The only thing I know about these family members (at least I think they’re family members, I found these four photos dated 1927 to 1938 in a shoebox of black and white photos after my father died) is that every one of them who was alive in November 1942 was definitely dead by the end of November 1942. I am awaiting translations of the inscriptions on the back of each, written in various Yiddish handwritings, as undecipherable as cuneiform to me. The translations will hopefully give a clue or two about who each person was.
All dead in a massive international pogrom, victims of one of the countless mass killings in those crazy days when Nazis occupied virtually all of Europe. Incidents of mass murder sadly consistent through the ages, continuing as we speak. Yesterday there was a similar massacre in Mali, over a hundred slaughtered.
The expressions on these faces seem to ask “how many American school children are taught about the two day Tulsa, Oklahoma pogrom of 1921?”
A “racial” massacre perpetrated by enraged racists, like so many others over the years, approved by local law enforcement. Like all others done by our countrymen it has been erased from collective memory (such as it is here) because, well, it does tend to make America look like the same kind of barbaric shithole that Belarus was for Jews back in those dark hopeless days. Like every other place where mass killing is winked at by the authorities, for a time.