There is a sad truth in war; every survivor has a story to tell. But, what of their children? We too have stories to tell.
Parents are not supposed to have favorites, but in our family of five children, Mom and Dad did.
I do not blame them because it was not their fault. The Holocaust broke them.
In Broken Birds, The Story of My Momila, I delve into my family, the Poltzer Family, and what happened to the generation after Mom and Dad’s….the second generation.
Unaware of our chips and fractures, my four siblings and I believed we were a happy family. But the seeds of sibling rivalries planted when we were too young to remember were sprouting and flourishing just beneath the surface. We ended up lying, cheating, begrudging and emotionally harming each other, over and over again.
When Mom unexpectedly died, the biased and problematic will she wrote caused all hell to break loose.
It was a no holds-back slugfest. The battles raged in our attempt to resolve our new issues while the old scars were bubbling to the surface.
When the battles were over, I was able to see my family clearly.
In the end, the Holocaust not only broke Mom and Dad, but indirectly us too.