Paper Gauze Ballerina: Memoir of a Holocaust Survivor
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About this ebook
Paper Gauze Ballerina is a memoir of a Holocaust survivor. This book is one person's plight to rise above the ashes of the Holocaust and become a whole and functioning human being again. It will make you aware of how a genocide and the aftermath of a genocide extends through a lifetime, and sometimes for generations to come.
With the help of this book, the author ceased to remain a victim, and most of all, got rid of all her feelings of revenge, anger, and hate, bottled up from the injustices done to her during incarceration. She believes that those feelings are the major precursors to another genocide.
Paper Gauze Ballerina is a must for educators to read. It is a unique book which transforms a negative experience to a positive outlook.
Sophie Weisz Miklos
Sophie W. Miklos was born in Transilvania, Romania, in a small town of Valea Lui Mihai. She presently resides with her husband, Andrew, on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina. She is a mother and grandmother. At aged sixteen and a half, she was deported along with her family to the concentration camp. By a miracle, her sister (who has since passed away) and she survived, and were granted a second chance in America. Because of it, she felt it was her moral obligation to take responsibility and fulfil the reason for her miraculous survival. This motivated her to write Paper Gauze Ballerina.
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Paper Gauze Ballerina - Sophie Weisz Miklos
All Rights Reserved © 1998, 2001 by Sophie Miklos
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in
any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.
Authors Choice Press
an imprint of iUniverse.com, Inc.
For information address:
iUniverse.com, Inc.
5220 S 16th, Ste. 200
Lincoln, NE 68512
www.iuniverse.com
Originally published by Sophie Miklos
ISBN: 0-595-15122-1
ISBN: 978-1-4759-1956-1 (ebook)
Contents
Dedication
The Lonely Branch
PROLOGUE
Recollections of Anti-Semitism
MY EARLIEST RECOLLECTION
MY TEEN YEARS
Paper Gauze Ballerina
INTRODUCTION
THE GHETTO
THE CONCENTRATION CAMP
THE MARCH
Starting Over
THE FIRST SIX MONTHS
LIVING WITH FRIENDS
FINISHING HIGH SCHOOL
RETURNING HOME
MY SISTER
COMING TO AMERICA
ELLIS ISLAND
LIVING IN AMERICA THE EARLY YEARS: 1949-1953
BECOMING A MOTHER
STARTING TO GROW UP
ENDING THE WAR
TAKING CHARGE
AT PEACE
A Need To Write
WHY ME?
THE AFTERMATH OF THE HOLOCAUST
MY REFLECTION ON THE WASHINGTON HOLOCAUST MUSEUM OPENING
WHAT I BELIEVE IN
I SMILE AGAIN
Teaching About The Holocaust
Dedication
To my parents, Ilona and Alex Weisz, and to Rose and Adolph Mitelman, all of whom perished during the Holocaust; and, to my sister, Agnes Weisz Borla.
My Warmest Thanks To
My daughter, llene Miklos Schwartz, and my friend, Evelyn Parman Gruber, for lending a helping hand.
The Lonely Branch
I am feeling like a tree which was savagely cut down, By the German assassins and not by an act of God. The roots are almost gone, only one branch is alive, This tree for sure was soon doomed to die. It’s up to this lone branch to help the tree going, A giant task for a tiny twig to realize it’s growing. It withers and shakes reaching out for help, But it stands all alone with no one to care. By a miracle, the lonely branch springs back to life, When a small shoot reappears by its tender side. The two of them find strength through their love, And before one’s very eyes, leaves begin to sprout. And it grows and it grows and develops into a trunk, And with another branch gives birth to a bunch. The roots are spreading now, steady and strong, And even the birds moved back to sing their song. My family tree was cut down just like that, And I was left alone there as a lonely branch. But with the support of my children by my side, Against all odds my family tree continues to thrive …
-Sophie Miklos
Image327.PNGPROLOGUE
I often wonder why our painful memories stay with us much longer than our happy ones and affect our lives forever. They seem to come to my mind more readily than the wonderfully childish, innocent, happy, carefree times.
I hope that I don’t have a pessimistic streak in me that likes to dwell only on the negatives. Or could it be that the good times are taken for granted? But how are we supposed to know we are happy if we don’t have contrasting feelings of unhappiness?
I’ll try to recall some of my most joyful memories: like my first playmate, my first pet, my first interest in the opposite sex, the first time a boy asked me to dance. I remember my favorite black velvet dress with a white lace collar, my first high-heeled shoes and silk stockings, and I still see my image in the mirror as I glanced approvingly at myself and how important and confident it made me feel. I certainly could never forget my birthdays. My mother made cookies and served them with Floating Island. We all looked forward with such anticipation to savoring the vanilla-flavored concoction. It made me feel very special and loved. I still can see the beautiful resort town where our family spent many pleasant summer vacations. My first love is forever embedded in my memory. He was dark, tall, handsome, and very bright. He perished in the concentration camp at the age of 19 and left me with a broken heart. I recall with pride my dancing and athletic achievements, the arguments with my sister, Agnes, and her grief when her fiancé didn’t return from the labor camp. I still can visualize my mother’s watchful eyes as she stayed with my sister for weeks afterward to
prevent her from committing suicide.
All these experiences, good and bad, made me the person I am today. Because all those negative and positive influences shaped my personality, for better or worse.
Now that I am approaching the last phase of my life, I have worked out most of my problems, and I accept life and myself as well as a human being can. At the same time, I am in complete acceptance of others, too, and view them as I view myself.
We are only temporary visitors on this planet and, as such, we have to be gracious to our host, which is the Universe, with all the splendors and perils it encompasses.
Today, if I look back on my life, it seems like a replay of an old movie. It doesn’t strike me as quite so interesting any more. It doesn’t bring out the same emotions-pain or joy-as before.
Whoever coined the phrase, Life is not a dress rehearsal,
knew exactly what he or she was talking about, as life is a one-time-only production played by a privileged few.
The words we write today will be here when we are long gone, and they represent our efforts towards achieving immortality. It seems insignificant now, but I hope whoever reads my scribbles in the future will be influenced, hopefully, for the better. If that happens, my efforts here will not be in vain.
Image334.PNGImage343.PNGRecollections of Anti-Semitism
MY EARLIEST RECOLLECTION
OF ANTI-SEMITISM
It was a beautiful spring day. The flowers had just started opening. The tulips were getting too heavy for the stems to hold them upright, so they just flopped all over the ground. It gave the impression of a painter going crazy with his paint brushes. The myriad of colors from the neighboring plants accentuated the effect and gave a nice finish to the whole picture. The falling petals from the flowering trees carpeted the ground and the rays of the sun made it look like a kaleidoscope. Even at a young age, I appreciated the beauty of nature more than my peers. There was not one cloud in the sky as I eagerly looked forward to an outing planned by our school teacher for the day.
About ten excited, rosy-cheeked children were waiting for their designated seats. One by one we climbed into the carriage, which was to be pulled by two well-fed horses. We had a male teacher who was so strict that, even if you looked in the wrong direction, he could be aroused sufficiently to inflict various pre-designed punishments.
Everything went right this time and it seemed that even HE was in a good mood. Everyone was accounted for and the order was given to the driver to proceed.
We were singing all the way and enjoying the beautiful weather. After the long winter months, it was a real treat to shed the heavy sweaters and hats and enjoy the gentle breezes caressing our young bodies. Even the horses were pulling briskly and thumping evenly on the uneven pavement. Half of the road was covered with mud, but that, too, was permeated by the warmth and smell of spring, and the horses seemed to know that the fresh taste
of hay was just a few weeks away.
Our laughter and singing could be heard for miles as we serenaded the arrival of spring. We felt carefree, happy to be young and alive and witness such a perfect day. This was the mood for all the participants, except for me. It suddenly came to a halt.
We had barely arrived at our destination when one of the children started to dirty Jew
me. Slowly all the others joined in, and the joyful sounds were transformed at once to songs of hate which echoed all across the bordering towns. Suddenly,