A short Glo history, in memory of my roots. My mother's family stretches back for centuries in Russia. I have told you a bit about my family and as we head to Europe with the Return to Roots, I think about the footsteps my Mother made across her trek from a peaceful childhood in Kosovo to a concentration camp, a forced labor camp and ultimately, to freedom.
Mom was in Nuremberg, Germany when the Americans freed the city. She had just been released from the hospital, having been injured in a bomb blast. She and a friend were walking down the street when an air raid siren began to pierce the air. She told me she looked up and saw the rectangular doors under the airplanes above, open, and the bombs float out. She was with a friend and they desperately tried to make it to a shelter, but they were all locked already. They were running to hide but couldn't escape the explosion. When the dust settled, only one crumpled body lay on the street...my Mother.
After 6 months in the hospital, she reclaimed her life. Walking down the street, on her first free New Year's Eve, she heard a party in the Grand Hotel and stole a peak inside. Though the building needed refurbishment, the party in the ballroom was in full motion. They were celebrating the end of WW2, as well as the fresh start of a new year. A young man saw her and instantly fell in love with her. They were married a short time later, and her new life began.
Her husband got a job at the Nuremberg Trials. It was in the balcony viewing the trial, where Mom found out she had been in a concentration camp, when she was interred in Austria. She had thought it was a work camp with mysterious and frightful goings on, but it was the dreaded Mauthausen. She was shocked beyond words.
One day, she was taken to the jail cells and allowed to peak in the windows. She saw each of the horrific defendants. She recalled Goerring was sitting on his bed in a white wife beater tee.
Roll the years past, to the 2000's..... Max and I were in Nuremberg for a show and we decided to visit the courtroom. We peaked in and there was a trial going on...a man had murdered his wife, and the courtroom was busy and yet, still haunting. The balcony she sat in is long gone, but the plaques remain, for all to see. The books, the movies, and the documentaries all tell the tale. Did we learn a lesson? Will these crimes happen again? History often repeats itself, and after all, we are only human..... My bloody roots will always remain!
Class dismissed........
