My husband, Ben Jacobs, and I met in May 1948 on Israel’s Day of Independence. So my endowment gift, which will bear his name and mine, is earmarked to help Israel stay strong.
Only one of my relatives lived through the Holocaust. Benno and I were survivors, but that chapter of our lives is too difficult to speak or write of.
We always tried to be good Jews, and took pride that others – not our people – were the victims of subhuman values. When I was asked to be a Capo, which was supposed to be a position of power and possible tool for survival, I responded, “Could you hit your mother?”
Professionally, as a nurse, I have always tried to help others. As a mother, I have always tried to raise good Jews.
Because I am no hypocrite, I am not devout. Our parents’ ashes have no grave, so their names are on Benno’s gravestone next to mine. I am sorrowed for Jews who know so little of their own identity that they deny their Jewishness. In doing so they give victory to those who tried to destroy us.