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Holocaust
Reminders

Editor’s Note: Elyse Foltyn writes a blog
called SurvivorsSTILL, which explores
the implications of growing up as a child
of a Holocaust survivor. As Jan. 27 marks
International Holocaust Remembrance Day
and the 71st anniversary of the liberation of
Auschwitz, the JN felt this would be the ideal
time to debut our newest monthly columnist.

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I

t was not until I was an adult with seven
children that I realized I am a child of a
Holocaust survivor.
Unlike many children of survivors, my
father was willing to share a sliver of his
Elyse as a child with her family
history with me. I knew my father fled
Poland with his younger sister and lived in
runs deep into my veins — and heart.
the woods of Europe during the Holocaust.
When you meet my husband, David,
However, it was on that fateful night of his
passing, as my mother and I crept out of the it is clear that our courtship was beshert
(meant to be). David is a child
hospital, that I came face to face
of two Holocaust survivors from
with my entire history in a new
Czechoslovakia with a brother
perspective. A perspective that my
who is nine years older. Based
life was defined by a life I never
on the few stories David’s par-
lived — and did not know very
ents shared with him, their his-
much about.
tory was entirely different from
We trudged into our family
that of my father. Nonetheless,
home, our “lucky home” as my
the two of us exhibit many of
father would call it, in which three
Elyse Foltyn
the same mannerisms and share
of four healthy children (includ-
a frighteningly like mind on
ing me) were born. The obvious
most topics . For example, when
ongoing eyesores in the living
we observe people in far-away
room were the plastic covers on the
countries, we both wonder, “Who would
gold-toned upholstered sofas and chairs.
hide us?” And we always agree.
Despite our complaints that the plastic
Although I had a daughter from a previ-
stuck to our legs on hot days, Dad insisted
ous marriage and he had two from his first
the covers remain. For aesthetic reasons,
marriage, I suspect it is not coincidental
Mom shared our distaste for the plastic
we each wanted more children together.
covers. Even so, the covers remained on
So, in addition to our original three chil-
the now-dated furniture.
dren, we had two sets of twins together,
Just as the mezuzah on our front door
and the lineage continues. Our shared
marked our Jewish household, the plastic
Holocaust perspectives on life are central
covers seemed to further identify our
to who we are as individuals, as a couple
home as that of a Holocaust survivor.
and as parents. Our children experience
None of my friends had them on their
sofas. Coincidentally, none of their parents and hopefully will extend our perspective.
Reminders that I grew up as a child
spoke in an accent. Nor did their fathers
of a Holocaust survivor appear to me
don a slicked-down pompadour hairstyle
regularly during everyday life activities.
or wear a full-length leather coat.
Our native Detroit mother never wanted Commonplace interactions with friends,
my knee-jerk response to a situation and
anything to do with these plastic covers.
stacks of items on a shelf can readily call up
For years, our modern-day Mom wanted
my past — as well as the past I never lived.
nothing more than to cut away this Old
The connection with prior generations
Country connection — perhaps cutting
intensifies why I choose to explore the
away a surprising invader to her history,
too. And, in an instant, those plastic covers perspectives and behaviors I may have
ignored in the past. As I dust off memories
were gone.
buried away long ago, I feel closer to my
Almost immediately, this home
past and develop an even greater appre-
looked like the living room of most other
ciation and respect for my father and all
Americans we knew. There suddenly
those who confronted the Holocaust. I am
seemed to be white bread, butter, maca-
roni and ham all over it. For that moment, hopeful my writing will build upon the
I no longer felt like an outsider looking in. legacy of those people.
With that first cut, I felt liberated from our
Elyse Foltyn is a parent to seven children between the
Holocaust connection. Albeit briefly, I felt
ages of 10 and 30. Read her blog, survivorsSTILL, at
indistinguishable from all my friends of
American-born parents. Yet, the Holocaust survivorsstill.com.

*

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22 January 21 • 2016