Where are You Phylis? A Desperate Search for a Beloved Aunt

Where are you Phylis Goodman?

Dear Aunt Phylis,

I’ve been looking for you for over 20 years but unfortunately my attempts were unsuccessful. I still don’t have a clue where you are today.

You may not know that but you were only 8 months old when your loving brothers and sisters had to give you away. Your father, Max Goodman, died in a car accident and your mom Bertha Archambeault has passed away from some disease. It was in 1930s and your siblings were too young and too poor to take care of you.

You were born in Montreal but you may have been raised somewhere else. Montreal’s adoption files are sealed and it’s impossible to find who you have been given to, under what name and even with what social insurance number.

Your brother, who happened to be my father, was only 4 years old at the time. He was reluctantly given away too. Luckily, he was fostered by a very nice family. When he grew up to become a rebellious teenager he suffered from antisemitism and made Aliya to Israel where he met my beautiful mom. (Yes, Mom. You are beautiful!)

But he never stopped looking for you until he passed away and I’m here to continue his journey and find you.

I wish I could just know that you are OK. Not knowing if you are still alive, if you are healthy and hopefully happy is what keeps me awake at night. I can’t stop worrying about whether you had a good childhood and that you were treated right. I am not sure if you even know today that you were adopted as a baby. It is very much possible that you are reading my story now, not even aware it is you I am painfully looking for.

I would really like to meet you and get to know you and your family. I long to hear what you have been through and what your life looked like.

Please. Give us a sign if you are reading this note.

Ronit.

To all of you out there, who were or still are from Montreal please see if this story sounds familiar to you. Please ask your parents and friends if the names that are mentioned in it maybe ring a bell.  The Jewish Community must have been quite small in the 1930s.

If you, by any chance know stories about my family, Goodman – I would love to hear them. Maybe you knew my father, my other uncles and aunts. Please. Any small detail will be welcomed with a blessing. Toda.