From Silence to Discovery: Why I Record Vilkaviškis
My parents were refugees from Nazi Germany. I was born in 1946, growing up in a quiet atmosphere where the shadows of the past were never discussed. My father, Ernst, passed away when I was just three years old.
My father with me shortly before his death
I was raised by my mother—who had tragically lost most of her family in the Holocaust—and my stepbrother Gerhard, who was nineteen years my senior. In our home, there was no real sense of being a traditional family; the weight of what was lost hung heavily in the silence.
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Alone without a "real family
Decades passed. In 1982, I found myself serving as a soldier fighting in the Lebanon War. One afternoon, as I watched endless streams of Lebanese refugees trudging past our lines, a sudden, profound realization struck me. Looking at them, I saw my own parents’ refugee experience unfolding right before my eyes.
When I finally returned home to my wife and our newly born daughter, Rama, the weight of generational responsibility hit me. I realized that while I was now a father, I knew absolutely nothing about where I came from or who my ancestors were.
That realization sparked a 20-year journey of discovery.
By 2002, my relentless research had culminated in a massive family tree stretching all the way back to 1732, where the Salinger name first appeared in the Western Polish village of Krojanke.
With the data in hand, it was time to touch history. I set out to visit every town where my family had once built their lives.
One of those stops was Vilkaviškis.
The earliest document I discovered was from the Prusian census of Krojanke in 1772 it mentions a "Selig Salomon"
We arrived with no grand expectations of discovering new records; I simply wanted to savor the air, walk the streets, and see whatever remained of the town's historic Jewish presence. Tragically, I found absolutely nothing.
How could this be? How could a vibrant community live, pray, and thrive in this town for over 500 years, yet leave no visible trace of their existence? Over 3,500 Jewish souls lived and died here, their lives violently cut short in 1941, and yet the town held no memory of them.
Standing there, I made a decision. If no one else was able or willing to record this vital history, I would take it upon myself.
Thus began my life’s project: to recover, document, and permanently preserve the sacred Jewish history of Vilkaviškis. The pages that follow are the physical and digital marks of that 20-year promise.
