Welcome to Mind Wise, an audio and video podcast exploring holistic perspectives on mental health care, psychology, neuroscience, spirituality, and wellness. I am your host, Dr. Ron Parks—a writer, teacher, and physician. Today, we’re going to explore:

Vigilance and Memory: Safeguarding Humanity After the Holocaust

A call to remembrance and words from a survivor, the poet Iren Steier, that bring the reality of the past to inform the present

My Family’s Journey Through Loss, Reunion, and Remembrance

I recall a poignant personal story I wrote about my reunion with an aged cousin of my mother during a visit to Israel, who was believed lost in a Nazi death camp. Her location was revealed through a letter my mother gave me before her death. The realization now is that it was the deepest and darkest proximity I’ve experienced to the heart of tragedy, human cruelty, and the depravity of others toward humanity, the evilest side of humankind, inflicted on vulnerable people by one of the most sinister forces in the history of our civilization. It also shows the resilience and the beaming forth of the human spirit, and our greatest strength and power to reach the highest state of enlightenment and pure spirit.

As a child in the late 1940s, my mother took me to a local shoe repair shop on Upshur Street in Washington, DC. The shop was near the row-house community where we lived. The struggling shoemaker, amid his buzzing machines, appeared to be a quiet, humble man, his face worn by years of hardship. He had an unfamiliar accent. My mother knew he was from Hungary, where her parents had lived before migrating to this country in the late 1800s. My mother showed him letters she had recently received from a cousin, Iren, her age, whom she had visited as a small child with her mother while seeing their family in Hungary before the war years. I understood that a terrible war had occurred in Eastern Europe, and it was over with the German defeat.

As a child, I only knew that horrible things had happened to the unfortunate people living there, including my mother’s cousin and her family. Her cousin, Iren, was now a refugee from her destroyed home and community, having lost family members. With a voice of despair, the shoemaker in the store translated and read the letters to my mother. He helped write and address my mother’s letters in Hungarian to my mother’s cousin, along with whatever money or goods my mother could send.

My mother was never sure her letters or anything she sent would reach her or get past the authorities or the people providing her refuge. She received the last letter from her cousin after the war had ended, which included her new address in Israel, where she had successfully migrated. The letter expressed hope of seeing my mother in the future. The cousin could reach Israel after her release from a Nazi concentration camp and a brief stay at a refugee center, as one of the few family survivors. The Germans had invaded her hometown in Transylvania near the Hungarian border, destroyed her community, and left her without a place to return to.

No further attempts to make contact were successful. Years later, when my mother could finally travel to Israel, she was terribly disappointed not to find her cousin.

Before my mother died, she gave me the well-kept last letter from Iren, now worn, hoping I would reconnect with her one day. In the mid-eighties, my wife and I traveled to Israel, taking with us the old, worn letter from Iren that my mother had given me before her death. It was my quest to find her, hoping she was still alive. What transpired when we arrived in Israel was a blessing and an inspiration beyond my belief and expectations.

On a sunny, warm day in 1985, in the arid, desert-like landscape, my wife and I walked into the modest hotel lobby near Jerusalem. We were to meet a newfound niece of my mother’s dear cousin. We were young and full of wonder, adventure, excitement, and anticipation that something profound would soon happen.

My mother hoped I would find her beloved cousin and complete the connection she had hoped for since her childhood visit to their European family and their occasional letters thereafter.

Now, Iren’s niece drove us to the rustic lodge where Iren and her husband were staying. I had found Iren’s niece by taking the envelope my mother had given me, with the old address and family name, to a multilingual shop owner. He took time out from his work in his small, stall-like shop to phone twenty or so people with a family name similar to the one on my mother’s envelope. He kept telling our story until Iren’s niece recognized it on one of the calls. The shopkeeper was so sweet to help us, and of course, we bought a few gifts to remember him and his colorful shop.

When we walked into the room, Iren, now in her eighties, appeared slightly frail, with a concentration number tattooed on her arm, beaming with such warmth and a smile that melted our hearts. We all cried and hugged. A profound sense of meaning came with the joining of our hearts and the family’s past. The occasion was also profoundly moving, as we had visited the Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem the day before. There were many reminders of that era’s horrific events, including an exhibit of thousands of children’s shoes belonging to those sent to the crematoriums at the death camps. Some of these children were from my mother’s and Iren’s families.

It was profound to meet Iren, a survivor of one of the worst tragedies in modern history. Iren had not only survived but, as I perceived, had moved to a much higher place of spirituality and love, though she still carried the deep scars of her losses and sacrifices. She had also become an accomplished poet and gave me poems about her Holocaust experience, written in her native Hungarian, in search of meaning in suffering and loss. When I returned to the States, I found a Hungarian professor who translated her poems.

January 27: International Holocaust Remembrance Day

In 2005, the United Nations General Assembly designated January 27th as the International Day of Commemoration in memory of the victims of the Holocaust, marking the anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau. This annual observance serves as a worldwide reminder of the dangers posed by the drift towards rogue and extremist authoritarian rule, hatred, bigotry, and antisemitism. People across the globe are called to remember, reflect, and act to prevent history from repeating itself, with commemorative events held at United Nations Headquarters and offices worldwide.

What becomes startlingly clear is that the worst of history can repeat itself. A warning to maintain vigilance is evident in the persistence of less visible undercurrents that can build toward a potential recurrence. It is more worrisome when individuals and groups develop a lack of public responsibility and respect for diversity, and show behaviors that suggest a need to control, gain power, and accumulate wealth at the public’s expense. Drift in this direction is clear from both the ideological extremes of the right and the left.

The perpetrators of fear and division gain traction by stoking basic human fears of losing essentials such as livelihoods, economic security, and food and shelter, and of being overrun or replaced by others. Ideologically polarized political parties achieve dominance by espousing disinformation that foments hatred, fear, and division.

Today’s technological advances in communications make it easier for entities seeking an advantage to influence and control, to the point of becoming destructive forces against public welfare. Technology also makes it easier for ill-intentioned people to take advantage of others by manipulating human frailties through deception, rhetoric, and propaganda. The reality is that what occurred in the past can gain momentum and again lead to the degradation of the social fabric, democracy, and the environment essential to health and well-being.

The Enduring Lessons and Warnings from History’s Darkest Chapter

Iren was one of the few in her village and family to survive the Holocaust

and the Nazi concentration camps, and live to write about the ordeal. Her poems were written from 1944 to 1945, during her last days in her native town of Nagyvarad and as a prisoner at Auschwitz. As Iren wished, her poems are shared to remind everyone never to forget and to watch for any movement toward hatred, division, or a recurrence of the tragic history she had experienced. Her poems offer a poignant reminder of the fate of a democracy that evolves into a brutal, totalitarian, fascist government.

A Haunting Poem from Iren Steier: A Survivor of Auschwitz’s Journey and the Gripping Reality of her Tragic Experience

A translated poem by my mother’s cousin is below: a warning that the poem in its entirety is harsh, graphic, and shocking, but shared because of Iren’s wish to keep people aware that, without vigilance and remembrance of this tragic history, recurrence can become a future reality.

AUSCHWITZ by Iren W. Steier,

In a far, strange country, very—very far,Where maybe the star in the sky is even different,Where there is no friend, not even the grass,From where even the flying bird has no message…

A train rumbles into the hell of Polish earth,It brings wounded, deprived prisoners.Its doors open, and ten thousand Jews.are driven into rows — some alive, some dead.And tho...