My birthplace I would love to visit if it weren't filled with Muslims.
Photo Credit: Maa Gita Holidays
In response to my article Melania and Putin Dinner Photo Shows Power of American Democracy, reader no dhimmi left this comment: "So you left Germany in 1949. does that mean you were in Germany sometime during 33-45? That's a story to tell!".
The answer is no. My family and I did not get into Germany until late 1947.
But yes, there is a story to tell. My father left Poland just as the Nazis were preparing to invade Poland in 1939. He went to Moscow to visit his brother who had some pull in the Soviet Union. (Aha! The media will report this event as my father colluding with the Russians). His brother was able to get him a great job as a manager of a shoe factory in Tashkent, Uzbekistan, where he met my mother and where I was born (7 March 1945) shortly before the end of WWII.
Despite the fact that my father was raised as a strict Orthodox Jew, he had me baptized Catholic in case the Nazis ever won the war so as to prevent my immediate execution for being a Jew.
After the war my parents returned to Poland and to a small Polish town where my father became a mayor. Since my father was virulently anti-communist and did not like the way the Soviets were taking over Polish life, he made arrangements for him, my mother and me to immigrate to America. But one does not go directly from Poland to the USA in those days.
First you have to get to a non-communist-controlled country. With the help of the successor agencies of the Office of Strategic Services my father was able to get us into Germany in 1947 where we would spend two years waiting for visas to come to America. Hear that amigos? Two years waiting for visas!
And finally in December of 1949 we arrived in America.
There are tons of details between 1939 and 1945 regarding my father, and 1945 and 1949 regarding myself but both stories for another time.