To Marie, my dear grandmother,

You never knew that I was born; that I existed. I have a brother, too.

I also never knew about you. I was not told your name. My mother died with incredible guilt of not saving your life. My mother died, my father died, never knowing your fate.

And then a miracle. The executor brought me the huge box of hidden family papers, including my mother’s passport with a red J stamped. Your letters to my mother were so full of love for your only child. However, the letters abruptly stopped arriving in 1941.

For the next two years I translated, searched, investigated, and also read numerous history books of the Nazi regime. Because of my love for you, I read all the published personal diaries, written by survivors of the camps.

Then I knew. You, your husband Emil, and your close friend Trude were collected and shoved into the same filthy cattle car, headed for the concentration camp near Prague. Emil died, then Trude died and you were emotionally alone in these awful, lice ridden cement buildings.

I know that you painted two beautiful paintings in that filthy camp.

Marie, that meant something. It showed your spirit in a place where there was very little hope. Those forbidden paintings showed your strength, in that you not only signed your full name, but actually wrote “Therezin 1943”. Your punishment was to be transported in the filthy train car to Auschwitz and then, murdered.

Grandmother Marie, I am so very proud of you. I traveled to the Czech Republic to say goodbye to you, in honor of my mother. Your paintings survived and now are honored on the walls of Yad Vashem Art Museum, near Jerusalem, Israel.

With great love,

Kathrine, age 64