Morris Rosen was much like any young boy. Born a century ago, in 1922, he had nine brothers and sisters. His father supported them by owning a general store. Morris helped out working there. He, of course, had close friends. Like most boys of the era, Morris carefully assembled a respectable stamp collection. Life was good.
All that ended one morning in 1939, when Morris awoke to bombs exploding near their home. At age 16, he fled his town for safety. It wasn’t to be. Invading soldiers forced him back. The Rosen’s lived in Dobrowa, Poland. Germany had begun its invasion. Worse, the Rosens were Jews. The Polish government had been trying to persuade Jews to leave Poland and move to Palestine. Understandably, the Rosens stayed, not wanting to forsake their home country....
After Morris made his way back, he found Dobrowa occupied by the Germans. The family home too. The soldiers had confiscated all their belongings including his stamp collection.
At just 16, Morris was forced into labor. In the town square the Germans made him help build scaffolding from which Polish citizens were hung after mock trials. The old and weak were shipped to Auschwitz about 50 miles away. That included Morris’s parents.
Over the next five years, Morris was shuffled, transported and/or force-marched to multiple death camps including Buchenwald. Because of his youth and health, he survived. Many didn’t. Toward the end, the Nazis didn’t feed their prisoners leading to death by starvation. Many also collapsed or froze in the sub-zero temperatures.
In 1945, Morris ended up at the Theresienstadt ghetto/camp in what is now the Czech Republic. Several weeks later, it was liberated by Soviet troops. He soon discovered his parents and five siblings had been murdered in the Holocaust.
Morris emigrated to the United States in 1949. He learned English, married, had two sons and became an interior designer. Understandably, he had anger – PTSD in today’s terminology. Who wouldn’t? He was prescribed pills. They didn’t work. He saw another doctor. That one suggested Morris find a hobby as a distraction. He remembered his stamp collection as a boy and decided to start one again.
Morris threw himself into it, specializing in Olympic stamps. His collection included some truly rare items. It grew to be one of the most significant Olympic assemblages in the world. He eventually became a recognized authority in the field. Though collecting Olympic stamps clearly helped assuage his past anxiety and anger, he also collected postal history from the concentration camps and ghettos of World War II.
Fast forward to last year – 2020. Morris was then 98. He had nurtured many new close friends in the philatelic community. One especially good acquaintance was a dealer who ran sales of specialized stamps. Last year, in one of those sales, Morris spotted an item he knew he had to have. He phoned his friend saying he would give anything to own it. He was told not to worry. His friend pulled it from the sale and sent it to Morris. No charge.
The item he saw was a postcard mailed from a concentration camp in Poland to a young girl. It was one Morris had sent to his sister while he was in captivity. Somehow, it had gotten through to her. And, after over 78 years, not only had he survived but so did that small postal missive. Incredibly, it too had made its way to America.
Morris Rosen died in December of last year. But, not until he was fortunate enough to retrieve a cherished connection from a lifetime ago.
Stories like this are epic and are part of the unique fabric that collectors know well. It’s one of the amazing things about philately and the connections that can come with it. Some of the information for this find came from Scott English of the American Philatelic Society – an organization of which Morris was a longtime member.
In today’s divisive environment – racial, political or otherwise, it may be wise to take a page from Morris’s experience. He found solace from the unimaginable in the simple pastime of collecting stamps. He also uncovered a tangibly positive connection to his life and family from a time he once wanted, more than anything, to forget. Under any circumstances, that’s truly rare.
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