A Childhood Lost, Paperweights, and Heaven   

By Tom Letson

Prior to Henry’s death from stomach cancer on June 23, 2002, I never had reason to question his unusual fascination with paperweights. However, during his battle with cancer, I began to see the joy Henry experienced in collecting paperweights in a very meaningful and profound way.

Henry, born in Belgium in 1935, was the only child of Izydor and Rosette Dancyger. His parents were tragically taken from him at age five by Nazis Soldiers while attempting to flee Belgium to safety. Henry’s parents would be ultimately sent to their deaths at Auschwitz, victims of Hitler’s state sponsored murdering of the Jewish population in Europe.

After their capture, Henry’s parent’s successfully convinced Nazi guards that he was not their son. Once released, five-year-old Henry went into hiding with a Christian family, as did thousands of other Jewish children who were separated from their parents during that dark time in history. In the blink of an eye the secure world of a little boy turned into one of desperation, confusion, sadness and silence.

For five long years Henry longed for his parents. For five long years, Henry lived mainly in solitude, his only contact with others during a short school day. For 1,825 consecutive nights, a little boy who longed for his mother cried himself to sleep. For 1,825 nights a little boy prayed with all his heart to see his parents again. Henry’s prayers were never answered.

Now, some 62 years later, I stand looking at Henry’s paperweight collection after he has lost his battle with cancer. As his death from this dreadful disease drew closer with each passing day, the meaning behind his fascination with paperweights became so very clear to me. Could it be that paperweights offered much more to Henry than their external decor? Could it be that a grown man who collected objects used to hold loose papers down derived peace from a very special meaning they held for him?

Maybe for 1,825 consecutive nights many, many years ago a grief stricken little boy wished that something very strong could have held his parents to his side during a time when the value of human life was so loosely held.

Maybe each and every paperweight that Henry purchased represented for him the importance of holding onto important things in life.

Maybe Henry beamed at his exquisite paperweight collection in the same manner in which little children beam at their parents – a beam that expresses that unique feeling of joy and security that children hold for their parents. On June 23, 2002, a little boy who ached for his parents for so long has finally come home.

Henry, although your loved ones miss you greatly and are saddened beyond belief from your all too sudden and horrible death, I know you finally have what you have longed for all these years. I know there are two special people at your side now Henry, and I can feel the widening of a little boy’s smile.

You won’t need your paperweights in heaven, Henry. In heaven, little boys don’t need to worry that their Mommies and Daddies will be taken from them. I can feel you beaming Henry! Good for you Henry! Good for you!

For more information on the Holocaust, visit the United States Holocaust Remembrance Museum Online at

http://www.ushmm.org/remembrance/dor/