Ina Silbergleit

"All people endure loss to some extent in their lives, and it is difficult to equate one person’s traumatic experience with another. Yet the scale of loss and suffering that accompanied the Holocaust, and the profound, life-altering consequences that go on and on for those who survived it, are what distinguish this atrocity from others. Despite the countless evils I witnessed during the war, I also experienced the human capacity for kindness and altruism: When we were... (continued below)"

Name at birth

Ina Rajchman

Date of birth

08/10/1937

Where were you born?

Warsaw, Poland

Where did you grow up?

Warsaw, Poland

Name of father, occupation

Stanislaw Rajchman, owner and operator of a successful lace factory

Maiden name of mother, occupation

Rena Mussman Rajchman, (changed to Richman upon immigrating to the U.S.).

Immediate family (names, birth order)

Parents, Ryszard Rajchman (older brother born in 1931) and me

How many in entire extended family?

Abraham and Franka Mussman (uncle and aunt); Bronek and Nina Mussman (cousins), Mary and Adam Koper (cousins); Lucia and Grunwald Leib (aunt and uncle); Lina Leib (cousin).

Who survived the Holocaust?

My mother, Uncle Abraham Mussman, Mary and Adam Koper, Lina Leib (Wasserman) and me

I was born in Warsaw, Poland in 1937 shortly before the beginning of the war. My father owned and operated a lace factory. The family business was very successful, enabling the family to live a life of relative luxury. My mother traveled frequently throughout Europe with my grandfather, while a loving nanny cared for me and my brother. My father, in the meantime, ran the factory. Due to the nature of his business, my father had established relationships with a Nazi officer.

With the establishment of the Warsaw Ghetto in 1940, and the edict prohibiting gentiles from working for Jews, my nanny was forced to leave our home. Control of the lace factory, which was located on the border of the Warsaw Ghetto, was assumed by an SS official named Bernard Hallman, who converted the factory into a repair facility for German uniforms. Hallman, with whom my father had prior business and social ties, was a compassionate man. I referred to him as our “Schindler.” He allowed my father to continue running the factory under his supervision, allowed our family to remain in our home, allowed my mother to work as a “lunch-lady” at the factory. In exchange for his protection, our family surrendered money, jewelry, furs, silverware and other valuable items to Hallman and his wife.

In April 1943, Hallman warned our family of the impending liquidation of the Warsaw Ghetto. Hallman arranged for our transportation out of the Ghetto. (Their new name was “Bogacki”.) I remember my mother sewing her diamonds into the hems and buttons of her dresses to use as currency in exchange for future protection.

Following our escape from the Ghetto, our lives became very difficult. We were hungry (those hiding us could not obtain extra food without arousing suspicion that they were harboring Jews), we were required to remain quiet all day, and had to “schedule” our trips to the bathroom. Given my Jewish appearance and childish demeanor, I was usually confined within the walls of our hiding spots. My mother, however, could “pass” as a gentile with her Aryan looks and cultured sophistication. On occasion, she ventured outside to find food for our family and obtain information about their situation.

In August or September 1944, my family and I took refuge in the apartment of a Polish engineer on the outskirts of Warsaw. For several weeks, there was talk of a Polish underground uprising in Warsaw, which we hoped would result in the Russian soldiers coming to our aid. Instead, Nazi soldiers invaded our building. My father and brother hid in an attic, but were ultimately captured. I never saw them again and, to the best of my knowledge, my brother and father were shot by the Nazis shortly after the raid.

My mother and I were rounded up with other Polish tenants in the building and taken to a nearby walled field. Hundreds of Poles (hidden Jews and gentiles alike) were held there for a week to ten days and subjected to horrifying conditions. There was no food, shelter, or water, and Nazi soldiers with machine guns regularly took “target practice” at random prisoners. My mother was resourceful. On occasion, she was able to pick some potatoes and secure water for us.

During our time in the field, we never discussed the probable deaths of my father and brother. There was not a lot of conversation, it was just understood. I felt much protected from direct information. I didn’t want to ask and my mom didn’t want to tell. We focused on surviving one day at a time.

Eventually, the Nazis placed their Polish prisoners on a train, most likely headed for a concentration camp. As the train slowed down in a small Polish village, some onlookers yelled to them, “Jump off the train and we will help you.” My mother and I, with approximately thirty other Poles did just that. Several were immediately shot and killed by Nazi soldiers, but most escaped safely and were led by the compassionate villagers to a nearby gymnasium where we hid overnight. When she awoke the next morning, my mother’s shoes had been stolen.

My mother obtained information that the sister of the Polish engineer who had hidden them last lived in a remote area near the gymnasium. The next day, we walked to this woman’s home and were given refuge. I was only 5 years old at the time and cannot recall the woman’s name or the specific location of her home. However, I remember feeling “frightened” by the woman’s appearance and demeanor. She was an elderly piano teacher with horrible sores on her legs and a devout Catholic. In exchange for hiding us, the woman sought my conversion to Catholicism. I remember praying the rosary for hours.

There was one specific incident that exemplifies the woman’s righteous, compassionate nature. One day, Nazi soldiers knocked on the woman’s door, demanding to search her home for hidden Jews. The woman “stuffed” my mother and I into a closet and, just as the soldiers prepared to open the closet door, she unwrapped the bandages around her diseased legs -- exposing multiple, grotesque sores – distracting the men from further investigation. This righteous gentile woman harbored us for at least six months, until Russian tanks moved in and liberated us in the summer of 1945.

Following liberation, my mother went back to Warsaw to search for surviving family members, while I stayed on with the elderly Polish woman. My mother reunited with her cousins, the Kopers, and discovered that her brother, Abe Mussman, was also alive, because he was conducting business in the United States just before the war. Abe’s wife, Franka, and their two children, Bronek and Nina, however, remained in Warsaw during that time and were eventually captured and killed by the Nazis.

My mother and I returned to Warsaw for a short time. We resided in a bombed apartment previously owned by a Jewish friend who did not survive the Holocaust, but whose housekeeper currently lived on the premises. After reuniting with Uncle Abe, we moved to Sweden in 1946 and immigrated to the United States in 1949.

I attended high school and then college at the University of Cincinnati, where I obtained a degree in Art Education. I met my husband, Allen Silbergleit, while he was a medical student at the University of Cincinnati. We moved to Detroit in 1962, where my husband worked at Wayne State University and opened medical practices at St. Joseph’s and Crittenden Hospitals.

Name of Ghetto(s)

Warsaw

Where were you in hiding?

A variety of Polish towns my mother took me to save my life.

Where did you go after being liberated?

My mother and I returned to Warsaw to search for surviving family members. My uncle, Abe Mussman, joined us. He was able to get the papers needed for us to immigrate to Sweden in 1946, then to the United States in 1949.

When did you come to the United States?

1949

Where did you settle?

Cincinnati, Ohio. My husband and I moved to Minnesota, then to Detroit in 1962.

How is it that you came to Michigan?

My husband came here to work.

Occupation after the war

I worked as a teacher and graphic designer for a short time but, upon having children, spent most of my time as a homemaker, art dealer, and party organizer.

When and where were you married?

1956 in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

Spouse

Allen Silbergleit, thoracic surgeon

Children

Richard Silbergleit, radiologist Nina Silbergleit, manager of Wharton Performing Arts Center at MSU Robert Silbergleit, emergency medicine physician

Grandchildren

Three: Matthew, Marina and Jay Silbergleit

What do you think helped you to survive?

My mother and my youth. My mother was a tremendous source of strength throughout our time in hiding: “My mother was extremely strong, brave, resourceful . . . and over-protective.” She took advantage of her family’s pre-war wealth to help secure their future survival -- sewing her diamonds into the hems and buttons of her clothing to use as currency in exchange for food and lodging. On numerous occasions, at the risk of being shot, my mother utilized her Aryan appearance and cultured sophistication to gain favors from Nazi officials and, ultimately, secured special privileges for us (i.e. food, water and blankets). Despite the horror that surrounded us – mass starvation, selections, daily executions of fellow Jews and gentile Poles within plain sight -- as well as the profundity of her own losses, namely the deaths of her husband and son, and the loss of her home, possessions, and liberty, my mother insulated me from her own pain and from knowledge regarding the full extent of the Holocaust. My mom didn’t talk about what was happening with my dad and brother. It was just understood. I felt much protected from direct information. I didn’t want to ask and she didn’t want to tell. Instead, by way of example, she taught me that living in this barbaric manner was simply our day-to-day reality. Finally, she trained her young, age-appropriately rambunctious daughter to be a competent “hider” – one who was quiet, cautious and a survivor in my own right.

What message would you like to leave for future generations?

All people endure loss to some extent in their lives, and it is difficult to equate one person’s traumatic experience with another. Yet the scale of loss and suffering that accompanied the Holocaust, and the profound, life-altering consequences that go on and on for those who survived it, are what distinguish this atrocity from others. Despite the countless evils I witnessed during the war, I also experienced the human capacity for kindness and altruism: When we were in the field…we saw so much good. People gave us containers to hold water so we could drink. People threw a blanket over me to hide me. People from the village yelled to us that if we jumped from the moving train, they would help us.

People need to accept each other as they are and exercise compassion and tolerance in order to avoid another such tragedy.