From Kisvárda to Canada

My Mother's Holocaust Journey

De: Brian Claman

Narrado por: Matthew Spaur

From Kisvárda to Canada: My Mother’s Holocaust Journey, author Brian Claman documents the true story of his mother, Maria (Mary) Katz Claman, a Hungarian Jewish teenager deported from Kisvárda to Auschwitz-Birkenau in June 1944. Tattooed with number A12064, she survived Auschwitz, forced labor at HASAG-Altenburg, a death march, and liberation in 1945.

This edition is based entirely on verifiable sources, including her USC Shoah Foundation testimony (No. 32345), the Arolsen Archives, Yad Vashem, the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, and AJDC records. No detail is imagined or embellished.

The book follows Mary’s life from childhood in prewar Hungary through the Holocaust and her postwar recovery in Canada. It combines survivor testimony with historical documentation to present a faithful, factual record of one woman’s endurance amid genocide.

Mary and her sister Suzanne were later registered at the Prien am Chiemsee displaced persons camp and immigrated to Canada in 1948. In Montreal, Mary rebuilt her life, married Abraham Claman, and raised three children, preserving a legacy that the Nazis tried to erase.

Written with clarity and restraint, this book is both a son’s tribute and a historical document. It stands as an educational resource for listeners, students, and museums devoted to Holocaust remembrance and as a reminder that truth and memory must outlast denial.

PLEASE NOTE: When you purchase this title, the accompanying PDF will be available in your Audible Library along with the audio.

©2025 Brian Claman (P)2026 Brian Claman

Quietly Devastating and Beautifully Told

This audiobook is a deeply moving act of remembrance. What makes it so powerful is not only the historical weight of the story, but its intimacy. This is not the Holocaust as abstraction or statistics—it is one woman’s lived experience, carried forward by her son with reverence, restraint, and love.

Matthew Spaur’s narration is perfectly matched to the material: calm, clear, and compassionate, allowing the story to breathe without theatrics. The result is something rare—an account that is heartbreaking without being overwhelming, and educational without ever feeling clinical.

This book honors resilience, memory, and the fragile thread that connects generations. It is a testament to survival, but also to the importance of telling these stories while we still can.

I’m grateful this exists. It deserves to be heard.