Born in Germany

Inge Bernhard lives with her husband Carlos in a beautiful apartment in Jerusalem. Sadly, Carlos now suffers from severe Parkinson's disease and I was not able to interview him. Even so, the stories my mother told me about Carlitos were some of the funniest of all.

Carlitos has quite a sense of humor and used to write letters to my mother when she was away at boarding school in the US. They would pretend they were society ladies, addressing each other as Senorita "Carlotta" and Senorita "Rutilinia." Apparently, the letters themselves would border on the ridiculous. :)

Inge welcomed us into her home and I instantly smelled something familiar. On the table was my Oma's famous plum tart, a dessert I had not eaten in years since Oma stopped baking five years before she passed away. When I saw the food, my eyes started to tear....it was such a loving gesture yet it made my Oma's absence feel even more real.

Inge is very loved by many people and all were asking about her upon my return to the US. I instantly felt close to Inge and her story is completely captivating. Born in Braunschweig, Germany to a Jewish mother and a Gentile father, Inge stayed in Germany throughout the war. A physicist who worked for Siemens, he somehow (with an enormous amount of courage) persuaded the local Gestapo to grant protection to his family while he was completing a defense project for the German army. There were quite a few close calls and relatives were not included in the deal. Watching people disappear and always worried about "being next" plagued Inge for years. Her testimony about the war is truly one of a kind and I hope to have the transcript prepared soon for posting.

Carlos is Inge's cousin (by marriage and not by blood) and she knew him for years. After she moved to the States to study at the University of Arkansas, she ended up in New York for some time. Carlos would call her to bail him out of terrible dates, etc. He would introduce her as his cousin and his date would usually give up pretty quickly once the romantic potential of a twosome quickly transformed into the more friend-oriented dynamic of a threesome.

Carlos decided to revisit his aunt in Germany some time afterwards and asked Inge to accompany him on his first trip "home" since the war. When waiting for Carlos, Inge did not expect anything to happen but this time she saw Carlos with new eyes. It was love at first sight and it was mutual. Even their aunt suspected something.

Inge arrived in El Salvador as Carlos's wife and remembers life early on as idyllic and care free. When the Civil War arrived, Inge feared for the family's safety, especially that of Carlos's as an employee of the well-known firm Goldtree Liebes. The kidnapping of Ernesto Liebes hit the community hard. As Carlos Bernhard always rode with Ernesto Liebes to and from work, he would have been a victim as well had it not been for a doctor's appointment that took place at exactly that time. Inge wanted to move to Israel for quite some time but Carlos insisted on staying by Ernesto Liebes's side. Now they had no choice.

Inge has lived in Israel for over twenty years yet interestingly, she tried to settle there two times before. While the third time was a charm, it has not been completely easy since her two children (David and Ariela) live in the US.

It is impressive how Inge indentifies herself as a full citizen of the State of Israel considering her very frightening and tenuous early relationship with anti-semitism, Jews and Judaism.

Katrina's Survivors

I want to take the time to let you all know about the remarkable "Diaspora Project" taking place around the country. Immediately after Katrina, the Oral History Listserve to which I subscribe was flooded with questions about colleagues in New Orleans. A few days later, people began asking when we (as oral historians) should get involved. Some said it was too early and would be disrespectful to evacuees while others said this was the best and most therapeutic time for people to talk about their experiences.

Due to my current commitments, I cannot get involved in this massive effort but luckily many qualified colleagues have taken on the project in their respective communities. The following website discusses these efforts and will give you a better idea of how the oral history world hopes to document survivor testimonies.

http://archives.tamuk.edu/katrina_links.htm

Recording Rehavia

After my interview with Ronit, we jumped into the car and got a ride to Noemi Guttfreund Segev's home in Rehavia (a centrally located neighborhood in Jerusalem). Noemi agreed to meet us in between appointments; she is a psychotherapist in private practice. Despite having just arrived from her office, Noemi maintained her classic presence. Tall and slender with bright expressive eyes and auburn hair, she radiates a deep sense of calm.

My first glimpse of Noemi was in my own home in Houston. The family hallway (my favorite part of the house) is filled with pictures of our entire family with everyone from great-great grandparents in Germany to my Opa's bachelor days in Salvador to weddings and graduations to the newest Alpert/Reich addition: the first grandchild. In my mother's bridal portrait, she is surrounded by a group of lovely young women. I was bewildered on a daily basis by one bridesmaid whose long red hair and soft, light-skinned face I had never yet met in person.

"She doesn't look like she is from Salvador." I would say outloud.

"Well, she is." my mother would reply.

This exchange entered my mind when I was setting up the interview. I was finally going to meet the face that I knew so well from the picture.

Noemi is the daughter of Heinz (Quique) and Gerda (Gush) Guttfreund. The Guttfreunds have five children: Andre, Noemi, Miriam (Mia), Ruth (Cuchi) and Daniel (Dani). It is my hope to interview all of them by the end of this year so keep your fingers crossed. Noemi and Gush live in Jerusalem (Quique, a very distinguished member of the Salvadoran community and former Ambassador to Israel from El Salvador passed away some years ago), Miriam and Andre in Los Angeles, Cuchi and Dani in San Salvador. They are pretty evenly spread across the globe.....

Noemi remembers Salvador fondly. She smiled as she told me about some of her favorite memories...

Noemi, while still in elementary school, began teaching some younger, indigent children how to read and slowly word got around that "la Senorita Noemi" was providing this valuable service at no cost. Eventually she had quite a group of students and arriving home from work one day, her father saw it for himself. Quite impressed by her dedication he said that if she was truly serious he would get her books and desks for the next day. In less than a few days, she had a classroom full of kids, books, and teaching assistants (friends from around the neighborhood). Slowly, this classroom developed into a true organizational effort and Noemi was busy beyond words.

"I always knew I was different," she says. "I think this teaching experience is how I resolved some of the difficulties of living with more than enough in a place where most people had so little."

Her very first memories are of the ocean, playing in the waves and imagining herself as a fairytale-like character. Later on she remembers interesting artists, travelers, wanderers invited over for dinner....her parents maintained a sort of "salon" atmosphere in their home. Noemi also mentions her two younger siblings. "When my parents had Cuchi and Dani it felt like a gift for the rest of us. We used to run home to try to hold each of them first."

Skipping forward I ask about her adolescence. "I believe that my high school experience in the States changed my life." Noemi explains how her creativity was encouraged with discussion and dissent becoming an integral part of the classroom. "The American School did not have the same sort of educational mentality at that time."

"College was the most difficult transition ever." Ending up in the midwest at a small liberal arts college would probably shock any foreigner....but for Noemi it was more than a shock.....it made her think about finding a more permanent place in which to develop and perhaps one day call home.

What I find most compelling about Noemi is the incredible insight with which she remembers the most important and the most difficult periods of her life.

"I never felt like I had a language. Yes I spoke Spanish but I heard German at home. I learned English at school and now I also have Hebrew. I never made an effort to develop an Israeli accent. I am from Latin America and I have a Latin American accent. I wanted people to know that I was not born in Israel. There are more layers to me even if they are not immediately visible."

Again, the language theme appears. I asked her how she communicates with her children? In which language?

"Hebrew. Always Hebrew."

Never Spanish? English? (both daughter Natalie and son Itamar speak an excellent English).

"This is it," she says almost with an audible air of new understanding. "I wanted my children to have a language, their own language, a definitive homebase. I never felt that way and I truly wanted my children to have what I could not."

"So it is OK that they are Israeli through and through...no collage, no mixtures of identity?" I ask, obviously thinking outloud.

"Oh yes." Noemi smiles...finally leaning back on the sofa. "Oh yes."

Shabbat Part II

The neighborhood reminded me of some of the sadder parts of Flatbush in Brooklyn, the fifth ward in Houston, Northeast DC, depressed Oakland, South Austin, Little Haiti in Miami… shall I continue? The houses were box-like, without draperies or big windows, few lights and scarily solid concrete walls. Children played in the streets and aimlessly darted in front of cars. The minute we passed this area, the grasses were green again. It felt like the America the media is finally exposing…...the real America behind the picket fences.

We thanked Ronen for the dose of reality and then climbed the steps to his home. The table was set and we met his younger brothers Jonathan and Gabi (for Gabriel). Papa Dani Assif is a solid man with a strong handshake. I liked him from the start. You can tell when someone has stories to tell….and Dani Assif probably has quite a few even though I did not have the chance to ask about them. Judith came in a bit later (MUCH more on Judith in my next posting) and we eventually came to the table for Hamotzi and Kiddush and lighting of the candles. I couldn’t believe I was finally having a Shabbat dinner in Israel.

We sat down and of course I wanted to know about the boys….what they were doing, what they liked, what they didn’t like. Each was unique and poised, unlike many young men I’ve met. The two older boys (both in the army) possessed a strong sense of self. Jonathan is in an elite commando unit where he is currently in training. Honestly, it sounded horrific. I would last a total of three minutes (if that). When he speaks about his past week you know he would be a hard guy to crack. Not that he is hard…..not at all.

Gabi is the youngest, very sweet and talkative. He told us about his upcoming trip to the States with his parents…..I am interested to hear his thoughts after he returns home. I wonder what these guys really think of the States…..I mean, really.

Inge Bernhard, a woman whose story I will write about later this week was the fourth invited guest. The boys treat her with such tenderness….they call her their third grandmother. Maybe someday they’ll ask Inge to tell them her story….which is incredible.

Shabbat was fantastic, with Ben sharing with us his somewhat waivering plans to return to the States. I remembered my first experience with a weapon (two FBI agent colleagues convinced me to hit the shooting range while on official travel in Panama) and all enjoyed my story about falling backward from the strength of the gun’s kickback. We talked about my brother who climbed Mount Everest, my sister who is a psychotherapist, my brother Daniel, intermarriage, THE project, Ethiopian/Russian immigrants, you name it.

It’s amazing to think about that meal and the connection we all felt. I had not met these people before….ever. That may be one thing about the community that will be difficult to completely express and/or explain verbally.

Hopefully you have something like this in your life but if not, I’ll invite you to observe one of our reunions.

You’ll be amazed.

Shabbat stories three days late

These thoughts are not in sequential order but i'm doing my best to keep this thing semi up-to-date. it ain't easy. Friday night was Shabbat and I was pretty surprised to see things shutting down around 2pm. The whole Jewish State concept is still mystifying. We had a coffee with my favorite Ben, Ben Lehrer (I really do know quite few Bens…) and he took us around his neighborhood (Bakah), exhibited his very hip apartment + patio, and updated mami and I on the latest and greatest. Quite a bit going on for Ben these days. He took us to the local florist in order to buy our Shabbat hosts (the Assifs) a plant. Another time when I wish I knew Hebrew (this feeling happened just about every ten minutes during the trip).

As Ben walked to his car to take us back to the hotel, he explained the ribbon tied around his antenna. One color symbolized support for the Gaza pullout while the other color opposed it. From this moment on, my eyes would immediately check out antennas and then quickly flash to examine the corresponding driver.

A few hours later we are picked up by Ben and Ronen Assif (Judith Meissner Assif’s son, Ronit Meissner Naor’s nephew). Ronen has this very calm air about him. Everyone seems to feel it but I cannot begin to explain it. He is involved in some serious army intelligence operations and sadly we will never know exactly what he does. His interest in my work was a surprise as I never thought that young people associated with the community would take any interest. I stammered when telling him what I was up to...surprise got my tongue.

My project likes/dislikes even surprise my closest friends. "Don't you get tired of listening all the time?" Unlike most young people, I absolutely love old people. I spent hours with my Oma, listening to her stories.... One of my favorite things to do in NYC is visit my cousins in Rockville Centre, Long Island. My roomates in college knew about this ritual and thought it was weird that my cousins lived out on the island.

"Do they work out there or something?"

Little did they know....Anna and Harry Milner are in their seventies.

After graduation, some of them visited the Milners for the very first time. Their mouths must of dropped when they saw the Milners and one of my girlfriends even says she'll never forget that moment....learning that I had spent most of my Sundays in college with two senior citizens. ;)

Anyway, about Ronen. He picked us up and drove straight to his parent’s home in Mevasseret, a nice suburb right outside Jerusalem. On the way we started talking about Ethiopian Jews and he told us that quite a few families lived in his neighborhood.

“You want to see where they live?” he asked.

How could we say no?

Ronit's Interview

Ronit was my classic interview mystery candidate. A young woman with teenage children, born and raised in El Salvador, made aliyah at eighteen, married an Uruguayan, and speaks mainly Hebrew at home. What would she have to say about identity? Complex, no? I'm not sure what I would say if I had walked in those shoes....

Surprising to me, Ronit felt very clearly about her feelings toward Salvador. She was honestly grateful for the idyllic setting and easy childhood but equally candid about never feeling quite at home. "The Salvadorans never really let us feel like we belong." Ronit remembers one day in the market when she was young;

"The children swarmed around me and started touching my hair. They had never seen a redhead and followed my mother and I as we bought what we needed. I was a bit shaken up by the crowds pushing each other to touch my hair and face. I did not go back to the market very often after that incident."

Ronit distinctly remembers her mother showing her and her older sister Judith a picture of Hebrew University in Jerusalem; "This is your University and you will be there soon." There was no question in Ronit's mind that Israel was her real home where she would live out the rest of her days.

Unlike other Salvadoran community members who made aliyah, Ronit remembers Salvador as a lovely country, one she would like to see again. Her Spanish is perfect and she gravitated toward a mate who could share this part of her. Her fluent Hebrew makes it hard to believe that she could not speak a word when she landed in Eretz Israel years ago..... "Even so," she says. "my closest friends are from Latin America....Argentinean, Brazilian, Uruguayan. I cannot deny that speaking Spanish makes me feel happy....and someplace familiar."

This interview forces us to consider the power of language. While it did not marry Ronit to a certain country, it does remind her of a time and place. She did not forcibly speak Spanish with her children which makes me think that her connection to Spanish is one that is subconcious rather than calculated and/or forced. I do not know if Ronit would agree with my assessment, but I think she cannot deny that her oral history is a fascinating study of the evolution of language through memory and identity.

This brings me to another point (!!). Language for interviews. Sadly, my German is nonexistent (much to my late Oma's dismay) and my Hebrew hasn't even begun to blossom (yet I can read street signs!!). Despite these idiomatic limitations, I can indeed interview in Spanish and English and all interviewees are encouraged to speak in their native tongue. No one has spoken Spanish as of yet but then again, I have not done any interviews on Salvadoran soil. I am prepared for this to change drastically and am interested in the results. I believe my questions will be more contained and reserved as that becomes my personality in this second tongue. The beauty of the Spanish language will probably lend a more descriptive tone to interviews although one can never be sure.

I'll keep you posted.

Dinner downtown

Ronit Meissner Naor. We had never met but my mother told me that she was the youngest daughter of Perla and Werner Meissner, the sister of Judith.

"She looks exactly like her mother," was the common response to the mention of Ronit's name.

I learned so much more.

Ronit and sister Judith called us a few hours after we arrived in Jerusalem. Ronit asked if we would be up for dinner, inviting us to her home. My clock was already so wacked out that dinner at 10am our time sounded pretty good.

Waiting in the lobby, Ronit immediately recognized us as we walked toward her. She is petite with reddish-blonde hair. Even though we had never met, she greeted me with the warmth of an older sister.

Ronit drove us through Jerusalem, past downtown and into her neighborhood of Talpiyot. First, we checked out the gorgeous view of the city from an overlook near her apartment. The sunset was breathtaking yet Jerusalem seemed so small. The Old City filled a neat circle of space and the Palestinian territory city of Ramallah was easily seen. As we walked around this overlook a group of young Arab boys walked towards us. I didn't think anything of it until one of them gave me a little jab as he brushed by. Nothing serious....nothing I thought about until later.

Ronit introduced us to her husband Aaron (formerly of Uruguay) and son Ilan. Daughter Liat works nights at a hotel until she begins her army service. Ilan was a sweet young man who understood Spanish and English and could respond in both. I found this language mosaic interesting......Ronit spoke Spanish frequently with her husband...interspersed with Hebrew. She spoke Hebrew with her children and English/Spanish with us.

That evening, Aaron and Ronit took us to a great cafe near downtown. Security guards checked our bags and guarded the entrance. (this ritual would soon become invisible to me as the days went on) We spoke Spanish at the table but Ronit helped us to order in Hebrew. The young waitress looked at us and said something in Spanish....nothing too memorable....but I smiled, never thinking that the Israelis would be interested in learning Spanish.

"Hablas espanol?" I asked.

"Lo. Lo. telenovelas....."

We finished dinner and then arranged Ronit's interview for the following day.

10am. Sharp.

Jerusalem

After an uneventful trip (I say this happily), my mother and I arrived in Tel Aviv at 9:00am today. We claimed our luggage and found a sherut (collective taxi) on its way to Jerusalem. The first two passengers, we didn’t know how long we’d have to wait until all ten seats were filled. In the meantime, five additional passengers boarded and we got to chatting. Again.

Three women were on a peace delegation representing the St. Ignatius Parish on 84th and Park Avenue in NY. They were met at the airport by an older English gentleman who was living in Hebron and also a part of this peacemaking organization. The crew was finished out by an orthodox Jew who finally told the group where he was from in Brooklyn.

“Trust me,” he said, “You’ve never been there.”

We guessed on our second try.

After haggling with our driver and agreeing to pay five more shekels each, we were able to hit the road. I struggled to keep my mouth closed throughout the 45 minute trip from the outskirts of Tel Aviv to the capital of Jerusalem. The roads were spotless and bordered by shades of green and brown. Small armored vehicles on the side of the road caused a rustle amongst the passengers; “reminders of the Six Day War,” explained the former Brooklynite.

After miles of rock and continuous construction, our driver dropped off our first passenger.

“Enjoy the Holy Land!” he waved before disappearing inside one of the many yeshivot (schools of learning) in his neighborhood.

I tried reading the signs in Hebrew and was mildly successful (go Hebrew School!). Even so, I could not translate but a few words so ultimately, I was no great help. The three Catholics and their guide prepared to get off at the Damascus Gate of the Old City. The City was nothing like my eight year-old mind remembered.

The driver dropped us off last and we struggled to drag my heavy recording equipment up to the reception desk. Suddenly the fatigue hit. We nodded as the lady told us about the hotel and minutes later we were in our room.

I opened the shades immediately and we sat on our twin beds to admire the view...

Seat 23A

“Where y’all going to?”

The man sitting next to us on our flight from Houston to Newark had a syrupy smile covering the majority of his face.

“Israel,” my equally friendly mother replied.

I kept on reading my book, intent on finishing another chapter.

“Nawww way. So are we.” he said.

I put my book down.

After a five minute exchange, my mother and I learned that our neighbor in 23A was a former Oklahoma City meteorologist who did not believe in global warming, a practicing Christian who attended a non-denominational congregation, and on his third trip to the land of plenty.

“What’s taking you back?” I asked.

He explained that a group of twelve Oklahoma City pastors including Baptists, Presbyterians, Non-denominational, Pentecostal, and more were being hosted by the Israeli Ministry of Tourism in an effort to encourage the development of church-organized trips to visit Holy Land sites.

The three of us (including the delegation) were even on the same flight to Tel Aviv.

After establishing the basics, my mother went back to simple conversation and things grew more personal. Mom explained that she had been to Israel about five-six times and this was already her second trip in 2005. She normally did not travel so often to Israel, but things were different this year. She also explained her accent and told Mr. 23A about her former life in El Salvador.

“So do you ever think of moving back to your homeland?” he asked.

I paid attention since even I did not know what her answer would be.

She took a few minutes to consider her response.

“Oh, I am not sure. I love El Salvador but my children and husband are decidedly American. I don’t think it would be possible.”

(I smiled knowing that El Salvador was not the homeland he was referring to).

He clarified, “Oh no, I mean Israel. Do you ever think of returning to your homeland of Israel?”

Laughing, she said "I love Israel but don’t think I could move there permanently. My children would be so far away, not to mention the rest of my family. And thankfully, I have many homelands.”

He seemed confused.

“You see, I love El Salvador, the United States, and Israel equally. El Salvador will always be my home but I truly feel like a citizen of the United States. Israel will always be a place I like to visit.”

This conversation was getting better and better. I started thinking about my mother’s answer. I mean, what makes a homeland your homeland? As an American Jew, I have been told my whole life that making aliyah (moving back to Israel) is one of the best things you can do for your future and the future of the Jewish people. As a young girl, I used to always think; “But I don’t know the language and have so few contacts there. What if I just moved to New York or Boston and lived near my cousins? Wouldn’t that be a better mitzvah?”

The Jewish people are inextricably linked to Israel and I was excited to finally speak with some Jews who formally lived in El Salvador and made aliyah for one reason or another whether it was the Civil War, a university education, curiosity, family ties, even a sense of homeland?

Naively, I used to always assume that one’s homeland was literally where one had his/her home? The United State’s fresh New Orleans refugees would definitely have an opinion on the latter. I’ve lived in NYC and Washington, DC but never had a permanent home in either city. Returning this summer to Houston, to the physical home in which I was raised felt very good, almost grounding. Even so, it was my family and friends who made me feel like I was home. When I was younger, I don’t think I would have felt this way. The scents and sounds of my bedroom, my place at the kitchen table, my favorite desk where I finished my homework each night….these things were the things that helped me lay claim to what I defined as “home.” But life certainly changes and this project has opened up some large ideas about home and homeland.

Mr. 23A unknowingly provided the impetus for an interesting and complex conversation.

Some of the Floridians I spoke with explained that Salvador would always be their home even if she could not provide the security necessary for them to move back permanently. My mother laid claim to three homelands: El Salvador, the homeland of memories and comfort, The U.S., a homeland of family, security, and all things contemporary and Israel: a place where she was no longer “the token Jew,” a country which she loved even before visiting for the first time.

My sweet Oma, a woman who was exiled three times during her 91 years used to tell me;

“I guess I am a citizen of the world. It is not something that I carry on my back or that defines me. Even so, I cannot deny it created who I am.
.... It’s not a bad thing, you know.”

Fellow Fulbrights

Faithful readers-

I am running around like a crazy person trying to tie up loose ends for our trip to Israel so I regret to inform you that a planned post just wasn't in the cards for today.

Even so, I didn't want to leave you high and dry and send you some information on a fellow Fulbrighter. Amy Denney Zuniga is a recently ordained deacon in the Episcopal/Anglican church and will be ordained by Bishop Barahona of San Salvador on 12/27/05. Very exciting. She plans to do research on religion and social justice as it pertains to this particular denomination.

Her husband Vince joined Amy on this journey and from a recent posting it seems that he will be teaching guitar/music to parishoners. Quite an understaking. Maybe I can get a lesson too?

It's always good to know what other people are up to research-wise and I trust this couple will be doing some good work both individually and together. Check out their blog at: www.updatesfromelsalvador.blogspot.com

Next posting from Jerusalem....

Hittin' the Holy Land

This weekend, I am gathering and organizing myself for a long-awaited trip to Israel. I was a wee-little thing the last time I visited and to give you an idea of my sad recall of the experience.....all I can recite are the ice cream flavors I tasted.

My mother has volunteered to be my video assistant (without even having to be asked!) and I am so happy to have her support as I attempt to interview around 17 former members of the Jewish community now living in Haifa, Tel Aviv, Ashdod, and Jerusalem (amongst other places). To balance out my bad Hurricane-Katrina-when-I-was-trying-to-run-around-Miami luck, I was fortunate to find out that the Salvadoran Embassy in Jerusalem is hosting a reception to celebrate Salvadoran Independence Day the Friday after we arrive. The Ambassador was also gracious enough to provide me with a complete list of people associated with Salvador. About twenty souls in all of Israel.

My ultimate goal is to record as many life histories as possible but I realize time constraints/scheduling/geography will make this an even greater challenge then it already is. Even so, my academic priority is to record/understand the various reasons why these individuals left Salvador. Civil unrest of the 1980s, marriage, educational/professional opportunities, the dream of living in a Jewish state? Why did they arrive in Salvador in the first place? To journey from one complex and unstable state to another? How did being a Jew in El Salvador contribute to their Israeli identity? Do they even feel Israeli?

I cannot say I know the stories of even half of those I hope to interview...which makes the process all that more interesting for both the interviewer and the interviewee. Even though I have been studying the topic for awhile, my identity as insider/outside will help me to convince interviewees to start their stories at the very beginning. The very, very beginning.

Some more time with Margot

In order not to take away from Margot's complete oral history, I will only reveal a few more select details from our interview session. Margot has many a story to tell.

After her return from San Francisco, Margot settled in Salvador and soon met Fritz "Lico" Rosenberg. Fritz, the son of a Jewish father and Catholic mother spent his childhood in the Dominican Republic. Arriving in Salvador for business purposes, Fritz was engaged to two women before meeting and marrying Margot. Fritz eventually worked for Casa Goldtree Liebes and together the couple had Yolanda, Frank, and Ricardo. Their three children would be like siblings to my own mother, an only child. Margot's sister, Chita Liebes would eventually marry the lawyer and future diplomat Federico "Chico" Lima. Chita and Chico later had Sylvia and Carlos Lima. The Rosenbergs and Limas raised their children in San Salvador.

Life seemed idyllic.

Ricardo remembers a story that has quickly become one of my favorites. Once a week, the cousins (Yolanda, Frank, Ricardo, and my own mother Ruth Reich) would gather together to have lunch at the home of Eugen and Irma Liebes. Eugen was always a very serious man awhile Irma was more lighthearded with a fantastic laugh. Meals tended to be on the more formal side but during dessert, my mother (Ruth) would put on one of her favorite Broadway records and convince her Aunt Irma to dance with her around the room. The cousins would laugh hysterically while Eugen would (gasp!) let a tiny smile enter through the corner of his mouth.....

Two hours with Margot Rosenberg

I was supposed to meet with Margot earlier in my week (when in Florida) but was unable to make it to Lauderhill until the Sunday before my departure. Margot was my main reason to hit Miami and I was determined to squeeze in what little time I could.

Luckily, she welcomed me with open arms despite the stress of the recent hurricane. We had a solid two hours to discuss her long history with El Salvador.

Margot was born to Eugen and Irma Liebes in San Salvador. Her older sister was Chita Liebes de Lima. Eugen was one of the founders of the Jewish community and came to Salvador from Breslau. He met Irma Reich de Liebes in Breslau and later brought her to Salvador to live. (note: Irma was my grandfather Ernest Reich's eldest sister.) Eugen was responsible for the emigration of many young German-Jewish men including but not limited to: Heinz "Quique" Guttfreund and Ernest Reich. Casa Goldtree-Liebes provided these young men with a job and Eugen would look after them. It is safe to say that Eugen Liebes is responsible for saving the lives of at least twenty individuals from Hitler's wrath. Sometimes alone and sometimes with the help of associates, Eugen Liebes paid for visas to send family and friends to El Salvador, Guatemala, the States, Ecuador, and more. SOME of those he helped during this difficult time were/are:

1. Kaete Reich (Breslau-El Salvador)
2. Rosa Reich (Breslau-El Salvador)
3. Tina Buttman and husband (Breslau-El Salvador)
4. Wilma Bloch de Reich (Amsterdam-El Salvador...and my dear grandmother)
5. Georg Milner (Breslau-New York City)
6. Herta Milner (Breslau-New York City)
7. Harry Milner (Breslau-New York City)
8. Heinz "Quique" Guttfreund (Germany-El Salvador)


The list goes on and on but I think you get the picture. This man was an incredible man and many are eternally indebted to him for his kindness and compassion. Margot explained that he had friends in high places and never ceased to nurture and keep those important relationships.

Despite his commitment to El Salvador, Margot remembers her father's deep fear for the future of his daughters. "You should marry a Jewish man," he would say. In order to make sure his daughters learned as much as possible about the world, the family moved constantly. Despite the confusing nature of this part of her life history, Margot has the dates and details down pat. Berlin-Hamburg-Paris--London-Vienna-San Francisco (not in that order). Unbelievable. In the end, both daughters married and raised their own families in El Salvador...with Eugen and Irma living only a few blocks away.

More tomorrow....

Back from a little sojourn

I've taken a week and a day off.....and I do have a good excuse. First, I was unlucky enough to coincide my Miami visit with Katrina and after returning home I repacked my bag to travel to San Francisco where I met my little niece for the first time. Maya Sierra Alpert, thank you very much. An absolutely delicious baby!

So that is my story. As you all know, Katrina has been a nightmare for the entire country. I don't want to go on and on about it but I do want to acknowledge the fact that the city of Houston has been hit pretty hard....taking in over 265,000 refugees. My family lives about one mile from the Astrodome and driving down Main Street has become its own reality show disaster. People begging on the streets....huge crowds gathering around fast food restaurants.....people just sitting on the sidewalks looking desperate. Call me a coward but I've been trying to find a new route to get around.

Everyone I know has been volunteering in whatever way they can. Despite the disorganized relief effort, we can say that volunteers are being utlized very efficiently here at the Dome and at the George R. Brown Convention Center. No joke. My mother reported that prospective volunteers were being turned away over this holiday weekend. The outpouring of assistance has been tremendous.

Even so, the possible long term ramifications of this tragedy haunt me daily. One news program reported that 16 states have agreed to accept refugees. One man found himself in Utah after taking his first plane ride from the New Orleans International Airport. Can you imagine? This poor man has never even left his city and is now supposed to find "home" on the other side of the country.

We read articles about Bosnia, Sudan, Kosovo. We learn about exile and study the effects of war and relocation. Post-traumatic stress disorder became a household condition after 9/11. No matter how much we read, how much we study, or how much we travel...there is NO way to imagine the sense of helplessness experienced by the people of the Gulf Coast. It is my hope to gather some stories from the refugees themselves and tell you about them on the blog later this week. Stay tuned....