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- [00:00]
A
Welcome back to the observable unknown. There are families shaped by what happened to them. There are other families shaped by what nearly happened, what might happen again, and what must never be permitted to happen. In these families, love rarely arrives alone. It comes carrying food. It checks the locks. It counts the children in the room. It saves photographs of people whose names no one living can fully remember. It keeps string, money, documents, stories and grief because history has already demonstrated what happens when something precious is left unguarded. My guest today is Barbara. She's the daughter of Holocaust survivors who came to America carrying the hope of safety and the habits of catastrophe. She's Jewish not merely by ancestry, ritual or affiliation, but through a body educated by inherited memory, a body that learned before language the that people can disappear, that homes can vanish, that citizenship can fail, and that family must be held close. Because the world hasn't always allowed families to remain whole. Contemporary research has given us the language of intergenerational trauma and epigenetic inheritance, suggesting that extreme stress may leave biological traces beyond the generation first exposed to it. Families have always known something of this. Without the laboratory, they know that terror can become vigilance, that hunger can become hoarding, that persecution can become watchfulness, and that silence can become an heirloom. Barbara married a man named Joe. Together they raised two daughters. Barbara worked, provided, protected, worried, remembered, and gave as she believed a mother should give. Dr. Joseph Bass became more than a husband and father. He became the interpreter inside of the family. He understood that beneath Barbara's anger, there was often fear. He understood that beneath her, in the insistence, there was often love sharpened by memory. He translated mother to daughters, daughters to mother, and each woman's private dialect of injury into something the others might survive hearing. Then Jo died 17 years ago, and a family that had lost its interpreter slowly lost its common language. Barbara now lives with a form of grief our culture scarcely knows how to name her. Daughters are alive. She knows where they are. She loves them. They say they love her. Yet the distance remains. There's no funeral for this kind of loss. No grave, no prescribed mourning, no public ritual in which neighbors arrive with food and grant the bereaved permission to sit still. There's only the living absence of people who remain present in the world and absent from one's life. So hearing about her story is the most important part of today's episode. Without any further ado, let's join the conversation. Barbara, it is always fantastic to chat with you. It feels like just yesterday we were talking about your mother in law's pickled green tomato recipe. I want to break right in by asking you, who was Barbara Bass before she became a wife, a mother, a widow, and a woman living with estrangement?
- [02:51]
B
Oh, well, I'm 83 years old now. What was I? I was a daughter, a sister, a friend, a student, came through college and. And then became a wife and. And mother. There were a couple name changes in between.
- [03:12]
A
Would you share that?
- [03:13]
B
Sure. In Polish, my name was Ima, the initials of both grandmothers who had perished during the Holocaust. And in Hebrew, it means mother. So it was apparently a pretty name, they thought. Then in the DP camps, there was a WAC who said, emma's not American. My name is Emma. Close enough. Why don't we call her Emma? Okay. So I became Emma through Dip Consulate. They didn't understand. My parents were saying Ema. To them, it was Ida. So the papers wrote, said Ida. So now I'm Ida, also known as Emma, and I go to public school. Public school, they call me Ida. And until they started calling me Ida, sweet as apple cider. So I said, no, we'll go back to Emma. So Emma I was through into high school, and in fact, my husband met me as Emma. And then some of the boys started calling me Enema. And as I was heading toward college, I thought, this is not good. So I asked my parents if I could change my name. But to what? And so it was going to be something very American, and my mom's only surviving. It was a sister who was two years younger, younger than her, who was also part of the time in Russia and in the DP camp with us, had passed away, cancer. And after she came to America, and her name was Bronya in Polish, but as a child, I named her Barbara because that's all I knew from school. Girls that started with a B was Barbara. So I became Barbara. And interestingly enough, it's Ida. Emma, also known as Emma. Ida on my citizenship favors, and then Barbara. And that's the story of my name. Where was I?
- [05:18]
A
Yeah, that's wonderful. Tell me, how did being raised by Holocaust survivors shape your earliest understanding of family safety, memory, and love?
- [05:27]
B
Oh, that's a tough one. You. You asked me how did it shape me? Well, I'm not really. I'm a child of Holocaust survivors, whatever that means to other people. I don't know. It's family I know was important. And when my aunt that I just spoke of died, her husband, my uncle Joe, remarried, and maybe my parents and had by that time had moved from Brooklyn to New York to New Hampshire. So sorry. That's the talk. And I asked my dad to please take me to New York so I could talk to my uncle, who I was close to, because I was extremely close to. To both of them, especially my aunt. And so we went to New York, and I talked to him and asked him, we're. We're just family. That's all there is, is just us, so can we please get along? And they did. Few months later, my brother was bar mitzvahed, which is. And he and my two cousins, my aunt's two children came to the bar mitzvah, to New Hampshire. So that was good. And as a child, apparently from this experience and thinking about it, I realized how important family was. This is so good. Yeah. Dogs. All right. I opened the door. Okay, so you ask about how important family was. Family was very important to me. I don't think I. It was a conscious thing, but it was an internal thing. And what else did you ask me? How. Go ahead, ask me again.
- [07:25]
A
Oh, how it shaped your understanding of family, safety, memory, and love.
- [07:29]
B
I don't know. The. The others safety? I don't know. I think was. Just remember, it's been so many years that I didn't think about these things. It was like. Because when I was a child and we. When we were in Brooklyn, there were other immigrants living nearby and close to, and it was okay to. Well, except for the one time that a woman told my mother to shut up. That was experience. You might want. We were at the market where you go to buy fresh food and get your chickens for the. For the Shabbat dinner. And I was at that point, seven. And my mother just leaned over to me and said something in Polish. And the woman that was cleaning the chicken that she had selected said to her, you're in America now. Speak English. I said, my mother does speak English. I remembered this. My mother does speak English, but she just wanted to make sure she got the right word. And that was, I think, the first time that I realized, or that I became aware that other people didn't see us the way they saw Americans. And there was a difference, even amongst the people, the immigrants. There were the Americanas, and then there were the Greenas. They called them the fresh. Fresh off the ship. And I think from that point on as well, when a woman said to my mother, you think you had it rough? We had rationed, I believe she said, ice cream and butter. I can't swear to it, but it was something like that that they were rationed. And then again, shortly after we moved to New Hampshire, my parents were the only ones who spoke with an accent. My father was a laborer machine operator at the time. This intellectual person. My mother was a stay at home. He had to learn how to drive. My mother didn't drive. She learned how to drive. It was different. We were different. And I always saw myself. I guess I'm answering your question in a roundabout way, but I always saw myself as different. Now that's making me think of love. My husband was really the only one that didn't see me as different in that way. He saw me different in a different way. I wasn't that princess that he had, you know, gone to school with girls like that. So. Okay, change the subject here. Ask me something else.
- [10:10]
A
Now, if I'm not mistaken, you do have an essay you wrote regarding being the child of immigrants. Would you care to share that with us?
- [10:17]
B
Yes, I do. I wrote this on the flight back from. From the first conference of children of Holocaust survivors that Joe and I had gone to. And there were people that were suddenly saying, well, tell us this and tell us what was it like? What was it? And that were not part of the conference, but they were visitors. And so I wrote irony. As the living corpses were led out of the darkness which they had survived, they entered a darkness which would be different, of a different kind. A darkness, a receptacle of all their demons and evil they had seen and experienced and into which their nightmares remained for over 40 years. During these more than 40 years, 15,000 days and 15,000 nights, they were told that that was then, this is now. Get over it. The more they were silenced, the louder the Night Stalkers became and the greater the roar in the pits of their bowels. Some of you might think that this is an over dramatizing of the experience of only a few of the survivors. But imagine yourselves wanting, needing to say something to a spouse, a child, a friend, a 911 operator, and being told, not important, not interested. I say that to you now and ask, how do you feel? Now imagine a 10 year old child, an 18 year old young adult, or a 30 year old that was in me. All whose lives were interrupted for a minimum of 10 years, begin to speak of their experiences and be interrupted with shh. Not interested, not important. That was then, this is now. Get over it. Today, the day of no Business like Showa Business, these same people are asked to retrieve these memories. The same ones they were told to bury in the graveyards of their minds and speak, reveal, announce their pain and despair, as if their Heartaches would be badges of honor and dramatic maybe, but it was how I felt at that time. And the plane. And I still have the same piece of paper and it's in pencil that I wrote this on. Made some changes after, but they're still here. I could scan this. Now that I learned how to scan, I could scan it and so you can have it for your file or write a book.
- [12:48]
A
It's excellent. Tell me, what did immigration to America represent for your parents after the Holocaust and what parts of the old world remained within your family?
- [12:58]
B
Well, I never really discussed these things with my parents. I only know from the experiences, this incidences that happen. It was special. I know. I felt. I wrote an essay for application for college of what America coming to America meant to me. And I remember, although I don't have the essay, it's a very clear in my mind that I remember what it was like seeing the lights. We came in through to the, to. To New York at night, but got off the ship in the morning. And I recently even researched which pier we came in because I knew the, the date and the name of the ship and Pier Number 90 in New York City. So I wrote about how it felt later on as a student, that it felt like I was protected, that America was going to be like a parent that protects you. And this is where, this is how I saw America. I still kind of see America as a protectorate, even though it, you know, I learned how imperfect everything is and, but, but changes were made, etc. So I, I think that they were grateful. I, I know they were grateful because my mother. How do I know that? My mother celebrated August 20th every single year till the day she died. She baked a cake, homemade, and she put a small American flag, little paper flag in the center of it. That is how I grew to remember the day that we arrived and we had a picture, a postcard of the ship. And it was, it was a big deal. Yeah. America was where they could start afresh. And they. Yeah, I think that that that cake with the flag on it is, Is very, I think, symbolic of everything else that they may have felt but didn't, didn't talk about, didn't express.
- [15:04]
A
Were there aspects of the old world of life before the Holocaust that remained within your family after arriving in America,
- [15:11]
B
aspects of the old world? Well, not really. They learned English right away. They wanted to assimilate. They did. I mean, learning English was a must because my father had to get a job. We had arrived and we stayed for several weeks at the Hayas which is the Hebrew immigration something Asadi. And it was like a. An apartment building that. With one single rooms. They were just one room. We had a hot plate and. And my baby brother, infant brother. My parents and I stayed there. I learned English because I used to walk through the. To the offices that they had there. And. And people were kind and learned English that way. Dinners were in a hall like a. It was like a dormitory kind of thing. So aspects of the past. The past were. A few times they would say, well, in, you know, when we were young in Poland, but they did not talk about their lives in Poland. The only thing I knew was my mother trained under Helena Rubenstein as an esthetician and. And my. My father was. Was heading toward medical school or became. Went to business and worked for the Hudson River. Hudson, I don't remember. Hudson something or other. They made wool or, I don't know, blankets. I don't know. I don't want to lie. Anyway, so when they came to America, it was get a job, any job. And he got a job working at a machine that made the heels for women's shoes out of wood. And that's how we ended up in New Hampshire, because the company moved from New York to. To actually to Vermont, but we lived in New Hampshire. And. And that was the opportunity that he had. And this is what I know for a fact was very. He was grateful for. He. And. And that's how they felt about America, I guess.
- [17:29]
A
How do you understand the possibility that trauma may pass through generations via epigenetics, family memory, behavior in silence?
- [17:37]
B
Well, it's something that has come to the fore only recently, the last few years, I mean, 10 years or so. So I'm 83. I was well into my 60s, 50s, let's say, given the benefit of the doubt, that we could even discuss anything like this or that there was a thought, oh, you've got somebody's PTSD or some kind of trauma from the past. Like I said, you know, if you were a child of family that were alcoholics or abusive, then there was an understanding if, in fact the sympathy that went along with your. As you got, you know, your own life. But when it came to the Holocaust, the Shoah there, that was not it. And even today, it's an odd feeling. It's. I can only feel comfortable among my own, among people who have my background, even though some of them, you know, really annoy me because they. They carry forward a. Oh, this is me. Pathetic. Pathetic. You know, my parents were this. I can't do That I can't. My family was different from, from those kinds. They didn't harp on the fact that they were Holocaust survivors. If anything, my family, my parents felt had survivor guilt that they survived and their entire families did not. My father lost all his siblings, every aunt and uncle, every cousin. My mother had brother and the sister and her mother had also perished. She went in Belzec together with my other grandmother. Her father had survived and he, he immigrated to Israel and he died there. We had never seen him again after the DP camp. So only letters. And what was the question again?
- [19:45]
A
Speaking about epigenetics and family memory, behavior.
- [19:51]
B
I think today, you know, it's like if you're told something, if you're told that you, you, that this affected you, you start thinking, well, maybe it did. So that's kind of where I was led to think, maybe, maybe it did. But I find in, in looking over the questions that you had prepared it, it opened up some raw, some wounds that were raw. And I didn't realize that they were wounds, but for lack of another word, I'll call them wounds, experiences, and maybe think about the past and those kinds of things.
- [20:27]
A
You have a story about how multiple times as a child you were told to be quiet. And this obviously has shaped how you've grown into an adult. Would you mind sharing those stories?
- [20:38]
B
Okay, I think this is what you're talking about. I said, it starts out, I am the child of many survivors, two whose bodies escaped the ultimate degradation and then lived out their lives with a hunger of another kind. And for too many whose bodies turn to ashes they are, but whose soul survived. My constant companions for as long as I can remember. Guess I was referring to, you know, the grandparents, the family that I never had. And I remember someone saying, oh, I hate going to my, my families for Christmas. And a child of survivors, a friend of mine said, what's so bad? I have dinner with my family every night. Your whole. Yeah, my whole family is just the four of us. And that kind of hit home. So as I got older, family was very important. And that's part of. When you talk about the estrangement from my daughters, I. That word family is, is busy. So I, I never thought of myself as a survivor. Today. This was six when I was 60 and five days precisely to the day I arrived in New York harbor on the SS Ernie Pile. Shane I have begun to think about the possibility that I am a survivor. When the war ended, I was a two year old, almost three. Singing, which is in Polish, it's The end of the war, along with many adults, no other children. I was really the only child amongst all these adults. And I have a photo attesting to that. From that day to the days before arriving at the DP camp, my memory is vague. No visual images, no real photos. Kind of like one day we're here and the next day you're there. One big step with no little ones in between. And that's just another essay that I have here.
- [22:40]
A
I'll say you've mentioned in the past being in the forest and your mother telling you to be quiet. Being on a hayride and being told to be quiet. Of course, looking back, you feel as though these events shaped who you became, who you grew into. Would you mind sharing a little more about that?
- [22:55]
B
As I was thinking about that, the word quiet resonates it's with me a lot. Because in the woods in Europe, it was, I don't know, Ukraine, Russia, not really sure. I think it was the woods of the partisans in. In Russia, the Soviet Union, they. I was told that there was a drawer out of a cupboard that they found someplace and that was my bassinet. And my dad would leave during the day because they were all looking out for the men. And so I was told, quiet, don't tell. You know, like, don't say anything, don't. And at the. The next thing was the. Excuse me, the. The trip from Poland after they left the Soviet escape the Soviet Union, they went through Poland to see about their survivors and possessions and left there under hiding in a hay wagon with me under the hay. And I remember, and they told me this, these things that I was told to, to be quiet because, you know, it was. It was illegal, I guess, to go from Poland through to. Through Czechoslovakia into the German free zone and the DP camp. So there again, it was quiet. And when the consulate. It was again, I could speak several languages at that point, and they didn't want to make a mistake and have me say something in Russian. So there again, just be quiet. If they ask you questions, start to cry. That was the thing. Start to cry. I'm a very big crier, as you can tell. I cry easily. So that was again, you know, be quiet and don't reveal anything of who you are. What else?
- [25:01]
A
Well, now, in what ways did the experiences of your parents shape the kind of mother you worked to become?
- [25:08]
B
My mother, unfortunately, when I was in my 40s, I asked her. I was taking a chronology, asking them about and not an inventory, asking them where they were. Finally, tell me where Was I really born? Things like that, that. And I said to her, why was it always Steven? Steven's my brother's name. And without a blink she said, you just didn't need me that way. My brother was a late speaker. He's still a little strange. I can't say strange, just. He's odd. He has issues and never really amounted anything. So my mom, he was the bane of her existence. As long as I know. And many times I became a surrogate kind of mot to him, taking the reins for helping them deal with him. Even through college. And afterwards, when my parents died, I kind of took over. Not kind of, I did. Financially, emotionally, etc. So what kind of mother my mother was? What do I remember? She wanted to assimilate. It was important to. To take on. It was a new life. This was America. This was what they did here, and we're going to be happy about. And she took me to the Easter Parade and to the Macy's exhibit where they had all this moving window of caricatures and grandmother's house. We go and took me to the Brooklyn Library for story hour. Things that she was not familiar with, but she felt were necessary for. For her children. She had her demons. She. I don't know how else to explain, to describe her mother had a lot. A sense of humor. She had a lot of class coming from nothing and was a partner. And I think that's one thing I learned from her. She was a partner to my dad. And I'm not like her, but I'm like her. Does that mean anything?
- [27:16]
A
It does, it does. Do you see how her influence, how the influence of both of your parents, the past that they came from, might have shaped the way you approached having your own children?
- [27:26]
B
Well, that's another story. Having my own children, it was just a given in my generation that you're gonna get. If you get married, you're gonna have kids. So I imagine four is a nice number. I don't know. And we talked about it at first, but Joe wanted a. A family, a child. Wanted me to have a child right away, even though he was just a resident, you know, making nothing. And I was prepared to go to work and get dressed one day and said, where are you going? I said, I have an interview. And said, no, we're going to start a family. And not that he was dictatorial, but it was easy for me. I wanted to please. And my parents would be pleased. Everybody would be pleased. And I had a baby and I was petrified. I did not know. And she had issues feeding shoes, etc. But I loved. I don't want to sound. Nicole. I. I loved being a mother. I enjoyed that role a lot. You know, the. The teaching and the protecting and dressing. But on the other hand, I didn't teach her. Well, that's another story. I didn't teach her. I. I came back. I came to Joe. I said, I don't know. Everybody in the pool, at the pool, they, they. The children say, mama, Mama. And this one doesn't. What's the matter? And he's. She's. What does she say? She said, da, da, da, da. Well, he said, have you ever said mama to her? I said, no. And does that describe me as a mother? It was, yeah, if I answered your question.
- [29:09]
A
You have. You have. Thank you. Tell me, what did your husband, Dr. Joseph Bass, bring to the emotional life of your family and what changed after his death?
- [29:18]
B
He brought. I mean, they had the prestige of saying, my. My father's a doctor. Financially. They didn't know whether we were struggling for anything or not. I'm a good pretender and. But he brought security for all of us, actually. And laughter. Um, he never scolded them. That was left to me, you know, he was. What did he bring? He. He was the one who watched the cartoons with them and took them skiing. And it was important for me that he have a good relationship with. Where they have a good relationship with him. Because my studies said that girls, especially a professional dads that don't have a close relationship can become promiscuous and have other issues. And so, because. Also, because I had a really beautif. Beautiful relationship with my dad, I trusted him. And, and. And I think what I. What did I want to say? He had respected me, and that was important. And I wanted them to have that same relationship with, With Joe. So he did. He brought that to him. They adored him. There's no question about it. And many times they would say that, you know, he. They felt that I came before them, but I don't think that's the truth.
- [30:46]
A
So what changed after he passed away?
- [30:48]
B
Well, I got the feeling that they would have preferred that. I believe that passed away and everything that led up to it, their. Their relationships, especially with their husbands. I mean, prior to that, everything was. We were a family, you know, a couple issues. I don't want you to go out with this guy and that one. But it was. He left it to me. I. I was the. Yeah, I was the manager, whatever. There's another word I' for. And after he died, things Just their true colors, as, as is said, came to the front and they didn't hold back. Elisa, the older one, she tried, she was different. They're, they're both very different, but they each married difficult men.
- [31:40]
A
Do you feel that they did this in rebellion? Do you, you feel that they did this for some other reason?
- [31:47]
B
I'm just going to transfer my own feelings about this. Robin felt. Robin was always distant because when Joe was alive there were issues with her husband. And I've said some of this to you before. Do you want me to repeat?
- [32:05]
A
Yes, please.
- [32:06]
B
Okay. For sure. Robin's husband has a condition. We don't really know for sure, but he has said himself, he himself said to Robin when their son was diagnosed with being on this autistic Asperger spectrum that, that described him. So he, he. So when he, when Joe was still alive. What story do I tell? That it was a Thanksgiving and we were at their house and I was doing the cooking and Lisa and David were there and their kids and Zident occurred. And then he came, called me into the room and started with a loud voice and he's like six something. And he said, you have no idea. Because I was made a comment that it would have been appropriate for him to be in the house with his father in law being a handyman and me being the chef, that he be there. But instead he was at the gym, couldn't take a day off. So I said something about that and, and he said, you have no idea how stressful it is to pay for this house. They move to the suburbs, out of the city and provide for your daughter. I thought Joe was going to lash out at him or reach out at him. And Elisa was in the room and she said, people make sacrifices for family. And I just stood there, held on to Joe's hand and like a ventriloquist, said, quiet, my quiet. Yeah, we'll get through this. And Joe was very much like me. He didn't, he didn't like confrontation. But at that point I think he would have hit him. And all I said was, she's not your chattel. And she was not in the room. And afterwards she, she supported him, she was loyal to him. She said, you, it's really diffic world. It's stressful for him. And I'm thinking what the heck is stressful? He's a real estate attorney. It's not like he has life in his hands anyway from that point on. And that was when the baby was 8 months old and now he's 21, I think I was in his company together with Joe three or four times. She didn't make an effort to come and visit us. She didn't really invite us both to come there other than when she wanted company, when he was going to some conference, and we would come and keep her company with the children. So your question about the. What was it like before? Elisa, on the other hand, she was much more. The boys were older, her family, her children were older. So she made an effort. We had a lovely home with a swimming pool and a golf course, and we also had a getaway in Vermont. So they would come to both places and we would always have the holidays. And the holidays, everybody knew we're going to Nana's house. His parents, David's parents wanted Thanksgiving. I said, you can have Thanksgiving. I, I want Passover and I want the Jewish holiday, and if that's possible. And they did that. David, on the other hand, is this. Should I say, if you'd like, yes. Who's going to listen to this?
- [35:35]
A
Potentially thousands. It just depends.
- [35:37]
B
Oh, I think David hasn't had the most. The benefit of a. A good upbringing. I don't want to use that word, that other word to describe her. This, his mother is something else. And lots of situations related to her. Now I'm getting off track, as usual. So what's your question again?
- [36:04]
A
Oh, just about the changes after Joe's death that came to the emotional life of your family.
- [36:11]
B
They. I don't know. I had therapy. The therapist called them. They. He knew or told him about this estrangement and that it just appeared one day, you know, it was at. Not at any time, at no time at all have they, especially Robin, have asked me, how are you doing? You know, and I'm not a. I don't, I hope I don't portray, do you know me portray a needy person. I never. I didn't, I didn't. I don't need any money. I don't need anything. You know, I make decisions. I was 66 years old when Joe died, so I was still, you know, a woman, you know, had all her marbles. I manage my affairs and if anything, I gave a lot away. I gave his, his life insurance money away and to each of them and paid for a lot of things. And one needed them and the other one not so much. But they couldn't answer the therapist as. And what he did is he said, he called them and he said, look, I need your mom in therapy with me because she's grieving and etc. But I need for you to ask. He's asking them what was your childhood like? What. Why is this thing happening? And he came back to me. He called them twice. And he said, they. They just said everything was fine. So, you know, I don't know.
- [37:40]
A
So for you, what does the estrangement feel like?
- [37:43]
B
Clearly, does it feel like. It feels like shit. Another therapist. I kept trying, thinking, what did I do? Could please tell me what is it that I said or. They couldn't say anything. They. They didn't know. And this therapist said, you know, you realize that you're grie. You're grieving your relationship with the kids, and you're grieving for your husband, and neither one is getting. It's the one for your husband isn't getting its due the time that it's. That it should have.
- [38:18]
A
Because the estrangement from the children derailed the grieving process for you.
- [38:22]
B
I believe so, yeah. Instead of having someone to call and say, I'm sad, you know, I have to hold it all in or back to that old quiet, keep it in. I guess that's something I learned from all these questions.
- [38:39]
A
So what do you most wish your children and grandchildren understood about the love, grief and history that you care beneath your words?
- [38:46]
B
What do. Say that again. What do I wish?
- [38:49]
A
What do you wish your children and grandchildren understood about the love, grief and history that you carry beneath your words?
- [38:55]
B
Separate the kids from the grandkids. Two grandsons, him close to, especially the first one, because from the time he was 4, he's 28 now. From the time he was 14 and a half, he and I spent the week before Thanksgiving, four days at a conference for seven years. And until he was. Until he went to grad school. And then. So the. The oldest was 10 when Joe died. The other one was seven. And the. The other two were just. Just, you know, three and five, something like that. Four and six. So. And I had. When I saw them this last April, the other, the younger two, I hadn't seen them in seven years. And the last time was only because it was a bar mitzvah. So that's the only two times that I had seen the. The younger two. I don't know. They. When they were here, all four of them, they wanted to come for Passover. They did. And I did what I could. It. It was beautiful. What I said to them then is, it's really important for me to. For you guys to know your grandfather. If you want. Want to ask questions of me because I'm still here, go ahead. But I really important that you know who this man was, because he's gone and you didn't get a chance, you know, the younger two, to. To know him. They showed him the album and the letters, and there wasn't enough time to cover it all, but they got it. And then as far as the other two, they're aware of, in fact, Jared, the oldest one, is aware of transgenerational trauma. He wrote that in a letter to me. But now he's gone to law school and working, and he's not got time to think about these things. I'm happier that he's got more time to get a girlfriend. And so as far as the girls, like I said, I had taken them, tried this group in Boston of child survivors, children of survivors, and they really weren't interested. So I. I attributed that to their age at the time. They were in, what, junior high school and then. Or high school and then later on. They just don't have the connection. It is not something that they choose to incorporate into their. Their identities or life experiences. They're just, you know, Joe Bass's daughters, and somewhere along the line they had a mother. That's the way I feel. I. I don't know. I can't put my head, you know, into. Onto them.
- [41:36]
A
But do you find your children, grandchildren, or any of their associates being unsympathetic to the Shoah?
- [41:43]
B
Not my. Not the first two, Jared, no, definitely not them. Not unsympathetic, no. Unknowing, not knowledgeable. That's a different story. There's the Jason who went to Colby. He knows about it on a peripheral level, but it's not something that's internal. He's a scientist and physicist and brilliant and a very nice young man. And Michael, I don't really know either. They know the word, but I don't think they connect who I am to that. And, in fact, Joe's father was an immigrant, too. He came from Russia as a teenager during the Russian Revolution, and his family, so Joe's grandparents, paternal grandparents, also died during the Holocaust. So I. I don't think that they're aware of that. I mean, I. I know that they don't connect. One and one is two, too.
- [42:48]
A
How was it handled in their families? Was it ever talked about? Was it ever discussed maybe over Passover Seder or any other events? Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur?
- [42:57]
B
Are you kidding me? Was it discussed in their own. In their home?
- [43:01]
A
You mean? Homes in their homes?
- [43:03]
B
Oh, no. Brad's lucky that he can even Talk. I, I, I doubt it. I doubt it. And the being Jewish had very little to do with, with their real lives. They connected to that. If they had a friend and a friend did something and they, one of her friends made a film about her grand, her child's grandfather, her father being a survivor. And she showed me that, things like that, I took them to the Holocaust Museum when I made a donation to put my parents names on the wall of wings. And there was really very, I didn't see any connection, you know, any sympathy, empathy, any, I don't know what else you call it to that. It was there that Elisa, the only one, said to me, how much did you give? I said, it's a strange question. I said, why do you ask? And she said, well, we thought that if it was more than you should, we would have you examined. Okay, so does that tell you something? And as far as having, at the dinner, there was a Passover that I tried to force myself to remember whether Joe was, I think Joe was still alive. I'm trying to think of the pictures and, and put two and two together there, but I, oh, he must have been alive. Sure. Because okay, silly me. Because they had just started the boys at a Jewish day school. So, Well, I had, you know, Lisa and Robin had been trained at Montessori. So I thought, yeah, preschool, send them to Montessori, why not? It's a good foundation. So he said, no, they were sending him to the day, the Jewish day school. And I said, how come? And he said, well, the next time, if it happens again, I don't want them to be like sheep to slaughter. It still grabs me. I mean, I still could have a heart attack just thinking about that. I just looked at it. I don't remember if I said anything, probably nothing of any consequence. And maybe under my breath I said, you prick. That's what I like to say now, but that just about tells you that. And they joined a synagogue because they had a, a golf, they joined a c. No, they joined the golf club because when, and they gave and they, the golf club required that they make a $10,000 contribution to a Jewish organization. And that's the, that's the only time that I know he did anything out of, he was compelled to do that. Okay, there's something else. You asked about my grandchildren, but who are not the Holocaust related. But when the boys were here, the older two, they knew, all four of them know that there's an estrangement, that there's, it's not a, it's not A pleasant, normal, typical, typical relationship that their parents have with me. And there have been times where it's gone up and down, you know, like being bipolar. With Robin, it's been pretty level, you know, garb nothing. But with Elisa, it's been up and down, down. So mostly now it's just down. So the boys knew and Jared, the only one, said something about. You sound bitter. That word is still something is one that I. Where did he get that? Certainly not from the things that I've told him. I did tell him why it wasn't because his other grandmother was prettier or had more money or anything like that, or more educated it than I, but she did something when his parents got married that was to me unconscionable, disrespectful, heinous. And I hold that against her because, you know, she tried to flush it away but didn't. So I have. I don't know that they see me. I don't know how they see me, whether it's. I don't think that the Holocaust has really any bearing on it. I don't think, think that. I know, I'm just. I'm bitter. As far as he can tell, I'm bitter because his mother and father don't talk to me. All right, all right. They don't know why and they don't want to get involved. And it's okay. You know, at this point, Dr. Ray, I am done. I am. I'm not going to question it anymore. It is what it is. It has been what it has been. It is what it is and it will be. What is it? It will be. And I'm just going to. Was that word? Move on. Let them do whatever they want. Do I regret the things that I have done financially for them? I learned a lesson. You can't buy love and it's not appreciated no matter what. They have a trouble. And I know this. For instance, when, when Jared, the oldest, graduated from high school, I had established for them a 529 plan, you know what that is, for, for college. And at that time there was enough for college. And if it grew a little bit more, it would be more than that. Subsequently, I put in more money, found a way of doing that that was enough for law school. So when they had this little party for graduation, I didn't make a big deal. I gave him one of these pop up cards and put in a little note saying, this is your graduation present and this is how much is in there. His grandmother was there and I didn't want it, you know, to over overshadow her. So it was just private. And he then his father asked to see that later. So we were in the hallway and he showed him, and he just kind of brushed aside and he said thanks. He couldn't. Is $100,000. It was 96,000. Can you believe? I mean, mean, he could not. He could not. And that was after I'd already given them $300,000 when Joe died and then paid for school and paid for camp when he got into trouble. He's always been in some kind of. Well, now he isn't now, but. And no, I don't. I don't know. Am I answering your question? You are.
- [49:37]
A
You are. You are onto a slightly lighter topic in your forthcoming memoir about the life that you've lived. I know that you've mentioned you. You hope for it to be something of a guidebook on how relationships should look based on how wonderful your relationship was with Dr. Bass. Tell me what made your relationship with your husband unique and different than the other relationships you've seen around you and the kinds of relationships you see your children having?
- [50:02]
B
Well, it's a whole lot different than what. What I see them because Robin hasn't slept with her husband in the same bedroom, let alone the same bed for years. I mean, shortly after the second child was born, I guess they had to have sex for that, but unless they did it the kitchen baster. Anyway, I never know if you're smiling or not because I can't see you. And what is different? Well, first of all, I was different. As Joe wrote in one of his letters. He was quote, this is not me. It's in writing. You can come see it or I can show it to you on Zoom. He said he was enchanted with me. I don't know if he really knows what that meant, but I was different. I didn't look like the other mostly Gentile, all Gentile girls in Claremont, New Hampshire. And he knew my parents. They were different. He also saw at my home a different kind of. Of family that he was experiencing himself between his mother and father say. So there I was, this cute girl, long hair, and I had just come out of a situation where I had been in bed. Well, confined, because I was right. At the time we moved to New Hampshire, I was diagnosed with a kidney ailment. And at that time, they treated it by staying in bed with lots of cortisone steroids, uppers and down and all kinds of shit. And so nobody knew me because I. I moved. I put him on pajamas and stayed in the house. And then almost two years late to the day, I said no more and went to the doctors. Da, da, da. And I went to school and finished the eighth grade and. Which is where I saw him because he was already. He was three years ahead of me. So he was already in high school. And I was just finishing at the junior high attached building. And it was the summer. And then there was a tradition where the girl asks the boy to the first dance called the Home EC dance. For some reason. And I didn't know anybody. I knew some gentile boys that I. From the eighth grade, but. And there were two other Jewish boys, but they were not appealing. So for some reason I had the. I didn't know enough. I had didn't. I didn't know the difference between a senior, you know, wasn't. I wasn't knowledgeable about. I was very unknowledgeable. So I. I called him and asked him to go to this dance. And he said yes. And according to him, as he told the sales lady at Saks, he married me that evening. We dated a little bit. But then apparently he wanted to give me his ring, which was a tradition in those days, which meant you were going steady. And his father said no. And he wrote in this letter, out of respect for his father, he didn't give me the ring. But on our 40 40th anniversary, I think it was, he wrote this letter and he said, please accept it now. And he gave me his high school ring. Does that tell you a little bit about him?
- [53:22]
A
It does.
- [53:23]
B
Anyway, then he went away to school. I finished high school. His father died. Died the beginning of his second year. I sat shiva with them and he went off to school. It was a tri. Very traumatic. He lost. He started losing his hair. He was very close to his father and his father died in his arms. Father's Day weekend at Columbia. So put all those things together. It was a big deal. And his mother was a bitter person. And shortly after she moved out of town, she went back to New York. York and where she was from. And we kind of have touch and we didn't have. We didn't kept in touch. But in those days you didn't have cell phones. You didn't. Calling was, you know, unheard of. You know, it was so expensive. And he went on to. He came. Well, I went to Boston and he hitchhiked from Columbia to Boston to see me. That was. That was special. I still didn't know how he felt and I didn't know How I felt because I was a. I wasn't even a seedling. I knew nothing. What I knew was from a couple of magazines that my father thought were good for teenagers when he came to visit me at the hospital in Boston. And they. They were raunchy. They were really sexy love stories, things like that. I forget what they were called called, but. So that's. That's all I knew from. I. We didn't have television. There was only two channels, and they were only part of the day. Cable wasn't in. So it was like just talking, describing something of the dark ages. But that's what it was. So through college, I finished. He went on to medical school. And at one point in college, he was still in med. He was finishing medical school. And I called him and said I was dating and this guy wants to do this, and they get married. And he said, I'm coming to Boston to interview at Children's. I'll stay. Can I stay with you? Yes, of course. So I cleaned the apartment and waited and waited and waited, and he never showed up. So I went ahead and got married. I mean, what else was I supposed to do? So. And nine months later, not even nine months later, we split. My father called it an annulment. It's really a divorce. And I thought to myself, we had gone from New England. He was from Rhode island, and to Atlanta, where he was going to finish grad school, law school, and primarily to stay away from the. From Vietnam, from the army, to get out of that. So it was apparent. Anyway, I thought, oh, well, I can fix anything, right? So we split. And I'm thinking, there, wait a minute. Here I am in Atlanta. I don't know anybody. It's a job that, you know, I can get anywhere. They'll. They'll transfer me wherever I wanted to go. And I sat down and said, okay. For some reason, I called Joe. I sat with a piece of paper and thought. Two names came up, and one was Joe. I said, okay, I'll call Joe. And there I called Joe. And three days later, we were engaged and married. Four months later, happily ever after. Until he died. Lousy, lousy ending. But it hasn't ended. There's more. Because I know that with God's help, we'll be together again, even though he's still here. I have this magical, unbelievable, unique lamp that went on a couple months after he died and is still on. On. I moved it from room to room. It's plugged in, but the lever is on the off position. And I moved it from my house before when I moved into this place. And it's still on. And I can sit where I'm sitting and I can look across the room and there it is. And I know that's how he stays and protects me.
- [57:29]
A
That's beautiful.
- [57:30]
B
Yeah.
- [57:31]
A
So when he passed, did you have Shiva or know?
- [57:37]
B
Not really. Not really. It was a Friday, mid past, after midnight, so it was early morning. And Elisa and David were there. My sister in law was there. They were all leaving. The children were young. They had left. Abed had left right after and with her husband and. And children. No, no, no. They were. No, only she. I'm t. Thinking about the memorial service. No, there was none. And he was going to be cremated, so he had to wait. Wait like seven days, eight days. So Robin left. She came back and Rob. Elisa stayed. Her kids were at summer camp, so that was no issue. And David left. And I packed up some of Joe's favorite things and sent them along with. With David because I thought. I thought he was an okay guy at that time. I. It wasn't his fault that his mother did what she did. But as time went on, I realized that how he had been influenced by her character and. And was not a nice guy. He's an okay father. Can't. You know, imperfect in every way. But anyway. So do we have a Shiva? Not really. Had a Friday night that everybody, you know, came for the first. Whatever you call it. And there again, I was, you know, making. Calling for a caterer and setting the table. And there was no time for me. There was no place I wanted to scream. I mean, I was in such. If you call it shock. It was so unexpected and so violent in a way. Yeah. There was just nobody. And I had a memorial service in there too. I set it up real pretty and people came and Elisa and Robin came with their families and that was it. Everyone eventually, you know, days they went home and. And then their true colors evolved, came, Made themselves known. Yeah. I don't think they even realized that they were coming out of the shadows. This is who they really are. And it's like mom said. She said, you can't put your head on someone else's shoulders. I can't turn them into something different, more like me. I mean. I mean, there are good parts of me I would. I wouldn't mind that they emulated or. Yeah, I had a. Joe gave me a life, a future. When we got married, I don't know, you know, how I would have been floundering a 23, 24. Strange city, strange state, you know, no real career. And. But I also feel that it's. It's harder to grieve. The grieving process is more. It's harder when you realize that you had the kind of love that I had from this man. Yeah, it was. Nothing's perfect. But he. I never questioned. I never had, you know, man, he was perfectly imperfect or imperfectly perfect.
- [60:50]
A
Yeah, I hear that from a lot of couples. That's a wonderful way of saying that true love was had.
- [60:56]
B
Yeah. How else would this. As I wrote in the. More at the. The eulogy, I guess it's called this immigrant child from Siberia, Soviet Union, to Brooklyn to Brownsville to Flatbush to Claremont, New Hampshire. And then Joe Bass's wife. But I think his father and God and who else, other spirits guides, had something to do with this. It's. It's part of this imaginary story that I have. And his father said, okay, you're. He started. He had just started his residency and he dated this nurse at. When he was an intern. And his father said, yeah, it's time for him to settle down and not be lonesome, because he was. And I like to think that I. I came into his life when he needed me, as I needed him.
- [61:54]
A
I believe that's true. By the way, was near Sullivan Gentile.
- [61:57]
B
Yes.
- [62:01]
A
An important point.
- [62:02]
B
Carol Sullivan. He told me about her because when I came to the apartment, she had left something of hers. And I said, interrupting something? And he said, no. And. And in the memorial, the eulogy, I guess it's called. And I said, and thank you for marrying me instead of Nurse Sullivan. Yeah, Carol Sullivan. And his sister, such a nasty person. She said to me when. When she came for the. For the memorial service. I had her come, you know, when he was dying or her. And I paid for everything. And. And she said to me, he says, well, you know, he was very serious about her. He gave her a ring. I said, yeah, I know. He gave her a friendship ring to get her off his back, but she just. She couldn't. She couldn't let me. She once said to me, he says, you're making him sound like a saint. That's her brother. You. Aren't you proud of the fact that someone loves him that way and. And feels about him so positively? Yeah. Anyway.
- [63:15]
A
So hard. Thank you so much, Barbara. This has been a delightful conversation and I appreciate your insight as ever. So I know I will be talking to you again soon, but until then, please take good care of yourself and hopefully the rest of the day. We'll have some advantages ahead for you.
- [63:30]
B
Thank you.
- [63:30]
A
What we've heard today isn't merely the testimony of a mother estranged from her daughters. It's the sound of several histor occupying one body. Barbara carries her own life. She carries Joe's absence. She carries the vigilance of parents who survived a world in which family names could be erased, homes seized, languages forbidden, and citizenship converted overnight from protection into peril. She carries America as promised. And she carries Europe as warning. Epigenetics may help us describe how trauma leaves marks upon gene expression. Psychology may trace the habits passed through attachment, silence, discipline and story. History can tell us what happened. For Barbara, being Jewish today means memory with a pulse. It means refusing to treat the dead as finished. It also means confronting a painful limit. One can preserve names, photographs and testimony, but one cannot preserve a relationship by force. Barbara's tragedy isn't that she failed to love anyone. It may be that she loved everyone through a language formed under conditions they never endured and therefore never understood. Joe once translated those languages. And after his death, the family inherited his silence but not his gift. There's a temptation to decide who's right. It's a natural temptation, and often a useless one. Estrangement isn't always built from one unforgivable act. Sometimes it's assembled from smaller materials. A postponed call, a sentence answered defensively, a gesture misread. The observable facts are simple. Barbara loves her daughters. Her daughters say they love Barbara. Joe is dead. The distance remains whether love can still cross that space. Whether memory can protect without imprisoning. Whether a family can recover its language after the translator is gone. Barbara's story leaves us with no clean verdict. And time, indifferent and exact as it is continuing to pass between Barbara and her daughter, leaves us with no clean verdict. If this conversation found you inside a silence of your own, share it with someone whose absence still has a name. Not to assign blame, not to reopen every wound, but to ask whether the distance has begun to cost more than the crossing. Remain attentive. Sometimes the unknown isn't hidden from you. Sometimes it's the person we love waiting on the other side of silence neither of us knows how to break. Until next time. Remember, you don't become what you feel you become what you return to. And what you return to returns as you.