Abstract
“I thought I would never go to Poland, where my mother and father’s entire family except for one brother were slaughtered.” As psychoanalysts, we know that trauma and its intergenerational aftermath do not become integrated or comprehended in a linear, organized way. Three summers ago, my brother and I traveled to our parents’ hometowns in Poland and Ukraine, 70 years after the Holocaust. With only a few addresses in hand, we went on a scavenger hunt of sorts, searching for places in my parents’ world that are no more. In this article, I examine how growing up as the child of parents who survived the Holocaust was intertwined with my evolution as a psychoanalyst. I explore the transformative nature of my trip and I offer reflections on my work with patients who have been part of my journey. I describe how my journey has filled out my previous scant, stick-figure-like images of my parents’ pasts and Holocaust histories.
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