Why TikTok is the Place to Talk about Antisemitism: With Holocaust Survivor Tova Friedman

Tova Friedman was just six years old when she walked out of Auschwitz. 

Now, 80 years later, Tova is devoted to speaking about her experiences as a child survivor of the Holocaust and being vocal about the threat of antisemitism. She knows how easily a society can transition from burning books to burning people, and she is determined to ensure that never happens again. Tova speaks to audiences worldwide–in person and on the social media platform TikTok, where she has amassed over half a million followers.

Listen to Tova’s harrowing, miraculous testimony of survival, as part of a live recording at the Weizmann National Museum of American Jewish History in Philadelphia, in partnership with AJC Philadelphia/Southern New Jersey. 

Lisa Marlowe, director of the Holocaust Awareness Museum and Education Center (HAMEC), joined us to discuss the museum's mission to bring Holocaust survivors to schools, the importance of teaching history through eyewitness accounts, and the significance of preserving stories of righteous individuals like her Danish great-grandmother, who saved thousands of Jews during WWII.

*The views and opinions expressed by guests do not necessarily reflect the views or position of AJC.

Photo credit: Christopher Brown

Resources:

-About Tova Friedman and TovaTok

-Holocaust Awareness Museum and Education Center (HAMEC)

-AJC Philadelphia/Southern New Jersey

Listen – AJC Podcasts:

-The Forgotten Exodus: Untold stories of Jews who left or were driven from Arab nations and Iran

-People of the Pod

Follow People of the Pod on your favorite podcast app, and learn more at AJC.org/PeopleofthePod

You can reach us at: peopleofthepod@ajc.org

If you’ve appreciated this episode, please be sure to tell your friends, and rate and review us on Apple Podcasts or Spotify.

Transcript of Interview with Tova Friedman and Lise Marlowe:

Manya Brachear Pashman: 

Yom HaShoah, Israel’s Holocaust Remembrance Day, begins on the evening of April 23. To mark this remembrance, our broadcast this week features our recent live event at the Weitzman National Museum of American Jewish History in Philadelphia. There I had a conversation with Lise Marlowe, of the Holocaust Awareness Museum and Education Center in suburban Philadelphia and author and Holocaust survivor Tova Friedman. 

__

Thank you to all of you for being here today to participate in a live recording of People of the Pod, American Jewish Committee's weekly podcast about global affairs through a Jewish lens. I'm your host, Manya Brachear Pashman.

Down here on this end is Lise Marlowe, our partner and organizer of this wonderful event. She is the program and Outreach Director of the Holocaust awareness Museum and Education Center, otherwise known as HAMC in Elkins Park, Pennsylvania, which is just outside here in Philadelphia. She is also a long time teacher who has come up with some quite innovative ways to teach Holocaust history to middle school students. But before we begin and get to all of that, I do want to turn to Lisa for a few minutes. If you could just tell us a little bit about HAMC. What is it? Because we are in a different museum venue now. 

Lise Marlowe:  

Thank you Manya, and thank you everyone for being here today. So HAMC is America's first Holocaust Museum, which started in 1961 by Holocaust survivor named Jacob Riz, who lost 83 family members to the Nazis. Our Museum's mission is to bring Holocaust survivors to schools and organizations. We believe it's important to give students the opportunity to learn history through an eyewitness. When we host a school program, we tell students that they are the last generation to meet a survivor, and once they hear a survivor's story, it becomes their story to tell. It also becomes their responsibility to speak up and stand up to the Holocaust deniers of the world and to say, I know you're lying because I met a survivor. It's not easy for our survivors to tell their story, but they want to honor the family they lost. And to make sure students know what happened so history hopefully doesn't repeat itself. 

Hearing about the rise of antisemitism, seeing hate towards other groups, can bring trauma to our survivors, but our survivors teach students that there are things we can do to stand up to hate. We can remember that words matter, kindness matters, that we can support and help each other when bad things happen. The Holocaust did not begin with concentration camps. It began with words. 

Our museum brings hundreds of programs all over the world, so please reach out to us at HAMC.org. Because we believe education is stronger than hate. We find that students are inspired by the messages our survivors tell them, which is to not hate others. Even though they lost everything. Their families, their property, their identity, their childhood, they teach students that hate can only destroy yourself.

Manya Brachear Pashman:  

Thank you so much, Lise. I met some of Lise's former students who are here in the audience today. You have some really remarkable ways of teaching Holocaust history so that it sticks. I would like to get into that a little bit later. And you also have your own family story to share, and we'll learn more about that later, as she is one of our two guests on today's podcast. 

You see, there are three pieces to our podcast today, including the traditional format of a conversation with our guests, which will come later, and then your opportunity to ask questions. But to really comprehend what we discuss, you must first hear the powerful story that our guest of honor, the woman next to me, Tova Friedman, one of the youngest people to emerge from Auschwitz, the Nazi's concentration camp and extermination camp in occupied Poland. You must hear her story first. 

Tova has worked tirelessly to share her story in every format possible, to reach the widest audience. In addition to telling her story in person, at venues such as this, she worked with a journalist to produce an accurate and comprehensive memoir, and next month, a young adult version of that memoir will be released. 

She's worked with her grandson, Aaron, a student at Washington University, to share portions of her story on Tiktok on a channel called TovaTok, that has about 522,000 followers, and she is here today to reach our podcast listeners. And you. After her presentation, Tova will have a seat once again, and we'll continue the conversation. But right now, it is my honor to turn the mic over to Tova Friedman:.

Tova Friedman:  

Thank you. I have no notes and I can't sit because I'm a walker. You know, I think better when I walk. I think better on my feet. Let me tell you, a few months ago, I was in Poland. I was invited as a speaker to the 80th commemoration of Auschwitz liberation. 

Five years ago, I was there also–75th. And there were 120 Holocaust survivors there with their families and their friends from Auschwitz. This time there were 17 [survivors], and we'll have no more commemoration. We're done. People, the lucky people, are dying from old age. You know, they're, or they’re Florida, or they're gone, okay, they're not available. 

So what's scary is that many young people will not meet a survivor, and they will be told in colleges and high schools, probably it never happened. It's an exaggeration. You know, the Jews. They want everybody to be sorry for them. That will happen. And that's been happening here and there to my grandchildren. 

Right now, I've got eight grandchildren, but two are in colleges, and one is in Cornell. And I got the saddest phone call on Earth. To me it’s sad. He got a beautiful Jewish star when we went to Israel. He called me to ask me if he should wear it inside, hidden, or if he should wear it outside. That's so symbolic. 

And I said to him, do you want to be a visible Jew, or do you want to be a hidden Jew? Do what you want. I will not criticize you. I know that life is changed from when I went to college. America is different, and I'm just so upset and unhappy that you, at age 18-19, have to go through that. One of my grandkids had to leave the dormitory because of the absolute terrible antisemitism. She is in McGill in Canada, and she has to live by herself in an apartment because even her Jewish friends stopped talking to her.

So what kind of a world are we living in? Extraordinarily scary, as far as I'm concerned. That's why I talk. You can hear my voice. I talk as much as I can for a number of reasons. First, I talk in order for those people who were murdered, million and a half children, some of the faces I still remember, and a total 6 million Jews, they cannot be forgotten. They cannot be forgotten. 

This is such a wonderful place here that I hear you have classes and you have survivors talking to kids. You take them to schools. I think it's fabulous, but you got to do it fast, because there's just not many of us going to be here for a long time. So one thing is memory. 

The other reason I speak is a warning. I really feel that this world is again turning against us. We have been scapegoats all through history. Books have been written. Why? Why this? Why that? Why this? Why that? I can't figure out why. They're jealous, we feel with the chosen people. Oh, my God, it goes on and on. But why us? It started 2000 years ago. 

So I'm here to remember, so that all those people didn't just die and became ashes. But we're living in a world where we have to be aware. We have to be aware. You heard statistics that were scary. You know, I didn't even know some of the statistics. That Jews are stopping to use their Jewish last name when they make reservations somewhere? In America.?

You know, I remember when I walked out from Auschwitz with my mother. My mother survived, and I'll take you back and just give me a certain amount of time. What happened? She said to me, remember I was exactly six and a half years old. And I do, I remember. And one of the reasons I remember is because my mother was a big talker. Talker just like I am. I inherited it from her. She would tell me everything. We were in all kinds of conditions.

And I'd say, Mom, what is that? She says, Yeah, that's the smoke, people are being burned. She didn't say, you know, Oh, it's nothing. Don't worry about it. No, no, no, no. She talked and she talked as long as I was with her, until we were separated. That's why my memory is so sharp, and I always tell the younger generation: stop texting and start talking. Texting, you won't remember anything. It doesn't go into your brain. When somebody talks to you, you will never forget. When your mom or dad says things to you, you will remember them. If they text it to you, it lasts a few minutes and it's gone. So that's why I remember so much. 

My mother lost 150 people. She was the only survivor of Auschwitz. The only survivor, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, all gone, and she died very young. She died at 45. Her war never ended. Her Auschwitz, she brought with her to America because she just couldn't get over it. My father lost about all his brothers and sisters except two, and he was able to handle life a little bit better, but she wasn't. 

In my town, there were hundreds of Jewish children at the end of the war. There were five left. Five. I'm the youngest. That's why I'm still here talking. Two have died, and one is in her 90s, and she doesn't talk much anymore. So I feel like I'm representing an entire town that's gone, just gone. A town that had synagogues and they had football and they had a very vibrant town. Where my mother was a young woman. She was studying. My father was an actor, a singer, and a tailor, so he should have some money, but they were all functioning. It's all gone. 

When I went to visit, because I took my grandchildren so they can see, there was no sign the Jews even were there. It's like we disappeared. My memory of the war starts when I was four, not so much before. My parents lived in a very modern town. And because they left the shtetl, my mother wasn't interested in all the religious and the sheitles, and you know, the wigs people used to wear, which, by the way, my daughter now is wearing a wig, which is sort of strange, right? 

And they went to live a modern life. As soon as Kristallnacht came, he knew right away that this is not a place for him. And what do you do when you're scared? You go home, you go to your parents. So my mother and father, I was one year old, went back to their parents' home. What did they find there? That they were already in a ghetto. 

Now, I remember the ghetto at the age of four, there were lots and lots of people in a tiny apartment, no running water, no bathrooms, no food, no room. So I was under the table. All my memories were under the table. And I knew things that were going on. How did I know? Because I heard it. 

You know, a kid at four, four and a half, people make mistakes. The children don't know. Children know everything. They may not be able to verbalize it, but they know. And I knew what was the issue. I knew that they killed children and that I have to be under the table. I knew that. I knew that my grandparents are going to die soon. I heard it. I heard my father talking. I heard my mother talking. I heard the other people talking in the apartment in Yiddish. I still remember the words, oh, they name it. They're taking the elderly. They're taking this. 

Well, one day they came in, they took my grandmother, and they shot her, right outside our window, you know, took her outside. You know what's amazing when I think about this? Because I've tried to get some perspective. I've always tried to figure out, how did that happen? Why? 

How is it possible? Hitler was brilliant, and if he wasn't brilliant, he had brilliant people helping him. Idiots could not have done what he did. They were educated people. He had therapists. He had a nutritionist. And you know what they said, break up the family, and you will break up people. People die when their family is killed, they die sometimes physically, sometimes emotionally. Listen, I'm a grandmother. I have eight grandchildren. I know what it means to be a grandmother in my role, and I'm sure many of you feel the same way. So they took away the elderly. 

One day, my father comes in, and he says to my mother, I just put them on the truck. I know what he meant. I was exactly four and a half because I was standing by a table. I could tell my size. The table went up to my chin, and I knew that there were because the day before these people in their 20s and 30s, they were the strong guys. They dug graves for their own parents. We, the Jews, dug graves for our children and our parents. 

You know when the Nuremberg Trials came, some of the guys said, we didn't do anything. We never killed any…you know why? Because they used us to kill our own people. So that time, my father told my mother what was going on. He was sitting, his tears were coming down. And I could picture it, because, by the way, whatever I tell you, multiply by hundreds. This was a template, you know, like you have a template on a computer, you just fill in the name and everything is the same. You can fill in all kinds. You apply for a job. There is a special way. That's what happened.

The Germans when they came to a town, they didn't have to think what happened. They had the piece of paper, kill the elderly, kill the children, as soon as possible. So I knew. I knew exactly what was going on. I knew that my grandparents were gone, my father's parents, my mother's mother was killed. Her my grandpa died before the war from some disease. He was very lucky. So here we are. One day. I had this uncle, James. He was a German Jew. He spoke a perfect German. 

So he thought, look at our minds. He thought, he speaks German. He's going to volunteer. He didn't have working papers, and he was scared to die. His wife, my aunt, she had working papers. So he went to the Gestapo, and he said, I'll be your translator. I speak a perfect German. I was born in German. And they shot him on the spot. 

So I remember he used to come and visit us. I sat on his lap one day. My father said, you won’t go to see Uncle James anymore. He's not coming back. I didn't say anything. I know he was dead. I didn't know how he was dead. So the reason I'm telling you all the different things is because this happened in every other ghetto. 

We were living 16,000 Jews in 250 apartments, and we couldn't go in, and we couldn't get out, except certain people who had privileges. They had working papers, they had special papers. They could go out. That's how the smuggling started. Also, certain people could go out, bring some food, because we were starving. We were starving to such a point.

You know why? Because the nutritionist, the PhD, the best nutritionist in Germany, told Hitler how much to feed us in order to die. You want them to die in two months? Give them that much bread. You want them to die in two weeks? Give them that. My town, which was called Tomaszow Mazowiecki, has no Jews anymore. I just wanted to mention the name because my family was there for 200 years, because the Poles in the beginning were very good to the Jews. 

They wanted the Jews because we were good business people. Every time the Jews were there, the place thrived. There were close to 100 tailor shops in town, all Jewish. So how could you go wrong? They brought business from everywhere. But now, of course, there isn't anybody. And slowly,  all those people were sent to Treblinka. There were left about 50-60, people, my parents, I among them. There were very few kids left.

And we were the cleanup squad. Not only did my father had to dig the graves, I don't think my mother did. My father, dig the graves, but afterwards you have to clean up. You can't leave a town so dirty because they wanted to leave no witnesses. Hitler had an order all the way from Berlin, no witnesses. That's another reason he killed the children. Kids can grow up and be a witness like me, and that was very dangerous for him.

Because, you know, it's interesting from the psychological point of view, no matter what atrocities he and his people did, in the back of their mind, they were afraid of the consequences. They were afraid of consequences. That's why you leave no witnesses. 

But at that time, my father buried people and he said Kaddish. I didn't know what Kaddish was. I didn't know what being Jewish was. I don't remember any Jewish holidays. I knew that being Jewish means death, but I wasn't sure what that meant, Juden. What is this Juden business? But look at four and a half. I wasn't going to think about it. Anyhow, they moved the camp. We cleaned it up. We came to the next camp, and the next camp was the labor camp. Only work. We worked for more, not me, my parents did, and I want to tell you something about that. 

Slowly they did the same exact thing they did in every other camp. People were taken away. The moment you were sick, the moment you were tired, straight into some camp. One day, I heard, I heard– my mother told me, I didn't hear anything. She said they’re taking the children, whoever, whatever, there were very few children left, maybe 20-30–we've got to hide you. And she hid me in like a crawl space, like they had these tiles or something. I don't know it was tile, something. And she put me in there, and she followed me, just the two of us, my father didn't get in there. And she put me on her lap, I remember. And she put her hands on my mouth. I shouldn't scream. 

I remember it was so tight that for weeks I had blue marks right here. And from the little window, I see where all my friends that I was playing with outside, because my parents were gone a whole day, I was outside with the other kids, put on trucks, but I knew where they were going. They were going to the place where the big graves were dug for them. 

So anyhow, when my mother said, we have to hide, we were there for maybe an hour or two. After it was all done, the kids were gone. We went up downstairs in a little room. She said, from now on, you can no longer be on the street. Okay, so I couldn't go out. I stayed in the dark room for a few weeks. It's another story, but one day I remember, and she came every day from work, she gave me food, and I slept with my parents. Because they were in the room with me. 

One day, she said, Oh, you don't have to go to the room anymore. I was delighted. I said, I don't have to? No, you can go outside. I haven't been outside for weeks, and I saw she was sort of packing, moving things. We had so few things. I said, What are you doing? She says, We're packing. We're going to Auschwitz. Again, they had, you know, cleaned up the ghetto. 

The place was called Starachowice. It was a Polish place. Had a town next to it even, and people who lived around, the non Jews, knew what was going on. They all knew, because there was always a town nearby. There was also a town near Auschwitz. Auschwitz, people lived a normal life there. So anyhow, I knew. I said, Auschwitz. We're going to Auschwitz, okay? I didn't care. I was so happy that I was outside. 

Within a very short time, we started walking. The train was waiting. My parents were separated. That's the first time. We were always together. My father was crying, and I remember I was little, so my mother picked me up, because I don't know if anybody of you either have been either to Auschwitz or to New York City. They have the cattle car by the museum, right outside, right. You saw the cattle car and it's that high, very hard to get on it. So she had to pick me up. She put me in and my father said, Be a good girl. I said, Yeah, I'll be a good girl. And he went to another cattle car. I was with my mother, and then a 36 hour drive began, no food, no no food and no drink, very hot, because they were all women. 150 women, and no bathrooms. 

And I remember, I said, Mom, I have to go. I have to go. She didn't answer me. And then I said to myself, Oh, I know everybody's going where they're standing. I think that that was a dividing line between being human and being inhuman. We’re all dressed like normal kids. I had braids, you know, when we walked out, we were all covered with feces, because everybody was going everywhere. And many people had died, and I am outside standing watching all this going on, and my mother says to me, Get undressed. 

And I said, why? It was about July, August. It was summertime. Why? She said to me, they want to check if we're healthy. So I, very obedient, by the way, very, very. My mother taught me rules, and I'll tell you about the rules. So I took off my clothes, and she said, don't look at the eyes of the dogs. Don't look at anybody's eyes, because these the Germans came with their dogs. And When I was by myself, in the in the labor camp, she also taught me, because I was alone, never have eye contact. She said, eye contact will make you recognize and when you see a dog stand still, which is counterintuitive. 

I was frightened, terrified of the dogs more than of the Germans, but she said, the dogs will think that you're running away, and they are trained to kill when somebody's trying to run away. So in other words, she always trained me how to be self sufficient, how to recognize danger and what to do with it. So eye contact is pure danger, and running is pure danger. So I learned very, very easily how to do that. So when I'm there, I'm standing very still, the dogs are passing by.

And then I say, what's the smell, it stinks here. I said, it stinks. She pointed to the crematorium. They were taking the burning bodies from the gas chamber, and it was all black, and you could smell it. And you know what? She didn't have to say anymore. I knew it. So I remember saying, Mom, how do I look? How do I look? And she said, Oh, you look good. I said, Am I healthy? She said, Yeah, you're very healthy. I said, what about you? Oh, I'm healthy too. She said. And somehow we made it. 

I tried to find out. I wrote a book together with a researcher. He tried to research. He lives in England. What happened that day? Every child under the age of 12 or 13 was taken straight to the crematorium. We’re useless. Old people, pregnant people, sick people. What is old, 50 and over, because you can't work. Even in Auschwitz, you had to work. Even when you waited for your death, there was some job they gave you. So that you had to be healthy, at least.

Anyhow, I don't really know. I was told that we arrived on a Sunday, and Sunday they were the Germans were Christians, so they didn't want to open another crematorium. They had four going. They didn't want the fifth. That's somehow how I and my mother survived. My whole transport, not just me. We were all, you know, a bunch of people. We went to another room. They shaved my head. I remember that very well, because they picked me up and I was, I was quite small, so they picked me up, put me on a bench, and the woman did my hair. And she herself, and I couldn't find my mother, and they gave me some clothes, because they've taken my clothes by the train. And then she found me, and then she took my hand, and we followed a whole bunch of people into Auschwitz proper. This was outside of Auschwitz before you were like, ready, and so you went inside. We got a middle bed, and then she started teaching me again. 

She said, you know, there'll be a lot of people here sleeping. More women, so when you're asleep, you can't move around so much, because then everybody else has to move. Okay. And I said, What about if I have to go to the bathroom? She says, No, you can't. That was a terrible thing for me as a child. I had to hold it, because they had it twice a day to the bathroom. And then she said, Look, you're going to get a cup. I didn't get it yet. We were going to be getting a cup, a tin cup, a spoon and a bowl. If tyou lose it, and if somebody steals it, you'll go hungry and you'll die. 

She said, they don't look at you. You take out the bowl. Somebody gives you something to eat. Nobody touched it, by the way. I was so aware of it. I just want to go a little fast forward, because I need your questions. I need to know what you want to know. And then one of the things I told you is bathroom for kids. It was hard for me to hold it. Well one day, we were all on line, and I really had to go. So I went in front of the line, and I was in such a hurry that I fell. The way the bathrooms were, I don’t know if anybody's been to Auschwitz. The slabs of the boards. It was big, gigantic holes. The holes were like, maybe this size. My grandkids, who are, one of them is 6”2, got the privilege, because of me, to try out those bathrooms. 

He sat on it and he said, Grandma, I don't know how you didn't of course, you fell in. He said, It's too big for me. I fell inside. And of course, they got me out and they hosed me down, but I must have picked up some kind of a bug. There were rats there, there were feces up to here. And I got very sick, but I knew that sickness meant death, so I was very careful not to tell anybody, but that somebody saw me, and they said, this child, this child is ill. 

And they were so scared of illness, because illness meant death immediately. Because every morning they came, they picked up the dead, the sick, on one of those three wheel things. Wheelbarrow, wheelbarrow, to the crematorium. So I was afraid to be one of them. And then somebody said she's sick. She's going to infect all of us. 

They picked me up. I don't remember much about that, because I was really ill, and they took me to one of those places, a hospital, without doctors. When I woke up, I must have had fever, they told me no more. You can't go back to your mother. And that's when they took me to the children’s place. For the first time, I saw so many children, I never knew they even existed, and they tattooed me. I remember. They said, Oh, your name is such and such. No, it's 27,633. And the woman said, Say it. Say it. I couldn't say it. I don't know what numbers were. Never went to school, but she was so kind. She taught me. She said it again. She said, just say the words, say the words. And I did it, and I learned. 

And she gave me a rag with cold water. She said, press it hard. Don't rub. It'll swell. I was there just about towards the end of the war. But one day, I got a package and it said, Happy sixth birthday. I'm six. I didn't know it. I said, Oh, my mother must be somewhere, and she's alive, because she gave me a package. It was a piece of bread, but I was going to save it until I'm dead. I imagine there's a little girl I'm going to be dying, dying, dying, like everybody is dying, but I won't, because I'll take that piece of bread and I'll eat it. I didn't know anything about bread getting stale. I know nothing about bread, so I remember keeping it here, just like that, because it was on a piece of string. In the middle of the night, rats came, ate up everything, tore my clothing, but they didn't touch me. Miracle. There were a number of miracles that, I should have been dead. 

All I can tell you is, within a few weeks, something weird was going on at Auschwitz. I did not know. Terrible noise, terrible shooting. Dogs were barking, and the person who was in charge of us, it was always a kapo, an adult woman, was gone. The door was open, but we didn't dare open the door. We heard the dogs outside, and shooting. We were frightened and we were hungry. There wasn't even the little bit that we got every day, even that wasn't there. 

And all of a sudden, the door opens, and my mother–I didn’t know it was my mother–a woman comes in full of rags. She looks terrible. She looks around. Nobody's saying a word. She looks around, she looks around, she comes over to me, and she looks at me, and she bends down like on her knees a little bit. She says my name, and she says, You don't know me. I'm your mother. I thought to myself, my mother, she doesn't look like my mother. I only saw my mother six, seven months earlier, but she didn't look anything like it. 

She just looked just, I can't even describe it. But she convinced me and listen to what she said. She looked at me. She said, You look like you can survive. Look at me. Her feet were swollen, and she said, listen, we're going to try to hide. We will either survive together or die together. What do you think? I said, I want to be with you. I don't care what. She takes my hand and we snuck, we didn't even have to sneak out because the door was open, but the other kids refused to leave. We were all so frightened, but somehow we got out. 

She's walking. She's walking. Outside the dogs are barking. It's terrible. We're walking very close to the barracks, and she comes to a house, door. She walks. She must have had a plan. I didn't know that. And it's a hospital without doctors. All these people are screaming and crying and she goes from bed to bed. She touches everybody. I don't ask a question. And I'm wondering, why is she doing that? 

She found a corpse that she liked. It was a corpse of a young woman, maybe twenty, now I look back at it to me, she was an adult, in the 20s, nice, nice looking woman who must have just died because she was warm. So she could manipulate her body. I remember my mother took off my shoes, picked me up, and she said, Listen, don't breathe. I'm going to cover you up. No matter what you hear–because she knew I couldn't see anything–what you hear don't get uncovered. Try to breathe into the ground. 

She takes my face, she puts it towards the floor, and she manipulates my body, and she puts me very close to the corpse, and then she covers it up, and outside, you only see the head of the woman who died, and her hands, and her hands are holding like the blanket, so you can't see. All of a sudden, I can hear screaming and yelling. I don't move. I obey orders. And I can hear steps. I remember the steps, and somebody stopped, and I say to myself, Oh, I'm going to stop breathing. I stopped breathing. I was afraid that the blanket would move. Well, I just couldn't anymore. 

The person walked away, and then screaming and yelling went on, I didn't move. And all of a sudden I smelled smoke, and I said, How can I not get uncovered? In the beginning, I still breathed very shallow, but I couldn't. And I said, I'll have to get uncovered to get air. And then all of a sudden, my mother pulls the blanket off me and says in Yiddish, they're gone. The Germans are gone. And she must have hidden with another corpse. And when I sit up in the bed, all these people have been hiding with other corpses.

And in order to get out, they were pushing the corpses off the beds, so the corpses were flying everywhere, you know, while the people who were hidden under the corpses. So she says to me, come. I couldn't find my shoes, so I walked without and she takes my hand, and we were all walking. It was January 25, 1945. Germans have all gone. Taken with them, 50,000 people. Other people were just dying everywhere, and the Russians had not come yet. The Russians came two days later. 

So we had two days inside the camp, without anybody, without the Germans. And we waited until they came, but there was electrified still. We couldn't get out. There was electricity everywhere. So we waited till the Russians came. And while we were standing by the barbed wires, I saw all these soldiers jump off trucks, and they were doing something with electricity. Then they could open the doors. And it was January 27 the liberation of Auschwitz, where children, whoever was left, was left. But many were in the process of dying, and you couldn't stop it. 

Hundreds and hundreds of people died while the Russians were there, because you couldn't stop whatever they had, you know. And I remember, the Russians said, show us your number. Some kids were standing there. There's a picture of it, and I'm standing in front showing my number. And I'm talking for all the kids who didn't make it to that day. So thank you for listening. 

Did I take too much time? I'm sorry. 

Manya Brachear Pashman:  

I don't think you can take too much time sharing that story. I know that there's so much more to share. 

So many miracles, Tova.

Tova Friedman:  

Yes.

Manya Brachear Pashman: 

You have spent most of your adult life sharing your story to advance Holocaust education, and I'm curious what was the catalyst for that? Did someone ask you to share your story?

Tova Friedman:  

I tried to talk to people when I came to America. Because my teachers, I could read. I didn't go to school till I was 12. So I wanted to tell them why, but nobody heard me. Nobody cared. Nobody wanted to talk about it. But one day, when my oldest daughter was 15, she said to me, they're looking for a Holocaust survivor in school. Can you come to my class? That's how I started.

Manya Brachear Pashman:  

And then your grandson, many years later, introduced you to this thing called Tiktok, right?

Tova Friedman:  

I didn't know what Tiktok was because my daughter worked for a candy company called Tic Tac. You know the Tic Tac that you eat, the little white things that you have, like they make noise and stuff. So that's her company. Well, it's not her. She works for them. So I said to my son, what would a candy company be interested in the Holocaust? It's the same word. In fact, I still don't know the difference. Tik tok? Tic Tac?

Manya Brachear Pashman: 

Tic Tacs.

Tova Friedman:  

Tic Tac and TikTok?

Manya Brachear Pashman: 

Yes. Right, that’s what you’re on, TikTok.

Tova Friedman:  

A refugee is always a refugee. So he said to me, we had Shabbos dinner in his house, and he said, Can you give me two minutes? I said, Of course. He said, Just tell me something about yourself. Two minutes, because the people who are going to hear it have a two minute span. They can't listen to more than two minutes. I said, What should I say? Anything? Okay, my name and two minutes. Goes very quickly. And then all of a sudden, a half hour later, he said, people are interested. I said, what people?

He said, on this. I said, on what?  You have a phone in your hand. What are they, who? And that's how it started. He first explained to me the system, what it means, and he got questions. He said, Would you like to answer the questions? I said, Who's asking? You know, I mean, I'm not in the generation of social media. I don't even have Facebook. I don't know any of that stuff. So he explained to me, he taught me, and he's very good at it. He's a wonderful guy. He's now 20. He’s at WashU. And he became the person who's going to try to keep it going.

Manya Brachear Pashman:  

Well, your presence on Tiktok is really this wonderful, really, very innovative way of reaching people, of reaching young people, Jewish and non-Jewish.

Tova Friedman:

Right.

Manya Brachear Pashman:  

Lisa, you've come up with some unusual ways to reach young people. You were a middle school teacher until two years ago. Is that right? But you had this project where you had your students draw stick figures, and this was more than two decades ago when you started this. Can you tell us a little bit about the stick figures, which is like the polar opposite of Tiktok, but just as innovative? 

Lise Marlowe:  

So when I started teaching the Holocaust, and the first thing you say is 6 million Jews were murdered just for being Jewish, I realized the number did not shock students. I mean, it was sad, and they were empathetic, but the number 6 million…when we think about this generation and our sports heroes and our celebrities making millions of dollars, 6 million didn't sound like a big number. So at the time, I just had students take out a piece of paper and draw 20 stick figures across the paper. And to keep doing that for five minutes to see how many we could draw in five minutes. And my class, on the average, could draw, almost all of our elementary schools and middle schools in five minutes time, thousands of stick figures in five minutes time. And then the next day, when I went to my lesson, I’m teaching the Hitler's rise to power, one of my students stopped me and said, Wait, Mrs. Marlowe, aren't we going to draw stick figures? And I said, What do you mean? 

And she said, Well, I went home and I talked to my grandmother, and the other students were jealous that we're drawing stick figures. And I think if we get together, my church and all of our friends, we pull together, I think we can draw 6 million.

Tova Friedman:

Wow. 

Lise Marlowe:  

And I said, you want to do this? And she said, Yes, I want to do that. So it warms my heart that every year I had hundreds and hundreds of students drawing stick figures, mostly not Jewish students. We are in a very diverse community in Shawnee school district, one of the most diverse in the state, mostly students of color, and I had them handing me in 1000s of stick figures every week, it covered our whole entire gym floor. And when I retired, sadly, we did not get to all the children, because we know 1.5 million children were murdered. 

There was 1.6 million children to start with, and that means 94% of all the Jewish children were murdered in Europe, and we did not reach that milestone. And that shows that 6 million is a big number. And I have students like, you know, they're in their 30s and 40s now, who will always stop me on the street and say, did you get to 6 million. They always remember that's that project, and I have to, sadly tell them, we didn't even finish the children.

Manya Brachear Pashman:  

Tova, I would say that teaching is your side gig, right? You certainly have done so much to advance education, but professionally, you're a therapist, and I'm curious if your experience, your lived experience, has informed how you communicate with your patients?

Tova Friedman:  

I think it does. You know, to me, time has been always of essence. Time is the only thing we have. Money comes and goes. You look at the stock market. Tight now, it goes. Sometimes it goes up, sometimes it goes down. Time is the only thing. Once you lose it, it's done. 

So when I get a therapist, that's how I always thought, because timing to me, like, how many people just died that didn't have the time, like those 6 million people that you drew. And the children, how much they could have accomplished, had they had time, right? Time was taken from them. So when I get a client, the first thing I say, listen, we're not going to be here forever. We're not going to sit and talk about your parents and your grandparents. Five years from now, you'll be able to maybe. No, it's going to be time-limited, and it's going to be quick. And you have to accept my style, or there's so many people who love having you for 10 years. I need 10 weeks or less. 

That means that their goals, you accomplish them. I'm a little tough, and I say I'm not going to hold your hand, even if I could. I can't anymore because of COVID and because a lot of it is on Zoom. But even when I had them in my office, I said, I will not be a therapist who's going to sympathize, sympathize, sympathize. I'll sympathize for five minutes, then we're going to work. And a lot of people will say to me, Oh, that's exactly what I needed, somebody to really push me a little bit. I said, Yeah, but that's the way it's going to be. 

And others say, Wow, you're a mean person. I don't want to want to be here. I said, there are hundreds of other therapists. So yes, Holocaust has taught me, eat it fast, or somebody else will take it. I'm sorry, but also that's one thing. But let's talk about the good things. This is good too, but. My degree was in gerontology, because Hitler was, that's the most vulnerable in our society. 

You know, the elderly become alcoholics. Loneliness is among the elderly, financial issues. You know, loneliness is a killer. And I worked with the elderly to help them. I felt that's, that's the people that are sort of redundant. So that's where I worked with. I did it for years. And then I went to other age groups. I feel that my experience gives them courage. 

You know, come on, come on. Let's do it. Try it. Don't worry. What can happen? What can happen if you speak to your to your father or to your mother and you say this and this, what can happen? In my mind, I said–I don't tell them that, and don't say I said that–I said there are no gas chambers here. So just you know, in my mind, I said, the consequences are minor, so let's do it. And it works.

Manya Brachear Pashman:  

And I wondered if it was the level, the level of trauma, pales in comparison to what you went through? 

Tova Friedman:  

No, no.

Manya Brachear Pashman:  

That's what I was wondering. 

Tova Friedman:  

I feel that every trauma is different than, you know. You can't say, Well, my foot hurts, and it's so, big deal. So your foot hurts, my two feet hurt. No. Every pain deserves a healing, even if it's a little toe, it deserves it. And I take it very seriously. Most clients don't know about me, hopefully. I don't talk about anything personal. But I'm a little bit, you know, we don't have time on this earth. Let's make it as good as possible. 

Manya Brachear Pashman:  

Thank you, thank you for sharing that. Lisa, I want to ask about your family, about your great grandmother's efforts. She was not Jewish, but she saved thousands of Jews in Denmark, and I'm curious how that story was passed down in your family.

Lise Marlowe:  

So I started learning the Holocaust at a very young age, because my grandfather was from Denmark, and he actually fought against the Nazis for the Danish Navy, and he would share with me how his mother rescued Jews in boats, in fishing boats, and take them to Sweden. And I never really heard that story before. And I was able to go to Denmark and go to Sweden and do more research.

And I learned that she was actually the editor of Land of Folk newspaper, which was a major resistance newspaper. 23 million copies were given out secretly to make sure that people knew what was happening. But I was so proud, you know, being Jewish that my non-Jewish side of my family helped to rescue people, and I think it really helped me with the work that I do now, and standing up, and social justice, that's always been a passion of mine, and I think just her story inspired me to stand up for others. And they literally saved 99% of the population by getting them to Sweden. And it's really a truly heroic story that's not told that much. But the Danish people, if you ask them, they're very humble, and their attitude is, it's what people are supposed to do. So I'm just very proud of that Danish heritage. 

Tova Friedman:  

Do you think that their king or something has something to do with it? Leaders? Tell me about that?

Lise Marlowe:  

It's a myth, right, that King Christian wore a Jewish star. He did say, if the Nazis require our Danish Jewish people to wear the star, I will wear it with the highest dignity. Along with my family. And Danish people didn't treat the Jews as the other. They considered them their friends and their neighbors, and that's why they did what they did. 

Tova Friedman:

Wonderful. 

Lise Marlowe:  

They didn't see them as the other, which is such an incredible lesson to teach students. 

Tova Friedman:

Yes, yeah.

Manya Brachear Pashman:  

Preserving these stories is so important, your experiences. Have you witnessed as lasting an effort to preserve the stories and pass down the stories of the righteous among us, like your great grandmother. And I ask you both this question, is it as important?

Tova Friedman:  

I think it's, you know, Israel, there is this wonderful, in Yad Vashem, the big museum, there's a whole avenue of the righteous. You know, I ask myself, what would I do if my family would be in danger in order to save somebody else, and the answer is, I don't know. But I am so utterly amazed that people do that. And there are many–well, not enough–but this is very impressive, your story, and I would love to learn. I don't know the answer, what separates one person from the other, that one is selfless and looks at humanity and one only at their own families? 

I wish some studies would be done and so forth. Because we have to do something right now. We are now considered the others. You know, we are, in this world, all over Europe, except, ironically, not in Germany. I was in Germany, and I spoke to German kids, high school kids in German. I didn't know I knew German. I just got up and I saw they were trying so hard to understand. I had an interpreter, and I didn't understand the interpreter. And I said, Let me try. Let me try. I speak Yiddish fluently and German a little bit like that. Also, I lived three years in Germany, so I didn't speak it, but it must have come into my head.

And do you know what they did after my speech? 250 kids? They came over. They apologized. I mean, they’re a generation separated. I went to Dachau, where my father was, and there were two women whose parents or grandparents were Nazis, and they said to me, we're dedicating our entire life to preserve this Dachau andcamp and and they they have, they give talks and Everything, because my family killed your family, but they admit it. So right now, Germany has laws against it. But what about the rest of the world? What's happening in America? So I would love to know how the Danish did that. It's a wonderful story. It makes your heart feel good, you know. Thank you for the story.

Lise Marlowe:  

I would just add, the survivors we have today were the children who survived, right? Most of the adults are gone. And they were the hidden children. And most of them were hidden by non-Jewish people. Actually, all of them were. The Catholic Church, a farm lady, you know, who said, she took kindness on them. So you know, the hidden children were mostly hidden by non-Jewish people in terms of the righteous of the nations.

Manya Brachear Pashman:  

Thank you both so much for your insights. This has been a really illuminating conversation. 

If you missed last week’s episode, be sure to tune in for my conversation with AJC Chief Policy and Political Affairs Advisor Jason Isaacson, about legacy of the 2015 Iran Nuclear Deal, the U.S. withdrawal from that deal in 2018, and Iran’s dangerous stockpiling of uranium that’s getting them closer to nuclear weapons capabilities.

You can also listen to our latest episode about the impact of Pope Francis on Jewish-Catholic relations.

From April 27-29, 2025, we will be at AJC Global Forum in New York City. Join American Jewish Committee (AJC) and over 2,000 committed activists at the premier global Jewish advocacy conference of the year. After the horrific attack on October 7, 2023, and in this fraught moment for the global Jewish community, escalating threats worldwide underscore the importance of our mission.

All who care about the fate of the Jewish people, Israel, and the values of the civilized world must respond now with action, urgency, and resolve. If ever there was a time to stand up and be counted, that time is now. Your voice is needed now more than ever. 

If you won’t be with us in person, you can tune into the webcast at AJC.org/GlobalForum2025.