I remember very well going into NYC to the lower East side where my Dad was commanded by my Mom to shop for a winter jacket for me. This was maybe 1965, I was about ten, this was how it was done. I had pretty low interest in getting a winter coat, but NYC was always fascinating, and going through the Holland tunnel was unusual for our NYC voyages, and landed in a much grittier part of NYC than the Lincoln tunnel which emerged in NYC midtown. Of course the highlight of the day was getting a mountainous pastrami or roast beef sandwich for lunch. The busboy who cleaned our table was a kind of thin, haggard older guy, and I could see he had a 5 or 6 digit number tattooed on the inside of his forearm. I always wondered why he had that tattoo.
Many years ago my Mom shared a hospital room with a Holocaust victim…..
She confided to mom things I will not repeat here
In the 70’s I was a receptionist for a Jewish doctor……in a Northern state
I believe most if not all patients were Jewish, fwiw
This was only 25 years after the Holocaust
I was a little surprised they would hire a ‘shiksa’ like me:)