It had been a long time since I'd seen my friend, Margo—several decades, in fact. Growing up on the same block in the Flatbush section of Brooklyn, we had been inseparable in childhood. Moves from the East Coast--I to Tucson, she to Los Angeles—and assorted life changes drifted us apart, but we recently reconnected on Facebook. My trip to LA to apply for my Austrian passport
I am recently back from a quick restaurant-packed trip to Los Angeles, where I went to apply for my Austrian passport. I gravitated towards food I craved because I can't get it in Tucson -- before my Tucson readers complain, I am challenging you to dispute my statement that there is not a single Jewish-style deli in town, good or bad -- and food that celebrated my new Austrian
It was a long and circuitous route studded with emotional landmines, but today I can announce my arrival at the destination: My application for Austrian citizenship was approved. I was apprised of this fact via a phone call from the Austrian consulate in Los Angeles that I almost didn't answer. It was a late afternoon in January and I was watching Amy Schneider rout her
As my CV will tell you, I am an editor as well as a writer. Correcting spelling and grammatical errors is second nature; I'm one of those people who proofreads restaurant menus (though not, you'll be relieved to hear, out loud when I'm with other people). So perhaps it's fitting that I should end up contemplating the fate of my namesake aunt because of a typo on a
Though I am not as good as I'd like to be at keeping up with this blog—and not as good as Google would like me to be, according to my rankings--many people have nevertheless managed to find my posts over the years. Most recently, I heard from my cousin Rena, whom I'd been trying to locate for years. Those marital name changes wreak havoc on genealogy. She commented: I
It's been a while since I started working on my application for dual citizenship with Austria. So long that I forgot I had already filled out the preliminary forms and emailed them to the Austrian Consulate in Los Angeles. So long that I let my hair go Pandemic Grey and I am now I'm obsessing: If I put those grey-tressed images on my new Austrian passport (which I do not
Like many writers, I enjoy crafting articles. It's fun to explore different topics and, after all this time, I still get a kick out of seeing my byline in different outlets. But publishing has changed in recent years, largely for the worse. Magazines and newspapers are constantly folding or getting bought out by large corporations, with a concomitant shift of staff and
I'm thinking about applying for dual citizenship with Austria. As of September 1, it is available to direct descendants of those killed or forced to leave the country when it became Nazified. I easily qualify on both sides of my family, with a mother and father born in Austria and residing there in 1938, not to mention grandparents who were unable to escape. As "dual"
When I talk about my parents' forced departure from Vienna, I generally focus on the tragic outcome: the death of almost all their immediate family members, except for my father's brother, Fritz. On this Father's Day, I'd like to focus on the bravery -- combined with what must have been ingenuity and a bit of luck -- that got Paul Jarolim to America from Nazi-occupied
Death and destruction take their toll on families in every war. Less common to major conflicts, World War II also scattered Jewish families to the winds, robbing them of the comfort of a homeland to return to -- at least not without mixed feelings. This was one factor in the rift between my father and his only surviving sibling. A Bit of Background My
When it comes to my mother's family, the topic of military service is fraught. I've written before about the fact that my grandfather Herman Rosenbaum served in World War I but was not rewarded for his service by such basic decency as not being deported from Austria and sent to his death. I've also written about how I disliked the idea of my family members as victims. It
Since I started exploring my family stories on the pages of this blog, I've often wondered what my life would have been like had my parents not been forced to leave Vienna. Several Hypotheticals There are many variables I'm ignoring here, of course. My mother liked to say that my father fell in love with her because "she sounded like home" when they met in Brighton
Here's another long-time-coming post from my blog archive, this one dating back to July when my cousin Andreas Oberndorfer first discovered this blog and contacted me. I wrote about Andreas's fascinating past, the missing links in his family -- and mine -- in the post Redheads, Resisters, & Red Light Districts, 1: Valerie Oberndorfer-Kornmehl. I have many excuses,
In my backlog of unfinished posts, this one -- started in November 2019 -- seemed the most timely for this pandemic Passover. It's partly elegiac, which fits the current mood, but it's also about finding new family. And about endurance. A deli-denying newscaster plays a part in the narrative too. Fake news! Rolled Beef, Redux In my dual roles of amateur family
Freud's Butcher is the gift that keeps on giving. Just when I think I'm about finished with the story of my maternal grandparents' family, another member turns up. This time it is Andreas Oberndorfer, grandson of Valerie Oberndorfer-Kornmehl and nephew of my second cousin once removed, Bruno Oberndorfer-Kornmehl. My newfound Viennese relative appeared out of the blue.