Red Cross Month Volunteer Leader Spotlight: Tom Hlenski

This has been a particularly active year for Tom Hlenski, who has been a Disaster Mental Health (DMH) volunteer with the Long Island Red Cross since 2005.

During Hurricane Irene, Tom, who holds a doctorate in social work and maintains a private practice in Nassau and Suffolk counties, worked at the then-Red Cross Suffolk headquarters in response operations. He offered emotional support to those affected by the hurricane, including those requiring shelter, before, during and after the storm.

Tom also had the recent opportunity to get involved with the New York City Red Cross through an ongoing liaison with that chapter’s disaster mental health volunteers. As part of this liaison, Tom and his wife, Donna Cain-Hlenski, a licensed clinical social worker who also volunteers in DMH, were invited to be part of the 2011 ING NYC Marathon Red Cross medical team. DMH volunteers were prepared to assist marathon participants and others experiencing psychological stress as a result of running or working the marathon, as well as families of the runners who required care.

Tom said he had two strong reactions to having worked the Marathon. “First,” he said, “I continue to be amazed with the scope of the Red Cross and its dedicated volunteers who provided a host of services to the runners. Second—what an exciting event to be a part of!”

Tom joined the Red Cross as a spontaneous volunteer in 1995 to help the families of the victims of the crash of TWA Flight 800. Tom assisted the families and first responders, working alongside Red Cross Disaster Mental Health experts. He was impressed by the training and professionalism of the Red Cross workers. He knew someday he would want to dedicate more of his time to volunteer work, and kept the Red Cross in mind after that initial experience.

Around the time Hurricane Katrina hit in 2005, Tom, inspired by Donna, who had long been involved in volunteer organizations, which included volunteering and serving on the board of Make-a-Wish Foundation, decided he wanted a more active role as a Red Cross volunteer.

Tom’s first Red Cross deployment was to Florida, where he provided emotional support to families affected by Hurricane Wilma, as well as to first responders and other Red Cross volunteers.

Today, Tom and Donna’s grandchildren, 12-year-old Emily Ray, 8-year-old Lainey Grace, and 6-year-old Cain Thomas, continue to motivate them to serve. Tom has even spoken at the children’s school about the Red Cross and how it feels to help others. He hopes that someday they too will want to volunteer.

Tom proudly points out that 2012 is the 20th anniversary of the Red Cross’s Disaster Mental Health group and that DMH is a huge part of today’s relief efforts. It is now common to see mental health workers at disaster sites and in Red Cross reception centers and shelters across the Greater New York region, supporting volunteers, employees and Red Cross clients.

Diane Ryan, regional director of mental health and client services for Greater New York, met Tom three years ago, when they both responded to the tragic aviation incident in Buffalo, N.Y.

“Over the course of the 10 days we worked together,” said Ryan, “Tom impressed me with his manner of providing support to those in great emotional pain, his flexibility to do whatever was needed, and his support to all of the Red Cross and other agency workers.”

Even as Tom maintains his practice as a private health practitioner, he is dedicated to putting in the necessary hours it takes to keep the DMH group in top shape.

For instance, Tom is always looking to recruit volunteers. He explains that a great deal of work goes on behind the scenes before a disaster strikes, including regularly scheduled leadership meetings, conferences and calls. Additionally, DMH leaders are constantly working to develop and improve “Best Practice Strategies and Procedures.”

Tom believes that what you get back from volunteering far outweighs any disruption to your “regularly scheduled” life.

He said, “The feeling you get going out after a disaster strikes by being part of the mending process and connecting with the people who need you right then and there, is so powerful and rewarding.”

Red Cross Month Volunteer Leader Spotlight: Ross Ogden

Few people can claim to have volunteered with the Red Cross for more than 50 years. Ross Ogden is one of them.

Ogden began volunteering with the Red Cross Greenwich, Conn. chapter’s youth department way back in 1960; he was in high school at the time. His commitment continued at nearby chapters while he was getting his BA at Swarthmore College in Pennsylvania and his MBA at the University of Virginia.

Since he’s begun volunteering, Ogden has done a variety of jobs. He has worked with the Greenwich chapter as a blood volunteer, an active Disaster Action Team (DAT) member. He has participated in more than 20 Disaster Services Human Resources assignments (i.e., traveling to volunteer at Red Cross disaster relief operations across the United States), and been a member of Greenwich’s Emergency Blood Coverage team. He has served on the Board of Directors for multiple terms since 1974, and is currently on the Board of Advisors.

It is this variety of opportunities for service that has helped to keep Ogden engaged with the Red Cross. “It is such a broad humanitarian effort,” Ogden said, “that I always feel like there is something new to do at the Red Cross to help people, and that makes it interesting.”

Ogden has also held many positions within the National organization, including Volunteer Chairman of the American Red Cross Northeast Region and National Chairman of Chapter Services. Today, he serves as National Volunteer Chair of Disaster Services for the entire United States. He is also on the Board of Directors for Red Cross Blood Services in the Connecticut Region.

Gaining by giving

And just as Ogden has given of his time and talents to the Red Cross, the Red Cross has provided him with opportunities he may not have otherwise had.

“I‘ve always felt that the Red Cross has given me far more than I’ve ever been able to give to it,” said Ogden. “There is so much to gain from volunteering—so much satisfaction from helping other people, so much to learn, so many new friends to make, so many different things to do and experience.”

One such opportunity he is particularly grateful for is when the Red Cross paid for him to attend a three-week program run by the Hauser Center for Nonprofit Organizations at Harvard University’s Kennedy School of Government.

Gratitude for recognition awards

Due to the quality and longevity of his service, Ogden has been recognized on numerous occasions. Among others, he has received both the Clara Barton Award and the Harriman Award for Distinguished Volunteer Service—the highest honor bestowed upon a Red Cross volunteer at the national level. But despite the accolades, he has remained a humble server.

“The Harriman Award was unexpected,” Ogden said. “I can remember my early days at the Red Cross, being at the convention, seeing someone become the recipient of the Harriman Award, and thinking, “Wow! That person is just amazing.” It’s not anything I ever expected to receive, and I was enormously surprised and deeply grateful for that recognition.”

What Ogden values most—even above the awards—are the deep and diverse friendships he’s made while serving the Red Cross. When he received the Harriman Award in 2010—an honor that coincided with his 50th year of service—his words brought the crowd to its feet, “It’s not the award for which I am most grateful” he said. “Instead it’s the volunteer experience the Red Cross has given me that I truly appreciate.”

Wide-ranging volunteer experiences

And his experiences have been greatly varied. He has sat with a cancer patient receiving a life-saving blood transfusion. He has administered CPR to a heart attack victim. He has spent the night in a hospital trying to console a sailor whose wife had committed suicide. And countless times he has helped bring food, shelter, comfort and hope to people who have lost everything due to a natural or man-made disaster.

There just isn’t a job Ogden won’t do, and he enjoys all of them—especially when he gets to come face to face with those he is helping and see firsthand the impact of his service.

Even after more than 50 years of working as a volunteer, Ogden remains committed to the future of the Red Cross. He wants to see the organization continue to increase service delivery, empower communities and succeed in encouraging more people to volunteer in new and innovative ways. He is also committed to mentoring young volunteers.

“The most important thing I can do now,” said Ogden, “is to try and instill in others—particularly in young people—the thrill, excitement, and lifetime of reward that they can get out of volunteering for the Red Cross. In working with the Red Cross as a volunteer you really gain by giving.”

You Never Know

By Laura S.

Though I am new to the Red Cross as a volunteer, I have had a relationship with the organization since childhood.

I grew up in Florida, as part of a family that was heavily involved in scouting. My parents were scout leaders and my brother and I were scouts in Brownies and Cub Scouts until we were teenagers. Both my parents were also Red Cross volunteers who taught first aid and CPR classes in our communities.

As soon as I was old enough, at age sixteen, I completed Red Cross lifeguard training and started lifeguarding at the Girl Scout camp I attended as a child.

Later, I became a water safety instructor and was also able to teach swimming lessons, water safety and rescue breathing. I continued lifeguarding through high school and college and always kept my certification up to date.

My brother became a trained EMT/firefighter. It was engrained in us, from both from scouting and our Red Cross training, to always be aware, prepared and safe.

After college I moved to New York and got a job as a public school teacher. Life was busy and hectic, and I was under pressure to get my required master’s degree in order to keep my job. All my Red Cross certifications lapsed and getting re-certified wasn’t a priority.

Ten years later, shortly before I had my first child, I brushed up on my first aid and CPR knowledge through the Internet. I knew I should take a refresher course, but I was confident that I would know what to do if I ever needed to use it.

When my daughter was an infant I spent many hours standing over her watching her breathe, as many a new and anxious mother will understand. The tiny creature in the crib was so helpless, and yet so unimaginably everything to me.

Sleep became a constant battle in my post-partum life. For me to sleep, she needed to sleep—but only long enough so that I wouldn’t run frantically into her room to make sure she was still breathing. Of course she was always breathing, but hormones and fatigue didn’t allow me to see that my fear was irrational.

By the time my son was born three years later, I felt like an old pro at being a mom. I didn’t suffer the same post-partum anxiety with my newborn this time, and it was a relief to feel like I had things under control, especially since I also had a toddler with her own set of needs. I was actually getting some sleep too, because I didn’t have that urge to check to make sure the baby was breathing all night long.

When my son was two weeks old, I left him with our regular babysitter so that I could take a friend to lunch as thank you for taking care of my daughter when I was in the hospital having my son.

The fact that I left him at all, even for just a couple of hours, was testament to how comfortable I felt this time around, since I never left my daughter with anyone until she was over a year old.

He was very fussy that day, but as I told myself, “It’s okay. Babies cry.”

All afternoon and evening he fussed and cried and barely slept. I was certain this was the beginning of what it’s like to have a “colicky” baby. He was eating normally, all of his needs were being met and he was just about the right age for the always-dreaded colic to kick in.

After hours of rocking, bouncing, soothing and singing, he finally fell asleep in my arms. I was exhausted, but afraid to transfer him into his bassinet for fear that I would wake him, so I carefully sat on the couch and held him on my shoulder. My husband and I turned on the television and planned to relax and watch our favorite sitcom.

About ten minutes in however, I had what I can only describe as a “mother’s instinct” moment and I somehow just knew that something was wrong. My son, who had been sleeping soundly on my shoulder, was sleeping a little too soundly. I quickly flipped him into a cradled position and found him purple, limp and not breathing.

I immediately shouted at my husband to call 911, dropped to my knees and laid my lifeless son on the floor.

The next thing I knew, my baby was screaming. His face was flooding with color and he was spitting mad.

Apparently, I had just performed CPR on my newborn son. I don’t remember doing it. I don’t know how I had the wherewithal to do it. I don’t even remember what I did exactly. It came to me as if in a dream, and it came as naturally as if I did it every day.

The cause of my son’s ALTE (acute life-threatening event) turned out to have been a blood-infection. His tiny body became septic and just shut down. He spent the next two weeks in the hospital on intravenous antibiotics to clear the infection, but there was no permanent damage to his brain since he was resuscitated immediately.

It is still almost unbearable for me to think about what would have happened that night if I had laid my son down right after he fell asleep, or if the ALTE had happened when he was with the sitter. We were incredibly lucky. But luck aside; when it all comes down to it, it wasn’t luck that saved my son’s life. It was training.

He is a joyful, healthy 8-year-old today because I learned CPR from the Red Cross when I was a teenager. And you can bet that my children will be trained as soon as they are old enough—because you never know when you might need it.

My Five-Alarm Life: Making the First Move

By Aabye-Gayle D. Francis-Favilla

When we made the decision to wait for our apartment to be rebuilt, we found ourselves on the shores of an indefinite expanse of time as nomads with no clear way to get across. And when all was said and done, we had ended up moving six times in 10 months. Each move had its blessings and challenges. Each step remained out of our view until we needed to take it—presenting itself at just the right moment. It was like trying to find our way in the dark with a flashlight that only let us see where we were already standing. But we made it.

Our first move’s objective was simple—get out as soon as possible. After the fire, our apartment was a dark, cold, dripping wet and windowless mess. Our few salvageable belongings needed to be packed up and taken out. Most of our clothes went to the dry cleaners to be treated in a special solution. The rest we washed (and rewashed) ourselves as many as four or five times in a row to rid our clothes of their smoky smell. It helped to put a bit of vanilla extract in with the wash load (a trick I learned on the Red Cross website).

Sorting through our belongings my hands grew raw and numb. It was late December, the building’s heat had been cut off, and the windows to our apartment had all been removed. It was hard to tell what was damp and what was simply freezing.

Some things were clearly ruined. Our couch was graciously hosting a colony of mold, and part of our ceiling had caved in onto our bed. Other things made it through unscathed. One cupboard of mugs and glasses in particular looked unaffected. It was eerily spotless, especially considering that in a cupboard nearby everything was sitting in sooty puddles and full of brown-speckled water.

Even though our apartment was cold, dark and destroyed, it was hard to leave that last day—especially not knowing how long it would be before we saw it again. That apartment had been our home—a refuge of joy and comfort—for two years. We loved it. One day it would be fixed and we would move back in, but in the meantime I was homesick—and for a place that would no longer exist as it had. We couldn’t go back. Even when we returned it would be different. And when would we be able to return? No one could tell us for sure. It could take months—possibly as long as a year.

Move number one: We just had to get out. My brother-in-law lived less than two miles away, and he took us in. It was helpful being so close to our apartment while we dealt with the post-fire logistics. And it was comforting to be with family. We were ultimately able to stay with him for two more nights, but he himself was renting, and his landlord wouldn’t let us stay for any longer. We had 48 hours to find our next step.

Two friends came to our rescue. They offered to let us live with them for one month. We couldn’t accept their generous offer fast enough. Move number two: We packed up my car and shuttled our belongings from Queens to Manhattan. It took three or four trips back and forth to get everything. In hindsight, we probably should have left more with the in-laws. That’s a mistake we kept making. Somehow, even though we didn’t have much (by before-the-fire standards), we always managed to have too much to fit in my car in just one trip.

Living in The City was a dream fulfilled. We had traded my brother-in-law’s living room futon for a real bed in our own bedroom. We even had a bathroom to ourselves. My husband was closer to work, and I was able to leave my car with family and not have to worry about alternate side of the street parking rules—another dream answered.

Our accommodations were luxurious, but our lives were still unorganized and full of uncertainty. We had no finite timetable for when our home would be ready, and no idea where we would live next. It had only been a week since the fire, and we’d already moved twice. And with our possessions pulled in so many different directions, I couldn’t keep track of everything. Was it in storage? Maybe. Was it in my in-laws’ basement? Perhaps. Did it get thrown away or left behind in the apartment? Quite possibly. Was it still at the dry cleaners or in our friend’s closet? Hard to say. Good luck finding it—whatever “it” was. Everything felt like a loose end.

Having a full month to figure out our next step took a tremendous burden away. I no longer had to be in panic mode. We could relax a bit and find something that would really suit our needs rather than choosing something inadequate out of desperation. I was two parts hopeful and three parts pessimistic—mildly anxious to figure out where we’d live next.

Where did we live next? And how we move there in the snow and on the subway? All that to come in the next installment of “My Five-Alarm Life.”

Saluting Black History Month – African American Leadership in The American Red Cross

From the beginning, African Americans have played an important role in the mission of the American Red Cross. Here we salute the accomplishments of some remarkable individuals who achieved recognition and prominence through service.

Frederick Douglass (1818-1895)
Advisor to Clara Barton
African American involvement in the American Red Cross goes back to the beginning of the organization. After the Civil War, Clara Barton, founder of the American Red Cross, met with famed abolitionist Frederick Douglass and talked about establishing a Red Cross Association in the United States. Mr. Douglass supported Miss Barton's efforts and continued to support the work of the Red Cross after it was founded in 1881.


Frances Elliott Davis (1877-1965)
Red Cross Nurse
In 1915, Frances Elliott Davis, a professional nurse at Freedman's Hospital in Washington, D.C., applied for American Red Cross service. Undeterred by initial rejection, Ms. Davis persisted and in 1917 became the first African American Red Cross nurse officially approved by the organization. Her nurse's pin was inscribed with "1-A" on the reverse. The "A" designated the wearer as an African American, and this practice continued until 1949.


Dr. Charles R. Drew (1904-1950)
Medical Pioneer
Anticipating the need for a stockpile of blood reserves if the United States entered World War I, the U.S. government asked the Red Cross to establish a program for blood collection and plasma processing for the military. The pilot center was set up through the Red Cross chapter in New York City and began operations at Presbyterian Hospital in February 1941.

Dr. Charles R. Drew, one of this nation's foremost physicians and a pioneer in blood collection and plasma processing, was chosen as medical director of the project. This National Blood Donor Service for the military was later expanded to include a blood program for civilians and was the forerunner of today’s Red Cross Blood Services.

Gwendolyn T. Jackson
National Chairman of Volunteers
In 1989 Gwendolyn T. Jackson became the first African American to be appointed Red Cross National Chairman of Volunteers. The office of National Chairman of Volunteers was established in 1953 as the second highest volunteer position. Prior to this appointment, she served as Chairman of the Board and Executive Committee of the Greater Milwaukee Red Cross Chapter.



Dr. Jerome H. Holland (1916-1985)
American Red Cross Chairman
Dr. Jerome H. Holland was the first African American to be named Chairman of the American Red Cross. Dr. Holland was appointed by President Jimmy Carter in 1979. The Chairman, the highest officer in the organization, is a volunteer and presides over the Board of Governors.

During his term as American Red Cross chairman, Dr. Holland took the lead in consolidating the growing laboratory operations of Red Cross Blood Services programs. Because of this, a 110,000 square foot biomedical research and development facility in Rockville, Md., was named the Jerome H. Holland Laboratory for the Biomedical Sciences in his honor.

My Five-Alarm Life: Thank You Notes

By Aabye-Gayle D. Francis-Favilla

Since our fire, I have sent out 53 thank you notes. At least 53 times a person, couple, family, or group of people has done something special for us. Many of the 53 notes were sent to friends and family that we’re close to, but a number of them were sent to acquaintances or strangers who, despite not knowing us well (or at all), were compelled to do something generous.

Shelter: One group that deserved our thanks was everyone who put a roof over our heads while we waited for our apartment to be made livable again. Whether for a few days or several weeks, friends and family opened their homes to us. Each was a gracious host, each we owe a tremendous amount of gratitude.

Food: It was a full two weeks after the fire before I had to cook a meal for myself (other than my regular morning oatmeal). Friends and family took turns cooking for us or taking us out and treating us to a meal. It wasn’t something I would have thought to ask for, but I appreciated having one less thing to worry about. And some of the food went beyond basic sustenance—a good out-of-town friend sent us a delicious batch of homemade cookies. Another friend made us bread.

Clothes: It took a few weeks before we had any clothes of our own (beyond what we’d run out wearing on the night of the fire). And especially in those days before we knew what would be salvageable, we wanted to avoid buying anything unnecessarily. But it was winter, so we didn’t just need clothes, we needed layers of them. My husband didn’t even have pants—he had rushed out of our burning building in his pajama bottoms. Again, friends and family and their friends (people who didn’t know us directly) came to our rescue. A former colleague sent me a large box full of clothes: socks, sweaters, gloves and everything in between. One of my husband’s colleagues gave us each a handmade scarf. Some of those gifted items are favorites in my wardrobe to this day. And each time I wear one I remember where it came from, and I’m grateful.

Money: Knowing that because we had renter’s insurance, we would be reimbursed for anything we had to replace or repair due to the fire, we discouraged our friends and family from giving us money and asked them to instead make donations to the Red Cross or our church. But some chose to give us financial help anyway, and we couldn’t have been more grateful for each person who did so. Additional expenses kept cropping up that didn’t qualify for reimbursement. A few days after the fire, my car needed almost $1,000 in repairs, then came an almost $600 medical bill, but because of the financial gifts we’d received, we had the money to cover whatever expenses came our way. Again, some of these people hadn’t even met us before, but they had heard our story through someone who knew us and were moved to give.

Transportation: When we had to evacuate due to the fire, I left my only set of car keys behind. Even after I got my car keys back, sleep-deprived as I was until my insomnia subsided, I didn’t have the energy to drive. Friends took turns offering us rides from point “A” to point “B” and helping us move our stuff. One friend in particular drove us to church on two different Sundays, and for you to fully understand how moving his gesture was, I have to tell you that we were staying in Manhattan at the time, our church is in Queens, and he lives in the Bronx. And he didn’t just give us a ride; he also brought breakfast for us.

Miscellaneous: There were lots of little inconveniences right after the fire as well. We didn’t know where we’d be living at first or how long we’d be able to stay there, and so while we could put some things in storage, other things we wanted more accessible, but didn’t want to have to transport every time we moved—we were nomads now. A good friend stepped in and offered his closet space to us. As we got things back from the dry cleaners, we were able to store all of our out of season clothes with him. Someone gave us a power adapter for the laptop that had miraculously made it. Another friend gave us a shopping cart. That shopping cart proved extremely useful. It was very large, and I used it to transport the majority of our stuff from one temporary home to another via the subway.

Fun: People went beyond providing for our necessities, and gave us opportunities to play and have fun. We were given movie tickets and games. Friends and family had us over to talk, play, and just forget our worries for a while. Each person who helped us laugh or rest (or otherwise appreciate the joys of life a fire can’t take away) was invaluable to us.

My husband and I were overwhelmed by love. We had always known we had good and generous family and friends, but they still surprised and overwhelmed us with their kindness. And so I was compelled to send out 53 thank you cards. And those notes of gratitude don’t even fully encompass all I’m thankful for. They don’t include all the people who were working behind the scenes, the anonymous givers, or those who offered help that extended beyond our needs. It doesn’t include all my prayers of gratitude for making it out alive and uninjured and for everything we didn’t lose in the fire. And it doesn’t include any who (in my frazzled mental state) I simply forgot to thank formally.

I’m grateful for the Red Cross. The help offered by this volunteer and donation-based organization addressed our immediate needs for food, shelter and clothing, and reduced our mental strain by providing us with guidance. Without the Red Cross we would have wasted countless hours spinning our wheels as we tried to figure things out. We came in full of uncertainty and questions. We walked away with just one or two forms to fill out, the information we needed, and clear instructions.

I’m grateful for every person and resource that helped us. Because of them, we were able to look beyond our loss. The fire took a lot from us, but in its aftermath we gained incredible amounts of love and support. And ever present was the knowledge that it could have been gravely worse. We had lost stuff (and, temporarily, our home), but we hadn’t lost our lives or suffered serious injury. We were surrounded and embraced by generosity, thoughtfulness and love. We had a lot to be thankful for—much more than 53 thank you notes worth.

In the next installment of “My Five-Alarm Life,” I’ll tell you about all of our temporary homes and the six moves we made in the ten months it took for our apartment to be restored.

Red Cross Holocaust Tracing Team Helps Fill in Pieces of a Family Puzzle

Holocaust survivors Lea Rubinstein & Murray Berliner
May 7, 1947, New York.

Imagine not knowing the answers to many of the family identity questions most of us take for granted: What were my parents’ childhoods like? Who are my aunts and uncles? Do I have any cousins?

Growing up as the daughter of two Holocaust survivors who met and married in the United States, these are questions Hannah Berliner Fischthal struggled with—and she is still seeking answers.

An English professor in New York City, Berliner Fischthal wanted to write a book about her family’s history, but as she began the project, she realized that she knew little about the paternal side of her family. “I didn’t even have names,” she said.

Berliner Fischthal’s mother, Lea, was more forthcoming than her father, so she knew a bit of her story: Lea had grown up in Belgium along with her parents and brother. They had managed to escape being sent to a concentration camp by fleeing to southern France and living there as Catholics for the duration of the war.

Berliner Fischthal’s late father, Murray Berliner, had been sent to two different forced labor camps in Germany, but he was unwilling to talk about his experiences before and during the Holocaust. As far as he was concerned, he was “born” in 1946 on the day he entered America; he wouldn’t talk about the life (or family) he’d had before that day.

In 1994, Berliner Fischthal started looking for answers about her father’s holocaust experiences, as well as those of his family. “I was very cynical,” she said. “I didn’t think I was ever going to get information from Germany. When I first started writing letters almost 20 years ago, I got no information at all.”

Berliner Fischthal enlisted the help of every organization here in the United States and abroad that offered tracing services. She sent requests to Jewish Records Indexing–Poland and the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum. As part of the latter’s response, they recommended that she contact the Red Cross.

At first, she was told by Red Cross there wasn’t anything to be found about her family. But over time, she received nuggets of information, and those would lead her to other information.

It has taken years, but with the help of the Red Cross, Berliner Fischthal has learned more of her father’s story. He was born in Poland in 1912 and grew up with six brothers and three sisters. He was married and had a child. He, his brothers, sisters, wife and child were all rounded up and sent to different concentration camps. Berliner Fischthal’s father, three of his siblings and a niece survived; his other siblings and his wife and child did not.

Once Berliner Fischthal learned about her father’s nine brothers and sisters, she was able to make additional inquiries and find the names of their spouses and some of their children.

The family tree that had been pruned by tragedy was getting filled out. Relatives she didn’t even know existed now had names and birthdays. She was subsequently able to find out which concentration camps they’d been taken to.

Most recently, the Red Cross was able to provide Berliner Fischthal with the Polish birth certificate for her Aunt Esther.

“I’ve always had the feeling that the Red Cross was genuinely trying to help and wouldn’t give up,” Berliner Fischthal said. “Sometimes it took many months, maybe a year, before information came through on a particular person. But I didn’t feel alone in the process, or that I was asking questions that were never going to be answered.”

There are still pieces missing in Berliner Fischthal’s knowledge of her family, but thanks in large part to the Red Cross she now has a much fuller picture.

“Receiving factual information from the Red Cross became an increasingly important way of filling in some of the tremendous gaps in my knowledge about my family that was murdered in the Holocaust,” she said. “I am very grateful for the real help the Red Cross provided.”