Mrs. Lazan’s indomitable spirit in the face of the most inhumane and extreme conditions echoed the words of Viktor Frankl, author and Holocaust survivor, who famously said: “Everything can be taken from people, except one thing: the last of human freedoms: to choose one’s attitude in any given circumstance, to choose one’s own path.”
Addressing the world today, Ms. Lazan said that “how we treat each other, behave and approach each other, that is entirely up to us.”
Marion Blumenthal Lazan (fourth right) with Secretary-General António Guterres (center) and others attending the United Nations’ celebration of the International Day of Commemoration in Memory of the Victims of the Holocaust.
Here is your complete moving address:
In the early 1930s, my grandparents, parents, brother and I lived comfortably in Hoya, a small town in northwestern Germany.
In 1935, when I was one year old, the Nuremberg Laws were formulated, which drastically restricted the rights of Jews. Our lives changed dramatically and my parents decided to leave the country.
On November 9, 1938, Kristallnacht took place. Our apartment was ransacked, but worst of all, my father was forcibly taken to the Buchenwald concentration camp in Germany. My father was released after three weeks, only because our papers were in order for our emigration to the United States.
Stuck in Holland
In January 1939 we left for Holland from where we set sail for the United States. In December, we were deported to the Dutch Westerbork detention camp to await our departure to the United States. Under Dutch control, the Westerbork countryside was tolerable.
However, in May 1940, the Germans invaded Holland and we were trapped.
The Nazi SS took over Westerbork, we were surrounded by the omnipresent and terrifying 12 foot high barbed wire. Then, in 1942, the terrible transports to the concentration and extermination camps of Eastern Europe began.
Every Monday night, lists of people who were going to be deported were published, causing incredible anxiety, anguish and fear. Then, every Tuesday morning, men, women and children marched to the nearby railway platform from where they were transported. This area became known as Boulevard. of misère.
Of the total of 120,000 men, women and children who left Westerbork, 102,000 were condemned never to return.
In January 1944, we had to leave. I remember it was a very cold, pitch black and rainy night when we arrived at our destination, the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp in Germany.
A life of fear
We were dragged out of the cattle cars and greeted by German guards, who shouted and threatened us with their weapons and the fiercest attack dogs at their sides. I was a very scared nine-year-old boy and, to this day, I still feel some sense of fear whenever I see a German Shepherd.
Six hundred of our people were crammed into each of the crude, unheated wooden barracks, intended for 100 people when originally built. There were three-decker bunks with two people sharing each bunk. German winters were very cold and very long. They only gave us a thin blanket per bunk and a mattress filled with straw, and this bunk was our only shelter and it was for two people.
I remember seeing a cart full of what I thought was firewood, I soon realized that what was in the cart were dead, naked bodies lying on top of each other.
The bathrooms consisted of long wooden benches with holes in them, side by side. There was no privacy, no toilet paper, no soap and barely any water to wash with. And in the almost year and a half that we were in Bergen-Belsen, not once were we able to brush our teeth.
Every morning we were ordered to line up in a huge field, called Appellplatz, five in a row while we were counted. We would have to stay there until each and every one of us was accounted for, often from early morning until late at night, without food, without water.
Urine to warm up
No matter what the weather is like, without protective clothing. Frostbite was common. We would treat the affected fingers and toes with the heat of our own urine.
Our diet consisted of one slice of bread a day and some hot, thin soup. Later the bread was reduced and we were given it only once a week and only if our rooms were clean and in order.
Once a month we were taken to an area to shower and there, under the watchful eye of the guards, we were ordered to undress. I was very scared, not knowing what would come out of the taps: water or gas. Yes, we were always hungry, thirsty, and in pain, but for me, fear was the worst emotion to deal with.
Dark, crowded neighborhoods often caused us to trip over the dead; The bodies couldn’t be removed fast enough! We, as children, saw things that no one, regardless of age, should ever see.
unspeakable horror
You’ve read books, you’ve seen movies, real documentaries, but the constant bad smell, dirt, continuous horror and fear, surrounded by death, is indescribable. There is no way to express this precisely in words and images.
Our bodies, hair and clothes were infested with lice, we learned that there was a clear difference between head lice and clothing lice, crushing them between my thumbnails became my main hobby.
Much of my time was dedicated to fantasy games. A game, a game based on superstition, became very important to me: I decided that if I found four stones of approximately the same size and shape, that would mean that all four members of my family would survive. It was a very difficult game to play, but I was sure I would always find my four stones. I set out to find those four pebbles.
maternal strength
My mother was an extraordinary and extraordinary lady with tremendous inner strength and fortitude. Mom passed away six weeks before her 105th birthday, and when she was still with us, we were five generations of women, and I refer to that as survival and continuity.
I have no doubt that I survived because of my mother. I am lucky, very lucky, to have never been separated from my mother during those difficult years.
One day, my mother managed to smuggle some salt and potatoes from the kitchen where she worked and somehow managed to secretly cook the soup. This was done in our bunk. I was in the bunk with her trying to hide and protect what I was doing. The soup was boiling and almost finished when the German guards entered our barracks for a surprise inspection. In our haste to hide the setup, the boiling soup spilled on my leg. We had been taught self-discipline and self-control the hard way: because I knew for a fact that if I had screamed, it would have cost us our lives. This happened in the spring of 1945. I was only 10 years old.
Shortly after, we were transported to the death camps of Eastern Europe. And after 14 days on the train with no food, no water, no medical supplies, no sanitary facilities, the Russian army liberated our train near Troibitz, a small town in eastern Germany.
Five hundred of the 2,500 people aboard the train died en route or shortly afterward. Many inhabitants of Troibitz fled and we took over their houses. The kitchens were supplied with abundant food, rich and good; actually, too good for our starving bodies. We couldn’t tolerate that unknown food. At that time, at ten and a half years old, he weighed 16 kilos, the equivalent of 35 pounds. We were all sick with typhus, but my father had to die six weeks after our liberation, and this after six and a half years of mental torment and physical abuse.
A new life in New Jersey
In 1948, when I was 13 years old, our family of three immigrated to the United States. We arrived in Hoboken, New Jersey, on April 23, 1948, coincidentally, exactly three years to the day of our liberation. The Hebrew Immigration Aid Society found us a home in Peoria, Illinois, where we once again began our lives anew.
Due to my inability to speak English, at the age of 13 I was placed in fourth grade with nine year olds. Both my brother and I worked long hours after school to help our mother pay the bills.
Secretary-General António Guterres (on screen) addresses the United Nations celebration of the International Day of Commemoration in memory of the victims of the Holocaust.
By taking additional courses throughout the year, attending summer school, and working very hard on my studies, I graduated from Peoria Central High School five years later, at age 18, ranking eighth in a class of 267 students.
Two months after graduating high school I married Nathaniel Lazan. I am grateful to have survived healthy in body, mind and spirit, and to have been able to perpetuate our heritage with a wonderful family.
We have three grown children, all three are happily married, they have given us nine beautiful grandchildren and 15 extraordinary great-grandchildren. Survival and safe continuity!
Rejecting hate
This is the very yellow star they forced me to wear. It was simply another way to denigrate us, isolate us and differentiate us from the rest of society. Each and every one of us must do everything in our power to prevent such hatred, destruction and terror from happening again.
We can start by having love, respect and compassion for each other, regardless of their religious beliefs, skin color or national origin. Let us all, each and every one of us, have this compassion and respect. It is such a simple message and yet so difficult to achieve.
There is very little we can do against the negativity in our world, but how we treat each other, behave, and approach each other is entirely up to us. And with that, I wish each and every one of you, your children, grandchildren and all generations to come, a healthy, happy and productive future in a world of love and peace.