New Exhibit
GALLERY HOURS
Mon – Fri 8:30am – 5:00pm
Groups may book a tour for a convenient time
by contacting mgwilliams@jfcsjax.org
LOCATION
The Frisch Family Holocaust Memorial Gallery | The LJD Jewish Family & Community Services
8540 Baycenter Road, Jacksonville, FL 32256
About the Exhibit
For Holocaust Survivors and their Second and Third Generation descendants, everyday items like a spoon, a candlestick, or a bracelet bear the weight of a lineage nearly destroyed. These objects are not only symbols of loss but also of resilience, survival, and enduring hope.
In other ways, for children in the foster care system, objects become tangible connections to their sense of self and stability amidst uncertainty. A jacket, book or stuffed animal serve as anchors to their fractured family histories, preserving memories of loss, love, and identity.
Objects carry profound meaning, forging connections to personal and collective histories. Whether tied to survival or belonging, these objects tell stories that bridge generations, connecting the past to the present. JFCS invites the community to reflect on these narratives, explore the meaningful objects in their own lives, and consider how these histories inspire us to foster tolerance, compassion, and acceptance
Exhibit participants: Suzie Pollak Becker, Morris Bendit, Yvonne Cohen, Irene Jaffa, Manfred Katz, Molly Kushner, Helen Meatte, Louis Post, Jennifer Sandler-Steinshouer, Lisa Landwirth Ullmann, and three JFCS foster children who are identified by the initials H.A, H.E, R.I.
Exhibition Guest Curator: Aaron Levi Garvey
Gallery Curator: Allison Galloway-Gonzalez
Photographer: Dustin Miller
In Their Own Words
Click on the green buttons to read some of the stories told in the exhibit.
Suzie Pollak Becker
Suzie Pollak Becker
I was born in Brooklyn, NY and have always fallen between the cracks of second and third generation Holocaust survivors. Yiddish as my first language, I grew up at the Rummy tables of my grandparents and their friends, all of them Survivors of various countries and camps- all having experienced the brutality of the Nazis, their supporters, and the many bystanders that were once thought of as friends and neighbors. Enthralled with the stories of terror, tenacity- and ultimately triumph for the ones who survived- it wasn’t until middle school that I was aware of grandparents who did not have tattooed numbers on their arms from Auschwitz.
My bedtime stories seemed like testaments to bravery. There was the time that my Safta distracted the Nazi guards at the selection line and pulled her sister from being sent to the gas chambers. She was so feisty! The daytime versions, however, were less exciting: Her sister was being sent to cremation upon arrival, because she was frail and sickly- and so Safta did both workloads, and protected her sister through Auschwitz.
My Bobby had the chance to pass for Aryan when a neighbor offered to “keep” her. ‘Why would I stay to be raped when I could be with my family and take a chance?’ She told me often how they shaved off her thick blonde hair in Auschwitz, so that she was just another number. She would raise her arm each time they marched past a mirrored reflection so she could tell which skeletal figure she was.”
Silver Fish
My Zaidy, Yosef Meir Pollak, was part of a wealthy, affluent family that owned forests of timber and lumber mills in Romania. His wife and two daughters were murdered upon arrival at Auschwitz. My grandfather was taken as slave labor to dig trenches. He was deported to various labor camps until he arrived at Ebensee, a subcamp of Matthausen. After surviving the horrors of slave labor, and the dangerous return to Romania, with two men Dovid Perl and Yitzchak Rosenberg, Yosef Meir came back to his town and they set up the large ‘White House’ he grew up in as a rooming and boarding place for Survivors to gather after the liberation to try to connect people with any remaining relatives. He established the first mikvah (ritual bath house) and kosher butcher so that Jews would marry, have families and continue to practice their traditions. That is where Yitzchak Rosenberg’s sister, Idis, returned to after surviving Auschwitz. That’s where Yosef Meir saw her and married her. And they had my father, Jerry Pollak. They left Romania and arrived to Genoa, Italy by boat in 1962 and in New York City after being sponsored by the son of one of Yosef Meir’s murdered older siblings.
The fish had been hidden on the property of the large ‘White House’ in Romania prior to the Jews being rounded up and sent to ghettos and concentration camps. I don’t remember the fish not being in my parent’s curio cabinet amongst the rest of the sterling silver Judaica. It moved from Romania to Brooklyn, NY where I was born and down to Florida when my parents retired. When my dad passed, it came to me. It lives on display and I look at the same gemstone eyes I remember looking into as a child.
Silver Siddur
My Saba, Dovid Perl, grew up helping his father Avraham transport lumber in Romania while he and his brothers attended a Cheder (Jewish school) held at their neighbor’s home growing up. Dovid’s father was harassed by townspeople often; an example of this was to beat him and humiliate him in front of his sons. After his schooling he needed to learn a trade, and he became a tailor. Dovid married his wife Shevy and they had 4 sons. Romania was a hostile country to Jews that became allies with the Nazis even before other countries were asked or forced to. Returning home from work, By May 1944, after Hungary was occupied by German troops, the Jews of Borşa were rounded into the two synagogues, then transferred to the ghetto in Vişeu de Sus, from which 12,074 Jews were deported to Auschwitz. These included all of my then living relatives. Every single one that had not been murdered already. My Grandfather’s wife Shevy and their four sons were MURDERED upon arrival at Auschwitz. My grandfather was taken as slave labor to dig trenches. He was deported to various labor camps until he arrived at Ebensee, a subcamp of Matthausen.
After liberation, Dovid returned back to Romania with two other men, Yosef Meir Pollak and Yitzchak Rosenberg. All grieving dead wives and dead children, alive- but living with the guilt of having survived- they started over. My Saba married my Safta Sara and they emigrated to Israel in 1956, right after my mom was born. By 1969 there were only two or three Jewish families remaining and no Jews live in Borşa, Romania today. In 1975 Dovid went to visit Yosef Meir in the United States of America. Bella Perl, 18, met Jerry Pollak, 23, and they married on July 20, 1975. I was born June 29, 1976 surrounded by both sets of Survivors.
The siddur is from Israel. I remember seeing my Saba write his name in it- both covers, various pages… Over and over. I once asked why? He answered in Yiddish, “So if it gets taken away again, I will know it was mine.” Trauma runs deep in the blood of those who have experienced it. They never forget the sound of gunshots, the smell of burnt flesh, and the cold, the endless cold. I don’t remember my grandfather without a sweater. I always remember my Saba writing his name and doodling his special flowers on every item and possession he owned.
The prayer book lives in my home where I ensure it remains with my Saba, who is beside it in a frame.
Morris Bendit
Morris Bendit
A few months after being liberated by the Soviet Union from Transnistria, the largest killing field in the Holocaust, where two-thirds of my family did not survive. I received my first birthday gift for my 5th birthday, a soccer ball. It came in a mesh carrying bag I could put over my shoulder. I cherished this ball like it was part of my body.
Yvonne Cohen
Yvonne Cohen
I am a second-generation Holocaust survivor. My parents, Izaak and Bertie Cohen, endured over 2 ½ years of hiding in a small apartment in Rotterdam, the Netherlands, during World War II. They were sheltered by an ordinary citizen who risked her own life and that of her children, simply because, as she put it, “that’s what you do.”
I feels a deep responsibility to carry forward her family’s legacy of survival, not only in memory of the millions who were murdered, but also in honor of those who endured oppression fueled by hate. My parents survived by a combination of luck, creativity, and resilience.
Star of David from WWII
This Star of David was worn by one of my parents during World War II, as required by the occupying Nazi authorities. The word “Jood” (Dutch for “Jew”) is inscribed in the center. A thread from their coat is still attached to the star, serving as a poignant reminder of the hardship and persecution they faced during that time.
The Puppets of Izaak and Bertie Cohen
The story of Izaak and Bertie Cohen and their puppet theater is both poignant and powerful, a testament to the human spirit’s ability to find beauty and creativity even in the most harrowing of circumstances. In a time when the world around them was filled with fear and oppression, the theater served not just as a creative outlet, but as a form of quiet resistance, a way to reclaim some control and joy.
The puppets themselves, carved from firewood while in hiding, became symbols of resilience. My mother constructed and assembled the clothes and both painted the hand puppets that are 20 to 24″ tall. The characters inspired by Punch and Judy, as well as from Hansel and Gretel, likely added a layer of whimsy and dark humor that would have been cathartic, especially in an environment fraught with danger.
By staying behind the scenes, remaining hidden from their young audience, they transformed their theater into something more than just a form of entertainment. It became an act of defiance and a subtle form of protest, suggesting that even in the face of terrible circumstances and danger, people can still find ways to nurture creativity, preserve a sense of humanity, and connect with others.
My parents created art as a path to resistance, even when direct confrontation was impossible and too dangerous. Their puppet theater, therefore, stands not only as a personal act of expression but as a symbol of endurance and an unyielding refusal to let fear extinguish the spark of creativity.
Irene Jaffa
Irene Jaffa
My beautiful Rosenthal bowl was made in Germany and brought by ship with my parents and I when we immigrated to the United States, I was just two years old. The bowl was so cherished in our home yet later in life I thought it reminded my mother of the beautiful life she lived, with her parents, six brothers and sisters, and so many cousins, all murdered in the Holocaust. Many years later the beautiful bowl was chipped, but miraculously, my father was able to repair it almost perfectly.
Manfred Katz
Manfred Katz
This silver serving spoon, part of a once-complete Passover set, has been passed down through three generations. Originally used exclusively for Passover seders, only two spoons from the set survived the war. My parents safeguarded them until their passage to America in 1941. Upon arrival, they were held by customs and eventually released, at which point one spoon was entrusted to my sister. When I arrived in America, My sister gave me one of the spoons and kept the other preserve and pass down through our families.
Molly Kushner
Molly Kushner
Bobba’s Wooden Spoon
I would not think that as a three year old refugee that was watching my Bobba, Yiddish for grandmother, cook and bake using this spoon, that it would become a precious heirloom to me. I think of her everyday when I use it as a 76 year old grandmother myself, and hope to pass it on with all the great memories I have of her.
She used it to stir food or pry open the oven door to watch the progress of a challah or a cake. Only when it was perfectly baked did she remove the item and the spoon from the oven. I watched her everyday as a child because I was fortunate enough to have her live with my family after we came to the United States. She watched me when my parents worked, helped raise me and taught me many wonderful things including Yiddish my native tongue.
Gold Chain Necklace
The necklace I am wearing was my Bobba’s engagement gift given to her in Poland in 1903 by my grandfather. It was his watch fob. The chain was handed down to me by my mother, and I have promised it to my oldest granddaughter. We have reviewed Bobba’s Citizenship papers, baked her apple strudel together, and I have shared many stories and memories of Bobba. Hopefully, she will pass on the Necklace and memories with it to the next generation.
Helen Meatte
Helen Meatte
I only became aware of this object after my mother passed when I was twelve years old. I was given a box of some of her jewelry and kept the box, but didn’t ask any questions about their origin. As an adult, I could only surmise as to its significance as there was no longer anyone alive who could enlighten me. I am not certain if the locket that contains images of my murdered grandparents was something that survived along with my mother as she endured the German occupation by hiding in plain sight using a false ID that identified her as a Polish Christian, while working as slave labor in a string of Nazi run factories in Poland for the duration of the war. It is also possible that the locket was a gift from my Uncle Abraham after my mother immigrated to the United States in 1947. I intend to leave the locket to my children and grandchildren with a description of its significance as well as the slide show presentation that documents my family’s ordeal during WWII. It is my hope that my children and grandchildren are aware of the story so that when history repeats itself (which it has been known to do) they will be aware of their connection to a tragic past and be willing to speak up for not only the Jewish people, but any group that is denied their rights and even their very existence. What would you say to your younger self about the importance of heirlooms, if anything? I have very few heirlooms to treasure and their monetary worth is negligible l, but what is most critical are the stories associated with what is left and then sharing the stories so that they may be passed on.
Louis Post
Louis Post
The candle sticks, Kiddush cup and Spice box all come from my father’s family’s home.
My father, Jacub Posluszny, resided in Miechow, Poland, 25 miles north of the city of Krakow. Some time in 1942, prior to when he was deported to a slave labor camp, my father buried these objects, at night, on the land next to his home. He was 26 years old at the time.
Following the conclusion of WWII, my father returned to his hometown, and dug up these items, at night. He did so under the cover of darkness, because Jews in Poland, who following the war returned to their pre WWII homes, were often murdered by their neighbors, who had stolen Jewish owned possessions and properties.
For me the three objects represent all that has been lost. They are the only items which remain, from all that was owned by my mother’s and by my father’s extended families. The total number, in these two families, came to well over one hundred people. Yet, other than these three items, nothing has survived the one hundred plus family members who are gone. Everything they owned has been destroyed, or lost, or stolen. The community and culture which these objects represent has been deliberately erased. With the exception of four individuals, the people who surrounded these objects, have all been murdered.
These objects are at my house now. They have figured prominently in religious and holiday observances in my home. For me they carry a meaning of peace, family, belonging, and the warmth of being with those I love. The continuity which these items represent is a source of comfort for me.
If there was ever a fire in my home, these are the items which I would first seek to save. They are my only tangible link to, and the only tangible representation of, all my family members who have been killed.
When I am no longer here, these items will go to my two sons.
Jennifer Sandler-Steinshouer
Jennifer Sandler-Steinshouer
Since the age of 15, my Zeida (grandfather), Zev Przysuski had been a carpenter. My grandfather was incredibly smart but something I did not know for the longest time was that he only went to school for 3 years. Since he was the oldest child, his family needed him to work as soon as possible to help his family as they tried to make ends meet in Poland. After failing at several jobs such as a shoemaker and barber, he found his passion in carpentry. He specialized in cabinet making.
When the war broke out in 1938, my grandfather convinced my grandmother to leave their families in Poland and run away to the USSR. This was the last time my grandmother saw anyone from her family. My grandfather was able to convince his sister and two of his brothers to also run away with them. The rest of his family stayed in Poland thinking England and France would help Poland fight, but they too all perished.
My grandfather tried to use his skills as a carpenter as him and my grandmother fled from town to town. The towns were cautious to give him carpentry work as past Polish carpenters had stolen the equipment and ran away so they were scared he would too. He said they had nowhere to run away to! He had no home or family in Poland anymore. While trying to survive, they were constantly kicked out of their jobs and homes because they were Jewish. Eventually, my grandfather was forced into the Russian military and was separated from my grandmother for over 5 years. They did not know if the other survived until after the war they were reconnected by chance.
The horrors of the Holocaust, coupled with postwar antisemitism and violence, prompted my grandparents to immigrate to Israel. They joined over 2,650 Jewish immigrants on the Vessel named Theodore Hershal to illegally immigrant to Israel. At that time, the British controlled Israel and they were significantly limiting the number of Jewish immigrants into the area to ensure there was limited unrest with the large number of immigrants. The ship was intercepted by the British and they brought the holocaust survivors to a detention camp on Cyprus. They spent (18) months in this camp until they were allowed to enter Israel. They did so and lived there for many years until they immigrated to Toronto, Canada.
My grandfather continued to be a carpenter throughout this time. The war forever changed them but my grandfather’s passion for carpentry still persisted. My grandfather helped fix up my parent’s newlywed home and built furniture such as bookshelves in my childhood home (bookshelves that are still in the home to this day).
My grandparents and I had a special relationship. I saw them every weekend where they babysat for me and my three brothers while my parents had a few moments of freedom. In our house’s basement, my parents had built my grandfather a workshop so he could continue with his carpentry though he was by then retired. He moved on from building cabinets to building for his grandchildren. He built me a play kitchen, a doll house and a bassinet for my dolls. When my family moved to Florida, we gave the kitchen to my cousin for her children to use but the dollhouse and bassinet made the move. I used the dollhouse for many years but when I moved away to college, the dollhouse and bassinet went into storage. Eventually when I moved into my first house, the first item I made sure arrived safely into my new home was my dollhouse and bassinet. After 30 years and several moves, the dollhouse needed a few repairs. It was an honor to take out the nails my grandfather used, repair the dollhouse and use those same nails with my own hammer so now my daughter could use the same doll house made by her great grandfather. The dollhouse is now in my daughter’s room with some of my old doll furniture inside. It brings me so much joy to know though my grandfather is no longer here, his love for his family survives. My grandparents through grit, luck and the knowledge of carpentry helped them survive the holocaust. I would not be here today to play dolls with my daughter if it wasn’t for them. I hope the dollhouse and bassinet are used for many more generations to come!
The pictures include mine and my daughters dolls and the bassinet includes my childhood cabbage patch dolls.
Lisa Landwirth Ullmann
Lisa Landwirth Ullmann
It took my father 50 years to talk about the horrors he and his family experienced during the Holocaust. My father, Henri Landwirth, was only 13 years old when the Nazis violently separated their family in Krakow, Poland and forced them out of their home. My father survived five concentration and slave labor camps between the ages of 13-18. (Kraków-Ghetto, Plaszow, Auschwitz-Birkenau, Mauthausen and Dresden). He and his entire family endured horrific torture and experienced unbelievably inhumane treatment.
In Auschwitz, my father was ordered to strip naked. The Nazi’s shaved his head, branded a tattoo on his arm, gave him a dirty uniform, and forced him to stand in line. During the war, his tormentors only knew him by his number B4343, a blue tattoo, on the inside of his left forearm. His faded tattoo was a constant reminder of the abuse and suffering he endured as a child. My grandfather, Max was taken to a prison in Radom, Poland and was mercilessly executed. He had committed no crime except being Jewish. My grandmother, Fanny, survived many slave labor camps and Auschwitz concentration camp until late 1944, when she was transferred to the Stutthof concentration camp. During the last days of the war, she and 2,000 other helpless women and children were forced to board a ship near the camp. The Nazi’s senselessly blew up the ship and most of the prisoners drowned. My grandmother did not know how to swim and perished alone at sea.
In 1945, while my father was on a brutal death march, he overheard two German soldiers saying, “The war is almost over. I don’t want to kill these prisoners.” One soldier yelled, “Line up over there and face the trees. We are not going to shoot you. When we raise our guns, run into the woods.” My father thought they were still going to shoot them and saw them raise and then lower their rifles. They feverously ran as fast as they could into the woods and these German soldiers spared their lives. My father was finally free from the tortures of the Holocaust at the age of 18.
Gold Bracelet
This precious gold bracelet represents a link to my family’s past and how acts of love and compassion changed the course of my father’s life. I have worn and cherished this bracelet for over 30 years. A very kind Polish woman named Mrs. Zuwuska once owned this bracelet. She and my grandmother, Fanny, were dear friends.
After the war, my father would visit The Displaced and Missing Persons facility in Krakow in hopes of locating his family. While my father was riding a trolley car to this building, he saw a woman who looked vaguely familiar. He finally approached her and introduced himself to Mrs. Zuwuska. She remembered my father, as she and his mother were close friends. My father was homeless, and she lovingly invited him to live in her home. She provided a safe harbor for him as he was suffering from malnutrition, PTSD and mental illness.
I later learned that my grandmother’s sister, Selma Field was also a close friend of Mrs. Zuwuska and reunited after the war. At the end of Mrs. Zuwuska’s life, she gave this beautiful gold bracelet to my Aunt Selma. We became very close through the years, and I loved Aunt Selma like a grandmother. I remember her wearing this bracelet when I was a young girl. One day, while we were sitting on the sofa together, I noticed she was wearing this bracelet, and she began to tell me the story of Mrs. Zuwuska and my dad.
As she finished with tears in her eyes, she took the bracelet off her wrist and put it on mine. She told me to never forget this story of hope and compassion. This gold bracelet will always link my life with my family’s past. When I wear this gold bracelet, I am reminded of the kindness and love shown to my dad when he needed it most. Both my mother and father taught me the valuable lessons of being kind and treating all people with respect. I will be passing this heirloom onto my daughters, the third generation, who will continue to share our Holocaust story and keep our family’s memories alive.
By sharing these personal and tragic stories of the Holocaust, I hope it will cast a bright light on extreme ideologies, the abuse of power and group-targeted hate and violence. We bear witness to the legacy of trauma and horror. We all know the dangers of being by-standers, and we cannot stay silent in the face of hate and injustice.
Thank You to Our Generous Supporters
The Frisch Family
Florida Blue
The Dr. Larry & Kathy Kanter Art Fund
The Theodore and Pauline Cohen Charitable Trust
Docents Needed
We are offering training on TUESDAY, JANUARY 21, 10am-12PM, for anyone who would like to volunteer as a docent, serving both as a greeter and guide to our new exhibit, Histories in Hand. Docents are needed at times the gallery is open to the public, and scheduling is flexible to fit your availability.
For more info and to register for training, contact Jennifer Sandler-Steinshouer at jsteinshouer@jfcsjax.org
Upcoming
Events
In partnership with the Jacksonville Public Library, JFCS offers an opportunity to come together in a safe space and engage in discussion on topics around the rise of hate group activity, its impact on targeted groups, and how we can work together to create a supportive community. The evening will include a presentation, a facilitated panel, and a moderated Q&A session.