Nancy Wright Beasley

(L-R) Barry Mann, Steve Neill - Editor, The Catholic Virginian, Virginija Vasiliauskiene, and Nancy

Today is known as Yom HaShoah, a day when Holocaust martrys and heroes are honored throughout the world. It is also the 67th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau Concentration Camps, where millions lost their lives, primarily because of their faith. There are so many victims of the Holocaust that it boggles the mind. There are also many saviors, individuals who risked their very lives, and that of their families, in an effort to reach for the highest moral ground and protect those being subjugated. Those non-Jewish individuals who saved Jews (for no reward) hold the designation of being called “Righteous Among the Nations,” an honor bestowed only by Yad Vashem, The World Center for Holocaust Research and Education in Jerusalem. It is impossible to say how many individuals saved Jews, as many were executed, along with those they were saving, for their humanitarian efforts.

I recently had the privilege of visiting with a friend, Virginija Vasiliauskiene, whose mother, grandparents and uncle saved eight Jews from Kovno Ghetto in Kaunas, Lithuania, during the Holocaust. Those four individuals were subsequently declared “Righteous Among the Nation.” Virginija and her husband, Barry Mann, live in El Paso. I have visited in their home and they were my house guests recently. They have played a very important part in my life. Barry, a South African Jew, met and married Virginija, a Catholic, several years after he learned of her family’s history. Barry’s mother was born in Kaunas but escaped the Holocaust by moving to South Africa. Virginija still maintains a residence in Kaunas and I have stayed there on both of my visits to Lithuania. The two of them have been extremely supportive of me over the years. I met them through Gadi Shlom, who lives in Israel, the son of my beloved late friend, Emmanuel (Mannie)Shlom. Mannie was one of the little boys I wrote about in “Izzy’s Fire,” and we developed a special relationship while I was writing the book.

Gadi Shlom and Nancy in Israel

While the Manns were in Richmond, I had the privilege of taking them to visit the Virginia Holocaust Museum, to meet several of my friends and also to meet Steve Neill, editor of the Catholic Virginian. Steve spent a long time interviewing them, and an article is scheduled to published in that newspaper very soon. One of the Jews that Virginija’s family saved is Henry Kellen. Henry, now 97, established the
El Paso Holocaust Musuem and I had the privilege of speaking there some time back. Because of my respect for Barry and Virginija, I donated a case of books to the museum so they could use “Izzy’s Fire” in their trunk initiative, a program where a teacher borrows a trunk filled with Holocaust literature. When the class has studied the information, the trunk is returned to the museum for other teachers to use.

It is my sincere hope that through studying historical books and documents, the students of today will be able to see the world in a more global sprectrum and become more understanding of their fellowman. It is, in my opinion, our only defense against a future Holocaust.

One of the great joys of being an author is to hear that book clubs are studying “Izzy’s Fire.” Recently, Daphne Key, of Clayton, NC, called to say that a friend from Richmond, VA (where I live) had suggested her club read “Izzy.” A retired teacher from Northern Virginia, Daphne took the subject very seriously. She contacted me and we both came up with questions for the group, which included several other teachers. I was most impressed when I learned that these ladies, about 14 of them, actually cordoned off a 9′x12′x4′ area and sat inside that area to discuss the book. The aforementioned space was the area referred to as the “potato hole” in “Izzy’s Fire,” the area where nine Jewish adults and four little boys lived underground for weeks during the Holocaust. It is by the grace of God and a truly unselfish Catholic farm family, who risked their lives, to help ensure their survival. There are still six survivors living, after almost sixty years since their liberation, a testament to the strength that helped them overcome the perils that befell their family members during World War II.

After the book group had completed reading “Izzy,” Daphne orchestrated a road trip – 3 hours each way – to come to visit the Virginia Holocaust Museum here in Richmod. I was privileged to meet this great group of women. They treated me to a gift basket, as well as a wonderful lunch at The Jefferson Hotel following their museum tour. I have spoken to many book clubs over the last few years but have never met one quite as industrious as this one. I’m still in touch with them and hope to see them again in the not too distant future. I’d tell you their club name, but they haven’t decided on one as yet. Stay tuned.

(L-R) Alexsas Modestas and Sal Janusonis of Chicagoland-Lithuanians Rotary Club, joined me in Skokie, Il (Nov 2010), when I spoke on "Izzy's Fire" at the Illinois Holocaust Museum & Education Center.

Fresh beginnings are important, but it’s also a time to give credit for the past. Skaiste Aniuliene, Consul General for the Republic of Lithuania in Chicago, invited me to speak several times in November 2010, in accordance with the Lithuanian Parliament’s declaration that 2011 would be a year of remembrance for Holocaust victims. I was honored to share the story of “Izzy’s Fire” and the courageous Catholic farm family from Lithuania who saved the 13 Jews I wrote about.

I had the privilege of speaking at the Illinois Holocaust & Education Museum (Skokie, IL), the Balzekas Lithuanian Cultural Museum (Chicago, IL) and at the University of Chicago, in the class taught by Professor Giedrius Subačius. Later, I also spoke at the Holocaust Memorial Center at Farmington Hills, MI, the first Holocaust museum to be built in the U.S.

Each time I give a presentation, I learn that “Izzy’s Fire” continues to be meaningful and I’m encouraged to find many readers interested in the story. While the Holocaust as a whole is overwhelmingly tragic, we cannot lose sight of the few courageous individuals who risked their very lives to save Jews who were such hateful objects of discrimination. It is through programs like the ones sponsored by the Lithuanian Consulate that their story continues to be heard.

Arvydas Sabrinskas, president of Kaunas Rotary Club in Kaunas, Lithuania in 2009, presenting his club flag. Behind us hangs the Brandermill Rotary Club flag.

The New Year will bring a new challenge, that of bringing to fruition the joint project of three Rotary clubs that’s been in the making for some time. Following my visits to Lithuania in 2009 and 2010, where I spoke at the Kaunas Rotary Club, I was introduced to the Chicagoland Rotary Club of Lithuanians (by telephone). That club is made up of all Lithuanians who now reside in Chicago. I subsequently spoke at their club and asked them to join with my club, Brandermill Rotary (Midlothian, VA) on a project to benefit children in an orphanage in Kaunas. It is my joy to include a link to the story from www.rotary.org about the new formation of the Triple Sister Clubs Project.

During the process of writing and publishing “Izzy’s Fire,” and then traveling to do presentations over the past 14 years, I have experienced miracles, not the least of which was how I was able to visit Lithuania (twice) and Israel and speak in both countries about the book, which I plan to write about later. Right now, though, I am especially reminded of miracles during this time each year when many people celebrate this most special season,which includes Christmas and Hanukkah.

At Christmas,my Christian friends and I celebrate the birth of Jesus. During Hanukkah, my Jewish friends and I celebrate the Festival of Lights. Each holiday is considered precious and rightly so. I have been a Christian since I was 12 years old, and Judaism has become evermore special to me since 1997, when I embarked on the journey that still leads me to write about Judaic subjects, as well as the Holocaust.

On Sunday, December 11, 2011, there was another very special celebration, which was–beyond a shadow of a doubt–also a miracle. Hundreds of friends and family gathered to celebrate the 100th birthday of Edna Ipson at the Virginia Holocaust Museum in Richmond, VA. Her son, Jay, has been the director of the museum since its inception in 1997. I spent many hours sitting in the “potato hole,” an area recreated in the museum to resemble the hiding place at the Catholic farm family’s home in Lithuania where the three Ipsons and 10 others lived for some time during the Holocaust, until their liberation by the Russian Army. I used that time to try and realize what the experience must have been like for them, trying to capture it for inclusion in “Izzy’s Fire.”

I wrote about the 13, as well as one other family member, Sara Gillman, who was about 3 years old when she was secreted out of the Kovno Ghetto by her courageous cousin, Labaile Gillman. He ultimately lost his life while trying to save other family members, but Sara lived to grow up, marry, become a doctor and move to Canada where, at 70, she still works and enjoys her five grandchildren. While I spoke wih her during the process of writing “Izzy’s Fire,” gathering her parents’ information to include in the book, and even in May 2011, to tell her I had written another book, about Labaile and the Gillman family, I never dreamed I’d ever meet her. Imagine my unbridled joy when I did see her for the very first time, at Mrs. Ipson’s party. She and her sister, Luiba, along with their uncle, Israel Gillman (one of the survivors who is now 90) and his daughter, Etty, had traveled to celebrate Mrs. Ipson’s momentous occasion. They all reside in Canada.

Now, during the holiday of miracles, I’m reminded again of Ona and Vaclovas Paskauskas and her son, Stanislovis Krivicius, who risked their very lives to save those 13 Jews, Sara’s parents among them. What a sacrifice that must have been for them. Without the courage of that family, the miracle of Mrs. Ipson’s birthday would not have occurred, and what a loss for the world that would have been. It has been my privilege to write about her life, and it is because of her, along with my beloved late mother (of blessed memory), Beulah Mae Wright, that “Izzy’s Fire” was brought to light.

Today marks the anniversary of another day in December that will always be very special to me. On December 13, 2010, Rebecca Quesenberry, then a teacher at Elizabeth B. Davis Middle School in Chester, Va, called to say that she had organized an additional 19 teachers and that, together, they were going to teach “Izzy’s Fire” to all 450 seventh-grade pupils in the school. I’m still in awe that Becky, who has since retired, decided to undertake that task and will be eternally grateful. To have that kind of response to a self-published book was, to me, simply a miracle.

On November 9, 1997, my life was irrevocably changed. Months earlier I had been asked by Gwen Woolf, an editor at the Free Lance-Star in Fredericksburg, Va, to write a story about the Virginia Holocaust Museum, which had been established in Richmond, Va. I refused because I found the Holocaust such an awful subject.

Gwen kept after me to do the story, and following months of promopting from her about the assignment, I decided to attend the Kristallnacht ceremony that is held every year at the Emek Sholom Holocaust Memorial Cemetery in Richmond. I was determined to go to the service and still refuse to fulfill Gwen’s request. After all, at that time, I didn’t know one Jew in Richmond, so I beileved I could just blend into the crowd and then quietly leave.

I was fine until the survivors walked to the microphone to recite the names of their lost loved ones. The final man, Alan Zimm, quietly began to say the numerous names of his family members who had been killed. For some odd reason, I started counting the names on my fingers. I ran out of fingers before he finished reciting the names of his loved ones. I began to cry and realized at that moment that I had to write about these courageous people. The Holocaust had been reduced to one family and I could identify with Mr. Zimm’s agony. I could not imagine having my family slaughtered because I am a Christian. I told Mr. Zimm that day that he had changed my life. He continues to be a constant encouragement to me. I, nor my life, have ever been the same since our meeting.

I subsequently visited the Virginia Holocaust Museum, wrote the story for Gwen and found a calling that I have not been able to shed until this day. Many of my columns and numerous stories about Holocaust survivors have appeared in Richmond magazine. “Izzy’s Fire: Finding Humanity in the Holocaust” is the direct result of having met my wonderful friend, Edna Ipson, who suffered so much during World War II. We ultimately worked together for seven years, and I used her voice, as well as her husband’s memoirs (coupled with other Jews who were with them) to tell the story of “Izzy’s Fire.” She has been, and remains, one of the greatest influences on my life.

Recently I was at the annual Kristallnacht ceremony where my dear friend, Inge Horowitz, led the service as she has done every year since I first attended. I hugged her after the service and told her that I had no idea that I would still be attending the service some 14 years after I first met her. She, and so many of my Jewish friends, have been such blessings to my life. I am so richer for having known them. When I think of the agony of writing “Izzy’s Fire,” I always have to remember the friends, extended family and love I’ve gained in my life. It makes it all worthwhile.

Recently I wrote that 450 seventh graders at Elizabeth B. Davis Middle School in Chester, Virginia, had studied “Izzy’s Fire” during the final months of the 2010 school year. I have heard from many of them and some have posted comments on this blog, offering their opinions and saying encouraging things that I’m very grateful for. An incident that happened during the last weeks of school, though, was a defining moment for me. Rebecca Quesenberry, who retired after 42 years of teaching, the last one at Davis where she coordinated 20 teachers and the “Izzy” classroom project, told me something I will always treasure. Becky said that word had reached her about how two young male students had come to the defense of one of the school’s students. It seems a cheerleader was bullying another girl, a very shy one. The young men intervened and explained that bullying should not be happening and they expected it to stop, which it did. When Becky asked them why they decided to take a stand in this particular incident, they told her that it was the result of having studied “Izzy’s Fire.”

When Becky shared that story with me, she was immensely proud and we were both deeply touched. It underscored the hard work I had put into writing the book and Becky had put into teaching it, making it all worthwhile. It also proved something I learned as a child. My parents always taught me that you plant a garden and hope for rain and good weather so it will grow. The same can be said of writing a book. An author doesn’t always know what happens after the seeds are planted. I consider myself blessed to have dedicated teachers like Becky who water and nourish the plants to maturity.

I can scarcely believe that in just a few short months, we’ll be facing ice and snow. The summer of 2011 has been a difficult time in Virginia. After weeks of sweltering temperatures, there was an earthquake, followed by a hurricane. Untold financial damage was done, and it took days to restore power to everyone in Richmond, VA, where I live. Seeing all the houses in darkness reminded me of times when I was a child growing up on a farm in Southwest Virginia. Even though there was no running water or inside bathrooms, I look back on that time with much affection. There was no television either, so my brother and two sisters and I had to “make do,” as our dear mother would say, by entertaining each other. I will always remember how our mother used to line all four of us up in chairs, then open a dictionary. She would call out words and have little prizes for the child who answered correctly. I cannot imagine how much that expanded my vocabulary and believe that it was one thing that started me on the path to writing. I know it certainly taught me to love words. Over the years, my mother remained my greatest influence and always my inspiration. She never gave up. Never. I remember talking with her after I had become a mother myself and was struggling with several issues. She quietly said, “Sleep on it. Things always look better in the morning.” That is still good advice that I plan to apply as I now enter a quiet phase in my life. Although I am continuing to write my monthly column (Reflections) for Richmond magazine, I am not working on a book. However, I recently finished a young adult historical novel, also set in Kovno Ghetto in Lithuania during World War II, but it is as yet unpublished. It was written as a thesis for my master of fine arts in children’s literature, which I earned in May 2011 at Hollins University. I will always be indebted to Neil November for providing the funding for my education. When the book is pubished, it will be dedicated to Neil, my friend and ardent supporter. For now, I plan to use the next few months to rest, read and recharge my batteries before beginning another project. If you have suggestions, I’d be interested in hearing from you.

The last eight weeks spent at the University of Wisconsin, Madison, have been a test of fortitude. When I signed up for the Baltic Language Institute, where I would study intensive Lithuanian from June to August, I had no idea how grueling the course would be. I also didn’t realize how difficult the language was.

Nor did I foresee that my dyslexia would come roaring to the forefront in such a fashion. It seems that, with English, I’ve been able to mask the dyslexia. However, with the new language, which has many monosyllabic words, I began reversing letters and even adding multiple letters that were not part of the original word. My professor had a time trying to figure out what I was trying to say on tests, but she was very encourging and worked very hard to help me. The other two young men taking the class were also very supportive and encouraging.

It has been over 50 years since I had taken a foreign language, therefore, the class was quite a challenge. As a teenager, I studied Spanish, which I thought I had pretty much forgotten. As I began to study the new Lithuanian vocabulary words, a strange thing happened. Many of the old Spanish words surfaced, so I guess the new words were shifting things around and trying to find a place to land.

Now that the class is over (I received a final grade of B.), I’m still trying to recover from all the brain stress. While I’m tired, I’m glad that I went through with it and am going to continue studying on my own. Should I return to Lithuania in the future, the language I’ve learned will prove invaluable.

I want to thank my family and many friends who prayed for me and supported me w/cards and phone calls. I needed every bit of encouragement I received. I’ve learned, again, how blessed I am.

I’ve always believed that in order to keep moving forward in life, we must face challenges, especially as we get older. One of the benefits of this intense memorization, I’m told by a friend who is a doctor, is that I’m helping to ward off Alzheimer’s. That was an extra benefit I hadn’t planned on, but I’ll take all the blessings I can get.

As I enter the fifth week of studying Lithuanian, I can report that I’ve learned a great deal. First and foremost, I’ve now realized how difficult it must be for immigrants to master the English language and admire anyone willing to take it on. The task of learning another language, beyond your native tongue, is daunting.

I have also learned that Lithuanian is the oldest language and one of the most difficult to master, especially when an individual is older. Thus far, I’ve probably mastered a few hundred vocabulary words and can speak in simple sentences. I may now know enough to help me communicate on a limited basis during my next visit to Lithuania, which was one of my goals for taking the course.

While I will not become a fluent speaker in the last four weeks of study, I will have proven something that my dear late mother always said to encourage me: “Nothing beats a failure but a try.”

I’ve lived by that motto all my life, so I can be satisfied that I’ve tried and succeeded to learn a great deal more of the language than I origially knew. I have also learned of customs and some interesting phrases for everyday life. The icing on the cake has been meeting many very intereting folks and making new friends, a plus in any life.

Thanks to all of you who have contacted me and continue to encourage me. Your support is what keeps me going.

Iki! (Bye!)

All of your messages have been very special, and I will treasure each one of them because they are the first ones to appear on this site. Thank you for taking the time to send good wishes and to stay in touch with me. It has been very gratifiying to see notes from  my friends in different parts of the United States and from Israel and Lithuania as well.

Special thanks to all the students who let me know their thoughts after reading “Izzy’s Fire.” Your comments are important to me and were inspiring, and your questions were thoughtful. I shall remember them as I go forward with my research.  Becky Quesenberrry, the teacher who launched the study in the seventh grade of Elizabeth B. Davis Middle School in Chester, Virginia, also orchestrated three field trips so that all 450 students could visit the Virginia Holocaust Museum after studying the book.  After 41 years of teaching, Becky will retire this month. She has honored me by choosing to introduce ”Izzy’s Fire” to so many young adults. I want to thank her agian and wish her good luck as she begins this new phase of her life.

Speaking of new phases, I have begun a new venture in my life as well. Today, June 13, I took my first class in what will be an eight-week course in  Beginner’s Lithuanian.  It seemed fitting, since I launched the blog on June 13 to post exactly one month later. Maybe by August 13, I will be able to speak elementary Lithuanian. I hope to return to that country one day and knowing the language will be most helpful. I may try some of my new skills from time to time. In fact, I’ll try it right now, as I have at least two hours of study before class tomorrow. I will say “Labas vakaras,” which means “Good night.”