Rose Hassin

HASSIN: My name is Rose Hassin. I was born in Vienna, August 26, 1924. I had a twin sister, and an older sister, and my mom and dad. We lived in a lovely home. My father was very busy — he was in the furniture business with his father — but he always took time for us. Every Sunday we would go in the wintertime skiing, and in the summertime we would spend our three months of vacation in some foreign country — Czechoslovakia, Switzerland, Italy, or Hungary or whatever — and we’d stay there the whole time of our vacation. We had a lady that worked for us, a housekeeper. She would come with us. Life just went on. We had really a great time. Usually the house was on a river right in the middle of a field amongst the farms, and we’d go fishing, swimming, hayrides — we used to take a lot of hayrides in the little villages — and just had a great time. School, of course, with my twin. We had lots of friends, played. They came to our house; we’d go to the park. And it was fine. 

But the minute Hitler marched in, we were not allowed to go to school. The kids that we knew, they used to run behind us calling us, “Dirty Jew.” Hit us on our head. We were not allowed to get on a bus or trolley. We had to walk everywhere we went. They closed our bank account. We had no money. The Jewish agency in Vienna — I think it was sponsored through the Rothschild family — opened a food kitchen for the Jewish people. We used to go in those, and it was a long way from where we lived. It was in the Jewish section, and we lived a long way from there. We would go with tins like the people used to carry to take lunch with them when they went to work. They would give us cooked white beans and rice, and that’s about it, I think. I don’t remember anything else. I guess bread or something like that. It was very sparse. We were sick and tired of beans, but at least we had something to eat.

Otherwise, my life there was fine until, like I said, when Hitler marched in. There was myself and my twin and my mother. My grandfather lived not far from us. I had two aunts, my father’s sisters, that lived near us, and they were in the same situation. My grandfather, we used to visit. We couldn’t go anywhere. We were not allowed to go into a restaurant or anything. We’d had no money anyway to begin with. It got so bad that they put a seal on my father’s factory to make sure that nobody goes in there because there were a lot of machines and tools that they used to make furniture. 

They had a guard, not only for our house. They would come by every three hours, go around the property to see if anybody was there. My father had some whetstones to sharpen the tools, which were expensive. My grandfather came and he said to me, “We’re going to have to get in there and get those out to make a little money.” Of course, I was little. There was a little window. We watched the guard come and go, and so we knew he wasn’t going to be there for about three hours. I had to crawl through the window at night, dark, couldn’t turn on the light in the factory, and he told me where they were. I crawled through the window, which was the window of the toilet there. I jumped in, and I found my way around. I had a little flashlight. I found them, three of those stones. I brought them out. My grandfather was waiting for me outside, and I handed them to him and then I jumped out. He sold them. I don’t know what he got for them, but I guess he got a little money to buy some food. We were all hungry. We couldn’t buy anything because we had no money. The little money we had at home had ran out, and that was it.

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It was sort of a revolution. We heard shooting on the street, but we didn’t know what it was. That was before they marched in. We heard shooting, and people were talking about a revolution, but I didn’t know what that meant. Then shortly after that, they started marching in. It’s not funny, but it’s strange because all the people that were around us, our neighbors, who we thought were our friends, were actually Nazis. The minute they marched in, they put on the uniform. We were so astonished that people across the street suddenly showed up wearing the Nazi uniform. Never knew they were all secretly party members. They were just waiting for Hitler. They welcomed him with open arms. There was no fighting; there was nothing. They just laughed, and they applauded. 

I remember I was going to visit my aunt on one of the main streets in Vienna. We came to it, and there were thousands of people and we didn’t know what happened. We said to one of the people there, “What’s going on?” “Oh,” she said, “Hitler’s going to come by.” Of course, we couldn’t get through the throng on both sides of the street, and we were afraid that somebody — not that we looked so Jewish, but that somebody may recognize us and say, “I know her.” So we were kind of hiding, and here comes Hitler in his open car, standing up, with the hand up. The people were jubilant, absolutely jubilant, screaming and waving the flag with the swastika on it. It was just unbelievable. How did they work? I was a child, so I didn’t realize. Maybe people knew, but I certainly didn’t know what’s going on. It was kind of a shock.

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1938 when Hitler marched in. That’s Kristallnacht. We were all in our house, and we heard this commotion. The street was kind of a hilly street. We lived on top of the hill. And we heard the commotion. We looked out the window, and we saw these people coming down the hill, and we suddenly realized — well, I didn’t know what a Nazi was, but they were all in their black uniforms and throwing stones at the windows. Our business and our house, they smashed the windows, and then they shouted, “Get back! Get back!” So we were not allowed to look out the window. We didn’t want to anyway, but it was quite a surprise when we saw these people. And the neighbors all came out, laughing and applauding and cheering. It was just unbelievable. It was just unbelievable that these people we thought we our friends turned out to be Nazis. Yes. We had nothing to do with them. They were afraid to talk to us after. We were completely isolated even though we were still in the house.

I was still in the house until I left, and then they took it away from my mother. Yes. Two days later they came and got my father. It was in November, very cold. When they came, there was a big truck standing outside the house where they loaded the men. Although I did not live in the Jewish neighborhood, there might have been about two or three Jewish men that they took. They just took them away. We all ran to get dressed, to see. We ran down the street to watch the truck. It wound up at the police station, a very small police station not far from our house. The street was roped off so you couldn’t get near it. We were standing on one side of the street. On the sidewalk where there was a rope we couldn’t go across.

My mother gave me — my father had a coat that was fur-lined that we thought he would need because it was November. I stood there holding it. We stood there for about two hours before we saw him come out. As he came out, I ran. I jumped over the rope. I ran and said, “Papa, here’s your coat.” The Nazi — or the SS, I can’t remember — said, “Where he’s going, he won’t need it.” So they wouldn’t let me give it to him. I don’t remember how long it was before we heard that he was in Dachau. It was a printed card, not handwritten. All the correspondence was, “I’m well,” and just his name. Then we found out he was in Dachau. 

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July ’39 my oldest sister went to England. My father got her out, I don’t know how, through Holland. She wound up in London working for an artist as a domestic. Then she somehow got in touch with a Jewish agency in London. She arranged for us to come on the Kindertransport. We never thought it’s going to be a permanent thing. We didn’t. We thought they’re going to send us away for some reason; we knew Hitler, but we didn’t know at the time about the concentration camps. When my sister arranged for us to go to England, we had to go to the Rothschild Palace in Vienna. It was taken over by the Nazis, and they had tables set up for us children to get our affidavits. 

I’ll never forget it. It was a huge palace with those long hallways where you have one door after another, and here they were sitting, the Nazis behind tables. They checked us out to see if we were going to get a visa or not. My twin and I were lucky enough to get a visa. We went there with my mother, and we got an Austrian passport with the red “J” in it. Then my mother took us to the train, but she couldn’t get near the train. They had it roped off. We were there with our suitcases, and we walked to the train. My mother was standing on the other side of the rope. We just said goodbye, we waved, and that’s it.

We got on the train, and I don’t remember the different cities in Germany we stopped. I believe we stopped in Frankfurt. I think I remember that. I don’t know if we stopped in Munich. We stopped in several towns where we picked up other children. There were children on the train as small as three years old. I think the age limit was 16. I can’t remember. Anyway, we went through Holland, also picking up children, and then we got to the port. It’s called Hoek van Holland. That’s where the boat was to take us. They loaded us onboard, and it’s a short trip across the channel, but it was pretty rough going. 

We arrived in England, Harwich, which is the port where we arrived. Then by train we went to London, to Liverpool Station. There was a huge, almost like a hangar, where the Jewish agency had set up tables. There were 700 children on the train. We were there being processed. They called your name, and then you found out where you’d be going. My older sister was already in England then, by almost a year, and we thought we were going to be with her in London. But they couldn’t find a place for us in London, so they sent us to the town of York in Yorkshire, a lovely place. We spent two weeks with an English family, two ladies. Met us at the train. We didn’t speak English; they didn’t speak German. They just told us when we got on the train that there’s going to be two ladies in York waiting on the platform.

The conductor of the train helped us off, and then we were the only ones left standing on the platform. They took us to their little house, which was lovely, clean, and very friendly. They really tried to make us comfortable. But we cried all the time because we had just gotten in from Vienna, and here we are in a strange house with the high tea sandwiches, which we had never seen, with the watercress and cucumbers and stuff like that. But we ate it, and they were very kind to us. We only stayed there for two weeks. These were volunteers, not Jewish, that took in all these refugees. From there we went to another home — I forgot, maybe a month or three weeks — and then war broke out September 3rd in England. 

When war broke out, they shipped us to London, and we wound up in an orphanage in London. We stayed there until we were 16, and then you had to go out and make a living. We had not even completed our education in Vienna because they wouldn’t let us, so in the orphanage we learned whatever we could, especially English, so we could make a living. Then at 16, they told us, “OK. You’re on your own.” So Amy and I got a furnished room. I don’t know how we did it because we had no money. Maybe the orphanage gave us something. I don’t remember. 

We went to work in a factory making uniforms. At that time, the pilots wore uniforms made out of sheepskin. They would put them together. That was our job. They were put together, and when you opened them up, they looked like bear skins. They had sleeves. The fur was on the inside. On the outside they had tape running all the way to the legs, and that was our job. We had to put tape around the uniform when it was already put together. Then when we finished the tape, they put wires through — it opened on the leg — and they plugged it into the airplane because they were not pressurized. The pilots had — the plane was heated through that uniform. That’s what we did. We were very little, five foot two, maybe weighed a hundred pounds, and we had to sling those uniforms to put the tape on those heavy machines. But we had to do it; we had to make a living.

And of course the war was on. Everything was rationed. We had nothing. I had one pair of shoes. Amy had a pair of shoes. Then we got some money from somebody. We bought a pair of those rubber boots. So I would wear them one day, and she would wear them one day. And of course, we were kids and outgrew a lot of stuff, so the Jewish community in London, the rich Jews there, they gathered clothing, and it was taken to the temple. Then the orphanage would go there, and we were allowed to take whatever there was. There were lots of things, shoes and lots of clothes. That’s how we dressed. Otherwise, we had no money. The orphanage fed us, and they were supported by the Jewish agency, I’m sure, but we didn’t get any money. Once in a while my older sister would give us a pound, which was $5 at that time. 

Then, of course, when we went to work, we struggled because we made the minimum wage, I’m sure. We had one little furnished room, and we had to feed ourselves and clothe ourselves, although like I said, the clothes we got through the temple. But it was very hard. We were bombed out a couple of times, and the little we had we lost. The only thing that got us through this is because we were kids. I’ve often said that if I had been older when Hitler marched in, I would not have left my mother. I would have not wanted her to be alone. But we didn’t realize that. We didn’t realize that we were going to go to England and never come back. We thought it was just a temporary thing.

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The English were wonderful. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be here. They were so kind. I never heard the word “Jew.” I never heard “Go home.” They were so kind. The factory was a huge factory. Most of the people were English, and they were so kind to us. They really were. They had those dances. We were kids. They would take us with them, so we would get out. And then there was an Austrian club in London. We wound up every night there, to socialize. We spoke the same language. They had a restaurant which we couldn’t afford, but once in a while we would be able to eat there. They had dancing. All our age, all kids. When I look back, it really saved us. 

When the war started, blackouts, and we didn’t know what’s going on. We had no correspondence at all. We didn’t know what had happened to my father. We knew he was in a concentration camp, but we didn’t know. At that time it was just beginning to leak out what was going on. Of course, we didn’t know about the rest of the family until the end of the war. We heard nothing. Nothing.

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Then I had a cousin who was in the British army. He went with the Army of Occupation to Germany. From there, on his furlough, he went to Vienna and he found my father. Of course, our house was complete gutted. The factory, nothing was there. The whole block, empty, with a wooden fence around it. When my father came back, he lived in a furnished room because he had nothing. He lost everything. Then, I think, the government gave him something for the house that was burned down because it was taken by a Nazi. My father knew that it was one of his customers. Just took over, just took it without paying a dime. He just took over the factory and carried on. The house was still standing, then it burnt down. I have a picture, matter of fact, somewhere, of our house burning. Somebody took a picture. I don’t know who it was.

Interviewer: Was that during the occupation when the house burned?
HASSIN: That was during the Russian occupation.

Interviewer: Russian?
HASSIN: There were four powers. The Russians, the French, the Americans, and the British. Our factory was under the Russians when they occupied, and then the house was under the Americans, if I’m not mistaken. It was divided into four powers. It was ruled by four powers after the war, and they were there for quite a long time. They fought there. I believe they were all fighting, but when the war ended, then they all wanted a piece of it.

Interviewer: Including the Americans?
HASSIN: Yes.

Interviewer: I’ve read things about that. We weren’t sane, either.
HASSIN: When I arrived in Vienna the first time at the airport, it was under Russian occupancy. I took a bus into Vienna. There was a Russian soldier with a gun standing on the platform on the bus, escorting us into the city. Then we got off, and that was the American sector. It was divided into four sectors. So then I took a cab to my father, yes. He lived in a furnished room. So then my father got a little money. He started on that empty lot. The whole block was completely gone. He built himself a little wooden hut, maybe the size of my kitchen, maybe a little bit bigger. He put a stove in there, and he started buying scrap iron. Little by little, he bought scrap iron, and he was doing very well.

When I came the first time, if there was a factory that went out of business, he would go there and see, especially machinery that had something to do with making furniture, something to do with carpentry. When he made enough money, he would go and buy the whole factory, buy everything, ship it to his piece of property, and sell it. One time, he bought a factory that made refrigerators. No motors, just the shells. He brought it to the yard. He had a couple of people working for him, and they demolished it. It was metal on the outside. He had it crushed. Then the insulation he sold to a mattress factory. Then the wood, he had a woman there, she cut it up into kindling, and he would bind it with metal. On the outside of the property on the fence he would have a sign that would advertise, “Kindling wood, metal.” That’s how he started business. And he did very well. Then he met this lady that he married, my step-sister’s mom, and they bought a house. That’s where my sister still lives. But the house was torn down because it was pretty old, and she built a brand new house there. It was beautiful, on the hills overlooking the vineyards in Vienna. I was very happy.

So anyway, after my dad became successful in business and they bought the house, then Amy died. She was sick four years. She died 1976. 1972 she became ill. My father did not know about it. I thought she was going to survive, but she didn’t. Then when she died, I never told him. He didn’t know. I would call him and say, “This is Amy,” and I would write a letter. He never knew, and I’m very glad because he lived to be 96. He died, and he had a great life even though he would get melancholy sometimes. He would shut himself away in a room, and he wouldn’t come out for a couple of days. He wouldn’t let anyone come in. If I knocked on the door and said, “Papa, can I come in?” “No, go away.” So we left him alone. Then he would come out. Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. [Hyde]. He was completely himself again.

When I used to go to Vienna after my husband died, we used to take a lot of trips together. He loved to travel, and I was used to it as a child. He liked to stay in the best places. He was able to afford it. I’d come to Vienna, I’d put my suitcase down in the house, and I had a girlfriend. Unfortunately, she died. She had a car. My father didn’t drive. They had a car, but he didn’t drive; my step-mom did. My girlfriend and I, and my dad, and sometimes my older sister would come because she lived in England. We would go to the best places, and he would come with us and stay with us. Maybe not the whole time. We would go for a couple weeks. He’d come for a few days and then take the train back to Vienna because he had business.

If we sat down somewhere in a hotel for breakfast, and he looked at the Vienna paper and he saw a factory was going out of business, he took the next train. He had to see what it’s all about. He would leave Bobby — that’s my older sister; she was called Bobby — and Elsa, my girlfriend. We would go to the Alps, we’d go into Switzerland, we’d go into Italy, Dubrovnik — which is Yugoslavia — and places like that, and stay in the best hotels and have the best time. He enjoyed it so much. I did not want to ruin his life. Because I know if I had told him, not only for himself, but thinking what I am going through, losing her. So that’s another reason.

When my sister died shortly before he died, three months, when he found out that my older sister died, we had to tell him because she used to come to Vienna a lot. She lived in London. When he found out she died, he was gone in three months. He died. He had a stroke. I said, “Thank God I didn’t tell him.” I might have shortened his life by telling him. This way he didn’t know, and he had a great life.

In 1947 I became a British citizen. They had an ad in the paper. The BOAC [British Overseas Airways Corporation] was looking for flight attendants, and you had to be 21. Of course, the advantage was I spoke two languages, and I still spoke a little French at the time, but I’ve forgotten since. They sent us for training, which was a lot different from what it is now, I’m sure, because you had to have first aid training, how to serve, how to walk on the plane. All the preparations that needed to be done that needed to work on the [plane]. So I joined BOAC. Of course, they were not jets; they were regular prop planes. I don’t remember the first trip where I went. Whether it was New York or Egypt, I can’t remember. Anyway, I started working for them. 

Then in 1947, when I was going back and forth, they pulled out of the Middle East. The British pulled out of the Middle East, and I stayed behind. 23 or 24, something like that. They pulled out, and I stayed behind in Israel and volunteered for the Air Force. Went to basic training with guys. There were more men than women. Then I was stationed way out in the desert near the Egyptian border, right in the middle of nowhere. This was a big Air Force camp that the British occupied, that they left behind. They had bungalows where families lived. It was huge. Thousands of soldiers could stay there. There were lots of us, but mostly men, maybe 2,000-3,000 men and maybe 50 women. Like I said, we had one set of uniforms. 

At that time the women ate with the officers, with the pilots, although there were no ranks. There was no rank at that time; they had not established a rank. Then eventually we got our own — they called them Nissen huts. They were made out of metal and held about 20 persons, women, not the men and women. So that’s where we lived, right in the desert. We had showers outside — it looked like a carousel — outside in the sand where you showered. There was an Arab sitting outside stoking the wood fire to heat the water, and after work, we would go and take a shower. That lasted for three years. 

After the war, the British came back, and I rejoined BOAC. My husband, who was born in Israel — in Tiberius, my favorite town in Israel — used to go to visit his family. On one of his trips, I happened to be in Tel Aviv on layover, and the head of BOAC in Tel Aviv happened to be his nephew. I was in the office for something. As a matter of fact, we became very good friends, his nephew and the whole family. He had three boys. When I had a layover, they would invite me to their house, and we would go to the beach on a picnic or something. So anyway, my husband was there to see his nephew, and I walked in and he wanted to know who I was. He introduced me, and he liked me obviously, and invited me to dinner. So we spent three days practically all day together, dinner and lunch. Then I had to go back to London and came back the following week. This went on for three months. He stayed, but he couldn’t stay any longer because he had a business. But he had a manager, and he was in contact with the store. Then I went back to London. Then he proposed to me, and we went to Jerusalem to get married by the Chief Rabbi there. 

Then I went to London, he went back to Chattanooga, and I waited for my visa in London to come to the United States. He came to New York to meet me, and then we took the train to Chattanooga, which was kind of a culture shock at the beginning, coming from London to a little hick town, but I loved it. I loved Chattanooga. One of the places I really loved. It was small. Although one thing that bothered me, there was still segregation. I experienced segregation for the first time, except for what I went through. But in America it was discrimination against the Black people. They could not go to a movie; they could not go to a restaurant. They had their own section. And that disturbed me. That really disturbed me. It was really devastating, having come from what I just came from. 

Although I had a Black maid. But I treated her with total respect. She loved it. She stayed with me for 12 years, from the minute David was born. She loved David. When she used to come in the morning, David would jump up on her and hug her. He loved her. She was wonderful. She was so good to David, and to us. She was just wonderful. At that time — I remember when David was six years old, I had a gardener that had a little boy the same age as David. When he used to come, he would bring the little boy with him. James, his name was, and I would have him play with David. I had a big magnolia tree outside, and I would fix some picnics on a blanket. I’d make sandwiches. And they would play beautifully together. 

Then one day my neighbor came and told me I can’t do that. I can’t have David playing with this Black child. I was really upset and said, “What is this? Here we go again.” So I took David and little James, and I put them in the backyard. I said, “You’re not going to tell me what to do.” But I was scared. I thought they were going to burn a cross. Anyway, I put them in the backyard. They had their picnic under the trees. But it was still very, very segregated. And of course, my thoughts were at that time, “If they’re like that against the Blacks, I’m sure they’re antisemitic, too.” When you’re a bigot, you’re a bigot, I figured. Although I’ve never seen a cross burned in Chattanooga, I’m sure it went on in the country outside of Chattanooga. 

So I lived there, had a wonderful life. I joined the Jewish community. David grew up in the Jewish community. Not that I was especially seeking it because I had a lot of neighbors, gentiles, that we were very, very good friends. Because that’s what I wanted. I didn’t want segregation. I wanted everybody to accept you for what you are. You don’t have to be “buddy-buddy,” but at least have respect for the other person. I raised David that way, and that’s the way I am. Everybody’s entitled to whatever life they want. I have no right to tell anybody what church or synagogue to go to, or what to believe or not to believe. I respect that. I don’t have to join it, but I respect it. So it was very disappointing, and it scared me. 

When I heard all about these crosses being burned, I said, “Oh, my God. Are they going to say something, do something to me?” As a matter of fact — I digress, but I wanted to mention that when David told me that Mary was pregnant, and I was thrilled of course, I said, “Oh, God. Another Jew. What is she going to go through?” I thought maybe she shouldn’t be raised Jewish. That was my thought at the beginning. I said, “I want her to have a happy life. I don’t want her to go through . . ..” Then I said to myself, “No. Be proud of who you are.” Now, of course, I’m very proud. I was afraid when I came to England to say I’m Jewish. I was so afraid. It left such a stigma. It left such a thing in me that even today I hesitate, although I’ve gotten a lot better. I should not be ashamed to say I’m a Jew. I should be proud of it, and I am, but it’s still in me. I guess I’ll never get rid of that. Because there are still people out there that don’t care for Jewish people. Why, I’ll never understand.

My husband came to this country with nothing and made it. And look at David. David started digging ditches. He learned it from the ground up. He came home dirty from digging the ditches for the cable. He had a friend that his father owned the company that used to lay cables around big apartment buildings for the intercom system. And that’s how he started. He did everything.

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In 1972 she became ill, and my father did not know about it, and then when she died, I never told him. He didn’t know. Like I said, I would call him and say, “This is Amy,” and I would write a letter . . .

Interviewer: I heard you say this earlier, and thought maybe I misheard you. But you’re saying that you called him and spoke to him on the phone. Your voice was that similar to your twin’s. That’s amazing.
HASSIN: Yes, we had the same voice, same everything. Even when I talk today, I can hear my sister. 

Interviewer: Who was the right-handed one, you or your sister?
HASSIN:  I was.

Interviewer: You were, and she was left-handed.
HASSIN: Yes. She was left-handed. That’s right. She was left-handed. I pretended that I’m her.

Interviewer: When you were in Vienna, when you lived there, did you have to wear a yellow star?
HASSIN: Yes, yellow star. We had to wear it. If you took it off and anybody saw you, knowing you were a Jew, God knows what they would have done to you. We had to wear it. I’ve seen a man killed right on the sidewalk. They beat him to death. I was a child. It’s something that you don’t forget. It gets better as the years go on, but . . .

Interviewer: [inaudible]
HASSIN: Don’t look so sad. It’s OK.

Interviewer: I’ve done a lot of these interviews, and let me tell you something, it never gets easier. It’s very hard. For people like this who have a good connection to this and to people like you — for many years when I was younger, I would hear people make disparaging remarks, and I would either laugh or just ignore it. No longer! I don’t laugh, and I don’t ignore it. I don’t put up with it anymore. I make it very clear that this is not funny. That takes time, though.
HASSIN: It’s an education.

Interviewer: It is. 
HASSIN: And it also comes from the home.

Interviewer: I was not raised that way at all. Like you’re saying, same way. My mother was — there was no prejudice, and there was no talk of that in my home. It was a Catholic home, but — we had a Jewish synagogue just down the street from where we lived. There was never. It came from others. I heard plenty, but I was fortunate . . .
HASSIN: It’s still there, but look at the hateful things the kids — paint swastikas on the churches and synagogues. If it’s Mexican or Puerto Rican. We may not have as much of it in Portland as you have in New York or big cities. The discrimination is still very prevalent. It’s still going on. The young people today, I tell you. I must say one thing. I’m glad I’m not young. I would like to be, but I don’t like what’s going on today. 

There’s too much freedom. I attribute a lot of that to the home where both parents are working. The kids are at home alone, and it’s not the way I’m used to. They’re not guided in a way that they should be. They’re out on their own a lot. Of course, a lot of things have been done before, but it’s so bad today. I think it’s really bad. People say I should be optimistic. I’m trying to be, but it’s very difficult when you see what’s going on. Parents have no control over their kids. You do, you and your son. But look what’s going on. What happened the other day with those little boys touching — who would have ever done a thing like that? Touch a girl on the bottom. Mischief? I don’t know. They learn it from somewhere. Maybe at home. Or being out so late at night, the parents don’t know where they are. It’s difficult. It’s very difficult.

Interviewer: What should he do or kids like him who really are concerned about the world at large and want it to be a better place? Just give us . . .
HASSIN: I’m just going to tell you something. I don’t know if you want it on there, but — when parents, when the kids get into trouble, “Well, it’s the kind of kids he runs around with.” I don’t agree with that. I don’t blame another kid for what my kid is doing. I don’t. If he doesn’t want to do it, he doesn’t have to. Sometimes they’re egged on, but in general, I think, the parents are blaming, “Oh, it’s the kind of kids he runs around with.” I don’t believe in that. It has some, a little bit maybe. But on the whole, I think the child, your child is to blame, too. 

It’s very difficult when they say, “Well, he should be running around with a different group.” Maybe they don’t want him; maybe they don’t accept him. It’s so difficult. What can you do? If he wants to do better, then he needs to mix with a different crowd. I agree, but it’s hard to find nowadays a crowd that doesn’t get into trouble. It really is. Even if you want to be, you’re going to run into something. I don’t know. It depends also on the age. When they get older, maybe they will — I had plenty with David, but he’s wonderful. Every parent goes through something. His father died. I was all by myself, no one to talk to. It’s very difficult when you’re alone, a woman, and you got a boy, and nobody telling him what to do. I did. I tried, but the father figure was missing. And there were no uncles, nothing, just his friends and me. It’s tough. No extended family. And I think the unfortunate thing is, there are no extended families any longer. Everybody is spread out. This one lives in this state, and this one . . . 

Of course, it’s a big country, so people have to go where they want to make a living, but in Austria, in Vienna, we all lived in like a compound. We ran from one uncle, one aunt, one grandpa, to another. We had all that. And it used to be like that in America, too. Except, in Chattanooga, for instance, there were a lot of southern-born Jewish people, but a lot of them came from New York and settled in the south. But there were families there. That’s how the kids grew up. And I’m not talking only about Jewish families. They had their churches. In little towns people go to church, and that’s their extended family. The kids are taken there, and it’s a different environment. 

But it’s not the same anymore. The family life is not what it used to be, and that’s a shame. It’s a shame. I’m not talking strictly religion. In general, because I wasn’t raised religiously. David went to the synagogue because we took him for his bar mitzvah, to learn Hebrew. But the whole environment was — I thought it was better. But this computer age, nobody talks to each other. It’s all done email, which is a shame. Or reading. Thank God my family reads. Mary, David, I, Mary especially, we love to read. They don’t read anymore. Kids, very few. It’s a shame.

Interviewer: Rose, thank you so much.
HASSIN: You’re welcome.