11/5/99
Could
there
be
another
Urson?
It
was
not
mere
curiosity
that
compelled
Harold
Starkowitz
to
seek
long-lost
relatives,
it
was
a
lifelong,
gnawing
need
in
his
soul.
On
his
first
visit
from
South
Africa,
he
went
to
Beit
Hatefutsoth
and
seived
the
computer
files.
Nothing.
Ten
years
later,
he
and
his
family
moved
here.
A
few
months
ago,
in
this
newspaper's
Internet
column,
he
read
about
a
geneology
site.
It
had
millions
of
names
...
but
not
the
one
he
was
looking
for.
As
wide-ranging
and
disparate
as
the
Jewish
world
is,
the
Net
is
even
more
so.
Where
to
start?
How?
Harold
sat
at
his
computer
and
selected
a
people-search
program.
He
began
in
the
most
likely
place:
United
States
/
New
York
State
/
New
York
City.
He
typed
in
the
family
name:
Urson.
Nothing.
Chicago.
Nothing.
San
Francisco,
Los
Angeles,
Miami.
Nothing.
Here,
there
and
everywhere.
Nothing,
nothing
at
all,
anywhere
in
the
world.
It's
a
highly
unusual
name,
especially
in
Lithuania,
where
the
family
originated,
which
made
his
search
profoundly
frustrating.
Driven,
he
spent
uncountable
hours
--
evenings,
weekends,
in
the
middle
of
the
night
--
searching.
One
day,
his
daughter
suggested
a
slightly
different
approach.
He
started
all
over
again:
United
States
/
New
York
State.
No
city.
On
the
screen,
he
read:
"Result
of
search:
1."
He
stared
in
shock.
"Urson."
Urson!
Can't
be,
he
thought.
Must
be!
Maybe....
And
it
was.
Shoshana
Urson,
of
Elmwood
Avenue
in
Rochester,
New
York,
soon
received
a
letter
from
Harold
Starkowitz
of
Ra'anana,
Israel.
She
called
her
husband
Zvi,
who
was
in
Toronto.
He
was
having
a
bad
day,
and
he
was
irritable
when
he
took
the
call.
Excitedly,
she
read
him
the
letter,
and
did
his
mood
change
in
a
hurry.
Their
initial
correspondences
were
cautious;
neither
Zvi
nor
Harold
wanted
to
jump
to
conclusions,
in
case
they
were
wrong.
Details
emerged,
hopes
increased,
until
finally,
Harold
says,
"I
knew."
SITTING
WITH
the
Ursons
and
Starkowitzes
the
afternoon
following
Holocaust
Memorial
Day
--
a
few
days
after
they
first
met
--
I
felt
charged
by
the
electricity
of
their
emotions.
Zvi,
a
round,
florid,
effervescent
man
of
50,
was
sparkly-eyed
and
jovial;
Harold,
47,
sensitive
and
warm
with
a
soft
South
African
temperament,
was
teary-eyed,
often
too
choked
up
to
speak.
Their
wives
glowed
with
excitement.
At
times,
Harold's
walrus
mustache
quivered.
He
was
overwhelmed,
and
could
not
continue.
His
wife
Hilary
explains:
"He
loves
history.
He
finds
this
so
intense
because
this
is
his
own
history."
The
two
families
were
strangers
less
and
less
by
every
moment
they
spent
together.
Both
Zvi
and
Harold
had
always
thought
they
knew
all
the
Ursons
in
existence.
Now,
suddenly,
each
one
discovered
another
side
of
a
family
that
had
lost
all
contact
in
1953.
"This
was
the
first
meeting
between
the
two
sides
of
the
family
since
1912,"
Harold
says.
Two
of
the
three
Urson
brothers
emigrated
to
South
Africa,
including
Harold's
grandfather
in
1912.
Harold's
uncle
remained
in
contact
with
the
third
brother
in
Lithuania,
but
that
ended
in
'53
when
Stalin
began
his
anti-Jewish
purges.
"The
Jews
had
to
destroy
all
documentation,
all
letters
from
foreign
countries,
especially
the
West,"
Zvi
explains.
"Otherwise
you
could
be
classed
as
a
spy.
So
they
burned
everything
that
had
to
do
with
South
Africa
--
letters,
photographs
--
they
left
no
trace.
By
the
time
Stalin
died,
my
father
had
forgotten
his
brother's
address.
"My
father
in
Vilnius
told
me:
'We
lost
the
family,
and
that's
it.'
I
accepted
what
he
said.
You
know,"
he
shrugs,
"[the
Jews]
lost
six
million,
we
lost
maybe
20."
Zvi
and
Shoshana
left
Vilnius
in
1971,
and
lived
in
Israel
until
they
moved
to
North
America
in
1990.
His
mother
is
still
here,
and
a
brother
and
sister
--
Harold's
long-lost
relatives.
HAROLD
WROTE
the
letter
to
Rochester.
He
worded
it
cautiously,
restrained.
At
that