I knew Pop was a Holocaust survivor before I even knew what the Holocaust was. At my grandparents’ house, there was always chatter about receiving reparation payments from the German government because of “what they did” to Pop and his family. Also, anytime I’d remark that it was kind of weird Pop spent so much time at OTB I was met with a, “Let him be! The man survived the Holocaust!”
But just because I knew Pop to be a survivor didn’t mean I knew his story. He never talked about his experience. In fact, he didn’t really talk much about anything. Despite his quietness, his grandchildren absolutely adored him. He had a special way with us. He was the baby whisperer who’d walk up and down the hallway in his Bronx apartment singing a Yiddish lullabye to us. We were out in a matter of seconds. Pop was gentle. He smiled all the time. After getting buzzed into his building, we’d run to his door where he’d be waiting for us with open arms. When he hugged us, he’d call us his mamashanas.
The times I did try to get Pop to tell us his anything, he gave us generic tidbits and would quickly change the subject. About a year before he died, my family and I interviewed him on video. But it was clear he was not up for telling the full story. Instead we received fragments of imagery with conflicting timelines. When he died, I was resigned that I’d never know the truth.
But years later, a shocking piece of Pop’s story came to light. While catching up with Pop’s first cousin Milton (whose father had sponsored my grandfather to come to America after the war), my dad and aunt learned that Pop had a wife and daughter killed in the Holocaust.
We were stunned. All of a sudden, these distant events from history books became immediate, real and personal. My dad had an unknown sister. I had an aunt who was murdered by Nazis. How did this never come up?
The news rocked my world. My grandfather had experienced unimaginable horrors including losing a wife and daughter and then just, like, lived his life? And lived it as a nice and gentle man? The man who’d clap along while I danced to Paula Abdul and who, as a tailor, hemmed all my Delia’s flare jeans. And to think about this aunt I’d never know. Someone who was only one generation away from me, a girl who had a Jerry Seinfeld impersonator at her Bat Mitzvah and took recreational clown classes. My aunt and I could not have more different lives.
Because of this discovery, I became obsessed with finding out Pop’s story. I turned to whatever Holocaust database I could find. But even though I consider myself exceptionally skilled at internet research, I was coming up short.
However, I did find something incredible in my sleuthing: I’m not the only grandchild out there who wants to preserve their relatives’ stories. While scouring the internet, I stumbled upon Living Links, an organization dedicated to inspiring descendants to tell their family’s story. And it was on their website where I learned there’s even a specific term for people like me. We are 3Gs, the grandchildren of Holocaust survivors.
I was so surprised to find that there’s a whole network of 3Gs who want to preserve their relatives’ testimonies. Up until a few years ago it was the survivors themselves going into schools and museums to tell their accounts. But with many getting too old or dying, it’s become the responsibility of their descendants to carry on their legacies. Living Links has an extensive speaker training program that teaches descendants how to share their families’ histories so they can be the ones to go into schools. The organization also supports all the 3G affiliates around the world and helps connect people to their local network. Through Living Links I found the 3G group in Los Angeles and got involved.
I took part in the DOR (Descendants of Remembrance) program at the Holocaust Museum LA where I was given more tools to help reconstruct Pop’s life. I felt like a 21st century Carl Bernstein with all my researching of databases, archives and interviewing cousin Milton to provide more details. Through this I was able to finally create a timeline for Pop and piece together his story.
I also helped put on an event at a bar for fellow 3Gs in LA. Nobody knew what to expect — would it be a huge bummer? — but it turned out to just be a bunch of Jewish Holocaust descendants hanging out and drinking beer on La Brea Ave on a Tuesday night. Between playing Jewish geography and chatting about what TV shows we were currently watching, we were also able to have some meaningful conversations. I talked to one woman whose grandparent was a passenger on the ill-fated MS St. Louis, a crazy, historical event I wasn’t too familiar with. Yet she wasn’t the only one with a wild tale. Everyone there had a crazy story about their grandparents surviving against the odds. And while everyone’s stories were different, we had something in common: We all spoke lovingly about our grandparents.
It was then that I realized the true beauty of us 3Gs coming together. It wasn’t just that all our grandparents were survivors. And it wasn’t just that we knew the importance of telling the stories of those in the Holocaust. It’s that we all continue to have immense affection and admiration for our grandparents. Through all the inconceivable hells they endured, these people showed us nothing but love and kindness. And it’s because of our love for them that we’re determined to honor them by sharing their histories and keeping their testimonies alive.
Jeanne’s grandfather Wolf Leitenberg was born in Dąbrowa, Poland. He was a prisoner at the concentration camps Gross-Rosen and Buchenwald.
New Year, More Kveller. A few dollars keeps Kveller joyfully, honestly free.
