Part II

A Rabbi from Garmish Partenkirchen came to officiate the wedding ceremony attended by our small family: my sister Bela, Chaim's two brothers Jacob and Elek, and my cousin Peter. Friends and acquaintances staying in the hotel were all young people, all concentration camp survivors. The most important people were missing: my parents and brother, Chaim's mother and sister. During the last deportation from Radom, my father left his job at Bata, which uncle Chemie had secured for him, in order to join my mother and brother who had been released from jail for deportation. Together they walked to the train, that final route to Treblinka. Through his work, my father could have been saved for the time being, however, he chose not to leave his wife or son. Despite that, I had to realize the fact that most people had no one. I, at least, had a sister. Our guests presented us with little poems, cards with good wishes. I still cherish them and all the pictures that tell the story, so vividly, of how a wedding of two survivors looked in 1946, with all their guests who had lived through concentration camps.

Our aspirations for the future were on an even keel. We both aimed to build a life in Palestine, help make it a Jewish homeland. Our efforts to secure passage, even illegally, were untenable at the time. Impatiently, we waited for an opportunity to emigrate to a free, democratic country away from Europe. To occupy the time while waiting, I eagerly took English lessons from a retired German professor. This study filled the days with something interesting to do, something that might be useful.

Then something wonderful happened: I became pregnant. I had been doubtful whether I would still function as a normal woman and whether we would be able to bear children. A general belief had circulated in the concentration camps that special medication had been added to our meager soup in order to prevent menstruation or pregnancy. However, certain young Jewish women maintained that, even if they would become pregnant in Germany, they would terminate the pregnancy. We believed quite the opposite: to us, creating new life reaffirmed not only our own personal continuity, but also national survival. This continuity was exactly the way to negate the Nazi purpose of eliminating the Jews. A few women did have curettages performed, this without regard for the gift of new life so precious for a Jew after the enormous losses we suffered.

We were blessed with a perfect baby boy on December 11, 1947, whom we named after Chaim's father, Aron Baruch. My advisers in child rearing were a German midwife and Mrs. Charmark, a German Jewess who was a bit older and had had children before the war. We created new life, and this made us a real family. Now the need to emigrate became even more urgent. After a few months hoping and waiting, a delegation from the U.S. Ladies Garment Union, with some representatives from the Canada Union, were looking for tailors; the successfully developed needle trade in the United States and Canada had been in mainly Jewish hands. Those qualified received a visa and a promise of employment. Thanks to the Jewish communities in both countries--their influence and guarantee of jobs--consent from the government had been obtained to admit Jews. Entering Canada or the US was not easy: there were medical scrutinies, the testing of working skill capabilities, plus the signing of documents assuring that we would not become wards of the state. It was only in the late 1980s, when Irving Abella and Harold Troper published their book entitled None Is Too Many that I found out how extremely difficult it was in Canada to open the doors and admit Jewish survivors. Chaim passed the tests twice with flying colours; he had worked as a tailor before the concentration camps. As soon as the acceptance to Canada was posted for Chaim and Jacob, a glimpse of hope entered our heart: a hope to live in a free democratic country, to rebuild shattered lives.

Preparation began for a new country we knew very little about. In Auschwitz, a commando that handled clothing and other possessions synonymous with wealth, was called Kanada. My imagination took hold of me: watching movies, it was not hard for me to see myself in such favourable circumstances. Bela and I were even prepared with gowns made from parachutes in the latest fashion. I knitted a dress from an unraveled G.I. sweater, dyed a beautiful shade of reddish brown, that I wore often after first stepping down on Canadian soil. The journey, and even our designated city, was not as I pictured or dreamed.

The two Gutman families, along with several hundred other passengers, all survivors, sailed from Bremenhaven with the military ship Samaria on November 22, 1948, destined for Montreal. On the two-week journey, the men and women were separated, and I slept with twenty other women and all our babies in one room. The women slept in bunk beds while the babies were laid in woven rope baskets. We arrived in Halifax on December 3. While traveling on the train from Halifax to Montreal, our son Aron, then eleven months old, became ill with a high temperature. In Moncton, New Brunswick, we were taken down and sent straight to a hospital where a pediatrician started firing questions about my baby's medical records. I was glad that I knew a little bit of English to be able to understand all the questions and answer with the important data. Aron's illness happened to be a throat infection. After the consultation, my baby was placed in isolation and the doctor advised us to go to a hotel. With three dollars to our name in a strange country, we refused to leave the hospital. Eventually, accommodation in a hotel was arranged for us by the Jewish community in Moncton.

In the morning, we had no money to order food in the hotel, so we went to a store to buy milk--the fifteen cents a bottle--apples and bread. When I asked for bread, however, I was shown a wrapped package of white bread that looked to me like cake, so I asked for another type until I was given an unwrapped loaf and already sliced for you. This I remember as one of my first impressions of my new country. Mrs. Sara Rubin, a vivacious, goodhearted woman, guided and reassured us through that difficult time in Moncton. For the Friday night Shabbat meal, we were invited to Rose Rubin's house. It was a cold December day and for the first time in Canada, I wore my wool knitted dress. After a long week of daily visits to the hospital and heartbreaking departures, we took our Arale and continued the journey to Montreal. Despite insistent pleading from the Jewish community leaders to remain in Moncton, we felt it would not be right to part with our family.

As promised by the union leaders, Chaim obtained a job in the needle industry. The influx of so many displaced people filled the industry to capacity, but also created a housing shortage, a shortage so unique that even single rooms were set at a premium, particularly for a family with a baby. We were lucky to find a room with a family that had brought up six children who were by then all grown up, with children of their own. We rented one room, but had space on others for storage, and used their kitchen and all their facilities. The Holtzmans accepted us, loved our son Aron. He padded around the house and Mr. Holtzman let Aron pick food from his plate, claiming, "He is so lovable, eats my food willingly," while Aron rejected proper baby food. I developed a very good rapport with that family. Their daughters Katy, the oldest, and Riva, the youngest, paid special interest in us. They encouraged me to drop the name Mania, a polish adaptation of my real name Malka, suggesting "Myra," a Canadian name easy to pronounce. I have been using it ever since. We have remained friendly with this family all these years, and have been included in their great celebrations like Bar Mitzvahs and weddings.

A one-room arrangement was fine for the beginning. But, like all young people, we were striving for better. We found a house on Van Horne, away from Main Street, now St. Laurent, and our new location was considered at that time to be a very favourable one. However, it was a cold flat. Like many in Montreal at that time, it required a pay-up called "key money". For this money, we received from the previous tenants a gas stove for cooking, one iron stove for heating the house, a wood and coal burner, and an old, badly damaged table. We rented together with Bela and Jacob, and the rent for the house was less than we had paid for our rooms.

From early on, survivors kept in touch, comparing notes about jobs, housing, and so on. Getting out from a room to a rented flat was considered a first achievement. However, while discussing with family, logic dictated that we rent a flat together only until it was economically feasible to rent a flat or apartment independently. After three years, each couple -- my husband and I and Bela and Jacob -- moved into separate homes. Ours was a heated upper five-room flat with a balcony: definite improvement. It still required "key money," but for it we received a gas stove, an old carper, and an upright piano that we put to good use. Our son Aron started piano lessons at five years old, and Mrs. Priciosi, a serious classical piano teacher, even arranged exams at the McGill Conservatory of Music. Aron passed with honours at the beginner level and, while he was preparing, our house was filled with repeated practice scales and fine musical pieces which we enjoyed.

Hyman was not happy with seasonal work on ladies suits and coats; he wanted to switch to a more lucrative branch of the needle trade. Our friend ran a small fur manufacturing business and encouraged Hyman to try fur finishing. Srulek Schwartzbaum offered Hyman his first fur coat on which to try his skills, so he did. Hyman eventually opened a small factory in contracting fur finishing. Financially, we were slowly progressing. But not everything in our life was without lumps. In 1951, I gave birth to a little girl that was sickly from the day she was born. She had a weak, enlarged heart and an improperly developed digestive system. We were constantly at the doctor's, always receiving the same answer: no cure available. She took very little food, and at one year old, was very weak and could barely stand. The poor sweet face cried so much. I constantly cuddled her, carried her around. Pediatrician Alton Goldbloom's diagnosis was the same as the other doctors'. He frankly added that he did not expect her to live beyond a couple of years. At fifteen months, Peal Lanna died a crib death. So many losses, so much sorrow. I had to endure the death of my baby, but I could not. A nervous breakdown followed. One day out walking, I suddenly did not know where I was or why I was there. Most of the time, I could not sleep, and I often had heart palpitations to such a degree that a heart specialist advised surgery on the nerve around the heart. We were again spending money on doctors. When Aron was in school, I gave in to my suffering, and it took hold of my physical and emotional being.

On one particular visit to my doctor, his scolding got to me. He pointed out the devastation my depression could inflict on my healthy, wonderful child who, he noted, needed my full attention and love, as did my husband. I realized I had a job to do. Not I alone suffered: my loved ones suffered too. It was up to me to lighten the sorrow by concentrating on the task at hand. In my thoughts, I wandered back again to the upheaval I and others had endured, somehow survived. I had to find ways to overcome this upheaval too.

I started evening courses to learn English, in free moments listening attentively to the radio's speech and sound. While listening to classical music, I doodled and eventually found pleasure in drawing. Looking for beauty in my surroundings prompted me to join a drawing-from-life class. At my teacher's suggestion, I started copying the masters and that really helped me to appreciate the arts ad to develop better skills in shape and colour. In daily housekeeping, I found decorating challenges in making drapes, slipcovers, and sewing for myself. Sewing clothes for Aron was pure joy.

Our hard work and frugal living paid off. We came closer to our objective which was, namely, to have a house of our own. In 1959, we paid in towards the purchase of a duplex in Ville Saint Laurent, Quebec. It is a residential area, with a school just at the end of our block in a lovely park with a tennis court. I just couldn't wait to move in! To ensure we would not run into debt, we opted out and stayed in a rented flat at the corner of Clark and Bernard until we could pay off the second mortgage. We still lived frugally: dining out was a luxury we did not indulge in the early years. I cooked and baked wholesome nourishing meals from scratch. Food for the soul, like going to the theatre or a movie, was the only thing we allowed ourselves to spend money on. But mainly in the little leisure time away from work, we enjoyed reading with classical music playing in the background. This made for quiet relaxing evenings.

Besides taking care of my small family, I devoted time to help Hyman in the fur finishing business. I had no time left to brood. In fact, I still longed to increase the family, to provide a sibling for Aron. We had the perfect situation for a larger family: our own home, a back yard with maple trees; lilacs and jasmine releasing perfume; the sun greeted us in the kitchen in the mornings and then wandering around the house, bringing a little sun to the bedroom in the afternoon and to my heart daily. I became pregnant. We joined an Orthodox synagogue, The Young Israel of Val Royal, a young congregation in which we all had small children. Things were going well, but in the eighth month of my pregnancy, I got sick with a flu and fever. Consequently, I was rushed to the hospital. The premature delivery did not go well. My baby lived only one hour. I was put in isolation, and nurses wore masks when they delivered medication or tended to my comfort. I was not told about my baby's death until my loud demands the next day to see my child. In isolation, the only person who visited me was Chaim. After a seemingly lengthy stay, I was discharged from the hospital, heartbroken. I was very weak from the flu and the difficult delivery, but these were minor problems compared to my emotional state, to one more lost war. It was a difficult challenge to divert that sorrow to an activity that would bring me peace. Once again I called on artistic expression and the practice of yoga to help me overcome my sorrow. In fact, I came back ready for a new phase.

Our friends were other survivors. For example, I developed a lasting friendship with two women on the boat coming over from Germany. On the boat, we were living together in one room, each with a baby with different needs on a ship designed for military use. We helped each other to keep the babies comfortable. My limited knowledge of English became a great asset to translate to a doctor or cook about medical problems or food requirements. I general, survivors felt at ease in the company of other survivors. My husband and I joined the Radomer Society, a substitute for an extended family. Some members had known my uncles or aunts, and we found comfort in each other. The Society was formed many years ago, and the input of post-war newcomers revived activities, concentrating mainly on mutual help. We actually formed a sub-culture in the Jewish community in Montreal.

At that time, the Lansmanshaft evolved into more than just a support system or an extended family. The Radomer Mutual Aid Society is built on the European home tradition. We extended help to those still stuck in Europe, and, as people in Montreal found their footing help was directed to needy survivors in Israel, such as the establishment of scholarships for young people. This practice continued into the late nineties as the Society's social activities diminished and charitable endeavours increased. Often, these efforts, in which we sent out substantial amounts of money, were directed to needy survivors in Israel like the Technion -- university focusing on technical education -- and Magen David Adom, which is like the Red Cross of Israel. We furnished them with an ambulance and lifesaving equipment and machines. We also had a quarterly paper keeping a link with the remnant of Radomer survivors throughout the world. We published a comprehensive documentary book about the vibrant Jewish community life in Radom, Poland, where only a few old gravestones remain. Families, communities: all gone. The hurt remains.

At the Radomer Society, Mr. and Mrs. Putershmit, a couple interested in Yiddish literature, invited my husband and I to join a reading club. The group was older and, I may add, wiser, and devoted Saturdays to Yiddish literature (they frowned on card players). Hyman was more proficient in Yiddish, and I tagged along but did not read to the club aloud -- instead, after a while I brought in a book review in English. Indeed it was a pleasure to listen to how beautifully they recited the works of Yiddish poets like Peretz, Sholom Aleichem, and read and discuss Jewish philosophers with the skill of scholars. We took to that group like fish to water. We continued to study with that group for many years. A milieu of people in love with Yiddish literature in all its facets deeply affected my whole being. Pride in our heritage came once again to the forefront of my thoughts.

By that time, Aron needed less mothering and we encouraged him to bring his friends home in order to fill the void of siblings. As a young man, he was content with a circle of friends that kept him socially active, and was eager to work after school and during summer vacation to help subsidize his university tuition, or just to have additional spending money. As a result, I was free to devote more time to issues close to my heart. When neo-Nazis like Ernst Zundel started to boldly denounce the Holocaust, I was among the first to join, in 1960, a group of survivors under the leadership of Lou Zablow, who formed the Association of Survivors of Nazi Oppression. Some of our members included Aba Beer, Joe Fishman, Isaac Piasetski, Isie Visfield, Tibi Weinberg and, of the women, Helen Ackerman, Frieda Anders, Mania Borzykowski, Jane Buber, Feigl Edelstein, Brenda Gertel, Tola Granek, Sally Kleinplatz, Lillian Laks, Julie Nattel, Esterka Schwartzbaum, Helen Silberstein, Ema Weinberg, R. Weintraub and Esther Wochiniak. We all saw the danger in the neo-Nazis again spreading hate against Jews, now in our adopted country. Freedom of speech, which is a precious right in a democracy, was being abused. Therefore our organization's motto is: "Homage to the Dead, Warning to the Living." When we, at first a small group of men and women meeting in Lou's basement, discussed how to approach our task, we were all in agreement. First, we would have to encourage survivors to open their hearts, no matter how painful it would be, to talk about their experiences. We approached leaders in the Jewish community, pleading to make people aware, since with our experience we saw the danger of not stopping hatred in its tracks before it got too difficult to handle. Our organization became a constant reminder of the urgency to act. Together with leaders of the Montreal Jewish community at large, we as witnesses of what verbal persecution can lead to have helped the organization live up to its motto: we are constantly on guard against Holocaust deniers that continue spreading hate about and towards Jews. It took persistent dedication to influence the federal government of Canada to pass a bill prohibiting hate literature. This bill made hate materials of any shape punishable by law, and so took away the tools of neo-Nazi propaganda. The objective was achieved. An anti-hate bill was passed in Canadian Parliament and hate propaganda of any shape became punishable by law.

I joined the women’s division under the leadership of Julie Nattel. We conducted meetings in our homes, with the aim of educating Jews and non-Jews about the Holocaust, and of commemorating our brethren who perished under Nazi rule. We also devised a program to further our own knowledge on subjects of interest to us by inviting speakers from various fields. A few of the women were prepared and capable of talking about their own personal experiences to students in schools, the place where real education starts. A serious challenge was to convince the educators that introducing this subject to students was feasible. The men’s division regularly organized mass rallies with the active participation of all levels of government, as well as prominent leaders of the Jewish community, youth groups, Jewish war veterans in their uniforms, displaying their medals for bravery, and the community at large. Indeed, these were very impressive ceremonies where the women's division took an active part. As a member of the executive of the women's division, at one such rally in 1972, I was given the pleasant task of addressing the honourable Minister of Immigration of Quebec. On behalf of the Association of Survivors of Nazi Oppression and its women's division, I thanked him for his participation in the rally, his acknowledgment of our contribution in the past, and his reassurance of the vital part we as a minority could play in all endeavours of development in the beautiful province of Quebec. I added that, hopefully with the addition of a unique Jewish culture and a continuous effort toward bilingualism, our province could flourish in unity and harmony with the rest of Canada.

In 1973, I was voted in as president of the women's division. With this post came a responsibility to initiate new projects and to see to it that all meetings and lectures were interesting. Consequently, the excellent attendance was gratifying. I was lucky to have had an executive that appreciated and encouraged each other (we were once called the mutual admiration society) that gave the best of themselves. Although our program was dedicated to the commemoration of, and education about, the Holocaust, the Yom Kippur War stirred an overwhelming compassion for our brothers in Israel. We decided to launch an emergency campaign where a sizable amount of money was collected through personal contributions. After two rewarding years as the president of the women's division, I relinquished my office by the end of 1975 to a very able successor. My work intensified toward developing education programs geared to our own youth in the Jewish community and in Israel. For a while, we were searching for a suitable project. After a visit by one of our executive members to Massuah in Israel, we learned about a proposed program to teach youth, through seminars, a better understanding of their historical beginnings and the ultimate tragedy of the Holocaust. We also came upon an idea to produce a certificate to commemorate any occasion, happy or sad, and we were looking for an artist to present ideas. In order to save the cost of hiring a professional artist, I offered to try, despite my beginner's art experience. My design was received with great enthusiasm. The design's emblem, the "torch of knowledge," symbolizes a library and has become a tool to reach out its message not only in our community, but in many Jewish communities in Canada and the United States. Massuah has become a very important teaching institution on the Holocaust. Young people from different countries arriving on tours in Israel are stationed in Massuah for a few days of rigorous teaching before they took a trip to Europe for the "March of the living." In addition, before they were inaugurated into the army, Israeli soldiers are sent for education in Israel's historical background and its implication for the Holocaust. The certificate project became a great money raiser; it gave us the possibility to send thousands upon thousands of dollars to our favourite charity.

Our own community, however, was still lacking a fully integrated education program about our national tragedy in Europe. As I relinquished my presidency, Lillian Laks was an executive assistant. We undertook the task of convincing teachers, principals, and all kinds of educators, to introduce a program on the Holocaust. We took the initiative, implemented a program of distributing books on the subject to bright, deserving students in order to stimulate an interest in the subject. Lillian's close contact with the Talmud Torah became the first door opener. Others followed by engaging the Jewish Education Council, led by Rabbi Meyer Krentzman, to obtain a list of all Jewish schools in the greater Montreal area. There were some interesting responses to our letters; some educators were concerned about the negative impact Holocaust education could have on young minds. With the help of the Education Council screening the books prior to distribution, the project met with great success. Invitations arrived for survivors to speak on Yom Hashoah commemorations and at schools. Forcing our minds to recall that tragic past was then, and still is, not easy. I have, as many others, done it willingly. While I had many personal setbacks with my health, I found that Hata and Raya yoga practices helped me improve relaxation and joint flexibility so I could bounce back with new vigour to continue. I found meaning and purpose in my survival. The scope of my work widened with the participation in communities of the Canadian Jewish Congress. On December 2, 1971, I received the following letter:

Survivors were now entering the main stream of the Jewish community.

The Committee of Foreign Affairs, chaired by survivor Lou Zablow, gave us the possibility to intervene, to act if a need arose. In the Committee for Russian Jewry, our organization took a very active part. We, more than anyone, knew what it was to be harassed or imprisoned. Therefore, the petition we handed out to the Russian Embassy and to the Minister of Foreign Affairs of Canada, Mr. Mitchell Sharp, had a meaningful impact. When the Austrian government was closing off Schoenau camp to eliminate Russian Jewish transit through their country, our organization leaders, Mr. Aba Beer, Lou Zablow, Isie Visfeld and myself travelled to Ottawa and were the only delegation cordially received buy the Chargé d'Affaire of Austria, Mr. Max Pammer. We handed him a petition on the same issue, with a request to reopen the Schoenau transit camp for the Russian Jews on their way to Israel, or make equal facilities available. After a lengthy discussion, we were given reassurance that the message would be transmitted to his government and that favourable solution would be found, which it was.

The next important step taken by the Canadian Jewish Congress was to establish a Holocaust Commemoration and Education Committee, in order to plan community-wide commemoration and teaching. The aim was not only to reach Jewish schools, but to penetrate the Protestant high school system, junior colleges and universities. We set out to convince educators, in a historical perspective, that the Holocaust was not only a Jewish but a human tragedy. A very special tool for this education became the exhibition on the holocaust and heroism brought in from Yad Vashem in Israel. Included were audio-visual presentations. We managed to place this audiovisual material directly in their educational institutions. The exhibit stirred a lively interest. Prior to the official opening at Canadian Jewish Congress, I was asked by our national Chairman, Mr. Aba Beer, to coordinate the exhibition activities related to it as these were carried out by guides, members of the women's division of Survivors of Nazi Oppression. I had the full cooperation of all involved. The exhibition made an important impact on the community. In an impressive ceremony attended by many delegates, the Consul general of Israel, Mr. David Ephrati, stressed in a moving speech, the importance of our work. While we were perpetuating the memory, recalling the genocide committed on our own people by the Nazis, we did not forget to honour those courageous humanitarians with enough conviction to help people in the darkest hours.

Devoting time and effort toward this very important cause often left me emotionally drained. To recharge my state of mind, to reach equilibrium, I escaped to my art classes, using oils in a bold, primitive way. I found solace by trying to capture beauty on my canvases, often not very successful, but if one worked out and beauty came through, I relaxed with my spirit intact.

The Holocaust Committee of Canadian Jewish Congress, Eastern Region's membership was made up of survivors, their children referred to as "second generation" professional educators, and Rabbis. Discussions were a flow of ideas from many diverse minds searching for ways to awake curiosity in young people, and to help them achieve a deeper understanding of the enormous loss we as a people suffered in modern history. It came to my mind to set up a contest on the expression of the Holocaust in different art forms. At first, many voiced surprise as I elaborated on the possibility of offering different prizes for the best entry in each category. I hit home with the idea. Rabbi Meyer Krentzman was the first to support it, and as the discussion developed, almost all members agreed. On December 8, 1977, I received the following letter from the Holocaust Committee:

I was honoured to accept to serve as Chairman, to work out and execute plan with the help of other members and a very able executive director. We set out to advertise all over town, in synagogues, schools, colleges and universities. A formula was devised for the submission of original entries in all art forms, including literature and music. The contest was sponsored by the Holocaust Remembrance Committee, Quebec Region of Canadian Jewish Congress, the women's division of Association of Survivors of Nazi Oppression, in cooperation with the Jewish Education Council in greater Montreal. To our surprise, the contest stirred much interest and we received many entries of good quality from all levels. The contest was open to students from grade five to university. By 1979, "Impression on the Holocaust", as the contest was called, reached a wider audience. I felt elevated and deeply touched by the amount of fine, sensitive work we received. Composing a poem, writing a story, submitting an audiovisual project, sculpture, writing, music or lyrics, all reflecting the theme of the contest, has proven to be a perfect tool for the young to understand the tragic past in our history. This demanded complete involvement; they learned not only with their minds, but we could sense their soul in the work.

We knew that implementing Holocaust education had to be a slow process. It needed that lapse of time, for the wounds were too fresh, too painful even for listeners. Slowly, means wee found. We felt the contest offered a special form, a key way to reach students and inspire them to seek information and be free to tell on their level. The contest offered that challenge. It encouraged people to express their own feelings in many ways, it created an emotional impact and a deeper level of understanding for the participant. As a result, it created a closer bond to the Jewish people. Not surprisingly, achievement in this contest led to self-assurance and confidence in other areas. For instance, participants Eddy Stone and Erie Schwartz's audio visual presentation was so well received that it is now being used at the Montreal Holocaust Memorial Centre. Copies have also been sent to the Jewish community in the United States, and the National Film Board of Canada has asked for a copy as a documentary. The contest even prompted non-Jews to participate, ads they became profoundly aware of the inhumanity of man to man and what Jewish people had to endure during that time. In 1980-1981, the contest continued with unprecedented success. Judging was carried out by professionals in each category. For example, the judge for the literature in the English category was Professor Mervin Butovsky, all other forms of art were judged by artists Gita Caiserman Roth and Norman Kucharscky. At times I had to allocate additional funding for entries of high quality. All these activities were of great importance and served as another step towards integrating education of the Holocaust in the Second World War as a historical subject in schools.

For the time when survivors as witnesses will be no more, there is a Memorial Holocaust Centre in Montreal. The idea for this centre was born and crystallized by men and women of the Association of Survivors of Nazi Oppression, and it was planned and built by Steven Cummings with a group of young leaders in our community. Steven's generosity and spiritual sensitivity to our cause made this dream a reality -- a dedication quite unique for a Canadian-born man that had no personal experience of persecution. The Montreal Holocaust Museum tells stories in pictures and documents. The sanctuary captures the soul. It is a holy place not only for me, but for many others. It is a place where the ashes of our brethren rest, brought in from Auschwitz by Aba Beer, the president of the Association of Survivors of Nazi Oppression and National Chairman of the Holocaust Committee of Canadian Jewish Congress. In the early years, I sometimes served once a week as a docent to groups, including school groups of thirty to thirty-five people.

Dabbling in art has always been my refuge from emotional drain, and I relaxed with drawing and painting, but did not turn into another Grandma Moses. From many canvases I produced only, in my opinion, a few pieces worthy to display as good art. Consequently, I switched to a different medium in order to express myself in the arts. Stained glass caught my attention, with its colours in glass that captures light, changes with it, deepens or brightens in it. I found a hobby that not only gives me pleasure, but is wonderfully useful. Stained glass windows or Tiffany lamps are beautiful items to grace a home, and they also make appreciated gifts that I am very proud of.

In 1987, I enrolled with my husband in College Marie Victorin to continue our formal education which had been interrupted in Poland. Hyman had lots of free time in his retirement, and it took us three years to graduate with diplomas in Social Sciences. The program, which had us taking courses in art, philosophy, political science, and comparative religion, was challenging, interesting, and a renewal of our relationship as a couple. As individuals, we also recaptured a youthful spirit, long gone by. Our time at the school was also socially stimulating and helped us to relate more and more with non-Jews, as we saw that we shared all kinds of daily problems and concerns. We made good friends with some of the other people in our programs, and the time was plain joy for both of us.

In courses like psychology: recreation and leisure in aging population, reaffirmed my belief, precisely in the things I have been attempting to achieve all along, to be physically fit, creatively curious, to explore new avenues, to search within for a different approach to do better.

Legal information taught by legal attorney Reisa Teitelbaum was intellectually stimulating. I found personal growth, a keen interest in all aspects of law and its demands for fair justice.

Also in 1987, I was approached by Myra Giberovitch M.S.W., Chairwoman of the holocaust Remembrance Committee of the Canadian Jewish Congress's Quebec Region, to present a survivor's perspective to the community in the Jewish Public Library. They were hosting a symposium on the theme of "The Contribution of Holocaust Survivors to the Jewish Communal Life." Featured speakers included Dr. William B. Helmreich, Professor of Sociology at City College of New York (CUNY), and moderator Professor Peter Leonard, Director of McGill's School of Social Work. I am here including part of my speech as I presented it then:

My deepest concern has always been and still is to avoid another Holocaust. I have been a member of the holocaust Remembrance Committee since its inception, and it now functions in conjunction with the Montreal Holocaust Memorial Centre, chaired by two dedicated people, Sara Weinberg and Sidney Zoltak. Their ability and tactful approach to members produces wonderfully organized and solemnly dignified ceremonies, with the participation of a whole spectrum of the community, as well as representation from the federal, provincial, and municipal governments. A lot of thought, planning, and organizing goes into Hashoah commemoration and I am proud to be part of it. The Association of Survivors of Nazi Oppression women's division, of which I am an ongoing member, still functions in its former capacity in the new millennium thanks to a few dedicated members and untiring leader Tola Granek.

It has been fifty-five years that I am addressed by my present name, no longer number A15625. I am a wife, mother, grandmother of two lovely granddaughters, and a woman with many interests in my life. I am a person with an identity of my own, changed like any other with years of maturity. Also changed is my perception of the world, as its people came into focus. Yet inwardly, I have never freed myself of that emotional stigma of a concentration camp inmate.

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