![]() ![]() ![]() Years later, my parents hosted the first ever Kurc family reunion at our home in Massachusetts. Photo: Georgia Hunter with her Grandfather “They spoke very little of their experiences.” “I didn’t meet his family until 1946,” she said. When I asked my grandmother what happened to them, she shook her head. He’d spent years in South America, trying without success to reconnect with the parents and siblings he’d left behind in Poland. ![]() “Eddy was living in France at the start of the war,” my grandmother said, explaining that he’d talked his way into a Brazilian visa, and had fled for Rio on a ship full of refugees in 1941. I sat down with my grandmother for an interview and it was then that I discovered, over the course of an hour, that my grandfather (whom I’d assumed until then to be American through and through) was raised in Poland, and that he came from a family of Holocaust survivors. When I was fifteen years old, a year after my grandfather had passed away, my high school English teacher assigned our class an “I-Search” project – a study in looking back at our roots. ![]()
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