Eulogy
Rabbi Frank Alexander Fischer was born in Opole / Oppeln, a city on the Oder River that was the historical capital of Upper Silesia in Germany and is now southern Poland. He was born on October 15, 1930, on Simhat Torah, a day that celebrates the Jewish people’s relationship with Torah, a day on which we both finish reading the Torah and we begin again. So much of Frank’s life is captured by that auspicious beginning – a deep, abiding love of Torah, of song and dance, of learning, of any and all things Jewish, and resilience, to end and begin again, over and over and over again. Frank and his younger sister, Eva, who is here today, grew up in an observant home part of a liberal synagogue with parents who were leaders in the Jewish community. Their father, Martin, was a beloved and respected pediatrician who found someone to manage the practice for a week and would take the family skiing in the mountains of Switzerland. Frank remembers things changing as Hitler came to power. Laws passed would segregate Jews; Jews were prohibited from attending public schools; Jewish doctors and lawyers could only have Jewish clients and patients; non-Jews were prohibited from working for Jews; Jewish stores were marked with stars of David and the word, “Jude” to prohibit non-Jews from shopping in these stores. Jewish faculty were dismissed from universities without notice. In 1938, one of Frank’s father’s patients became increasingly worried for his doctor’s safety and that of his family and urged him to make plans to leave Germany. And here, I would like to take a few moments to read to you some of Frank’s own words from a document his family shared with me yesterday: “I was motivated to write these thoughts by an invitation from Isaiah to talk to his fourth and fifth grades at the Lerner Jewish Community Day School about my experiences growing up in Germany in the 1930’s. My experiences are not necessarily unique. There are many stories of Holocaust survivors. My story is personal for my children and grandchildren. My parents never spoke about the events of those years nor did they share any of their feelings with me or my sister Eva while they were alive. Now there is no one left of whom I can ask any questions. What follows is what I remember and what this process of recalling and remembering has brought to the fore. There were few options open to us because most other countries were not eager to receive and welcome Jewish refugees from Germany. Even the US government required persons seeking to immigrate to have proof that there would be someone in America who would vouch for them, guaranteeing that they would not become financial burdens on American society. My parents were fortunate to find distant relatives in Louisiana who were willing to provide the necessary affidavits which enabled them to get the visas required for entrance to the United States. My parents made plans for the family to leave Germany in January 1939. These same people also made it possible for two of my father's brothers to make their way to America… In Germany, the events of November 1938 doomed the Jews of Germany and Europe. November 9, 1938 will be remembered as Kristallnacht, the Night of the Broken Glass. Throughout Germany all the synagogues were set on fire, gangs roamed the streets, smashing windows and looting stores owned by Jews; the police made no effort to interfere. Jewish men were arrested and taken to concentration camps without explanation. On that terrible night, I recall going with my father to the site of our synagogue, then fully ablaze, in an effort to save any religious items we could, without success. The police made sure that no one came near and the fire department was busy protecting the other buildings as the synagogue burned. I will never forget the sight or the moment…I was completely terrified. I was just eight years old. I don't recall my father saying anything; I can hardly imagine what must have been going through his mind. A few days later, there was a knock on our apartment door. One of my father's former patients- not Jewish-had come to warn him that the Gestapo was close behind him, coming to arrest my father. Without a moment’s hesitation my father packed a small suitcase, said goodbye and left. He set out to make his way across Germany to the port of Hamburg and to try to make his way from there to America. Even though we already had tickets for January, he could not take a chance and wait. None of us knew if we would ever see my father again. If you think we were terrified before, with my father gone, my mother left to care for two small children, we were even more terrified. Every time my mother would hear footsteps in the hallway she would push us under the bed and tell us not to make a sound. My sister and I probably spent a lot of time under the bed. Finally, the day of our departure from Germany arrived. I recall my mother saying to me and to my sister that we could each carry one item on the trip. I decided to take a stuffed teddy bear which I had received from my aunt as a present for my first birthday. l took it with me. I have it to this day. It has been with me wherever we have lived." There is a photograph from the New York Herald of Frank and Eva looking over the rail of the boat as it pulled into New York. Not only had they made it safely, but Martin was waiting for Frank and Eva and their mom; the family had made it safely to the United States. I share that early history not because Frank was defined by his past – he was not – but because with Frank’s death, a little bit more of that history is lost and Frank, ever the teacher, would want us to remember that history especially now and take its lessons to heart.