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This book is a tribute to Adolek Kohn, our father, grandfather and great grandfather, in gratitude for his constant love and devotion to all of us.

 

The first section contains dad’s account of his years in the Łódź Ghetto, from 1940, when he was just nineteen, until he was sent to Auschwitz in August 1944. 

 

I discovered his memoir in 2017, when my sister Celina and I were packing up our parents’ home after his death the previous year. At the time, Mum had just moved into my home.

 

Although I often heard him speak about his experiences in the ghetto, it was deeply moving to find this record on paper, written in his own hand.

 

Dad was a wonderful storyteller. He told his stories with the same spirit in which he lived his life: even when recounting horrific experiences, he found a thread of goodness and optimism, so that his stories always lifted us and left us with a sense of hope. 

 

I recognise so much of him in these handwritten pages —the rhythm of his speech, the flashes of humour, his courage and resourcefulness, the loyalty to his family that drove him to work tirelessly and take enormous risks to protect them. 

And I recognise his determination to rise above atrocity, to survive and flourish.

 

Most of all, this memoir reveals dad’s desire to remember and memorialise the beloved members of his family who were murdered in Europe between 1940 and 1944. He wrote to honour them, to bear witness to their story as well as his own, and to ensure that future generations could carry their memory forward with love and respect. 

 

This was his hope, and it is mine too.

 

I cannot be certain, but I believe dad wrote this Łódź ghetto memoir in the 1980s, when he was in his sixties. Nearly forty years later, after his death, I found some of his handwriting difficult to decipher. I asked Dad’s lifelong friend, David

Prince (Z”L), to help me interpret some words and phrases, particularly names of people and places and expressions in Yiddish, Polish and German. 

David and Adolek not only shared a bunk in Auschwitz-Birkenau in 1944, but also many of the experiences recounted in this memoir.

 

In transcribing dad’s memoir, I have tried to intervene as little as possible in his written expression. I have, however, made occasional changes to spelling and punctuation to help readers navigate certain sections. 

 

Dad often shifts between present and past tense, and I have largely left this intact; perhaps it reflects both the vividness of the memories he was reliving and the fact that English was not his first language.

 

The second part of this book gathers together writings and photographs celebrating Adolek’s life and legacy beyond the

Holocaust. These pieces provide a spirited contrast to the ghetto memoir. Despite the suffering he endured, perhaps even to spite of it, he chose to live with exuberance, generosity and passion. Our home was always filled with creativity, joy, friendship and dancing. 

 

When dad returned to Auschwitz in 2009, he expressed – through words and through dance – the empowering love of family that enabled him to rise above the trauma of his youth with kindness and hope rather than anger and bitterness. 

 

Celebrating life with the generations he nurtured became his ultimate and irrefutable answer to hatred.

 

I feel so fortunate to have had a father like dad. His positivity, open-heartedness and unconditional love continue to inspire and sustain me.

 

– Jane Korman

August 2026