Ichak Adizes
All the Jews were herded into a concentration camp by Bulgarian fascists.
Portraits of Survival is many things: an award-winning exhibition and series of videos; a much-touted educational program that has touched the hearts and minds of many, and a resource center that includes books, journals, videos and teaching materials.
But, at the heart of it, Portraits of Survival is about the Holocaust survivors and refugees themselves, their stories, their journeys, their heartaches, and their triumphs.
"Honoring our survivors symbolizes our victory over forgetfulness."
~Elie Wiesel (z"l), author, Holocaust survivor
All the Jews were herded into a concentration camp by Bulgarian fascists.
Things immediately got worse for all Jews. I saw crowds beating and mistreating Jews.
My brother and I were no longer permitted to go swimming or to go for walks in public parks.
My father went from being a business owner to being a clerk.
I watched as the pharmacy across the street was vandalized and windows smashed.
My sister and I could not go on our daily walks in the park and play in the playground.
My mother and I watched as the Gestapo went from house to house looking for Jews.
In my hand was a suitcase, and in it was the last connection I had with my family.
While in the army I had to conceal my identity, in case I was captured by the enemy.
I had to play by myself during recess, as no children could play with a Jewish child.
I watched my friends being forced onto trucks and trains to be deported back to Poland.
On my ninth birthday, my oldest brother Jay and I were smuggled into France.
We were even afraid to talk in our own homes - the walls had ears.
We saw starvation, rampant illness, horrifying living conditions, and death.
I found myself living alone in Catholic school among strangers.
I was born in Josvainai, Lithuania on February 7, 1929. We were ordinary people deeply rooted in Judaism.
My life began in 1920 in a beautiful, cultured city in eastern Poland named L’vov.
We were put into a shelter, since my mother had no job or language skills.
In the bunker we just existed, constantly hungry due to meager food supplies.
My teacher, who proudly wore a Nazi party emblem, singled me out for abuse.
Hiding in the forest, we slept on the damp ground. Cold and hunger were constant.
By insisting that I only spoke French, the officials decided to look for other victims.
My family was forced to close their shop due to anti-Jewish measures.
We rented land from a farmer who reported us to the authorities at harvest time.
I began to work for the underground, bringing food to Jews in hiding.
Mine was a very exciting and varied life with all its ups and downs on four continents.
He used potato sacks to make clothes for the prisoners, and was known as “the tailor.”
We were always exhausted and hungry and heavily punished for the slightest infraction.
We hid with a family in a one-room house with their nine children and 11 dogs.
We hid our identity by pretending to be Catholic Hungarians from the countryside.
I was in a truck covered by coals and logs, and dropped off at a convent.
While we all worked, we were hungry; a piece of bread was a treat.
We published an anti-Nazi underground newspaper in our bookstore.
Children threw stones at us, calling us names. Jewish people began to disappear.
I was attacked by German kids. When I fought back, the police came.
My home and those of other Jews were burned by Russians during a pogrom.
Families shipped their children out of Germany for safekeeping.
On arrival, Klara and Elsa stood before Josef Mengele for selection.