Dreams of the Departed
My grandfather Jacques was a man of few words. A sharp dresser who always wore pressed khakis, a polo shirt and a gold chain. He’d sweep me into his arms, his Ralph Lauren Polo cologne so strong, it made my eyes tear. “Hello, my granddaughter,” he’d say, his deep voice overlaid with a vague European accent. As if he was from everywhere but nowhere in particular, which was kind of true.
Grandpa was a Holocaust survivor. At 14, he was sent to the Blechhammer labor camp, near Kozle, Poland. He later survived a 200-mile Nazi death march and concentration camps Gross-Rosen and Buchenwald, where he shared Barrack 66 with Elie Wiesel. Following liberation by the U.S. Army, he went to an orphanage at the Rothschild Mansion in Versailles, France. Two
