Yesterday morning, I walked about 30 minutes in downtown Stockholm toward the synagogue and lost my way among the many side streets that radiate from the apartment where we are staying. It must have been luck or destiny that caused me to be late. Had I arrived a few minutes earlier or later, I would have missed my only opportunity to get inside the security fence at the synagogue and to see the Holocaust Memorial wall.
I arrived just as a car pulled up to the gates and a man unlocked the fence. I hustled my way through and headed directly to the wall where the name of Jacob Galas was carved, but the man stopped me, saying that the synagogue was closed and that I could go no farther. I begged him for five minutes, enough time to find the Galas name among the 8000 names listed here, but since the names were not in alphabetical order, the man said he could not give me the time. I tried to explain my quest and pleaded with him to give me just a few minutes--all the while trying to read the names as he kept walking toward me and I kept walking backward toward the memorial. Fortunately for me, I found Jacob's name and when I pointed to it, the man said, "I know this family. I was Jacob's grandson's mohel (the man who performs the circumsion) and I was the rabbi for the funerals of Szymon and Rosamarie Galas and their spouses. I am now the cantor here at the synagogue." So he knew Sylvia and Josef and their families very well. He introduced himself, and we found ourselves deep in coversation about his role in Jewish-Swedish genealogy, his own quest for family in a Belarussian village, and his Chicago roots. Now he didn't want me to leave!
I headed back to the apartment, met up with Courtney and Jenn, and we headed two hours north and east to summer homes of my cousins. At Sylvia and Zev's home on the Baltic Sea, in the afternoon, I met the last of my Swedish cousins, Josef Gawronski (Sylvia's brother) and his companion Anna Almquist. Over a traditional Swedish lunch of herring and potatoes, we had a chance to get to know each other. Sylvia and I spent an hour sitting on our sunchairs looking at the calm Baltic waters, talking about our parents. I loved this moment.
I may be a little tired of re-telling the Galas family story and I sense that Josef is reluctant to hear the details, so I save this discussion for later. We all spend a leisurely afternoon on the shore,nodding off in the warm sun and cool air, going boating, and finally heading over to Josef and Anna's summer house 10 minutes away. Late into the Swedish night where the sun does not set until 10:30 p.m., we talk over a delicious dinner of grilled meat, broccoli, and salad. Cousin Elinor makes us all laugh at her mimicry of foreign accents, and Anna charms us with jokes and stories of her students.
This morning, we have a lovely breakfast looking out at the protected cove and watching the dogs romp. While my thoughts are now turning toward home, I will be sad to leave these lovely people and this stunning scenery.
I don't know how my mother would feel about the effort I have made to reclaim the family history and legacy; there is so much that she --and I--lost. But I will say goodbye to my cousins this evening with a feeling of profound joy, and hope that we will always stay together, at least in our hearts.
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