Responses to My Open Letter to the Wheatley School Alumni Community

Dear Wildcats and Other Interested Persons,

Please forgive the unexpected and deeply personal nature of this message.

My name is Myriam, and I am French. Arthur did not ask me to write to you. I am doing so entirely in my own name, with no intention of intervening as a lawyer, negotiator, or intermediary, and certainly not to tell you what you should do.

I have read Viktor Glaser’s Holocaust in its entirety many times. I first read it to discover the screenplay. I then returned to it because certain scenes, certain images, and certain silences stayed with me long after I had finished reading.

I have also read Arthur’s open letter. I understand that it expresses his own experience, his pain, and his interpretation of events. I also know that a conflict as longstanding and painful as this one can never be fully contained within one person’s account. I do not know the full history of your private discussions, I have not read the agreements between you, and I cannot measure everything that may have been said, felt, or understood on either side. I would therefore never presume to judge you or to decide who is legally or morally right.

I can imagine that the open letter may have been painful for you to receive and may have made an already difficult dialogue even harder. I am not writing to repeat its accusations or to ask you to justify yourselves.

I am writing because, beyond the dispute, I was deeply moved by what appears to have been, at the outset, a shared desire: to preserve and pass on the story of Viktor and Daisy.

Being French gives me no particular authority to speak about your family’s history. It does, however, give me a particular awareness of the continent on which that history unfolded.

Prague, Łódź, Auschwitz, the railway lines, the ghettos, the places of deportation, and the routes of the death marches are not, for us Europeans, the distant settings of a foreign tragedy. They belong to our land, our history, and our collective responsibility.

Europe was first Viktor and Daisy’s world: the world of their youth, their families, their customs, their culture, their hopes, and their love. It then became the place of their persecution and separation, and of everything intended to deprive them not only of their lives, but also of their names, their dignity, and their future.

Our duty in Europe is not to appropriate their memory. It is to refuse to regard it as someone else’s memory, as a story that is over, or as a chapter that has simply been closed in a history book.

France, too, bears this history, with its absences, its silences, and its responsibilities. In our towns and cities, plaques, monuments, engraved names, and sometimes the façades of ordinary buildings remind us that men, women, and children once lived there before being excluded, arrested, deported, or murdered. Behind every name was an entire life, with its relationships, habits, disagreements, dreams, and the people who loved them.

That is precisely what the screenplay allowed me to feel.

Before showing us what Viktor and Daisy endured, it allows us to encounter them fully alive. We discover them in Prague, in love, surrounded by their family, able to laugh, tease one another, dance, hope, and imagine a future together. History has not yet confined them to the role of victims. They are, first and foremost, Viktor and Daisy.

That seems essential to me.

Passing on their story does not mean recounting only the persecution, the camps, the selections, the hunger, the violence, and the death marches. It also means refusing to let them be defined solely by what was done to them. It means preserving the young woman Daisy once was, the man Viktor once was, their intelligence, their characters, their humor, their love, and the part of themselves that their persecutors never succeeded in taking away.

Viktor’s decision to write to his cousin shortly after his liberation seems to me, in itself, an extraordinary act of transmission.

After enduring the unspeakable, one of his first acts was to put into words what he had seen and lived through. He could not possibly have known that one day his testimony would be published, that a screenplay would emerge from it, or that, decades later, a Frenchwoman living thousands of miles away would read it.

And yet, by writing, he was already doing something that extended beyond his own lifetime: he was entrusting his memory to another person so that it would not disappear with him.

That is how transmission works. One person speaks. Another preserves those words. A third carries them further.

Tom, you helped preserve and share your father’s text. Jill, I understand that you have stood beside Tom in protecting a story that is so intimate and so profoundly connected to his parents. Arthur then devoted years to giving that story a cinematic form, researching, writing, revising, and beginning again, time after time.

These acts are different, but they may form part of the same chain.

The final movement of the screenplay is the part that moved me most deeply. Viktor returns to Europe. He searches for traces of those he lost and for graves he is not always able to find. Then comes the final image: Viktor reciting the Kaddish, with Tom beside him.

In that moment, transmission ceases to be an abstract idea.

Tom, in that scene, I did not see you as one of the parties to an agreement or a dispute, but simply as a son beside his father.

Viktor is no longer merely a survivor. He is a father passing on to his child the words through which we remember those who can no longer speak.

And Arthur appears as the writer who chose to end his story with this silent gesture between a father, a son, and those who are absent.

That image moved me because it contains, in itself, all the fragility of memory. One generation can never dictate to the next what it should feel. It can only entrust it with names, words, and gestures, in the hope that they will not be forgotten.

I nevertheless understand that the prospect of entrusting such a personal family story to a film may give rise to profound fears.

The fear of losing control over the narrative. The fear that the truth may be simplified or distorted. The fear that Viktor and Daisy’s names may be used without their family being sufficiently heard. And, finally, the fear of entrusting something almost sacred to an industry whose priorities may seem far removed from those of memory.

These concerns do not seem insignificant or unreasonable to me. They deserve to be expressed, heard, and translated into meaningful safeguards.

Your place in this story cannot be erased. No writer, producer, or lawyer could ever replace your connection to Viktor and Daisy or the emotional responsibility you feel toward their legacy.

At the same time, Arthur’s years of research, writing, rewriting, and commitment are also real. Through the different versions of the screenplay, I can see how deeply he has tried to understand a world that was not his own, to render its details faithfully, and not to betray those whose fate he was portraying.

The screenplay has therefore become the meeting point between a family testimony and a creative work. It seems to me that both of these dimensions deserve to be recognized, and that neither should have to erase the other.

I am not asking you to sign any particular agreement. I am not asking you to relinquish a right, to forget what has hurt you, or to disregard the advice you have received.

I am simply wondering whether another calm and strictly confidential conversation might still be possible, perhaps in the presence of someone truly neutral, with experience in intellectual property, the film industry, and the mediation of human conflicts as sensitive as this one.

Such a conversation would not necessarily have to determine who was right in the past. It might begin with a simpler and perhaps more constructive question: what concrete safeguards would each person need today in order to feel respected, protected, and recognized?

How can the family’s place be preserved? How can the historical integrity of the story be protected? How can the creative work be recognized? How can each person be spared the feeling that he or she is being erased? How can something that once gave rise to a shared hope be prevented from ending in loss for everyone?

Sometimes a conflict becomes so painful that people begin to defend not only what they want, but what they are most afraid of losing. Positions harden, words become heavier, and people who once shared the same hope can no longer recognize what originally brought them together.

I would find it profoundly sad if a story born of love, survival, separation, reunion, and transmission were unable to reach future generations because those who all wished, each in their own way, to protect it could no longer find a sufficiently safe space in which to speak to one another.

A film will never return Viktor and Daisy to those who loved them. It will erase no suffering and repair no absence.

But it could allow a young man or woman, one day in Prague, Paris, New York, or elsewhere, to discover their faces, hear their names, and understand that before they became victims of History, they were two human beings who loved one another, resisted, were separated, survived, and found each other again.

Perhaps that viewer would then return home and ask their parents or grandparents: “What happened in our family?”

At that moment, the story of Viktor and Daisy would no longer merely have been preserved. It would have been passed on.

Please receive this message in the sole spirit in which it is written: with respect for both of you, for the place Viktor and Daisy hold within your family, for Arthur’s work, and for the immense responsibility that comes with preserving such a legacy.

You owe me no reply. I simply felt that, after reading the screenplay so many times and being so deeply moved by what it carries, remaining silent would have been less sincere than writing to you with humility.

Viktor chose to write.

You chose to preserve his words and your family’s memory.

Arthur chose to try to give them voices and faces on the screen.

Transmission does not require everyone to occupy the same place. It asks only that the bond not be broken beyond repair.

I deeply hope that a path still exists through which each of you may be heard and respected, and through which the next chapter of this story may be one of transmission rather than loss.

With my warmest regards,

Myriam”

1961 (Janet Geils) - ❤️

1961 (Richard Kopelman) - ❤️

1962 (David Friedman) - ❤️

1963 (Donna Kenton) - “Art, I’m so very sorry you’ve had to go through this. You obviously loved the process of researching and writing and finding people who wanted to make it come to life, and then to be at this seemingly ridiculous dead end must be very hard to swallow. I hope something positive comes out of this letter.”

1964 (Jane Berger Putnam) - ❤️

1964 (Susan Obrant) - ❤️

1964 (John Sullivan) - “No way you should have been treated as you were. The screenplay is your passion.”

1965 (Barry Gordon) - “Try anything, including mediation, to try to settle this issue. Try to convince the Glasers that you really have their best interests in mind.

BTW, we Wheatley folks can be associate producers of this upcoming blockbuster! I also want to at attend the Academy Awards!

Best of luck with this struggle!”

1965 (Jeffrey Rothstein) - “Viktor Glaser was a high-level bridge player who in the 1930s represented his country, Czechoslovakia, in bridge championships. As a part of the Long Island bridge community, I knew Viktor fairly well. While still in high school and partnering with Ted Eisenberg (1965), Viktor gave us rides to and from tournaments. In later years, we always said hello at tournaments. I mentioned this to Tom after you published Viktor's letter. Tom asked me if Viktor had ever discussed the Holocaust with me. No, he didn’t.”

1966 (Steve Hanft) - ❤️

1966 (Sylvia Kay) - “Hi, Art, I am sorry how this unfolded. It’s a rough playing field. The screenplay is great! I hope you can figure out some way of meeting your goal. Folks can have very strong feelings about family.”

1967 (Deborah Friedman Lieberman) - ❤️

1967 (David Rissmeyer) - “The only Wheatley person I recall from your post is Tim Boland, who I know has a few successful plays/movies in his resume, so I suggest contacting Tim again for his input.

Also, haven’t there been uncounted examples of fictional representations of true stories that never involved the actual involved persons? You also cite examples of works like this that didn’t involve permissions, so you might consider moving forward without the Glasers and later decide on whether to pay them anything despite their objections.

As you mentioned, you’re already involving lawyers, so I believe you will find a way. I recently read a WW2 book about an Italian driver for a Nazi general, “Beneath a Scarlet Sky”, where the author found the driver after 50 or so years, and used his input for a “historical novel” using the protagonist’s real name. The author clearly padded the story with numerous heroic acts of the protagonist, almost to the point of skepticism, but I truly hope this book becomes a movie. Which makes me wonder that maybe your extensive research, etc. could possibly become a historical novel, if not a movie.

No matter about my musings—here’s wishing you success, as I believe that the history regarding the Holocaust needs to be always in our heads, especially when Israel is being involved with so many international events.

Thank you for your time and effort to help make our world a better place.

Dave Rissmeyer

1967 (Jill Simon Forte) - ❤️

1967 (Kathy Sterritte Brown) - “I read your email about your efforts to have your screenplay about Victor and Daisy Glaser produced. I'm sorry that there are ongoing disagreements with Tom and Jill Glaser. I hope that you find success in having it produced.”

1968 (Name withheld) - “This is a private matter and has nothing to do with Wheatley, other than Tom and Jill (my classmates). It is a misuse and a misunderstanding of the purpose of the Wheatley Newsletter and emails, which we enjoy and eagerly await. This should be resolved, if possible, without involving the entire Wheatley community. I hope in the future that editorial discretion will prevent a repeat. Best wishes to all.

1968 (Rebecca Consolo Freer Freedman) - “I felt bad hearing about your predicament with the Glasers. Tom's parents' story should be told, and the way they went about the whole thing was terrible.”

1969 (William Cornfield) - ❤️

1969 (Jack Lipsky) - Art: As a proud and long time member of the Great Neck Synagogue (Modern Orthodox) here in Great Neck, this is truly a story that needs to be made into a film. For many years, our Synagogue has had Yom Hoshoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day) and Kristallnacht (Night of Broken Glass) services, speakers and programs. I have had the experience of meeting many Holocaust survivors, their children and grandchildren. With the October 7, 2023 surprise attack by Hamas (murder, rape and incredible acts of depravity) against Israel and its’ population, it is imperative to never let this happen again. The best way is to keep telling the story to every succeeding generation. We have seen the rise of antisemitism around the world, including here in the United States and New York City. As George Santayana said in 1905, “Those who cannot remember the past, are condemned to repeat it”.

Art, your efforts are truly commendable.

1969 (Maddy Nathanson) - ❤️

1969 (Debra Segall) - ❤️

1971 (John Poulos) - “The Glasers need to wake up to the FACT that, a little bit of something is better than 100% of nothing. My late father was with the troops that liberated concentration camps. Having been born in Greece in 1915, he spoke several languages, and he was of tremendous value to the American Army as an interpreter.

After the war, he only spoke maybe twice about what he witnessed, but it was as if he stepped into another world for a few moments; the look in his eyes was like nothing I had ever seen or have seen since. The Glasser’s need to help educate the World about humans’ capacity for inhumanity. Do humanity some good because it’s the right thing to do.” (((Art responds: $300,000, a “Major Motion Picture” lionizing Tom’s parents, a lifetime of fame, and helping to delegitimize Holocaust deniers does not strike me as “little”)))

1972 (Kim Downes) - “Wow! What a story! I read the synopsis and will read your script. If I can help, I will try.”

(((later)))

Hi Art,

I just sent an e-mail to the Glasers about your screenplay. Here it is below:

“Dear Tom & Jill Glaser:

My name is Kim Downes. I am a friend of Art Engoron and a Wheatley High School graduate, Class of 1972. Art sent an open letter to the Wheatley School Alumni Community regarding his efforts to get his screenplay, “Victor Glaser’s Holocaust” made into a movie. I have read the screenplay and I think it is great. I think it is a movie that needs to be made to increase awareness about the horrors of the holocaust. It is written from the experiences of Tom’s parents, two holocaust survivors who actually witnessed it and went through all the horrors.

I don’t understand why you are rejecting his new “Agreements 2 and 3.” According to the Hollywood producers Art was working with, your initial agreement was not acceptable. It does not sound like Art would use this deal to cut you out of VGH, nor would the HHHs cut him out of it. The producers (“HHHs”) had been working with him on the movie all along, so why would they? I think Art is being very generous in offering you $250,000 in the agreement (he offered $300,000 himself). He is only making $350,000. He has done a great deal of work on this project for many years and seems to be more interested in getting the movie made than making money. As you know, he is a New York State Supreme Court Judge and a tireless publisher of the Wheatley School Alumni Newsletter, which has come out once a week for many years. He is always very interested in all the Wheatley graduates and what they are doing. I think he clearly has moral character. He has had many conversations with you about the screenplay. The producers he was working with (“HHHs”) loved the screenplay and have spent many hours editing it. (They have since abandoned the project but gave him names of a dozen other producers. He says he will contact them, but the legal problems will not help.) If you turn down the agreement, you will get nothing, Art will get nothing and the trials of your parents will never be known. Hollywood receives 100,000 screenplays and makes 300 movies, less than a 1% chance. A small fraction of those come from first-time scriptwriters! It would be awful to take this chance away from Art and yourselves.

If you have reasons for not accepting Art’s Agreement that I am not aware of, please let me know,. But as far as I can see, it would be foolish not to let Art make the movie. Your parents and you would be famous and their story would be told. Please let Art make the movie.

Sincerely,

Kim Downes

1972 (Jeffrey Kargman) - “Art, This is such a tough one. I truly hope that you and the Glasers can work this out. Please work this out. You have put so much work into this project. Please work this out.”

1973 (Lynne Joachim) - ❤️

1973 (Larry Weiss) - “I was moved by your open letter, and you should press on ahead despite the obstacles. I'm sympathetic not just because of the story's importance, but also because I understand how difficult it is to tell these deeply human stories that need to be told.” ❤️

1974 (SuZanne L. Zenker-Gilbride) - ❤️. Interesting!!! I hope you can work it out, with all parties involved, you may need an outside negotiator… It would be a shame, not to see your hard work, plus creative journey and this story come to fruition… I enjoyed reading the bits of the story, as I have a similar story in my own family… Knowing the stories and seeing the number tattoos on family members’ arms shaped a lot of my thoughts at a very young age, of my life… I really hope you all can work it out, for the sake of the story to live on… Peace Out ✌️”

1975 (Benjamin Dreyer) - ❤️

1976 (Leslie Vanderveer) - ❤️

1977 (Laura Slaski Rabinowitz) - ❤️

1977 (Linda Watnick Lebowitz) - “This is a tough one. Are you able to ask them what it would take on their end?” (((I wish they would tell me. They haven’t)))

1982 (name withheld) - “This does not belong in this column . It feels divisive. It’s a personal matter . Not a Wheatley matter.”

1982 (Steven Tuchler) - “Hi Art, Irrespective of what appear to be noble intentions to share an incredible story combined with knowing you handle your Judicial career in an irrefutable manner that is well beyond reproach, I am surprised you opted to use this amazing vehicle to seek “public opinion”. Despite the other parties being Wheatleyites, I don’t think this is the forum for this. The only two conditions I could see potentially changing my opinion is if you initially redacted the names of the other parties and simultaneously offered them equal time to tell their side of it. (Not because I think you shaded the story; more so as a means to understand their thought process).

Art Engoron Responds - Hey Steven, Thanks for your thoughts. As I indicated clearly in the open letter, prior to publishing it, I sent a copy to the Glasers and asked them if they wanted to respond. Their only request was that I include Tom's email address, which I did. They failed to respond in any substantive way, presumably because what I wrote was a completely fair and accurate representation of the facts.

Cathy Pries Voisinet (1987) - “I’m sorry you are going through this…. Good luck!”

1995 (Danielle Crane) - ❤️

1996 (Joshua Effron) - ❤️

Non-Wheatley (MBDE) - ❤️

Unknown (“Duran Duran”) - ❤️

Unknown (“Izzy”) - ❤️