A survivor’s story that’s never been told
My savta a”h was a survivor and only told her story when Steven Spielberg gave her the opportunity in 1995 with his famous Holocaust Interview Project. Because most of my cousins do not have access to media and they do not speak English, I wrote up her three-hour video in English and asked a different cousin to translate it to Hebrew so that all future generations would have access to her story. This is the English version, what I wrote up from her video. It is written in first person.
Today, on Yom Hashoah, I am choosing to share this with the world. It is long, but it is an incredible story that has never been told publicly.
(Please note: All italic names of towns are written phonetically because I could not find the correct spelling even after a lot of research.)
Pictures are at the bottom.
“I did this testimony with the Steven Speilberg project to preserve the stories of survivors. I want this story to be remembered; I owe it to my family. But I also want my children and grandchildren, and great grandchildren, and children of all the nations in all future generations to learn from this story because children are the leaders of tomorrow. They are the future and future children should make peace and live in a better world. It took me 50 years to tell this story and I always wanted to write a book but I never did. But here is my story… so let the people know!”
-Ruth Labovitch, June 1995
Tchernitza, near Korets (Korzhets) in Eastern Poland
May 5th 1933 (birth) – to 1939
Perhaps the biggest contrast of the pre-war years and the years of “gehonim” were the lack of three basic humanistic needs: clothes, food and love. My family had all three in abundance before my life turned over. My father, Yitzchak, owned a grocery store so we always had food, and my mother, Genya, ran a fabric center so we were always warm and clothed, but most importantly, the home was so loving and warm.
My name is Rachel Dena Shtern and this is my story.
I was the sixth of seven children. My older siblings were named Gershon, Yankel, Pinny, Baila, and Leah, and my younger sister was named Sonya.
My father was a very learned man and I remember him teaching me how to read and write. My family was Orthodox and everyone adored and respected my father very much for his knowledge in Torah but also his ethics and middot while running his store.
My mother was a fabulous cook! And all the neighbors loved her — especially the Ukrainian (not Jewish) women. She was such a good mother and took such good care of us!
There were only a few Jewish families in my village and they always visited our family. In the next village over, where a lot more Jews lived, is where my aunt (my mothers sister), uncle and cousins lived, but they came over to our house all the time. Our home wasn’t so big, but it was comfortable and there was always music playing. My brothers played the mandolin and the girls would sing.
We spoke a mix of Yiddish and Polish in the house and the memories I have are simply wonderful. Especially Shabbat — the candles, the challah, and my father going to shul.
I don’t know what I did every day because school only started at age 7, but I remember my siblings going to public school and then they would learn Torah and Hebrew studies with my father at home. I do know my older brother was studying in Warsaw before the war, but came home when the war broke out.
Before 1939, when the war broke out, Jews and non-Jews got along very well where we lived. There was a simplicity to life, a peace, and I played with other children at home or in my parents’ stores. There were no radios or newspapers and we were very innocent and isolated.
It’s hard to extract memories before the age of 6, but I do remember my aunt (my mother’s sister Shaindel) from Boston coming to visit us before the war broke out. I assume she came to try to convince my family to move to the States, but she went back to the US in 1938, clearly unsuccessful.
At some point, my father’s brother, Gabriel, realized that life was too dangerous in Poland. He decided to move to Canada with his wife, Sophie, and children, and his parents, my grandparents. He tried to convince my father to move as well, but my father refused to leave his home and was nervous that the “new land” would not be suited for Orthodox Jews like my family — which he was not wrong about. My uncle and aunt, their children, and my grandparents moved to Canada before the war started.
There was talk that something bad was going to happen; I heard whispers in the store, but it was clear to me, even then, that my parents didn’t want to move.
1939 – I am 6 years old
When Germany came to western Poland, we were not impacted at all because we were in eastern Poland. We heard that businesses and farms were being closed and there was a fear it would move towards us. I think my parents thought to run more east towards Russia because they knew Germany was coming but there was no media and no real solid information being given over.
1941 – I am almost 8 years old.
I started to attend a Communist public school. Life was still pretty normal. Until June 1941, our life was not disturbed in any major way. Our schedules were normal and life ran fairly smoothly. There must have been a shortage of food, but I didn’t notice a difference. One day, I was sitting on our front porch and a lot of black birds were flying over our house and it was so scary. I can recall my mother and the neighbors saying that this meant something bad was going to happen; an omen of sorts.
In June 1941, the German army arrived in eastern Poland. I have a very distinct memory of sitting on the porch and suddenly these huge German soldiers started marching past my house towards the front lines. I was just a little girl and I just watched them, totally amazed. I was not scared, just fascinated by the thousands of soldiers. One soldier even looked at me and smiled at me, but just then my mother grabbed me and took me inside the house. She told me I could not go outside anymore by myself and that I always had to stay near a family member.
One day, which came out of nowhere from my young perspective, neighbors came over and said Germans were coming to take all the Jews away. My parents took all of us children out the backdoor to the fields far away from the house and we stayed there the whole day hiding. At night, my father went back to the house and saw that the soldiers had gone through our home, but they passed and my family returned to our home. Actually, this kind of thing happened a few times. We would get a warning — we would run, hide, and then come back.
Ukrainian police were collaborating with the Germans to help them find Jews, so all of a sudden, after years of amicable relations, my parents had to be careful around our Ukrainian neighbors.
One morning, when we were all home, Germans came storming into my home, four or five great big soldiers with clicking boots and scary faces, and they took my father and brothers. Right before they were marched off, my youngest brother, who was only 14, ran to my mother and I remember her telling my brother “G-d will be with you.” She hugged him and then the Gestapo took them all away. I went to the window and watched them be placed onto a wagon with rifles at their necks, and that was it — they were gone.
I can’t understand it as a mother myself, but I have no recollection of my own mother screaming or crying or yelling; I just remember her praying and holding onto her girls very tightly.
A few days went by and we knew nothing. Suddenly, a truck came to the front of our home and the soldiers threw my father out onto our porch.
My mother brought him into the bedroom and I listened from the outside to his frail words. He was beaten up terribly and tortured — they returned him to our home as good as “dead” and my mother just sat next to him while he told her what happened.
The Gestapo had brought my father and brothers into a cellar. First, they took my oldest brother, Gershon, and tortured him with clubs and leather belts and my father had to listen to him screaming in agony. They then threw him out and took Yankel, and tortured him… and again my father had to listen to the horrifying screams. Then they took my youngest brother Pinny…and again the same torture was inflicted. My father heard them all screaming and then they took my father and tortured him. My father said they took my brothers away somewhere, but since he was too weak to get up and they knew he would die, they brought him home to die. My older sisters were not home; only me and my little sister were at home. My mother brought us into the bedroom to be blessed by my father, and then he died from his wounds.
At this point, it became clear that my mother had to do something, so she began to look for homes so that we could all hide.
We soon heard that my aunt, my mother’s sister from the next village, and her husband were hanged and somehow we got her daughter, my first cousin, Bronya Resnick, to come stay with us. We couldn’t all be together because no one would house all of us, so we all separated into different hiding places. I don’t know when exactly, but I know at some point my sisters and cousin were hiding in a home in Internitzya, but my mother, me, and my little sister ended up in a ghetto in Korzhets. The ghetto was absolutely horrible; there was no food, no clothes, no water, and just sickly people.
I recall looking out of the ghetto and seeing children playing in the park and asking my mother, “Why can’t I play too?” My mother told me that it was because we were Jewish but that we must never lose hope and always believe in G-d. She told me that someday I would be free again and be able to play outside. I believed her.
The ghetto was a form of hell. People were dying all over the place from disease, starvation, torture and the cold. There was nothing to do — all day — besides wait. Wait to be transferred to a camp. Wait to die.
One night, in the middle of the night, my mother woke me up and said that I had to be very quiet and not cry and that we were running away. I don’t know how my mother did it, but we just walked out. Suddenly, there were guns shooting at us and my mother told me to fall on the ground and pretend I’m dead; no movement and no noise until she told me. I did as she said and she did the same. I don’t know how long we laid there for, but eventually my mother whispered we could get up and keep walking. We walked all the way back to the village of Korzhets.
She knew people in this village, so somehow she was able to find us a home to hide. But each family said they could only hide us for a few days — and then my mother would go out and try to find a new place for us to hide. The places she found us were small little spaces that were dark and smelled weird — always cramped and underneath or behind something. I knew my sisters Baila and Leah were hiding in a different home, but one morning, the woman who was hiding us came to my mother and told her that she had just found out that the Ukrainian soldiers had found my sisters. They were told to walk and on the way to some city, the soldiers saw a ditch and they told my sisters to undress and get into the ditch. They were shot dead.
At this point, I understood that it was just my mother, me and my little sister left from our entire family. I can’t understand it, but I have no memories of my mother screaming or crying — just praying.
Every 2-3 days, my mother told us we were switching hiding places and we would go somewhere else. We always moved in the middle of the night, in the dark and cold. And this kept going and going; I don’t even know for how long.
One morning, I woke up early and my mother wasn’t there. I knew she had gone to find us a new home, but she should have been back by then. A few hours later the woman of the house came and told me that the night before, the police had seen her footprints in the snow and followed her. She realized she was being followed so she ran up a tree but the soldiers took her down and tortured her, demanding to know where her children were hiding. Of course, no matter how much they put her through, she never disclosed where we were hiding. The soldiers gave her to the Gestapo and the woman told me she was not coming back.
I didn’t know what to do. Right after the woman told me this she said I had to find a new place to hide. So that night, I left my sister in the middle of the night and went to look for a new place to hide. We were cold, hungry, and deeply alone in this world and we just kept running and running from home to home. I did as my mother did and would go out in the middle of the night to find a new place and come back to get my sister. This went on for a long long time and I lost track of time.
One night, in the middle of the night, a woman I had just asked to stay at recognized me and knew I was Jewish. All of a sudden, two guys walked in the house. They were not in uniforms, but they were Ukrainian police, and the woman told them that I was a Jewish kid. Before I knew it, I was being taken to the police station. Walking in the snow between these two men I thought to myself: it’s my turn. I am going to be tortured and killed and my sister will be all alone now. We ended up at the home of the head police officer. The head of police was sitting at his desk with bottles of vodka all over the table- and he was clearly drunk. He didn’t even have his hat on! For some reason, I didn’t feel scared because the man didn’t seem scary to me. He asked me where my parents were — I said they were dead. He asked if I had siblings — I said they were dead. I told him I was all alone in the world with nowhere to go. The last thing I expected to come out of his mouth suddenly bellowed into the room: “Let her go!” I couldn’t believe it. G-d was with me and I left the house and went back to my sister.
I continued to go out in the middle of the night looking for new places to stay. I went from house to house in the middle of the night trying to copy my mother and replicate her acts of strength. I really don’t know how long this was going on for but I couldn’t do it anymore. We were so hungry, so tired, so cold and we missed our mother so much! I turned to my sister and told her I was giving up and that I was going to turn myself in. My sister insisted on coming with me. Together we walked to the mayor’s house. I knocked on the door and a woman answered. I told her that we were two Jewish girls and that we were giving ourselves in because we couldn’t hide anymore and we missed our mother. She brought us inside the home and told her husband, the mayor, who we were. He looked at us and shockingly, asked us if we were hungry. Of course we were! We were just sitting down to eat something when the mayor heard the Gestapo coming into the house. He grabbed us and threw us out the backdoor and we escaped right as the soldiers entered the mayor’s home. We were saved again — however it was freezing and we had nowhere to go.
For days, we would walk and walk until we found a haystack in a farm, then try to get some sleep in the hay overnight. I remember one early morning a farmer came with his pitch fork and was about to stick it in the haystack we were hiding in and I told my sister to cover her eyes. Somehow it didn’t touch us and we walked away.
We were so tired. So hungry. So freezing. So alone in this big world.
And we walked and walked and walked.
If we found a farm to sleep in, we would sometimes knock on the door and request some food. I remember once a man gave us some bread and garlic and I ate mine so quickly but my sister only ate half and put the other half away for later. I grabbed her second half and ate it right in front of her. I can’t believe I did that but I guess that is how starving we were.
Finally, I found a place to hide in an attic right above a stove. It was a very small space, and we couldn’t make any noise but it was warm. One morning, I had no more strength. I don’t know what I was thinking but I just remember I had not nothing left to give my sister. I turned to my sister and told her I was leaving her. She begged me not to leave her alone but I did- I walked out and left her there. I walked all day, chewing on some leaves from a tree from hunger, and I kept knocking on doors asking people to take me in. Two days here, three days there, this village, that village, walking and walking.
1944 – I am now 11 years old.
I decided that I should look for work and that way maybe a family would let me stay with them longer than two or three nights. I knocked on the door of a farmhouse and told the woman that I was a Russian orphan named Marisha and I asked them if they could use my help on the farm in exchange for shelter and food. The couple liked me immediately and said yes. The village was called Milsases, near Nerjeretz.
I called them Pan and Panye (sir and madam) and at the beginning, they had two 2 sons in the home as well. But soon, the sons were taken away to the Ukrainian police where they were drafted to the army. I took care of the cattle and did a lot of house chores. At dinner, I knew not to eat the bacon or ham which was a staple at this farm (and every farm) so I would secretly throw it on the floor knowing I was the one who swept later that evening and could hide the evidence of being a Jew.
I was fed, warm and had a place to sleep. However, I began to be utterly and totally tormented about leaving my sister. The guilt would overtake me and I often cried myself to sleep wondering if she was ok and how I ever could have left her. One day, I was out in the field with the cattle and I completely broke down. I cried so bitterly, so loud, drenched in guilt and shame. Suddenly, a woman appeared from the next farm over and asked why I was crying. I told her I wasn’t crying. She told me that she heard me and that my eyes were red and puffy- but again, I looked at her and said, “Oh no- I was not crying”. Finally she said that if I needed help, I could come get her and she walked away.
Soon we heard that the Russians were coming and burning the highways and factories and I saw enormous fires all around the village. At the same time, a horrible disease broke out in the village and 3 different farmers died in our area but thankfully no one was touched in our home.
I was always so nervous they would find out I am Jewish and send me away- and then there was no question I would be killed. No jews were out in the open. If the Nazis found me, I would die.
January 1945 – I am 12 years old.
One morning, we heard the Russian Red Army came to our village and pushed out the Germans. The farmer I was staying with invited some young Russian soldiers to come eat in their home. The boys were so young! Maybe 16 or 17 and they were fighting so hard. One of the soldiers saw me and asked me what my name was. I said Marisha. “Oh! Marisha! We know a song about Marisha!” And they all started to sing me this song. This song stayed with me my entire life. I used to sing it to myself as an adult..
I kept asking neighbors if the war was almost finished or if the Germans would be returning. I never asked these questions to the family I lived with.
One day, I was in the field with another farmer girl, who also walked cattle in the fields daily. I suddenly knew I had to leave. I asked her to please take my cattle back to my farm and tell the family that I had to go to the village and I would be back late at night. And I left, towards Nerjeretz , with only one thing on my mind: my sister.
I walked to the city and saw some Jewish people coming out of hiding, now that the Germans had left, and I stayed with a Jewish family for a little bit. People would just walk around looking for survivors in the streets and I did the same.
I was staying with a family in Nerjeretz and one morning I woke up with a terrible rash and somehow I knew that the rash was because the farmers I had left were cursing me. Then the most unexpected thing happened: the farmer walked into the home I was staying in. I have no idea how he found me! “Why did you leave us? We need you, come back!”, he said. “You don’t need to be afraid. We like you”, he pleaded obviously now knowing I was a Jewish girl. But I told him that I was not going to come back because I had to find my sister. He walked away disappointed but my rash suddenly disappeared and I knew the farmers forgave me.
I then went to Korzhets — which was near my home town. I hitchhiked there and as soon as I got there, every Jewish family offered to take me in. It was so endearing to see how these survivors coming out of hiding were so eager to help any fellow Jew in need.
I then found out that there was a woman in town who wanted to meet me because she was hiding in the same village where I was living with the farmers. This woman was named Kayla Primack and she had been in hiding with her husband Baruch and son Sam.
They told me they were excited to see me because they had been hiding underground and I walked over them all the time so they recognized me. They asked me if I had anywhere to stay and when I said no, they offered to take me in.
All I spoke about was finding my sister. One day, someone who had known my family, came to the house and told me that someone might have seen my older brother Yankel. I was skeptical but every day I would roam the markets, where survivors congregated, and I would look out for Yankel and Sonya. After a while, I decided the likelihood of my brother being alive was so slim and I wanted to concentrate on finding my sister.
I was in such despair and one day I found myself standing right above a river. I looked up at the sky and told G-d that I would wait until the end of the war to find my sister. If I found her, I would never enter Palestine unless I fasted for 3 days and 3 nights. If I didn’t find her by the time it was over, I was going to come back to this river and throw myself in it.
Feeling sure about my promise, I went back to the Primacks.
Baruch Primack was already doing business in Korzhets. The resilience amazed me and how they got their life in order so quickly, I will never understand. But there was food and clothes and warmth and I was happy to have found this family.
One morning, I got very sick with a high fever and Baruch went to get a Doctor. I knew I was sick from guilt, but the Doctor told me not to move for a few days and sure enough, after a few days I got better.
After weeks of going to markets to look for my sister, Mr. Primack told me that someone had told him that there was a Chekslovakian farmer at the market who said she had a young Jewish girl staying with him. I asked where the farm was but he didn’t know. The next day I woke up early and told the Primacks that I was going to find this farm to see if that little girl was my sister. They wished me luck and assured me I could come back to them whenever I wanted.
I walked to the nearby highway and started hitchhiking — to where, I had no idea. A truck stopped with a man and woman in the front, and a child in the back, and they let me sit in the open space in the back of the truck. I told him where I wanted to go: a specific village where I heard there may have been a Chekslovakian farmer living. He said no problem and I felt encouraged I was headed in the right direction. However, he kept driving and driving and I had this strong feeling he had forgotten about me, or where I had requested to get off. I was knocking on the window but he still didn’t stop. After banging on the window and yelling, knowing we were far beyond where I had intended to get off, the son in the back finally saw me and motioned to his father that I was banging. He stopped the truck and I got off in the middle of nowhere.
I started walking and since it was almost dark, I decided to look for a hay stack in a farm so I could sleep for the night. I found a random farm and thought to ask the farmer if there were perhaps any Chekslovakian farmers in the area. He said he didn’t know them but he believed there was, across the highway. He pointed in the direction of where they might possibly be; but he wasn’t sure. I crossed the highway and saw a farm. I walked to the farm house and saw a large haystack with a little girl standing there but her back was to me. At that moment I prayed that this was my sister and sure enough, miracles of miracles, the girl turned around and it was indeed Sonya.
“Rachala!” she yelled. “Sonya!” I cried. There were simply no words.
We hugged and hugged and I couldn’t believe it! Soon the lady of the house came out and turned to Sonya and said: “This must be your sister.”
I was in shock that this was the Chekslovakian farm and that little rumored girl was actually my sister. What were the chances?
We stayed overnight and the next day we hitchhiked back to Korzhets. Sonya was shocked- utterly and completely shocked. And she was so frail, but she was alive.
We were on our way back to the Primacks but suddenly Sonya got a very high fever, because of the shock I was sure. We stopped at a Jewish home and they took us in for a few days until Sonya got better. When she did feel well enough to walk, we walked to the Primacks who were totally blown away that I had actually successfully found my sister. They welcomed Sonya in the same manner they welcomed me.
The war wasn’t over but the Primacks decided they wanted to move west, closer to Poland.
Ukrainian soldiers were looking for Russian soldiers and killing them on the spot so there was still violence in the air. Jews still had to be careful even though they were technically liberated by the Russians but the Ukrainian police would still randomly murder Jews.
We moved together with the Primacks and Mr. Primack began selling leather. He once asked me if I could go to the market and sell some leather and bring the money home. I sold everything I had brought to the market and was so excited to come home with the money from the day when I realized it was missing; it had been stolen. He never sent me to the market again.
May 1945 – I am 12 years old.
We were in a town called Rovne and we knew the war would end soon. One day, we heard loud speakers that the war was finally over. It was May 7th, 1945- two days after I turned 12. Everyone ran outside! Bells were ringing, people were dancing in the streets. It was finally over.
I suddenly remembered that the only children in the family that had received a blessing from our father were me and my sister, and we were the only ones to survive.
We always had our eyes open looking for family- but no one ever showed up besides one first cousin. I did meet a friend of my brother one afternoon, but that was it.
Soon we moved from Rovne to a village called Chojef in Poland. We went there on an open train and I remember it was pouring rain and we were all soaking wet. When we got to Chojef, the Primacks found out there was an orphanage for survivors in Bielsko, which was nearby. First my sister went there and I would visit her all the time. Then the Primacks told me they were continuing onto Germany and I said that I was going to the orphanage to join my sister.
The conditions in the orphanage were nice and the staff were warm and sweet. It was a Jewish orphanage funded by the American Jewish Congress. We went to “school” but we all learned together in one classroom. We learned Polish and I had such an itch to study after not having been educated for so many years. I also started to learn Russian. At this time Poland was a communist country and we studied a lot about Karl Marx and about communism.
1947 – I am 14 years old.
My sister and I loved to dance and we loved music. I was in the choir and Sonya started playing the piano by ear; she was so musically talented like my brothers. There was a lot of music that year to make up for the loss of music during the war years. We sang songs in Ukrainian, Russian, Polish, Yiddish….and Sonya was so gifted on the piano.
The American Jewish Congress was constantly sending us parcels. Once they sent a bathing suit and as the eldest, it only fit me. Everyone was so jealous. But I also received boxes of oranges and I would share them with all the girls.
One morning, the American Jewish Congress from NY came to our orphanage and asked us if we had any relatives in America. I told them I had an aunt named Shaindel, whose maiden name was the same as my mothers, Feldman, and she lived in Boston.
They collected our information and took our pictures and told us that we would be listed in major Jewish newspapers in NY. Luckily, my aunt bought this newspaper and saw our pictures and information. She immediately started corresponding with us in the orphanage.
My aunt started working on getting us papers for us to move to Boston but by the time the passport was issued, America had already closed its borders to anyone coming from a Communist country.
My Aunt Shaindel knew I had an uncle in Winnipeg and she got in touch with him and told him that we had survived the war. Soon, my uncle started writing to us. He immediately started arranging papers for us to immigrate to Canada and meet them in Winnipeg.
August 1948- I am 15 years old
We finally got our passports in the summer of 1948! We first traveled to France and stayed there one month to wait for the boat that would bring us to Halifax. We were so nervous because our passports were almost expiring but we made it to the boat on time and in September 1948, we arrived in Canada. I kissed the ground, I was so excited to be in the great land! We went to Winnipeg and met our Uncle Gabriel, who was my fathers brother, and our Aunt Sophia Shtern. They took us in as their own and right away started giving us English lessons and sending us to school. We were surrounded by cousins with the same last name as us! All the misplaced children from the war that had immigrated were put into a class together but eventually, we were put into regular classes. I was only in school for 2 years but Sonya, now called Susan, was only 12 when we arrived in Canada and she was flourishing!
When I finished school, I went to find a job and I worked in an office as a clerk typist. Once I started to work I moved out to my own place with my sister because it was important to me to be independent. The day I got my first paycheck, I did something I had dreamed about for so long. I went to a local bakery and bought a big chocolate cake. I shared it with my family and we devoured it in one sitting.
I was working, and now going by the name Ruth, while my sister was still in school. I started joining social clubs and dating casually. One day my cousin told me that she and her best friend wanted to set me up with her best friend’s brother; a school teacher named Irvin. At first I refused and did not feel confident enough in my English to date a schoolteacher but eventually I agreed and we went on a blind date.
And that was it. We dated and dated and fell in love and on July 4th, 1954, I married Irvin Labovitch, son of Zeleg and Golda Labovitch. He was born and raised in Winnipeg and had never left.
Together we had 3 children: Janis (Genya) who was born on June 13th 1956, Garry (Yitzchak) who was born on February 11th 1958 and Joel (Zelig Pinchas) who was born on October 30th, 1961.
When the children were young I stayed home with them but when they got a bit older, I worked in different positions in the federal government. For a while I was working as a reprocessor operator in the department of foreign affairs; that was very meaningful for me.
We raised our kids in Winnipeg but when my daughter got older she went to study in Israel and soon became religious and married Joe (Yosef) Bulman from NY. They had a small wedding in Winnipeg before returning to Israel. They have always lived in Israel and they have 10 children.
My son Garry eventually also went to Israel and became religious and soon he too married a woman named Susan from NY. They had 3 daughters together and lived in Monsey, NY. They later divorced and Garry remarried. His wife now is named Penina and together they had one daughter.
My son Joel went to medical school and became a medical practitioner. So it was very shocking when he too went to Israel and joined yeshiva and became religious. He married a woman from Edmington, named Meirah, and they too have 10 children. They live in Jerusalem and my son has been a doctor all these years in his neighborhood of Neve Yaakov.
As of March 2023:
Janis and Joe Bulman have 10 children, 46 grandchildren and 1 great grandchild
Yitzchak (Gary) had 3 children with Susan and they have 4 grandchildren
Yitzchak had another daughter with his current wife Penina
Joel and Meira have 10 children, and 17 grandchildren