This month, the International Tracing Service of the Red Cross (ITS) agreed to open its archives at Bad Arolsen, Germany, after 60 years of inaccessibility. This is good news for historians, Holocaust survivors and -- especially -- future generations.

The ITS was established during World War II to help civilians search for missing relatives. But, to date, it has been open only to survivors of the Nazis' labour and concentration camps, and their successors. Even for these individuals, accessing information has been difficult. In some cases, the process took up to three years from inquiry to resolution.

Ten years ago, I visited the ITS. My experience showed me how necessary it was that this unique database be opened to the public.

In 1996, I accompanied then-Canadian Jewish Congress President Goldie Hershon on a trip to Germany. As a son of a Holocaust survivor, the thought of travelling to Germany had always filled me with anxiety. My late father Max was the sole Jewish survivor of Botki, a small village in Southern Poland. My brother and I grew up with his nightmares. I remember my mother once telling me, that it took her five years to teach him how to smile again.

Our visit to the ITS was one of the highlights of that 1996 trip. As we were led through the cavernous building, I asked its then- director, Charles Biderman, to do a search on my family name. A file filled with thousands of post-war information requests on the name "Farber," spelled in numerous forms, was soon placed on the desk in front of me.

To my astonishment, the fourth card I pulled out was the original "Displaced Person" registration record filled out by my late father at the Pocken displaced persons camp on April 3, 1946. The card said: "Max Farber, born 15 May, 1905 in Botki, Poland."

I was stunned. Almost 50 years to the day after my father walked into the Pocken camp, there I was with his registration card in my hand.

In Jewish tradition, there is a concept known as B'shert. It is loosely translated as "fated," but is stronger than that. There is no question in my mind that finding my father's card was B'shert. What followed, however, was even more overwhelming.

I brought the card to one of the ITS workers. He was astounded. The chance of finding the card among the millions of pieces of ID was astronomical, he said. With it, he could find my father's file.

I accompanied the worker into the vast archive. In my father's folder, I found a run-down of his family's history. There was listed "Mordko," my grandfather; my grandmother "Sisla," after whom my brother Stan was named; and my father's first wife -- coincidentally, also named "Sisla." Ominously, in the section of her card marked "cause of death" was listed the name of the Treblinka concentration camp.

According to the registration record, my father lived in house C5, room 4 in Pocken, which was referred to by the U.S. Liberators as "Pine City." I remembered a faded photograph of my father in the camp looking gaunt and sad, reading a book and leaning against a pine tree. My father talked little about his life immediately after the war. For him, it was a period of limbo. This documentation became the words he found so difficult to speak.

The file attached to the registration card gave me information I had never seen before. For example, it showed that my father was planning to emigrate to "Palestine" but, for reasons that will remain a mystery, did not. Instead, on February 26, 1949, he left Germany for the United States and from there to Canada, a country he hardly knew but came to love.

The passenger manifest for the steamship "Marine Flasher" was also in the file, and a list of Holocaust survivors -- men, woman and orphans travelling to their new life in North America. Among the names was listed: "Max Farber -- stateless." He listed his profession as salesman; the port of entry was "Ellis Island, New York."

There was something more: an envelope with six registration cards. My heart skipped a beat. The names on all six were "Farber" - - Wolf, Yankev, Chiem, Mosze, Zena and Israel. Who were these Farbers? Could they have been relatives my father was searching for after the war? Could I have cousins, half-siblings or uncles who survived the Holocaust?

Sadly, the fate of these Farbers is unknown -- with one exception. Israel Farber survived. He travelled to Palestine in 1947 on the "Exodus," a ship made famous by author Leon Uris. His last known address was an Israeli kibbutz. In the months after my visit, I contacted the kibbutz, only to be told that Israel Farber died in 1968. He was unmarried and had no known Israeli relatives.

The workers at the ITS made a copy of my father's file for me. It has become part of my family's lost history. This month, with the announcement of the opening of the Tracing Service Archives to historians, many others will be able to share my experience. Undoubtedly, some will discover relatives they never knew they had.

As Holocaust survivors grow older, memories fade and lives are lost. The archives will stand not only as a true testament of man's inhumanity to man, but our ability to find meaning and human connection in the aftermath of tragedy.

- Bernie M. Farber is the son of Holocaust survivor Max Farber and is today the CEO of the Canadian Jewish Congress.

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