Hidden in the Open

Millie Korman Selinger

Description

When I met Millie years ago, she shared her story with me. Her narrative gave me the idea and inspiration for the fictional mother and daughter in my own novel. ~ Jennifer Rosner, author of The Yellow Bird Sings

Of the 3,500,000 Jews living in Poland before the war, only 500,000 survived. I thank God or whatever forces that be that three of those survivors were Milanka, Zosia, and Henryk—my mother, grandmother, and grandfather. America offered the Billys family the kind of opportunity and freedom they craved, and in turn they brought to America a unique zest for life which my sisters Amy, Laura, and I always admired. ~ David Scott Korman

Sujets

• Jewish
• Biography
• Autobiography

Informations

• Publié par: Outskirts Press
• Date de parution: 27 juin 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781977256447
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 3 Mo

Extrait

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Hidden in the Open All Rights Reserved. Copyright © 2022 Millie Korman Selinger v6.0
The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.
This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Outskirts Press, Inc. http://www.outskirtspress.com
ISBN: 978-1-9772-5644-7
Cover Photo © 2022 Millie Korman Selinger
Outskirts Press and the "OP" logo are trademarks belonging to Outskirts Press, Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
To my amazing mother who never tired of helping others and achieved impossible feats.

For my children, Amy, Laura, David Scott and their spouses, for my grandchildren, Michael, Riley, Avi, Sophie, Maddie, Sam, and Charlie, and to my husband Larry who supported me throughout the writing of this memoir.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1: SETTING THE STAG
CHAPTER 2: MY NAIVETÉ
CHAPTER 3: INVASION
CHAPTER 4: RESTRICTIONS
CHAPTER 5: LITHUANIA
CHAPTER 6: DIVIDED COUNTRY
CHAPTER 7: FROM WARSAW TO BOCHNIA
CHAPTER 8: MY MOTHER’S DECEPTION
CHAPTER 9: MY COUSINS
CHAPTER 10: MY MOTHER’S WARTIME CAREER
CHAPTER 11: FATHER CHARABACZ
CHAPTER 12: CRISIS
CHAPTER 13: REUNION
CHAPTER 14: MY FATHER’S WARTIME CAREER
CHAPTER 15: ROSA, SOLOMON, REGINA, AND ANDRZEJ
CHAPTER 16: THE HORRORS OF 1942
CHAPTER 17: MALADIES
CHAPTER 18: LIBERATION
CHAPTER 19: JELENIA GORA
CHAPTER 20: AUNT FRANKA
CHAPTER 20: UNCERTAINTY IN 1945
CHAPTER 22: VOLATILITY IN 1946
CHAPTER 23: OUR ESCAPE
CHAPTER 24: LIFE AS DISPLACED PERSONS
CHAPTER 25: FROM GERMANY TO AMERICA
CHAPTER 26: MARINE FLASHER
CHAPTER 27: NEW YORK
CHAPTER 28: REFUGEES
CHAPTER 29: OPPORTUNITIES
CHAPTER 30: DISRUPTIONS CONTINUE
CHAPTER 31: FINANCIAL SUCCESS
CHAPTER 32: MY MOTHER’S ADDRESS BOOK
CHAPTER 33: GIVING BACK
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter 1
SETTING THE STAGE
My dear mother and I were seated at her small kitchen table, having tea and reminiscing about her past life. Our cups and saucers were dainty flowered porcelain from Bavaria. Between us sat her toaster oven, sugar bowl, white ceramic salt and pepper mills, and a dish with cookies for dipping in our tea. She had painted the mural above the table when she and my father first moved into their third-floor apartment in Shaker Heights, Ohio. The eye-catching winter scene had snow-covered mountains, pine trees hanging heavy with pillows of snow on their boughs, a cloudless sky, and a lovely blue brook rippling in the foreground. She relived her happiest moments skiing each time she walked into the kitchen. In later years, she cut out a photo of the two of them on skis and glued it on the mural’s slope to complete the setting. Over the years, she single-handedly refinished her china cabinet, including the baseboards and doors, reupholstered the living room couch and chairs, with pillows to match, sewed decorative curtains, created many leaded glass pieces including lamps, and hooked a huge rug for the study. Her garden, in which she spent many hours, was her pride and joy. My mother attended a nearby college where she made ceramic pieces from clay to sell at art shows where she had a local following. By now, at age ninety-two, she was a petite four-foot nine-inch little lady, smart, vivacious, talented a mighty force. Nothing is impossible was still her attitude.


My mother sitting at her kitchen table
I am now a grown woman with children of my own, but the shocking reaction I had when I first learned about my true heritage at the age of eight and a half is still vivid in my memory. I was troubled and traumatized to find out that from birth I had been brought up as Catholic but was actually Jewish. I struggled with my religious identity for many years and hoped to find a key to my confusion. When I first moved to Cleveland and found out my neighbor Noreen was Catholic, I bragged that I was once Catholic too. My mother orchestrated a ruse to save our lives. This is the account I needed to hear in order to deal with my identity. This special woman sitting across from me at her kitchen table realized the significance of telling me her whole story.
Chapter 2
MY NAIVETÉ
As my mother began to speak, I was stunned to learn that as a child survivor of the Holocaust in Poland, I knew nothing. Hitler’s quest for Germany’s world dominance led to an attack on Poland. What followed was unimaginable brutality and horrendous atrocities perpetrated on humanity by the Nazis. Who would have thought that in six short years eleven million people six million of whom were Jews would be systematically slaughtered. Because of my young age, I was unaware of the terror that ensued during my early childhood years, age one to six, 1939 through 1945. My mother made sure I was sheltered and safe throughout the war. She thought I had been deprived, but honestly, I did not think I was disadvantaged. I never imagined a different life.
Looking at me, she said, "I had a wonderful childhood and I regretted I could not provide you with the same. I did everything I could to make it up to you by having you spend as much time as possible with your cousins and occasionally surprise you with unexpected treats."

When I look through my photo album that my mother meticulously kept for me, I did not see an underprivileged child. Since I did not know otherwise, my memories are of being happy and loved. I wanted to know everything about her life, including her childhood, and what she did during the war years.

My mother began, "I was born on March 16, 1912, in Lodz, Poland. Our last name, Pacanowski, was taken from Pacanów, a town in south central Poland, from where my grandfather’s family came. My parents wed in 1903, brokered by a matchmaker, in the town of Lutomersk. My mother, Helena Glicenstein, was born on February 12, 1883, to a prominent Jewish family. She was very pretty, athletically active, and well educated an enlightened woman. My father, Abram Dawid Pacanowski, was born in Pietrow on September 5, 1878, to a line of rabbis genealogically traceable to King David. He was pious, wore the traditional long black coat befitting an Orthodox Jew, had a long beard, curly sideburns, and prayed morning, noon, and night, and all day on Saturdays and holidays.
"Shortly after the wedding, my mother, an unusually progressive thinking woman in those days, persuaded my father to change his coat for a short one, and after some prodding, to shave off his beard and sideburn curls. In 1904 she gave birth to a daughter, Teofila, nicknamed Tosia, followed one year later by another daughter, Franka. Soon after her birth, they moved ten miles east to the large town of Lodz. There, they lived in a spacious, modern apartment with the girls and a maid. Their affluence afforded them the luxury of indoor bathrooms with handheld spouts, a feature that was state of the art in those times, and separate rooms for the toilets. There were two dining rooms, one large and the other small, two bedrooms, and a sitting room.
"My father owned a wholesale store that sold school supplies, envelopes, post cards, and other paper goods. He also established a factory, manufacturing products ranging from toilet paper to crêpe and colored tissue paper, which were used for a popular craft of making decorative flowers. Both grandparents worked in the business, reaping financial success.
"My parents were obsessed with the idea of having a boy to carry on the family name. Their third child was me not a boy. Throughout childhood I overheard lamentations about my birth the baby was supposed to be a boy. It was repeated so often that I became a tomboy. For example, when I was three, my parents had to call the fire department to bring me down from a tree. At six, they found me on the roof of a barn, smoking crumpled leaves rolled up in pieces of newspaper. I was a tough kid. In retrospect, my penchant for fearless escapades most likely helped me survive the war."

I was anxious to know even more about my mother’s youth, so she told me, "All three of us went to a private school for girls in Lodz where more than half of the students were Jewish. Since school ended at one in the afternoon, we could then pursue our hobbies. The three of us took weekly piano lessons which I hated. But when I was seven years old, your grandmother taught me to ice skate, which I loved. Since the temperature was below freezing all winter, I could skate from November to March, which I did every day. When I turned ten, two wonderful things happened the small dining room became my own bedroom, and I was permitted to quit the dreaded piano lessons to begin drawing classes. Visual arts became my passion for the rest of my life."
"How did you spend your summers when you were young?" I asked.
"Until I was twelve, the family rented a villa at the seaside resort of Sopot, near Gdansk, an overnight train ride. The resort was famous for its mineral baths. Your grandparents alternated staying with us, each six weeks at a time, while the other minded the business in Lodz.
"I learned early on that if I refused to eat at the dinner table, my parents would bribe me. Even if I liked what was served, I pushed it away and in the end was promised to get my latest wish. I became cunning at an early age.
"The following summer my mother wanted to take me to a new resort in Busko, fifty miles from Lodz, but I refused unless I got a bicycle. Coincidently, a friend of your grandfather’s was visiting from Germany, so I kept repeating in German eine rade (a bicycle). The next time he came to our apartment he brought me a beautiful