Gratitude to My Aunt Bronia
One of the biggest blessings for me in writing Quest for Eternal Sunshine was that it brought me very close to my aunt Bronia, my father’s sole surviving sibling. Although Mendek and Bronia were inseparable after the war, once my father married and began the spiritual explorations that took him far away from his orthodox family in Brooklyn, their contact became sporadic. During the thirty years my father lived in California, he only saw his sister twice. Bronia and I were barely in touch during my whole adult life.
A few months after my father died, I was drawn to visit Bronia at her home in Brooklyn and we had a lovely time together. Being with her made me feel connected to my dad; they looked and sounded so much alike. Gazing into Bronia’s eyes, I saw Mendek’s eyes, which are also my eyes.
Bronia served moon cake for dessert; a strudel-like rolled pastry with a sweet poppy seed filling. Moon cake had always been my dad’s favorite treat—it was the special gift I’d order each year from Zabar’s in New York for his birthday and Father’s Day. Bronia and I were delighted to discover that they had this in common.
When I began working on my father’s book a couple of years after that visit, Bronia became my guide to his early life and also to the Holocaust. Her generosity was boundless as we spent countless hours emailing, talking on the phone, and meeting in person when I traveled to New York.
Bronia was only eight when World War II began, but she shared everything she could remember about her hometown, my father, their family, as well as the horrors of the war. She painted a picture of the post-war atmosphere in Europe: what it was like to live in Germany, to search for other survivors, and how they traded on the black market.
Mendek, Simon and Bronia circa 1946
Bronia told me stories about immigrating to America with my father—two destitute orphans who spoke no English and had no marketable skills. She showed me the few precious photos she had, and reconnected me with my second cousins, Mizi and Mati, who had more treasures and memories to share. For the first time, I learned the many ways their father—Simon Geldwerth, my father’s cousin and eventual business partner—had been a remarkable hero for our family.
Working with Bronia, I was able to piece together much more of my father’s story than he had ever shared with me or anyone else. Bronia told me that I’d been named after their beautiful, magical older sister Mila, and that my father’s passion for music and dance came from his mother, and that she shared it, too.
Over time, the Holocaust became more to me than just an inconceivable massive slaughter in which individual lives hardly mattered. Before, I’d always believed that I wasn’t allowed to feel as if my family’s losses were exceptional—they were just a drop in the bucket of the limitless suffering of the six million who had been killed, and the million more who had survived to bear the pain. Who was I, someone so fortunate, to express my grief?
For the first time, because of Bronia, I had real people to mourn. In my our email exchanges, I went from asking questions about “your family,” to asking about “our family.”
As my father’s past came to life, I spent time each day thinking about one of my family members who had been murdered. I grieved for that person and paid homage: “Grandma Ida, I mourn for you. I am so sorry for your suffering. No human should have to endure what you did. I wish I had been given the chance to know you. I wish I could have tasted your food and rested my head on your lap when I was a child.”
Thanks to Bronia, my history no longer stops at the bottomless darkness, cruelty and suffering that was the Holocaust. Now, my history goes through that terrible era to the time before. It lands in Jaworzno, where my family had a beautiful, rich life.
Mendek’s sisters, Mila, Bronia, Rutka, 1936
After half a century of silence following liberation, Bronia became a well-known speaker about the Holocaust. This is what she told me the last time we spoke:
“The war ended seventy-five years ago, but not a day goes by that I do not mourn my murdered parents and siblings. People must understand that racism kills. The Nazis used hatred and fear to manipulate people into viewing Jews as parasites instead of humans. It is very easy to justify exterminating vermin. When I think of my sweet, beautiful sisters and exuberant, joyful brother—just four of the more than one and a half million children who were killed—I still cannot conceive of how people could slaughter so many precious, innocent people.”
After the war, Bronia lost her ability to both laugh and cry. Although she is now moved to laughter occasionally, she still has never regained her ability to shed tears.
Remarkably, at 89, Bronia is on a healing journey of her own. She studies trauma resolution techniques, and as her heart slowly mends, painful new memories continue to surface. Although it is terribly difficult, Bronia welcomes this new opportunity for mending and growth.
Just like Bronia, I am determined to help the world remember and learn from the Holocaust. But at the same time, one of the biggest gifts of working on this book has been gaining the deep knowledge that the best way to honor my father is to fully embrace life, love, and joy every single day. My father does not want me to dim the beauty of my life by the misconception that I need to stay loyal to the darkness and pain of my ancestors. Rather, I feel my father urging me to follow in his footsteps—to always turn towards the light, just like a flower turns toward the sunshine.
Preserving Bronia’s Memories & Insights on Film
I may have missed the opportunity to ask my father questions about his life and his philosophy, but I didn’t make the same mistake with Bronia. I hired a professional documentary filmmaker and editor to help create a series of six powerful and compelling short video interviews (all 1.5 to 3 minutes in length) with Bronia that talk about the war, my father, and Bronia’s reflections on life and her family.
Next in the newsletter: Myra’s upcoming online event with InsightLA