I had a fairly pleasant childhood, growing up in a happy Jewish home in Frankfurt where my mother prepared wonderful Shabbat dinners, and we attended synagogue regularly. When the Nazis came, the other children threw stones at us and called us names. My father sent my sister Paula, brother Sidney, and I to America, while my mother and youngest brother Henry went to Paris. My mother was sent to Auschwitz where she died, though Henry escaped on the last children’s transport. My father was caught trying to cross the Alps but survived, later reuniting with us in America when my brother Sidney, then with the U.S. Army, found him. Come to Portraits of Survival to learn more.