Features
Return to Ukraine: searching out the Rosner family past
Introduction: Not too long ago we were contacted by former CBC Manitoba managing editor Cecil Rosner, who asked us whether we’d be interested in publishing a story about a trip he took in 2012 to visit the area in Ukraine where both his parents were born. Although it’s been 10 years since Cecil visited Ukraine, given the current situation in that country we thought it timely to get a sense of what life was like in Ukraine prior to the Russian invasion.
By CECIL ROSNER ““Oi — look at the way the schlemiel drives.”
We are bouncing along the potholed roads of Western Ukraine, heading from Lviv to my mother’s hometown of Buczacz. Our driver and guide isn’t Jewish, but that doesn’t stop him from endlessly whistling Fiddler on the Roof tunes and inserting Yiddishisms into every second phrase.
“These guys are all ganefs (thieves),” he says of the policemen we pass, as he forms his thumb and forefinger into a pistol and slowly pulls the trigger. Alex doesn’t like the speed traps the highway patrols set up, and he appreciates oncoming drivers signalling him to beware of cops just beyond the next hill. It’s an important issue for our driver, who crisscrosses Ukraine’s roads all year-long, ferrying tourists to distant towns and villages in search of their Jewish ancestors.
For Alex, who holds a history degree and is an expert at tracing genealogical roots, it’s an occupation he never dreamed he would have. But in the chaos of the Soviet Union’s collapse, when jobs were evaporating and everyone was trying to reimagine their lives, it seemed like a useful niche to pursue – especially as foreigners were finally trying to discover exactly what had happened to their relatives during the Second World War.
That’s why I’m here too, along with my wife and a cousin. Both of my parents were born in the region, and both were here when the Nazis occupied the area in 1941. In different improbable and miraculous ways, they both survived the war and emigrated to Canada. But every single other family member was shot, gassed, beaten or starved to death by the Nazis and their collaborators. We came here to see what traces of their lives remained.
It seemed logical to make our first stop the local museum, right across from the old city hall. Buczacz is little more than a village, with about 13,000 people. In the early part of the 19th century, Jews made up two-thirds of the population. While that number ebbed and flowed over the years, Jews were still in the majority when the Nazi occupation began. But that would have been difficult to discern in the museum.
In all the display cases, and in the colourful photo album that the town produces, there is no specific mention of a Jewish population. There is scarcely any reference to the Second World War, except for a notation that the town “was released from German invaders and captured by the Soviet Union.” Wouldn’t a town’s museum want to address what became of the majority of the population? What happened to thousands of farmers, shop owners, tailors, tinsmiths, doctors, lawyers and politicians? Doesn’t the mass roundup and extermination of most people in town even rate a mention?
The only hint of any Jewish presence came in the form of artifacts from the life of Shmuel Agnon, a Jewish writer born in Buczacz who won the Nobel Prize for literature. But the entire fate of the people Agnon wrote about had been erased.
Alex had little luck getting the museum’s employee to throw any light on what the town was like in the immediate pre-war period. She genuinely seemed not to know. But there were a few things I already knew.
My mother, Mina, had been born here in 1913, and her family owned a wholesale distribution company. They carbonated water and stored it in big, forty-litre copper cylinders, shipping them along with ice to shops throughout the area. When she was 25, she married my father, Michael Rosner, who came from nearby Kolomaya. In 1939, they opened a small retail store on the main town square, probably within metres of the present-day museum.
When the war broke out in September 1939, there was a reprieve. The region came under the control of the Soviets, and Jews were under no immediate threat. All that changed when Hitler marched eastward in 1941. My father was conscripted by the retreating Soviets, and my mother was trapped behind Nazi lines for the remainder of the war.
For the next three years, every member of my mother’s family – her parents, five brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles and cousins – were dragged from their hiding places, bludgeoned or shot, or sent off to be executed. They were all dumped into unmarked graves. My parents’ first-born child – my brother – also fell victim, dying at the age of three in 1942.
My mother’s survival defied any normal odds. She fled from one hiding place to another, escaping just in time to avoid capture. She spent 11 months in the attic of a Polish family along with five other Jews. She took an assumed name and boldly convinced the Nazis she was Christian. Finally, after Buczacz was liberated, she re-united with my father and they came to Canada to start anew in 1948.
I had been to Buczacz once before, with my mother, in 1990. We came with a documentary crew to record her first visit back home since the war. It was an emotional trip and a difficult one for both of us. But we learned very little of the actual events that had transpired in the town, or the exact locations where they happened. That’s why, nearly 15 years after my mother’s death, I was returning for a second time.
I convinced Alex that our best strategy on this trip would be to find older people and ask them what they knew about the 30s and 40s. Alex seemed skeptical. For one thing, the war had begun more than 70 years ago, so it was unlikely there would be any useful first-hand witnesses at hand. And there was also the collective amnesia that pertained to inconvenient truths.
After all, a segment of the population had actively collaborated with Hitler. They were instrumental in helping identify and round up the Jews, the Communists, and all the other elements the Nazis wanted to destroy. Some might still be living in Buczacz and surrounding areas. Their children and grandchildren almost certainly are here.
The museum’s employee finally gives us a sliver of hope. There is someone in town we should visit – someone who knows the history and might be able to help us. His name is Mykola.
We drive for a few minutes and stop at Mykola’s house. I am expecting to find an elderly man who may have been a teenager during the war. Instead, we come upon a 40-something man in sweatpants and a Maple Leafs T-shirt. He is clutching a handful of papers and photographs. One of them shows a photo of Buczacz’s surviving Jews standing beside a memorial gravestone in 1944. Out of the original population of 10,000, no more than 100 survived. One of the people in the photo is my mother.
Mykola has taken an interest in wartime history, and now helps visiting tourists locate family remnants. He has a variety of interesting documents, including a map of pre-war street names, and a mid-19th century register of townsfolk. It turns out that he knows about some of the Jewish families that lived in Buczacz during the war – a handful of them have returned over the years, and he has helped them find their old homes and landmarks.
We ask Mykola if he could help solve a puzzle my mother and I couldn’t figure out on our previous trip. Her family had lived on a street called Zeblickevicie, which had changed names several times after the war. From her description, though, we knew it was beside a stream that ran into the Strypa River, a subsidiary of the Dniester.
We pile into the car along with Mykola and he directs us to the location. The stream had been covered over, except at the point where it emptied into the Strypa. Though the original home was no longer there, he shows us the exact location where my mother’s family had lived. I saw the idyllic surroundings, the lush vegetation around the quiet river, and for the first time I had an inkling of the peaceful life my mother experienced before the war changed everything.
While we were all walking along the old Zeblickevicie street, Mykola bumps into a friend and exchanges a few words with him. As we walk on, the friend stops my wife, Harriet, and our cousin Nina and says: “Mina Rosner – I am a Witness.” That is the name of my mother’s book. Alex is impatient. He had rich experience of locals trying to pester visitors, and he was eager to move us all along. But Harriet and Nina persist. It turns out the man on our chance encounter knows all about my mother’s story, and offers to take us on a tour of where she lived, where she went to school, where she hid during the war, and where her family members were killed.
Over the next 24 hours, Alex grudgingly admits he was wrong. Our serendipitous encounter has linked us up with Jura, a 60-year-old retired computer technician, astrologist and local historian. He knows my mother’s exact birthdate, and, it appears, everyone else’s in town. He has a photocopied version of my mother’s book, and he has pieced together her recollections with precise locations of many of the events she describes. If photographic memories actually exist, we figure he has one. He is a visiting tourist’s dream come true, and Alex has to take a back seat while Jura takes us on a remarkable tour of my mother’s life.
The first stop is just around the corner, on a street that used to be called Chechego Maya. I remember it from my mother’s stories, but we could never pinpoint it on our previous trip. Jura shows us the building where my mother’s sister and her husband ran a hardware shop. He knows the address because it’s listed in trade publications of the era. Though my mother’s original house and her parents’ store no longer existed, I finally had an authentic touchstone of some of her family’s life at the time.
Jura takes us to the pre-war building on Kolejowa Street that served as the cheder, the religious school, where Jewish kids studied. We visit the girls’ school and middle school where my mother was a student, and walk into Buczacz’s Sokol theatre, where she watched dramatic performances and movies as a teenager. A group of children is rehearsing a musical concert on stage, and I can imagine my mother sitting in the auditorium with her brothers and sisters and friends.
Just down the road, near an orchard, Jura shows us the garden of a long-ago demolished home where my mother hid during one of the Nazi aktions, or periodic killing sprees. A bunker had been constructed in the cellar, and this helped shield her and other Jews from capture. The Nazis conducted four major aktions during their occupation of Buczacz before declaring the town Judenrein, or completely free of Jews. But the declaration turned out to be false. My mother, along with dozens of others, managed to survive with the aid of courageous gentile families who risked their safety to shelter them.
In the middle of our travels, Jura pulls out a sheet of typewritten names – people who had served as policemen, gendarmes and SS officers during the war. I recognize some of the names. Some of the Nazi war criminals and their collaborators have been brought to justice, but the vast majority remain undetected and untried for their crimes.
We go to the Jewish cemetery, where many of the town’s Jews – including my mother’s parents – were taken to be executed. The place is untended and overgrown, a jumble of brush and junk, with headstones in various states of disrepair. We find my great-grandmother’s grave. It’s significant, because two plots over my mother buried her first-born child, Isaac, in an unmarked plot. I clear away the branches and debris from the group of headstones in the area to get a better view. I bend down and touch the ground where the brother I never met is buried. Exactly 70 years later, someone has come back to this place to remember.
Jura takes me down a path through brambles to a spot where survivors had erected a memorial to the war’s victims. The place is overgrown with trees and bushes now, but he says there was nothing here before the war. The marker no longer survives, and even if it did, it’s unlikely anyone would be able to find it without an expert guide.
Our next stop is Fedor Hill, another killing ground where thousands perished. It’s difficult to see traces of anything here, but Jura once again guides us to a marker commemorating the killing of 450 people during the early days of slaughter in 1941. It had been erected by a survivor’s family well after the war.
A far more prominent memorial on Fedor Hill is dedicated to the UPA, the Ukrainian Insurgent Army, the military wing of a movement that initially collaborated with the Nazis in hopes of winning an independent homeland. In fact, throughout our travels in Western Ukraine, there were numerous new memorials to Ukrainian nationalist fighters in places where it might have been logical to place markers noting the victims of the Nazi era. We saw this on the side of a synagogue in Ivano-Frankivsk, near the Jewish ghetto entrance in Lvov, and many other places. In my father’s hometown of Kolomyia, it was a similar story — no mention of Jews or Nazi victims in the local museum, no remnants of the huge Jewish population, and a patriotic memorial to Ukrainian nationalist figures on the site of a former synagogue. In the re-written history of today, the UPA and its related Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists are presented as groups that fought both Soviets and Nazis; no mention is made of the collaboration in 1941 that led to so much destruction during the war.
Throughout our trip to Ukraine, we were reminded of the upcoming election campaign and the ever-present imagery of Ukrainian nationalism, especially in the Western part of the country. In a land that was exercising its brand of democratic activity, we had to wonder how thoroughly the country had come to grips with its recent history. Many countries are wrestling with related questions, trying to reconcile horrendous events of the past with a way forward. But as in any process or truth and reconciliation, there needs to be an initial recognition of what took place. Erasing and denying the past is rarely the path to building a healthy future.
At the end of our tour in Buczacz, Jura wanted to know the exact date of my mother’s death. He also was interested in our birthdates and any other information he could glean from us. In a country that chooses to forget so much, he was something of an anomaly.
Features
The Last Chance
By ORLY DREMAN (Jerusalem, March 12) Every time I submit an article to this website, I hope that article will be more cheerful than the last one. This one has a little bit of light, but a lot more of the same, I’m sad to write.
There were families where some members were murdered and some taken hostage. Sometimes there were no family members left alive to fight for hostages’ return; that is when neighbors or coworkers began to fight for them. The returning hostages must cope now with the losses from Oct. 7th. The more losses they have, the more complicated the trauma. They find out they lost family members, their house, their security. They come out of a disaster into a new reality. Some of the returnees only found out when they returned that their nuclear family was wiped out. They are coping with a lot of bad news. The families who were busy fighting for their return never got a chance to deal with their own mourning. Other family members got a sign of life from their dear ones still in captivity, but only to hear that they were injured and in bad health. They are deep under the ground in tunnels, with no sun of course and sometimes alone in complete darkness for days on end… in cages tied to chains all the time. They sleep on the floor, shower once in a few months, get hardly any food or water. They eat, sleep and go to the toilet all in one small area, mold all around; the injured and sick get no medications. They were interrogated under torture. These are citizens we are talking about – not soldiers; there are only four soldiers left alive in captivity all living in inhumane conditions. The tunnels are very narrow and low, so if one picks up their head they bang into the ceiling. It has been like this for a year and a half, with weapons turned towards them all the time.
The women say they were beaten every day. (Some are already able to talk about sexual assaults). Some young women say they prayed to die because they experienced horrible things and hoped a war plane would destroy the building and the misery would stop; it was hell. In captivity they suffered psychological terror. They were told Israel does not want to bring them back, they will marry them off and turn them into Muslims. On the day of return sadistic Hamas made a cruel, frightening, humiliating reality show for the whole world to watch. Some of the hostages looked like they were released from Auschwitz. For example, they made one of the hostages say on stage: “I’m happy to return to my wife and children,” while Hamas knew they had already murdered them and his brother. The father himself knew nothing because in the tunnels there was no radio, they kept them disconnected from the outside world. The hostages went through things the brain and the heart cannot absorb.
They look so thin, some have lost 50% of their body weight. Family members who received them said they could not recognize them. The hostages who were kept together showed mercy and compassion towards each other; some were ready to exchange places with those who remained behind and sat in captivity with them. Several of them became more religious. The Saturdays of the returns of three hostages each week were days we all cried… tears of excitement, but also those of concern for the many who will not come back alive.
The Hamas monsters who do not have a drop of mercy and murder babies with their own hands with unimaginable brutality, would not even waste a bullet on them to spare their suffering. The whole world should see this wickedness – the photo of Shiri Bibas holding her two babies in her arms with her terribly frightful expression. Three generations of that family were wiped out; Shiri’s parents were also murdered. The heart of the whole country is shattered. There are two million Nazis in Gaza committing crimes against humanity. All the people in Gaza celebrated and cheered as the coffins passed by and the world did not condemn it. We will not forgive and not forget. Our soldiers found weapons in every home and every school, so there are no “uninvolved.”
At the Lifshitz’s funeral – the eldest hostage murdered in captivity and whose body was recently returned, his wife asked Hamas: “Who did you kill? The humane liberals who helped you every day, brought your sick to our hospitals, took care of you”…. The residents there were all so naïve. When the coffins of the Bibas family passed in the roads of Israel the buildings were lit in orange (the babies were red heads). The whole country was crying, including the news broadcasters. It was a national mourning day, people did not go to work or to school. Each coffin of a dead hostage receives a personal farewell ceremony. We are experiencing a collective trauma. The Israeli heart is very flexible, and our hearts are united during sadness and in moments of relief. The nation has not abandoned the families of the hostages for a year and a half. We demonstrate with them and strengthen them. There is nothing like this in the world – our partnership to destiny.
On the days of the hostages’ release people are in the streets with their cell phones glued to the news, shouting out loud the name of each hostage released into the hands of the Red Cross. We all feel at least some relief and comfort – which we have not felt in a long time. The hostages have turned out to be the families of our whole nation.
We recently took a tour of the Gaza Envelope and went into the small shelters spread out along the “Death Road” (Road 232). They are built to hold at maximum ten standing people, but when almost thirty youngsters ran into them and the terrorists threw hand grenades inside, the few who survived were those whose bodies fell on them and they played dead.
It is nice that a woman in Canada named her baby Alyn. Alyn was a seven year old girl murdered by Hamas together with her fiveyear-old brother and their parents in on Oct. 7th.
In saving lives there are no compromises. We are paying heavy prices to release our hostages, but leaving them there would be the highest price ever. The price now is for the oversight, not for the deal. Among the terrorists released in this recent deal were two who planned the shooting and murder attack of my cousin Rabbi Mark while he was driving his car in 2016. His wife and daughter were seriously injured and now the terrorists are walking around freely.
My American nephew’s house was burned down in the L.A fires. They had to move to another area. It is sad, but everything is relative. In Israel half the country had to evacuate- their houses burned down – some with their families inside. That is very painful.
We are living now in major uncertainty. Will the war renew in the next few days or will negotiations continue? Because this is the hostages’ last chance to return alive. If the fighting starts again, we will have to explain to our young grandchildren that running and hiding in the shelter is just a Hide and Seek game like in the Roberto Benigni movie (“Life is Beautiful”).
How does the world accept a situation where a terrorist group takes civilian hostages into captivity without millions in the world going out to demonstrate?
The country has no leadership, but the citizens do. There is no other country in the world that exhibits social cohesiveness like Israel; that is what holds us together.
Wishing you all a HAPPY PURIM!
Features
And now the news – with Laurence Wall
By GERRY POSNER I am betting that many readers will have memories of the Wall family, formerly of Winnipeg, later of Phoenix and Ottawa. For people with long memories like me, (which memories my grandkids define as old ), that means as far back as Dr. Mark and Elsa Wall. The Walls had four sons: Richard, Laurence, Murray and Bruce. Likely, you will know one or more of the boys. Both Richard and Bruce reside in Phoenix, while Laurence and Murray are in Ottawa. Of course, each has a story, but I was certainly taken by the Laurence Wall story.
Born in Montreal in 1954 at a time when his father was doing post graduate work in OBGYN, Laurence grew up in Winnipeg’s south end, on Lanark Street and later Queenston Bay. Wall graduated from Grant Park High School in 1972. From there he was off to the University of Manitoba, where he obtained a BA in 1975. Later that year, he left for Ottawa where he studied journalism at Carleton University, finishing with a Bachelor of Journalism. While at Carleton, he met Roslyn Nudell from Montreal, also a student in the journalism program. They married in 1978.
Wall began his career at the Winnipeg Tribune (and if you can remember the Walls, you’re sure to remember the Tribune). He was a reporter there from 1976-1979. Then he moved to CBC Radio in Winnipeg, first as a story producer for the network program, “Canada Watch,” then a stint as a writer- broadcaster for “ Information Radio”.
In 1983 Wall moved to CBC Saskatoon (much like professional athletes who move from team to team, although for much less remuneration) where he was a radio reporter until 1985. The next stop was at CBC Fredericton from 1985 through 1993. By that time, Wall had moved up to become a senior news editor at the CBC.
In 1993, Wall was hired as a senior editor in Ottawa. He continued in that position for three years. In 1996, he wanted to return to on-air work, so he moved back into the radio booth at CBC Ottawa. He became the afternoon news presenter and never looked back. For 28 years, he wrote and edited dozens of new stories and audio items for 13 different newscasts and news updates every weekday, amassing more than 50,000 newscasts and news updates to his credit.
He retired on May 31, 2024. That day marked the end of an illustrious 44 years with the CBC at four different stations. If you lived in Ottawa, his name was immediately recognizable – so much so that on May 31, 2024, the mayor of Ottawa declared that “ Laurence Wall Day.”
Over the course of his time with CBC in Ottawa, Wall reported on some of the most significant stroies of the day, including the 1998 ice storm; the day to day ups and downs (I think more downs than ups ) of the Ottawa Senators of the NHL; the killing pf Cpl. Nathan Cirillo at the National War Memorial in 2014 – and the chaos that followed; and, of course, Covid 19. In fact, Covid caused a major change in the way Wall presented the news. For Wall broadcasts emanated from the basement of his home in suburban Ottawa, which he jokingly referred to as”CBC Nepean.”
Over the years Wall had the opportunity to meet many celebrities, including Gordon Pinsent, Alan Thicke, Ken Dryden, and Eugene Levy. Wall recounts that, although he didn’t manage to get a photo with Levy, he did get a laugh when he introduced himself to Levy as “just the chopped liver news presenter.” He also interviewed Randy Bachman at the Ottawa Writers Festival.
A side of Wall that is not as well known is his musical bent. Since 2001, Wall hosted hundreds of concerts and events for the Ottawa Music Festival, the Music and Beyond Chamber Festival, the Ottawa Jazz Festival, Opera Lyra Ottawa and the Ottawa Writers Festival. He has worked tirelessly to promote classical music for young people. Not to be forgotten are his own talents on the cello as a player in the 65-member community group known as the Divertimento Orchestra.
Aside from all that, Laurence Wall has MC’d dozens of events for various Jewish organizations in Ottawa, including the Jewish Federation of Ottawa, the Weizmann Institute, the Centre for Holocaust Education and Scholarship, the Canadian Friends of the Hebrew University, Limmud Ottawa, his own Kehillat Beth Israel Synagogue, Active Jewish Adults 50+, and a local choir known as Musica Ebraica. Now that is a list of accomplishments that could fill a “ Wall.”
Laurence and Roslyn are also parents of two daughters and are now grandparents as well to one grandson, with another grandchild on the way. Retirement so far for Wall has been just as fulfilling as his career. You might just say that Laurence Wall has just turned another page in his career.
Features
95-year-old Holocaust survivor invited to be part of new mini-series reliving the end of darkest period of her life
By MYRON LOVE Klara Belkin has led a life writ large. She was the principal cellist for the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra for 20 years. As well, for many years, in the winters, she and her late husband, Emile, a violinist, were also members of the Tampa Symphony Orchestra in Tampa Bay. As a teacher, she served as a member of the faculty of the University of Manitoba’s School of Music for almost 20 years.
Even though Klara Belkin is 95, her career isn’t quite over yet. Recently, she was invited to join Joshua Bell – in New York in September – in a performance with the Columbus Symphony Orchestra of the soundtrack of a projected new four-part miniseries.
The mini-series, “The Train Near Magdeburg”, is the true story of a train packed with prisoners from Bergen Belsen concentration camp in the early days of April 1945, that was intercepted – and the passengers liberated – by American soldiers.
For Belkin (who moved to Saskatoon four years ago, after her husband died, to be closer to her daughter, Lisa),the story is personal. She, her mother, and her brother, were on that train.
Originally from Szeged in Hungary, she and her family were interned in ghettos in 1944. In June of that year, she, her mother, and her brother, were taken to Austria as farm labourers. (Her father had been taken into the Hungarian army.) In December 1944, they – along with her grandparents – were moved to Bergen Belsen.
“I was lucky in that I was in relatively good health and I was with most of my family,” she said in an earlier interview with the Jewish Post & News, of her time in the concentration camp.
However, in April of 1945, with the Russians closing in, it looked like that luck was about to run out for the 15-year-old and the other surviving prisoners at Bergen Belsen. They were all loaded onto boxcars and sent toward Theresienstadt, where – they feared – death awaited them. Their journey came to an end, however on April 13, on the banks of the Elbe River near Magdeburg. A bridge had been blown out and the train could go no further. There were reports that the train was to be plunged into the river or blown up. Before that could happen, the American army arrived on the scene.
“We couldn’t see anything from inside the boxcars,” Belkin recalled. “Suddenly it went quiet. The SS guards had run away. We heard honking outside and then knocking on the boxcar doors. The doors were opened and we saw an American soldier with a gun aimed at us. He couldn’t believe what he saw. He was no doubt expecting to see German soldiers or munitions. Instead, he saw a boxcar full of half dead people.”
Belkin recalled that they were all moved to a nearby village from which the residents had been evacuated. “There were many of us who had typhus and many – including my grandfather – died shortly after liberation,” Belkin said.
Fortunately, her mother, brother, and grandmother also survived. After liberation, Belkin returned to Budapest where the family reconnected with her father and she studied the cello at the Franz Liszt Academy. Following the Hungarian Revolution in October, 1956, she was able to leave Budapest – with the encouragement of her mother – for Vienna. In Vienna, though, the symphony was not hiring any female musicians. So she came to Canada and found a position with the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra. That was also where she met her husband, Emile, a violin player, who was also a member of the WSO.
About 15 years ago, Belkin had an opportunity to meet two of the GI’s who liberated her and her family. It started with a New York State high school history project. This story began when Lisa Belkin decided to write her mother’s biography. In the course of her research, she came across a tape of an interview that Diane Sawyer had conducted with Hudson Falls, New York, history teacher Matt Rozell (recorded in 2007). In 2001, Rozell had had his students do interviews with surviving World War II veterans living in the area. First Lieutenant Frank Towers, liaison officer of the 30th Infantry Division, and former tank commander Carrol Walsh (743rd Tank Battalion, 119th Regiment), were among the interviewees. They were the last two living American soldiers from the unit who saved Klara and the other Jewish prisoners – 600 of them children – near war’s end from almost certain death.
Klara, Emile, and Lisa Belkin met the two veterans in Florida in February 2011. “I was never able to put a face to my liberators before,” Klara Belkin said at the time.
It was Frank Towers’ duty to arrange food, shelter and care for the former prisoners. Belkin reports that Towers and Walsh frequently spoke about their war experiences and had been invited to the Weizman Institute in Israel where they met with Bergen Belsen historian Bernd Horstmann.
Belkin notes that a reunion in Israel with Towers, Walsh, Rozell and some of the boxcar survivors was talked about – but nothing came of it.
Lisa Belkin reports that she and he mother have seen the first two episodes of the mini-series. She adds that both the BBC and Netflix may be interested in airing the series in the fall.
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