This 1945 Photo of a Little Girl Holding a Doll Looked Cute — Until Zoom Revealed Her Hand

.
.

In August 2024, Dr. Sarah Lieberman, a dedicated researcher at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, embarked on a mission that would uncover a poignant story of survival hidden within a photograph. While digitizing a collection of images from the liberation of concentration camps, she stumbled upon a haunting photograph taken in May 1945 at Bergen-Belsen. It depicted a small girl, around six years old, sitting on a cot in the children’s recovery ward, clutching a porcelain doll and offering a tentative smile to the camera. This image, labeled simply as “unidentified child survivor,” held a secret that had eluded identification for 79 years.

As Dr. Lieberman examined the photograph at high resolution, her attention was drawn to the child’s left forearm. There, partially obscured by the doll, was a tattooed number: A7358. Her heart raced as she recognized the significance of this discovery. The Auschwitz concentration camp had tattooed prisoners with identification numbers, and the A series was specifically designated for Hungarian Jews in 1944. Most children were not tattooed; they were sent directly to their deaths. But this child had survived, and Dr. Lieberman was determined to uncover her story.

The photograph had been part of a collection donated by Captain James Walsh, a U.S. Army medical officer who had served during the liberation of Bergen-Belsen. As Sarah delved into the museum’s archives, she found that the A7358 tattoo corresponded to a female prisoner registered on May 28, 1944. However, the records were sparse, and many names had been lost to the brutal chaos of the Holocaust.

Sarah’s investigation led her to various organizations, including the International Center on Nazi Persecution and Yad Vashem. Each inquiry revealed fragments of information but no complete picture. Yet, she persisted, driven by the desire to give a name and a narrative to the child in the photograph.

After weeks of searching, a breakthrough emerged. Sarah discovered a handwritten list from the Bergen-Belsen archives, detailing the children’s ward in May 1945. Among the entries was a note about a female child, approximately six years old, with the Auschwitz tattoo A7358. This child spoke Hungarian and had been placed under the care of the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA).

With this new lead, Sarah contacted UNRRA and eventually found a transfer document dated June 18, 1945, which indicated that child A7358 had been transferred to a Jewish children’s home in Paris, France. Accompanying her was a nurse named Eva Klene, a Polish Jewish survivor who had dedicated herself to caring for children displaced by the war. The document noted that the child exhibited severe trauma and required ongoing medical care.

Finally, Sarah had a name: Hannah Goldberg. The records detailed Hannah’s journey from the horrors of Auschwitz to a new life in Paris, where she began the slow process of healing. The intake records showed her physical and psychological struggles, but they also highlighted her resilience. Hannah had survived a nightmare that most could hardly fathom, and now she was on the path to recovery.

As Sarah pieced together Hannah’s life story, she learned that Hannah had been born in 1939 in Monach, Hungary. In May 1944, her family was forced into the ghetto, and shortly thereafter, they were deported to Auschwitz. During the selection process, five-year-old Hannah was pulled from her mother’s arms, a moment that would seal her fate as a survivor. While her family perished in the gas chambers, Hannah was tattooed and sent to the children’s barracks, where she endured unimaginable horrors.

In January 1945, as Soviet forces approached Auschwitz, Hannah was evacuated to Bergen-Belsen, where she remained until liberation on April 15, 1945. The photograph of her with the doll was taken shortly after her liberation, capturing a fleeting moment of hope amidst the trauma.

Dr. Lieberman’s research culminated in a powerful connection between the photograph and the woman Hannah had become. In October 2024, Sarah traveled to Florida to meet Hannah, now Hannah Goldberg Rosenberg, who was living in a retirement community at the age of 84. With her daughter Rebecca by her side, Hannah agreed to see the photograph that had captured her childhood.

As Sarah revealed the image, Hannah’s eyes widened in recognition. “That’s me,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. For the first time in nearly eight decades, she was confronted with a visual reminder of her past—a past filled with both unimaginable suffering and the small kindness that had helped her survive.

The porcelain doll in the photograph, which Hannah had named “Hope,” had been her constant companion throughout her life. She retrieved the doll from her closet, carefully unwrapping it to reveal the faded but cherished symbol of her childhood. “I held Hope when I had nightmares,” Hannah explained. “She represented kindness in a world filled with evil.”

As Sarah documented Hannah’s story, the impact of her experiences became clear. Hannah had been legally adopted by Eva Klene, who had cared for her in the Jewish children’s home. Together, they immigrated to the United States, where Hannah built a life, married, and had children. She often recounted her experiences, ensuring that the horrors of the Holocaust were not forgotten.

In her testimony for the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Hannah shared her journey from being a mere number—A7358—to reclaiming her identity and humanity. “The Nazis tried to erase my name, my identity, my humanity,” she said. “But I survived. I reclaimed my name. I built a life. I had children and grandchildren.”

The doll, Hope, became a powerful symbol of her survival and resilience. Hannah donated it to the Holocaust Memorial Museum, where it now sits alongside the photograph, serving as a testament to the enduring spirit of those who survived the darkest chapters of history.

In November 2024, during a family gathering, Hannah’s great-granddaughter, the same age Hannah had been in the photograph, asked to see the image. “That’s you, great grandma?” she inquired, her innocent eyes studying the photograph. “Yes,” Hannah replied, her voice filled with emotion. “You look sad.”

“I was very sad then,” Hannah admitted, “but see the doll? That doll gave me hope. And hope is what helped me survive to become your great grandmother.”

Hannah’s story is a powerful reminder of the resilience of the human spirit. It highlights the importance of memory, the need to honor those who suffered, and the capacity for kindness to shine through even in the darkest times. Through her journey, Hannah Goldberg transformed from a number into a name, a face, and a legacy of hope for future generations.