Steinberg - Outcry : Holocaust memoirs

Holocaust Memoirs

Manny Steinberg

Amsterdam Publishers

Holocaust Memoirs

Manny Steinberg

First edition 2007

Second (revised) edition 2014

www.amsterdampublishers.com

Manny Steinberg (text & photographs)

All Rights reserved

I dedicate my book to:

My wife Wilhelmina (whom I love very much)

My daughter Anita Helaine

My Son Gary Bruce

My daughter Julie Ann

My Grandson Paul

My Granddaughter Janet

My Great grandson Joey

My Great grandson Frankie

My Great granddaughter Lexi

My Great grandson Benjamin

I further wish to honor my brother, Stanley

Steinberg, and my Father, Chaim Steinberg for their

love and strength,

and my sister, Mary Sue,

for her devotion and beautiful spirit.

With the writing of this book, I have dropped the last shackles that have held me prisoner since I was liberated from the concentration camps in Europe. At last I have complete freedom - in body, mind, and soul.

In these, the later years of my life, I am full of hope that OUTCRY will help to honor and memorialize all the millions of people who lost their lives in the Ghettos, Work Camps, and Concentration Camps throughout Europe. It is surely important to each and every one of us that they will never be forgotten.

Sharing my story has helped me to put into perspective LIFE. I was allowed to come to the U.S. and serve my adopted country during the Korean War, during which time I met my wife. Together we have three children, two grandchildren and four great grandchildren. In the end, I am a Winner.

Manny Steinberg, 2014

The following pages recount my real-life experiences
and memories, but the names in my story have all
been fictionalized.

Today, May 3Ist, is my birthday. I was born in 1925 in Radom, Poland. As I look at my lovely wife and children celebrating the occasion, my mind begins to wander. How my life has changed since the six endless years, from the ages of thirteen to nineteen, that the concentration camps of Europe were my home, many times escaping death merely by chance.

Starting in 1939, I lived through the Nazi horrors in the Jewish Ghetto section of Radom. It is only through the mercy of God and my brother Stanley that I have survived to tell you my story.

The presents have been opened, the cake has been cut and the good wishes have all been said. It's now bedtime for my children, Anita, Gary and Julie. Reluctantly the goodnight kisses are given, for in a few moments, there will be a dark stillness which will open up the memories that creep up to the surface and continue to haunt me. Sitting at the table with the moonlight casting shadows against the wall, my mind drifts back to my childhood and family

I am the oldest of three brothers. Stanley was born in 1927 and our younger brother Jacob in 1934. Our mother died giving birth to Jacob. I recall the sadness in our house and my comforting Stanley, but I refused to let myself feel sorrow. Ill be strong, I told myself.

I do remember that the miracle of birth was made rather obvious to me. I was too young to understand much about it and yet it gave me much to wonder about.

One night when I should have been asleep, I recall overhearing a conversation between my parents. What are you going to name the baby? Come, tell me, Chaim, Mama teased Papa. I thought to myself, a baby! I was so excited to think that we would have another brother or sister to eventually sit at our table, share our food, play with and someone to love. What a thrill this would be.

Our neighbors had a daughter and for a long time I had envied them and had longed for a sister. Perhaps now my wish would come true. I wanted to get up and talk to Mama and Papa about this great event, but I knew Papa would scold me for not getting my sleep so that I would be rested for school the next day. I resolved to ask Papa about the baby in the morning as I drifted off to sleep, dreaming of my new little sister.

The next day, I had to confess to him that I had been listening to them talk the night before and had heard about our new baby. Papa was very forgiving and with a proud smile he said he and Mama were trying to decide on a name. You see Mendel, Papa explained, It is the custom of the Jewish people to name their children after a family member that has passed away. We honor and perpetuate the name that way.

Will it be soon? I asked. Yes son, we will have a new baby very soon. I skipped off to school with a great feeling of joy and anticipation.

Our apartment consisted of one large room in which we ate, led our social life and our father conducted his tailoring business. Adjoining this area was one bedroom and a small kitchen. We all slept in the one bedroom and I remember so well the two large beds on the opposite side of the room.

The night Jacob was born is a vivid recollection. My lessons were completed and I had just finished my hot milk before it was time to go to bed. I had only been asleep for an hour or two, when I was awakened by a commotion in our room. Someone had hung a blanket on a rope that stretched from wall to wall dividing the room in half. I couldn't see my parents side of the room.

Confused and a little frightened, I laid in bed listening to my mother's anguished moans. After several minutes, what seemed to be hours, I sat up in bed and peered through the opening in the blanket. There was a congregation of women: my grandmother, aunts, cousins and a few neighbors. I knew something important was happening.

Suddenly, the moans from Mama were now screams. What was happening? Should I go to Mama? Does she need me? I was too terrified to move. I glanced over at Stanley. He was sitting in the corner of the room holding his blanket tightly. I moved beside him placing my arm around his shoulders. It's OK Stanley, Im here.

We sat quietly, watching the small window fog up from the heat in the room. Several more hours passed, then silence.

All of a sudden, our neighbor Mrs. Guttman yelled for more hot water. Hold her feet and get something to wipe her forehead, she snapped. You're supposed to be her favorite cousin, Rachel, so help!

How much longer will it take? Rachel pleaded.

I think just a few more minutes, Mrs. Guttman replied. It's a little boy. What crying! He must have good lungs.

I heard my grandmother say Mazel Tov, which in Yiddish means Good luck and add, May the child be blessed in the house of Israel.

In the middle of the night I crawled back into bed and thought about the agony my Mama went through, the strange stillness and the first cries of the newborn infant. I wondered about life, our family and Papa.

I whispered to Stanley, Go to sleep, we'll see Papa, Mama and our new baby brother in the morning. I awoke to an unfamiliar silence. Something must be wrong I thought. The blanket dividing the room had been taken down and Mama's bed was empty. My happiness turned to fear. Where were my Mama, Papa and new baby? I rushed out of the room only to find a neighbor lady in charge. Where is my Mama? I cried. I always wanted her more than anyone else in the world.

The lady was kind and tried to console me. She held my hand and told me that Mama had become quite ill after the baby was born and needed to go to the hospital. She assured me that Mama would be home in two or three days and that I was to be a good boy and very soon our family would all be together again.

She continued to explain that the baby would stay with my Grandmother for a few days until my Mama could get better and come home. Then, when you get back from school today, your Papa will be here to greet you, she said.