QUITE PRIVILEGED

Yes, I’ve led a privileged life. Not just my wonderful childhood, being the only girl and youngest of four, nor my happy marriage and very accomplished and adoring husband. I’m not even talking about our three very high-achieving, wonderful children and their mates or our three darling grandchildren.

On the plane home from California last November, after meeting our new baby granddaughter, I accepted a headset the flight attendant offered and chose to watch Schindler’s List. My husband and I saw the blockbuster film when it first hit the screen in 1993, but it’s different for me now after all these years researching my family history (see my blog post from August 16, 2022, Where’s Chudnov?).

From working alongside survivors in the 1970s and throughout the 1980s, their tattooed arms, unwillingly marked by the Nazis before the current tattoo craze, to attending religious services weekly where I sat next to a woman housed in an Eastern European Ghetto during WWII, I’ve learned quite a bit. Equally, being invited to address a Café Europa meeting where I suggested to the room filled with survivors, many with no family left to document their ancestry, that they write their family history for part of world history has all been my privilege.

Talk about a privileged life. Think about that. I have lived among the people portrayed in the movie I watched on the plane home from Los Angeles. I’ve worked with them, sat with them, spoken with them, and broke bread with them, but never suffered their lot in life.

From my exceptionally talented cousin, Harry Langsam, memorialized in my blog post series at sharonmarkcohen.com, Harry’s Story, posted here from April 4-7, 2023, to the people on various Facebook groups I’ve joined, I am privileged to bear witness to firsthand testimony of one of the darkest times in the world’s history. The stories I’ve been privileged to learn and learn from are an enormous part of my life.

When I was president of the sisterhood at our synagogue, the treasurer of the organization, Maria “Ria” Kessler, z”l, a survivor, told me as we sat face to face at her kitchen table, that she allowed herself an entire can of tuna fish for lunch after the deprivation she suffered during the war years. The realization of the depth of starvation doesn’t get much starker than that. It’s my privilege to hand down these firsthand stories.

“Meeting” and “friending” cousins from Chudnov, Ukraine, and Sochi, Russia, on social media have been my privilege. An 18-part blog series detailing our ancestors' lives in Chudnov, was written with them in mind. I was privileged to have the ability to write the series and post it on my website from March 22, 2023, to August 16, 2023, for all to read and learn about the place of my father’s birth. One cousin who lived there in her youth deemed our ancestral shtetl, “Chudnov, What Once Was A Little Charming Jewish Shtetl.”

Let’s turn to a time in my life when my husband and I spent many an entertaining evening in New York City’s Little Italy. How could we ever forget the kiss on both cheeks from someone who got “sent away” the next day, only to learn from his obituary years later that he was part of a notorious crime family? Yes, we led a privileged life in that we didn’t get caught up in anyone else’s mishaps.

“You don’t live in a palace,” my father of blessed memory would insist in response to a complaint of a scratch on furniture. He knew the true meaning of life was to be enjoyed with family and friends and not to worship material things.

Experiencing an exciting and meaningful life with friends of all “genres” has been rewarding. To have the ability to share the stories with my readers has been an undeniable privilege. Your comments and candid responses over the past five years of my weekly posts were my fuel. Yes, I’d say I’m quite privileged.