Today is my father’s birthday. If Mendek were alive, he’d be turning 97. I’ve been thinking about him so much lately: recalling his wisdom, joy, and sweetness, pondering his lineage and legacy.

I just finished a project that has taken close to two years to complete—a family tree that starts with my great-grandparents in Jaworzno, Poland, and goes all the way to the present. The tree is huge, with over 400 living descendants, laid out by a talented professional designer. After countless additions and corrections, we finally printed 130 posters that I just finished sending out to cousins all across the country and in Israel.

Mendek (far left) next to his mother Ida, with four of his five siblings (left to right: Bronia, Rutka, Mila and Tulek), his father Israel, and cousin Liba. Early 1930s.

Before doing the research for Quest for Eternal Sunshine, I had absolutely no idea just how large my extended family was. After the massive genocide of the Holocaust, where my grandparents’ entire generation was wiped out along with the vast majority of their children, I thought we numbered in the dozens, not the hundreds. Most of my cousins are Orthodox, and my father’s spiritual adventures led him to a very different world, so I was raised only knowing about a handful of our closest relatives.

One of the cousins I discovered during my research for Quest for Eternal Sunshine—a grandson of my father’s beloved Uncle Yossele—helped me get accurate information for the small family tree I included in the book. That process led the two of us to realize that no one had yet compiled our family’s full genealogical information, and that if we didn’t do it soon, it would become impossible. Of the final generation born in Jaworzno, only two people are still alive—my aunt Bronia, and one of Yossele’s daughters, Mila. If not for my cousin who worked on this tirelessly for so long, this project would never have been possible.

This family tree brings up many conflicting emotions for me. It memorializes so many gruesome murders motivated by prejudice, cruelty and violence, but it also overflows with vibrant new life.

Mandlebaul Family Tree—Final—MYRAs Tree-30x40-Sept-21-01.jpg

Despite the heartbreak and horrors my father and the other survivors in my family endured, they found the strength and courage to persevere and start families of their own—to participate in the ongoing cycle of bringing forth new life with optimism and hope.

Seeing my father overcome decades of depression and pain to blossom into one of the happiest and most peaceful people I have ever known, it is clear that he wanted his legacy to be one of love and joy. After discovering that there is no virtue in suffering and no benefit in identifying as a powerless victim, his goal was to liberate himself from his tremendous trauma and “write a new script,” so he could regain his power, fulfill his destiny, and truly savor his life. “It’s not that I deny the past. I just don’t live in it,” he once explained.

My father lived on the edge of death throughout the entire second World War, especially during his three years as a starved, brutalized slave laborer in Nazi concentration camps, and then again as a soldier in Korea. I believe that he knew how to hold death close and contemplated it frequently.

My dad wanted to take his departure from this world feeling the satisfaction of a “job well done.” He wrote, “One day I will die. Before my last breath leaves my body, I expect to ponder the meaning of my life and wonder if it was a journey worth taking. I don’t want to carry my bitterness and venom to the grave or have regrets and sadness fill my heart because of opportunities I lost along the way.”

I believe my father achieved his greatest wishes for himself, and that his quest for eternal sunshine was successful. It is one of the biggest honors of my life to be able to share his journey and wisdom with you. Thank you for joining me as I hold my father close on the anniversary of his birth.

With wishes for peace, healing, joy and love,

Myra

A Legacy of Love and Joy