27 January marks the anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau, the largest Nazi death camp. Every year on that day Holocaust Memorial Day takes place. In the words of the Holocaust Memorial Day Trust, Holocaust Memorial Day encourages remembrance in a world scarred by genocide. Too many staff and service users across the whole of the NHS have been and continue to be affected by genocide. Joseph, who is the husband of a Trust Governor, agreed to share his own personal experience.
My Holocaust journey by Joseph Morris
We’ve all seem the well documented images of skeletal, dying bodies in ever increasing piles of death and inhumane savagery. The Holocaust has inflicted such lasting, intolerable suffering and horrendous pain on future generations that by now much of the Jewish population has become conditioned to that frightening sensation you get when you think back to the callous murder of six million Jews.
My story is much the same as the millions of grandchildren who have had to undertake the unenviable task of dealing with the repercussions of the Holocaust. I now take you back to my wonderful grandparents and my mum and their harrowing ordeals, Hitler’s ruthless obliteration of six million Jews and then the years of questions, denials, repression, bottling it all up, refusing to talk about Hitler’s terrorism, genocide on a monumental scale and the gas chambers that would be their final destination on Earth.
So here it is Ladies and Gentlemen. The truth and nothing but the truth. Desperately escaping persecution in the Warsaw ghettoes, my wonderful grandpa Jack and my beautiful grandma Rose(affectionately known as Rachel Rusman, ran like hell for the welcome sanctuary of the local railway station and any train that would take them to safety and a warm bed in a country that gave them freedom and a new life.
Of course it wasn’t easy. My grandpa Jack had to fend off the brutal advances of the Nazi soldiers. The Nazis wanted my grandpa’s possessions, money and probably wanted to kill my grandparents and mum almost immediately. They stopped him in the street as he headed for home and then lashed out at him, threatening to kill him on the spot if he didn’t give them the cigarettes that he had just bought.
It all seems like some romantic escape to a land of love, security and protection from the forces of evil. But it must have taken them ages to find acceptance, a place to live again without feeling hated and tormented both physically and mentally.
What on earth must it have felt like to be embraced by loving, rational people who just wanted the Jews to resume a normal life? After so many years of feeling alienated and completely ignored by society here was my grandpa Jack and grandma Rose back on dry land in the East End of London.
For the best part of a decade and the Swinging Sixties my grandpa Jack and grandma Rose aka Rachel enjoyed a comfortable life in Plashett Grove, Upton Park. They saw their son David in the smartest bar mitzvah shirt, jacket and tallit and then waved him off to university where he would become a chartered accountant.
Then they saw their daughter and sadly my late and lovely mum Sybil settle down to married life with my wonderful dad Manny. But the memories were always close to the surface, nagging away at them, dragging them back to those horrifically distressing scenes of torture, humiliation and constant suffering.
But then my grandparents moved to Gants Hill in Ilford, Essex in the early 1970s, another large, rambling home but a home from home. We always felt the house was far too large for them but they didn’t seem to really care. In fact they celebrated their move with a remarkable house warming party.
And yet things were never far from ideal. My grandparents became very private, almost reclusive, refusing to share their Holocaust nightmares with the rest of wider society. On Saturday nights they would indulge themselves in games of cards with old friends from the Second World War. They would go to the cinema on a Tuesday afternoon with tea and biscuits thrown in for good measure. But once their front door was shut they never really ventured out again. The shopping was done and that was it.
Meanwhile my poor grandma was going through her private hell. Suddenly she experienced terrifying flashbacks to the Holocaust. Goodness knows how many hours she must have spent screaming loudly at the top of her voice, pleading for the Nazis to stop, throwing her body around with wild contortions and then pausing for a while. Then she just moved her feet up and down as if paralysed by some unspeakable terror. She was shaking and trembling and nobody will ever know what I saw.
But my grandpa never forgave the Nazis and the Germans for their barbarity and violent deeds. He used to sit in his armchair leafing through the Daily Mirror and rarely smiling. In fact he was consumed with bitterness and resentment, feelings that would never ever leave them. Judaism was hard-wired into his psyche and he simply went to his grave despising the Nazis- with every justification.
For my grandparents and mum nothing would ever erase the harrowing trauma that the Holocaust had visited upon them. But I’ll forever be grateful for the enormous sacrifices that my grandparents and mum had made. Lest we ever forget the Holocaust. I can never adequately express enough the love and gratitude to my family who saw it all with their eyes. Never forget.
Holocaust Memorial Day is held to raise awareness and understanding of all holocausts. Find out more here.
The ELFT BAME Network is holding a one hour webinar to commemorate Holocaust Memorial Day on Thursday 27th January 2022 from 11:30-12:30
In the hope that there may be One Day in the future with no genocide. We learn more about the past, we empathise with others today, and we take action for a better future.
One Day in History, One Day when life changed, One Day at a time, One Day in the future, One Day is a snapshot. For further information please email elft.communicatons@nhs.net