Robert Krell did not identify as a Holocaust survivor until the age of 41. His evolving realization about his own experience mirrors a larger trend in the understanding of child Holocaust survivors. As a psychiatrist, academic and leading Holocaust educator, Krell has been at the forefront of this evolution.
In a new book, Emerging from the Shadows: Child Holocaust Survivors, Their Children and Their Grandchildren, Krell brings together a number of his lectures and presentations, as well as contributions from other scholars and survivors, to explore the multigenerational impacts of the Shoah on families.
Krell discusses a “hierarchy of survival” consensus that prevailed for decades after 1945, in which concentration camp survivors were perceived as the “real” survivors, followed by hidden adults, partisans, those who fled and others.
“Children caught up in the horrors were dismissed as ‘too young to be able to remember,’” he writes.
Krell was one of those children.
There were dark portents from the beginning of his life. When Krell was born, on Aug. 5, 1940, the Dutch hospital of his birth was already occupied as an SS headquarters.
After successive waves of neighbours and family had been relocated “to the east,” never to be heard from again, the Krell family was ordered to appear for deportation. Instead, they went into hiding.
Young Robbie was given up at the age of 2 by his parents, Emmy and Leo Krell. He was hidden by a Dutch Christian family, Albert and Violette Munnik, who he would come to know as “Vader” and “Moeder,” and their daughter (his “sister”) Nora.
The Munniks remained in Krell’s life until they passed, attending his university graduation, wedding and other simchas. They would eventually be honoured as Righteous Among the Nations at Yad Vashem.
“My days in hiding were the best that any hidden child could have had,” Krell writes.
This raises questions for him as a survivor and as a psychiatrist. “From where, then, derived my feeling that something enormous and hideous had occurred? From where came this unsettled feeling of whatever it is that haunts me still? Perhaps from the separation. Perhaps from the fear of discovery or the anxieties of the adults around me. Perhaps from my silence, the absence of ordinary play, the wish not to be disturbing or noticed.”
These feelings, which much later he would discover were common among people who, as children, had experienced similar things, drove him personally and professionally.
Krell’s self-realization that he was not only a second-generation survivor – the son of survivors – but a survivor himself, struck him at the 1981 World Gathering of Jewish Holocaust Survivors, in Jerusalem. It was a realization that others were coming to concurrently.
Later that decade, the seminal book Love Despite Hate: Child Survivors of the Holocaust and Their Adult Lives, by Sarah Moskovitz, signaled the beginning of a new understanding, and the identity of child survivors as a distinct category of survivors.
In 1991, the groundbreaking ADL/Hidden Child Conference, in New York City, attracted 1,600 participants, mostly child survivors. Krell summarizes the conversations that happened there as: “Thank God, I thought I was crazy. But you were crazy with the same issues. So perhaps we are normal.”
With Prof. Peter Suedfeld, former head of the University of British Columbia’s department of psychology, Krell conducted research into younger survivors and their children. They identified four paradoxes that were common in the families they investigated.
Survivor parents often expressed great pride in their children, but the perspective of the children was that they always fell short of fulfilling parental expectations and were often unaware of their parents’ pride.
Second, while children felt they had been provided with most of the material things, they reported feeling that they had missed out on receiving a set of values. This was belied by the evidence, Krell writes. “But it appears that, despite parental preoccupation with work and security, many second-generation survivors did absorb humanistic values for which the parents, of course, claim credit.”
The third paradox is that “though therapy groups of second-generation survivors emphasize complaints about earlier parenting, noting a relative lack of empathy for their problems, the same group members point out to each other their obvious humaneness, achievements and exceptional personal qualities.”
The fourth paradox has to do with the parental viewpoint that withholding information about their Holocaust experiences was crucial for the normal development of their children. “But from the point of view of the children, that past life was shrouded in an elusive mystery that prevented them from understanding the components of life in play from the Holocaust background,” Krell writes.
“Despite the overwhelming complexity of lives lived in the shadow of the Holocaust, it is remarkable that the havoc wreaked on Jewish children has not irrevocably crippled the next generations,” he notes, adding that 93% of Jewish children in Nazi-occupied Europe were murdered. “It is itself a miracle that so many of the remnants of surviving children and our sons and daughters have contributed so much. Let us be proud of that.”
Second-generation children learned quickly not to ask questions that could spur tears or other responses in their parents. Krell notes that some parents would ask why their children had not seemed interested in their Shoah experiences. In many cases, he urges members of the second generation to designate their children – the grandchildren of the survivors – to investigate the family history.
“They return with names, places of origin, descriptions of life (and of death), stories of defeat and loss, and of courage and heroism,” he writes. “They are enriched forever by knowing, for they are alive because their grandparents, against all odds, made it.”
Krell’s life has had multiple encounters with horrific history. In 1961, he was visiting Israel and his aunt got them seats in the courtroom of Adolf Eichmann’s trial.
In 1969, he was on TWA Flight 840 out of Rome when the plane was hijacked by the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine. The plane and its hostages spent several days in Damascus before being freed in Athens, after which he flew on to Israel.
“So, by age 30, I was a Jew who had survived two deadly enemies,” he writes.
Krell became an academic and a clinician, the director of child and family psychiatry at the UBC Health Sciences Hospital and director of residency training for 10 years. He was founding president of the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre, on whose board he remains an active member.
Krell is the author of 11 books, two dozen book chapters and many journal articles. His interests include the care of aging survivors of massive trauma. His memoir, Sounds from Silence: Reflections of a Child Holocaust Survivor, Psychiatrist and Teacher, was published in 2021, in which year he was also inducted into the Order of Canada. He and his wife Marilyn have three daughters and nine grandchildren.
Emerging from the Shadows includes lectures and speeches from Krell, as well as writings from Vancouverite Ed Lewin, Robert Melson, Harry Penn, R. Gabriele S. Silten, Leo Vogel and Zev Weiss.
In an epilogue, Krell reflects on the Oct. 7 terror attacks through the eyes of a Holocaust survivor.
Whereas the Nazis made some efforts to hide from the world their atrocities, the Hamas terrorists perpetrated their brutalities in broad daylight and livestreamed them online.
“It was done in daylight, recorded and distributed! How shall we ever rest again, given such knowledge?” he asks. “How shall a Jewish child/adolescent deal with this? And who can heal this fresh wound when the old wounds had only just begun to close after three or four generations?”
His conclusion: “May I suggest that we remain moral, courageous, and worthy of being a ‘a stiff-necked people,’ strong, proud, and determined.”
