This is a picture of me taken in 2002. This is what I look as I’m telling you my story.
For the last four years I've been working for the Association of Jewish Combatants and Casualties in World War II.
Prior to this, I handled compensations paid to Polish Jews from a Swiss fund.
Arnold Mostowicz invited me to participate in this work. While he was president of the Association, I was elected, on his initiative, its secretary general.
This is a picture of me and my relatives.
On the photo from right: my father Jakub Kaferman, I at the age of ten, my father’s sister Jozefa Kaferman, grandmather Hena Kaferman, nee Roter, father’s sister Lucja Margulies, nee Kaferman, our neighbour, my father’s sister Pola Blumenkopf, nee Kaferman and her daughter Jadwiga.
The photo taken in Warsaw, probably in Grandma Kaferman’s apartment in Ciepla Street.
This photo must have been taken during a Sabbath dinner sometime in the 1930s.
This is the symbolic tombstone of the families Kaferman, Krasucki, Margulies, Richter and Roter in the Jewish Cementery in Warsaw.
My mother's and my father’s entire families were killed during War World II. They were all in the Warsaw ghetto.
I’ve never found out whether they died in the ghetto or were murdered in Treblinka extermination camp.
My grandfather Naum alias Nikodem Krasucki was a descendant of the first Rabbi of Warsaw, whose beautiful tomb still stands in the Jewish Cemetery in Warsaw.
This is the fake ‘Kennkarte’ [identification document used under German ocupation] of my Mom, Stefania Krasucka, issued under the false name of Julia Wilczynska. The document was issued in 1940.
I wasn't aware that Mom had come out of the ghetto in February 1942, two months before I arrived in Warsaw with the intention of getting her out.
Our neighbors, the Goscinskis, had arranged for a 'Kennkarte' for her, Mom had left the ghetto, and gone to the Lublin region.
There she became involved in underground education activities.
This is me, at the age of two. This photo was taken in Warsaw in 1927.
Though nobody told me officially, I know that I had an elder brother, and the fact that Mom was pregnant with him probably had something to do with my parents' getting married.
My brother died a few days after his birth, and I, who was born two years later, was an only child.
Since I learned to read and write quite early, they sent me to a kindergarten for Jewish children, which had Bundist leanings. It was located on Twarda Street.