The life story of František Frank Frištenský is introduced as part of the presentation of the second generation of Holocaust survivors who participate in discussions with young people and teachers at the Terezín Memorial.
In early autumn 1978, Washington, D.C. experienced hot and humid weather, which I struggled to adjust to for a long time. It had only been two months since my second, yet this time voluntary, emigration from Switzerland to the United States. I found temporary asylum in the apartment of Arnošt Lustig, where he lived with his wife, Věra, and their children, Josef and Eva. Arnošt helped me by getting a job at the same university where he was a professor of literature and film. I subsequently taught physical education there until I could “stand on my own two feet.”
I often watched Arnošt leaning over the typewriter in his study, working on his next book. At one point, however, the sound of the keys stopped. Lustig raised his head and turned to me. “Would you like to write a story about your mother too? I can help you with it, mate,” he offered.
Arnošt’s question genuinely surprised me because I had never considered my mother’s past. It was a taboo subject in our family and was rarely discussed, at least not in my presence. However, with this question, Arnošt put a bug in my ear, which eventually began to buzz much louder.
I was born three years after World War II in Olomouc, but I spent my early childhood with my parents on my grandparents’ farm at Bedihošť, near Prostějov. At that time, I had no idea that I was growing up in a family of renowned athletes, primarily due to my great-uncle Gustav and his younger brother, my grandfather František. Both of them brought fame to our country as professional wrestlers. After my grandfather’s farm was nationalized in 1952, we moved to Rožnov pod Radhoštěm. We really enjoyed life in the heart of the Beskydy Mountains. As a family, we loved hiking and often traveled not only in the local area, but also with our parents’ friends throughout the country. During those years I didn’t yet fully understand the impact of the communist period, and only later did I learn how severely it had affected the Frištenský family.
I once asked my mom why I didn’t have any grandparents on her side. She simply told me that they had died before the war, and that was the end of the discussion. She didn’t want to talk about it any further.
In 1968, my entire family immigrated to Switzerland. It was only when I turned twenty that I began to understand the political situation behind the Iron Curtain. I still hadn’t fully grasped my mother Hana’s (née Kleinová) Jewish past. I graduated from a sports institute, taught physical education, and played ice hockey and volleyball. In 1978, as I mentioned earlier, I decided to voluntarily relocate to the United States and found myself with the Lustig family. When staying in Arnošt’s family, I learned about the Holocaust and Terezin. It was actually the first time I learned that my mother had spent her young years as a Jewess in the Terezín Ghetto, just like Arnošt Lustig, even though they only met in Switzerland by chance in 1968.
During my time in the USA, I taught physical education at several universities and served as a coach for university volleyball teams. This work was both satisfying and fulfilling for me. I married Victoria, who was born in Philadelphia, and we are proud parents of three children: Hanka, Michael (Míša), and Naďa. We also have a granddaughter named Emilie, which brings us great joy.
My mother passed away in 1998 in Rožnov. It came as a shock because just the day before, I had spoken to her on the phone from America, and she seemed perfectly fine. That’s when Arnošt’s bug started buzzing again in my ear: I was surprised to realize that I truly knew nothing about her past. I discovered that, for reasons unknown, she had kept her history a secret from us, her children, throughout her life. Determined to uncover the truth, I began to research extensively, educating myself about the Holocaust and everything related to that time. I read many books as part of my quest for understanding. I personally visited over twenty women who had survived the Terezín Ghetto. Many of them remembered my mother and even shared Room No. 29 with her in Terezín’s girls’ home, L 410. Their stories were incredibly moving, and I documented them thoroughly. With each new account, I also learned more about myself. As I delved into my mother’s past, my self-confidence grew stronger, and my understanding of where I came from brought me a sense of rebirth and personal satisfaction.
I set out to write a short story about my mother that had never been told, particularly for my children and their descendants, so they could learn who their grandmother was. I have worked on this story for twenty years, and in 2021, I published it under the title “My Mom from Terezín.” Thank you, Arnošt, for the bug.
My mom’s trauma was hidden in her silence, in what she had never talked about.
František Frank Frištenský
