|My father, Henry Blumner, flanked by my mother, Lillian, on his right, and his sister, Linda, on his left, after World War II.|
I like to sweep the sidewalk in front of my office building. It reminds me of my father.
As the broom flicks up the dust and leaves that seem to gravitate toward the entrance to the building every morning, I recall the dust clouds that my father’s push broom would launch, as he swept up his building site at the end of each day. I could delegate this particular task to the company that cleans my office building every day, but I haven’t, and I believe that this is the reason.
Today is Holocaust Remembrance Day. It is fitting for me to remember my father in the words of this blog, because he and my mother were survivors of that most infamous period in the history of mankind. My mother survived the death camps by the grace of G-d. My father survived the war in the woods in
for two and half years, through a combination of grit, cunning, iron will, and fortitude. Poland