May 31, 2015
We began the soft part of our trip today, flew from Tel Aviv to Athens and then on to Alexandropoulis, where our father was born and grew up. This city is in Thrace, in northern Greece, an area that during WWII was “given” to Bulgaria by Nazi Germany.
In Athens, we had the great fortune to visit the Jewish Museum of Greece, a jewel box of a museum with wonderful artifacts and a small but rich section dealing with the holocaust. Their eagerness to do everything they could to help us was both surprising and heart warming. The woman in charge of their archives, Anastasia Loudarou, and her team is dedicated to finding out and documenting as many facts as possible surrounding the events of the holocaust, and they are not even Jewish. They just believe it’s right. I am including these two pictures because they show the display in the museum of personal items that were stolen from Jewish homes in Thrace, where our family was living when the Jews were pulled out of their homes to be transported to the death camp. Maybe one or more of these items came from our family’s home.
In Alexandropoulis we heard a concert in the Catholic church where a group of five musicians performed in honor of the diversity of peoples who were living in Trace during the Byzantine times. The music included Greek, Ottoman and Ladino pieces, one of which I recognized.
Vasilis Ritzaleo who has taken on the role of being our guide is immersed in the history of the Jews in the towns of Thrace. Although not Jewish, he is passionate about researching and bringing awareness to the history of the Thrace Jews in this area and country. There is so much to say about him, more about Vasilis on my next blog.
a soul's calling 1943 
Very exciting.
LikeLike
I will join the plight of my siblings. Together, we will travel the path of our family from Alexandropolis to Treblinka , no matter how difficult this journey might be. We will search, we will question and we will reveal – They will not be forgotten.
In a strange sort of way, it was like I was returning home, as our plane landed in Alexandropolis airport. As we walked into the terminal, I could feel my Dad’s presence all around me. I wiped away the tears, as vivid memories appeared in my mind. Memories of my last visit to Greece back in 1999, when dad met the three of here, Ariela, Deborah and I, for our first trip to his birthplace.
Vasillis, a total stranger, met us at the Astir Egnatia Alexandropolis hotel lobby with 4 red roses in hand, “wecome to Greece! “, he said. I was touched!
Walking along the beach behind our hotel, I could see Samuthraki in the distance. It was so peaceful and beautiful. I tried to imagine the chaos in the harbor on that day back in 1941, as Dad, age 21, searched for a rowboat to get himself to that distant Island where his escape from the Nazis would begin.
So many questions came to mind as we walked with Vasilis around the city. desperately searching for signs of a once thriving Jewish Community, but there was nothing, not a memorial, not a synagogue, not a plaque, nothing!
Vasilis, a Greek historian, had a special interest in uncovering all he could about the Jews of Thrace and was very eager to help us with our plight. Each morning he would meet us with new information and additional leeds as he searched well into the night, trying to reveal more. Where was the location of our grandfather’s home, where did they put the Jews after they were rounded up and arrested? Our final stop in Alexandropolis was City Hall but they could shed no light.
We boarded the train to Xanthi hoping to uncover more in our Dad’s hometown.
LikeLike
And thanks too to Rina for filling in the beginning of escape by your clever father rowing out to Somathraki. These tiny islands in the Aegean have their stories of resistance by mayors, bishops, and ordinary Greeks who refused to ratify the terror imposed on human beings simply because they were Jews.
Rina’s share awareness that there is no plaque, no monument in Alexandropolis, for your flesh and blood seized and sent so suddenly in the dead of winter on a long cold journey to the farthest extremities of Poland. My friend Michael Berenbaum says that “When you deport an entire community, what is left behind is the the absence of presence, and the presence of absence.”
Thank God for Vasilis, the stranger in your story, who offers each of you a red rose, and treats you all of you with the hospitality that a king (the meaning of his Greek name) might extend to his friends at court. You are worthy of such kindness. Your deed in undertaking this journey is itself noble or regal. Thanks to all of you for doing this! Ed
LikeLike
Dear Ed,
We returned from this incredible journey more than 2 weeks ago. I continue to be filled with emotion as I sadly recount what I learned and experienced. Thank you for taking the time to read my blog and for your kind and compssionate words-
Warm regards,
Rina
LikeLike