aware took on the force of a tidal
wave, transforming her all at once
from objective historian to a child
of the Holocaust.
Mr. Godek told her that David
Findling, in May or June of 1941,
was rounded up with other Jews
of the village and marched to a
place called Warzyce, 10 kilome-
ters away. There they were shot
and dumped into the shallow
graves they had been forced to dig.
"He took me to this site about 2
miles away in the woods. It was
now the site of a Catholic ceme-
tery and was immaculate -- beau-
tiful iron gates — he said there
was a pit near the cemetery or on
the grounds into which Jews were
shot. We looked all over, and in the
corner found this disheveled,
weeded area. There were layers
of leaves and dirt, and Roman re-
membered there was a plaque
somewhere. We uncovered a cement
flat plaque that said in Hebrew,
`This is in memory of the Jews of
Frysztak who were murdered by
the Nazis.' I placed the yahrtzeit
candle down and said Kaddish for
my grandfather."
Mr. Godek reluctantly invited the
strangers back to his home. On the
way, he mentioned that he was liv-
ing in the Findling family home. He
asked Deruich if Ms. Findling had
really come back to reclaim her
grandfather's property.
Over coffee that afternoon, they
talked of her grandfather. Mr.
Godek, whose earlier distrust had
melted into an almost gushing af-
fection, remembered that most of
Frysztak was Jewish and that the
Findlings earned their living as tai-
lors, shoemakers and buggy drivers.
He also slyly observed that Ms. Fin-
dling's auburn hair, always a source
of good-natured needling by her
brothers, was the exact shade of her
grandfather's. All the Findlings of
Frysztak, Mr. Godek said, were
topped with a pale flame.
As soon as she could, Ms. Find-
ling called home. Her brother David
answered the phone.
Debbie forced out the few words
she could: "I know what happened
to our grandfather." David found his
father at his tennis club and
patched through the call.
"He just cried. It was the first
time I heard my dad cry" Ms. Fin-
dling said.
Fred Findling, 65, was almost 9
when he last saw his father. And
even though he and Joe were only
two years apart in age, he had a

Poland. And he wanted to say Left: Markers
left by Joe and
Kaddish for his parents.
Debbie Findling
"I thought it was important I at a mass grave
should go," he said. "I had to ac- in Poland.
count for the stewardship (my fa-
Left: The
ther) imposed on me when he was Below
Findling family
taken away.
home in
"Before that, I didn't really want Frysztak,
to go. I didn't really think that I Poland.
would gain any enlightenment to
go and visit the camps. I didn't see
what there was for me to do there.
But when Debbie wrote and called
me and talked to .me and told me
r what happened, I told her I would
go with her. My mother died at
Auschwitz
and that way I could
rij
say Kaddish for both of them.
F_' There's no logic to this; it's just
something that you have to do."
When Joe and Debbie arrived in
Frysztak, a young man approached
their cab, asking if they needed
help. It turned out he was Roman
Godek's son. His father, he told the
two, had suffered a severe stroke
and was dying. Would they like to
see him?
The group set out on foot for the
house.
After the anguish of walking
through the camps and watching
children sob, the fertile, clear-cut
farmlands and gentle curves of the
hills they passed on their way to
Frysztak were like a balm to Joe
Findling's spirits.
But as he stood on the soil trod
by his ancestors and paused at the
door of the house in which his fa-
ther ate his meals and dreamed
his dreams, another wave of emo-
tion washed over him. Speaking
;-' in Yiddish with Mr. Godek, who
was so weak he could barely lift
his head from his pillow, he could
no longer contain his tears.
bile Joe Findling accom-
"For over 50 years I put off
panied Debbie Findling mourning. I didn't know it at the
on her third trip with time," Mr. Findling recalled. "I
March of the Living two cried just about the whole time.
years ago, Fred Findling said he But that was what I'd been doing
has no need to return just yet.
my whole life. I
"I wasn't ready. I have to be at didn't realize it un-
an age and at a point in my life til after."
when I can look at it with an eye
Afterward, niece
to history, not an eye to personal and uncle went to
tragedy. I don't have that much of the Catholic ceme-
a hangup. For my brother Joe, it tery, where they
might have been a catharsis."
said Kaddish and
And yet, what his daughter has left two makeshift
done is a blessing to him.
grave markers for
"For Debbie to be involved the David and Etla
way she is, is part of a monu- Findling. As they
ment," he said.
turned to leave,
Joe Findling said he went be- Joe suggested to
–Fred Findling
cause he wanted to see the dev-
astation wrought by the Nazis in PATH page 48

o

younger child's talent for steeling
himself against painful memory. In
fact, he's been back to Europe a half
dozen times since 1958. In 1983, he,
his son Darren and Joe went to
Cologne, where Joe showed them a
park pond in which young Nazis
held his father's head under the wa-
ter as he looked on. Joe, Fred Find-
ling said, was more embittered by
their years in Europe.
But speaking of it now, Fred Fin-
dling's words trailed off into silence.
He wiped tears from his eyes.
"Th me, what happened there was
a very sorrowful experience, but on
the other hand, it created opportu-
nities for me," he said. "I don't have
any albatross on my back that re-
quires me to relive my past. I regard
it as history, and I survived."

"I regard it

as higory,

and I

survived."