My Jewish "Papa"...Max Curtis

Max Curtis

I met a Holocaust Survivor many years ago named Max Curtis (formerly named Mordecai Kuritski) from Lithuania. He was a gentle and loving man with a warm and genuine smile and a hug that was PROOF that love existed. I remember the day, sitting at the banquet table having coffee and "nosh" after Shabbat service and he wrestled with his sleeve cuff while telling us that he had been in a concentration camp. My eyes averted, my heart screamed "I don't want to see this" but a voice spoke to me and said "You must see this, it happened" and that is when he showed us his numbered arm.



Of course I did not call him "Papa" at first. Though he was a kind, elderly gentleman and was of the age that he could have easily been my father (and nearly grandfather) I called him Max until one day... 

at a Sukkot picnic.He was sitting with his dear friend, Mary and I walked up to him and he had just said to a man in the congregation that he "loved me"....and quickly added "like a daughter"...I held out my arms and cried out "Papa!" and it stuck. He became my Jewish Papa.

Papa Max told me the story how he was "liberated" on his 27th birthday, May 1, 1945. I just recently found out; after years of not having contact with him that he passed away on April 7, 2010. As with all Jews upon passing, I would like to request that if you are so inclined, if you would "say Kaddish" for Papa Max. Yesterday was Holocaust Memorial Day and for Papa and all the Jews, non-Jews and others whose were changed forever or taken from them so many years ago, I say "Kaddish"...

I share this wonderful life briefly to point out that in the midst of abuse, we can be blessed with people in our lives that make our journey a little brighter. My Papa Max was the bright star in my life when I was first discovering that I was in a domestically abusive and spiritually and emotionally controlling marriage. He would half-jokingly ask me if my "then-husband" was "treating me right"...and told me that if he ever didn't, that I should leave him and come to be with him (Papa) and that he would take care of me...he was such a dear man whom obviously loved me. He will always have a special place in my heart as a man with a huge capacity and willingness to love who I became a grateful recipient. I will always consider myself to be especially blessed by having known him. 

As with the hell or hatred that my Papa and over 6 million others have endured during the Holocaust, I also say of domestic abuse: MAY WE NEVER FORGET.