Miriam
I grew up in Cuba. I lived there until I was almost 13. My parents were both European Jews. My father was a refugee from Nazi Germany and my mother went to Cuba from Lithuania with her family when she was five years old. This was in 1919.
When my father first went to Cuba, it was with his brother—he had one brother—and his parents, and they all went to different countries. His brother went to Argentina, his parents went to Uruguay, and they corresponded regularly. They were all very interested in politics, they were always very politically involved, which is how they were able to get out of Germany before it was too late.
My father would write in German against the dictator at the time—who was Batista—and he disappeared one day, my father. In Havana, he disappeared. He was engaged to my mother at the time. Her father knew a lot of policemen, and he did some research and found my father. He had been taken by the Batista folks and beaten up so badly he did not recognize my grandfather—his fiancé’s father.
He ended up spending three years in a political prison camp. That was before they were married and I was born.
