My name is Elsa Ross. My maiden name was Szpidbaum. I was born on November 2, 1936, inWarsaw, Poland. I have been told that my grandfather on my father’s side was a rabbi, but he later became a businessman. He had a candy and chocolate factory. Unfortunately, I myself cannot remember, but I have been told we used to all get together at their house on Fridays. My father manufactured candy wrappers for my grandfather’s factory. I remember playing with the candy wrappers.
I think I must have been happy. The street where I lived, Panska, was not in the ghetto, but I am not sure about that. I think we later moved into the ghetto. I do have memories, and these are my own memories, of hiding under furs, in my grandfather’s factory or somewhere near there. Hidingunder furs, playing under furs, it is a very vague memory. It is not a frightening memory at all. But that’s all I remember.
In the ghetto, I remember the quarters were very cramped. I remember being told not to sneeze or make too much noise because someone might hear me. I also have a memory of my mother sitting by a sewing machine crying. I remember voices telling me to run. To run out of the ghetto. It was a street scene, I remember, at night, to run toward a truck that was waiting for me. And to jump into it. At the time I was separated from my parents I was told never to tell anyone that I was Jewish.
I went into an apartment. These were people who taught me some Catholic prayers. In order to learn the prayers, I might have stayed for more than one day. Then I went to an orphanage, outside of Warsaw. I remember a large room where a lot of us slept, all together. I might have been four years old. I remember being ill-at-ease. I remember running out of the orphanage when there was an air raid, toward a shelter, and I was not running fast enough because they were telling me to run faster. And I remember an explosion very close by.
A friend of a friend of my mother used to come visit me every Sunday, at the orphanage. Her name was Halina Liszecka. I looked forward to her visits very much. I never asked about my parents. I just remember the highlight of the day was standing in line to get a square piece of bread dipped in cod liver oil. It tasted wonderful, a delicacy for us. I think I remember saying prayers, but I do not remember when we said them. I felt very Catholic. My new, Polish, Catholic name was Elzunia Zalewska. I think this Catholicism that was instilled in me at the time has had a tremendous impact on my whole life. I still like Catholic churches, the ritual of the Catholic mass.
I can’t remember anyone saying “Wow the war is over, let us celebrate,” nothing like that. But I do remember my aunt coming to get me. I thought she was my mother. She reminded me of my mother. And then when she told me she wasn’t my mother, I was terribly upset. I must have longed for my parents. She told me my mother was no longer alive. I was terribly disappointed. I cried.
She took me to Krakow, I had to share the room with her son. I can’t remember being that much happier, but I definitely remember a great difference. The difference was freedom. Being able to go out in the street and talk to people. I can't remember when exactly my other aunt came to take me away from aunt Irene, her name was Anna, my father’s twin sister. She had lost her child in a concentration camp. And she said to aunt Irene: “Your son survived, my son didn’t, so I'm going to take her.” We left Poland.
I seem to be one of those people who doesn’t ask enough questions, I might have always been like that. And maybe it started early on. This business of not asking questions. And it has continued.
My name is Elsa Ross. My maiden name was Szpidbaum. I was born on November 2, 1936, inWarsaw, Poland. I have been told that my grandfather on my father’s side was a rabbi, but he later became a businessman. He had a candy and chocolate factory. Unfortunately, I myself cannot remember, but I have been told we used to all get together at their house on Fridays. My father manufactured candy wrappers for my grandfather’s factory. I remember playing with the candy wrappers.
I think I must have been happy. The street where I lived, Panska, was not in the ghetto, but I am not sure about that. I think we later moved into the ghetto. I do have memories, and these are my own memories, of hiding under furs, in my grandfather’s factory or somewhere near there. Hidingunder furs, playing under furs, it is a very vague memory. It is not a frightening memory at all. But that’s all I remember.
In the ghetto, I remember the quarters were very cramped. I remember being told not to sneeze or make too much noise because someone might hear me. I also have a memory of my mother sitting by a sewing machine crying. I remember voices telling me to run. To run out of the ghetto. It was a street scene, I remember, at night, to run toward a truck that was waiting for me. And to jump into it. At the time I was separated from my parents I was told never to tell anyone that I was Jewish.
I went into an apartment. These were people who taught me some Catholic prayers. In order to learn the prayers, I might have stayed for more than one day. Then I went to an orphanage, outside of Warsaw. I remember a large room where a lot of us slept, all together. I might have been four years old. I remember being ill-at-ease. I remember running out of the orphanage when there was an air raid, toward a shelter, and I was not running fast enough because they were telling me to run faster. And I remember an explosion very close by.
A friend of a friend of my mother used to come visit me every Sunday, at the orphanage. Her name was Halina Liszecka. I looked forward to her visits very much. I never asked about my parents. I just remember the highlight of the day was standing in line to get a square piece of bread dipped in cod liver oil. It tasted wonderful, a delicacy for us. I think I remember saying prayers, but I do not remember when we said them. I felt very Catholic. My new, Polish, Catholic name was Elzunia Zalewska. I think this Catholicism that was instilled in me at the time has had a tremendous impact on my whole life. I still like Catholic churches, the ritual of the Catholic mass.
I can’t remember anyone saying “Wow the war is over, let us celebrate,” nothing like that. But I do remember my aunt coming to get me. I thought she was my mother. She reminded me of my mother. And then when she told me she wasn’t my mother, I was terribly upset. I must have longed for my parents. She told me my mother was no longer alive. I was terribly disappointed. I cried.
She took me to Krakow, I had to share the room with her son. I can’t remember being that much happier, but I definitely remember a great difference. The difference was freedom. Being able to go out in the street and talk to people. I can't remember when exactly my other aunt came to take me away from aunt Irene, her name was Anna, my father’s twin sister. She had lost her child in a concentration camp. And she said to aunt Irene: “Your son survived, my son didn’t, so I'm going to take her.” We left Poland.
I seem to be one of those people who doesn’t ask enough questions, I might have always been like that. And maybe it started early on. This business of not asking questions. And it has continued.