13 years ago, I took a course in college called “The Oral History of The Holocaust.” It was taught by a German professor, a psychologist & professional storyteller. it was my favorite class for many heartfelt reasons, but also because the impact of what we learned went well beyond turning in a paper on the last day of class.
Week after week, three other students & myself would go to Mr. Manischewitz’s apartment in Pikesville, MD. He was 95 at the time. We recorded each session, learning every detail of Mr. Manischewitz’s life before, during & after the war in Nowogródek, Poland.

Two weeks ago, one of the teachers of the course reached out asking if I’d share Mr. Manischewitz’s story at the New Caje conference. Keep in mind: I shared this story throughout 2007-2008 in Baltimore synagogues & local schools, but have not since. At first scared to commit, my ultimate gut reaction told me I had to. It’s an honor & my responsibility to carry on this story.

Sidenote: Mr. Manschewitz passed away in 2009. We had sent his children the recordings of our time together. His son called each of us individually to thank us. He said he was not aware of a lot of what his father shared with us. It was too painful for him to tell his own children. I looked up his son the other day as I was reconnecting with the story. I learned he passed away in 2014, too soon at only 58 (even more reason I must continue to tell Mr. Manschewitz’s story).

We were taught to share our survivor’s stories from a space of interconnections. Even though the four of us heard the same story from Mr. Manischewitz, we each told it from a completely different personal perspective. There was one part that was incorporated in all of our tellings though: the moment Mr. Manischewitz saw America for the first time in 1949. He shared how moved he was to see the Statue of Liberty in all her glory: her torch, her crown. he stood up from his little armchair and recited Emma Lazurus’s words for us: “

“Her beacon-hand glows a worldwide welcome / Her mild eyes command / ‘Keep your ancient lands,’ cries
she with silent lips / ‘give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be free.’”

“We were finally free, in the land of opportunity!” he exclaimed with the most enthusiasm we had yet to witness from Mr. Manischewtiz. 

I’ve thought back to this moment several times during this last four years in particular, and especially now as we’re amidst two paralleling pandemics---about what America was intended to be for immigrants and refugees vs. what it actually is. 

The New Colossus by Emma Lazurus ends with “I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

That door doesn’t seem so golden right now, so holy heck we MUST do better to shine this place to live up to Lady Liberty’s words. 

I did re-tell Mr. Manischewtiz on Monday at the conference. I was afraid I had forgotten parts, but it came right through me. Above is a line of a prayer called “We Remember Them” that Mr. Manichewitz gave me during our last session together. It was part of a little prayer book that I still keep tucked away with me wherever I go.