As they immigrated to Mexico from Poland in 1928 and 1931 respectively, my uncle Aaron and his brother, my father, were the only members of their family that survived the Holocaust.  Growing up in Mexico, my siblings and I knew very little about my father’s family.  I vividly remember my dad’s response the only time I asked about his family: “Everybody is dead; I don’t want to talk about it…”. 

Aaron died in San Antonio, TX in 1985.  While going through his belongings, we found a suitcase with hundreds of letters.  Most of the letters were from their father, my grandfather.  A few others were from their siblings, my aunts and uncles.  The letters from the immediate family stop abruptly in the spring of 1942.  

These letters have been a treasure.  My siblings and I have learned about our father’s family, finding clues about how they lived and how they died.  

Through these letters we learned about my uncle and my father.  They gave us insights into their most important relationships.  We learned how at a very young age they were able to help support their parents and their siblings.  Critically, we now understand better their guilt of surviving while their parents and siblings in Poland died. 

Each letter has been a slightly imperfect piece of a complicated puzzle that has taught us about our families and about ourselves, and, for that we are thankful. 

– Abraham Bleiberg

Relationship:  Im/migrant Im/migrant