Mis tíos en Argentina me adoptaron, y volví a cambiar de nombre. Me llamaron Mónica, aunque mi nombre es Raquel, tal cual me puso mi madre, [pero] la tradición judía no permite que la hija se llame igual que la madre. La señora que me adoptó en Argentina se llamaba Raquel, así que me llamaron Mónica. Pero más importante, nostoros llegábamos por la puerta de atrás, cuando los nazis entraban por la puerta grande. Finalmente, Presidente De la Rúa nos recibió a todos los judíos que habíamos entrado por la puerta de atrás y nos pidió perdón en nombre del Estado Argentino; recién allí me sentí legitimada. – Mónica Dawidowicz, 11 de Noviembre 2015.
My translation:
My uncles in Argentina adopted me, and when I arrived I had to change my name. They called me Mónica although my name is Raquel, just like my mother, but the Jewish tradition does not permit a daughter to be called the same name as her mother. The woman that adopted me in Argentina was named Raquel, so therefore I was named Mónica. More importantly however, we [the Jews] arrived in Argentina through the back door, while the Nazis entered through the large front door. Finally, President De la Rúa greeted all the Jews that had entered through the back door and apologized on behalf of the Government of Argentina; only then did I feel legitimized. – Mónica Dawidowicz, November 11, 2015.
Born in the Lida Ghetto of occupied Poland in 1941, Mónica Dawidowicz is not just a Holocaust survivor, escaping death through her 1947 immigration to Argentina, but more importantly is an agent of commemorating the past. Through ‘root’ trips to what was once Nazi occupied Europe, Dawidowicz avidly continues to keep alive both the ancestral memory and physical roots of immigrant Argentine Jews and their dwindling Jewish culture.
Published on, ‘Noticias Ahora,’ an Argentinean journalism website, this 2015 article recounts the most memorable moments of Dawidowicz’s gripping testimonial. While the article’s selected quotes were chosen specifically by the journalist, the article itself was created to preserve the memory of the Holocaust. More importantly, it targets as its audience the young generations, providing education on both the detailed existence of the Holocaust and how to reject discrimination.
As Dawidowicz critically reveals, the most significant consequence of Argentina’s post-war immigration policy that Jewish Argentine immigrants faced, was the simultaneous acceptance of both fugitive Nazis and fleeing Jews. While the open door policy provided refuge to both immigrant groups, Argentina was no longer a safe haven for persecuted Jews. Deriving from economic reasons, European ties, and national sympathy for the Nazi cause, Argentina’s acceptance of Nazi immigrants ultimately illuminates the massive faults and fundamental limitations of the country’s open door immigration policy.
Due to clear personal bias, Dawidowicz’s testimonial must be interpreted on an extremely individual level rather than a generalization made of all Argentine immigrants. From the article itself, historians can begin to interpret the distinct social consequences of Argentina’s unregulated open door immigration model. The article’s use of Dawidowicz’s personal testimonial, sheds light on the intimate process of how Holocaust survivors, as immigrants to Argentina, navigated these social consequences, ranging from extreme cultural assimilation pressures to a political framework that continuously marginalized migratory Jews.
A deeper understanding of Dawidowicz’s experience can be gained from Professor Adriana Mariel Brodsky’s academic book, The New Jewish Argentina: Facets of Jewish Experiences in the Southern Cone. Brodsky deeply examines the ways in which displaced and traumatized Jewish immigrant communities navigated Argentina’s open door immigration model. In parallel with the article, both sources serve to memorialize the millions who perished under the Nazi regime.
–Clara T. Gorman