Both of my parents were Holocaust survivors. Dad was about 17 and Mom 15 when the German army occupied their hometown in Lodz, Poland (they did not know each other at that time). They were made to wear the Star of David because they were Jewish and were placed in the ghetto where many people became ill and died from malnutrition and diseases. This way of life went on for about four years. Then one day they were stuffed onto a cattle train with many other people. Destination – Auschwitz (the death camp).
It was a terrible journey and many did not survive it. Upon their arrival at Auschwitz-Birkenau, they were separated from their families. Mom had a younger brother and sister. She and her brother were the only survivors. Their youngest sister was ripped from their mother’s arms, screaming wildly from fear – her screams lived with them for the rest of their lives. This was the last time they saw their parents and younger sister. Dad had seven sisters and was the only survivor. I’ll spare you those details.
Mom and Dad met right after the war in Munich, Germany. They married soon after, and I was born one year later. I remember Mom, always loving, tender and spiritual, lighting the Sabbath candles every Friday night. Dad, on the cynical side, didn’t care much. Mom told me she felt there has to be a God for her to have survived the Holocaust. Dad, on the other hand, felt there could not be a God because a God would not have allowed such atrocities.
As a child living with parents who were “Survivors” I remember having an innate faith and belief in God, notwithstanding the different beliefs my parents held.
When I turned five, my parents told me we would be moving to America and live in a place called Brooklyn, New York. As we approached Liberty Island everyone on the ship went on deck to see the Statue of Liberty. We all cheered as the ship passed by her. I didn’t understand, but I knew we had arrived.
We settled into our new home and new way of life. Years later my best friend declared that she was going to become an atheist (she felt that if you couldn’t see God, he was not real). After hearing what she said, and being confused by my parents’ mixed messages, I thought my friend’s way of thinking made perfect sense – so I decided that I, too, would become an atheist.
But that night I felt uneasy, had difficulty sleeping and had a strong sense that something was “missing”. The next morning the feeling persisted. I went through the entire week weepy and sad. What was wrong with me? How could “not believing” make me feel so empty inside?
Recalling my Mom’s experience during the Holocaust, her courage and convictions, made me think about my decision. I realized that I often prayed to God and my prayers were always answered – not necessarily the way I had hoped for but, nonetheless, they were answered. As soon as I recognized that I believed in the existence of God and that it was an important part of who I was – it felt like a spiritual awakening. Despite my parents’ mixed messages, I was comforted by the choice I made for myself.
Since those early years, I have had both joyful as well as difficult life experiences. Sometimes the difficulties brought back some doubts, but the uncertainties soon disappeared as I recalled the feelings I experienced as a young girl, welcoming God back in. Knowing and trusting those feelings gave me the courage to persevere and work it through.
Today, I have grown to value and appreciate life’s challenges. Every situation brings with it an opportunity to learn about myself and to grow. This is my journey. Through it all I have come out stronger, and so have my beliefs. As Ram Dass said “It’s only when caterpillarness is done that one becomes a butterfly. That again is part of this paradox. You cannot rip away caterpillarness. The whole trip occurs in an unfolding process of which we have no control.”
It is significant to me that my story is being shared on Metamorphosis – Your Stories at the time of Rosh Hashanah (“Jewish New Year”) and Yom Kippur (“Day of Atonement”). Yom Kippur is considered the most solemn day of the year, and when I light the memorial candles I envision my mother doing the same. This meaningful tradition brings me to the very essence of my being; a place of peacefulness from which I connect to my inherent spirituality.
There are many paths to enlightenment. Be sure to take the one with a heart.
Lao Tzu
Hannah Bellaff – Bio
Hannah Bellaff, born in Munich, Germany in 1946, was five years old when she and her parents migrated to America to begin a new life. As an adult, after 30 years in the corporate world, Hannah discovered a path that led her to the “New Thought” movement and integrative healing therapies. She currently has a practice in Bradenton, FL.
During the Covid Pandemic, Hannah began to write her memoir. She never fancied herself to be a writer. However, hidden deep in her soul were the lingering shadows of her life experiences that she felt compelled to share. Hannah’s experiences of a dysfunctional childhood, two failed adult marriages and her search for clarity is compelling. In the midst of life’s transitions, she finds herself launched on a personal and spiritual journey of self-realization, freeing her from the constraints of her past.
Metamorphosis Your Stories
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