By the time I walked the streets of Radom while writing this book, the Kurcs’ hometown had been rebuilt and felt friendly, quaint; but knowing what I now know about its devastating Holocaust history, it comes as no surprise that at war’s end, returning to Poland, for my relatives, was never a consideration. Below is a brief explanation of where the Kurcs decided to settle once they made it safely to the shores of the Americas. (Note that I’ve used Bella’s real name, Maryla, here. I changed it in the book as I felt Maryla was too close phonetically to Mila and could be confusing to readers.) “Home” for the Kurcs after the war became Brazil, the United States, and later France. The family kept in close contact, mostly by letter, and visited each other whenever they could, often for Passover.
Mila and Selim remained in Rio de Janeiro, where Felicia attended medical school. Upon graduating, she met a Frenchman and a few years later moved to Paris to start a family. After Selim passed away, Mila followed her daughter to France. Today, Mila’s grandson lives in her old home in the Sixteenth Arrondissement, just blocks from Felicia and her husband, Louis, whose elegant apartment looks out on the Eiffel Tower. Mila kept in close touch with the nun who took Felicia in during the war. In 1985, thanks to Mila’s nomination, Sister Zygmunta was honored posthumously as a Righteous Among the Nations.
Halina and Adam put down roots in S?o Paulo, where Ricardo’s sister, Anna, was born in 1948. They shared a house with Nechuma and Sol, and Genek and Herta lived close by with their two sons, Józef and Michel. To repay Herr Den for saving her life during the war, Halina sent regular checks to him in Vienna. She and Adam never told their firstborn of his real birthday; Ricardo was in his forties and living in Miami when he discovered that he was born on Italian soil and not in Brazil as his birth certificate indicated.
In the States, Jakob and Maryla landed in Skokie, Illinois, where Victor’s younger brother, Gary, was born and where Jakob (Jack, to his American friends and relatives) kept up his career in photography. They remained close with Addy (who changed his name to Eddy) and Caroline, who settled in 1947 in Massachusetts, where Kathleen’s sister (my mother), Isabelle, and their brother, Timothy, were born. Eddy traveled often to visit the family in Illinois, Brazil, and France, and continued to make music; he produced a number of recordings, both popular and classical, composing up until his death.
As of 2017, Nechuma and Sol’s grandchildren, along with their spouses and progeny, number more than one hundred. We are scattered now throughout Brazil, the United States, France, Switzerland, and Israel; our family reunions are truly global affairs. Among us are pianists, violinists, cellists, and flautists; engineers, architects, lawyers, doctors, and bankers; carpenters, motorcyclists, filmmakers, and photographers; naval officers, event planners, restaurateurs, DJs, teachers, entrepreneurs, and writers. When we come together our gatherings are loud and chaotic. There are few of us who look the same or dress the same or even grew up speaking the same languages. But there is a shared sense of gratitude, for the simple fact that we are together. There is love. And always, there is music.
Acknowledgments
This book began as a simple promise to record my family’s story, something I needed to do for myself, for the Kurcs, for my son, and for his children and their great-grandchildren and so on—I had little concept, however, of what exactly the project would entail, or of just how many people I would rely upon for help along the way.
The bones of We Were the Lucky Ones came together, first and foremost, with oral histories passed down to me by family. I’ve collected hours (and hours) of digital voice recordings and filled dozens of notebooks with names and dates and personal narratives, thanks to the stories and memories my relatives so readily shared. I am especially indebted to my late grandmother, Caroline, for quietly safeguarding the seeds of my grandfather’s story until the time was right to pass them along, and to Felicia, Michel, Anna, Ricardo, Victor, Kath, and Tim for welcoming me into their homes, showing me around their beautiful cities, and patiently answering my endless barrage of questions. Thank you as well to Eliska, who opened a window into what it was like to be a refugee in those harrowing first months of 1940, and whose description of my young grandfather made her blue eyes, even at eighty-eight, sparkle.
For years I flew around the world to meet with family and close friends of the Kurcs—anyone with a connection to my story. Where there were gaps in my research, I located survivors with similar backgrounds and reached out to scholars who specialized in the Holocaust and World War II. I read books, watched films, and mined archives, libraries, ministries, and magistrates, following just about any lead, no matter how far-fetched it seemed, for details of the family’s journey. I was continuously amazed at the records that could be found with enough digging, and at the willingness of people and organizations around the world to offer assistance. Although there are far too many cooperating sources to mention by name, I’d like to express my gratitude to a few of them here.