Michelle Friedman's recently released memoir, Divine Corners: In the Shadow of the Holocaust on a Catskills Chicken Farm, offers a personal account of her parents' escape from Nazi‑occupied Poland and the subsequent erosion of the Catskills vacation empire that once served as a refuge for Jewish families.
Friedman, the daughter of Polish Holocaust survivors, grew up on a farm in the hamlet known locally as Divine Corners. Her mother, Regina, survived the Warsaw Ghetto and later fled a deportation train bound for Treblinka. According to the memoir, Regina leapt from the train, hid in a bush, and eventually secured forged documents that allowed her to move through occupied Warsaw. A Ukrainian soldier once pointed a rifle at her, but after she recited the Lord's Prayer he lowered the weapon and offered her a chocolate bar. These episodes form the backbone of Friedman's narrative.
The family settled in the Catskill Mountains, a region that, from the 1930s through the 1970s, hosted a network of Jewish resorts known as the Borscht Belt. The resorts provided a safe haven for Jews who were barred from many mainstream hotels. Grossinger's, a 1,200‑acre complex that once anchored the area's tourism, epitomized the era's prosperity. By the early 2020s, however, the resort's physical remnants were disappearing. A demolition permit issued in 2021 authorized the razing of Grossinger's most upscale building, a structure conceived during the resort's 1960s peak. The permit hung on a fence for years, a stark reminder that the once‑vibrant resort was slated for erasure.
When Friedman visited the site in 2022, a fire had consumed the remaining structures. The blaze eliminated the last of Grossinger's lesser‑known hotels, leaving only crumbling foundations and graffiti‑scarred walls. The loss of these buildings mirrors the fading collective memory of the Borscht Belt, a cultural touchstone for generations of American Jews.
Friedman's memoir does more than recount family trauma; it also captures the everyday reality of life on a farm that raised roughly 20,000 chickens. The author describes how the farm's coops and the surrounding landscape vanished over time, as if they had never existed. The physical disappearance of these sites underscores a broader challenge: preserving places that hold historical significance for minority communities.
In the United States, historic preservation often depends on a mix of federal, state, and private funding. The National Historic Preservation Act of 1966 created the framework for designating sites of cultural importance, but the process can be slow and politically fraught. Jewish heritage sites, especially those tied to the Holocaust survivor experience, have sometimes struggled to secure the same level of protection as more widely recognized landmarks.
Canada faces a similar dilemma. While the country has invested in Holocaust education and supports museums such as the Canadian Museum for Human Rights, the preservation of physical sites linked to early Jewish settlement remains limited. The Catskills story resonates with Canadian readers because many Canadian Jews trace their family histories to similar post‑war migration patterns, and because cross‑border tourism has long linked the two nations.
Friedman's account also touches on contemporary political concerns. In recent years, incidents of anti‑Semitic hate crimes have risen in both the United States and Canada, prompting lawmakers to consider stronger hate‑crime legislation. Preserving the memory of places like Grossinger's can serve as a bulwark against denial and indifference, offering tangible reminders of the community's resilience.
The memoir details the author's relationship with her immediate family. Her father, Arnold, a man described as "crackling with tension like an electrified fence," survived the war by helping hide his sister and mother in an attic. Arnold's volatile temperament dominated the household, and his death shortly after his 96th birthday left Friedman as the sole child to attend his funeral. Her brother Jay, who later moved to Seattle, died of pancreatic cancer in 2022. He requested cremation, a choice that conflicted with traditional Jewish burial customs, and Friedman honored his wish, highlighting the complex interplay of personal belief and cultural tradition.
Friedman's sister Lisa emigrated to Israel, further illustrating the diaspora's varied paths. The memoir notes that Lisa's limited contact with the family reflects a broader pattern of post‑war Jewish families dispersing across the globe, often leaving behind shared histories that become fragmented over time.
The book's publication by Amsterdam Publishers, a firm known for works on Jewish history, adds another layer of relevance. At 290 pages and priced at $24.95, the memoir is positioned for both academic and general audiences. Its release coincides with a growing market for survivor testimonies and second‑generation narratives, a trend that has political implications for how governments allocate resources to Holocaust education.
Journalist Jessica Schwalb, a broadcast associate at 60 Minutes and a native of Jeffersonville, New York, contributed a brief endorsement, noting the memoir's vivid portrayal of a "vanishing world." Schwalb's involvement underscores the media's role in amplifying stories that might otherwise remain confined to niche circles.
Policy experts argue that the loss of Grossinger's and similar sites should prompt legislative action. In New York, the state's Historic Preservation Office has the authority to list endangered properties, but the process requires local advocacy and often faces opposition from developers. Federal tax credits for historic rehabilitation exist, yet they are rarely applied to properties without clear commercial potential.
Advocates for Jewish heritage preservation suggest that a coordinated effort between the U.S. State Department's Office of Religion and Global Affairs and Canada's Department of Canadian Heritage could create a binational grant program. Such a program would fund the documentation and stabilization of sites linked to Holocaust survivors, ensuring that future generations can access physical evidence of this history.
Critics caution that allocating public funds to preserve niche cultural sites may divert resources from broader infrastructure needs. They argue that private philanthropy, rather than government spending, should shoulder the burden. The debate reflects a larger conversation about how societies prioritize memory, identity, and fiscal responsibility.
Friedman's memoir arrives at a moment when the United States is grappling with the legacy of the Holocaust in the context of rising extremist rhetoric. Lawmakers in several states have introduced bills to strengthen Holocaust education in public schools, a move that aligns with the memoir's emphasis on remembering the past to inform the present.
In Canada, the federal government's recent commitment to expand the National Holocaust Memorial Day programming may find resonance with Friedman's story. By highlighting personal narratives from the Catskills, the memoir offers a cross‑border perspective that can enrich Canadian curricula and public discourse.
Ultimately, "Divine Corners" serves as both a family chronicle and a cautionary tale about cultural erasure. The physical disappearance of Grossinger's and the farm's coops illustrates how quickly history can fade when preservation is not prioritized. As the United States and Canada continue to confront anti‑Semitic threats and debates over historic funding, Friedman's work reminds policymakers that safeguarding memory is a public responsibility.
Readers interested in exploring the memoir can find it through major retailers and libraries. Its release may spark renewed interest in preserving the remaining Borscht Belt landmarks, a cause that could see bipartisan support given its ties to American cultural heritage and the broader fight against hate.