What was I hoping to gain by interviewing a Holocaust survivor? I certainly find their courage admirable, their unwavering faith inspirational, and their grace and integrity, in spite of the horrors they experienced, miraculous. But was I hoping that by being next to one I would absorb some of these qualities myself? Did I think that by dredging up their painful memories of torture, humiliation and death, I would feel motivated to step out of my own misery and accomplish the life I envision for myself, yet am often too scared to go after? I would never want to exploit a people I have such an innate reverence for. And I am embarrassed to address my trivial hardships in the same sentence as theirs. Yet I draw inspiration from their determination to never give up, to SURVIVE. I think of them as superheroes, only these superheroes are mortal, and dying at a very rapid rate, which hastened my desire to meet and interview one.
I should point out that I have a bit of a personal connection to the Jewish survivors of the Holocaust because my grandfather was a Jew. I've always found the culture and religion fascinating, and studied both at a young age, though never formally. When I attended BYU I was quick to point out to others my Jewish heritage, and (pardon the term) religiously wore a star of David necklace. I've celebrated the Jewish Holidays since I was young, and when it came time to send my son to preschool, the Jewish Community Center preschool was a no brainer. However I am well aware that while a large percentage of those murdered in the Holocaust were Jewish, other "inferior" groups were targeted by the Nazi's as well, including: non-Jewish Poles, gypsies, Soviet POW's, the disabled, and homosexuals. Perhaps one day I will have the opportunity to interview one of these survivors as well.
I received Eugene Schlesinger's phone number from a mutual friend and Rabbi. Even though the Rabbi labeled Eugene as the most wonderful and kind person he knew, I hesitated calling him out of fear. I was afraid he would find me a nuisance, a waste of time. After all, what was the purpose of this interview? Morbid curiosity? An interesting blog post? It took a month to finally muster up the courage to call, and beg for just a few minutes of his time. When I did, I found the Rabbi's label of Eugene to be a gross understatement, if that's possible. Mr. Schlesinger, a 90 year old Czechoslovakian Jew and Holocaust survivor was more than just kind and wonderful. He was reassuring, generous and humble. I could feel his goodness through the phone. He put me at ease at once. He referred to me as "ma'am," and, "my dear lady." And he actually said it would be an honor to have me in his home. Wait a minute, did I hear him right? His accent was think, but I'm pretty sure he said that HE would be honored. The smile stayed on my face for days. It left only after I struggled for several hours, the night before the interview, to find the perfect questions to ask him. What could I possibly ask a Holocaust survivor that he hasn't already been asked a million times? He himself pointed out that he has been sharing his story for 65 years. The last thing I wanted to do was waste his time with redundant questions he's had to answer over and over. I jotted down 32 very generic questions, ranging from "Where were you born?" to "What did you eat in the camps?" to "What would you have done if you were a non-Jew in Germany during the war?" I was excited to hear the answers to my questions. Unfortunately, I asked none of them. Rather, Eugene (he insisted I call him this) began HIS interview by asking me a question.
"Are you religious?" A simple, "no" would have been accurate, even respectful. Instead I spun into a stuttering two minute explanation of my religious genealogy which sounded more like an apology with seven very detailed reasons why even though I don't attend church, I'm still a good person..........right? Something about exposing my son to every religion and a spiritual journey, bla bla bla. I was dizzy. Finally I caught myself, thank god(or whoever) and managed to articulate a fairly coherent statement. "I have been wondering about God, and who he/she is, and what he/she is or even IF he/she exists. That is part of the reason I want to interview you." Phew, that sounded reasonable, right? Eugene bowed his head and literally cried for about a minute. Crap! What did I say to offend this beautiful man? I considered slipping out the window unnoticed. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have remembered my name. Just when the silence seemed like it would go on forever, he began speaking again. "You must teach your son about faith."
He transitioned seamlessly into the story of the night the Nazi's took him away. He was 23 years old, a student of the law, and a loving son. It was beautiful how he spoke of his mother, and would often cry throughout the interview when he did. Before he was taken, she told him to wear his tallit-Jewish prayer shawl- and wrap his tefillin-small leather boxes painted black, containing verses from the Torah wrapped around the arm with leather straps- every morning to stay alive. For four years and through many camps, he obeyed his mother, and prayed every morning. He prayed that he would see his mother again, and it was the hope of seeing her that got him through the darkest periods of the war. He watched friends commit suicide, get beaten to death by the Nazis, gassed and starved, yet he never lost his faith. He himself was tortured and starved, but his spirit remained strong. He credits his mother and his love for her with this. Toward the end of the war, Eugene decided that the best chance he had at survival was to escape. As he did he came upon several dead German soldiers. He took a uniform from one of the soldiers and dressed himself in it, thinking that if he disguised himself as a Nazi, he could escape undetected. Shortly after this, he saw a line of German soldiers with their hands in the air, guns pointed at their heads. They were taken prisoner by Russian soldiers, who unbeknown to Eugene had began liberating concentration camps. One of these Russian soldiers noticed Eugene dressed as a Nazi, and while holding a gun to his head, began searching him for a weapon. He found instead Eugene's tallit and tefillin and realized at once what Eugene was. The Russian soldier asked if he was a Jew, to which Eugene replied,"yes." The Russian soldier pointed to the forest and said, "run." It was just a few seconds later, as Eugene was running that he heard gunfire. He instinctively fell to the ground. When he turned around, he found all the German prisoners had been gunned down by the Russians. He immediately pulled out his tallit and tefillin and said a prayer. These sacred items, no doubt given to him by his mother and father when he became a Bar Mitzvah, and kept by Eugene through four years of unspeakable horror per his mother's instruction, saved his life. Not just from the Russian soldier who used them to identify Eugene as a Jew, and therefore a victim of the Nazis, but from the darkness that could have easily swallowed Eugene as it did many of his friends. They were symbols of hope and faith and God. They were symbols of love.
Eugene's journey was far from over. He had survived the worst of the Holocaust, but he was alone, wandering in a forest somewhere in Eastern Europe hundreds of miles from home. He was weak, starving, and unsure who to trust. For seven months he walked east- he said he knew his home was east - the whole time holding on to hope that he would find his family there with arms outstretched to welcome him back. He was beyond joyous when he finally arrived back to his hometown. He had held his mother's face in his mind the entire 4 years he was gone. He was now eager to hold her in his arms, to thank her for getting him through one of the most horrendous acts of genocide in history. No one was home. No one had come home. Every member of Eugene's family had been murdered. Eugene was again and for the first time alone. It was Friday night, Sabbath. He lit a single candle. It was then that he said he lost his faith.
After the war, Eugene turned his back on Judaism and God. Instead of praying, he concentrated on his career. He played professional soccer for the European All Star team. For two years he lived what would be most people's dream life. He was successful, famous and respected. Fans cheered his name, teammates lifted him up on their shoulders. He said, "I had it all, but I couldn't find myself. I would look for my relatives, my mom, my cousins in every corner. They weren't there." Eugene moved to America in 1948. He started Center Meat Company in 1952, which he built into the largest independently owned retail meat company in the LA/OC area. He married another Holocaust survivor, and had two daughters. It was after the birth of his first daughter that he said he found his faith again.
"You must teach your son about faith." These seven words have had me researching Faith for over two years. What seems to be such a simple concept is deceivingly complex. I've started to question whether I have faith in any part of my life at all. I've had many discussions with people of varying backgrounds and religions on the subject, and I've read briefly about the role faith plays in various religions including Judaism, Buddhism, Mormonism, and Hinduism. But what does having faith mean to me? And how can I impart this wisdom to my son without forcing a belief system on him that is inauthentic? Can faith exist outside of religion? Are there different kinds of faith? Do we require different kinds of faith at different times in our life?
Let's assume that I cannot wrap my mind around a God in the Judeo/Christian sense, an omniscient higher power, or any sort of "all knowing" energy or entity. What use do I have for faith if my "faith" seems to rest in nothing more real than leprechauns and unicorns? Perhaps having faith in faith itself is all that is needed. If I'm unable to believe in a supreme being of the Christian sense, I can at least recognize that there is something out there in the universe greater than myself. So if, for whatever reason, I'm struggling to comprehend and embrace a traditional, spiritual higher power, I can, at the very least, have faith that I'm not entirely in control of the path I'm following, but that path still has purpose, and for the time being that has to be good enough. I can have faith that at some point down the road, my spirituality may take deeper root, and I'll find myself opening up to an omniscient entity of some sort. If the purpose of faith is to provide an emotional and spiritual tether --- a shall of security in which to wrap myself during times of despair -- then maybe I can manage just fine knowing that the "object" to which I'm tethered may change over time, from one day to the next, and that's okay, so long as I have faith in the tether, and relinquish my will to that faith.
When Eugene said he lost his faith that Sabbath night after the war, I wonder if he didn't recognize that while perhaps his fidelity to his religious obligations may have faltered for a time, his faith was not entirely "lost." Perhaps faith in a better life for himself took its place. While the belief of seeing his mother again got him through the darkness of the camps, his hope of creating a family of his own got him through the darkness after the war. His trust in a better, happier life became the motor that propelled him to his goal of peace and happiness. It is what gave him the courage to reinvent his life, and ultimately led him to "find his faith" in Judaism once more. During the war his tallit and tefillin tethered him to his past, and what he hoped would be his future, a happy life back in Czechoslovakia with his mother and family. They pulled him through the despair that should have killed him. When his hope was unrealized after returning home, and he "turned his back on religion," faith transformed into a hope for something better after the devastation of losing everything. And this is what guided him to the successful and happy life he has today. Faith is so much more than the hardened dogmatic term that often reigns down on us from the pulpits of well meaning churches. Faith is fluid, it goes with the flow of life. It can be strong at times. It can seem to completely evade us at others. But faith is never "lost".
