The Book That Explained It All: When Messages from the Past Call Us to Acknowledge the Present

Unveiling family history through the lens of the Holocaust

Response to the fifty-two weeks with your diary, The Diarists entry — tell us about that one time this happened?

Reflection on when the universe guided me to my past: 2nd of February 2024

Me and My Muse wrote a writing prompt asking writers to think about a time when: the universe spoke to them.

Had we ever felt guided, supported, or even directed to specific situations, people, places, and things for an unknown reason?

A few months ago, I found myself in a situation where I was directed for what seemed, at the time, an unknown reason.

I experienced one event that spurred on other occasions, leading me to delve deep into my family’s history

I had been thinking about how to write down what I experienced for a long time. It was quite a pivotal moment, and I’d like to remember it and pass it on to my children.

I’m Jewish. Both my parents are Jewish. My grandparents and great-grandparents were Jewish. In fact, all my ancestors were Jewish.

My husband’s lineage is the same.

I often joke that we are “purebreds,” a joke that I’m aware of refers to the irony of existence — despite a history where Jewish people were almost wiped out to leave all but a purebred Aryan nation.

We are only lucky enough to exist now because of the bravery and survival of only a few family members, who miraculously made it through Hitler-occupied Poland, only to eventually migrate to Australia and rebuild the brokenness of their lives.

I’m Jewish. Both my parents are Jewish. My grandparents and great-grandparents were Jewish. In fact, all my ancestors were Jewish.

The Holocaust was always discussed in both of our homes growing up.

Our families needed to acknowledge what our people had experienced, so that awareness would spread, and we could ensure it would never happen again.

Never. Happen. Again.

I never write about politics because, honestly, I’m not informed enough about all sides to accurately report the facts, or verbalise my thoughts on many topics.

“On October 7, Hamas terrorists waged the deadliest attack on Jews since the Holocaust — slaughtering babies, raping women, burning whole families alive, and taking hundreds of innocent civilians hostage. Since October 7, more than 1,200 Israelis have been killed. Terrorists are still holding 132 men, women, and children in captivity.” American Jewish Committee

Never. Happen. Again.

I don’t come from a religious family. We would be considered orthodox in our practice. Still, we don’t attend synagogue, we don’t gather together to pray, and we don’t keep kosher. Our Judaism is more of a choose-your-own-adventure type of practice.

We practice our faith by gathering with our extended family on the holidays: aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and children.

Generations.

Generations that we celebrate because we remember where we came from.

Whether a Jewish person is religious or not, October 7 2023, brought up feelings in the hearts of every Jew on the planet.

Seeing our people, fellow Jews, attacked so viciously brings the atrocities of the Holocaust back to this future, and shows us that it could indeed happen again.

Here’s where the aspect of divine intervention piqued my interest

Just after October 7, our family was invited to the Melbourne Holocaust Centre for an event.

The Centre had undergone a renovation and refurbishment, that my husband’s family had assisted with.

Along with other families who had contributed to the modernisation of the new centre, we were invited to a private tour to see all the new exhibits and spaces before they were opened to the public.

I have three children, two of whom are thirteen and fourteen. They needed to accompany us to the event. After all, they are here because of the very history we were going to pay our respects to.

My youngest is nine years old. Although he knows some parts of the history, he is considered far too young to view the imagery on exhibit at the centre. (The Melbourne Holocaust Center has a preferred age of thirteen years old as many exhibits contain graphic content.)

I had arranged for a babysitter to look after my son this night.

Our babysitter called me the afternoon of the event, to tell me she had COVID-19. She would have to cancel.

I couldn’t find another babysitter, and all our family members were going to the event along with us.

My son had to come with us.

Arriving at the centre

We were introduced to our guide for the evening. We instantly recognised each other as she taught me history in high school.

I still have a passion for history, thanks to this teacher.

This woman has built a career educating people of all faiths, about the history of The Holocaust. She holds a Master’s in Holocaust and Genocide Studies (2010), from Monash University. She is co-president of the Jewish Holocaust Centre in Melbourne. As an expert in Holocaust education, she serves on the Australian delegation to the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA).

She is also involved in the “March of the Living” programme.

The March of the Living is a two-week journey for 3,000 secondary school students worldwide. They spend one week in Poland, culminating with a march from Auschwitz to Birkenau, and commemorating Yom Hashoah. Then, they travel together to Israel, commemorating Yom Hazikaron and celebrating Yom Ha’atzmaut with all of Israel.

The March of the Living believes that:

When you listen to a witness, you become a witness.

It was an experience for this incredible woman to host and guide our group through the tour of the centre.

I explained to her that circumstances beyond my control meant I couldn’t leave my son at home, and I was aware that the graphic nature of the exhibits may not be appropriate for him.

She assured me that he could join us all for the beginning of the tour, but would advise me of the time when I should remove him and that I could take him downstairs to the center’s library, where he could sit with me while waiting for the rest of our group to complete the tour.

We learned about the happier times in Europe before the war. We saw uplifting photos of people and families going about their daily lives before the dark shadow of the Nazi Party obliterated their lives.

We saw pictures of broken and burned stores on the night of Kristallnacht.

We saw the yellow stars that Jews were forced to wear on their clothes.

We saw the history of our people.

The exhibits within the centre are arranged in a chronological timeline, depicting life pre-war, then another area during the war, and then post-war.

When we were about to enter the area that showcases the history of the Jews, who were sent to the concentration camps, our guide informed me that now was the time to head to the library with my son.

The library was in a room close to the entrance of the building

It was not a library where people could come and borrow books, but rather a place for those to come and sit and read from the books on the walls.

The goal is to make it a place for learning and reflection, and many of the books there have been gifts from ancestors of the deceased.

I began to walk around the library, looking for a book that may be appropriate for my son to look through (they have a children’s picture book section), and I noticed a small, skinny book wedged in the middle of some much larger novels.

This book called out to me. Something made me see it.

My grandmother has always told me stories about my great-grandmother, her mother, who came to Australia and was passionate about keeping the traditions of the Yiddish community alive.

She was ardent that the way of Yiddish life, which was practiced for centuries in many communities around Poland, would never be forgotten.

I was told she was integral to establishing Yiddish culture in Melbourne

I knew this about my great-grandmother: she was a pretty celebrated actress on stage in the Yiddish theatre.

When I saw this book on the shelf, I was inquisitive.

I flicked through the book’s pages and felt compelled to read it.

Not being allowed to borrow books from this library, meant I would have to purchase them somewhere.

That night, once we got home and put the children to bed, I searched online for a place to buy this book.

When I saw this book on the shelf, I was inquisitive.

As luck would have it, a small bookshop five minutes from my house had one copy left, as this book was out of print.

The following day, I raced to the bookshop and purchased the book. I couldn’t wait to get home to read it. Sitting in my car outside the bookshop, I flicked open the pages to the printed photographs.

To my surprise and delight, I saw images of my great-grandparents! I saw pictures of my great uncle and aunt!

This book told stories about my family—the history of my family members.

This was crazy to me!

I thought surely my grandmother knew about this book, and had forgotten to tell us about it?

I called my mother to tell her about my discovery and sent her the images above. She was as shocked as I was.

She had no knowledge of this book.

So I FaceTimed my grandmother (I FaceTimed her because her hearing isn’t in the best state these days, and I wanted to see her reaction when I showed her what I found).

My grandmother, Helene, is the most incredible person I know. She is warm yet fierce, strong and kind, loving, nurturing, selfless, and gracious.

I will forever recall her reaction when I showed her these pictures, and told her about the book.

She was shocked.

Even she had no knowledge of this book. Tears ran down her cheeks- tears of surprise and tears of joy.

This book was a collection of articles and short stories curated by the author’s children. The author was a prolific writer in his time. It was their passion project created to keep their father’s memories alive.

I gifted the book to my grandmother to read, before I had the time to finish it myself. I wanted her to be able to process the memories so that we could discuss them together.

She was shocked.

Roughly a few days later

My husband asked me to accompany him on a work trip to Europe. It’s always my job to book the flights.

I have a keen talent for maximising frequent flyer points to travel, and I arranged the entire journey.

The only issue was that his work trip required him to be in Italy for a week. The return flights I could get—the only return flights I could get—were for ten days after he would finish up in Italy.

This meant we had an extra ten days to visit elsewhere in Europe.

Poland.

My husband and I have been fortunate enough to travel to many places worldwide. A hobby we share is finding destinations we have yet to explore, and discover together.

We had yet to go to Poland.

All the events leading up to our decision to travel to Poland later this year, could not have been coincidences.

The sheer timing of the event at The Melbourne Holocaust Centre, the fact that I stumbled upon a small book wedged between two more prominent novels, being able to source the last book in print so close to my home, and finding out this book had details about the history of my family, could not have been a coincidence.

I felt as if the universe or some higher power was pushing me to delve deeper into our collective history.

I can’t explain it. I don’t even want to try.

Our trip to Poland has been planned for late May this year. What lessons I will learn, I don’t know, but I’m excited to take the journey.

Have you ever experienced a connection to your ancestors?

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