A couple of weeks ago I misspoke on the bimah when I said: “The miracle of my mother’s survival is the reason I am here today.”

My parents were different in so many regards, it should be no surprise that they differed when it came to their liberation.  My mother spoke freely and with a positive attitude about all her experiences in the Shoah, but about her liberation, there was very little emphasis, it was all matter of fact. By contrast, my father would answer all questions about the Shoah with very detailed, unedited, even graphic descriptions that were often hard to digest.  However, when it came to liberation his face would light up.

My father was liberated by the 3rd Armored Division of the US Army on April 11, 1945, from Nordhausen which was a subcamp of Buchenwald in central Germany and where the V2 rocket was produced.  His liberation date often coincided with seder where he would speak of his own exodus.  He wanted very badly to meet and thank his liberators from the 3rd Armored Division which had also seen action at Normandy.

When I was a teenager, during summers I would go to work in my father’s printing shop on Houston Street directly across from what is now the Film Forum in the West Village.  We would drive in and every few weeks we would pick up fresh bread and rolls for his crew for breakfast from one of his favorite bakeries in Little Italy. We would usually make a detour through the Bowery where we would stop and my father would find someone down and out and ask if they wanted some food and coffee.  My father knew there was a good chance we would find a vet but the chance of lucid conversation was low, so he would only ask a couple of questions:

– are you a vet?

– where were you the day FDR died? (which was April 12, 1945, the day after he was liberated.)

He never did find one of his liberators on the Bowery, but I learned a lot from the respect he showed those unfortunate souls we met.

The actual liberation of my parents was also quite different. My mother and her sister were marched with about 100 inmates by the SS to Ribnitz where they would ultimately be liberated by the Red Army.  My father hid in a middle bunk in Nordhausen as the camp was being evacuated only to be discovered alone by a single Ukranian guard who just let him be until the US Army entered the camp.

I have always considered myself very fortunate and usually having a positive attitude (though my sunny disposition may have faded somewhat with age). A good amount of my disposition comes from my mother, but not all.  Even as a child, I would consider how unlikely the odds were that both of my parents could survive the Shoah and that my being here is like found money.

I know there are others among us who are no less fortunate than myself for being here and so I would like to invite them and everyone else to join me in the she-asah nisim prayer for the miracles of our ancestors:

baruch atah adonai eloheynu melech haolom she-asah nisim laavoteinu bayamim hahaeim baz’man hazeh.

Am Yisrael Chai.