Growing up in Poland, Morris experienced antisemitism early. He remembered that even while playing soccer, the Polish kids would attack the Jewish kids. Since there was already antisemitism, there weren’t many new signs of the terrible events to come as the antisemitism was already a normal thing where they were. After the Polish prime minister Józef Piłsudski died in 1935, things got a lot worse for the Jews in Poland. There were warnings written on walls about violence against Jews, and soon pogroms began. Synagogues were destroyed, and cemeteries were desecrated. By the late 1930s, Jews in Poland felt something terrible was coming, they had no money or any way to escape. Only one of Morris’s sisters managed to escape to Russia.
Then on September 1, 1939, Germany invaded Poland. When the Germans arrived in Lodz, Morris and his younger brother Joe tried to escape on foot toward Warsaw with hundreds of other people. On the way, they saw planes flying low, shooting at civilians over and over. This was the first day and it was horrible. Many people were killed, a couple hundred at least, and so Morris and Joe decided it would be better to turn back to Lodz.
In February 1940, the Lodz ghetto was created and sealed from the rest of the city. Morris’s father and older brother were placed in a different section, while Morris stayed with his younger brother Joe. To survive, Morris decided to take apart wooden fences and steps from abandoned houses and sell the wood to Polish people as a way to make money. A little while later the Germans called for strong men to register for a labour camp in Germany and promised money for the work. Morris and Joe both registered but only Joe was accepted. Morris wasn’t accepted due to a lung issue. However, three months later, Morris tried again and was accepted. He was then sent to Beelitz, his first concentration camp, where there were about 300 Jewish prisoners. They received very little food, just bread in the morning and soup after work. He was there for about 10 months and in 1941, he received a letter informing him that his father had passed in the Lodz Ghetto around early 1941.
He was then moved to several more camps, including Finkenheerd and Küstrin-Neustadt, where he worked with coal and helped produce materials used in ammunition. In 1943, he was sent to Auschwitz. The train stopped at Birkenau. They were forced off the train, stripped naked, and then lined up to be checked. Morris got his number tattooed on his arm which was 142028 and then he was placed in barracks. He was only there for about two weeks.
After Auschwitz, Morris was then sent to another camp called Lagisha, which he described as one of the worst camps. Within just a few days, hundreds of prisoners were reduced to only 18. Every day, men would go out to work, never to be seen again, and then the next load would come to the camp. He worked in a brick factory moving heavy materials but one day, a stone crushed his foot, leaving a deep hole in his foot. Instead of being killed, he was sent back to camp and treated for three weeks. Because of his injury, he was moved to kitchen work, peeling potatoes. A German officer there noticed his singing and treated him better.
As the Russians approached, prisoners were moved again through Gross-Rosen and Blechhammer. Later, they were forced onto trains to Buchenwald, packed tightly with no food or water. Eventually, during the death march, German soldiers were shooting people at random. Morris fought to stay in the middle of the group to avoid being shot. He met a man named Elek Goldfarb, who stayed with him. Together, they escaped by running through a gate while guards were spaced apart. A shot was fired, but missed them. They hid in a barn, then were helped by a farmer who gave them bread, cheese, and shelter in the forest.
On April 28, 1945, Morris saw American tanks and knew he was free. After the war, in a displaced persons camp, Morris eventually found out that his older brother was alive and went from camp to camp searching for him. After searching, they were reunited, along with all the other siblings, by the end of 1945. In 1946, his sister returned from Russia. All of the Goldlust children survived.
Morris came to Canada on January 17, 1951 from Paris with his wife Sonia. He met and married his wife Sonia in Lansberg. Sonia was born in Germany and hidden in a convent with other Jewish girls during the war. Together they had 3 kids. Esther, who is my grandmother, and Velv were both born in Paris, and Shimmy came later in 1951 when they were already in Canada.
Morris’s story is one that inspires me. It shows resilience, perseverance, and the strength to start a new life. As a part of 10 different concentration camps, he witnessed countless unimaginable things, impossible to even comprehend and today, I’m here, in Auschwitz, one of the destinations through his incomprehensible journey, living to share his story and continue the legacy of publicizing these horrific events.
Morris was always one that could make you smile in an instant, lighting up the room with projection and confidence, as his voice echoed through the walls and through our hearts. You never wanted to stop listening. His story reminds me, similar to him, to never stop singing. It doesn’t have to be good, trust me I’m nowhere near that, but we can’t be silent. We need to project our voices, sing out our hearts and truly tell the world NEVER AGAIN. Our beautiful slow shira and Havdalah on TRY was a moment and tradition that turned into what was like a live concert. People stopping, listening, filming, and feeling the connection and love that we all had for one another, our identity, and our homeland. WE are the next generation, WE have the power and the whole Jewish future in our hands, and WE can decide what we will do with it.
Morris’s story is only one of millions of the brutal reality that was faced by all those before us. Millions, whose lives deserve to be remembered, their stories taught, and their voices singing through all of us. Now it’s our time. Time to belt out our tune, and raise our voices for those who don’t get to anymore. Dance for those who can’t dance anymore. Laugh for those who can’t laugh, and live our lives to the fullest the way that they would have wanted to. We too can live with passion, strength, resilience, and positivity. It’s never ever too late. WE TOO CAN SING! And we better belt it out for the world to hear. We do it for Morris, for all of our families, and for the entire Jewish people. AM YISRAEL CHAI!
By Eden Peters
