My lovely grandma, Reggie Richman, was born on December 11, 1930 in Munich, Germany. Life for her in Germany was unbearable. Adolf Hitler became the leader of Germany in 1933. The Germans hated the Jews and would “beat them up”. As a child, Jews, like my grandma, were only allowed to go to Jewish schools because they were forbidden from attending German schools and mixing with German non-Jewish children. In the afternoon, my grandma and her classmates would go to Hebrew school where they would learn Judaic subjects such as Chumash. On the way to Hebrew school, she and her fellow classmates were often harassed and “beaten up” by the Germans. The Hitler Youth would harm the Jewish children by throwing stones at the Jewish children. It was a terrible time to be a child. Jews were hated and afraid all the time.

My grandma’s parents (my great-grandparents) worked in the shoe business. They sold dress shoes for grown-ups. Both of my grandma’s parents worked together. My grandma was the third child born to her parents. She had one younger brother and an older brother and sister. When it was clear that it was unsafe for Jews to remain in Munich, my grandma’s sister, Henny, who had been allowed to attend nursing school in Germany on account of my great grandfather’s war record, went to England to work as a nurse outside of London. Her two brothers went to Brussels, Belgium along with her parents. My grandma was sent to a children’s home in France which eventually placed her in an orphanage that arranged for her to be hidden with a French family.

My grandma told me the following amazing story: there was a girl named Helen Frankell who slept in the same dormitory that my grandma slept in at the orphanage. She was captured by the Gestapo. She said that she wanted to be with her parents who were in Auschwitz. The Gestapo told her that she could not go to Auschwitz that day, but that they would arrange a transport for her the next day. The orphanage sent her into hiding with a French family and she survived. She now lives in Eretz Yisrael. This event reminded my grandma of how terrifying life was for her. She also remembers how there was never enough to eat. There was always hunger in the orphanage. After some time in the orphanage, my grandma was adopted by a Catholic family by the name of Roland and was hidden by them. They lived on a farm in LeLac in the French territory of Massif Central in the south central part of France near the city of St. Etienne.

In 1942, one of her brothers was deported to Auschwitz. Her parents survived in Belgium. They survived because they owned two apartments and could move from apartment to apartment to avoid being captured by the Nazis. When France was liberated in August, 1944, my grandma waited for news from the Red Cross about what happened to her parents and her brothers. When the war ended on May 8, 1945, she learned that her parents had survived the war and traveled to Belgium to be reunited with them.

On Labor Day, 1946, my grandma, her parents, and her younger brother who survived the war, arrived in America on a boat from France to New York City. She remembers that the boat was horrible and that there was hardly any food. The journey took two weeks. After arriving in New York City the family went to Minneapolis, Minnesota where her uncle lived. The way my grandma met my grandpa, Jack, after whom I am named, is amazing. My grandpa Jack’s brother knew my grandma’s Rabbi. My grandpa’s brother was a cantor who was invited to be the chazzan at one of the shuls in Minneapolis at Rosh Hashanah time. He told the Rabbi there that he wanted to find a wife for his single brother. The Rabbi recommended my grandma. My grandpa went to Minneapolis after Succot. My grandma and grandpa fell in love right away and they got married in January of 1953. They then moved to Chicago and lived in the city. Over a year later my dad was born at Mt. Sinai Hospital. My grandma, grandpa, and my
dad lived in the city for 9 years and then moved to Skokie in 1962.

Whenever I ask my grandma about my dad and how he was growing up she says he was “outstanding”. The reason she says that is because he was an outstanding student and because he
took care of his two sisters, my aunts. My aunt, Debby, went to Evanston High School along
with my father while my other aunt went to Ida Crown Jewish Academy.

When I asked my grandma if she could go back into time and change one thing that occurred in her life she immediately said the war years. She wishes that her older brother had not been deported from Belgium to die in Auschwitz.

The memories of my grandma leave an impression on me that I can hopefully bezras Hashem tell my kids. Her story is amazing. It should and must be passed down L’dor V’dor-from
generation to generation.