When my mother and her parents fled Nazi Germany for America in the spring of 1938, they left behind dozens of beloved relatives all over Europe. Most of those people perished in Hitler’s death camps. I’m named for a great-uncle who died in Auschwitz.
As a child, I couldn’t appreciate why my Mom and Bubby (grandmother) occasionally like to take my sister and I to nearby JFK Airport on Sunday afternoons to do nothing more than watch for loved ones being reunited.
It wasn’t until years later that I was able to fully appreciate how much they missed the siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins that hate took away from them. I wonder now if they were simply hoping to see loved ones reunited, or deep-down inside hope they might cross paths with a familiar face from the beautiful European Jewish world Hitler and his minions destroyed?
I hope you are as moved by this beautiful, short video of a 102-year-old uncle FINALLY getting to meet a nephew he only recently learned he had.