The Family Behind the Walls

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

DALIA, JANUARY 27TH, 1975

The students sit in silence, their eyes set on me as I stand behind the lectern podium. The curiosity and anticipation in their faces tell me they’re waiting for my final remarks as the period comes to an end.

My gaze shifts to the row of picture frames on my desk, each one holding a memory from before and after January 27, 1945. The first frame captures the radiating love and joy between Leo and me on our wedding day. The promise of forever in unspoken words, encumbered between our unbreakable embraces. In the next frame, I’m holding Max in my arms, beaming with pride and joy on the day he became a part of my life—the day he made me a mom.

A gap between the two frames symbolizes the purgatory we lived in from the onset of World War II to my liberation from Auschwitz before starting a new life in America.

As life goes, we carry on despite our pain, grief, and the hurdles we’d need to overcome, even after the unimaginable horrors we faced. Just as the flowers that bloom after a brutal winter, we found ways to heal and move forward.

Jordanna and Alfie’s framed wedding photo is next to the one of them holding their twin sons, Max and Leo, the day they were born. And then there’s my fierce Lilli in her graduation photo from Yale University, holding her Humanities and Social Sciences degree with a smile that mirrors her papa’s.

“In conclusion, a date could be just a date, but a date might also signify the beginning and end. January 27, 1945, was the day thousands of prisoners were liberated from Auschwitz. Many went on to start a new life or find what was left of what they were forced to leave behind. All of them had to navigate a world in a new light without any direction. It’s a day of joy and sadness, a fresh start, a release from our suffering, and a defining moment of remembrance, reminding us all to be grateful for what we have today. Even for those who perished before that date, many believe they too found their peace. I remember a wise man once said: ‘Those who died didn’t have their life cut short, but instead, were set free—to a place where war doesn’t exist, where unimaginable happiness and beauty awaits beyond the precipice of our fearful last breath. We’re here to find our way to the next place by enduring challenges until we eventually succeed.’”

As the students jot down notes on my conclusion, my gaze sweeps along my desk at the row of picture frames encasing memories from before and after January 27th, 1945, I consider how I ended up here in this classroom when I was sure I wouldn’t make it out of Auschwitz.

I never imagined leaving my home in Europe, but after the war and our losses, we felt we didn’t belong anywhere. It was only me, Jordanna, Lilli, and Alfie left.

Alfie was the first to lose his parents and the last to find out if they had survived. The days wondering about their status kept him awake at night as he struggled between the feelings of hope and acceptance. When he received a letter in the mail, informing him of his parent’s fate—that they had perished in Auschwitz upon arrival, Alfie took the news with a reflection of relief. I’ll always remember his profound response that day: “I can go on with my life now. Not only were their souls set free with all the others on January 27th, 1945, but they were spared horrors that many of us weren’t. I can live with that.”

What he didn’t say out loud was that we are the ones who have to live with the horrors we endured.

We needed to find a way to recover. To move forward and forge ahead was our only choice. A change and a fresh start in America would offer us a chance to heal. With my background in nursing, I was able to find a job quickly upon arriving in New York. However, I soon realized the medical field would always bear memories I needed to part from after seeing too much.

Jordanna and I, together, enrolled in a university with the desire to become educators. Lilli soon followed, taking her own path. Alfie struggled to find a suitable path for himself with his hearing loss, but eventually found his gift as a therapist for children hard-of-hearing.

We’ve each found a new path, ones we couldn’t have expected to exist if we didn’t end up where we did in 1945. Still, I would go back to the life I loved before we were all torn apart. We shouldn’t have had to start over with broken hearts and shattered dreams.

“Okay, class, your essays are due next Monday. Your assignment is to answer one simple question.” All of them sit attentively, the tips of their pencils pressed to a page in their notebooks. I turn to face the board, pick up the piece of chalk and beneath the date, script out:

What was it all for?

The clink of the chalk against the metal tray is louder than any reaction in the classroom. I brush the chalk dust from my hands and turn back toward the students, finding some with hints of distress or confusion. Others are still staring down at their notebooks.

The question sounds simple. Except, the answer is not something I’ve been able to define myself, even after all these years. So, I continue to ask.

I find inspiration in the youth of a new generation while lending them my knowledge of the past with hope that together we might find a way to unearth the revelation of world peace.

“How many pages should the essay be?” one of my students asks, his hand raised in the air as he speaks.

“I have no requirement other than a well written response,” I say. “Have a wonderful day. You’re dismissed.”

All at once, they move from their seats, gathering their belongings and shoving them into their backpacks.

I lift my briefcase from beside my chair and place it down on the desk to file my notes. As I reach for a pile of papers, the briefcase falls heavily to the side. “Oh goodness.” A few pencils and paperclips spill out, along with Leo’s compass. I keep it on me wherever I go to make sure I’m always going in the right direction. I scoop up the engraved compass and press it to my chest.

“Professor Bergman, is everything all right?” a young lady asks, approaching my desk.

“Of course,” I tell her. “Can I help you with something?”

She presses her hands down on my desk, tilts her head to the side and stares at me for a long moment as if she has a question that she can’t find the proper words for.

“Is that the compass?” she asks.

Her question perplexes me as I never mentioned myself or the compass in the lecture today. I lower my hand and release my fingers, staring down at the compass.

“I—well?—”

The young woman offers me a faint smile. “ That …is what it was all for.”

* * *

If you were completely captivated by Jordanna and Dalia’s heartwrenching story, you will love Shari J. Ryan’s spell-binding, unforgettable novel, The Doctor’s Daughter .

Get it here or keep reading for an exclusive extract.