It was cold in Chicago during the winter of 1944, and Bubbe knit hats and mittens for me as well as woolen scarves and socks for my father, a Jewish American soldier who was fighting in the U.S. Army in Europe.
We hid chocolate bars in the socks and wrapped Daddy’s favorite home-baked cookies in the scarves to surprise him. But some of the packages were returned home after we received a telegram from the War Department that Daddy was missing in action.
Mommy cried all the time.
My schoolteacher encouraged me to pray to God for my father and suggested that I keep writing letters to him and put them in a safe place until his safe return. She saw that I was worried and assured me that God was watching over Daddy
After five months we learned that Daddy was a prisoner of war in Nazi Germany and had been separated from the other prisoners in Stalag 2A and sent to a slave labor work camp with 18 Jewish men, all American soldiers born in the United States and unlucky enough to have been captured by the Nazis.
Daddy and the other 18 Jewish American men miraculously returned home and did not talk about their experiences for 50 years. During that time he was a peaceful, thoughtful, contemplative man and the best father a woman could have. He was appreciative that God brought him home alive and I was thankful to know that God answers our prayers.