Anonymous, Guest Posts

Living in the Past: Discovering Credible Facts in My Past Life Memories in the Holocaust

September 25, 2015

By Anonymous

A couple of nights ago, I woke up from a nightmare, disoriented and a heavy feeling in my chest. I dreamt that I had survived the Holocaust and was sitting in a concentration camp just days after liberation. I couldn’t see my reflection, but I looked down to see my that my legs were covered in filth. My toenails were bare and brittle, not the electric pink gels pedicure that I regularly sport. But what disturbed me most about the dream is the overwhelming depression and apathy I felt at having survived for nothing. I somehow knew my entire family had died and I kept thinking over and over, “I’ve spent the last few years trying to survive hour by hour, minute by minute, evading death at every turn. And now that I have, what is there to live for? How can I go on?” I think I even told one of the nurses there that I didn’t really want to live.

And then I woke up.

I’m not, in fact, a Holocaust survivor. I have no relatives that are survivors. My mother’s side of the family is what many people refer to as “hidden Jews.” This means they rejected Judaism for some reason or another and fully immersed themselves in Christianity (or the dominant culture). I wasn’t even alive during WWII; I grew up in the 1990s, two generations and an entire world away from the horror. My parents never sat me down to tell me about the Holocaust, as is the experience of many young Jewish children or descendants of Holocaust survivors. I had never seen a film about the Holocaust until long after my obsession began.

And yet, my entire life even before I knew what the Holocaust was, I have been plagued with nightmares about being ripped away from my parents, Dr. Mengele (known as the Angel of Death for both the lethal experiments he did on pregnant women and twins; and the pleasure he took at sending inmates to their deaths) selecting me on the ramp at Auschwitz, having my head shaved, and men with gas masks chasing me (I would later learn that gas masks were worn when delivering the deadly Zyklon B). Until I was a preteen, I refused to be separated from my parents and would scream bloody murder when I was taken to daycare, kindergarten and even to good friends’ houses. In kindergarten, a boy told me he was going to cut all of my hair off and I felt sick. I was obsessed with growing my hair long, and even now have never really had a substantial haircut. I refused to shower until I was about ten years old, and even then, it was quick. I also had a doll, my baby that I called Marie but insisted that people roll the “r” in a French accent. I will get to that later on.

When I was eight, I started to become obsessed with the Holocaust. I read every book I could get my hands on voraciously and would often go to the library checking out enough books on the subject that I was asked if I was doing a report. And the obsession never left. To this day, I am working on an advanced degree on the Holocaust and also work with Holocaust survivors in the local community.

Western religion isn’t very open to the idea of reincarnation. Some sects of Judaism are, which even some Jews aren’t aware of, and it is generally thought to be some kind of weird “hippy dippy” bullcrap amongst the general public. I am even a bit of a hypocrite in that when I hear people claim they have had past lives as princesses or on the Titanic, my kneejerk reaction is to not believe them. But something about what had experienced made me feel like I might have had a past life in the Holocaust, however strange (and potentially offensive) that might sound.

It took me a while to open up to people about my experiences. How was I to know I wasn’t just insane or imagining things? I’ve gathered the courage to speak to a few people, including my family, a few close friends and a therapist or two. Most people are receptive. Some have told me it is a by-product of my imagination or my lifelong struggle with depression (a therapist once said she thought it was a symbol for feeling trapped—that I am in the concentration camp of my mind). But the coincidences and validations I’ve made through my academic knowledge of the Holocaust seem very hard to ignore. After the discoveries I’ve made through my detective work, which I am about to discuss, many people stare at me slack-jawed.

As a child, I idolized Europe, particularly Germany and France. The first time I went to France, it felt like home, which has lead to a lifelong love affair with the French culture. I even studied abroad there. But before I even studied French, I would have dreams about life with someone who I gleaned was my father all in French. I often dreamt of a beautiful life with him, and it is clear from the dreams that we were very close. Although the dreams and feelings revealed it was just the two of us in my nuclear family, I had a strong feeling that I had many aunts, uncles and cousins. My father in the dreams and memories (which are hard to explain unless you have experienced them, but often come on in the moments before sleep) was a doctor and we seemed to live a comfortable middle class existence before the Nazis came to France.

There were more sinister dreams and memories as well. SS guards playing games with children under the billowing smoke. Sitting and looking for my father beyond the barbed wire fences, later I learned that I think I was held in a Kinderlager. It was only set up temporarily and it was, in fact, directly opposite where the men were paraded back and forth to work in Birkenau. It is completely possible that I could have been looking for my father from my perch there. The Kinderlager was set up sometime in 1944 to deal with the macabre problem of too many people coming into Auschwitz that summer due to the influx of Hungarian Jews. The gas chambers were full to capacity. The children needed to be placed somewhere else temporarily, before they, too, could be destroyed.

There is also the memory of the infernal itching and scratching from the lice. The screams in the night, women going insane and calling out the names of loved ones they may never see again. Pushing my sore feet into the constant Auschwitz mud for some relief. And then the worst: coming down with some sort of fever and breaking out in boils all over my body—and then being sent to the gas chamber for it. In Auschwitz, becoming ill, or even sometimes having a bad case of acne, could spell death at the next selection (when the SS doctors killed prisoners no longer “fit” to work to make room for new transports). Eventually, I was selected. I even have a memory of dying, my soul being catapulted from my body and looking down on my own body that I barely recognize with wonder and horror.

When I was 15, I found a book that would change my life: Beyond the Ashes by Rabbi Yossan Gershom. It held numerous case studies of people who felt they all had past lives in the Holocaust—many of them with similar characteristics, and most of which described me. In his work with those who felt they had a past life in the Holocaust, Rabbi Gershom found that those who had been gassed were often born having trouble breathing (check—as a baby I was hospitalized many times for asthma and almost died). Many of them were born to families with a tenuous connection to Judaism so that they were technically still Jews, but it could be hidden if necessary (check). Most were naturally blonde (check). Many were inclined to issues such as an eating disorder and depression (check). Still more often felt that they were born into the wrong family or didn’t fit in (check). Gershom also stated that many of the people he saw developed severe issues the same age they were when they died. At age 14, I developed a deep, deep depression and began cutting myself.

All of this was always in the back of my head, never really validated by anything other than my own coincidental memories until I spent one summer in Paris in 2013. Part of me longed to search the archives of transport lists at the Memorial de la Shoah, the other part of me thought I might turn up empty handed and perhaps vaguely disappointed. Of course, not every who has died in the Holocaust is recorded, but finding nothing would lend credence to the fact that I might just have an overactive, but macabre, imagination.

Besides an approximate age, I did have one major clue: as a child I actually changed my first name, which is something barely anyone knows about me. Before I turned 18, my parents wouldn’t allow me to change my name and therefore always had to explain in school why legally I was known as one name, but I preferred another. I never felt the name my parents gave me suited me, so I changed it to the name that was my name. Although I know this affronted my parents, as they felt I was rejecting my identity (they thought it was just a phase, but at the age of 23, I legally changed it…or added it onto my name retaining my original first and middle names as two middle names), I knew this was what my soul was called. Oddly enough, they had actually considered the name whilst my mom was pregnant with me, but ultimately vetoed it.

Before I dove into the archives, I downloaded a book about past lives onto my Kindle. I pored over it in my unairconditioned room in Paris, trying to make sense of my story, and in some ways, trying to convince myself NOT to search the archives, that I had imagined the whole thing.

The book told me how to read my past life chart based on my time, date and location of birth. While I would have dismissed this as utter nonsense previously, there were several things in the chart I couldn’t just poo-poo. Although the chart gives about 5 possible answers to questions such as where you were born in your last past life and what you died from, they are all incredibly specific. It stated one of the reasons for my death could have been a skin condition. One of five places of birth was Alsace in France. And one of five places of death was southern Poland.

I knew I had to go into the archives.

By then, most of the transport lists had been digitized. With a first name, an approximate age and an approximate year (there are a ton of memories I haven’t discussed, but using my knowledge as a historian, I have been able to pinpoint my arrival to Auschwitz from Drancy—the French antechamber to Auschwitz just outside of Paris– in 1944), I typed in my first name and 1944, looking for people born between 1929 and 1931.

And there she was. A girl with my first name. 14 years old in 1944. Deported to Auschwitz from Metz with her father, no mother, her grandparents, several aunts and uncles and cousins. The youngest cousin, aged 2 upon her deportation, was named Marie, just like my doll. Being French, her name would have been pronounced with a rolled “r.” Many of the aunts and uncles had married Germans, which may account for my childhood fascination with the country and not the hatred that many victims feel. Alsace also has deep German connections. And the men in the family ran a pharmacy in the center of town, though it is unclear if any of them were also doctors.

Is this me? I don’t really know. It seems like too much of a coincidence not to be.

I always knew there were survivors in the family, and this was confirmed as this particular family group has had survivors write into Yad Vashem confirming that family members had perished. But I have no idea if those people are still living or not. But, there is even a photo of a girl that could have been my cousin hanging in the French block at the Auschwitz I state museum, smiling cheekily at the camera in happier days.

There are many memories that can never be confirmed, such as things I think happened in Auschwitz, or even that this particular person wasn’t gassed straight away as most children were. But the coincidences are staggering.

Past life memories are tricky, because many people think you have to remember an event perfectly in order for it to be real, otherwise you are subconsciously fabricating it. But how many things do we remember in our current lives perfectly? How many dreams do we have that deal with symbols of our lives? This is how I view some of my memories. It is hard to say how I know some things are memories and some things are simply dreams and symbolic, but I am able to suss them out quite easily. For instance, I know the dream I discussed at the opening of this article was just a dream based on reality.

Although I have studied the Holocaust intensely since I was a child, I have always been afraid to go to Auschwitz. But in 2014, I decided it was time and went with a Jewish tour group, but not before suffering several panic attacks in the weeks prior. Was I going to lose my mind? Was I going to cry hysterically? Was I going to go into some trance and think it was all happening again? It was difficult to deal with as well because I couldn’t open up about my nerves with my travel mates. I mean, if some woman you just met tells you she thinks she died in Auschwitz despite being over 40 years too young right before you visit the camp as a group, you might avoid her for the rest of trip. This would especially have the potential to be offensive since some of those on the tour had family members who died in the Holocaust.

Surprisingly, I held it together there more than I thought I would. Birkenau was like I remembered, but it seemed so much smaller now without all of the buildings and the population bursting at the seams. The gas chambers where I might have died are no more than a pile of rubble as the SS blew them up when the Russian army started to advance (and one in a prisoner rebellion). On our tour, I could pinpoint specific places that I had lived in the camp (it is unlikely a prisoner would have seen the entire camp anyway as most of it would have been restricted and off limits) without having to read the map. The areas prisoners were restricted from seemed foreign to me, as they naturally would, but all in all, it was like coming back to face a demon. I can’t say I would like to wander around Birkenau alone any time in the near future, but I am very proud of myself for having done it.

Is all of this evidence of a past life? I can’t say for certain. But I know my life now is dedicated to keeping the memory of the Holocaust alive—in honor of the survivors who still struggle with the trauma they experienced 70 years ago, those whose voices were silenced, and perhaps even myself.

 

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18 Comments

  • Reply Shilo September 25, 2015 at 11:37 am

    Your story is powerful and gives me hope of explaining some unexplained things in my life. I answer (check) to all your “checks” and struggle to understand why.

    I’ve also been drawn to the Holocaust and have read about it voraciously throughout my life. Over and over, any resource I can find, I read it- about Eichman and the later trial, Dr. Mengele, or testimonies from the “oppressors.” (best way I can say that) From Daniel Goldhagen’s thesis on why people stood by and watched, to popular accounts from Olga Lengl, Viktor Frankl, and Ellie Wiesel. I keep thinking that if I read everything there is to read I might understand one day.. but that day hasn’t come, of course.

    Unlike you, I don’t have any memories. And I’ve felt for a long time that I would give up quickly if faced with the unspeakable terror in the camps and ghettos. Also unlike you, I’ve felt a long-time aversion to the German people. I know that is so terrible to say, but my anger toward a country that collectively stood by knows no bounds. Even when my husband explains to me it’s similar to our countries’ history with slavery. We didn’t perpetuate it, we are innocent. But I feel like the evil is too close.. too recent…to be forgiven. I am so sorry to say that. I ask for forgiveness as I type it.

    By chance could you tell me about that book you read on past lives? What was the name of it? Your story has moved me greatly.

    Thank you Jen. <3

  • Reply Anonymous September 26, 2015 at 7:38 pm

    Hi there,

    It’s me, the author. It is called Beyond the Ashes. If you want to chat more, you can leave your email here and I’ll get in touch with you. Sorry, I just am not too keen on revealin my identity to the public.

    • Reply Valerie April 27, 2017 at 12:41 pm

      Hello , ive read your artical, i cannot beleive it… i also KNOW
      that i too was murdered in the holocost, raped , and murded , i was shot in the back of the neck and shoulder, i really didnt know why ive had this re accouring dream through out my whole life. I too refused to be separated from my parents as a child, i was born in 1966 , put up for adoption to catholic parents , i always knew i didnt fit in to my adopted family ,never being sat down and told i was adopted, just i always knew,
      Ive had very vivid past life memories, not knowing what they were, not reveling to anyone, because i know that they would think i was crazy or making stories up. I rember the first documentry i ever saw about the holocaust, that a wave of nausia came over me, sweating and fainting , to awakening with smelling salts with people looking down on me saying u must be sick are ok ,… i wasent ok , .. i am a hidden jew

  • Reply Anonyous September 30, 2015 at 9:12 pm

    If anyone wants to chat more about this, I have set up an anonymous email address at eighteenthirtysix18@gmail.com.

  • Reply Anonyous September 30, 2015 at 9:21 pm

    Also, I just wanted to state that some people have questioned why I would make a tragedy “all about myself” and that I need to gain perspective. Although it is not touched on in this article, aside from my academic studies on the Holocaust, I both work with as a paid job and volunteer with Holocaust survivors in helping keep the ends of their lives comfortable. I do not reveal these feelings to them as it would have the potential to be offensive for some, though others will believe in this kind of thing. I have not decided it makes me a strong person nor do I feel the need to get attention from it (which is an accusation going around) otherwise I would have publicised my name and all of the volunteer work I do for survivors and human rights charities.

    I was told to question the purpose of my “fantasy life.” The purpose is that I use it to alleviate the pain of others who are dealing with the traumas from this life.

  • Reply Susan Wood June 3, 2016 at 1:40 pm

    Thank you so much for sharing your story. For years i have scoured the internet hoping to find people like myself. I’ve been completely unsuccessful. Until last night. Now, it seems suddenly there are so many pages and accounts on the subject, it is the next day and I am still not finished exploring.

    It’s always seemed to me that it would be very rude indeed to share my story; my worst fear is offending the true, current-lifetime survivors and insulting the many that died. So it’s always been a sort of secret.

    My nightmares started at age four. I would be running through an unfamiliar street or alley, frantically searching for a place to hide while a hulking figure pursued me. But every place I found there were already too many people, and they would hiss, “Find another place, no room here!” As I grew older, the single figure was replaced by soldiers. And the dreams became worse. I watched as a stream of people was marched across an overhead train trestle, naked, bleeding, feces dripping through the cracks in the trestle floor. Stopped in the street by soldiers, my jewelry was demanded and when I ran through an field to try to get away, they tackled me and held me to the ground. When they slit my throat, I could actually feel my soul leave my body through the open wound. I’ve hid in attics, barn lofts, beneath and behind the trash in the alleyway. These dreams persisted until i was 28.

    Because at 28, in my second year at university, I took a course on the Holocaust. Finally, my dreams made sense. I learned about the “roundups,” learned that the things that had happened to me in my dreams had happened in real life. The only logical conclusion I could arrive at was that this had happened in a past life. At four I hadn’t the knowledge of the roundups. At 10 or 11, I had no way of knowing about people being marched through their towns at the hands of soldiers.

    Can it be that the vow to Never Forget is so strong that we’ve carried it beyond a prior life? I am so astonished to find so many others like me out there. It is something that has always been such an enormous part of my self identity, yet something I could never share with other people. Again, thank you for sharing and opening the door.

  • Reply Brandi July 7, 2016 at 6:48 am

    Thank you for this sensitive, well-written account of reincarnation. Can you tell me the name of the book where you learned to read your past life chart?

    Thank you!

    Brandi

  • Reply A Girl on Earth November 2, 2016 at 8:59 am

    Hey, I feel relieved to read this. I have this same problem. I am obsessed with the Holocaust. I love reading about it. I began meditation to remember my past life. I remember seeing bits of sky with beautiful trees and a church with people speaking a foreign language and joyful music. I remember another family and having many siblings. I hate being separated from my family. I got sick watching a Hitler parade in history class and had nightmares about war and death. I remember wearing a swing dress, white socks and black shoes.

  • Reply BT January 16, 2017 at 6:48 am

    Thanks all, for your accounts. Helps me think that I’m not going crazy. I shared my memories with my wife, and as I was telling her I could hear how crazy it sounds. I started doubting myself a little too! And like the author, I am naturally sceptical whenever I hear of a past life memory from someone else! I have less specific memories, not of the Holocaust but of the war itself. I would be interested to know how you read a birth chart, and what other clues lie in the nature of birth- for example the difficulty breathing hinting to having died by gas, if there are any other indicators? Thanks 😉

  • Reply Rheingeld April 4, 2017 at 4:04 pm

    Similar to you, I also remember a past life and have been dealing with the traumas from that life since a young age. Unlike you, I was on the other side.

    I really enjoyed reading your account. I thought it was powerful, moving, and well-written. I know others like you who have similar stories and who have undergone the same thing, if you’re interested in getting in contact with them.

    I think that we are put in situations in subsequent lives to make amends or to find peace within ourselves. I married an Eastern-European Jew and was born to 2nd generation Eastern-European immigrants who also had everything taken from them during the war and who were wiped out by war’s end. I had great contention in that life with Russian people and now I am part of a Russian family and work with many Russians at my work and in my community.

    I would love speaking with you sometime if you are interested.

  • Reply apc May 4, 2017 at 12:39 pm

    Thanks for sharing. I can relate to the experiences you describe and emotions. I had developed an obsessive compulsory disorder which seems to be uncontrollable at the time I reached 15 years old. It seem like the reason for this was I was trying to recapture a past memory as I lost as somewhat reaching this year of age as the end of my life in the past. I went to a therapist at that time but only somewhat help but really never gave me a reason. I looking back and after many years I was able to progress through and resolve the issues and through regression therapy realized that there was no death (spiritually) and I can value everything I have in this life as being the continuation of the past in which I didn’t experience. It’s like living a modified life on a different plane of existence but having a point of relativity. While there will be dislikes and phobias somehow still exist, at least there some type of realization of why there they there. And this was not the only past life as there were also prior and subsequent lives which are a combination of what the present life may experience. Most importantly, is that there is love that is not lost but exists beyond the mere appearance of the identity of the physical reality of life and it sort of conquers death.

  • Reply Lauryn December 30, 2017 at 1:56 am

    Hi I am happy to have found this post and all the many replies. My mother told us she thought she had lived before during WWII and has had lifelong nightmares of being experimented on by Nazi doctors. My sister and I didn’t know what to think of this. Our Mom has numerous health issues and numerous drug allergies. I am going to ask her about her dreams. We do have Jewish heritage but many of our relatives assimilated over the years as there was a lot of prejudice in small-town Canada.

  • Reply Pilar Vandersteen Howard January 29, 2018 at 4:01 pm

    This happened
    Why are people trying to
    Pretend it didn’t
    I was there
    My life now is haunted
    With the horror
    I now will make sure
    People know the truth
    About the wickedness

  • Reply Bob White March 28, 2018 at 9:38 am

    Compare the shit French with the Brave Danish people. Admire these gutsy people instead the those cowards of French extraction. The Danes saved most of their Jews.

  • Reply Galina April 8, 2018 at 7:49 pm

    I too, have an obsession with the Holocaust. It is comforting to know I am not the only one. I feel like I lived during that time and was deeply affected by it. Perhaps I was a victim of sorts. I feel like I tried to help free or keep people safe and hidden from the terrors. However I don’t know if I was caught or not and punished as a result. I, in no way, wish to disrespect the millions that perished and survived.

    In this life I was adopted from Russia when I was a baby. When I recently reconnected with my birth family, I learned that my paternal grandfather converted to Judaism and now lives in Israel. He told me that we had distant relatives that fell victim to the Holocaust in the Salaspils concentration camp in Latvia.

    I’ve wondered if anyone else experiences these things as a result of having a past life in that time. I’ve had depression since I was about 7 years old or so. I have OCD and sometimes I get a feeling like there are bugs crawling on me or something, I’m very sensitive to lint or loose hair. It feels creepy and crawly. I had an asthma attack when I was a baby and haven’t had one since, although I do get shortness of breath occasionally that the doctor can’t explain.

    I would love to learn more of the symptoms anyone else experiences and reach out to this community.

  • Reply Nicolas June 24, 2018 at 1:59 pm

    Hello to everyone. First off let me say that I believe there is no right or wrong, that there is only experience, spiritually speaking. I’ve been reading your posts because I have been pondering for a while the idea I might have lived during the holocaust. I was born in 1963, adopted 4 months later.

    There is so much to say I don’t know where to begin nor how to structure my thoughts before writing; so I’ll give it my best shot hoping it will be an easy read.
    When I was a child, I became fascinated by the holocaust, Germany, the german language which I pestered my father to learn. It seemed pressing for me to speak german but there I was in a French Canadian family.
    At one point, my parents decided that my brother and I should go to boarding school. I remember visiting the school and being fascinated by the uniforms we had to wear: red in the day and blue in the evening. The feeling of being in a group, the uniforms, the structure, I found it all very interesting and attractive.
    In my small hometown there were not really many jews. In fact, I didn’t know what a jew was. Strangely, we had neighbours ( one family)who were jewish. I was very young, but I remember their name. I also remember the lady of the house who was very kind. They spoke English, I spoke French, but there was something familiar about them. Mysterious as well.
    At the boarding school is where I actually met the few jewish students who attended. I can only remember my fascination with them because the high holidays were respected and they seemed to be on another schedule than the catholics and the protestants attending the school. On occasion I would catch a glimpse of the jewish students practicing for their Barmitzvahs. The jewish culture felt strange and yet familiar.
    It is also in this school that I saw for the first time a documentary on the holocaust. We had projections of documentaries on Wednesday evenings. I also, remember the corpses being bulldozed into the pits of Bergen-Belsen. Of course I was horrified but fascinated; the context resonated with me and I couldn’t understand why. I was fascinated with all things jewish for some reason.
    We also played war on the school’s huge property. I always wanted to be on the german side. I took up riding horses and I thought I looked smart in my jodhpurs and riding boots with crop. I read all kinds of books on the holocaust, the SS and the concentration camp system. To this day holocaust and WW2 documentaries I always watch with much interest.
    I lived in Austria and Germany and I felt at home in both countries. I learned german quickly in my youth and retain much of it today. Sometimes I formulate sentences in german or spontaneously remember words I honestly don’t recall learning..the correct word has come to me often and seemingly out of nowhere.
    It was strange living in Berlin ( 1989-1990) and walking by the old Gestapo HQ, the Plötzensee prison. In Austria I visited Mauthausen; in Czechoslovakia I visited Theresienstadt with a group of students, some of them were Jewish.
    I went to Auschwitz on a cold and rainy November day in 1989 after feeling almost compelled to visit.
    Recently, I read a book by a holocaust survivor. A greek man who worked in the Sonderkommando. There is a passage in the book where one of the krema guards was a blond SS but from Holland. The author spoke of him as a friendly type to whom he tried to teach the harmonica. The author remembers the SS man just putting the instrument to his mouth without wiping it; something a hard core SS man would never do. The prisoner notes the kindness of this guard and he perceives he didn’t want to be there.
    This resonated with me especially because I did have a past life regression a few years ago where I saw myself with a group of prisoners walking through the Arbeit Macht Frei gate. As I was watching the scene and the marching group, it seems we walked through the gate and continued straight ahead until we found ourselves in an assembly courtyard which would be to the left of the main gate.
    This is when I noticed my shoes and dress weren’t like the prisoners’. I remember saying to the therapist: ” Wait a minute, I’m not a prisoner , I’m a guard!” Later on I remember escaping somehow, only to be shot at some point and somewhere in the chaos of troops making their way deeper inside the Reich from the east.
    I know this might sound crazy and I can’t be certain but..Is it possible I was that guard? Strangely, I prefer Dutch to German as a language. Once, in the Villa Borghese in Rome I came upon a man and his wife from East Germany. They were retired now and thus free to travel. When I saw the man, my solar plexus was vibrating with joy! It’s as if I knew him from somewhere. When I visited him and his family in the town of Rathenow ( DDR then) the familiar feeling didn’t go away and after talking with him, he told me about his life in the east during the war and the Russian front and his imprisonment for many years in the Soviet Union. He even offered to give me his military boots he had kept. I saw them and tried them on in his basement, they fit perfectly.
    I’m sort of putting two and two together and perhaps it would take another regression, but I have the impression to have lived in this period . It’s a little embarrassing to share that it seems I was on the german side but this is the impression I have!
    Perhaps your comments can validate or add to my impressions but my gut feeling is that it was true. There are so many twists and turns in life; hints here and there and impressions. If I’m to trust my gut feeling, I believe this is essentially what happened.
    When I lived in Germany and Austria as a teenager and young adult, I felt completely at home which adds to the strangeness.

  • Reply Rose September 4, 2018 at 8:29 am

    3 weeks ago I had a dream also and it was the first time I had a vintage dream about Holocaust time even though I am not fond of watching World War 1&2 movies. First scene in my dream: A Jew family with only 1 child(son) was waiting for a train ride somewhere in Europe. Second scene: This family slept at an inn without bed and many other people are also sleeping in that same room at the floor also. That family is also hiding. Next Scene: I saw a blue clock at a wooden building it strucked 2pm then a mechanical bird shouted “Sabbath! Sabbath!” This Jew Family arrived there with a Blue Volkswagen beetle car and all other Jews entered the building at the same time after it was opened. Next Scene: Their little son(approx. 5-6 years old) ran away from a plaza after talking w/ female friends. Then an assasin arrived to ask his female friends about the little boy’s whereabouts after he climbed down the center stage of the plaza. His friends said: “There he is.” (I saw him running away). Another scene: I also saw a man shot 🔫 at a plaza.
    So I searched Google and found Dam Plaza in Amsterdam Netherlands…is similar to the plaza I saw in my dream. They have an elevated center stage. I also found out that 22 people were killed there when the Germans surrendered on May 1945. 😮
    In my present life: I am a 22 year old Filipina from a Roman Catholic family. When I was a kid I am afraid of thunder sound(maybe because it resembles the noise from the World War). I am still glad that even though I did not grow up in a 1st world country, there is no war here.

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