meant to him before he was sentenced to the gas chamber for it. I am reluctant to view the Holocaust as anything that happened "simply because," because that logic seems almost to lend itself to the logic of Nazism itself.

I rather think that the Holocaust should be told personally. This is what I will try to do with Heinz. Opa and his family were far more than simple Jewish victims of Nazi hatred; they were human beings with wants and needs and they ought to be treated as such in any telling of their tale. To reduce them to the identity Hitler sought to impose on them would be a dramatic and hurtful disservice.

I think that an education in this vein can also stir interest that other pedagogic styles cannot. Anne Frank's story was remarkably touching and relatable because of its intimately personal nature. Anne was a living person with emotion and depth, no matter how adamantly Nazi propaganda claimed otherwise. Heinz Najman, too, was a human being, resisting his oppressors from the first day that they threatened him and his family, never passive as the word "victim" implies. And I am remarkably and unstatably proud to descend from such a person.

This is not to say that such personal narratives do not exist. Indeed great work has been done and continues to be undertaken to document and share the lives of those people killed during the Shoah. But I worry that many general Holocaust education methods gloss over the humanity of those killed by lumping them together in the decidedly inhuman abstraction "Jewish victims."

What does this mean? I think that educators should take caution in all cases of genocide because it is incredibly easy in teaching such subjects to slip into faceless and yeastless statistics and generalities. I ask that, instead, educators should highlight the humanity of those killed, as this humanity is the very thing those perpetrating genocide try to deny. We have not yet learned, despite all the time and money dedicated to studying the Holocaust, how to prevent genocide. Several are ongoing today.

Perhaps it is time for a new way to teach this subject.

Paris 24th May 2013

I am, once again, astounded and excited by the fragments of information I find everywhere I go. Nine days ago in Brussels I learned the names of all four of Opa's grandparents. Two days ago I used those names to learn the names and addresses of an aunt, uncle, and four cousins of Opa's that none in my family knew lived. Today in Orleans I used those names and addresses to find pictures of that aunt and those cousins. I am, once again, blown away.

By the nature of my project I go to most places with little idea of what to expect. I knew that Orleans was home to CERCIL,essentially a center for Holocaust studies focused on the Loiret region of France and its three large camps (among them Pithiviers), but I expected it to be little more than a museum of sorts (there are many, an example is the Jewish History Museum in Amsterdam I wrote about previously), which are nice but do not generally do much to forward my own project. There were, after all, many people involved in the Shoah and it is impossible in most broad interest museums to dwell or focus on the countless individual stories inherent in the Holocaust. In fact, I almost did not go to Orleans today: another day in Paris was tempting and I was not feeling well this morning anyway, but I decided to go and see what I could find.

Orleans is a pretty city, bigger than Ypres but much smaller than Paris, which was nice after a few days in the city. I do not think I will ever be a "city person." I feel overwhelmed by the massive tide of humanity in Paris.

The receptionist at CERCIL was a very sweet woman, embarrassed by her lack of command of English (she was better than she gave herself credit for), but helpful nonetheless. She let me into the museum for free because, she said, everything was written in French and she apparently doubted that I would get my money's worth from the exhibits. She was wrong.

For the most part it was a museum. It featured a barrack like those found at Pithiviers and then summarized, much like other museums, the lead up to the war and the genocide.

But CERCIL had a room with three sectioned and illuminated walls. In each small section sat the name of a child arrested in France, most during the Vel d'Hiv, and most eventually killed. In roughly 1/5th of these a picture accompanied the name. The many names with blank spaces were ominous, evidence of the mountains of work still due to these children whose stories are not fully understood, and discouraged me from hoping, but I worked my way slowly around, looking at the faces of innocents whose lives were torn apart by a hatred they could not possibly have deserved.

I reached Rosa Brykman's place first. No picture of the 16 year old girl with whom my great-grandmother was killed was available. This made me sad. Opa said she was pretty, and I had hoped to see her.

But the "N"s were different. My breath caught as my eyes settled first on Lucien Najman, Opa's younger cousin, who looked incredibly similar to Opa and to my father. Above and below Lucien were pictures of his brothers and sisters. They were a beautiful family. The oldest, Helene, was only 16.


Additionally there was an interactive database that let me search for each of them, game some details of their lives, and cycled between an enlarged picture of them and a family photo of the children with their mother, Marjem. I could not help but be moved by this photo. Their happy smiles in the face of such horror are incredible. They were together.

I thanked the receptionist profusely and assured her I had found more than I could have hoped for.

On the train ride back I met an interesting and trilingual mechanical engineer from near Orleans who fell for a Brazilian girl at university and moved to Brazil to be with her. We discussed life, my project, and politics (both American and French) all the way. It was very nice to meet a local for once (most of my friends have been fellow hostelers). He even told me a bit about Chalons sur Saone!

Unfortunately I came back too late to try to attend services at the synagogue tonight. I was disappointed, but I am still so happy with today. I cannot get over Lucien. It is remarkable.

Until tomorrow!

Paris 23rd May 2013

I am still on a genealogy high from yesterday. I was inspired by my success in the archives to spend last night updating and expanding my ever-growing family tree. In so doing I found several family members I hadn't been notifying of these posts and should have been. So, if you are new here, I hope you enjoy reading about the project, and welcome to the club!

I had a lot of trouble getting to sleep last night, mostly as a result of my excitement of the day's success, but I suspect in part also because I had more coffee than I should have with Ashley and Jordan. So I have spent most of today tired and will likely turn in early tonight, but I did use the time thinking of potential ways to present Heinz when I get back to Aberdeen, so I was at least somewhat productive.

Today was spent traveling to Drancy, the transit camp north of Paris where numerous members of my family - indeed, tens of thousands of Jews from France - were held before being deported to their deaths at concentration camps across Europe. The building that housed the internees itself was demolished years ago. In its place stands a twisted and haunting statue in memory of the Hell on Earth that was built here, and train tracks leading ominously to a freight car like those used in the deportations. It was an odd experience being there. The plaques say n'oubliez pas - "do not forget," but life goes on at Drancy and I am the only one at the memorial. It is situated in (yet another) poor residential neighborhood. Few even notice the memorial they walk past every day. I suppose noticing and remembering are the jobs of my project.

Tomorrow I will take a train to Orleans to visit the memorial for child victims of the Vel d'hiv, the mass roundup of Jews in France in which many in my family were arrested. If my French is up to snuff this is also the Pithiviers memorial. I will try to be back in time to attend services at the synagogue near Rue des Francs Bourgeois.

Until tomorrow!

Paris 22nd May 2013

Honestly, the immensity of today can not be overstated. If I were to add all of the information I have found prior to today (roughly two to two and a half years of work online) it would still pale in comparison to 22nd May, 2013 in Paris. I have found the missing piece. I understand now. My God. Honestly. I have never felt like I do right now.

Opa's memoirs in English were written far after the fact and, despite some few "holes" of informations, are remarkably detailed. I am more and more impressed with his ability to remember specific addresses in each city as well as the names of neighbors, etc. My main work has been derived from these English memoirs, but there is also a fragment of what appears to be a contemporary account of the incident written by Opa shortly after he arrived in Switzerland. This short piece is written in German.

For the most part these stories corroborate, but on one key issue they diverged: his English report led me to assume he had been interned at Drancy, a camp just north of Paris, based on the fact that his mother was eventually deported from there to Auschwitz. But the German account states that he was actually Pithiviers, another camps, and implies that he was separated from his mother there. To further confuse matters, records for him do not exist at either Pithiviers or Drancy, though they do at both for his mother (she was sent from Pithiviers to Drancy and then to Auschwitz). This led me to question my preexisting notion: perhaps Opa was never at either camp, and they were separated somewhere else.

His mother's information cards were regrettably vague. No hints as to her location prior to Pithiviers were offered. But Opa's memoirs, once again incredibly detailed, mentioned the names of various extended family members with whom he and his mother were traveling when they were arrested. Among this number was one Rosa Brykman, his cousin, the 16 year old daughter of his mother's older sister. In his English memoir Opa noted that when he left his mother he also left Rosa. It occurred to me that Rosa very likely followed the same trail as Opa's mother and may shed light on the mystery location where they were all imprisoned together.

And that was it. Rosa was the key. She was kept with Opa's mother until their similar murders at Auschwitz. But where Chana Najman's cards were bereft of information regarding their detention prior to Pithiviers, Rosa Brykman's cards had a single line: "Prison de Chalons sur Saone."

And there it was. Chalons sur Saone is a city south east of Paris very near the demarcation line that separated the German-occupied portion of France from Vichy ("Free") France, and it was here that Opa, his mother, Rosa Brykman, and three distant relations (one of whome, Paulette Weinbush, he escaped with) were all imprisoned together. This is my missing piece. It was not a concentration camp, not even a transit camp like Drancy, but more of a haphazard detention center erected as a staging point. It was this piecemeal nature of the prison at Chalons sur Saone that allowed the French Gendarme the opportunity to help Opa and Paulette escape. Chalons sur Saone is the last place Opa saw his mother.

Needless to say, I am going to Chalons sur Saone. It is an hour's ride from Lyon, so I will go on 31st May.

Almost as an after thought (relatively speaking) I found information on twelve (!!!) relatives: Pesacc Najman, my Opa's uncle, his wife and their four children, and Cyrla Brykman nee Szmckier, Opa's mother's older sister, her husband and their four children, including the key Rosa. This trove of information itself is priceless. I owe an inordinate deal to the archives of the Memorial de la Shoah in Paris.

This evening I met Ashley and her boyfriend Jordan for coffee at an excellent cafe near Notre Dame. It was very nice to see her and meet Jordan for the first time. I hope to see her again stateside sometime soon!

Tomorrow I intend to visit Drancy.

Honestly I cannot begin to express the excitement that today has kindled in me. I am absolutely elated. There is nothing else to say.

I have no more words.

Paris 21st May 2013

Today was a very productive day! My friend Ashley was right in telling me that walking around Paris like I did in Vienna or Brussels simply isn't practical. The City of Light is huge and my hostel is fairly far from the city center. Fortunately the metro system is relatively cheap and, compared to Brussels', very comprehensive.

My first stop this morning was the Gare du Nord, the train station at which I arrived yesterday, to attempt to make reservations for each of my remaining trains and fix the one I made a mistake on in Belgium. The line to talk to someone about the tickets was long but the worker was friendly, a nice change from the opposite (short line, angry people) in Belgium.

Unfortunately I couldn't simply change my Toulouse reservation to Lyon. Why? Because it was made in Belgium. Gosh. But it was only 9€, so I made a correct reservation from Lyon and my trip on the 1st of June is now assured: I will make it back to the USA!

More unfortunately, all the trains to Pau in the time frame I need are fully booked. I will not be able to get there as planned. But I didn't give up: I've learned on this trip that there are usually alternative ways to do anything you'd like to do, even when it looks improbable. I made a reservation to Toulouse two days earlier than I previously planned to arrive there and extended my hostel reservation there. Toulouse is fairly close to Pau anyway, and trains from there to the mountain city do not require reservations. I will visit Pau as a day trip from Toulouse. It all works out. Aside for that my trains are reserved as planned and I am good to go! Exciting. I did not even have to pay a cancellation fee in Pau because I did it early enough, and I actually ended up saving about 30€ because the hostel in Toulouse is cheaper than the hotel in Pau would have been!

Next I headed south nearly to the Seine and visited the Holocaust memorial. I didn't expect much more than a museum there but was pleasantly surprised. On their wall of names I found Chana Najman, my great grandmother, which was very moving. But, in addition, the top floor of the memorial is an easily accessible archive with bilingual archivists!

This place housed microfiche copies of the Paris police records (no info relevant to my project) as well as the records of both the Pithiviers and Drancy camps. The very helpful archivist aided me in searching for Chana (we found some excellent info... She was interned first at Pithiviers from 10-22 August, 1942 and then sent to Drancy where she was held for only four days until 26 August when she was deported to Auschwitz... More evidence for the timeline of events) and for Opa, who interestingly seems to have no existing record at either place. I am puzzled by this because his memoirs place him with her. But there are numerous possibilities. Tomorrow I will go back with information regarding his extended family, cousins with whom he lived in Paris, as their information may give further light to information on him.

After that I ate lunch at a cool little deli and walked to 45 Rue des Francs Bourgeois, where Opa and Chana lived with those cousins in Paris for some time. It was not far from the memorial and on the way I passed a beautiful synagogue. Perhaps Opa prayed there, though I have my doubts. In any case, maybe I will be able to attend services here on Friday.

The apartment building on Rue des Francs Bourgeois made a strong impression on Opa. Judging by his description and the state of the street today I should guess that his cousins were well off. They owned a clothing store on the street level and lived above it. The street still houses a clothing store but the woman inside told me it is only three years old and was previously a library. Either way this is certainly the most luxurious neighborhood Opa lived in: the entire street is lined with elegant and beautiful old hotels, most built before 1600.

I walked west, on Dr. Fouberg's suggestion, to the Tuileries Garden and the Louvre, both beautiful. I sat in the garden and watched people and birds and then headed back on the subway to my hostel. I cooked dinner and did laundry tonight, too.

My tentative schedule is to visit the archive again tomorrow along with more sight seeing and then meet Ashley and her boyfriend tomorrow evening at a cafe. Thursday and Friday I plan to take trips to the Drancy and Pithiviers memorials respectively.

Sidenote: I have officially filled half of my notebook. Forty pages!

Until tomorrow!

Vienna 10th May 2013

I started today early with little plan or idea of what to expect. My first stop was the Westbahnhof to make reservations on an ICE (InterCity Express) train for Tuesday to ensure I can get to Brussels in time to check in at my hostel there. My reservation is for a 6:52 AM (!!!) train to Frankfurt where I will change trains again and continue on. I'm going to try to be a bit earlier for this one!

This has definitely been the worst day of allergies for me so far this year, despite the fact that I am taking daily medicine for the past week or so... I spent the first three or four hours of the day sneezing my way across Vienna like an idiot, pausing in bits of shade to hide my squinty and itchy eyes from the sun and to breath... Protip: if you have allergies, never expect to be at your best on any gorgeous day. You'll be disappointed.

But it was gorgeous in Vienna today. Early this morning the sky was clear and the sun was out. This is a fantastic city for the history nerd. Literally around every turn there is a beautiful new Imperial building to explore, at least in the Hofburg, where I spent most of my day.

Opa liked the Habsburgs. It is strange to think that I am in the Imperial City, the home of their Winter Palace, from whence the Austro-Hungarian Empire was ruled... It is even more strange to think that this is the place Opa was born, the place he lived for 10 years, the place the story begins, and the place I might have been born myself, had circumstances been different. Knowing this gives the city a great weight. A great urgency. I have something to learn about Opa here. I have something to learn about myself here.

It was my intention to see the Jewish History Museum, and wandering the Hofburg I found a sign that pointed the way. It is a museum in two parts, and my status as a student got me a discount. The first I visited, on Dorotheergasse, focused on Jewish humor and media and had an interesting archive on its top floor. I ate lunch there.

But the second, on the Judenplatz, was fascinating. In the plaza is the Shoa Mahnmal, a memorial for Austrian victims of the Holocaust. It is a low gray building, simply built and surrounded by the names of places Jews were killed. The effect of the memorial was powerful. I sat there and thought of Opa and his mother for some time... She was murdered at Auschwitz.

The museum itself featured the remains of one of Vienna's largest synagogues destroyed in 1420. Antisemitism is not a new thing.

The second location is also home to the Jewish Welcome Service of Vienna. I spoke to a woman there who helped me locate Klosterneuburgerstrasse, the street where Opa grew up, as well as how to get there, and the site of the nearest synagogue (the former site, more correctly. Only one synagogue of Vienna's previous ninety-four survived the war). I will make my way there someday very soon. I wonder what I will find...

I continued to wander and toured the Austrian parliament and ate Wiener Schnitzel. I considered attending services at the Stadttemple, the synagogue that survived World War Two, but decided against it.

The weather turned darker later in the day and it is supposed to rain tomorrow. In any case, most Jewish sites are closed on Saturday for the Shabbat. I am not certain what I will do yet. Wien is holding an annual festival of art and culture, so I may see what that has to offer.

Until tomorrow, readers!