Overheard on the Bus - Holocaust Remembrance Day

Tonight and tomorrow is Holocaust Remembrance Day in Israel and in the Jewish world. I lit my candle and now I'm going to tell you a story I overheard on the bus from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem in about 1990. I can't be sure of the year but the lady who told the story was about 55 years old so that would fit with her being born in about 1935. My dates are approximate but my memory is clear. The bus was crowded. I had a seat and she was standing next to me in the isle, talking to another woman. She was slim, with wavy black hair layered to her shoulders, and spoke with a New York accent. This is the story she told her friend.

"I was born in Germany. I was one of three. We were triplets. We came early as multiple births often do, and we were very small. After a week or so they sent my mother home to recuperate and kept us three baby girls in the hospital to grow stronger. Our father visited us every day after work. 

One day a nurse took my father aside and urged him to take us home immediately. The situation for the Jews was already compromised and he understood enough to take her words seriously. He had come straight from work so he had no way to take all three of us home on the bus without a bassinet or any way of carrying us. He could only manage one baby, and he took me. 

The next morning my father went back to the hospital with a bassinet to collect his other two daughters. It was too late, they were gone. The head of hospital told him that they had died in the night. There were no bodies and no further information could be dragged out of any of the staff. 

Soon after that we moved to New York. My two younger brothers and I always knew that I was one of triplets but my mother was always adamant that the other two had died. She couldn't cope with any other scenario. My father never contradicted her but we knew he believed otherwise. 

I became an art teacher. Many years later I was teaching in a high school in New York when a college student came to do her training placement with me. One day she told me that her college supervisor would be coming in to observe her lesson. We told the class and we waited to start until the supervisor arrived. 

The classroom door opened and another member of staff brought the supervisor in. Everyone in the room gasped. All the kids could see it. The supervisor was my identical double. And she was wearing an enormous cross around her neck. All the kids knew that I am Jewish. When she saw me she went white, but she sat through the lesson and then quickly left. She didn't speak to me afterwards, which is very unusual, and I never saw her again. But I know she was my sister and that somewhere out there there's another one of us."

I was eavesdropping so I couldn't ask any questions. Luckily the friend asked what I too wanted to know. "Didn't you try to find her?"

"No never. I discussed it with my brothers and we decided not to even tell my parents. My mother had lived all her life insisting that two of her daughters had died. What would it do to her to have to face a different truth now? And the woman with the big cross around her neck - who knows what she has been through? Who knows what kind of life she had? I was the lucky one who got to grow up with our parents. It wasn't up to me turn her life upside down. She knew where to find me if she wanted to. She never did."

This is the first time I've told this story overheard on a bus in Israel more than 30 years ago. The lady would be about 85 now if she's still alive. It's an incredible story but not unusual for Israel or in the Jewish world. As time goes on we hear these incredible stories less and less. In another generation they will be second-hand stories. I am the generation who heard directly from the people who survived. We must continue to tell the stories.