A Twist of Fate: My Jewish Father in World War II

By Storyteller Heather Forest

Story Summary

Heather tells of the odd twist of fate that saved her father’s life when he, along with all the other Jewish teenagers in his neighborhood, gave up their personal life plans and enlisted in the U.S. army to go fight Hitler in 1942.

For a print friendly version of the transcript, click here:   A Twist of Fate-My Jewish Father in World War II

Discussion Questions:

  1. Many European Jews tried to immigrate to the U.S. to escape the atrocities of the Nazis. Quotas, zenophobia, and anti-semitism were barriers to being able to immigrate to the U.S. at that time. Do you see any parallels to today’s immigration crisis where persecuted people from war torn countries are having difficulty seeking refuge in the US?
  2. Has a skill you happen to have ever been useful in your life in unexpected ways?
  3. Have you ever followed your parent’s practical advice and found that it was helpful or even life changing?

Resources:

  • Website – https://www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/article.php?ModuleId=10007652
  • The letters referred to in this story were references to people attempting to reach out to relatives to find work as well as housing in the U.S. to meet strict immigration rules. Quotas limited the number of Jewish immigrants allowed to flee to the U.S.:
    “The economic crisis known as the Great Depression led then President Herbert Hoover to mandate that immigrants had to prove that they would not become a ‘public charge,’ disqualifying people who could not financially support themselves indefinitely. Public opinion, motivated by economic fear, xenophobia, antisemitism, and isolationism, did not favor any increase in immigration to the United States, even as it became clear that Nazi Germany was targeting Jews for persecution.”

Themes:

  • Family and Childhood
  • Jewish Americans/Jews
  • War
  • Workplace

Full Transcript:

Hi, I’m Heather Forrest. My father was a… gentle giant. He was six foot seven and had soft blue eyes. He was a formidable basketball player for Weequahic High School in Newark, New Jersey back in 1942. He hoped that someday he would get a scholarship to go to college because his family was very, very poor.

He lived on Schuyler Avenue with his mother, my grandma Sadie, who had come to the United States as an immigrant in the early 1900s to escape the pogroms in Eastern Europe. These were organized violent riots against the Jews. She came to join her husband, Jacob Israel, who had come to the United States a few years earlier to seek his fortune. And when they were reunited, they had several children. And then Jacob Israel died in a construction accident. And Sadie was forced to support the family alone, which she did with her weekly winnings from a weekly poker game she held in the parlor.

She worried all the time about her son Emmanuel. “Manny,” she would say, “Basketball is not a job. Perhaps you should learn a trade. Think about it. Maybe, maybe you could take up typing.”

My father listened to his mother and the next day joined the secretarial program at Weequahic High School. He liked typing because he was the only boy in the class. And because he was competitive by nature, in a very short amount of time, he could type 120 words a minute. And, of course, he was eager to show off his skill to any girl who would watch.

You know, he did get that basketball scholarship, a full scholarship, but he didn’t take it… because of the letters. The letters that were coming from relatives in Europe to people in the neighborhood. Letters, desperate pleas, for sponsorship so they could escape the Nazi horror that was unfolding around them.

It was the spring of 1942, and although it was not being reported in the American newspapers, everybody in the neighborhood knew what was happening in Europe. Jews were being forced to wear yellow stars on their jackets when they walked in the streets. Jews were being forced from their businesses and from their homes. They were being herded into ghettos, locked ghettos. They were being rounded up from rural villages, and put on trains, and sent off to what they thought were work camps. Every Jewish boy in the neighborhood, including my father, set aside their life’s goals and joined the army to go fight Hitler.

And so, my father found himself at Fort Dix in southern New Jersey for basic training. He was in an infantry platoon when he said the “muckety muck” came. He told me about the visitor. He was a straight-backed, high military official. And so, all the men in his platoon lined up in front of the barracks.

And the “muckety muck,” as my dad called him, addressed the group. He said, “There’s a war goin’ on over there. Everybody needs to do their part. Any of you jokers know how to type?”

Well, only my father stepped forward, and he went off with that man who turned out to be the commander of an Army hospital ship. My father became his personal secretary and spent the rest of the war with the 200th Hospital Complement serving in the North Atlantic. Every other man in my father’s infantry platoon was killed in battle. My father survived because he knew how to type.

When a young man is killed in battle, it’s not just his life that’s lost, it’s his family line that disappears. And so, you see, if it wasn’t for typing, I wouldn’t be here to tell you this story.

Grow to Give: An Interfaith Food Equity Project

By Storyteller Heather Forest

Story Summary

The true tale of how storytelling inspired a group of diverse religious leaders in the town of Huntington, NY, to dig up their congregational lawns, grow vegetables tended by congregants, and then donate the produce to local food pantries.

For a print friendly version of the transcript, click here:  Grow to Give-An Interfaith Food Equity Project

Discussion Questions:

  1. Have you ever been “food insecure”? Have you ever not had food when you were hungry because you could not afford to buy it and did not have access to land upon which to grow it?
  2. Do you consider food equity a social justice issue?
  3. Is your town economically segregated? If so, where are the grocery stores located in your town? Are there as many comprehensive grocery stores in low income areas of town as in higher income areas?
  4. Are high and low income neighborhoods in your town racially or culturally segregated?
  5. Is having access to healthy food a right or a privilege in our society?
  6. Could you imagine creating a community garden in your town if one is not there already?

Resources:

Themes:

  • Education and Life Lessons
  • Interfaith
  • Taking a Stand and Peacemaking

Full Transcript:

Hi, my name is Heather Forest. Every year in my town of Huntington, Long Island, New York on Martin Luther King’s birthday, there is an interdenominational prayer service dedicated to a social justice theme. About 500 people attend; and priests, rabbis, monks, imams, pastors and ministers from all the local congregations participate in creating the service. They participate in the presentation of the service in full religious regalia. It is a colorful event filled with taluses, and yarmulkes, and vestments and saffron robes. But the most amazing thing about this event is that such a diverse collection of clergy manages to agree on a social justice theme.

Well, in 2012, the social justice theme was “We Can End Childhood Hunger.” Since it was to be a child centered theme, the organizers decided that instead of having someone from the clergy offer the 15-minute long sermon, they would invite a storyteller to come and tell stories about food.

When I received the invitation, I was delighted. I said, “Uh, I’m a farmer and, and a food equity activist. Of course, I’ll participate. I love your theme, ‘We Can End Childhood Hunger.’ That’s great. What are you going to do to end childhood hunger?”

And the organizer said, “We’re going to pray.”

I said, “Well, that’s wonderful but what are you going to DO to end childhood hunger?”

And the voice replied, “Hm, we’re going to raise awareness!”

“That’s wonderful. What if, as well as raising awareness, you raise vegetables. You know, there’s hardly ever any vegetables at the food pantry and vegetables are very important for the nutrition and the health of growing children. What if,” I said, “What if… You know, the congregations in this town, the synagogues, and the churches, they all have big lawns… What if people dug up the lawns, planted vegetable gardens tended by the congregants and then the food was donated to the local pantry. They hardly ever have any fresh vegetables.”

There was dead silence at the other end of the telephone. And, finally, I heard him say, “Well, young lady, you’ll have 15 minutes to make your case. Good luck!”

On the day of the prayer service when it was my turn to speak, I stepped up to the microphone. I took a big breath, and I said to the gathering…

“I’m a traveling storyteller. And one time when I was at an outdoor performance festival along the Hudson River, I took a break and I went for a walk along the river bank to, to enjoy the view. And as I stood there, I was joined by a woman in full African traditional dress and we enjoyed the visit together.

And she then turned to me and she said, ‘I don’t understand your country. In my village back home, it’s different. You have so much land and yet people still go hungry. In my village, if there was a little patch of earth showing, somebody would have planted it with seeds and there would be food growing.’

‘What a novel idea,’ I thought, ‘Planting food everywhere! But how would that ever happen in an urban or suburban environment?’ Well, actually, in fact, it has!

In the town of Todmorden in northern England, a woman named Estelle Brown awoke one morning and thought, ‘If the men can go to the pub, have a beer and start a war, the women can go to the café, have a cup of coffee and change the world.’

And so, she invited a group of her dearest friends to join her in the café, to have a meeting about changing the world. And, of course, they realized the very first thing they needed to decide was a topic about which to change the world. And they chose the topic of food, for food touches everyone’s lives. They made a plan. And they all went back home and took down the fences and walls at the edges of their front yards along the sidewalk. They replanted their flower gardens with vegetables and then put signs in the vegetable patches that said, “Help yourself.”

Well, when the vegetables came to fruit and people walked along, at first, they didn’t know what to do. But then, they enjoyed picking the tomatoes and the peppers. And soon people were planting vegetables in every patch of earth in Todmorden. There was a patch of vegetables growing everywhere from the train station to the police station. The town of Todmorden didn’t…  has vowed to become vegetable self-sufficient. And now people from all over the world come there to see how they could turn their towns, and their cities, and their villages into food forests so that no child goes hungry.”

I said to the gathering, “If anybody here wants to learn about how to plant food everywhere come to a meeting next week right here, same time, same place.” (Well, the next week, representatives from 30 congregations came.)

And as I stood before the clergy assembled before me, I said, “The history of lawns dates back to the 1500s, to medieval times when kings’ in Sp… in England, and France and Scotland would order their serfs to cut down the trees and brambles around their castles so that guards up on the parapets could look out across the vast open space. And they would be able to see the kings’ enemies approaching.

By the 1600s, wealthy landowners emulating the monarchy in an ostentatious display of wealth, cleared the land around their manor houses. And created great, grassy fields to show that they were so rich they didn’t need to use the land to grow food. Instead, they used those grassy fields for bowling games. The fields were called bowling greens and the game that they played evolved into our modern-day game of golf.

Well, in the 1800s, Scottish immigrants brought this new game to the United States and it caught on. It became very, very popular. And the newly burgeoning United States Golfing Association joined forces with the Agricultural Department. And huge research funds went into the development of a new kind of grass seed, a sturdy seed that didn’t have thistles and, and could be grown on golf courses. This is the lawn seed that we’re most familiar with today.

When soldiers returned after World War II, there was a housing boom. And people like William Levitt made places like Levittown and in the interests of the democratization of neighborhoods, he forbid fences. The neighborhood would be united by a carpet of pristine, green grass with no weeds, no seeds, no dandelions and, certainly, no messy fruit. Well, to a human being, a pristine, green, grassy lawn might look beautiful but to a migrating bird swooping down looking for food after a long flight, that lawn is a desert. There’s nothing for a bird to eat. No bugs, no seeds and, certainly, no messy fruit. You know, we are losing species of migrating birds because of lawns. And the petrochemicals that are used to keep those lawns green and pristine, leach down into the ground and, and they damage the fragile water table.”

So, I invited the clergy before me, “Close your eyes. Imagine yourself standing in front of the front door of your house of worship and look at your lawn. Ask yourself a question. Does this lawn represent my values? Do I really need a great, green grassy field around my building so that I can see my enemies approaching?”

Well, that afternoon, four of the congregations in attendance dug up their lawns: Huntington Jewish Center, Dix Hills Methodist, St. John’s Episcopal, Bethany Presbyterian. By the end of the spring, there were ten flourishing community service gardens on lawns in congregations in town. And by the end of the summer, 2000 pounds of fresh produce was delivered to the local food pantry.

The stories that I told that spawned the “Grow to Give Project” helped people from a diverse collection of religious perspectives work together and also to look at something ordinary, like a lawn, in a new way. One of the many powers of storytelling is that it provides an opportunity to envision change.