T H E   B R O T H E R
Helmut Reichenstein

    One day I had a supper invitation from a family in London, not long after the war. The lady of the house presented me: “This is Siggy Reichenstein.” The other guest had just come out of the refugee camp from Germany; he had been in the Riga ghetto. Then he said, “Reichenstein, I’m sure I remember that name. I used to play football with someone in the ghetto. There was a boy, Helmut Reichenstein.” He immediately added, “Don’t get your hopes up, because he isn’t alive anymore.”

   Many years after the war, I suddenly got a message through the British Red Cross that a certain Helmut Reichenstein was searching for his brother through the Soviet Red Cross. The next day I went with this letter to the Red Cross place in London. I wrote a letter to him and asked, ‘How can we meet up?’ A letter came back with a photo. I applied for a visa, travelled to Odessa; saw my brother, his wife and his daughter.
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