PRODUCT OF THE ASHES

Photo credit: "Holocaust Memorial on the Danube River" by alexap, courtesy of Flickr.com

Out of the fire of the holocaust to the land of the free, this is where my mother brought me. I am the product of the ashes of the Holocaust. My mother left me to grow rootless in a land where I had the freedom to search for my purpose in a place of unlimited possibilities.

My mother, sister and I arrived in New York City on a ship. It was 1957, I was 6 months old; I crossed the ocean in a little basket. We were sponsored to the United States by The Protestant Minister in Hood River Oregon, (this is how the letter was addressed) the mail carrier selected the minister that would receive my mother’s letter and request for assistance. Of all the ministers in Hood River, This one was a peace activist and an active participant in the civil rights movement.

My mother was a fearless survivor, intelligent, young and beautiful, She met a commercial fisherman in Portland, married and moved to her dream house on 35 forested acres, 5 acres of pasture, our own personal spring, a creek that ran beside our property and into the river where we spent every summer. I am grateful for the choices my mother made; her dream house became my escape from the insanity she left me in; with my motherless 2-year-old brother and abusive resentful stepfather when I was five years Old.

I grew up with multiple housekeepers, and we (my brother and I) just came with the house. What I learned from them is priceless. I learned about different classes, diversity, religions, and other cultures. I tasted a plethora of different kinds of foods. I learned that my stepfather was an asshole and the people that lived with us affirmed this because, not one stayed for more than 9 month. They all left and I decided I did not have to live there either.

I started running away from home when I was five. The first time, I took the school bus to the end of the line and went home with a girl from school. I told my story repeatedly, no one believed in getting involved. I always ended right back where I came from. The older I got the better I became at running, I even flew to Anchorage, Alaska with fake I.D.

I learned a lot about how to survive, and that being young was a commodity. There are good and bad people in every race, and class. Your religion, political status, education, or financial position does not define your character. I believe my mother survived much the same way as I did on the streets hiding and in fear for her life.

I was fortunate to have survived and to have had people in my life that really cared about me. Who taught me about Gandhi, Martin Luther King, and to always question authority; no one person has the whole truth, it lies in all of creation; it is through educating ourselves, overcoming our prejudices, and honoring life that we can find it. The United States allows me the freedom live my life with integrity.

I am a daughter of a Holocaust survivor, a granddaughter of Anti-Semitic grandfather, a mother of three bi-racial children, two who are Muslim, one who is Christian, I have another child with a father who was Italian and his father had his own seat on the New York stock exchange. I have five grandchildren one lovingly being raised by his two same sex fathers. This would have never happened without the freedom to follow their own hearts. I love them all. I love you. You are all my family.