NEW YORK – Ruth Westheimer was 10 years old in 1939 when she boarded a train leaving Germany with 300 other Jewish children.

She took a doll with her, a favorite doll named Matilda. But a younger child was crying inconsolably, so Westheimer gave the little girl her doll — because, as she says today, she “needed it more.”

Nowadays, Dr. Ruth, America's favorite sex therapist, 88 years old. She lives in a New York apartment full of books, photos and honorary degrees.

And dollhouses. They give her joy and comfort and a touch of the innocence she lost so long ago, she said.

Westheimer was in his late 60s and already a celebrity when a friend started building dollhouses. Westheimer asked if she could have one. Now she has two and several more square “rooms” in bookshelves, as well as a collection of other boxes and tissue holders that double as dollhouses.

She attaches great importance to their content. They are Jewish houses with menorahs and other religious symbols. The dolls and furniture come from England and were made in the years between World War I and World War II – “the good years,” as she called them.

“It’s good luck,” Westheimer said, proudly holding up a small chimney sweep figurine in a dollhouse near the apartment entrance. “You can touch him!”

The faces of her dolls are expressive and wise. “Not like the Barbie doll,” she said. “Because you can’t tell your problems to a Barbie doll. You can tell these people your problems.”

Westheimer has four grandchildren, but the dollhouses were not intended for them. These are yours.

“I had no control over my life,” she said. “But I have control over it.”

Karola Ruth Siegel was an only child. Her parents were lower-middle-class Orthodox Jews in Frankfurt, but her childhood was enchanted. She remembers roller skates, 13 dolls and the undivided attention of her paternal grandmother.

Every Friday, her father, a salesman, took her to get ice cream and then to the temple. He repeatedly emphasized to her the value of education. “The most important thing for my father was learning,” she said, “because no one can take that away from you.”

She remembered hearing a neighbor warn them in the fall of 1938 that they would have to leave Germany. Her parents tried to keep her from worrying, but “I just knew terrible things were happening.”

After “Kristallnacht” in November 1938 – she doesn’t use the word “Kristallnacht” because it sounds too beautiful and noble – Nazis stood at the door of her apartment on the first floor. Westheimer watched from the window as the men led her father to a covered truck. Before he climbed in, he turned and looked at his daughter. She waved and he waved back. Then he smiled.

“Because he didn’t want me to cry,” she said.

Weeks later, a postcard came from her father, who was in the labor camp. It said she should board a Kindertransport – a train that saves Jewish children from the Nazis.

Frightened and sad, she hugged her mother and was loaded onto the train in January 1939, less than a year before the outbreak of World War II. She knew she had to distract other children from her tears, she said, “because I remembered my dad turning around and smiling.”

Most of the Kindertransport's passengers were headed to Britain, but she was headed to Switzerland, where she and 50 others ended up in a children's home that became an orphanage.

She exchanged letters with her parents for almost two years. She knew that they had both ended up in a ghetto in Poland. But then the letters stopped. It was only a few years later that she learned for certain that her father had died in Auschwitz. Her mother was listed as “missing.” Disappeared.

After the war, she trained as a kindergarten teacher, helped Israel in its fight for independence and moved to Paris to study at the Sorbonne. She had married, but when her husband wanted to return to Israel, they divorced; They remain good friends.

In 1956 she moved to the United States, also to visit an uncle who had survived the war and moved to San Francisco. “I wanted to find out if he was as short as me,” she said, laughing.

She settled in the Washington Heights neighborhood of Manhattan, which became an enclave for many German-Jewish refugees. She remarried, had a daughter, and divorced when her second husband returned to Europe.

After a few years as a single mother, she met Fred Westheimer, a telecommunications engineer to whom she would be married for almost 38 years. He adopted her daughter and together they had a son.

Westheimer received a doctorate in education from Columbia University with a concentration in sex education and studied with Helen Singer Kaplan, a pioneer in the field of sex therapy.

In 1980, local radio producers in New York commissioned her to write a short weekly segment in which she answered listeners' most private questions. Her then-controversial show grew to two hours as audiences responded to her blunt conversations about erections and orgasms. Her strong German accent and irreverent humor made her an icon of the time.

She has published 40 books, still teaches at Columbia and lectures around the world. Almost every evening she is out and about, at the theater, the opera or at a charitable event. She has a Twitter account, a YouTube channel and has new projects in the works.

Dr. Ruth, who visited Columbus in September for the Gallery Players production “Becoming Dr. Ruth” has been a widow for almost 20 years. During this time, her apartment – the same one she has lived in for five decades – is full of dolls and figurines.

Her parents and grandmother, she said, “would have been very happy to see what happened to me.”

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norman lebrecht

August 09, 2023

Daniela Mack In Song – San Francisco Opera
 
Click here to watch

This is the latest In Song instalment from San Francisco Opera. It features mezzo-soprano Daniela Mack introducing us to her hometown, Buenos Aires, and singing tango! I love it.

In a moving journey of discovery, re-connection, and riveting music, this new episode unfolds on the streets of Buenos Aires, as mezzo-soprano Daniela Mack 

returns to the homeland she left at age 6.

Mack traces her roots, shares memories of her childhood, and reunites with her family, then delivers no holds-barred renditions of Piazzolla’s

“Yo Soy Maria” and “Los Pájaros Perdidos,” as well as Pauline Viardot’s “Havanaise.”

Husband/tenor Alex Shrader and their two children join her for this homecoming, just prior to rehearsals for her starring role of Frida in Gabriela Lena Frank’s El Ultimo Sueno de Frida y Diego in which Mack plays the iconic Mexican artist. 

Read more

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Ruth passed away peacefully at the age of 104. Daughter of Abe and Anna Shear, she was born and raised in St. Louis, MO. Ruth’s long and rich life spanned 11 decades and two pandemics. She attributed her long and healthy life to her genetics, saying, “I picked the right parents!”

They fostered her love of learning early, introducing her to the nearby library and letting her take home as many books as she could carry. She graduated from University High in St. Louis, and received a BS in Science from University of Missouri (where she also met her future husband, Simon Reznikoff). She chose a career in Dietetics-pursuing her interest in biology, chemistry, and good food. Ruth worked as a Registered Dietitian at Barnes Hospital in St. Louis, and at the Heart Association after the family moved to San Diego. In the early 60’s, Ruth developed a newspaper and radio program, “Dial-A-Dietitian,” helping people modify their recipes to reduce cholesterol. She inspired San Diego-based Jack in the Box to include salads as a healthy menu option-now common at all fast-food restaurants.

In San Diego, Si and Ruth nurtured the growth of the cultural and intellectual life of the city, hosting book clubs, musical evenings and dinner groups, as well as taking leadership roles at Temple Beth Israel, the Jewish Community Center, and the San Diego Symphony. After Si died in 1980, Ruth exhibited her legendary resiliency and continued to enjoy life. She married Seymour Kremen of Coronado and together they traveled extensively.

In 2013, at the age of 96, she became the oldest “new” resident at San Francisco Towers, a retirement community. She loved her active life at the Towers and made many new friends who were inspired by her unquenchable thirst for knowledge. True to her life-long passion for science, her final wish was to donate her brain to research to advance the study of healthy aging.

Ruth outlived her parents and younger siblings Sidney and Maxine. She will be missed by her daughters Carolyn Reznikoff (David Porter). June Reznikoff (David Simon) and Laura Olson (Stephen Olson); granddaughters Erika Zarco (Travis Higginson), Sasha Porter (Pyxie Star) and Charlotte Simon; Nieces Claudia Bernard (Howard Herman) and Nancy Bernard.

Memorial services were held in March.

Donations may be made to her favorite non-profits: San Diego Symphony and San Diego Art Museum; Pocket Opera and Sherith Israel in SF, and the Brain Bank at UCLA.

Published by Legacy Remembers on Jun. 25, 2022.

34465541-95D0-45B0-BEEB-B9E0361A315ATo plant trees in memory, please visit the Sympathy Store.

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NEW YORK – Ruth Westheimer was ten years old in 1939 when she boarded a train with 300 other Jewish children that was leaving Germany. She brought a doll, a favorite doll named Matilda. But a younger child was crying inconsolably, so Westheimer gave the little girl her doll. Because she needed it more, she says.

Today Dr. Ruth, America’s Favorite Sex Therapist, 88 years old. She lives in a New York apartment full of books, photos and degrees.

And dollhouses.

Space for miniature space lovingly arranged by liver-stained hands. They give her joy and comfort and testify to the innocence she lost so long ago.

Westheimer was in her late 60s and already a celebrity when a friend started building dollhouses in her home. She asked if she could have one. Now she has two, plus several more square “rooms” in bookcases and a collection of other boxes and tissue holders that also serve as dollhouses.

She is demanding about their content. They are Jewish houses with menora and other religious symbols. The dolls and furniture are from England – most of them bought on trips to London and Europe – and were made between the First and Second World Wars. “I’m only interested in the good years,” she says during an interview in her apartment in Washington Heights.

“That brings luck,” she says, proudly holding up a tiny chimney sweep figure in a doll’s house near the apartment entrance. “You can touch it!”

The faces of her dolls are expressive and wise, she explains. “Not like the Barbie doll,” she insists. “Because you can’t tell a Barbie doll what it’s about. She has a stupid face. She’s very fashionable – lots of clothes – but you can’t tell her about your problems. You can tell these people your problems. “

Westheimer, who will speak about her collection on Monday evening at the museum’s dollhouse exhibition at the National Building Museum, has four grandchildren. But she says the houses were never meant for her. These are yours.

Because what they give her most of all is control. “I wasn’t in control of my life,” she says. “But I’m in control of it.”

Dr. Ruth’s dollhouses are Jewish houses with menora and other religious symbols. (Chris Sorensen / For the Washington Post)
The front door of a doll’s house, complete with a sign that reads Dr. Ruth Westheimer, sex therapist. (Chris Sorensen / For the Washington Post)

Karola Ruth Siegel was an only child. Her parents were Orthodox Jews from the lower middle class in Frankfurt. But her childhood was enchanted. She remembers having roller skates, strollers, 13 dolls, and the undivided attention of her paternal grandmother.

Every Friday her father, a salesman, took her to have ice cream and then to the temple. Again and again he would impress upon her the value of education. “The most important thing for my father was studying,” she says. “Because nobody can take that away from you.”

She remembers how a neighbor warned in autumn 1938 that she had to leave Germany. Her parents tried to protect her from worry, but “I just knew terrible things were happening,” she says.

After the Broken Glass Night – she doesn’t use the word “Kristallnacht” because it sounds too beautiful and noble – Nazis came to the door of their apartment on the first floor. Westheimer watched from the window as the men marched their father to a covered truck. Before climbing in, he turned to look at his daughter. She waved and he waved back. Then he smiled.

“Because he didn’t want me to cry,” she says.

Weeks later, a postcard came from her father who was in a labor camp. It was said that she should get on a Kindertransport – a train that saves Jewish children from the Nazis.

“That was the only way he could leave the labor camp and return to Frankfurt,” she recalls. “So I didn’t have a choice.”

Frightened and sad, she hugged her mother and was loaded onto the train in January 1939. As he drove out of the station, she began to lead the other crying children in familiar songs. The text that sticks in her mind today is: “God does not sleep. . . no sleep.”

She knew that she had to distract the children from their tears, she says, “because I remembered my father turning around and smiling.”

Most of the Kindertransport passengers were on their way to the UK, but she went to Switzerland, where she ended up with 50 others in a children’s home that became an orphanage.

She exchanged letters with her parents for almost two years. She knew they had both ended up in a ghetto in Poland. But then the letters stopped.

Only a few years later did she find out with certainty that her father had died in Auschwitz. Her mother was listed as “missing”. Disappeared.

The orphanage, she says, is “a good place”, except that girls are not allowed to go to school. But she had a friend who went to high school in a neighboring village, so every night she co-opts his books and taught herself history and English.

At 17, after the war ended, Westheimer moved to Palestine to help build a Jewish state. She worked in a kibbutz for a while, then moved to Jerusalem and joined the Haganah, a Jewish defense organization. Westheimer, six feet tall and full of energy, trained as a sniper. However, a few months after her service, a grenade broke through the girls’ dormitory during the Israeli War of Independence, severely injuring both of her legs.

She trained as a kindergarten teacher, met a man and moved to Paris to study at the Sorbonne. When her husband wanted to return to Israel, they divorced but remained good friends.

In 1956 she came to the United States to look for an uncle who had survived the war and moved to San Francisco. “I wanted to see if he was as small as me,” she laughs.

She settled in Washington Heights, which became an enclave for many German-Jewish refugees. She remarried, had a daughter, and divorced when her second husband returned to Europe.

Westheimer had long dreamed of studying medicine, but it seemed impossible without a scientific background. So she got a public health research position at Columbia University and then became a project manager at Planned Parenthood. There she met the 2,000 women who were to do their doctoral thesis on the subject of contraception.

After a few years as a single mother, she met Fred Westheimer, a telecommunications engineer, to whom she was married for almost 38 years. He adopted their daughter and they had a son together.

Westheimer received his PhD in education from Columbia University with a focus on sex education and studied with Helen Singer Kaplan, a pioneer in the field of sex therapy. In 1980 she was tapped by local radio producers in New York to do a short weekly section answering the listeners’ most private questions. Her then-controversial show grew to two hours as audiences reacted to her outspoken conversations about erections and orgasms. Her strong German accent and disrespectful humor made her an icon of the time.

She has published 40 books, still teaches at Columbia, and speaks all over the world. She is out and about almost every evening, in the theater, at the opera or at a charitable event. She has a Twitter account, a YouTube channel and is planning new projects in the works. She has no intention of slowing down because she survived and continues to survive. “I lived while 1 1/2 million Jewish children died,” she says. “So it is my duty to fix the world.”

Dr. Ruth with a doll that reminds her of the doll she gave to another child on a train from Nazi Germany in 1939. (Chris Sorensen / For The Washington Post)

Dr. Ruth has been a widow for almost 20 years, and during that time her apartment – the same one she has lived in for five decades – is full of dolls and figures.

On a side table is a doll that resembles the doll she gave away – sparkling eyes, springy curls and delicate turtles embroidered on her white dress. It even has the same turtle badge on its back. Westheimer identifies with the turtle – a creature that carries its home on its back but has to stick its neck out to get on in life. She has had turtle figurines from all over the world, so many that her coffee table has to be moved to make room for a small glass of water.

Her parents and grandmother “would have been very happy to see what happened to me,” she says. And she, too, is happy, remembers the joy of her early childhood and the achievements of her life.

The darkness in which it does not linger. “But I don’t forget either,” she says.

Dr. Ruth’s Dollhouses Ruth Westheimer will speak about her life and dollhouses in the National Building Museum on Monday at 6.30pm. Tickets available at nbm.org.

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