Robert Horowitz lay in a ditch in Nazi-occupied France, pressed against his parents, as beams of light scanned the trampled ground around him. The Horowitzes were close enough to German guards to hear their conversations and pray that their flashlights remained focused on the dirt just beyond the huddled family.

It was April of 1942, and Hitler’s rise had made life untenable for Jewish families across much of Europe. The 4-year-old Horowitz had no idea where he was or how far he and his parents had traveled, starting from their comfortable home in the former Free City of Danzig (now Gdansk, Poland) to sanctuary in Holland, where the Dutch nationals had hoped to escape Nazi harassment.

Tired and frightened, he was unaware that, finally, safety was within reach. All he knew for certain was his mother’s stern warning to remain silent and out of sight amid the swirling beams. He could never have imagined then how his connection to a very different light — a grand chandelier, glittering with hundreds of delicate glass crystals — would one day illuminate important conversations and inspire awe in his eventual adopted home state of North Carolina.

• • •

Led by his parents, Salo and Karoline, and with the help of two guides and three escaped prisoners of war who took turns carrying him on their shoulders into the free zone of Vichy France, Horowitz successfully escaped the Holocaust, which claimed the lives of six million Jews — including his maternal grandparents. When it became clear that Holland was no longer a safe haven, the family finally left in March 1942, slogging through Belgium, Occupied France, and Vichy France, then Spain and Portugal. Karoline walked with a diamond hidden in the heel of a shoe, which eventually paid for their passage to Dutch Guiana, South America, now known as Suriname, where they arrived on Christmas Eve.

By spring 1944, the family was living in the United States. Salo, who by then went by Pete, was hired by a fellow Jewish immigrant to run a lumber mill in Murphy, the westernmost county seat in North Carolina. It was a task for which he had no experience but proved so effective at that he started his own business a year later. The transition to rural life was not easy, however. Pete didn’t speak much English, and the family was lonely for other Jews with whom they could share traditions and build a new life.

Robert Horowitz escaped the Holocaust when he was just 4 years old, eventually settling with his parents in western North Carolina. Photography courtesy of THE NORTH CAROLINA DEPARTMENT OF NATURAL AND CULTURAL RESOURCES

After moving to Asheville so her son could train for his bar mitzvah, Karoline and her two brothers sought to recover heirlooms left by their parents, Gustav and Selma Strauss. The well-to-do merchants, reluctant to believe the worst about their government, had delayed leaving Germany and died in concentration camps. Such property can be notoriously difficult to reclaim, but an agreement made with a compassionate gentile neighbor in Holland helped reunite the family with several treasured objects. Among the items recovered around that time was a spectacular crystal chandelier.

While its provenance is uncertain, antiques experts believe that the baroque splendor of the Maria Theresia-style chandelier was likely among the first electrified crystal fixtures produced in the 1880s by the legendary Lobmeyr company of Vienna, which famously collaborated with Thomas Edison. Lobmeyr chandeliers are prominently featured in some of the world’s most architecturally significant venues, including the New York Metropolitan Opera House, The Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C., and the Kremlin in Russia.

As it has since the late 1960s, the chandelier illuminates receptions, meals, and meetings held in the dining room of the “people’s house,” an enduring reminder of the Horowitzes’ gratitude to the State of North Carolina. Photography courtesy of THE NORTH CAROLINA DEPARTMENT OF NATURAL AND CULTURAL RESOURCES

Deemed too large for the Horowitzes’ Asheville home, the chandelier remained stored in the basement. When, in the late 1960s, Karoline remarked to a neighbor that she wished it could again see the light of day in an appropriate setting, a suggestion was made that the family donate it to the State of North Carolina in thanks for the safe and prosperous life they had achieved here.

Karoline contacted her state representative, who made the offer to Jeanelle Moore, wife of Gov. Dan K. Moore. The first lady gratefully accepted the chandelier on the state’s behalf. It was carefully reconstructed and installed around 1968 in the state dining room of the Executive Mansion, where it remains today. Karoline later wrote to First Lady Moore: “When I saw my parents’ chandelier hanging in the lovely dining room, restored and fully lit, it bought tears to my eyes and I believe to yours, too.”

• • •

Karoline’s legacy did not end with her gift. In 1988, she shared her family’s experiences with the Yale University Video Archive for Holocaust Testimonies project, a collection of oral histories available to research scholars.

Robert Horowitz didn’t see the chandelier in place until the 1990s, when he came to the Triangle with his daughter, Emily, to visit UNC Chapel Hill. “Docents gave us a special tour [of the Executive Mansion] on a Saturday,” recalls Horowitz, who now lives in California. “It was good to see it there because it meant a great deal to my mother.”

A retired estate lawyer and probate judge who spent his career overseeing people’s last wishes and what becomes of their possessions, Horowitz did not acknowledge himself as a Holocaust survivor until later in life. Although he doesn’t feel an emotional connection to the chandelier himself — he was an infant when it glistened in his grandparents’ home — he sees it as a gift of appreciation to North Carolina and acknowledges that others view it as a symbol of the strength and resiliency of the Jewish people.

Last December, Gov. Roy Cooper and First Lady Kristin Cooper welcomed Horowitz to Raleigh for a program called “Lighting the Way.” Photography courtesy of THE NORTH CAROLINA DEPARTMENT OF NATURAL AND CULTURAL RESOURCES

The fact that the chandelier had been a gift from a Holocaust survivor had long been known, but its backstory only emerged after the correspondence between Karoline Horowitz and First Lady Moore was rediscovered in August 2023. With the number of elderly Holocaust survivors decreasing annually, Sadie Weiner, Gov. Roy Cooper’s director of external affairs, felt driven to search for Horowitz family members. Using census data and other resources, she eventually tracked down Horowitz and his son, David, who lives in New York City.

“I got an email back in 20 minutes from David, saying I found the right family,” Weiner recalls, adding that she spoke for the first time with his father a few days later. “He was extremely open, very sharp, and willing to answer any question. I was so impressed by his story.”

“We can never forget that Holocaust survivors contributed to the history of our state.”

Weiner’s family also was impacted by the Holocaust, which claimed loved ones and scattered survivors seeking safe harbors. Her own son was 4 when she started the research, the same age Horowitz was when he escaped with his parents.

“Just thinking about the bravery and resilience it took brings tears to my eyes,” Weiner says. “It felt very important that we capture their story. We can never forget that Holocaust survivors contributed to the history of our state.”

The Horowitzes’ gift is an enduring reminder. And for Governor Cooper, it’s a point of pride to share the story of the chandelier and the extraordinary families forever linked to it. “North Carolina’s Strauss chandelier is a remarkable piece of world history that has been shining down on decades of cabinet and staff meetings, economic recruitments, and dinner conversations about important challenges facing our state,” he says. “Its light is a constant reminder of what can happen when hatred and anti-Semitism go unchecked and leads us to ensure that we never again allow an atrocity like the Holocaust.”

• • •

Last December, Weiner persuaded Horowitz to come to Raleigh to see the chandelier and participate in a program facilitated by Dr. Chris Patti, an associate professor of communication studies and affiliate faculty member of Appalachian State University’s Center for Judaic, Holocaust, and Peace Studies, who specializes in oral history interviews with Holocaust survivors.

Seated just steps from the chandelier, Patti guided Horowitz as he recalled traumatic experiences and the creative ways his parents would help him remain calm — like when Karoline, trying to blend in with the locals during a train ride in Occupied France, pushed a harmonica to her son’s mouth so guards wouldn’t discover that he only spoke Dutch.

“His story parallels those of so many other people who didn’t think they are survivors — who don’t have the tattoo, but this still cuts to the core of their existence,” Patti says, referring to the dehumanizing numbers etched onto the forearms of some concentration camp prisoners. “When you have people who listen, stories come out.”

During a conversation with Dr. Chris Patti, portions of Karoline Horowitz’s 1988 video testimony were played. Photography courtesy of THE NORTH CAROLINA DEPARTMENT OF NATURAL AND CULTURAL RESOURCES

Patti finds inspiration in an old Jewish teaching: A little bit of light dispels a lot of darkness. That bit of wisdom likewise applies to objects like the fragile yet commanding chandelier, which can help contemporary viewers gain an appreciation of the suffering of those harmed by the Holocaust, as well as their ability to survive adversity.

“You don’t want to wrap this all up in a bow,” Patti cautions. “It does boggle my mind to think the level of life-and-death severity was so clear to him as a small child. But when you can find something like this and meaning can be reclaimed, stories can be used as a way to spread peace.”