She Was One Of The Last
Her name was Frieda Greenspan. And she was a hero.
She was a Jew from Pre-War Poland. An attractive girl, she married young. Before the tanks and the night of broken glass, before the storm, when the world was innocent and the sky was bright and clean. But then the darkness came, in the form of soldiers and bombs and vile, vile, hatred.
She survived the Holocaust. She spent time in Auschwitz, the most feared workcamp on the contintent. She was separated from her husband and lost her whole family, except her younger sister, which she protected like a mother would. She got lucky. She got on the famous Schindler's List, but her sister didn't. She refused to leave her behind and so she stayed, let someone else pretend to be her and leave the horrible world of a workcamp. Later, in the final stages of the war, while on a terrible "death march" towards smaller camps, Frieda and her sister escaped and fled to an out-of-the-way farm to wait out the war.
Miraciously, during the clean-up after the war, she was reunited with her husband in Switzerland. They had both survived. Years later, they came to America, to New York City, to set up a home with nothing more than an idea and a few government checks. It worked. They got set up in the booming real estate market and invested in some choice properties in Queens and The Bronx. Her husband, David, died ten years ago, a kind, quiet, man with never an ill word to say about anyone.
Thirty (or so) years ago, they sent some money to Israel for Frieda's eldest sister's youngest son to come to America, to find some fraction of the financial and soceital comfort she had found here. That young son is my father. He's had four children here.
Freida died last week, in a Queens hospital, from complications after a stroke, initially brought on by the heat. She was eighty-nine.
I don't know if you can read this or hear my thoughts or anything like that, I just wanted to say, Thank You, Frieda. Thank you for everything. For the sacrifices you made, for the choices you made, for the life you were forced to live, and the chance to know you.
Rest in peace.
She was a Jew from Pre-War Poland. An attractive girl, she married young. Before the tanks and the night of broken glass, before the storm, when the world was innocent and the sky was bright and clean. But then the darkness came, in the form of soldiers and bombs and vile, vile, hatred.
She survived the Holocaust. She spent time in Auschwitz, the most feared workcamp on the contintent. She was separated from her husband and lost her whole family, except her younger sister, which she protected like a mother would. She got lucky. She got on the famous Schindler's List, but her sister didn't. She refused to leave her behind and so she stayed, let someone else pretend to be her and leave the horrible world of a workcamp. Later, in the final stages of the war, while on a terrible "death march" towards smaller camps, Frieda and her sister escaped and fled to an out-of-the-way farm to wait out the war.
Miraciously, during the clean-up after the war, she was reunited with her husband in Switzerland. They had both survived. Years later, they came to America, to New York City, to set up a home with nothing more than an idea and a few government checks. It worked. They got set up in the booming real estate market and invested in some choice properties in Queens and The Bronx. Her husband, David, died ten years ago, a kind, quiet, man with never an ill word to say about anyone.
Thirty (or so) years ago, they sent some money to Israel for Frieda's eldest sister's youngest son to come to America, to find some fraction of the financial and soceital comfort she had found here. That young son is my father. He's had four children here.
Freida died last week, in a Queens hospital, from complications after a stroke, initially brought on by the heat. She was eighty-nine.
I don't know if you can read this or hear my thoughts or anything like that, I just wanted to say, Thank You, Frieda. Thank you for everything. For the sacrifices you made, for the choices you made, for the life you were forced to live, and the chance to know you.
Rest in peace.
posted by elad at 8:58 AM
8 Comments:
I had the honor of spending time with Frieda on two occassions. From the first moment you are in her presence you can feel her greatness. Such a tiny woman with so much to say and share. A wonderful story teller and a unique and kind hearted soul.
She has spunk and style, too. She wasn't your little old grandma hidding out in her house. She didn't let anything stop her. She walked the streets of Queens to get her wine and drove her car around the crazy Florida highways to meet her family for dinner.
She had grace, charm, charisma, strength, and love (to just name a few attributes). Just by the small amount of time I spent with her I knew that I would be lucky to be half of the woman she is.
what an amazing testimony of one person's courage and fortitute. you're certainly blessed to have had such a compelling force in your life. i'm so sorry for your loss.
i meant to type "fortitude." at any rate, this also gives me the opportunity to add that i'm so impressed by individuals who sacrificed for their family, friends and even complete strangers during those horrible times. i can't imagine the effect she's had on the lives she's encountered, but it's awesome to know that you appreciate her impact on you.
thanks, julie. :) and shawn, of course.
I don't know you, but thank you for posting this. It is a beautiful tribute to someone from a soon dying generation of brave grandparents, aunts, uncles of the people who are making their way in the world right now. We would be smart (and lucky) to have and preserve their stories. Many people forget and by retelling them, hopefully those of us who know people like your Freida can help everyone to better remember their beauty and courage! I very much appreciate you telling her story.
you're very welcome, bonnie and i completely agree.
i can't quote any statistic, but logically we realize that can't be many people left alive who survived the Holocaust - whether they be Jewish or Black or Gypsy - one of the greatest tragedies in human history. We cannot forget what they went through, both during and after the Holocaust. Frieda's arm was marked with numbers since she was in her teenage years. Can you imagine? She was not able to have children because of Nazi testing. She wrote and spoke about her experiences extensively. She never tried to forget it, but instead used her experiences to teach, to help others understand where she came from.
wow, what a powerful story and legacy she leaves. thanks for telling her story!
Frieda was my grandmother's cousin. I stumbled across your blog doing some research on her for a family history project. I feel so privilleged to have known her. She was the most remarkable person I have ever met.
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