My grandfather, Szymon, was born in a very small town inPoland called Knyszyn. During World War II, the first bomb to land in that areaof Poland fell on his kitchen, instantly killing his mother, grandmother, andcousin. The next day, the Nazis began rounding up the Jews in town to send themto concentration camps. When my grandfather, his father, sister, and brotherwere on the cart taking them to the train headed to Treblinka, they decided tojump off and run for their lives. They had no choice. They knew that if they got on the train, it wouldlead to certain death. As they escaped, they left behind a bag with all theirvaluables. The man driving the cart was a good person and took the bag to thetown priest.  In the following days, my grandfather and his family foundshelter in a hole underneath a barn (actual barn pictured above). Every Sunday,when the farmer who owned the barn went to church, the priest would pay him bygiving him an item from the bag as long as he could prove that the Brzezinski’swere still alive. My family stayed in that hole for twenty-two months until theRussians liberated them on August 10, 1944. 

At the same time that my grandfather Szymon was hiding fromthe Nazis in Poland, his future wife, Joan, was a young girl growing up inMexico City. In the morning, Joan and her sister would be escorted to school bytheir dog, Nellie. When they would reach a crosswalk, Nellie would stand infront of them like a crossing guard until the traffic stopped. Then she wouldmove aside when it was safe for them to continue. Once the girls had safely crossed the street, Nellie would walkback home. In the 1940’s, Joan and her family moved into an apartment above TipTop, the furniture store that her motherowned and operated. While living there, my grandmother had a dog named Puffythat she shared ice cream with on hot days. My Grandma Joan’s favorite memoriesare tied together in this poster to represent a nostalgic time of her childhoodin Mexico City.

My great grandmother, Yvonne, was born in London in 1909,where she studied piano at the Conservatory of Music. In the mid to late1920’s, Yvonne’s father fell ill. His doctor advised him to leave “cold andrainy London” and go on vacation to a warm place, so he went to Mexico, wherethe sun is always shining. He fell in love with the country and decided tostay. Three years later, his wife and their three daughters joined him. It wasthere that Yvonne met my great-grandfather, Sam (Shimshon), who bought her apiano as an engagement present. I imagine that playing music on this pianooften served as a comfort to Yvonne, who was living in a new country with adifferent language and culture. The piano later belonged to my grandmother, Lillian,and was eventually passed down to my cousin Susana, the pianist in the family.

Although I never got to know my grandfather, Boris, I feelthat I am able to piece together a memory of him by hearing stories from mymother and other family members. These pieces are represented by the delicate ceramic tile art, called talavera, which is native to Puebla, Mexico. Boris was born inPuebla in 1928 and studied chemical engineering at the Universidad Autonoma dePuebla, where he discovered one of the first formulas for sunscreen. He latersold the formula to Johnson & Johnson when he was unable to successfully sell it on his own. When my motherwas eight years old, her father opened a bowling alley called BolPuebla. Every day after school, she and herbrother would go there to help out and do their homework.  One of her happiest memories is that every Sunday the familywould go out to eat, and she would always order what her father did; usuallyseafood, his favorite. Boris passed on his love for baseball to his family bytaking them to games or by listening to them together on the radio. His passionfor the game even entered the heart of my mother; who, as a little girl, didnot like baseball, but eventually came to love the game as much as her fatherand still cherishes the times when she rooted for the Puebla Pericos with him.

The branches of my family tree all stem from Eastern Europe.From the late 1910’s to the late 1940’s, my ancestors left their countries oforigin in search of a better life, a new beginning. They immigrated to MexicoCity bringing with them their Jewish traditions, languages, and stories, whileat the same time embracing those of their new home. Like the branches of atree, their diverse cultures crossed paths and intertwined with one another.The combination that emerged is carried on today through my sister and me.While the branches continue to grow in different directions, my שורשים  (pronounced shorashim, meaning “roots” in Hebrew) are deeply embedded in ahistory of immigration and mixed cultures.

This is a photograph of the final piece in the gallery.