Hope in Times of Despair: A Continuation of the Bar Mitzvah Story -- By Solly Ganor
During the last few days I received dozens of e-mail letters from friends in the States and even from Europe praising me for coming in these difficult days to Jackson Klein's bar mitzvah.
One of the people in the congregation, Carolyn Trapp, wrote a description of the event that has now been widely circulated on the Internet. I wish to thank Carolyn for her moving description of that memorable evening at the Birmingham Temple. Since I played in it a certain role, her article that describes so beautifully the bar mitzvah service particularly touched me.
It took place on September 14, three days after the calamity in Manhattan. All of us who attended the service were still in shock, many close to tears.
Those of you who read the article, the lady describes a "white-haired man," who thirteen year old Jackson called to the podium. I was the "white- haired man‚" and it was the story of my life that Jackson had chosen for his bar mitzvah speech.
How did I get there and what was my connection to Jackson's bar mitzvah? They say that sometimes life is stranger than fiction. It certainly is in my case.
I was Jackson's age when Hitler's armies invaded the Soviet union murdering in its wake millions of Jews. Lithuania, where I was born, was first to be attacked. I was among the few lucky survivors, as most of the Jews of Lithuania perished. After four years in the ghetto Kovne and the notorious concentration camp of Dachau, the US army liberated me on May 2, 1945. I immigrated to Israel and fought in its war of independence. It is my home to this day, but during the summer months we live in La Jolla, California.
During World War II, like Anna Frank, I kept a diary which fifty years later was published in New York under the title "Light One Candle." It was later translated into German and Japanese.
About a year ago, I received an e-mail letter from Jackson Klein who told me that he was very moved by my book and decided to make my life story the subject for his bar mitzvah speech. We started to exchange e-mail letters. In his e-mail letters he asked many questions and by the questions I realized that he is an exceptionally bright boy.
After many letters, he very graciously invited me to come to his bar mitzvah. I am 73-year-old man who went through the Holocaust and participated in five wars against the Arabs in Israel.
As you can imagine, these difficult years left its marks on me. Coming to Detroit would not be an easy matter. I was about to refuse his invitation, when I remembered an incident in my life that made me change my mind.
It was on Hanukah, December 1939. I was eleven years old. World War Two had started a few months earlier and the Nazis had occupied Poland. Lithuania was still an independent country at that time, and thousands of Jewish refugees came swarming into Lithuania telling us of the atrocities the Germans committed against the Jews.
During that time a Japanese consul, by the name of Chiune Sugihara, came to Lithuania and moved in to a house not far from where we lived. Soon afterwards, I met him at my aunt's gourmet shop where he was purchasing some chocolates for his children.
I had come to collect from my aunt my Hanukah money and saw this elegant dressed gentleman with strange slanted eyes. I stared at him and he laughed and there was kindness in his laughter. I immediately took to him. He spoke perfect Russian, and my aunt explained to him the Jewish custom of Hanukah money given by family members to the children. He immediately offered me some coins.
I wanted the money, but told him that I couldn't take it because he was not family. He just smiled and told me that for this Hanukah he is going to be my uncle.
"You can consider me your uncle, he said." I took the coin and the Sugiharas became my family to this day.
There is an old Jewish saying, "life and death is on the tip of your tongue." To this day I don't know what made me say it, but I blurted out, "If you are my uncle why don't you come to our Hanukah party on Saturday?" This invitation by an eleven-year-old boy resulted in a strange friendship between the Japanese consul and me. He accepted my invitation and actually came with his wife Yokiko to our Hanukah party. Our families became good friends and I would often go to the consulate to get cookies from his wife Yokiko. He would also give me an envelope filled with Japanese stamps for my collection. Six months later we found out what a humanitarian Chiune Sugihara was, when he issued thousands of visas to Jewish refugees saving their lives. There are over forty thousand survivors and their descendents today in the world, simply because of one man, Sempo, Chiune Sugihara.
In her book, "Visas For Life," recently translated into English, his wife Yokiko Sugihara wrote: "The decision to issue visas to the Jewish refugees may have been influenced by a young boy named Solly Ganor."
If that is true, then my life has not been in vain.
That was one of the reasons why I accepted Jackson's invitation to his bar mitzvah. The memory of that great Japanese humanitarian is always with me. I thought that if the Japanese consul could accept an invitation of an eleven year old boy to come to a Hanukah party, I should accept the gracious invitation by a Jewish boy named Jackson Klein of Detroit, who depended on me for the success of his bar mitzvah ceremony.
What I didn't reckon with was the disaster in New York. My wife Pola and I were booked to fly from San Diego, California to Detroit, on September 11. On the 12, there was going to be the opening of a photo exhibition which was based on my book and the war photo collection of George Kadish. The exhibition was to open at the Sommerset Mall at Troy, Michigan. My friend, the historian Eric Saul of San Francisco, who created the exhibition, went ahead with the collection a few days earlier. I was to arrive for the opening on September 12.
On September 11, I was returning the rented car at the San Diego airport, when I noticed the man who was handling the papers staring open mouthed at the TV monitor above his head. I followed his gaze and couldn't believe what I saw. One of the twin towers was collapsing like a house of cards right in front of our eyes. I will never forget that site, not only because of the horror, but as a Holocaust survivor I instinctively realized that we are entering a new and terrifying world with unprecedented brutality.
The San Diego airport was immediately closed to all traffic and there was no way I could get to Detroit in time. It was then that I decided no matter what, I had to get to Jackson's bar mitzvah. Many feared to fly after September 11, and my friends thought I was crazy to go to a bar mitzvah, especially when the boy wasn't even family. But I persisted. Somehow I felt that I couldn't let Jackson down. And I didn't. As Jackson said, I was perhaps the only guest who arrived of all those who were supposed to fly in.
All I can add is that I do not regret it. The heart warming reception by the Kleins, their family, their friends and the whole congregation, more than made up for the many hours I had to wait at the airport to get my flight to Detroit. But my main joy was to meet Jackson and take part in his bar mitzvah. His speech about my life was so vivid and detailed that it brought uncontrollable tears to my eyes and I don't cry easily.
Perhaps we all needed a good cry in the wake of the terrible tragedy in Manhattan that touched the hearts of all peoples of the civilized world.
What has to be done now? What we have been doing in Israel for over half a century; Bury our dead and go after the Ben Ladins of the world who pollute this planet.
Solly Ganor
Herzelia, Israel
October 26, 2001
During the last few days I received dozens of e-mail letters from friends in the States and even from Europe praising me for coming in these difficult days to Jackson Klein's bar mitzvah.
One of the people in the congregation, Carolyn Trapp, wrote a description of the event that has now been widely circulated on the Internet. I wish to thank Carolyn for her moving description of that memorable evening at the Birmingham Temple. Since I played in it a certain role, her article that describes so beautifully the bar mitzvah service particularly touched me.
It took place on September 14, three days after the calamity in Manhattan. All of us who attended the service were still in shock, many close to tears.
Those of you who read the article, the lady describes a "white-haired man," who thirteen year old Jackson called to the podium. I was the "white- haired man‚" and it was the story of my life that Jackson had chosen for his bar mitzvah speech.
How did I get there and what was my connection to Jackson's bar mitzvah? They say that sometimes life is stranger than fiction. It certainly is in my case.
I was Jackson's age when Hitler's armies invaded the Soviet union murdering in its wake millions of Jews. Lithuania, where I was born, was first to be attacked. I was among the few lucky survivors, as most of the Jews of Lithuania perished. After four years in the ghetto Kovne and the notorious concentration camp of Dachau, the US army liberated me on May 2, 1945. I immigrated to Israel and fought in its war of independence. It is my home to this day, but during the summer months we live in La Jolla, California.
During World War II, like Anna Frank, I kept a diary which fifty years later was published in New York under the title "Light One Candle." It was later translated into German and Japanese.
About a year ago, I received an e-mail letter from Jackson Klein who told me that he was very moved by my book and decided to make my life story the subject for his bar mitzvah speech. We started to exchange e-mail letters. In his e-mail letters he asked many questions and by the questions I realized that he is an exceptionally bright boy.
After many letters, he very graciously invited me to come to his bar mitzvah. I am 73-year-old man who went through the Holocaust and participated in five wars against the Arabs in Israel.
As you can imagine, these difficult years left its marks on me. Coming to Detroit would not be an easy matter. I was about to refuse his invitation, when I remembered an incident in my life that made me change my mind.
It was on Hanukah, December 1939. I was eleven years old. World War Two had started a few months earlier and the Nazis had occupied Poland. Lithuania was still an independent country at that time, and thousands of Jewish refugees came swarming into Lithuania telling us of the atrocities the Germans committed against the Jews.
During that time a Japanese consul, by the name of Chiune Sugihara, came to Lithuania and moved in to a house not far from where we lived. Soon afterwards, I met him at my aunt's gourmet shop where he was purchasing some chocolates for his children.
I had come to collect from my aunt my Hanukah money and saw this elegant dressed gentleman with strange slanted eyes. I stared at him and he laughed and there was kindness in his laughter. I immediately took to him. He spoke perfect Russian, and my aunt explained to him the Jewish custom of Hanukah money given by family members to the children. He immediately offered me some coins.
I wanted the money, but told him that I couldn't take it because he was not family. He just smiled and told me that for this Hanukah he is going to be my uncle.
"You can consider me your uncle, he said." I took the coin and the Sugiharas became my family to this day.
There is an old Jewish saying, "life and death is on the tip of your tongue." To this day I don't know what made me say it, but I blurted out, "If you are my uncle why don't you come to our Hanukah party on Saturday?" This invitation by an eleven-year-old boy resulted in a strange friendship between the Japanese consul and me. He accepted my invitation and actually came with his wife Yokiko to our Hanukah party. Our families became good friends and I would often go to the consulate to get cookies from his wife Yokiko. He would also give me an envelope filled with Japanese stamps for my collection. Six months later we found out what a humanitarian Chiune Sugihara was, when he issued thousands of visas to Jewish refugees saving their lives. There are over forty thousand survivors and their descendents today in the world, simply because of one man, Sempo, Chiune Sugihara.
In her book, "Visas For Life," recently translated into English, his wife Yokiko Sugihara wrote: "The decision to issue visas to the Jewish refugees may have been influenced by a young boy named Solly Ganor."
If that is true, then my life has not been in vain.
That was one of the reasons why I accepted Jackson's invitation to his bar mitzvah. The memory of that great Japanese humanitarian is always with me. I thought that if the Japanese consul could accept an invitation of an eleven year old boy to come to a Hanukah party, I should accept the gracious invitation by a Jewish boy named Jackson Klein of Detroit, who depended on me for the success of his bar mitzvah ceremony.
What I didn't reckon with was the disaster in New York. My wife Pola and I were booked to fly from San Diego, California to Detroit, on September 11. On the 12, there was going to be the opening of a photo exhibition which was based on my book and the war photo collection of George Kadish. The exhibition was to open at the Sommerset Mall at Troy, Michigan. My friend, the historian Eric Saul of San Francisco, who created the exhibition, went ahead with the collection a few days earlier. I was to arrive for the opening on September 12.
On September 11, I was returning the rented car at the San Diego airport, when I noticed the man who was handling the papers staring open mouthed at the TV monitor above his head. I followed his gaze and couldn't believe what I saw. One of the twin towers was collapsing like a house of cards right in front of our eyes. I will never forget that site, not only because of the horror, but as a Holocaust survivor I instinctively realized that we are entering a new and terrifying world with unprecedented brutality.
The San Diego airport was immediately closed to all traffic and there was no way I could get to Detroit in time. It was then that I decided no matter what, I had to get to Jackson's bar mitzvah. Many feared to fly after September 11, and my friends thought I was crazy to go to a bar mitzvah, especially when the boy wasn't even family. But I persisted. Somehow I felt that I couldn't let Jackson down. And I didn't. As Jackson said, I was perhaps the only guest who arrived of all those who were supposed to fly in.
All I can add is that I do not regret it. The heart warming reception by the Kleins, their family, their friends and the whole congregation, more than made up for the many hours I had to wait at the airport to get my flight to Detroit. But my main joy was to meet Jackson and take part in his bar mitzvah. His speech about my life was so vivid and detailed that it brought uncontrollable tears to my eyes and I don't cry easily.
Perhaps we all needed a good cry in the wake of the terrible tragedy in Manhattan that touched the hearts of all peoples of the civilized world.
What has to be done now? What we have been doing in Israel for over half a century; Bury our dead and go after the Ben Ladins of the world who pollute this planet.
Solly Ganor
Herzelia, Israel
October 26, 2001
