On a day the children spent with their father, our container finally arrived. I wanted to accomplish as much as possible. At one point I organized the master bathroom which was very very small. Tom decided that it was time to fool around. While holding me with my back to the throne, he lost his balance, pushed me on to the water tank and fell on me. He knocked the air out of me. Having trouble breathing, I walked immediately to our bed and sat. I still could not breathe. Tom was panicking above me. I laid in bed, no air going in, and started to think that it was the end. I moved my hand signaling for him to give me space. I closed my eyes, relaxed, and began to take baby breaths. I am sure it was not long, but it felt like an eternity before I finally took my first full inhaled breath. That was the fourth time he tried to “kill me”. It did not work for him, so he decided that I am a keeper and he better marry me.
In May 2002 we drove to Disney World, Orlando to celebrate my 30th birthday with the children. As a birthday gift, I received my first and only tattoo, a little dragonfly on the upper part of my left shoulder blade. I could never explain why I am fascinated by this bug. I find it beautiful even though they are carnivorous animals and feed exclusively on other small animals. Later I learned the significance of the Dragonfly and why this symbolism was so appropriate for me. Dragonflies, having flown the earth for 300 million years, symbolize our ability to overcome times of hardship. They can remind us to take time to reconnect with our own strength, courage, and happiness. In October 2002 Tom and I got married. The only memorabilia left from the Brazil mines was 2.2 carat diamond. Tom begged me to have it as an engagement ring, I refused. “Are you crazy?” my sister said. “You should say yes,” mom added. Well, I said no, because we did not have a lot of money. We purchased a blue sapphire wedding ring set for me, and a band for Tom from a pawn shop. It was perfect.
Tom never stopped asking me to have the big diamond.
Sunday, September 14th 2003. Yarden loved the boat, and Harry Potter. His 9th birthday we celebrated on the boat. We invited the family, friends and Yarden’s father. He came with his girlfriend, a situation that was amicable for all. We had the boat decorated with a Harry Potter theme, with flags, balloons, and candies. Harry Potter was everywhere. As a surprise, Tom anchored at sea, and let the kids jump off the top deck, where Yarden had the opportunity to show off all his athletic abilities. On our return, Tom lowered the Zodiac raft with the engine into the ocean. He let Yarden, his father, and a few more boys to ride it back to the dock. Other than Yarden’s Bar-Mitzvah, this birthday was the best ever for him.
In October 2003, Tom talked about Arnold again and said, “did I tell you he’s Jewish.”
“No, does it matter? You talk about him so often why don’t you call him? Wish him a happy holiday.”
“My ex and Arnold did not get along.”
“I am not your ex, I don’t know Arnold, and I don’t judge. Give him a call”.
“You are the best,” he said and called Arnold.
I did not know that sentence would create another change and another move. But it was for the best. Tom said “I received an offer from Arnold, Tom’s longtime friend. But that means we need to move to Pittsburgh”. Not knowing where Pittsburgh is. I said “Only if we are buying a house. This is the last move with the kids until they are adults”. Arnold’s offer was so generous that I am not sure I would say no anyway. Tom moved to Pittsburgh in December 2003. I stayed with Yarden and Shani in Florida. I did some research about schools in Pittsburgh. I gave Emily, our real-estate agent, and Tom, my list of schools. I asked the kids to tell me what they would like to have in our new home. They both said they wanted their own room, and a big yard with a trampoline. I made sure Emily and Tom knew to look for a big yard. Tom came home to visit for the weekend. We went to Burlington Coat Factory to buy a winter coat for me as I was going to fly to Pittsburgh in two weeks for house tours. When I tried one on Tom said “Not warm enough”. I said, “are we moving to Siberia?” Tom’s answer, “For you?, close enough”. We started house hunting in Pittsburgh. Snow to my knees. By the end of the day I was frozen. I called home and talked to Yarden and Shani. I told them that it is snowing in Pittsburgh, and that we are looking for a house with a big yard for them. They were very excited about the move to the snowy city, bigger home, and private rooms. I visited twice for house hunting. After the second visit in Pittsburgh I told Tom and Emily “I am done, I am not coming until spring, you know what I would like to have, call me when you find it”. I did not return to Pittsburgh until the closing of the house..
On April 1st, 2004 we started our new life in Pittsburgh, PA.
Les Brown—a famous composer and prominent Big Band leader —said, “Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars.”
We moved at the end of the school year, with Shani in first grade and Yarden in third. Yes, it would be yet another adjustment and a huge challenge.
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania is 6057 miles from Eilat, Israel, and yet, I can assure you that I did shoot for the moon and landed on a star.
Our relationship grew greater and stronger. Our love could not be measured. Our more significant challenge was to find compromise and a healthy balance to Tom’s penchant for gambling, which I believe we achieved, to the best of our capability. We chose to spend our free time together. We could not have enough of each other. We traveled, were members of the theater, we had season tickets for hockey. Life was perfect.
For the first time, Shani struggled in class. It appeared that her new school, Fox Chapel, had a curriculum ahead of Forest Hills, her school in Florida. One day Shani came home and said, “I am stupid, I can’t study anything in this class.” It broke my heart. I knew she was struggling but didn’t realize how much. We worked a strategy with the teacher. Slowly Shani caught up. Shani was a good student. But It was not until 5th grade when Shani bloomed again academically. A big part of her confidence was rhythmic gymnastic classes. At age 10 Yarden started gymnastic classes. After a while, Shani said that she wanted to practice gymnastics as well. At eight years old Shani started gymnastics classes. She was an outstanding athlete, also very flexible. A few months into her program, when I picked up Shani from practice, she was standing with a woman who introduced herself as Coach Kamelia. Kamelia was the rhythmic gymnastics coach. She watched Shani and said she would like Shani to join the rhythmic gymnastics classes. I asked Shani if that is what she wants to do, switch from artistic gymnastics to rhythmic gymnastics. Shani could not hold her excitement and answer “Yes, yes.”
After six months in rhythmic gymnastics classes, coach Kamelia asked Shani to join the competitive team. Now nine years old, her practice schedule doubled, then tripled. Rhythmic gymnastics changed all of our lives which now revolved around Shani’s practices, events, and meets. Shani started rhythmic relevantly late. Most of the competitive girls practiced rhythmic since they were four years old. We could not be prouder of her. Shani began competing at level 4, then moved quickly to level 5. That seemed to be more of a challenge.
Yarden would challenge us all the time; especially Tom. Tom loved Yarden as a son and would get frustrated. Yarden loved Tom as dad, and would check his limits. They could not agree on anything. Their disputes changed after Yarden became a young adult. It was a blessing to see my two favorite men finally make peace. Throughout my search for Gerda and Fred, Yarden would get updates when the information was significant, or relevant to him. When I finally found Uncle Fred and aunt Gerda’s birth certificates, it was groundbreaking news for everyone. Finally I had real names and ages. It was a big stepping stone for me. Uncle Fred and Yarden share the same birth date, September 14th. Yarden was proud of it, knowing how important that is for me. For 13 years Yarden was good, kind, polite, an animal lover and a great big brother. He was very intelligent. We had conversations regarding anything. He had knowledge he acquired from reading, and great curiosity. He always stated that school is boring and that teachers make up information. He w
as a pleasure to be with and around. He still disliked school. I decided to take him for some testing. I actually asked the psychologist who did the test to find something wrong so I could help. The results arrived. We were not surprised with Yarden’s high IQ. But the fact that “absolutely nothing is wrong” as the doctor said, was a little surprising and disappointing because that meant we had no tools to deal with his constant school problems. Every semester, he would fail in the early going. In the last month he would get high grades, to more than balance his early deficiencies. One evening, at dinner time, we all sat around the table and discussed our day. Tom talked about work, Shani about a new element in Rhythmic, Yarden about wanting a new snowboard. Then I said “you need to earn a new snowboard. We received another call from your teacher.” Shani added to Yarden “you are so smart, you are not using your brain, just give it to me”. It was an exact echo of what I told my brother, Ofer.
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UNCLE FRED. There is a reason for everything in life. My ten years of searching had finally come to an end. My cousin called to say that she had found Gerda's daughter. By the time that was one hundred percent confirmed, I had also received a letter from England stating that Uncle Fred was located. Soon afterward, Ofer found Jeanne, Gerda's daughter. Was it the right time? Probably. After ten years of searching, we found Uncle Fred three times in one month. I could not stop smiling at the immense thrill of finding Uncle Fred and my cousins.
I called Tom, “Tom, we are flying to England!” I said before he could say hello on the phone. “When are we flying and why?” “To see Uncle Fred,” I said casually, and then I screamed into the phone, “We are going to Uncle Fred— Uncle Fred in England!” Two weeks after the end of the search for Uncle Fred, Tom and I were at the airport on our way to British soil. When Tom gave me the boarding pass, he said, "Here you go my little firecracker."
I had a big smile, sparkling eyes, and disbelief all at once. I could swear that if I were to walk the streets of England and see this man walking toward me, I would know exactly who he was. My Uncle Fred looked exactly like my father. I would later learn that they shared a very similar personality. Later that day Ofer landed in England. His response was the same as mine.
"They look the same," Ofer said.
At five-foot-five, Uncle Fred is a little taller than Dad But they have the same green eyes and the same "worker" hands. As Uncle Fred says "Not the hands of a concert pianist." They sit, walk and even curse the same way. We met Gerda's daughters and grandchildren that weekend, along with Uncle Fredʼs close friends and neighbors. Tom, Ofer and I felt like part of the family as if we were never separated for all these years. It was just so natural. I finally understood the true meaning of the phrase "blood is thicker than water.” While it was a joyous occasion and a happy reunion, sadness permeated the occasion since my father was not present to see his big brother. And also for Fred. For his life was filled with abuse and terror. The Kinder Transport was, for the most part, a good solution for the children. However, as I learned, my uncle was in the horrific minority, where verbal and physical abuse were an everyday part of his childhood life. Tom and I flew back home, with the face of my uncle engraved in my brain. His hands felt just like my Dadʼs. It had been a long ten years. A weekend visit in England was not enough. Tom hugged me and as if reading my mind, said, “You will see him again soon. I will make sure of it.” On the way back home, I had nine hours to create a family reunion between Uncle Fred and all of his sisters: Roti, Tami, Rina, Lea, all of his nephews and nieces, and all of his grand nephews and grand nieces, among them Yarden and Shani.
I did it—all nine hours I was plotting and planning, my mind circling.
In June 2006, my uncle Fred flew to Israel from England. We flew to Israel from Pittsburgh, and for the first time ever, all of the siblings were together. I tried to organize our family tree and documents into an easy-to-read book with everything that I had collected throughout the years, including birth certificates for all of us. Each one received a custom-made book to show how we were related. Later in the evening, when we sat together, relaxed and with dry eyes, we all opened the books, and I guided them all to show how they were related to all of my findings. It was not an easy task, as two out of the four did not know that their father was different than my Dad’s. Besides, they were so confused regarding Karl Jr. and what had happened to him. There are still many unanswered questions that we most likely will never know. I told my aunts, “I cannot answer everything, and some questions I donʼt want to answer. I am happy that this family is back together, and pleased that I made it happen.”
Tami was hurt by one of Dadʼs continual comments. They were very close. “He always said we are all from a different milkman. But I never thought he was serious about it,” she told us. What about me? I canʼt prove that Dad is my biological father: a baby boy was born in Danzig on November 23, 1932, as Eitel Loewenthal, and the same baby boy buried in Eilat, Israel, as Yuval Leckner. His grave says that he was born on March 1, 1932, and nothing in between exists as far as documents for a change of name. One day, my grandmother woke up, said he is a Leckner, and Leckner he became. Aunt Rina said, “Yuval always said that we are from different milkmen. But this slut from a good Jewish home needed help not only from the milkman but also from the butcher and the baker to have nine babies while the man in her life is dying.” The room burst with laughter. After lunch, hugging and crying, to close the circle we all went to the cemetery to say a prayer next to my grandmother and fatherʼs graves. Uncle Fred had someone holding his hand at all times. It was almost a unity of worry. He was crying, shaking, laughing, and sweating. It was a lot to comprehend for all of us. By the end of the day, we all felt like we had never been apart and the sixty-seven years were bridged very quickly. The scars that the war had left on each one of them can never truly be mended. But for one day I gave them some closure and happy moments. We were so wired that night we could not go to sleep. Tom grabbed his cigars while I opened a bottle of red wine and sat outside. All of a sudden, they all joined us. Apparently, no one was able to sleep. That is, until Uncle Fred started to snooze and snore. “Uncle Fred, it was a busy, exciting, and exhausting day. Why donʼt you go to sleep?” I asked
“I am not asleep,” he replied.
“That is exactly what Dad would say,” Ofra, Ofer, and I said at the same time. We laughed so hard, just letting it all out.
The following day we showed Uncle Fred where Dad had lived, toured the city, and went to an extraordinary place to eat. We warned Uncle Fred that it was not a traditional restaurant, but good earthy food. He agreed to go. “Most definitely a different way of eating,” said my British uncle, as he ate—with his hands—pita, hummus, and Labane at Yosophʼs tent.
In the summer of 2009, I was able to fulfill my promise to Karl Jr. We went back to his grave in Germany with a beautiful headstone that I had made in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania by Urbach Memorials. Their team was so kind and helpful, as we had a very unusual request. “This headstone will fly to Europe, then will cross the country by car, will visit Poland, and finally will get to its destination in Hamburg, Germany. Please make it beautiful, but small, not too heavy, but sturdy, preferably under one hundred pounds so we can carry it and not send it with the luggage.” They did just that. Perfect!
Uncle Fred, Tom, Yarden, Shani, and I experienced a very special trip to Germany and Poland. We followed most of my fatherʼs Holocaust survival route including Blankenese, Germany, and a visit with Dr. Martin. We saw the house that Uncle Fred and Dad had lived in and two more apartments the family had lived in before they were forced out of Danzig, known today as beautiful Gdansk. Part of my discovery was where they lived and with whom. Following the old address book and map and comparing it to the new Gdansk map, we found all three houses. We had two days in Gdansk and lots to do. We walked all day long. The family agreed that we could not call this trip a vacation because on a vacati
on you are supposed to gain weight, not lose it. It was the first time we met my cousin Andrea, her husband, and their beautiful family. On my birthday in May, Uncle Fred called me and said, “I did not send a gift because I want to give it to you on the trip.” I did not think much of it, said thank you, and closed the subject. At the end of the last day in Gdansk, Uncle Fred came down to the dining room with a wrapped gift and said, “I know you are the person to treasure it the most. Happy birthday, Nava.” I opened it and could not believe my eyes. When we had visited Uncle Fred for the first time in England, he told me that the only thing he had from his past was a prayer book, and he showed it to us. A few years ago, he had it restored. My hands were shaking as I held it. “There are dates on it,” I said to Tom. “You will never believe it if I tell you. Look at it!” Tom did, and for the first time, he was speechless. I have always believed that dates are meaningful. Sometimes we just donʼt know why. In this case, I knew it a little too late. I was still surprised by it. Glued on the inside of the prayer book on the first page was Uncle Fredʼs photograph as a child and Uncle Fredʼs birth date; September 14, 1931. On the last page was the date of the Kinder Transport leaving Danzig May 3rd 1939. For my entire research of many years I had clues right in front of me for how to find my uncle that I did not know until after I found him. Yarden, my son, was born on September 14th, and my birthday is May 3rd. “This prayer book has survived so much. It deserves a lot of respect and care,” I said to Uncle Fred, and thanked him for sharing it with me. That prayer book was my birthday gift. I received it in the same city it had left seventy years earlier. The day before we had to fly back to the states, we visited Uncle Karl Jr.ʼs grave with our very special headstone. Rabbi Shlomo Bistritzky from Chabad, Hamburg was so kind to join us at the cemetery to say the prayer. It was satisfying to be there with the family and Uncle Fred.
Triumph Over Tears Page 7