Ep 231: Legacy Chronicles with Donna Rosenblum and guest Herb Grubman on hmTv

Legacy Chronicles – Ep. 231: “Second Generation, First Principles”
Director of Education Donna Rosenblum sits down with HMTC docent Herb Grubman to explore what it means to be Second Generation—and why testimony can’t stop with the survivors. Through the lives of Herb’s parents—from Dęblin and Biała Podlaska to Siberian imprisonment, DP camps, and rebuilding in the Bronx—this episode traces trauma, resilience, and the quiet heroics of starting over. Expect vivid family stories (coal cars at age 12, the First Polish Army fighting to Berlin, summers in Far Rockaway rooming houses) and a candid look at raising children under the long shadow of war.

Along the way, Donna and Herb dig into why authentic, primary-source storytelling matters now—amid misinformation, rising antisemitism, and curriculum overload—and how Second Gen voices can keep history accurate, human, and usable.

Transcript

Legacy Chronicles — Ep. 231

Learning from the Past, Shaping the Future
Host: Donna Rosenblum (Director of Education, HMTC)
Guest: Herb Grubman (Second Generation; HMTC Docent)

Donna:
Welcome, everyone, to our next installment of Legacy Chronicles—Learning from the Past, Shaping the Future. I’m your host, Donna Rosenblum, Director of Education here at the Holocaust Memorial & Tolerance Center—HMTC. Today I’m joined by Herb Grubman. Herb, thank you for being here with us on the podcast.

Herb:
Thanks for having me, Donna.

Donna:
We’re talking about what it means to be Second Generation—and your involvement here at HMTC. You wear at least two hats: you share your parents’ story and you guide visitors as a docent. Let’s start with your parents. Tell us a bit about them.

Herb:
Both my parents were Polish, from the eastern part of Poland—about the worst place to be in those years. My mother was from Dęblin. Until the war, hers was a typical Jewish childhood for a working-class family. My grandfather was a shoemaker—he specialized in the uppers, not the soles. There was discrimination, but they managed as many poor, working-class Jewish families did—until the war broke out.

Donna:
Was the family in trades, farming…?

Herb:
Trades. And Dęblin mattered militarily—it had a Polish Air Force academy and sat along the Vistula River with other strategic points. That made it a prime target. As the war began, ghettoization followed. By age 12, my mother was in a forced labor camp, loading coal onto railcars—twelve years old. She was there with a brother and a sister until the deportations started. She was separated and never saw her parents again.

Donna:
How large was the Jewish community in Dęblin?

Herb:
Several thousand Jews with a long history there.

Donna:
Siblings?

Herb:
My mother had four sisters besides herself. One sister survived and reached the U.S. about a year after my mom, but she had been so damaged by illness from forced labor that she died at 27—after surviving the war. It was a second shock for my mother.

Donna:
And your father?

Herb:
My father came from Biała Podlaska, further east near what’s now the Belarusian–Polish border. Also strategic; the Germans used it as a staging area before invading the Soviet Union. He was the eldest of four; two sisters and a brother. My grandfather taught in a religious school—what we’d call a cheder or yeshiva. My father was drafted into the Polish Army at the outbreak—he was about 20—and he never saw his parents again. As borders shifted and powers divided territory, he was taken prisoner and sent to Siberia. He was “liberated” when the Soviets were losing so many men that they formed the First Polish Army under Soviet command. He fought west, all the way to Berlin, and helped take the city. He rose to captain—we have photographs we’re very proud of.

Donna:
How did your parents meet?

Herb:
In a displaced persons camp. After my mother was released from forced labor, there was a chance to meet people and piece together a life. She met my father there, and they married soon after.

Donna:
And eventually the United States?

Herb:
Yes. After years wandering Europe—still facing antisemitism and few opportunities—distant cousins in New York sponsored them. They arrived in 1951 on the SS Liberty, a year before I was born. They started from scratch and built the American dream. They settled in the Bronx. I was born and raised there. My sister, Irene, is a few years older—she was born in Paris, where my parents lived until they could reach the U.S.

Donna:
Growing up, did your parents openly discuss being survivors? Or did they shelter you?

Herb:
They spoke Yiddish at home, and Polish too. When they realized I understood Yiddish, they used more Polish if they didn’t want me to catch everything. Their friends were mostly other survivors—relatives, neighbors, members of the old landsman societies. Those societies even arranged burial plots. I knew very young that my parents were survivors—accents, references, conversations with friends about the war and coming to the States. They didn’t sit me down for The Whole Story, but I overheard plenty.

Donna:
What felt different about your household compared with friends’ homes?

Herb:
My parents were loving and devoted—couldn’t ask for better. But trauma shaped daily life. My mother was anxious—glass half empty—and always prepared for the worst. She denied herself luxuries, even when we could afford them. Survival mode lingers. We lived meagerly at first: a one-bedroom; I shared with my sister, and my parents slept on a foldout in the hallway. Secondhand furniture, nothing matched—but we had what we needed. Food was sacred: my mother was a fantastic cook, could make a feast from almost nothing, and wasting food was a sin. “Clean your plate” wasn’t a suggestion; it was policy.

Donna:
Vacations?

Herb:
Not the fancy kind. Summers, like many Bronx families without air conditioning, we went to Far Rockaway. Some rented bungalows; we stayed in rooming houses—one family to a room, bathroom down the hall, communal kitchen with your own table and fridge. Honestly, some of the best summers of my life. Later, when my dad earned more, we graduated to the Catskills—still the budget room, still the bathroom down the hall (eventually shared with only one other room—big upgrade!). My parents gave us every opportunity they could. Given what they’d endured, they did a remarkable job.

Donna:
Did you ever hear their stories start to finish?

Herb:
Pieces over time. I was curious, then obsessed with learning—never missed a documentary, then read widely. As I matured, I asked more questions. They answered, but I’m sure they didn’t tell me everything. They made sure I knew the Holocaust happened, that it could happen again, and that I should do everything possible to prevent it.

Donna:
How long did they live?

Herb:
My dad died about 21 years ago at 86. My mother died about 10 years ago at 88. It’s amazing that after such early suffering, they had the strength to live long, meaningful lives.

Donna:
I imagine they found joy in your children—and then grandchildren.

Herb:
Absolutely. People say survivors sometimes soften with the grandkids—guilty as charged. I’m blessed with a couple of grandchildren. They taught me about family, resilience, and protecting what we have. It’s powerful healing.

Donna:
When did you get involved at HMTC?

Herb:
I worked with my son to document my mother’s story—we made a film and offered it to organizations as testimony. That led me to HMTC. I learned about volunteer opportunities, met you and Zach, and thought, “This is where I can help.” With so many first-generation survivors passing, someone has to continue the testimony. Otherwise, history isn’t just lost—it’s distorted.

Donna:
Exactly—telephone game history. We need it documented, preserved, and told authentically. And there’s the added challenge: many young people don’t learn about the Holocaust at all.

Herb:
Right. Some encounter false narratives; others get no narrative. That’s why this work is critical.

Donna:
As a former social studies teacher, I know the curriculum balloon keeps expanding—nothing gets cut. It’s hard to fit everything in. But that’s why community partners like HMTC matter. You lead tours; we’re building your 2G testimony drawing on both your mother’s and father’s histories. What would you say to other 2Gs who aren’t sure they’re ready?

Herb:
Get involved—at your pace. Do what you can: speak, write, help with programs. Sitting home and worrying yields zero results. If we share the goal—educate kids to build a world with less hate—we all win.

Donna:
And to those who think they have nothing to add?

Herb:
You do. Come see what happens here. Watch a tour. Start small. Many of us did—and some of us basically live here now. (In the best way.)

Donna:
Before we close, the world feels… on fire. What are your words for navigating the anger, hate, and the rise in antisemitism we’re seeing globally?

Herb:
I’m saddened, not surprised. Jewish history has seen this before. What’s different now is speed—social media and AI can amplify misinformation instantly. People need to recognize how much of what they see is crafted to confuse and inflame. A hater rarely hates only Jews; they hate many groups. Aligning with them is dangerous—today it’s someone else; tomorrow it’s you. We also need to do a better job teaching the world about Jewish contributions—to medicine, science, the arts, philanthropy, journalism, business, film, music—you name it. Every community has good and bad actors; that’s humanity. But the Jewish impact on the world has been enormously positive. Learning that truth opens hearts. We’re a small people who’ve made a big difference. Education—here at HMTC and beyond—can shift minds. And we Jews ourselves need to be more united across our differences; unity makes us more effective in shaping a better future.

Donna:
Well said. Humanity Matters—that’s the heart of HMTV. We’re all part of the human family. If we focus on that, we move forward. Herb, thank you for being with us today. And thanks to everyone for listening and watching. Please like and subscribe. Until next time—have a great day.

Herb:
Thank you so much.

Donna:
Take care, everyone.