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This account of about my early childhood will no doubt raise the usual questions about such an endeavor. It is particularly likely in my case since the style of the writing tends to give the impression of an exact fidelity. This accomplishment would be all the more surprising when one takes into account the fact that the writing was undertaken many decades after the described events occurred.
I make no claim to such a phenomenal recall and readily admit that my story would not have been possible in its actual form were it not for the aid of an annotated record that I prepared only three years after I came to the United States from Poland. At the age of fifteen, I entered Glenview High School in Cleveland, Ohio, where one of my teachers played an essential role in encouraging this project.
I was just beginning to feel somewhat comfortable with the English language though I was handicapped by the circumstance that at home we continued to talk only Yiddish. Nevertheless, I ventured to join the drama class of Katherine Wick Kelly, who was an actress at the famous Cleveland Playhouse.
Miss Kelly seemed to take an early interest in me. I remember, once, when all the students were crowding around her and I was sort of left behind. Suddenly she made her waythrough the crowd, took hold of my arm and pulled me to the front. “You stay here,” she asserted.
Not very long after that, Miss Kelly surprised me by asking me to remain after class. She asked many questions about our experiences during the war in Poland. But I was reluctant to talk about them. I wanted to forget that period. I merely shrugged and muttered a few words. She understood my embarrassment and sensitively sought to calm it.
“I think I know how you feel,” she said. “It's natural that you don't want to talk about it. You were a child then and now you are growing up. You want to learn new things -- and you will! But I would still like to suggest that you write down your experiences about that time. You don't have to worry about the language or the grammar. This information will be just for you.”
I did not follow out Miss Kelly's suggestion for a long time, however. She never brought the subject up again and I almost forgot about it. And yet, her words must have registered with me for I have discovered a note-book, dated 1923, with many jottings in my hand. Then suddenly a curious set of entries appears among my notes. I had evidently invented a game which I called Memory Tests, into which events and people from our early years in Poland unobtrusively made their way. I was rather taken with this activity and even thought for a while of involving my mother in it. But somehow I quickly vetoed it. Yet every so often I would ask her something merely to verify some facet of my memory. But she was unwilling to talk about our past. Once she asked, “Why do you want to relive the past? Didn't we suffer enough?” Quickly, I invented an excuse which she readily accepted. Another time she offered, “You know, those terrible experiences that all of us went through would make a good book if someone wanted to write it.”
Thus the intriguing interest in my past life took hold of me. Miss Kelly's kind effort had left its imprint and this interest overcame my initial reluctance and grew stronger with the years.
Fortunately, my notes about my childhood years were saved. It is with their indispensable aid that I have recreated my life in the Polish ghetto of Wysokie Litewskie before and during the First World War. A child's life between the ages of two and twelve.
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