Arie Bucheister and Annie Mass Interview (Part 4), July 13, 2025

they had. And here you have five brothers and this extended family where other families, they reached out to the other survivors and that became their family because they had nobody else. How did that make you feel different as first generation Americans, having this extended family and also being descendants of Holocaust survivors?

I'm not sure I understand what you're...

So I think that isolated families who came to Omaha saw themselves as we don't have any cousins and aunts and uncles, we don't have any grandparents, we're gonna adopt other people and that became their family. For you, I mean you didn't have the grandparents.

I felt two things that sound opposite about different things in relation to the question. I felt perfectly normal that, you know, these were my dad's brothers, these were their families. This is who we hung out with. I didn't compare it to what was going on with other survivor families and how devastated they were and how difficult it was for them to rebuild family slash community. I didn't think about that. And yet within that context I felt very different. Now, whether I felt different because something was in the air, I was adopted, although I had no idea. Annie thought she was the adopted one for the longest time.

I did.

But whether that was it, I have no idea. I certainly felt different because we spoke Yiddish in the house. None of the kids at school spoke Yiddish. My best friend, the Yankee fan, across the street, he didn't speak Yiddish. And we never ate out. Right? Ever. And so, kind of the... I remember having to take salami sandwiches or baloney sandwiches to school. Now this was a treat for everyone else, but for me it kind of stunk.

It smelled.

You put in the locker. And the forbidden food of like Spanish hamburger, you know, served hot in the junior high school kitchen. Wow. Wow, but I had to have my salami. So I felt, you know, and you know, the times when I would sneak some French fries at the bottom of the hill of junior high school, but had to eat them before I got home, all kind of contribute to this notion of, you know, why are we different? Why are we so different from everyone else? Now there came a time of course when I felt, or I wore that difference as a badge of honor, you know, that it was something special. But clearly there was stuff going on in my mind about how to absorb and how to create a story with the things that I was doing and had and things that everyone else I knew from school was doing would seem to be like from a different world. So as to the family, I felt nothing unusual, you know, my dad's brothers. Okay, a little weird that we didn't have any other people we went to or did that. That I was aware of. But, you know, not in the sense that we were lucky. My dad was I took it as accepted, probably wrongly. But I did feel I did have a strong sense of I'm not like these other people. And I didn't mean special. I mean, I said that came later. You know, why do we do these things in such a different way? You know, so that was a strong, strong sense.

I felt part of what you did, I think. But we lived, another difference is our family lived in sort of South Omaha or close to South Omaha. And there were no other Jews around. Whereas my cousins, they all lived in, we used to call it bagel. I don't know if they still do. Where everyone went to, you know, same synagogue, same Hebrew school. So I sort of felt different and sort of isolated in that way. But then also being part of the greater area, where I'm the only one speaking Yiddish. I have parents who have, you know, speak a funny language and everyone knows it. And I was, I was young. I was, and I was embarrassed. I didn't really realize the specialness of it until I was an adult, the real adult. So I didn't, I didn't spend time thinking, you know, that I'm special, you know, I have a different situation than other, these other kids. But they, I did feel they were, I was different from them. And that was, that was so hard for me. And I wasn't allowed to have, you know, actually my friends were also across the street. And, you know, but they were, they were boys. They weren't even Jewish, but that my mother allowed. Then when, when the oldest boy got to be like a ninth grade, my, my mother's like, you can't go over there anymore. Why not? It's not nice. Not nice. You can't go. So I snuck over, but you know, that's another story. There's another story I wanted to tell you. Go ahead. I'll think of it.

So did you stay in Omaha or did you go to college out of the city?

We both went out of the city. Both in New York, Columbia. I was in the, I was in the Barnard side. So yeah, I followed him.

So at 18, you flew the coop?

Flew the coop. I was, and I was happy to do so.

Why?

Because I felt sort of limited. You know, there are a lot of things, you know, like my parents were very, they're wonderful. I love them, but they were very strict.

In what ways?

Like they didn't really want me dating. I mean, I was okay with you. I was part of USY. And I, I was allowed to go to various, they had various conventions every year. And I was allowed to do that. But otherwise, if I went, if I, the rare occasion I went on a date, you know, my, it's like any other father, I suppose. I'd go on the porch, get ready to say goodbye to my date. And my dad's like, with the windows sort of going like this, taking a look. So I, I just, they just were very, they just didn't want me, they didn't want me to follow those boys. They didn't want me to do this, they didn't want me to do that. My dad used to say to me, you tell them this, [Yiddish] so I like you, I love you, but I can't kiss you til after we're married. I said, yeah, dad, I'm going to do that one. So, but it was just, it just, I just wanted to get, I wanted to get up and leave and, you know, see the world. Again, my parents never, we never went on vacation, we never did anything. But part of the reason is financial, you know, my parents, it was too, too expensive. And my dad would say, you know, I see, I have enough excitement in my life. I don't need any more with the traveling. So, you know, he was happy with where he was. He was, I think, proud of himself that he was able to provide for his family and for himself. And he, and he should have been.

I have a different view of Omaha. I like it a lot. I like it a lot because I enjoyed being there. I like it a lot because it provided me with, like, the tools of being able to do things subsequent in my life. And I like it because it gave a safe place for my parents and my father's brothers. It allowed them the time and the resources to live a normal life after the most abnormal of lives. And I appreciate that. And it had to do with the people they were. They probably could have done that anywhere, but they happen to have done it in Omaha. It has to do with the community. So, I try to go back as often as I can. I still have some friends there and I also I like to visit the cemetery because, you know, we both have very busy lives. Everyone has a very busy life. And it's easy to forget. I like to go to the cemetery. And I know what they said, what it says on the, on the [unclear]. I've got pictures of it, too. But it reminds me in a way that pictures don't, it's remarkable. It's remarkable that these, these five brothers, their wives rebuilt their lives here. And it's a rundown cemetery. It's not, it's, you know, it's old. It's not in a great part of town, but it's a reminder. And that's part, woven into kind of the fabric of my memory of Omaha, that it allowed them the time to do what they need to do to rebuild their lives. And it gave them a peaceful resting place. And I like to honor that every so often. So, I have good memories of Omaha. I enjoyed going to the other places I went for school, because I wouldn't have had those opportunities in Omaha. But that's, that's an important part of my, my memory and who I am.

What did your parents feel about both of you going to college and going where you went for your education?

Well, I went to the once great University of Columbia. And my first year there was the second year of the, the agitation, you know, kind of the anti-Vietnam riots. And my mother, I remember calling, you know, called once a week on the payphone on the floor of the dormitory the first year. And she thought, you know, what's going on with all those communists there, hearing what she heard in the national news. You know, did she have a view of, "why are you leaving us?" it was a foreign idea to them. That's not what happened in Poland. I mean, for whatever memory they had of how the generations were there, you stayed nearby. So that was probably new. But, you know, I think, I think they came to accept it. I don't recall ever by either my mother or father saying, well, you should come back here and live in Omaha. I certainly don't remember that. And they certainly, you know, liked the nachas they received from the things, you know, kind of we would do in different places. So, you know, I think it was a reluctant, but I'm not going to say in a heavy way, you know, they, I think would've preferred to us live with them forever. You know, but that's not just how the world works in, you know, contemporary United States that we grew up in.

Well, they were very proud of you. That I remember from your mother. You know, I didn't know your dad, but the way I knew your mom.

My parents were only interested in my getting an MRS degree. But they were, but they didn't stop me from continuing my education. They were, they were proud of me in the end. They finally had a doctor in the house. So.

Can you explain for a generation who may not understand what you just said about the MRS degree?

Oh, my parents felt, I mean, they thought women should be educated, but they, they also should be wives and mothers. And they would have preferred that I come back and be a wife and a mother. But again, they were, you know, I ended up going to medical school at some point and they were proud of that. And my dad came up to me afterwards and he says, I'm, I'm a, I'm an MD also. I said, are you? He says, yeah, I'm a meat dealer. That's Arie referred to that earlier. He's a meat doctor. So I, I don't, I like Omaha now. I realized, I mean, but it was very different when I was growing up and, you know, I didn't have the same mobility already. I didn't have a car, you know, I wasn't allowed to drive a car except, you know, the synagogue and back. So I was so, and I was limited to what I could do. And I understand their parents, they want to protect their daughter. I understand that. The one thing that was, I discussed with the, Arie, he didn't have this experience, but anti-Semitism, I had bouts of that and that was sort of scary for me. I had broken my ankle at one point and I had to be in a cast and crutches. My dad would pick me up to take me, or he'd take me to school and then, because it's a middle school, and then drive me back home. And at one point I'm waiting where I normally wait and he was a little late, which fine. But all of a sudden, you know, the jocks in the school would come up and they, you know, pushed, pushed me down threw my books and around. So that was, that was sort of scary for me. There were sort of lesser incidents, you know, throughout the years.

How do you relate that to anti-Semitism?

Because they used to say to me, Hebe, you're a Christ killer, you know, things like that.

Which school was this?

This was at Norris Junior High School. And actually in grade school, sixth grade, you know, a couple kids would make references. Meanwhile, my best friend across the street was Catholic, so they don't know that. But anyway, so that, that was, that was hard for me. So when I came to New York, I was like shocked to see everyone with the yarmulkes and it was a different feeling. But I used to, at some point, I come back and I come home. Even now, sometimes I do, it's Hebrew writing, I just turn it over in the car. I just, it wasn't, it wasn't a huge act of antisemitism, but it was enough it affected me and so that's . . . I got away from the MRS story, didn't I? Sorry. Did I answer the MRS question?

What? Well, yes.

Or if you want me to I can?

No, no, you did. You did.

Okay.

So at this point, we'll, we'll reach out to your cousins as well.

Okay.

And want to look at your pictures and have you dig through your memories as well. But what are the most important things at this juncture that you want to move forward with on this journey about the Five Brothers and the wives as well. Where should we go with this story?

Well, I think the first thing is to try to gather as many of the individual tales that we can. I think one of the failings of all of us who are the children of these Five Brothers was not to get together and share the stories and make sure that, make sure they're written down, if not, not told to each other orally.

So I think the first step is, and major one is, what does everyone know? What can everyone remember?

I mean, we've, we've lost so much of it since none of them are alive. After that, after that, I think, I think I know the end of the story. And the end of the story is what I think both Annie and I have kind of woven through the various things we talked about this afternoon. And that is, the resilience, the extraordinary ability to decide whatever has happened to me, it's in within my power to continue in whatever way I can, because they can't take that away from me. And I guess, you know, if there's a lesson beyond that, it's that whatever your place in life, whatever's going on, look at what these guys did. These are ordinary guys, you know? They didn't go to the Harvards and the Oxfords of shtetl Poland, right? They were normal average human beings who were caught up in history's worst event against the particular people, the Jewish people, because not of anything they did, but because who they were. And look what they did. And you can do the same, whoever you are, whatever your trouble is. So, you know, that's the end of the story. But the meat, you know, kind of their individual details, I, I that's very important for me personally, that that be gathered, because I feel it's a failing, you know, that I was part of.

It's a what?

A failing. So that's what I'd like to see.

I don't look it as a failing. I mean, I think we were kids. And we just focused, maybe we should have focused on it. I don't know. But I agree with you that it's a story of survival and done by ordinary people. I always say to myself, this is the way I could have survived that, although we never really know, unless we, you know, we can imagine, but I have a real respect for, I'm thinking each of the, you know, everyone has their own experience, and there are different ways to survive. But, you know, you have to respect people for things like that. I'm not sure where I want this to go, but I'm glad we're going, because I think there'll be some nice surprises along the way. I mean, we were trying to look up, yesterday, and actually, Benjamin looked up, where's Tiefenbrunner come from? Theoretically, it means deep well.

It's what?

But it's deep well. But there's the Tiefenbrunners out there that have a winery in Europe. I don't think that they're related to our Tiefenbrunners, but that might be an interesting place to look up. Today, my cousin Annie was asking me, she says, you know, I hope they do things about the wives of these brothers, because how can you have one without the other? So, but you already mentioned you're going to do that, so like, good news to tell her. Annie's good, because she keeps records of things, and she, I think, I feel like she has a lot of stories.

Can we stop for a minute?