The war years meant being shunted from one hiding place to the next, never knowing if my brother and I would be discovered by the Nazis
As told to Tzivia Meth by Dr. Joseph Sungolowsky
I consider myself one of the more fortunate survivors. I never experienced ghettoes, deportations, or privation. For me, the war years meant being shunted from one hiding place to the next, never knowing if my brother and I would be discovered by the Nazis. It meant separation from my parents, and constant worry over their fate.
But throughout those years of turmoil, I was lucky to benefit from many of Hashem’s kindnesses, including a string of righteous gentiles who enabled my family to keep one step ahead of the Nazis.
I don’t like to give out my age, but if you must know, I was born in December 1931, in a little town called Charleroi, Belgium. My father, Rav Aron Gershon Sungolowsky, who hailed from Lithuania, was the town rav. I had an older sister, Fina, and a younger brother, Leon. My mother, Esther (née Berger), was originally from Vienna.
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