Too Small to Know, Too Young to Know: Fryda Fleish’s Testimony

By Courtney Schreur
From the blog series titled, “The Endurance and Relevance of Survivor Testimonials in the 21^st Century” by students of Professor Sylvia Taschka’s ‘Nazi Germany’ class at Wayne State University. In partnership with the Appelbaum Family Compass Fund.

(Life – it’s not easy
I always remember
…
There’s not a day I don’t remember my family)
Two little girls, sisters,
Running
Running
Running
through the family shop [a delicatessen]
Going to school, doing little girl things in
Chrzanów

Friday was the Sabbath, for temple and for candles
Little girls went to synagogue on the holidays
(I don’t like the holidays, they remind me
They remind me of my family)
Too small to know
Too young to know
School, two miles away
(I went to school, my granddaughter asked me
I felt good because children were very interested
They asked more than my family
So I answered their questions)
And taken at 15

The camp
No parents
No sister
No running
No temple
Just cold and work and punishment

Home, then Austria, then Italy, then Israel
Marriage and children
Family again
(They don’t ask, they don’t want to listen)
The nightmares come almost every night
(I dreamed they came to take me and in the dream
I said, Not again)
Life – it’s not easy
It finds a way

A primary source, like Fryda Fleish’s testimonial, brings something that – to many people, nowadays – feels like an object of history into a more intimate sphere. Unlike other, more formal primary sources of the time, a survivor’s statement makes the things discussed personal and displays a humanity that an academic overview cannot give. This video preserves history but also provides us with a real person with whom we can empathize. While formal sources bring knowledge, this sort of source brings us closer to emotional understanding.

The intimacy of this connection to the past brings questions about the narratives we still wish to explore to the surface. I think, if I could, I would add some questions to the mix. I want to know more about what Mrs. Fleish remembers about her community before the war.

Did she have friends? Where was her favorite place to play? And I want to know more about any connections she made in the camp and if she was able to do so despite the competition for resources and for better treatment. I want to know if she danced on her father’s shoes through the house, and how fast she could run, and what her favorite color was.

I want to know what it felt like when she was finally freed (though I think that’s probably a terribly difficult thing to describe) and if her heart did flip flops when she met her husband and if she remembers how her babies’ heads smelled when they were new. I want to know why her children don’t ask her questions about her experiences, and if it makes her feel lonely among them that they don’t invite her to tell them these things. I want to know what coping mechanisms she used to get through, if she can remember, and.

And.

And.

I’m a bit of a poet. I’m a lot of a writer. Honestly, I want to know everything Mrs. Fleish can give me and more. Her story, and those of people who shared similar experiences, isn’t just a recounting of the events of a terrible time in history, but a display of a kaleidoscope of human emotions and relationships that stay with us even in the darkest of times. Through these memories, Mrs. Fleish reminds us that we are all resilient, and that all of our memories – joyful and painful alike – play a vital role in shaping our identities.

Thank you, Mrs. Fleish, for poignantly reminding us of the significance of sharing our stories, fostering understanding, and preserving the lessons of the past for future generations.