The Boy in the Back: A Holocaust Survivor’s Story From Our Temple
I received an unexpected and lovely congratulatory note today. It was from an old friend wishing me well on the publication of The Boy in the Back. It turns out, she’d read about it in our Temple newsletter. Surprise!
Of course, I searched my inbox immediately and found it. Would I have read it if Cynthia hadn’t alerted me to it? I can’t say. But I can tell you that I was touched—and tickled—to find my book in the pages of our community newsletter.
The piece is from a note I wrote to our Rabbi. Here’s a slightly shortened version.
From Survivor to Physician
On his 16th birthday, Jan was forced onto a cattle car bound for Auschwitz. At 96, he finally broke his silence.
The day after October 7, I found him transfixed by the news, unable to turn away. When I asked what he was seeing, he said quietly: “I’m reliving my childhood.” In that moment, I knew his story could no longer remain untold.
As Jan’s friend and writing voice, I spent the next 18 months listening, coaxing, and weaving together his chilling, often fragmented memories into a coherent narrative. For decades, he hid his tattoo. For decades, he avoided speaking of the camps. But the rise of antisemitism convinced him that silence was no longer possible.
… He is The Boy in the Back—the teenager who survived Auschwitz and Mauthausen by mastering the art of disappearing…I am honored to share his story.
Writing The Boy in the Back, a Holocaust Memoir, was unlike anything I’ve ever written.
I’ve been writing for decades, and usually when I tackle a book or an article, I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, writing it in my head, playing with the idea, the scope, and the language I’ll use. By the time I actually start writing, I have a pretty good idea of where I’m going. I have a sense of the direction, the shape, the point I want to make.
This time was different.
This was a story of memory, survival, and bearing witness, and my role began simply as a good deed. Jan was visibly shaken by the October 7th massacre, and I was listening to a friend in pain. I’m a good listener, a trained listener, and I began helping him deal with his distress by piecing together his memories. But as the story unfolded, I didn’t know what was coming next. I found myself shocked, troubled, moved, and surprised, over and over again. It was fascinating to be carried forward without a map, discovering the story as Jan remembered it.
And Jan, too, became deeply invested. What started as something small between friends grew into a compelling project, one that felt bigger than either of us.
Today, that work feels especially real. The Boy in the Back just received its very first Amazon review: five stars, from a stranger https://shorturl.at/H5xxt. Exciting. Moving. Meaningful. Proof that Jan’s story has reached beyond the two of us and is finding its way into the world.
That’s why this book is different. I didn’t just write it—I experienced it.
Cover of The Boy in the Back; a True Story of Survival in Auschwitz and Mauthausen, a Holocaust Memoir by Fern Lebo
Why Folks Don’t Read Holocaust Books
Why do people NOT buy and read The Boy in the Back? Is it because they haven’t heard about it yet? Or because they just don’t want to read about the Holocaust—too upsetting, too depressing, too long ago to worry about?
I wonder. It seems to me there’s enough awful stuff going on in the world that nobody needs to add more negatives unnecessarily.
I think about that. And I understand. Still, it may not be easy to read, but it’s a must-read.
Maybe Elie Wiesel said it best. “For the dead and the living, we must bear witness.” It’s our responsibility. We owe it to those who cannot speak for themselves.
Check it out. Read The Boy in the Back. You need to know.
A Wonderful Evening at McNally’s Bookstore
Last week was the book launch for the updated edition of The Talent Revolution — and what a wonderful evening it was.
The event was held at McNally’s Bookstore, one of those rare gems: an independent shop with polished dark wood shelves, thoughtful displays, and that unmistakable scent of books and history. Nestled in the heart of downtown Toronto, it was the perfect setting to celebrate this new chapter.
A lovely crowd came out to wish us well and to pick up copies of the book, which we happily signed. My co-author, Lisa Taylor — who led this updated edition — was interviewed as part of the program and was, as always, spectacular: sharp, insightful, articulate, and simply brilliant. I’d chosen not to participate in the interview since I’ve been out of the field for a few years, and it was an absolute joy to sit back and listen.
Lisa is an international thought leader on the future of work and how to transform an aging workforce into a competitive advantage. Hearing her speak, with such clarity, energy, and vision, reminded me why working with her has always been such a privilege.
A heartfelt thank-you to University of Toronto Press for making the evening possible, to McNally’s for providing the perfect venue — and to Lisa, for her leadership and insight in bringing The Talent Revolution back to life.
Klezmer Joy — Music and Memory
I went to a Klezmer concert last night — lively, soulful music filling a room of Jewish faces, all of us gathered to celebrate who we are. It was beautiful. And it reminded me why I wrote The Boy in the Back
Klezmer is more than just music; it’s the sound of a culture that was nearly erased. Klesmer bursts with life, clarinets laughing and crying in the same breath, violins sliding between sorrow and joy, rhythms that make the body want to move even as the heart remembers. It carries centuries of Jewish history in its melodies: weddings and marketplaces, exile and survival, grief transmuted into celebration. There is something defiant in its happiness, a refusal to let loss have the final word. When Klezmer fills a room, it gathers people together, lifting memory into the air and reminding us that joy itself can be an act of remembrance.
So much of our heritage — our songs, our stories, our families — was silenced in the Holocaust. The Boy in the Back is a reminder to hold these things dear, to protect what remains, and never to allow our culture to be extinguished again.
Watching hundreds of people come together last night, alive with music and memory, made Jan’s message feel even more urgent: remembrance isn’t passive. It’s how we resist. It’s how we continue. It’s how we love.
The Boy in the Back tells the story of one child who survived that rupture — and why remembering matters now more than ever.