Ours is a success story. Who would even have dared to dream about settling down with one man in one country and living happily ever after? Those are the words that fairy tales are made of. Now here are the facts:

I met Paul in Paris in 1946. We were two lost souls, beaten by our experiences in concentration camps in Germany (Paul has been in Auschwitz and Buchenwald), lost among orphans, crossing Europe back and forth, looking for some security, some promise of a better future, fearful, but with some hope that maybe one day the sun would shine for us once again.

Jewish schools were free, and I remember meeting Paul often at the Alliance FranÁaise where we were both learning the French language. The future was bleak: what should we do? Where should we go? My heart was pulling me toward Palestine. Being just 26 years old at that time, I wanted to fight for a free country, where all those souls who didn't know where to go, could gather and settle down. On the other hand, my relatives from the U.S.A. had sent me affidavits and were urging me to come to the States. "Maybe," I said, and promptly began to learn English as well. I found I had a lot in common with Paul and started to see him regularly.

He insisted that we get married and stay in Paris. "Europe is hostile territory," I said; "I could never live there permanently." Paul was born in Rumania; that quota was filled up for years. But he applied for entrance to the United States as soon as I got my papers. It was 1948. He urged me: "Stay in Paris, at least until we could both emigrate together." He understood our hearts' desire for tranquility and peace of mind, and so he painted castles in the air. "Stay here with me, and I'll work hard. I promise: in no time we will have a white cottage with warmth and comfort, as many books as you want, but more importantly--in time--a boy for you and a girl for me!" The offer was tempting--but I refused. I crossed the ocean without him and settled in Philadelphia with an aunt and uncle. But I was terribly lonely there. In the meantime, Paul tried all the avenues to get to the States, but unsuccessfully.

Finally, he arrived in Canada in 1949. By then the tuberculosis I had contracted in the concentration camp had flared up and I had to go into a sanitarium for a year. Paul waited. By 1951 I had to make my choice. Either I would break up with Paul, or else follow him to Canada. In the meantime, the dream of a "white cottage" prevailed in his and my minds. He bought a second-hand station wagon and traveled through the countryside around Montreal peddling all kinds of wares. His French was excellent, and his polite European manner was appreciated by his French customers. He borrowed $500 from the Hebrew Free Loan Association and got some credit from individual Jewish merchants. "I am doing well," he wrote to me.

All this changed when one day, going to the garage, he found his station wagon empty of merchandise. Everything had been stolen. Of course, he had no insurance. It was a great struggle to start over again. It never occurred to him to go for help to the municipality or government, only to very close friends for short-term loans. By the time I decided to join him, he had recuperated and was back in full swing, working towards "our dream cottage."

I knew nothing about Canada. In 1951 the U.S. was the most desirable place to settle. Even the Canadian Immigration Officer asked me suspiciously, "Are you sure you want to give up your American citizenship and become a Canadian?" But it was a decision I never regretted. Montreal became my home. It was not as advanced as Paris or New York. Culturally, it was a far cry from either of them. My only entertainments were movies and books. But concerts, theatres, recitals were only part of my past anyway, and the present consisted of work, work, work. I didn't mind it. I was not alone. First I worked in a physician's office, later at a travel agency.

The problem was our living arrangements. Not being able to afford anything better, I moved into a cold flat on Hutchinson Street not only with Paul, but with two of his friends as well, who contributed to the rent. They were messy and careless, especially considering that there was a woman in the house who would clean up after them. They just laughed at me when I asked them for more consideration. After all, I was working in the outside world, just as they were. This unhappy situation lasted a few months. In the meantime, I was frantically searching for an affordable apartment for just Paul and me. But apartments were scarce, and I became desperate.

Paul was working more and more hours a day. He got up very early, and often it wasn't until midnight that I heard his steps in the long corridor. And so, when I found a suitable apartment on Saint Joseph Boulevard, Paul was not around, and twenty other people applied for it as well. I had to act quickly. I made out a cheque for $60 for the first month, and begged the tenant to let me in one more time. She turned to me angrily and said, "You say that you and your husband are recently arrived refugees. What makes you think the landlord will accept your cheque when there are so many others waiting?" Just then, the landlord came in. I weakly handed the cheque to him. He looked and looked and slowly asked me, "Are you really newly-arrived refugees?" "Yes." He looked at me once more and tore my cheque into small pieces. It was hard for me to hold back my tears. "You must make out a new one," he said; "for refugees such as you, I will not charge more than $58 a month."

This was my introduction to Canadian society. I was not used to being treated so gently, so humanely. I burst out laughing and then crying. I knew that I had come to the right place at the right time. Here, I am not an outcast; here I'll be a person to reckon with. Our apartment was so small that the armchair (which I bought for Paul's comfort) took up half the living room. But it was ours alone! The small bathroom was not being used by strangers. How happy and proud I felt for the first time in many years!

Here, my love-child was born on February 19, 1954. Our happiness grew with every day. Paul worked hard, but we never lacked for anything. And we already had two close friends, two couples with similar backgrounds to ours.

But Jewish happiness cannot last for long undisturbed. When Joyce was three months old, I was taken to the hospital in great pain, jaundiced, feverish and very weak. They had to operate right away. I had gallstones, one of which had ruptured, and I was full of pus inside. My life was in danger. "Stay in the city," the doctor told Paul, "be prepared for the worst."

In the hospital, I held my little girl's picture and prayed to the Almighty: "I am too young to die at 34. Let me live, so that I can bring her up to be a useful citizen. I owe that to those who passed away in Auschwitz, and to my new country, Canada, which so graciously took us in." They treated me well in the hospital, and at home I slowly recovered. But the experience of giving birth and of the operation in my run-down condition left me weak and very fragile.

Three months later, when I called my doctor and told him I was pregnant again, he became furious. "What is this? Are you playing with your life? How can you have another child in this condition? You are both irresponsible, but I will arrange for an abortion." I cried and cried. "Paul," I pleaded, "what should I do?"

"Whatever you decide, I am with you, but this should be your decision, not mine," he said.

In bed, sleep overtook me. I heard the door open and I sat up. I was not surprised to see my father, who had been killed and cremated in Auschwitz, come into my room. He stood near my bed and smiled at me. "Oh Apuka," I said, "how good that you've come. I am so upset. What should I do?" He looked at me and smiled. His eyes were twinkling; I noticed that his beard was somewhat shorter than I had remembered.

"Please, don't just stand there," I said; "talk to me, tell me what to do." He turned and aimed his steps toward the door. I was frightened. But then, he turned around, and in no uncertain terms uttered these words: "You are going to have a boy. He'll be special. He'll bring joy to you for a lifetime!" "Apuka," I reached out to him--but he was gone.

When Paul came in I told him: "We are keeping the baby, for he will be special. My father promised that to me."

Sonny's miraculous, easy birth was the fulfillment of Paul's dreams for a boy as well as a girl. In another year I felt well enough to help out at Paul's ever-growing business. We both worked hard and the children were growing. When he had put aside $2,000 Paul wanted to buy a country house for the summer. He found one at CÙteau du Lac, near the Ontario border, not far from his many customers, but it cost $6,000. The house was small, but the orchard that came with it had many apple trees and the property was on a lake. "It's not a problem," he said; "we have two friends; each of us will put in $2,000, and we'll be able to pay it out." We planned to share the house with them. And so it was. Since the house had only two bedrooms, one couple made the porch into a bedroom. Did we have fun! The six of us and our two children! There was never any bickering; we all shared the work and became one happy family. Looking back now, I realize how wonderful those years were. We had very little money, but so much good will!

One of the couples got an offer from Venezuela to get into a partnership with a cousin, and their share was for sale. We each put in $1,000, and presently we owned the cottage together with one other couple. A few more years passed, and they too wanted out. We paid them and now we were the proud owners of the summer cottage. By then, Paul needed storage for his merchandise. "Let's look for a house," he said. "Our white cottage?" I asked.

"No, not yet. This time, the garage has to be huge, regardless of the house upstairs. This time it's more business than pleasure!"

"Do we have enough money for a house?"

"No, but we will sell the cottage and you can talk to the manager of the Royal Bank. Maybe we could get an easy mortgage."

Once more the Royal Bank, a Canadian institution, came to meet our needs. The manager was very friendly. "I am sticking my neck out for you," he said, "but I have a gut feeling that I am doing the right thing." So, we became the proud owners of a duplex at 2442 Ekers Avenue. Paul bought shelves, and the incoming and outgoing merchandise became my responsibility. I was the bookkeeper, the cook, the maid, the doctor, nurse, chauffeur and mother to our two children, the main companion and devoted wife to my very diligent and loving husband.

"Paul," I said, "we are buried in so much work, we have no fun, only responsibilities. We've even forgotten how to dream. What happened to our dream of a white cottage?" "Our next undertaking, just give me a little more time!" was his reply.

It was a day before Passover. The year was 1968. Paul telephoned me from the country. "I am holding the Montreal Star advertising section. There is a description of a house on Finchley Road. Go see it! It might be our dream house!"

"But Paul," I said, "I am cooking. I am too busy today."

"Drop everything and go see it!" He almost ordered me.

"Yes, but this is Hampstead. Can we afford a house in such an expensive neighbourhood? They say a house in Hampstead costs hundreds and hundreds of thousands of dollars!"

"Who are they? Go and inquire."

When I rang the doorbell and entered the house with its round entrance hall and wide spaces all around me, I felt dizzy with excitement. "How many rooms?" "Ten." "How many bathrooms?" "Four." "Can I see the kitchen?" "Yes, it's all equipped and you will like the laundry room." "Are you leaving the appliances here?" "Of course." "Allow me to call my husband." "By all means."

I was stuttering from the excitement. "Paul, I found our dream house--but be honest with me: can we afford it?" Instead of answering my question, he said, "Wait for me there!"

He was impressed as I was. "How much are you asking for it?"

"$60,000," said the lady.

"$58,000," said her husband.

"Bought," said my generous husband.

By the time we moved in, our children were teenagers. We had to sell the duplex and had to look for an open store, for our stock had become tremendous. We moved to Saint Laurence Boulevard, and in order to keep the Sabbath, we went into the whole-sale trade. Our store, BeaumarchȂ Inc., became an instant success. Within three months, we enlarged three times, filling up 15,000 square feet of men's, women's and children's apparel. We had to look for employees: one, two, three, four, five, plus Paul and myself.

Times were good, we worked hard, and the money rolled in. We were on our way to becoming very successful. With the success of our business, Paul's ego also started to grow. Instead of praising me, he often criticized me. "I won't tolerate it, Paul," I said, "if you raise your voice to me one more time, I will stay at home!" He just laughed; he didn't believe me. But of course, he did it again--and I kept my promise. "Get yourself a bookkeeper and all-around helper. I am out," said I. He begged me to reconsider, but I was adamant.

"Ma, why don't you finish your education?" my daughter Joyce suggested. "What do you mean?" I asked her. "Go back to college, take courses! You finally have some time to do what you like!" "But, Joyce, the other students will laugh at me: I am fifty and they are your age. Isn't it ridiculous?" "No, it's not! Even Daddy will be proud of you, and so will Sonny and I."

So I registered at Concordia for a few courses, being careful to choose classes which would not interfere with my lifestyle. It took me ten years, but I graduated Cum Laude in 1981. I loved every minute of being a student. The education Europe deprived me of, my adopted country, Canada, offered to me whole-heartedly.

Now that we had money, we could travel, to see and feel and experience the world around us. But whenever we came back to Montreal, I felt so happy that I could kiss the ground of this blessed country. Only here did I feel safe.

Our children turned out to be the very best. Joyce married a physician. She is a speech therapist by profession. They settled in Florida and have two adorable daughters. Sonny attended McGill University in Montreal, graduating with honours in Commerce. After graduation he joined BeaumarchȂ and became an invaluable asset to us. He turned out to be an excellent businessman. Without delay he brought in new trends and styles, and computerized the company. He married Stephanie in 1978; they have two boys and a beautiful little girl, Kari.

Our business became very well known, even outside Quebec. Today we have about thirty employees, half of them French-Canadian. The others are of varied origins: Italian, Jewish, Syrian, Egyptian, African-American, Filipino, etc. Canada gave us a chance to grow and thrive and prosper.

Paul still goes to work every day, and he is proud of the fact that we have never used Canada's social benefits: we have never been unemployed or gone on welfare; and by paying our taxes, we fulfill our duty and express our reciprocity to a country which always gave us a chance to grow on our own.