The little girl and the apple, a true story of love and faith! Please click here for photo's.
As we seem to be living in turbulent times these days, I thought I would post a true story that will show you that "this too shall pass!"
This is a true story - it will appeal to every romantic.
A Girl with an Apple !!!!!!!
August 1942. Piotrkow , Poland .
The sky was gloomy that morning as we waited anxiously. All the men, women
and children of Piotrkow's Jewish ghetto had been herded into a square.
Word
had gotten around that we were being moved. My father had only recently
died from typhus, which had run rampant through the crowded ghetto. My
greatest fear was that our family would be separated.
'Whatever you do,' Isidore, my eldest brother, whispered to
me,'don't tell
them your age. Say you're sixteen.' I was tall for a boy of 11, so I
could
pull it off. That way I might be deemed valuable as a worker.
An SS man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones. He looked
me up and down, then asked my age. 'Sixteen,'I said. He directed me to
the
left, where my three brothers and other healthy young men already stood.
My mother was motioned to the right with the other women, children,sick and
elderly people. I whispered to Isidore, 'Why?' He didn't answer. I
ran to
Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her. 'No,'she said
sternly. 'Get
away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers.'
She had never spoken so harshly before. But I understood: She was protecting
me. She loved me so much that, just this once, she pretended not to. It was
the last I ever saw of her.
My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany . We arrived
at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night weeks later and were led into
a crowded barrack. The next day, we were issued uniforms and identification
numbers.'Don't call me Herman anymore.' I said to my brothers.
'Call me
94983.'
I was put to work in the camp's crematorium, loading the dead into a
hand-cranked elevator. I, too, felt dead. Hardened, I had become a number.
Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald's
sub-camps near Berlin . One morning I thought I heard my mother's
voice, 'Son,' she said softly but clearly, I am going to send you an
angel.'
Then I woke up. Just a dream. A beautiful dream. But in this place there
could be no angels. There was only work. And hunger. And fear.
A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, around the barracks,
near the barbed-wire fence where the guards could not easily see. I was
alone. On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone: a little girl with
light, almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch tree. I
glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly in German.
'Do you have something to eat?' She didn't understand. I inched
closer to
the fence and repeated the question in Polish. She stepped forward. I was
thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around my feet, but the girl looked
unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life.
She pulled an apple from her woolen jacket and threw it over the fence. I
grabbed the fruit and, as I started to run away, I heard her say faintly,
'I'll see you tomorrow.' I returned to the same spot by the fence
at the
same time every day. She was always there with something for me to eat - a
hunk of bread or, better yet, an apple. We didn't dare speak or linger. To
be caught would mean death for us both. I didn't know anything about her,
just a kind farm girl, except that she understood Polish. What was her name?
Why was she risking her life for me? Hope was in such short supply, and this
girl on the other side of the fence gave me some, as nourishing in its way
as the bread and apples.
Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a coal car
and shipped to Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia . 'Don't
return,' I
told the girl that day. 'We're leaving.' I turned toward the
barracks and
didn't look back, didn't even say good-bye to the little girl whose
name I'd
never learned, the girl with the apples.
We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down and
Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed. On May 10, 1945, I
was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at 10:00 AM. In the quiet of dawn, I
tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed ready to claim me, but
somehow I'd survived. Now, it was over. I thought of my parents. At least,
I
thought, we will be reunited.
But at 8 A.M. there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people running
every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers. Russian troops
had liberated the camp! The gates swung open. Everyone was running, so I did
too.
Amazingly, all of my brothers had survived; I'm not sure how. But I
knew that the girl with the apples had been the key to my survival. In a
place where evil seemed triumphant, one person's goodness had saved my
life,
had given me hope in a place where there was none. My mother had promised to
send me an angel, and the angel had come.
Eventually I made my way to England where I was sponsored by a Jewish
charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived the Holocaust
and trained in electronics. Then I came to America , where my brother Sam
had already moved. I served in the U. S. Army during the Korean War, and
returned to New York City after two years. By August 1957 I'd opened my own
electronics repair shop. I was starting to settle in.
One day, my friend Sid who I knew from England called me. 'I've got a
date.
She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date.' A blind date? Nah,
that
wasn't for me. But Sid kept pestering me , and a few days later we headed up
to the Bronx to pick up his date and her friend Roma. I had to admit, for a
blind date this wasn't so bad. Roma was a nurse at a Bronx hospital. She
was kind and smart. Beautiful, too, with swirling brown curls and green,
almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with life.
The four of us drove out to Coney Island . Roma was easy to talk to, easy to
be with. Turned out she was wary of blind dates too! We were both just doing
our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the boardwalk, enjoying the salty
Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by the shore. I couldn't remember
having a better time.
We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat. As European
Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much had been left
unsaid between us. She broached the subject, 'Where were you,' she
asked
softly, 'during the war?' 'The camps,' I said, the terrible
memories still
vivid,
the irreparable loss. I had tried to forget. But you can never forget. She
nodded. 'My family was hiding on a farm in Germany, not far from
Berlin,'
she told me. 'My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan papers.' I
imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant companion.
And yet there we were, both survivors, in a new world. 'There was a
camp next to the farm.' Roma continued. 'I saw a boy there and I
would throw him apples every day.'
What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy.
'What did he look like? I asked. 'He was tall, skinny, and hungry. I
must
have seen him every day for six months.' My heart was racing. I
couldn't
believe it. This couldn't be. 'Did he tell you one day not to come back
because he was leaving Schlieben?' Roma looked at me in amazement.
'Yes!' 'That was me! ' I was ready to burst with joy and awe,
flooded
with emotions. I couldn't believe it! My angel.
'I'm not letting you go.' I said to Roma. And in the back of the
car on
that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn't want to wait. 'You're
crazy!'
she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for Shabbat dinner the
following week. There was so much I looked forward to learning about
Roma, but the most important things I always knew: her steadfastness,
her goodness. For many months, in the worst of circumstances, she had
come to the fence and given me hope. Now that I'd found her again, I
could never let her go.
That day, she said yes. And I kept my word. After nearly 50 years of
marriage, two children and three grandchildren, I have never let her go.
Herman Rosenblat, Miami Beach , Florida
Tom Ford
NO. 563
This is a true story - it will appeal to every romantic.
A Girl with an Apple !!!!!!!
August 1942. Piotrkow , Poland .
The sky was gloomy that morning as we waited anxiously. All the men, women
and children of Piotrkow's Jewish ghetto had been herded into a square.
Word
had gotten around that we were being moved. My father had only recently
died from typhus, which had run rampant through the crowded ghetto. My
greatest fear was that our family would be separated.
'Whatever you do,' Isidore, my eldest brother, whispered to
me,'don't tell
them your age. Say you're sixteen.' I was tall for a boy of 11, so I
could
pull it off. That way I might be deemed valuable as a worker.
An SS man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones. He looked
me up and down, then asked my age. 'Sixteen,'I said. He directed me to
the
left, where my three brothers and other healthy young men already stood.
My mother was motioned to the right with the other women, children,sick and
elderly people. I whispered to Isidore, 'Why?' He didn't answer. I
ran to
Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her. 'No,'she said
sternly. 'Get
away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers.'
She had never spoken so harshly before. But I understood: She was protecting
me. She loved me so much that, just this once, she pretended not to. It was
the last I ever saw of her.
My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany . We arrived
at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night weeks later and were led into
a crowded barrack. The next day, we were issued uniforms and identification
numbers.'Don't call me Herman anymore.' I said to my brothers.
'Call me
94983.'
I was put to work in the camp's crematorium, loading the dead into a
hand-cranked elevator. I, too, felt dead. Hardened, I had become a number.
Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald's
sub-camps near Berlin . One morning I thought I heard my mother's
voice, 'Son,' she said softly but clearly, I am going to send you an
angel.'
Then I woke up. Just a dream. A beautiful dream. But in this place there
could be no angels. There was only work. And hunger. And fear.
A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, around the barracks,
near the barbed-wire fence where the guards could not easily see. I was
alone. On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone: a little girl with
light, almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch tree. I
glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly in German.
'Do you have something to eat?' She didn't understand. I inched
closer to
the fence and repeated the question in Polish. She stepped forward. I was
thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around my feet, but the girl looked
unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life.
She pulled an apple from her woolen jacket and threw it over the fence. I
grabbed the fruit and, as I started to run away, I heard her say faintly,
'I'll see you tomorrow.' I returned to the same spot by the fence
at the
same time every day. She was always there with something for me to eat - a
hunk of bread or, better yet, an apple. We didn't dare speak or linger. To
be caught would mean death for us both. I didn't know anything about her,
just a kind farm girl, except that she understood Polish. What was her name?
Why was she risking her life for me? Hope was in such short supply, and this
girl on the other side of the fence gave me some, as nourishing in its way
as the bread and apples.
Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a coal car
and shipped to Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia . 'Don't
return,' I
told the girl that day. 'We're leaving.' I turned toward the
barracks and
didn't look back, didn't even say good-bye to the little girl whose
name I'd
never learned, the girl with the apples.
We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down and
Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed. On May 10, 1945, I
was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at 10:00 AM. In the quiet of dawn, I
tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed ready to claim me, but
somehow I'd survived. Now, it was over. I thought of my parents. At least,
I
thought, we will be reunited.
But at 8 A.M. there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people running
every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers. Russian troops
had liberated the camp! The gates swung open. Everyone was running, so I did
too.
Amazingly, all of my brothers had survived; I'm not sure how. But I
knew that the girl with the apples had been the key to my survival. In a
place where evil seemed triumphant, one person's goodness had saved my
life,
had given me hope in a place where there was none. My mother had promised to
send me an angel, and the angel had come.
Eventually I made my way to England where I was sponsored by a Jewish
charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived the Holocaust
and trained in electronics. Then I came to America , where my brother Sam
had already moved. I served in the U. S. Army during the Korean War, and
returned to New York City after two years. By August 1957 I'd opened my own
electronics repair shop. I was starting to settle in.
One day, my friend Sid who I knew from England called me. 'I've got a
date.
She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date.' A blind date? Nah,
that
wasn't for me. But Sid kept pestering me , and a few days later we headed up
to the Bronx to pick up his date and her friend Roma. I had to admit, for a
blind date this wasn't so bad. Roma was a nurse at a Bronx hospital. She
was kind and smart. Beautiful, too, with swirling brown curls and green,
almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with life.
The four of us drove out to Coney Island . Roma was easy to talk to, easy to
be with. Turned out she was wary of blind dates too! We were both just doing
our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the boardwalk, enjoying the salty
Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by the shore. I couldn't remember
having a better time.
We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat. As European
Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much had been left
unsaid between us. She broached the subject, 'Where were you,' she
asked
softly, 'during the war?' 'The camps,' I said, the terrible
memories still
vivid,
the irreparable loss. I had tried to forget. But you can never forget. She
nodded. 'My family was hiding on a farm in Germany, not far from
Berlin,'
she told me. 'My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan papers.' I
imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant companion.
And yet there we were, both survivors, in a new world. 'There was a
camp next to the farm.' Roma continued. 'I saw a boy there and I
would throw him apples every day.'
What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy.
'What did he look like? I asked. 'He was tall, skinny, and hungry. I
must
have seen him every day for six months.' My heart was racing. I
couldn't
believe it. This couldn't be. 'Did he tell you one day not to come back
because he was leaving Schlieben?' Roma looked at me in amazement.
'Yes!' 'That was me! ' I was ready to burst with joy and awe,
flooded
with emotions. I couldn't believe it! My angel.
'I'm not letting you go.' I said to Roma. And in the back of the
car on
that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn't want to wait. 'You're
crazy!'
she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for Shabbat dinner the
following week. There was so much I looked forward to learning about
Roma, but the most important things I always knew: her steadfastness,
her goodness. For many months, in the worst of circumstances, she had
come to the fence and given me hope. Now that I'd found her again, I
could never let her go.
That day, she said yes. And I kept my word. After nearly 50 years of
marriage, two children and three grandchildren, I have never let her go.
Herman Rosenblat, Miami Beach , Florida
Tom Ford
NO. 563
posted by Crestwood Independent at 14:12
5 Comments:
tom this story might not be 1000% true......do some research first, go to snopes.com forum
The relevant portion of the snopes account is, for me, at the end where it reads" "It is churlish to doubt this life-affirming tale." However, if you find out the Rosenblats made this whole story up and waited 60 years before personally profiting from it, let me know and I will tell the editors
-- a book reviewer told me this today
Good points Dan, but Snopes has been known to be wrong (see attached) in the past, and I would like to believe the Rosenblat's, if for no other reason that it's a darn good story, and we need such things in our lives.
Tom Ford
"LAW OF THE LAND"
Snopes snookered by 10 Commandments hoax
Pastor ID's Supreme Court lies rerun by Internet watchdogs
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Posted: November 24, 2006
1:00 am Eastern
By Bob Unruh
© 2008 WorldNetDaily.com
The California pastor whose research revealed a strategy by the U.S. Supreme Court to eliminate references to the Ten Commandments in its own artwork now is asking Internet watchdogs Snopes.com and TruthOrFiction.com to fix their mistakes on the issue.
Todd DuBord's work was profiled by WND in an article about the Supreme Court and a second story about the Monticello and Jamestown historic sites.
There also was a followup showing how one state Supreme Court was following suit, and in a photograph of its team of justices, blurred part of the photograph because it would have shown the Ten Commandments on the wall behind them.
DuBord, whose work resulted in his formal requests to those national treasures that they correct the information being distributed, now is asking the two accuracy-focused websites to correct similar mistakes in their materials.
(Story continues below)
"Millions of people go to snopes.com and truthorfiction.com to get the straight scoop on Internet and other legends," DuBord, pastor of Lake Almanor Community Church, said.
"However, in the case of describing the depictions of Moses and the Ten Commandments on the Supreme Court, they are perpetuating their own forms of cultural and revisionist myth."
"While much in your articles about the Ten Commandment depictions on or in the U.S. Supreme Court Building is correct, I respectfully need to point out a couple of errors in your investigations, and trust you will make the appropriate changes," he wrote to the sites.
The Snopes article is: "Religious symbols and references abound in U.S. capital buildings and the words of America's founders" while the TruthOrFiction item is "Evidences of Faith in the Buildings, Memorials, and Forefathers of the United States-Truth!, Fiction! & Unproven!?"
DuBord notes that Snopes references "two representations of Moses" on the building, but there actually are four – on the South Wall Frieze in the court, on the East Pediment, on the Exterior Portrait Medallions and on the frieze in the Great Hall.
The Eastern Pediment
Regarding the Eastern Pediment representation, Snopes says, "And although many viewers might assume Moses is holding a copy of the Ten Commandments in this depiction, the two tablets in his arms are actually blank."
TruthOrFiction concludes similarly: "the two tablets in his arms are actually blank."
"Your comments infer that, by holding two tablets that are blank, they are plausibly not the Ten Commandments. Is there another alternative to the identity of these 'blank' tablets? Are there any other tablets he carried down from Mt. Sinai?" DuBord asked.
"In the South Wall Frieze in the Courtroom, Moses is clearly holding a tablet, with the last five commandments written in Hebrew. Should we merely assume the inside frieze tablet represents five of the Ten Commandments and the outside Eastern pediment tablets do not represent the Ten Commandments in whole because they are blank? Again, what else would Moses be holding? The Ten Amendments?"
DuBord said the sentence reveals a bias, and the larger question is "why the unnecessary conclusion to neuter the identity of the tablets that are so clearly the Ten Commandments?"
He also pointed out the references to the oak doors, which display tablets carrying Roman numerals I-V and VI-X.
Supreme Court door panels (photo: Carrie Devorah, God In The Temples of Government)
Those "can represent something other than the Ten Commandments," according to Snopes, and are "symbolic representations," according to TruthOrFiction.
The Supreme Court's own documentation from the 1970s show those to be the Ten Commandments, although that language "evolved" over the next 20 years to become "symbolic representations," DuBord noted.
The Supreme Court has edited history, he said, so that those now are described officially as representing the ten amendments or Bill of Rights, but that explanation leaves facts out.
The Bill of Rights didn't arrive on tablets, and the Library of Congress shows those images to be consistent with those depicting the Ten Commandments during the period the building was constructed, he said.
"Why not accept the most obvious meaning of these tablets on the U.S. Supreme Court?" he asked.
He also says the representation in the courtroom itself is not the "amendments" as many report, but actually the Ten Commandments, because the artist himself said so in describing another almost identical depiction at The Oscar Solomon Memorial, also in Washington.
"Most important here, will the 'fact sites' of Snopes.com and TruthOrFiction.com perpetuate their 'urban legend' or state what is the truth about the architecture of the highest court in the land?" DuBord asked.
"I hope, indeed I pray, you make the above correction or at least present the wider body of evidence against the neutering of the Ten Commandments on the U.S. Supreme Court building," he said.
WND requests to both Snopes.com and TruthOrFiction.com about the corrections suggested were not answered.
His entire research compilation is available online.
DuBord's message from July 23, 2006, on this issue also can be heard immediately, and for free, on the church website at www.lacconline.org.
DuBord grew up without religion, but during seven years of academic study at Bethany University and Fuller Theological Seminary accepted that the claims of Christianity are true.
He's served in various prison, drug and alcohol rehab ministries and worked as a youth pastor and associate pastor before assuming his duties in Lake Almanor.
Tom
Go to Truth or Fiction. The say it is true about the Rosenblats.
Jim Silvernail
By the way you have an excellent bog.
Thank you for the kind words Jim!
I thought it would be as the photo's also tell me that it's so, otherwise why would they embarrass themselves were it not.
Tom Ford
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