The Sunday before last, the New York Times published an article entitled Proudly Bearing Elders’ Scars, Their Skin Says ‘Never Forget.’ In it, journalist Jodi Rudoren describes a movement among twenty- and thirty-somethings to replicate the tattoos worn on the the forearms of their Holocaust-survivor relatives. I found the piece both chilling and inspiring. …
Neck deep in research on Stalin's Siberian gulags, I was consumed with the burning question of how and why Genek and Herta were sent off to Siberia in the first place. By recommendation of the Kresy-Siberia Foundation, I contacted Stanford University's Hoover Institution. Amazingly, I heard back right away---not only did Hoover have a record of Genek's name, they had…
After six weeks of squatting with friends and another six weeks of tackling travel writing assignments and endless piles of boxes, we're (nearly!) settled in our new home...which means, at long last, I can return to my book. Inspired by a recent visit from my cousin-once-removed, Michel (visiting New York from Brazil), I thought I'd…
I've been thinking a lot recently about the meaning of "home." A month ago, after a seven-year stint in Seattle, Robert and I packed up six-month-old Wyatt and all of our belongings and caught a one-way flight to Connecticut. The day before our move, however, our CT lease fell through, and our world turned upside…
You guessed right, Daryl---the mosaic in the banner photo above lives just off the shore of Ipanema beach in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Congratulations on being the first to respond correctly---your iTunes gift card is on the way (you should consider downloading Getz & Gilberto's Girl from Ipanema to commemorate your win!). Robert and I visited…
Thanks to all of you who have guessed/commented on last week's "name that photo" contest. The verdict's still out on where the banner shot (above) was taken...which means a $25 iTunes gift certificate is still up for grabs! I've decided to post one, last clue---a panned-out photo (below)---which I imagine will incite a few aha's!…
"I wasn't the only one in the family with multiple identities," Ricardo said when he'd finished explaining the story behind his two birth certificates. "During the war, my parents went by the name BRZOZA." Ricardo's father, it turns out, was part of the Jewish Underground. He made false papers. "How?" I asked. "He replicated the stamps…
A month after I returned from Paris, I flew to Miami to interview Ricardo, Anna's older brother (my grandfather's nephew). Ricardo was born just after the war, although when, and where exactly, seemed to be something of a mystery. "Ask him about his birthdays," my mother suggested, before I left. "Birthday...S?" "Yeah. He has two of them."…
Hello, friends and family! Little Man Wyatt has rounded the three month bend and I'm happy to report that I'm back (well, almost) from the Land of the Sleep Deprived, and excited to get the ball rolling again on blog posts. I left you last in Paris, where I'd spent an afternoon interviewing Felicia (daughter of…
Dear family, friends, and followers of The Lucky Ones, Exciting news on the home front--Robert and I have welcomed a new branch to our family tree! Thomas Wyatt Farinholt ("Wyatt") arrived on November 23rd, just over three weeks early (in true Kurc fashion, he's already on his own schedule--determined to take fate into his own…
In February of '08 I flew to Paris to interview two relatives: Felicia and Anna (daughters of Mila and Halina, my grandfather’s two sisters). Equipped with a digital voice recorder and an empty moleskin notebook (and a flutter in my stomach that kept me wide awake for the duration of my ten-hour overnight journey), February 11, 2008 will…
I remember the day I told my mother I wanted to write a book about our family history. We were sitting on her gray and white-striped couch in Providence, Rhode Island, the day after Christmas, 2005. “I’ve decided I’d like to write a book about how Papa and his siblings survived the Holocaust," I said.…
In July of 2000, the summer after I graduated from the University of Virginia, my mother organized a Kurc family reunion at our house on Martha’s Vineyard. She invited thirty-two relatives (many of whom she hadn’t seen in over twenty years), and to her surprise, all thirty-two RSVPed, “Of course we’ll be there!” We rented…