Until We Meet Again
Last time we met for 54 years. Next time – for eternity !
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have had serious problems trying to establish my identity, especially during my childhood. As an adult, I accepted these problems, and only later in life was I able to resolve them.
Most people have no problems knowing who their parents are, what their nationalities and religions are. It all happens automatically for them.
Most people are born in the country that identifies their nationality and, if they so desire, they can spend their lives in their country of birth. In other words, they are born with a distinct identity, and they grow up with a sense of ‘belonging’. If they are lucky, they may even have good parents to support them in all that.
Many of us are not that lucky, at least with some of these important issues. Some of us miss out on all of these issues, simply because “life was not meant to be easy”. A sense of ‘belonging’ was always important to me, probably accentuated by the fact that I grew up without a mother and without a proper father, i.e. I had nobody and nothing to belong to.
I know who my mother was, even though I grew up without her. I thought that I knew who my father was but, fortunately, I realized later in life that he could not have been my biological father.
I was born in Berlin and was lucky to get out of there at the age of seven, shortly before the outbreak of WW II … so, I certainly was not born in a country that I was able to identify with, nor had any desire to do so. My mother was born and grew up in Czestochowa within the Russian southern part of Poland, in the late 19th century, and moved to Germany after WW I.
As a small child, I was taken care of by my nanny, Froli, whom I loved very much. My mother for some unknown reason at that time could not take care of me until I was five years old, which is when she officially divorced the man who I assumed to be my father. During the year that followed the divorce, I started developing a happy relationship with my mother at the fortnightly visitations to her new home. However, this relationship did not last long because the Nazis arrested her for having a relationship with a Jew, and put her in jail (more about this later). We left Berlin when she was still in prison. When I met my mother again 22 years later in London and Paris, and later in Germany during my frequent overseas business trips, a normal mother and son relationship could no longer be developed. In retrospect, this was primarily my fault because, unfortunately, being preoccupied with my work responsibilities, I did not take the opportunity of having a heart-to-heart discussion with her. I am sure that she would have welcomed it and, during such an in-depth discussion, she probably would have told me who my biological father was.
As of 1938, after escaping from Berlin at the age of seven, I was lucky to grow up in the Russian immigrant community of Harbin, in the North of China, where I was brought up first by one Russian lady, Aleksandra Vakulovna, and then by another Russian lady, Lidia Ivanovna. Harbin had the largest Russian community outside Russia.
My stepfather was a German Jew, a doctor and a good financial provider. I had nothing at all in common with him. I spoke German with him during our limited daily interaction. His Prussian idea of bringing up a child consisted of instructions, discipline and punishment. I grew up without parental love and without a role model.
I resolved my problems of identity when, as an adult, I realised that the father shown on my birth certificate could not have been my biological father. I accepted that I would not know who my father was until I meet my mother again on the ‘other side’.
With my stepfather out of the picture, my Russian identity became crystal-clear to me, which made me very happy, because the Russian language and Russian culture is what I grew up with and the only culture that I can fully identify with. This sense of belonging was and is important to me. I have reason to believe that my biological father would have been either Polish or Russian.
It is also clear to me that the difference between people belonging to different nationalities is not to be found in their ‘blood’ or in their ‘genes’. The difference is in the culture in which they grew up during their childhood and, especially, during their formative teen-age years. Similarly, our daughter is not part Austrian and part Chinese like her mother, or Russian like me, or Israeli according to her country of birth … she is Australian because this is the country where she grew up, where she was educated and where she spent her formative years.
I have also resolved the question of my religion, but this happened only in recent years when I was already in my 60’s and 70’s. I have had no religious upbringing as a child at home or in the Soviet Russian high school. However, it is my strong belief that if all of us would believe in and exercise just one golden rule of “do unto others as you would have others do unto you”, the world would be a far better place … it would be better still if all animals were to be included in the word ‘others’. I know that my wife, Lisa; our daughter, Iris; and grand-daughter, Laura, feel the same way about this. I also know that Laura will bring up her children with that commitment to justice and compassion for all.
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About the Book
Thomas Toren experienced more horror, loss, and change in his life than most.
When he was just six, his mother was arrested for ‘Rassenschande’ and imprisoned by the Nazis. Young Thomas would not see her again until he was almost thirty. He did not know who his father was, and the man who raised him was cold and distant. His older half-sister grew up to be an unkind, egotistical person who betrayed him and his beloved wife, Lisa.
He was born in Berlin in 1931. He was expelled from two German primary schools because of his stepfather’s Jewish surname. From age seven, he was raised by two women in the Russian immigrant community of Harbin, China, where he finished a Russian high school at the top of his class. Having spent his formative years there and suspecting that his biological father was either Russian or Polish, Toren considers himself Russian.
This all seemed perfectly normal to the young man. Toren’s explanation: “children accept everything as normal. Only in hindsight, after acquiring some life experience and wisdom, are we able to understand and analyse our childhood.”
To escape the Soviet bloc, he managed to travel to Israel, where he married his lifelong love, Lisa. In these transitions, a bit of stability emerged. Toren had a long, successful career as a qualified mechanicalengineer and brilliant inventor. Now retired, Toren felt the urge to record the stories of his unusual life, during which he has experienced four cultures and observed many more. He’s called Europe, Asia, the Middle East, and Australia home at various times of his life. These intercontinental movements were not by choice; they were imposed as a result of political upheavals of the twentieth century.
Toren knows that life was not meant to be easy. Wishing and hoping is not enough. Determination and perseverance are essential. A bit of luck also helps. Life has taught Toren an important lesson. He says: “We should learn to fully appreciate each one of our many blessings, which we normally take for granted. We tend to fully appreciate our blessings only in retrospect, after we have lost them!”
About the Author
THOMAS TOREN’S young life was shaped by the horrors of the Holocaust. When he was six, his Christian mother was imprisoned by the Nazis, and he did not see her again for twenty-two years. After the Crystal-Night Pogrom, he and his Jewish stepfather escaped to Japanese-occupied Harbin, China. He has an engineering degree. A widower, he lives in Sydney, Australia, with his daughter Iris, a professional artist, and grand-daughter Laura, a student of art history.