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Yakov Honiksman
Lvov
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Orlikova
Date of interview: December 2002

Yakov Honiksman, a Professor of History, lives in a cozy apartment in one of the nicest districts of Lvov near the Polytechnic College where he taught history of economy. There are many history books in his apartment. Yakov always reads lots of books. He is an author of a book about the Holocaust in Lvov region. He is a scientist and a very busy man. He still works a lot, writing books and studying historical sources. Therefore, I could hardly convince him to spend more time with us since it was a problem for him to find time for this interview in his busy schedule. He has the selective memory of a man of science. He doesn't keep in his memory, anything he believes to be insignificant. Yakov has a distinctive manner of speaking, but he has a strong Polish accent. Yakov and his wife Rita are very nice and hospitable people.

My family background
Growing up
During the war
Post-war
Married life
Glossary

My family background

Lublin town, where my parents lived, is one of the oldest Polish towns - it was mentioned back in the 10th century - on the Bystrzyca River in the southeast of Poland. The first information about Jews goes back to the 14th century. At that time a district where Jews settled was founded: Piaski zydowskie ['Jewish sands' in Polish]. Jews were tradesmen and craftsmen: tailors and leather specialists. Gradually the size of the Jewish population increased and at times it constituted almost half of the population of the town. Big, beautiful synagogues were built. Lublin was called 'Yerushalayim de Polin' - Polish Jerusalem. Jews owned bakery and leather industries that were the most profitable of all. Throughout the history of Jewish residency in Lublin there were anti-Semitic demonstrations, Jewish pogroms and periods of unfriendly attitudes of the Polish population. At the time when I was born, in 1921, the Jewish population constituted 37,337 Jews, 35 % of the population.

My paternal grandfather came from the small town of Krasny Stav in Lublin province. People told me that residents of this town were beekeepers. By the way, Jews kept bees and sold honey during the period of feudalism. I guess, my great-grandfather was in this business. His last name Honiksman, or Ghoniksman in Polish, comes from 'honik' - honey and 'man' - man. I transliterated this last name into Russian as Honiksman. At the end of the 18th century Jews got their last names from the Austrian Government [Editor's note: Yakov has studied the history of Polish Jews all his life. This is literally what he said, although it is anachronistic]. Wealthier Jews could pay for more beautiful names like Goldman, Zilberman, Rosenthal and poor people got simpler names like Schwester [Smith], Portnoy [Tailor], Stoliar [Joiner] - after their profession, etc. My grandfather died long before I was born. I visited Krasny Stav only once in my life when I was a boy and I didn't care about history then. I don't remember any relatives on my father's side, I don't even remember whether I ever met any of them. In my family we never mentioned my father's relatives.

I am a son of Samuel, Jewish name: Shmil, Honiksman, born in the town of Krasny Stav near Lublin, in 1885. My father couldn't read or write and I believe he didn't even go to cheder where all Jewish boys studied, as a rule. He was a very religious person. He knew many prayers by heart, but he couldn't read his prayer book. My father didn't know how to sign papers and he wrote some sort of o-shaped signs. He came to Lublin when he was very young. He became a cabinetmaker's apprentice. My father was a failure in life. He was poor and often had no job, although he was a good cabinetmaker. He was an amazingly honest and decent man, but he often got into unpleasant situations due to his illiteracy.

I remember, he got an order from a rich Polish master to make a few new pieces of furniture for his rooms. My father took me with him. I was ten years old. I polished some items of furniture the whole day until I fell asleep. At night my father woke me up. As he was taking apart an old table, he unscrewed a leg and found it was a hiding place with valuables, diamonds and gold. My father sent me to the master and gave him everything he found. I remember it as clearly as if it were today: the master gave my father ten zloties. This was also a lot of money for us, but now, after I've lived a long time, I think that being as desperately poor as my father was at that time, I don't think I would demonstrate such utter honesty regardless of my conviction that one cannot touch what belongs to someone else.

My father got married in 1916. I don't know what my father first wife's name was. Their son Haskel was born in 1918 and shortly afterward my father's wife died of typhoid. My father's situation was miserable. They lived in a small room behind a partition in the shop where my father worked. My father had to find a wife immediately since he couldn't cope with the baby alone. The owner of the shop introduced him to a young woman, my future mother: Mina Grinberg, whose Jewish name was Mindlia.

My mother's father Moisey Grinberg was a rabbi in the small town of Ostrow Lubelski in Lublin province. I guess my grandfather was born in the 1860s. I saw him only once when I was four years old, but I remember him well. He was a tall Jewish man with a big half-gray beard. He was handsome. My grandfather was a rabbi of Hasidism 1. He seemed mean to me, as he looked at me in a way that made me feel awkward. Since then I've never really liked Hasidim. I believe the family was very religious, but I know no details. We traveled on a cart to see my grandfather through some woods, through the night. When we arrived in the morning a noisy bunch of Jewish people met us. I remember it well. Ostruv-Lubelski was a small town. I remember a small house that we entered to say 'hallo' to grandfather. I don't know how so many people could fit in it. They laughed and joked and seemed to be taking no notice of my grandfather's strict expression. They spoke Yiddish.

My grandfather's wife died long before I was born. They had many children. I remember his beautiful daughters, but I don't remember their names. His younger daughter was getting married when we were visiting, but all I remember is the noise and enjoyment. This was the last time I saw my grandfather. He died in 1933. I remember his daughters visited him in Lublin. They got married and moved to America in the 1920s. Their brother Max Grinberg, born in 1890, I think, was a tailor. He must have been a good tailor. He moved to New York, USA, when I was born. There he became an activist in the Communist Party. He was an optimist and believed in the Soviet Union. He sent us 5 or 10 dollars on holidays. In 1939 we lost contact with him. My mother told me that my Grinberg cousins were some high- ranking officials in Odessa. In the 1980s I found out that there were party officials with this last name, but I don't know whether they were our relatives. They disappeared. I searched for information about them and it turned out that they were exterminated in 1937 during the period of Great Terror 2; they were exterminated by Stalinism.

My mother was a very beautiful woman. She was born in 1894. Her father gave his children good elementary education. My mother could read and write in Yiddish, knew Hebrew and could understand and speak Polish. She said that they had a teacher from cheder and then they had another teacher that taught them Polish, German and arithmetic. She married a Jewish man from Odessa in 1914. They had a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah and rabbi in Lublin. In 1914, when World War I began, my mother's husband was recruited into the army. I guess he didn't have secondary education. My mother heard later that he had married in Odessa. For a Jewish woman that had recently got married this was a terrible thing to hear. My mother felt hurt. However, she was a strong woman. She obtained a permit from the Austrian authorities to cross the Russian border, go to Odessa and demand a divorce from that moron. She returned to Lublin with a certificate of divorce, but she couldn't expect to find a good match. She worked as a seamstress in Lublin for several years and was glad to get a chance to marry my father, a cabinetmaker that had no education and had a baby. I loved my parents and they loved me even more. My parents had a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah and a rabbi in 1920.

My mother treated my father's son Haskel with warmth and when he grew up there was understanding between them. Occasionally, when my mother had some free time I saw her reading books in Yiddish. Unfortunately, I never took any interest to ask her what she was reading. My mother's attitude toward religion was more like a tribute to traditions. She followed everything as required by Jewish rules. But when it was a question of something that was necessary for her children my mother could violate any rules or bans. I started to develop tuberculosis and somebody told my mother that I needed to eat pork. She bought cheap ham remains at the market. I liked bread and ham. She would stand in front of me so that my father didn't see what I was eating. She went to the synagogue at Yom Kippur, Rosh Hashanah and Pesach and I remember she blessed and lit candles every Saturday [Sabbath].

My older brother Haskel became enamored of revolutionary ideas when he was very young. He left our home and traveled on his own business. My father often had to search for his whereabouts. He joined the Communist Party of Poland when he was very young. We had our home searched twice. They didn't find anything, but we were told that he was involved in illegal activities. He had some education, but I don't know any details. Later he attended some course at university. In 1937, war in Spain [Spanish Civil War] 3 began and Haskel volunteered to go to the war. Shortly afterward we came to know that he perished. My father went to the synagogue and someone there said, 'Shmil, your son is gone.' Father asked, 'How did he die?' There were shoemaker, tailor and other trade union newspapers in Yiddish. Some newspaper wrote that Haskel Honiksman had perished in Spain in September 1937. Since my father couldn't read, someone else read this to him. He came home and told us this sad news.

Growing up

In December 1922 I, Yankel in Jewish, Yacob in Polish, Yakov in Russian Honiksman, was born. My younger brother Mordekhai [in all languages] followed in 1925. I already studied at cheder. Then I went to a Polish elementary school. My brother also went to cheder and to the same Polish school. We looked much alike. My brother studied well and could have grown into a very decent man.

My sister Faina, Fraida was her Jewish name, was born in 1928. She was a very nice and kind girl. She was always with our mother. In even the hardest times, my mother tried to make her something fancy, altering old clothes to make lovely outfits. When circumstances parted us in 1939, she was studying at the 2nd grade of a Polish school.

We lived in Shyrokaya Street in the Jewish neighborhood near the synagogue. This street as well as many others, was destroyed by Germans in the 1940s. I remember a big yard with large three-storied buildings around. At least they seemed big to me. There were stores and sheds in this yard and we lived there in a room that wasn't designed as a dwelling. We were very poor and didn't have enough food. My mother went to the Jewish community, which provided free meals. My mother brought some rice boiled in beef broth - of course, it was kosher food. I still remember this soup - it was very delicious. Our mother watched Mordekhai and me eat.

Every Friday evening our father covered us with his tallit to bless us. This was a tradition and he always followed it. [Editor's note: this is not the Jewish tradition, but that is what Yakov said.] My mother was the head of the house. She felt her superiority since she was educated and could sign her name while our father had no education whatsoever. I felt more respect towards my mother. I took after my mother. We had a quiet family. There were no arguments. Our father didn't drink. On holidays only, he drank a 50 ml shot of kosher wine. We understood that a Jewish man should keep up standards. Of course, our mother wasn't happy when our father lost his job, she would say, 'Shmil, why aren't you working?', but he just did what he could. Our mother didn't like it that he couldn't provide for the family.

I went to cheder at the age of three. My first teacher's name was Yankel and I also remember my prayers. I remember how I failed to get to the toilet and dirtied myself on the way home. This painful studying lasted until I reached the age of six or seven. It was difficult to study at the age of three. We had classes from 9am to 2pm. Then we had two hours for lunch and then studied from four to seven. We couldn't wait until a day was over and we could go home. We didn't have a carefree childhood. I had a bright memory and at six I knew half of my prayer book by heart. My father was very proud of me. He was very religious. He could only speak Yiddish and could not read. He was so proud, he made me read to his acquaintances. They nodded their heads saying 'alter kop' - an 'old head' in Yiddish [Editor's note: Yakov's father was proud of him and emphasized that he was far advanced for his years]. My father always took me to the synagogue with him. At 13 I had my bar mitzvah in the prayer house where men gathered for ceremonies. My father introduced me and I spoke on the subject of some Biblical story. [Editor's note: it is on the bar mitzvah ceremony that boys are first called up to read from the Torah and then they have to give a lecture about a given section of the Torah.] Everybody liked it and my father was very happy. When my Polish improved I began to help my father do shopping at the market.

When I was six or seven my father decided that I should go to the yeshivah. There was a yeshivah in Lublin with Rabbi Mayer Shapiro at its head [1887- 1934]. He was an outstanding scientist. My father sent me there since they provided meals. I did well at this school. However, since my stepbrother Haskel was under the influence of communist ideas, he thought that I needed to have a general education and my mother listened to his opinion. A year or a year and a half later she sent me to a Polish school. I began to live a dual life. At 7am I left for the yeshivah and at 2pm I arranged my payes behind my ears with invisible hairpins and put my yarmulka in my bag to avoid any mockery from my schoolmates and went to the Polish school. Of course, this dual life couldn't last long. Haskel insisted that I left the yeshivah. When I was ten I quit the yeshivah and just attended the Polish school. My parents had no objections to this. They gave me an opportunity to make my own choice.

I liked studying at this school. There were four Jewish pupils in my class. The rest of my classmates were Polish. Polish children openly mistreated us. I was shortsighted and wore glasses. I sat at the first desk in class. I shared my desk with a short Polish boy. His father was a policeman. My family was poor and when my father bought me a notebook it was quite an occasion for me. The boy messed up my notebook and it happened several times until I began to fight with him. Other boys began to shout, 'Why are you fighting here? Go into the yard' in Polish. We went into the yard where we continued fighting. Other Polish boys shouted, 'Mariam, beat this zhyd' [kike]. Other Jewish boys hid away. When I became desperate I grabbed a piece of steel and hit the boy on the head. He fell down bleeding and a teacher called an ambulance for him. The director of the school called me to his office and said, 'I hope I will not see you again at this school.' I was twelve then. What was I to do? My parents thought I should study a profession, but my father couldn't help me to find a craftsman that would teach me. He only spoke Yiddish and there was no way that somebody in a well-standing shop would even talk to him.

I took my school certificate and went out looking for a job. I had excellent marks in my certificate and spoke fluent Polish and a leather craftsman employed me in his shop. This leather craftsman was a Jew. His name was Zygmunt Zygielwarc. My brother Haskel said to me, 'You are a genius and need to continue your studies.' He talked to my master and I was allowed to continue my studies. I went to the first evening school for working people in Lublin to complete my secondary education. I lived at home. This leather craftsman lied to us. He agreed with my father that I would work as an errand boy for a year until he approved my contract and forwarded it to the chamber of crafts and commerce, but I worked for him as an errand boy for four years and he paid me peanuts for my work.

My father had no luck with his jobs. We didn't pay our rent for four or five months and based on a court order, we were evicted. The owner of our dwelling was a wealthy Jew. My father begged him to let us live in this room, but he refused. An officer of the court and a policeman came to throw our belongings into the yard. We lived in the open air in this yard for three months. My mother earned some money by doing laundry for our neighbors. In 1937 my father rented a room from a 70-year-old Jewish man. He leased his room to us under the condition that my mother would look after him and we would pay 15 zloties per month. We hoped that this room would come into our possession if he died. We had a room in a Polish district, in 86, Krul Liatoshynski Street. This house is not there any longer. Poor Polish workers lived in this district.

My brother Haskel was a communist and brought communist books to our home. We enjoyed reading those books. I worked for this leather craftsman for four years until he fired me. I was 16. My master had three or four apprentices. On 1st May I decided to make a speech and told them that they shouldn't work on this holiday, but go to the working people's demonstration. I made a very emotional speech, but other employees laughed at me and weren't interested at all. However, I continued to demonstrate my revolutionary spirit. At last my master lost his temper and said, 'Just get out and I hope I will never see you again - we could all be arrested for this.'

At about the same time, in the middle of the 1930s, I gave up going to the synagogue. I had observed all holidays and fasted before and had gone to the synagogue with my father, but then I said, 'Father, I'm not going to the synagogue tomorrow,' and the next day was Yom Kippur. My father asked me why and I told him that I didn't believe in what was written in the religious books. I began to prove that there were many discrepancies in the Torah. My father told me to get out of the house. In a couple of days my mother found me at the home of some acquaintances and took me back home.

In fall 1936 I began to attend a school for people working at the plant. My master fired me right before my exams in May 1939. I had another year of school, but I had no money to pay for my studies and so I quit school. Wherever I went to study afterwards I told people that I had a secondary education.

During the war

I had to look for a job. On 1st September 1939 World War II began. Hitler attacked Poland. Of course, we understood that it was inevitable. We read the newspapers and knew about the tension, Hitler coming to power and his attitude toward Jews. All poor people had big hopes for the Soviet Union and so did poor Jewish people. Polish newspapers wrote about Stalin's terror and the famine in 1933 4, but we believed it was bourgeois propaganda intending to blacken the Soviet reality. We only believed what the Communist Party said. All poor people believed that the Soviet Union was paradise on Earth. My friends and I attended underground party meetings and distributed communist flyers and newspapers. We dreamed about communism and equality. However, I didn't continue with this kind of activities since I was busy with my studies and earning money for bread for the family. I remember my mother's brother Max Grinberg wrote us that he had to go to Birobidzhan 5 where people had a just and happy life. I wanted to move to America and wrote him that I wanted to study in America. I hoped to make a good life there after I became a leather craftsman, but he kept saying that it wasn't a good idea. All poor Jewish people thought the same. I was a very active and emotional youth.

On 1st September 1939 our town was bombed. Our small house caught fire. This was at Rosh Hashanah. Older people didn't do anything about it. They kept sighing and praying and I yelled 'Don't pray, just fight the fire!' We 15 and 16-year-olds carried in buckets of water until the fire died down.

Later, it was Sukkot, Soviet troops arrived. How happy and euphoric we were. The first thing they did was loot the Jewish stores. They forced store-owners to open their stores in order to buy what they wanted. We were surprised since Jews weren't allowed to work on holidays. Since nobody knew what Soviet money looked like we accepted some bond paper notes. We didn't understand what was going on, but we still believed that everything was for the better. All Jewish families were overwhelmed with joy. We were happy to live under a red banner.

Our joy faded when in October 1939, under the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact 6 between the USSR and Germany, Lublin became a part of Germany. On 17th October Soviet troops left the town and German armies invaded the streets. Germans captured Jews in the streets and sent them to work. I was also captured and taken to work. We loaded furniture from wealthier Jewish families and it was removed to a storage facility. But we were very surprised that when it was time to get a meal we were made to stand in different lines: for Polish and Jewish people. Polish workers got enough bread while we didn't. In a few days we were allowed to go home. My mother said that I had to get away. My friends and I decided to leave.

I remember Pinia Goldberg, my friend. His father was a tailor. He made clothes for villagers. His family was very poor and Pinia had as strong faith in the Soviet Union as I did. However, I was more handsome and active and girls liked me more. Pinia's sister, a dressmaker, was married to a barber. They had children. Their family was poor. We formed a group of 20- 30 people and started moving to the east. There was another assimilated Jewish family with us. I liked their daughter Esther. She was a beautiful girl and had a beautiful voice. She sang on the local radio. We were friends and she joined me. She had a beautiful face. She was 17, the same age as I was.

We were planning to cross the Bug River to get to the Soviet Union. We walked, but after three days the girl fell ill and became feverish. In three days we had to return home. My mother told me again that I had to get away. I regret so much that I left the girl, my brother and sister in the town. They should have come with me. We would have gotten through all the disasters. I left home again on 23rd October 1939. I had a certificate from the evening school with me and when I was stopped I explained that I was heading to my uncle in Brest [a town in Belarus on the border with Poland 180 km from Lublin]. Many people, Jews for the most part, were moving to the east. We walked at night and during the day we found shelter in the woods or abandoned sheds. It was getting colder and it got dark early. I don't remember how long our trip was, but it seemed very long to us.

We reached the Bug River. Someone from our group made arrangements for us to cross the river on a boat that belonged to a Polish villager. I had a gold watch that my parents had given me for my bar mitzvah and my mother had given me her gold earrings for the road. I gave all this for crossing the river. This villager and his neighbor took us across the river on their boats. We had to be very quiet since we were so close to the border. I remember that I found shelter in a chicken-coop. I remember a woman with a baby. Her baby burst out crying and we were afraid that somebody would hear us. I don't know what the mother did: she probably smothered her baby or something. I only remember that she looked terrible afterward, but nobody cared since everyone was thinking about his or her own business.

I remember that we heard patrolling soldiers speaking German. They said that anybody coming close to the river would be shot without prior notice. They left and the Polish villager told us that he had given them all he had gotten from us. We had to pay him again, but I had nothing and some other refugees gave him something for me. We reached the Soviet territory at 4 in the morning. We headed for Brest, the nearest town where we hoped to stay and get a job. We had covered three or four kilometers when a Soviet border patrol surrounded us and ordered us to board a truck. We traveled about 15 kilometers until we reached some headquarters. The commanding officer ordered some villagers to give us food. Then he had a discussion with each of us. They asked me who I was. I showed them my employment record book and told them where I studied and worked. They asked me where I was going. I said, 'To my uncle's.' 'Where does he live?' 'In Brest.' 'What street?' '23, Pilsudski Street.' Of course, I just made it up. They told me I was free to go. They released all the younger people and we went to Brest. Later we heard that some older people had to go back and the Germans executed them as soon as they reached their territory. We walked through the night and reached Brest in the morning.

We didn't have anything with us. We were hungry and went to get free food provided by the local military. I met my friend Pinia who had got there before us. I was very happy to see him. We decided to stay together. We went to the railway station where we stayed overnight. That same night we enrolled on the list for work and in the morning we boarded a train for cattle transportation that moved off with people singing and holding red banners. They knew how to imitate a happy life of workers and peasants. In two weeks we reached Krichev in the east of Mahilyow region, about 150 kilometers from Brest. We got a bowl of soup at the stations provided by the military. I had a mug into which they poured this soup. We were optimistic and enthusiastic. My co-travelers were sent to cement plants, coalmines or wood cutting facilities. I was lucky, as I always had been.

About 25 of us moved on by truck. In the evening we arrived at 'Mayak' kolkhoz 7. We came to the cultural center of the village. It was 7th November [October Revolution Day] 8 and there was a celebration in the center and an optimistic Jewish man was making a speech in front of villagers. His speech was interrupted and we were distributed to the houses of collective farmers. I spoke some Russian that I had picked up back in Poland. My friend and his sister were accommodated in a house of a poor villager while I got accommodation in the house of the wealthiest one. Some time passed, but we didn't get any food. The kolkhoz was supposed to receive some food supplies for us, but this didn't happen. We began to harvest potatoes in a field. It was cold and we were falling ill, but we kept working. I stayed in the house of the director of the kolkhoz shop. He had a daughter. She was 15. Her name was Katia. She was a pretty, but dumb blond girl. I began to help her with mathematics and after about a week she tried to kiss me. I got very angry. Her mother had treated me so well and cared about me. The girl said, 'Mama wouldn't know.'

My friends didn't have enough food and I began to steal some from the house where I lived. Other guys decided to move on. My friend, his sister and her family also left. Later they showed up in Minsk and he found me in the late 1940s. I had some stupid argument with Katia and decided to leave them, too. I had to walk 15 kilometers across a forest. They said there were wolves there so I had matches and some paper with me. Somebody told me that if I bumped into a wolf I had to burn paper to protect myself. I got on a train at the station. There was a conductor who asked me for my ticket. I said I didn't have one. He began to yell at me, but other passengers stood up for me saying that I was a refugee and didn't really understand the language and he finally left me alone. In the morning we arrived at Mahilyow [320 km from Kiev, in the east of Belarus, on the Dnepr River]. There were thousands of refugees in Mahilyow. Somebody explained to me that I wasn't supposed to leave the kolkhoz without a permit, but that I could obtain one at the local executive committee office [Ispolkom] 9. I went there. There was a Jewish man at the head of this office wearing a Stalin hat [a khaki cap popular with many Soviet officials parroting Stalin]. This officer didn't even want to see me, but there were women working there; they sympathized with me. One gave me a bun and another gave me some milk. I told them that I needed a document issued by their office, to allow me stay in Mahilyow. I was there a whole week. I slept at the railway station until those employees got him to sign this permit.

I remember that they allowed me to work as a loader at a garment factory in Mahilyow. I earned 152 rubles. I carried 10 kilogram packages to the fabric cutting shop on the third floor. There were only Belarus loaders at the factory and all other employees were Jews. I slept in old barracks 10 kilometers from Mahilyow. All refugees stayed in those barracks. It was a severe winter and many people got frost-bitten feet. I didn't suffer since I was strong. One of my co-tenants, a Jewish man from Germany, froze to death. He didn't get up one morning in December. I wrote a letter home telling them where I was. I was so concerned about them and hoped to get a letter from them, but there was none. Once I met pretty girls from Vilnius [Lithuania] at the post office. I always liked pretty girls and I began to ask them questions. They told me that there was a course where they trained teachers of history. The next day I went to this teacher's college and told them that I wanted to study. I lied for the first time, that I had a secondary education.

In late December 1939 I passed my exams successfully and was admitted to a group of rural elementary school teachers. I had to work and study. I left my barracks at 4am and walked 10 kilometers to the town where I worked from 7am 'till 4pm and then attended classes. Somebody told me to talk to the management of my college and request a stipend. I did so and was approved to receive a stipend of 175 rubles - that was more than I earned. I also got accommodation in the hostel at 39, Lenin Street. There were five other tenants in my room, Belarus boys. They never asked me about my nationality. They asked me my name. I said, 'Yasha.' I liked it in the hostel. I had a bed with a white sheet. In the morning I attended classes. I had friends and nobody called me 'zhyd.' I liked everything there. I also attended a theater studio for Polish Jews. To cut a long story short, we had a wonderful life.

I didn't have any information about the situation in Poland. In 1940 I received a letter from my mother. There was a photograph of my brother Mordekhai and a short note from my mother. She wrote that she was very happy that I wasn't with them since they were in a very tough situation. She didn't describe any details. There were many refugees at this college. We spoke poor Russian and there was a group of about 20 of us studying Russian. Our teacher was a young Jewish woman. I learned a little, but I could never tell the difference 'pisat' ['write' in Russian, stress on the 'a'] and 'pisat' ['pee' in Russian, stress on the 'i']. It was a puzzle for me. We had to take a Russian exam and I couldn't imagine how I was going to manage. I knew that at best I would still make 20 mistakes while five mistakes was the maximum. My friend Lyova Rotenberg sat with me and wrote a dictation instead of me. I got three out of five for it and passed my exam. All students left for vacations and I stayed.

The rector of my college helped me to get a job. There was a big chemical plant and a recreation center near Mahilyow. I went to work as an entertainer there. I got a wonderful meal: two eggs and bread and butter. However, since I spoke poor Russian they sent me away in two weeks since I failed to do my job. In order to continue my studies I had to take several exams. I went to the library where I learned everything by heart and recited pieces word by word at the exams. Teachers were amazed at my memory and admitted me to the second course of the Faculty of History of Mahilyow Pedagogical College. I was the happiest person in the world: I was a student, had a place to live and received a stipend.

In fall 1940 I had practical training at school. There were young girls in the 9th and 10th grades, staring at me. Once I got a note from a schoolgirl in which she wrote that she knew that I came from Poland and that Jews were oppressed and abused there and that she was happy to meet me and hoped to support me. She was in the 10th grade and I was a 2nd year student. We started seeing each other. She was a Jewish girl and her name was Rosa Sheinina. Her father was the director of confectionery factory. Theirs was a rich family. I began to court her.

Once a teacher of mathematics, a Jewish man, asked me whether I knew Hebrew and Yiddish. I said I did and he offered me a job as librarian at the Jewish library in a small house near our college. I became a librarian and worked from 4pm. I read books and Rosa visited me there. We flirted when there were no visitors. I was happy. I had obtained a Soviet passport by then. It was a 'category 24' passport [Passport 24] 10 It meant that I wasn'tt allowed to reside in 24 large towns. I joined the Komsomol 11 and became an active Komsomol member. I liked taking part in meetings and attending parades on Soviet holidays. My friends and I marched along the main street of the town carrying red flags, portraits of the leaders and posters with communist slogans. We were proud of our country and believed that everything happening was just. I liked the Soviet system and didn't think about any difficulties or contradictions.

This was 1941. I met with Rosa and read books on history in the library. I was passing exams and everything went well. On 22nd June Lyova Rotenberg, another boy and I were taking a walk discussing Russian classics when we heard on the radio that the Great Patriotic War 12 had begun.

We had about five exams ahead of us. Students of our college were immediately mobilized to remove all furniture from a school in the neighborhood where they were going to deploy a hospital. We worked all night. In the morning I went to the college to take an exam in medieval history. Professor Alexandr Kogan from St. Petersburg came to me, hugged me and held me tight for some time. It turned out that all Polish refugees, German teachers and senior students had been arrested at night. I was lucky that I hadn't been in the hostel that night. I don't know - they might have arrested me, too.

I was called into our Komsomol Committee, which enrolled me on the lists of a 'fighting battalion.' We were to capture German parachutists that landed in the area. We got wooden rifles. There were 800 of us in this battalion. We were distributed in groups of three. There were many refugees from Minsk in Mahilyow and we understood that the situation was difficult. I hoped to see my friend Pinia who used to write me from Minsk, but I didn't find him. I also looked for him after the war, writing to various agencies, but I didn't get any information and never found out what happened to him or his sister.

We were sent to the woods near Mahilyow. In a week I found out that there were 24 of us left from the 800. The rest of the fighters had perished. I was so upset, especially that I had never found any parachutists. There was panic and confusion around. I saw an officer shooting two other officers who were retreating. He approached them on a truck and shot them. I returned to Mahilyow where I met Rosa's father. We went to the railway station where he put me on a train. His wife and Rosa were there already. I was evacuated with the Sheinina family. This was 5th July. Our trip lasted for about a month until we reached Chistopol' in former Tatarstan [a small town on the Kama River flowing into the Volga]. Rosa's father was recruited to the army on the way. We were accommodated in a room. Rosa lost interest in me and I had no feelings left and I decided to go to a bigger town. Chistopol' was a small town, overcrowded with evacuated people. There was no job or place to study. I heard there was a barge from Chistopol' to Kuibyshev [today, Samara, a regional town on the Volga, about 2300 km from Kiev. During the war many governmental agencies were evacuated to this town]. I got on this barge. The only luggage I had was a suit that I put in my case. I put this case under my head to sleep on it. When I woke up in the morning I didn't find either the case or the suit there. When I reached Kuibyshev I remembered that this was one of the 24 towns in which I wasn't allowed to reside. When the barge was nearing the harbor I jumped off to avoid document control officers. I decided to find the Pedagogical College.

The Pedagogical College was located at 65, Stepan Razin Street. There were a few people unloading books and I decided to join them. I worked a little and addressed their supervisor. I said I was hungry and he sent me to their canteen where I had a bowl of soup and returned to work. We worked until evening. This same supervisor sent me to Nadia, the manager of their hostel. Nadia accommodated me in a room where I was alone; other students were still on vacation. The next day I went to work again. Then I went to get registered at the college. They admitted me to the third course. I unloaded books until the academic year began and had meals at the canteen. There was only one thing I didn't like: this supervisor Nadia came to my room every night. She was about 30 and I was 19. She was a beautiful woman, but I had other things to think about.

I became a student. I got a residence permit 13 to live in this hostel even though I had a 'category 24' passport and wasn't allowed to live in Kuibyshev. They stamped my passport along with other passports without taking a closer look. Students received 400 grams of bread per day. It wasn't enough for me. The academic year began and then there were six of us in the room. Four were Russian guys from the Volga and one was a Jew. His name was Fima. He was from Mahilyow. He kept himself separate and kept his own food in his locker. There was no anti-Semitism between us, but we didn't really like Fima. Once we broke the lock on his locker, got his bread and pork fat from there and ate it. All Jews forgot kashrut rules and ate what they had. When he came back he began nagging about it. We saw that this shlemazl [a weak person in Yiddish] was worthless. We had no respect for him. He perished on the way to the front later.

My other co-tenants were my friends. In fall 1941 our college began to make a wood storage for winter. We went to an island on the Volga where we cut wood and made rafts for wood transportation. A raft had to be tied to the wood underneath. We had to stay underwater for about ten minutes to make a knot. Once my safety rope broke and I almost drowned. The others rescued me, pulling me out by my trunks. I knew that other guys liked me. Once they invited me to a pancake celebration. [Editor's note: this is the Russian version of mardi-gras, it's called 'maslenitza', from the Russian word for 'butter', maslo. It is usually celebrated in the last week of February when people bake pancakes and organize all sorts of out-door activities; burning the symbolic figurine of winter. Although it is totally pagan, it prefigures the 40 days of fasting, which in turn culminates with Easter.] I had pancakes there. We also worked together in the harbor unloading melons and watermelons. We shared everything we earned or had. We lived like a commune. There were also girls that lived in the next-door room, we involved them and they cooked for us. I was happy living in this hostel. I became deputy editor of our students' newspaper, even though my Russian was poor. I shared my ideas with the editor, a student of the Faculty of Biology, and he wrote the articles.

I met a young beautiful woman at the college. Her name was Tamara and we began to see each other. Later my friends told me that she was married to Professor Aizezian, of Philosophy and that they had a child. I had a problem again. I began to avoid her, but she followed me. She was a refugee from Belarus and her husband was an old Armenian. I had an exam in June 1942. Professor Aizezian was very strict and nobody expected to get a good mark. All students wanted to get higher marks since our stipend was based on how good our marks were. I was sure that he knew that I was seeing his wife. I learned an important lesson from this man. He said only one phrase to me, 'The tragedy of history is that people that had no idea about history took to implementation of great ideas.' He gave me an excellent mark and I never saw his wife again.

We took exams for the third and the fourth year due to a ministry directive which reduced terms of studies. There were five or six young graduate men. We received our diplomas at the military registry office. We were to be sent to the Military Academy in Baku. Once I jumped off a tram between stops and was captured by a militiaman who took my passport. When they found out that I had violated my ban to live in Kuibyshev they put me on the list of the Labor army. We did any sort of hard work. I was sent to work as an equipment operator at a special expedition of the Oil Ministry of the USSR.

I had to join a field group in Kokand [a small town in Uzbekistan, 3,000 km from Kiev]. My journey there took seven or eight days until I arrived at the 'Karakum geological group.' Kokand was a small town on the Sokh River flowing into Syrdarya in Fergana region, Uzbekistan. There were few pise- [rammed earth] walled houses in the town. Uzbek people wore heavy cotton gowns and tubeteika caps that looked like a kippah to me. [Editor's note: tubeteika is a small cap worn by men in Middle Asian countries; it's very much like a kippah.] There were a few Jewish specialists who had come there from the European part of the Soviet Union before the war. During the war the population of Kokand expanded due to the arrival of evacuees.

Camels were the main form of transport. We were to collect yellow stones and some sand and send these to Moscow to be studied . We were told that they were studied to find oil and it was only 20 years later I came to know that they had been looking for uranium. In a few weeks I went into the desert in a vehicle. There were about 200 Tajik and Uzbek people there already. They were wild, uneducated people and I was to be their supervisor since I had an education. I was to explain to them what they were supposed to do. Once every two to three weeks we got food supplies and we loaded stones that we'd collected, to be taken away. Once nobody came for three or four weeks.

We were starving, but we weren't allowed to leave our work area. I took a risk, although I didn't know it was a risk. I asked the workers where they lived and it turned out that the nearest houses were 100 kilometers from where we were. I told them to bring any food they could from their homes. They returned in one week's time and the food they brought lasted for another couple of weeks. When my supervisor came and I told him what I had done, he cursed me and said that I deserved to be shot. I told him that I had to do it to save people and he replied that I could have written them off if something happened. This was when I came face to face with the Soviet mentality. They didn't care about an individual. An individual didn't matter to them.

In fall 1943 I was sent to Moscow to take secret maps there. The head of the laboratory offered me a job in his technical library. I did technical translation work, from German and Polish. I had the status of an employee on a business trip and every now and then I had to return to Kokand. In Kokand I met my first wife. Her name was Ninel Venediktova. I corresponded with Rosa Sheinina and she gave me the address of her friend Ninel, who was a student of a teacher's college in Kokand. I fell in love with Ninel. She was a pretty Russian girl. She was 18. Her mother came from Kiev. She was a business-oriented woman. She went to the Northern areas of Russia to sell fruit from the south; her daughter stayed alone. Ninel's mother was very unhappy that her daughter's boyfriend was a Polish Jew, but when I fell ill with typhoid on my way to Kokand and was removed from the train when I fell unconscious, she took a very active part in my life. She got in touch with my management and got penicillin for me. She visited me in hospital every day.

When I recovered I went back to Moscow. I liked Moscow. I could attend lectures at university and borrow books from the biggest libraries. I met Professor Vladimir Picheta, the Academic [1878 - 1947, Soviet historian, author of works about the history of Poland, Lithuania, Belarus, specialist in Social and economic history]. He was an outstanding scientist and author of significant studies. This was 1944, when the liberation of Poland began. I wrote a very important essay for the time. There was an outstanding historian in Poland - Lelewel [Joachim Lelewel (1786-1861): Polish historian, politician and supporter of the November Uprising of 1830. He was an ideologist of the Polish liberation movement, a democrat- internationalist and founded the basics of a number of disciplines in the Polish historical sciences]. Marx was his friend. Nobody wrote about him and I decided to write an essay and showed it to Picheta. Picheta liked the essay and told me to enter his post-graduate school.

I was very weak after having typhoid and due to my health condition I was expelled from the labor troop. I wasn't allowed to live in Moscow. Ninel and her mother returned to Kiev from evacuation. I had to obtain a residence permit to live in Kiev.

I entered Veterinary College in Kiev and obtained a certificate confirming that I was a student. On the basis of this certificate I got registered at the hostel of this college. However, I took no interest in the Veterinary College. I lived in the family of my future wife in a communal apartment 14 in the very center of Kiev. Ninel got pregnant and we registered our marriage on 13th August 1944. I studied in college and worked as a loader at a wood-cutting facility. I wanted to be a teacher, but when I was told that a teacher earned 550 rubles per month - this was the price of a loaf of bread - I went to the university. I had an appointment with the rector of the university. He said that if I were a graduate of their university I could become a post-graduate student. During that year I passed 13 exams and got a degree from Kiev University. There was another rector though, and when I came to see him he said, 'We are encouraging national specialists.' This was April 1945, after Victory Day 15. For the first time I faced state anti-Semitism. I lived in Kiev for a year. I didn't get along with my wife or my mother-in-law. She used to say 'What kind of a Jew is it that cannot provide for his family?' I went to Lvov since I was told that it was easier to get an apartment there.

I arrived at Lvov on 9th May 1945. This was Victory Day. Expecting a telegram from my mother-in-law or wife, I went to the post office and received a telegram that said that I had a daughter and that she was named Victoria - 'victory' in Greek. We were overwhelmed with victory and hoped that life would improve. We believed that everything would be wonderful from then on. The situation was horrible in Lvov. People were arrested and then disappeared. I didn't understand what was going on. People were scared.

My closest ones - my father, brother, mother and sister perished in Lublin ghetto. Only few years ago I found out that they were on the lists of those exterminated in Lublin ghetto on 7th November 1942. I received a document from Lublin confirming that Mordekhai Honiksman and Samuel Honiksman were on the list of those that were exterminated. My mother and sister were not mentioned in any lists. They perished without being included in any lists. I don't even know where their ashes are buried.

I visited Lublin several times in the 1990s. The town had changed a lot since I was last there 60 years before. There is a multi-storied building at the spot where our house was. It became a very different town.

Post-war

In Lvov I went to work at a garment shop, but I didn't like it there. I attended the library of the Academy of Sciences. This was in 1946. I saw a man lying in a tram stop. I thought he wasn't well, but when I came closer I saw that he was drunk. He was mumbling something in Polish. I took him home where he had a big collection of Jewish books. I went to see him the next day. He introduced himself: Professor Tadeus Zadarecki. He was a Polish orientalist, a Professor of Lvov University. He owned a library and needed an employee there. He offered me a job at the library. They spoke Ukrainian there, while I didn't know a word in Ukrainian. They asked me what languages I spoke. I said, 'Polish, Russian, Yiddish and German.' They believed me and in 15 minutes I became a senior scientific worker of the Jewish department of this library of the Academy of Sciences. I quit the shop where I worked. I also lived in this library.

There were two other Jewish employees there. They told me that Zadarecki had a beautiful Jewish wife before the war. She and their child were taken to the ghetto during the war. He tried to rescue them, but they were killed in the ghetto. It was so hard on him that he took to drinking. I began to work at this library on 15th April 1946. I was happy to work there. We collected books from all the ruined Jewish houses and synagogues. We got many books from the Jewish community, which had one of the richest libraries. It's enough to say that there were 43 incunabula's [ancient printed books] before the war that were all stolen. My readers were Jewish intellectuals, writers and scientists. It was the Jewish elite.

My wife joined me in Lvov. We found a three-bedroom apartment, but we still didn't have a good life together. She didn't understand me. In 1947 I went to the Department of History at the Pedagogical College and they employed me as an assistant at the Department of Marxism-Leninism. I kept my job at the library, but my wife didn't find my earnings sufficient. We had arguments and rows with her. My mother-in-law also moved in with us. She became the mistress of our home. She was very good at making money. I left home and lived at the library.

I worked at the library from 1946 to 1948. In 1949, the campaign against cosmopolitans 16 began. All Jewish writers were arrested. I thought I would be arrested, too, since I knew all those people. The library was destroyed. 19 boxes of books were moved to the Academy of Sciences in Kiev. The library ceased to exist. In May 1949 I was declared a cosmopolitan at my college. I didn't know about it since it was announced at a party meeting that I didn't attend since I was a Komsomol member. When my boss saw me in college, he said 'Yakov, why are you here? You could be arrested. Go away. They've declared you a cosmopolitan. You are fired.' I lost my job and expected arrest every night.

I had a friend. He was also a Polish Jew. He worked in an archive and he advised me to get a job at the archive since I knew several languages. I went to see the director of this archive. His wife was a Jew. He looked like a typical man of half-Jewish origin. He took me to a colonel at the regional department of the Ministry of Internal Affairs where I wrote an 18- page letter, requesting them to employ me. In a month I received a permit to become an employee of the archive of the Ministry of Internal Affairs in Lvov. I worked at the logistics department and had no right to enter a sensitive - secret department. [Editor's note: the secret department of the Ministry of Internal Affairs kept materials about political trials, arrests of innocent people, fabricated cases, etc. Residents got partial access to those archives only in the early 1990s.] I did more than I was authorized to and collected a big archive of files for joint-stock companies of the oil industry. I wrote a letter to the Academy of Sciences asking them whether I might write a thesis on the basis of these documents. They replied that these documents could be the basis for both scientific candidate and doctor's thesis. Later the archive got the order 'fire' with no explanation. I was fired and so was another Jew, Grossman. This happened in 1951.

I had no food and no place to live. I lived, at one time, with a Polish countess 15 years older. She was a very beautiful woman, an aristocrat. I learned a lot from her, including manners. I remember her with very warm feelings. She was an artist. I lived with her for six months. Later I heard that she was arrested and sent into exile. I lost track of her.

I found a job as a teacher of history and German language in a village in Lvov region since I couldn't find a job in Lvov. I worked there for nine and a half years. My colleagues treated me well. I became deputy director and then director of this school. I was also responsible for the collection of money for state crediting. It was a mandatory procedure, although newspapers wrote that the population gave money to their country ruined by the war voluntarily. In May, state officers came to institutions and declared how much one owed and if people refused they beat them with sticks. However, I managed to convince people. I joined the Party. I still believed in communism. I didn't understand many things, but I also needed this for my career. I became a representative of the regional party committee for collectivization 17. People respected me. There was another Jew - a doctor. People also respected him.

At the beginning of 1952 another period of arrests began. I was very afraid of being arrested. My wife said, 'We don't need you.' My wife and my mother- in-law spoke against me to my daughter. I was afraid that they might act against me and got a divorce. I was a bachelor for four years. I was desirable as a fiancé throughout this time.

I was glad when I heard that Stalin died on 5th March 1953. I didn't know what the future might be, but I knew that one of the greatest bandits had died. He was another Hitler, only even more treacherous since Hitler spoke directly and openly while Stalin complimented somebody and then at night this person was arrested and taken away. I had realized this many years ago, but I had remained a follower of Marxism.

Married life

In 1955 my friends introduced me to my future wife Rita Vilkobrisskaya. Her parents were Jews. She was born in 1930. She is a very pretty, nice and absolutely naïve person. She finished the Faculty of Economy at the Lvov Polygraphists College. Rita's father was a high-ranking military officer, but he had passed away by the time we met. Rita received a secular education and her Jewish roots were abandoned. This family believed in Stalin's ideas fanatically. They said that Rita's father died along with the name of Stalin.

Rita and I were dating for some time until I asked her, 'Rita will you marry me?' and she replied, 'Yes.' We had a wedding party at a restaurant on 10th January 1956. My guests were about ten close friends and her guests were her father's former military comrades. They were Russian and there were very few Jews. Rita and I never argued. She is so timid, but she is the closest person I have. I am still affectionate towards my wife. She is so very nice and sweet. My scientific achievements are due to her. During the first years of our marital life she lived in Lvov alone and I came from the village at weekends.

I worked on my scientific candidate thesis on the subject of economic development of Eastern Poland at the beginning of the 20th century. In October 1960 I defended my thesis in Moscow. The subject of my thesis was the history of the Polish economy. I was awarded the scientific title of candidate of economic sciences. I got a job in Lvov where I became deputy director of an evening school. I gained a standing in my scientific field, but authorities kept emphasizing that they needed national personnel. There was no open anti-Semitism, but it was clear that the reason why it was so hard for me to find a job was my nationality.

Rita worked as an economist in an institute. She was fired along with 10-15 other Jewish employees. I went to see the secretary of the district party committee and asked him, 'Have you received an instruction to get rid of Jews?' He was shocked, 'This cannot be.' Our leadership didn't like direct accusation of being anti-Semitic and my wife got back her job. I couldn't find a job for about a year until I finally got a job offer. There was a vacancy for a lecturer at the Oil College in Drogobych [a small town, 100 km from Lvov; center of the oil industry]. I worked there for 17 years: as a senior lecturer and then as a dean for half a year.

Then I wrote my doctor's thesis. My wife stayed in Lvov. Her mother was very ill and she couldn't leave her. I received a small apartment, but again, every weekend and on holidays I went to Lvov. After I defended my thesis I got a job at the Institute of Social Sciences in Lvov. I worked there only a year. I was the only Jewish employee. The management tried to get rid of me. They wanted to use me in their struggle against the so- called Ukrainian nationalists. I refused to get involved in dirty plotting and they said, 'We won't be in your team.' I quit. I felt depressed; I was looking for a job again. Two months had passed when a former colleague of mine invited me to Ternopol [regional center in the west of Ukraine, 130 km from Lvov]. Again I traveled at weekends and on holidays. I worked there for two years, but I understood there was no future for me there. I wanted a promotion and was thinking about my career while I couldn't expect anything where I was at that time. Nobody offered me a promotion. I started looking for a job again. There were promises that never came true. I traveled to Poland where I read lectures.

We were an affectionate family. We traveled to the Crimea or Caucasus in summer as tourists. We enjoyed traveling. We didn't celebrate Soviet or religious holidays at home, but we had birthday parties. We got together with friends on birthdays and weekends to listen to music, discuss books. We made good money, went to theaters and to the cinema and to restaurants with friends.

I was over 50 and the situation with having no job affected my health. When I left another institution where I'd received a refusal, I fell. A crowd of people gathered and I was taken to hospital. This was my first infarction. When I was in hospital my wife brought me a newspaper where I read there was competition for a position of professor in Lvov Polytechnic College. When I was released from hospital I went to this college where I got the job. This happened in early April 1976. From then on I worked at the Faculty of Economy of Lvov Polytechnic Institute where I taught history of economy until 1992. So I became a professor and was happy about my degrees. I was the only Jew in this faculty. I took my job very seriously and people treated me well. I always identified myself as Jew and never forgot about my origin or my relatives who had perished, but after I left Lublin I didn't observe any Jewish traditions.

When perestroika 18 began, Jewish life began to revive in the town. In 1985 we celebrated the jubilee of Sholem Aleichem 19. I was there, of course. I attended other meetings of Jewish intellectuals. The party leadership of the college reacted immediately. They were all informed promptly. The secretary of the party unit asked me, 'Have you become a Zionist? You demonstrate too much interest in Jewish life.' However, the flow of time changed all attitudes. The attitude toward Jews changed in society. I was glad about such great progress in Jewish life. I believed that Ukraine had to be an independent country to progress in its development. In 1990 I submitted my request to quit the Party. They asked me, 'Why?', and I replied, 'I disagree with the policy of the Party'. But more and more often I recall the words of my teacher Aizezian that people that make history have no idea about it.

In 1989 I became one of the founders of the Jewish Sholem Aleichem Society 20. I began to work on Jewish subjects. I didn't write about Jewish subjects before 1992, but now I have six books, about ten brochures and over 200 articles. My books were published and became popular. The books published by the Lvov Jewish Sholem Aleichem Society are: 'Catastrophe of Jews in Western Ukraine', 300 pages, published in 1998, 5,000 copies; 'Jews of Brody Town 1584-1944', 2001, 2,000 copies; 'Yanovskiy camp', 1996, 3,000 copies; 'People, years, events. From our ancient history', 1998, 3,000 copies; '600 years and two years', about the history of Jews in Drogobych and Boryslav, 1999, 2,000 copies, and others. I have come to the end of my life - my 80th birthday, with significant accomplishments.

I visit the Sholem Aleichem Society and Hesed - these institutions are housed in the same building. Many people are interested in Jewish subjects, even those that didn't disclose their Jewish identity in the past years. My daughter Victoria Venediktova is one of such people. She works as a teacher and I have no contact with her.

My wife and I never considered departing for Israel. I have a lot of things to do here while there I would be merely a pensioner. I am a Polish - a European Jew and I belong here.

I've always remembered that being a Jew is a great responsibility. If anybody accepts a bribe, large or small, he would be called corrupt, but if I accept one people would say 'all zhydy are the same.' I must think not only about myself, but also about my people.

Glossary

Pavel Fried
Brno
Czech Republic
Interviewer: Martin Korcok
Date of interview: November 2004

The interview with Mr. Fried took place in his office at the Jewish community in Brno. This is because Mr. Fried had become chairman of this organization a few days earlier. Our meetings took place in a friendly atmosphere replete with a significant dose of humor. During the interview one could not help but notice the author's rich life experiences and broad perspective. Mr. Fried answered all our questions obligingly and openly. Thanks to him we obtained an interview enriched by many amusing, but also tragic events of his life.

My family background
Jewish history in Trebic
My parents
Our family life
Growing up
My sister Erika
During the war
Terezin
Our return to Trebic
My army service
Married life
The Velvet Revolution
Working in the Brno Jewish community
Glossary

My family background

My grandfather on my mother's side, Samuel Waldstein, was born in 1878 in Prestice near Pilsen and his wife Matilda Waldstein, nee Vogel, in Dolni Kralovice. Dolni Kralovice doesn't exist any more, as it was flooded during the building of a dam. [Editor's note: The interviewee is referring to the Zelivska reservoir dam, today called Svihov. Finished in 1976, it is used as water-supply for Prague.] Both towns mentioned were located in south- western Bohemia.

I can only with great difficulty estimate how many Jews lived in Prestice. But the village had a synagogue, and so I think that their number may have been around a hundred. There was a rabbi there as well, whose name I don't remember. Mother used to always reminisce about him. He taught her German. The rabbi required perfect command of grammar of his students. When she was 93 my mother still wrote in flawless German and Czech. She always said that it was thanks to that rabbi. [Editor's note: according to the 1921 census, Prestice had a population of 3,456, 40 of who were Jewish. The town's rabbi at that time was Leopold Singer (1868-1934), who worked there for 41 years, and is buried in the local Jewish cemetery.]

My mother's father was a merchant. He had a so-called 'colonial' store. He sold everything that people in the village needed, for example flour, eggs, spices, coffee, peanuts, petroleum, whips etc. My grandmother used to help out. The store consisted of one large room, with an entrance from the street. The entrance door had a small bell. Behind the store was a kitchen with a fireplace where my grandparents usually spent their time. No-one was in the store all day, only when the little bell rang, one of my grandparents would come into the store and serve the customer.

My grandparents' house was more or less in the middle of the main street, which ran up a steep hill. Prestice was built around only one long street. As I already said, the store was in the first room; behind it were the kitchen and a room they slept in. Upstairs was a living room for special occasions and two small rooms where we, the children, used to sleep when we were visiting our grandparents. Next to the house, on the left-hand side, was a driveway from the street into the courtyard. In the driveway there were bags of flour that was sold in the store. From the driveway one entered a small courtyard measuring eight by five meters. The courtyard was paved and kept neat and tidy. In the courtyard were outbuildings for storage of grain and coal. Grandpa never had any farm or domestic animals. Neither did they have any fields or servants. In the 1930s Prestice already had a sewage system. The town didn't yet have water mains. They fetched water from a public pump that stood across from the house. Electricity wasn't brought to the village until the post-war period.

The house was furnished with simple furniture, because my grandparents weren't rich. Besides, they had four daughters and had to save for their weddings and trousseaus. I don't remember them having a library.

My grandparents dressed according to the times. They didn't wear the very latest fashions, but dressed solidly, like other townspeople. Grandpa didn't wear typical Jewish clothing; he didn't even wear a black cloak like some Jews did. He only covered his head in the synagogue and at the cemetery; otherwise he went without a hat.

There were no Jews in my grandparents' immediate neighborhood. Grandpa spent his free time in the town pub, where there weren't only Jews. He was friends with Jews and non-Jews alike. He went to the pub every Saturday night. He went there to play cards with his friends. During the week he didn't go to the pub, because he took care of the store, and on Friday he didn't go either because he observed the Sabbath.

I can only with difficulty say to what extent my maternal grandparents kept Jewish traditions and how religious they were. Friday and Saturday services in the synagogue were however a matter of course with them.

My grandparents on my father's side came from Trebic and were born in the 1850s. Grandpa was named Alexandr Fried. I don't remember Grandma's first or maiden name. I didn't get to know her at all. She died before I was born. They buried her in the local Jewish cemetery in 1929.

My father's parents lived with us in one large house that was divided into two parts. One apartment in the house belonged to my grandparents. It had its own kitchen, dining room, bedroom and a maid's room. We lived in the second part, that is, my father, mother, sister and I, as well as my father's brother. We had a fairly large apartment with five rooms and a kitchen. One of the rooms was for the maid. We didn't have a balcony but a courtyard gallery where the bathrooms were, so things were much less convenient and comfortable than they are these days. Below the living quarters there was a store with hardware and household goods. There was also a scrap salvage business. Everything belonged to my grandfather and father. Another commercial space that was part of the building my father rented out to a certain lady. In it she opened a shop selling fruit and vegetables. The last room, which wasn't suitable for a store, was rented to Mr. Novotny, who opened up a barber shop in it. Electricity was installed in the house before I was born, and we had running water from 1933, up until which time water was brought in from public pumps.

The house had an extensive courtyard, where there were warehouses for the store. Father and Grandpa had a steel and oil warehouse and a large garage. In the garage a smaller company truck was parked as well as Father's new six-seater Tatra. For those days it was a fancy car.

There was a library in our house, which didn't contain any typically Jewish literature. The books belonged mainly to my mother and sister, so it was modern Czech literature, which they preferred. We also had a few German books, because Father's mother tongue was German. In fact Father wrote poems in German, which I have carefully stored away at home. He also used to subscribe to a daily newspaper, but exactly what, that I don't remember any more, but it was more or less literary news.

Just like my grandparents, my parents also had maids. They were young girls who cooked and cleaned. They lived and ate with us. We had good relationships with them and visited each other even after the war, when they were no longer working for us. They even used to bring us gifts, such as butter and poultry, because after the war there was a shortage of food. I don't remember their names any more. In any case I used to call them all the same name, Marenka. For the laundry we used to hire washer-women, who also ironed.

There's one charming family anecdote about my grandparents on my father's side: Grandpa brought Grandma to the local bar, where people were dancing the tango. As they were watching the dancers, Grandpa after a while asked Grandma how she liked it. And Grandma answered: 'Yes, it's nice, but that's something we used to do in bed.'

Jewish history in Trebic

At the beginning of the 1930s Trebic had around 18,000 inhabitants, around 300 of who were Jews. [Editor's note: according to the 1930 census Trebic had 17,555 inhabitants. This statistic is calculated based on the current town boundaries.] Before, there used to be Jews in the ghetto, which was located at the bottom of Hradek Hill, on the left bank of the Jihlava River. The ghetto was built in such a way that you could enter and exit through only one gate. It was made up of around 150 residential buildings. All of them have been preserved to this day. It's fair to say that it's something unique in Europe, having been included on the UNESCO World Heritage List as the largest preserved Jewish ghetto in Europe. In my day the gates were already opened and Jews spread out into the rest of the town. Many of them moved away because of work, mainly to Vienna and surrounding Czech towns and cities. Despite this most Jews still live in the former ghetto, which became a Jewish quarter. Better-off families, seeking business opportunities, left this area. They moved to the busiest parts of town, meaning the square and main street, because their prosperity depended on the number of customers.

One can't say that there were typical Jewish occupations in Trebic. Jews in the town did various things: there were craftsmen, furriers, merchants and factory owners. After the ghetto was opened some Jewish individuals took up farming. The Zubak family was among the richest Jews in town; they were factory owners. The Ornsteins owned a wholesale grain business and others sold coal. One member of this family lives in the USA to this day. Furthermore there were wholesale businesses owned by the Tausigs and Frieds. [Editor's note: the wholesaler Fried was not related to the interviewee.] Mr. Fried had a wholesale textiles and cloth business. The Grünbergs were in the coal business. My grandfather Fried and my father owned a hardware store and employed ten people. In those days it was a respectable business.

My father was a businessman. He owned a hardware store. Originally it belonged to his father, who in the beginning used to visit surrounding villages and collect scrap iron, bones and hides. For a long time my father had to do it as well, because grandpa insisted on it. After the gates to the Jewish ghetto were opened, my grandparents bought a house near the main street and started up the hardware store that I remember, with a collection of scrap iron, bones and hides. In those days the street was named Starecka, then Nezvalova and finally Stalinova. After the year 1989 it got its present name, Nezvalova.

There were two synagogues in pre-war Trebic and one prayer hall. One of the synagogues wasn't in use any more by the 1930s. The second, which we used to attend, was closed around the year 1942. Men and women used to sit apart, which however doesn't mean that it was Orthodox. [Editor's note: In Orthodox synagogues men and women sit separately; see Orthodox communities 1.] I would say that the town's Jewish community was conservative. For example, by the beginning of the 20th century, Trebic didn't even have a mikveh. Despite the fact that after the year 1945 neither of the synagogues was open for services, both still stand to this day. One of them is used by the Czechoslovak Hussite Church as a church. The last rabbi in the town was named Ingber. He came from Ruthenia [see Subcarpathia] 2. He came to Trebic around the year 1935 and in 1942 he was put on a transport with the town's other Jewish inhabitants. He didn't survive World War II.

My parents

My parents, Viktor Fried and Marta Friedova, nee Waldstein, met at their relatives' wedding. The situation in our family is therefore that we are all twice related, both on my father's and on my mother's side. We spoke Czech in our family. In fact my mother came from Western Bohemia, which is as Czech as you can get. My father's family in Trebic preferred German.

Our family's financial situation was on the whole pretty satisfactory. We had a nicely furnished home. My mother liked to buy porcelain. To this day I have some pieces of that porcelain, because it was hidden away at our friends' during the war. That was the one luxury that my mother occasionally allowed herself. In the end we also had a car, which was a rarity in pre-war Trebic. My parents always dressed well. I'm not an expert on it, but judging by photographs they dressed according to the fashion of the 1930s. Despite this I remember my father's words: that the most important thing is how many pockets a suit has. When he went to the tailor and was asked how he wanted the suit made, my father answered: 'A pocket here, and here, and here, and here, and the rest you can make however you like.'

Father had friends in several social circles. Since he spent most of his time in the store, he was on friendly terms with some of his regular customers. For example, he supplied blacksmiths from all over the region. These blacksmiths didn't have a lot of money and couldn't pay right away; they were dependent on the farmers that bought their products. First the farmer had to harvest his produce, and after it was sold he could pay the blacksmith. The blacksmith would then pay my father. It was a society in which the livelihood of one person depended on another, and out of this personal relationships also arose. Many of these continued in the post-war era, when my father no longer had his store. Many of my father's friends were from the Jewish community, because it was natural for Jews to meet. They had their own cafe in the town. It was called U Ceplichalu. In their free time they would go to this cafe, where they could always find someone to talk or play cards with. My grandfather also went to U Ceplichalu. He also used to visit a local restaurant, which wasn't kosher. Men used to go there for a 'gablik' [light meal].

My father and I never spoke about politics. Despite this I would say that he was inclined towards tradesmen, to the Tradesmen's Party. This was a party that you couldn't really even call political; it was more of a professional association or guild. I couldn't imagine my father being in some sort of national political party, such as the Social Democrats or Communists. The latter had significant support in the town before the year 1939, because Trebic was a working-class town.

My mother didn't go out and socialize very much. She mainly stayed at home, where she used to meet with other Jewish women from Trebic. They would sit around and gossip, knit and trade recipes. In later years, when there was a strong Zionist movement in town, they collected money for Keren Kayemet Leisrael 3. She and her friends used to go out into Jewish social circles and collect money using blue and white cash-boxes. Ladies of her generation devoted themselves to the aforementioned activities, but of course taking care of the family and the household and bringing up children had top priority.

Our family life

Family vacations weren't a habit in our household. We would only travel once a year to visit Grandfather in Prestice. Father used to go on business trips, most frequently to Dresden in Germany. After taking care of business matters he would stay there a day or two longer, and that was his little vacation.

We used to keep Jewish customs, with the exception that we didn't eat kosher, but we did keep all religious holidays. On Friday evening my mother lit candles and Father said broche. On Friday and Saturday our whole family would go to synagogue. Besides this, my mother took her prayer book and prayed every evening. When my father went away on business trips and didn't come to the synagogue, his friends would immediately ask him where he'd been and why he hadn't come to the synagogue. Services were in Hebrew. In Trebic we didn't have sermons, but only later in Brno, where Mr. Feder was the rabbi. The rabbi in Trebic was named Ingber. He came to the town at a young age from Ruthenia. He died along with his entire family in concentration camps.

Sabbath was kept to the degree that it wasn't possible to go to the U Ceplichalu cafe until Saturday evening. I do have to note though, that it wasn't a very significant day for us children, except that we had to go to the synagogue. After services we ran off with the rest of the children. Worse was when our parents took us out for an outing. We had to stroll around with them, which was of course immensely tedious for us.

Each year Father led the seder; Mother prepared for it. Chanukkah was quite interesting in our household. In one room we had a chanukkiyah and in the other our maids had a small Christmas tree. Our family was always very tolerant of other faiths. Similarly tolerant were all of our maids; after all they did work in a Jewish household. They ate together with our family. Since they did the cooking, we kept all Christian fasts while they observed the Jewish ones. On Friday we never ate meat, because they cooked Christian meals. And on Saturday we all ate Sabbath meals. Our family never ate together except for on Sabbath. My parents both worked downstairs in the store, so first one went for dinner, then the other. They couldn't leave the store unattended.

Before World War II we had a widely branched-out family. My father had two sisters and a brother, Rudolf. He was a kind-hearted person, of whom people made fun because he was a bit slow-thinking, mentally retarded. He lived in our house with my grandparents. He helped my father and grandfather in the store. Since we had a large courtyard, he would watch to make sure that no one was stealing there, or in the store. He was the first from our family to be deported in 1942. He died during the war somewhere, between 1942 and 1945. No one knows exactly when and where.

My father's sisters were called Hilda and Zeni. I didn't get to know them very well. The last time I saw them was when I was nine. Both of them lived in Vienna. Zeni's husband was named Nadelstecher. The only thing that I know about him is that in pre-war times he performed on stage in Vienna, at the Ronacher Theatre. [Editor's note: the Ronacher Theatre was built by F. Fellner Sr. in 1871-72. It regained its original appearance in 1991-93 when it underwent complete reconstruction]. They had one son together, whose name I don't remember either. They were all killed during World War II.

Hilda was married to a Mr. Waldstein, who was most likely an insurance agent. They had two daughters, Lilli and Dita. Both of them were sent by their parents to England in 1939. A wave of anti-Jewish sentiment had risen up in Vienna and my mother's sister wanted her children to be somewhere safe. In those days my cousins were 16 and 18 years old. They went to families that had been picked out beforehand. At the beginning of the war they both took a nursing course in London and joined the British Army, which also ensured their livelihood. I met them a few times after the war. Both have Jewish husbands. The older one's husband comes from around Trebic. The younger one is a descendant of Polish Jews that emigrated to Great Britain in pre-war times.

Before World War II my father saw his sisters only rarely. He used to visit them during business trips to Vienna. More often, though his sisters would visit us in Trebic, around once or twice a year. Our house had seven rooms, so there was always room for relatives. His sisters used to come without their husbands, because in those days men didn't take holidays. Most of them were employed and their work didn't allow it. After the year 1945 we couldn't meet any more because they had all died.

My mother had three sisters, Hedviga, Marie and Valerie. Hedviga married a man named Glückauf. They had a son named Karel who was an excellent swimmer. He swam for Maccabi 4. Glückauf worked in Brno for a company named Placek, and later he opened his own fur store. They called the second sister Marenka. She married Fredy Pick, who worked as a dental technician. They had one daughter, Veruska. My mother's youngest sister, Valerie, was married in Prague to Mr. Roth, who was a traveling salesman. My mother's sisters observed Judaism only in the sense that they had Jewish husbands. They went to the synagogue only on the major religious holidays, which I don't consider to be religiousness. It's really every Jew's obligation.

I practically don't remember a thing about my aunts on my mother's side. I only met them once a year at my grandfather's in Prestice, where we spent vacations together. Like me, my cousins on my mother's side were in those days very young, so we didn't have a lot of common experiences. I do remember, however, that they sent me as the youngest to Grandpa's store to steal peanuts. Grandpa would pretend that he didn't see me. Besides this we used to play cards with Grandpa, but that's all that I remember. All of Mother's sisters died in concentration camps together with their children and husbands. Only Marenka's husband Fredy Pick survived, who then remarried and settled in Varnsdorf. Among those few lucky ones that survived was also my mother's father. Each year after the war he spent the winter with us in Trebic, and when it warmed up he returned to Prestice, where he had a house. There he would spend summer in the company of his friends and then would return to us again for the winter.

Growing up

I was born in Trebic on 13th June 1930. I don't remember much of my preschool times, except that we would always go to Grandpa's in Prestice. I never went to nursery school. Besides having maids, my mother also hired a nanny who took care of us. She was a girl from a Christian family, and later she married a Jew. Her husband died during World War II.

I would say that I come from a typical Czech Jewish family, which means something between conservative and liberal Judaism. In practice it meant that we never ate kosher and never missed Sabbath services. I think that these two extremes characterize Czech Jews of the 20th century. I studied Judaism in school, and never with my father. Only at Passover I would say the mah nishtanah and I have it memorized to this day.

My favourite holidays were Pesach and Sukkot. I like Passover because it's a nice tale and I've always liked history. For Passover we never looked for chametz, and as I already said, we didn't have a kosher household. We never changed kitchen utensils, we just didn't eat anything fermented. I liked Sukkot because as children we got lots of coloured pastries. The adults would set up a tent [sukkah] in a little square between the synagogue and rabbinate. It stood there every year. It wan't large, just enough for about twenty people. They did it mainly for us children. After services in the synagogue we would stop by and stay there for about an hour. Rabbi Ingber led a prayer in it and then would tell us tales. At the end we got pastries. Through a child's eyes I saw it as a nice social event.

As I grew up, I also had more friends. They were mainly Jewish boys, because they lived in the immediate vicinity, which means the neigbour across the street and to the left of us. We walked to and from school together, and also got up to mischief together. Nearby was the Jihlava River by which we used to go play. Whenever the ice froze we would go and test the thickness of it. A little ways away was a generating station, from which warm water flowed into the river, so the ice was thin. Occasionally we fell into the freezing water. Our parents were afraid for us and used to go see whether we were playing by the river. We, however, knew all the surrounding houses and yards, so when they would come from one direction we would escape in another. When they returned home we would already be there waiting for them. They would always praise us and say how glad they were that we were at home while all the other scoundrels were running about on the river.

During my school age days I used to go to German lessons. An older Jewish lady used to teach me. Her husband had died and she didn't have a large pension, so to help her my mother would send me to her for German lessons. So I took German. I very much liked visiting her, because her son was the goalkeeper for the local football team. In the eyes of local boys my prestige escalated because I knew the local goalkeeper, Neiner.

In the time of my early youth Trebic was a working-class town. After the ghetto was opened, the wealthier Jews moved out of it. They were replaced by the Christian poor. After that the Jewish and Christian poor lived side by side. Demonstrations of anti-Semitism, without exaggeration, were mild. It can't be said that we had larger problems, at least I don't remember any. The coming of the Germans to Trebic changed the entire situation. A few individuals perceived an opportunity and rode the wave brought on by the occupation. Among these was our driver, Koudelka. He was the only person from our neighbourhood that joined the Germans. After the war he joined some church and repented his sins. Otherwise I think it was a town rare in its tolerance. Wealthy Jews could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Socially and economically, Jews didn't stand out from the town's population.

The first anti-Jewish laws [in the Protectorate of Bohemia-Moravia] 5 affected my life in that I couldn't go to school, then to parks, the cinema, theatres and football. We had to be at home after eight in the evening, while other children were still running about outside. Once I didn't obey this rule, and it was then that I got a slap from my father for the first time in my life. These were the main changes I felt as a child. Due to not going to school and not being able to play in public parks, I lost contact with my non-Jewish friends. Only two friends remained neighbors on the left and right, as the saying goes. I no longer had the chance to meet my other friends. Also in those days the first Jewish school in town came into being. It was in the building of the winter prayer hall, the so-called Temple, as we used to call it. On some stores the sign 'Juden unerwünscht' [German for 'Jews not welcome'] appeared. In other stores Jews could shop only between 3 and 5pm, when everything was already bought up. We had worse ration coupons. We had to wear a star. I have it hidden away to this day. Anti-Jewish laws were passed practically as soon as the Germans came. In 1942, when we went to Terezin 6, the persecution of Jews was in full swing.

My sister Erika

Besides me my parents also had a daughter, Erika. My sister was born on 8th January 1923. Erika and I don't have a lot of common experiences. We didn't play together, mainly because of the large age difference of seven years; when I was seven, my sister was already a young lady of 14. She was friends mainly with Jewish girls. This was due to the ethics of the time. Girls in those days had to socialize differently, because they were interested in finding a Jewish boy. Despite this Erika met a non-Jewish young man from Pilsen. In the times of the mobilization he was assigned as a soldier to the barracks in Trebic. In the end their relationship ended, because my parent's didn't like that he wasn't Jewish. If in those days she would have married him, maybe she would have survived the war. After 1945 that young man contacted us again and asked after my sister.

Erika graduated from high school in Trebic, and after that she went to language school in Prague. During her studies in Prague she stayed with my mother's sister Valeria. After a year she had to interrupt her studies because a law was passed forbidding Jews from studying. She got married shortly after returning to Trebic. The selection of Jewish partners in the town was quite clear. The wedding was decided on between the parents and a wedding ceremony followed. She married Arnost Felix, whose parents had a distillery and a house on the main square, which was some sort of sign of social standing. I remember almost nothing of the wedding. It was a so- called 'wartime wedding'. They got married before they sent us to Terezin, so that they could stay together. They were married by Rabbi Ingber under a chuppah, which was inside the synagogue. I don't know how many wedding guests they invited. For me as a young boy it wasn't anything important.

My sister and her husband were deported together to Terezin in April 1942. In Terezin we met only sporadically: they were chance, short-term encounters. A year later they deported her and her husband Arnost to Auschwitz, where she perished in 1944, in the gas chambers. Arnost had two siblings, a brother and a sister who was the only one of their family to survive the war. In the concentration camp she gave birth to a child which fell into a latrine. As a result of these occurrences she lost her mind and spent the rest of her life in a mental asylum in Prague.

During the war

In the early years of the war I didn't experience any anti-Semitism in Trebic. Firstly, the town wasn't anti-Semitic and secondly I was relatively young. I and my ten-year-old contemporaries didn't really concern ourselves with it, and we didn't associate with children of Fascists. Interestingly enough, in 1940 a non-Jewish friend came over and showed me some sort of map. It had a German concentration camp marked on it. It described conditions that I later myself experienced. I don't know how it came into his possession, and I don't know what it really was. The only thing he said was that it was a Jewish ghetto. From that time I recalled that map many, many times.

The first anti-Jewish incident that struck our family happened in the year 1940. They Aryanized my father's store. A German came to our place and pulled out a document that said that he was going to be the administrator of Father's hardware store. In practice it meant that he confiscated the store. Subsequently we had a visit from the Gestapo from Jihlava who proceeded to search our house. My sister was already married and lived with us along with her husband. I remember that during the search, when they were arresting my father, the Gestapo found some cans of food. The opened them and one of them had gone bad. It spurted its contents out onto a Gestapo officer's leather coat. My sister brought some after-shave lotion and cleaned his coat. They arrested my father and took him away to jail in Jihlava. There they presented him with a sales agreement that he was selling his store. Instead of the money they were supposed to pay him for it they sent him directly to Terezin. He was very lucky, because the Gestapo usually sent people from Jihlava directly to Auschwitz or executed them on the spot. After my father's arrest we associated only with Jews.

Before they deported us to Terezin we had to hand over all valuables such as gold and porcelain. To this day I have the receipt from the watchmaker who took them. Of course I never got anything for it. After that they gathered us in the Trebic high school. Each person could have up to 50 kilos of luggage. Many old women couldn't even take that much, for how could they have carried it. We walked from the high school to the train station. They sent us off in two transports. The first was called AV and was used to deport only residents of Trebic district. The second was called AW and contained Jews from Trebic and Jihlava districts. In the first, on which I, my mother and my father's parents were, there were 720 people. I know this because I had number 719 and was second-last. We left on 23rd April 1942, directly for Terezin. My sister and her husband went on the second transport.

Terezin

Our arrival at Terezin was followed by security checks. We had to open our luggage and the Germans looked to make sure we didn't have any valuables. After that they divided us up and sent us to the barracks. In those days the town still had its Christian residents, so were weren't allowed to move about in all of Terezin. After they were moved out, the entire town of Terezin became a ghetto. The number of prisoners varied between 20,000 and 64,000, depending on the departure of transports to Auschwitz.

They put us into barracks that had no beds. We were lying on the floor. Each person had 70 centimeters of space for sleeping and a narrow aisle where he could walk about. The luggage we had brought with us was stacked up behind our heads. I lived together with my mother. With the departure of the original inhabitants of Terezin [the original inhabitants of Terezin (3500) were moved out in the middle of 1941 and were replaced by Jews] the camp's capacity increased. They started to build buildings that contained triple bunk beds. Later we, children, lived in a so-called Kinderheim, which was a former school. There were around forty of us to a room, aged twelve to thirteen. The room was led by an older boy, who could have been around 18 years old. He was responsible for us and of course also educated us, so that we didn't become completely wild. Besides regular schooling he also led us to Zionism. There were two main schools of thought among the Jews in Terezin. One inclined towards assimilation and the second consisted of Zionists. Zionists completely rejected assimilation and their goal was emigration to Palestine. Whether there were also amongst us devout Jews, is hard to say. Religion wasn't the problem of the day. The problem of the day was to find bread and potatoes.

Terezin was originally built as a fortified town, surrounded by two massive walls. In the past, when the town was in danger, water could be let into the space between the two walls from the nearby Labe [Elbe] River. During World War II the space between the walls was used for raising vegetables for the German guards. Jews were strictly forbidden to step onto this territory. There was a morgue on one of the crossings and we, children, used to go and steal vegetables and potatoes around that morgue. The ghetto had a lot of organized work details. For example, I used to spray uniforms for the Wehrmacht, with white paint so that the soldiers would be camouflaged in winter. Before the war's end I was a delivery boy. A friend and I distributed groceries with a two-wheeled cart.

I remember that Terezin used to produce dried potatoes for the German army. The potatoes were sliced into thin slices and dried. The result was moldy discs that the soldiers at the front would cook. At that time I used to feel sorry for the German soldiers, because it was more suited for pigs than for people. Potatoes intended for drying were stored in a cellar. A friend and I obtained a cart and two sacks and set out to go steal. He climbed through a window into the cellar and put potatoes into a small sack, which he would then pass up to me and I would dump its contents into a large sack that was on the cart. We continued like this until we filled up the large sack. It was an extremely bold act, because even in Terezin it was forbidden to go out after 8pm, and stealing of course was completely out of the question. We risked our lives. We pushed the full bags over to my grandfather's, who praised our cleverness. My mother was of course distraught, she was afraid that someone would split on us. In the end we were big heroes. Grandpa got some flour from somewhere and made us skubanky. These were made in the following way: he would cook the potatoes, mash them, and mix in flour. The dough was then grated and you had skubanky. It was quite a delicacy in Terezin because what we used to get there to eat couldn't be called food.

The worst times in Terezin were when they announced the transports. A list would be drawn up and the Zimmerälteste [German expression for the person responsible for order in the room] would read from it which people were to be deported. In the spring of 1944 I was also included on one of the transports. The fact that I was spraying the uniforms of German soldiers saved me from being transported to Auschwitz. The Germans agreed that I should be taken off the transport list because I was working for the Wehrmacht.

While I was in the concentration camp I reached the age of 13. Just like all Jewish children in Trebic, I had also gone to religion lessons to Rabbi Ingber. He gradually prepared us for our bar mitzvah. Before I was to have it, I ended up in Terezin, where this ceremony was performed secretly in a makeshift prayer room in the attic. The guards of course knew nothing about it. I recited what was necessary and that was the end of it. No celebration took place. It was just a formality that you had had your bar mitzvah. There were only a few people at the ceremony, the rabbi and my parents.

After our arrival in Terezin my mother was offered the position of Küchendienst [German for kitchen service]. Her job was to watch that no one carried out and stole food. Of course whoever had this job was the first to steal and on top of this got extra food. My mother asked her friend from Trebic for advice, whether she should take the offered position. Her friend recommended that she not take it. She explained to her that it was very dangerous and that she would constantly be under the scrutiny of the Germans. So my mother turned the job down. In the end her friend, the advisor, took the job, along with all of the aforementioned advantages.

A few months later my father was offered the position of Hausältester [German expression for the person responsible for order in the entire building]. A person in this position was responsible, for example, for distribution of food in the building and for ensuring that blackout curtains were in place in the evening. Mother once again asked her friend for advice, who advised her against my father taking it. She told her that someone won't black out their window and her husband will then be put on a transport or shot. Mother told my father that she had already once given advice and advised to her own benefit. Father therefore took the position of Hausältester, as a result of which he was along with his family exempt from the transports until the end of the war. In this way, also thanks to my mother's friend's advice, we were saved. A worse fate met my sister and her husband, who died on 8th March 1944 in the Auschwitz gas chambers.

Terezin was liberated in May 1945. However, we prisoners couldn't leave. We were quarantined because various infectious diseases had spread mainly typhus and spotted fever. These were brought by people evacuated by the Germans from various concentration camps as the Allied armies advanced. These people were in exceptionally bad condition, not only were they half- dead, but many of them had gone insane from hunger. They had absolutely no hygiene and brought many diseases, mainly spotted fever, which is very dangerous.

Our return to Trebic

We were released from quarantine on 6th June 1945. At that time the trains were running again, so getting home was simple. We got on the train at the station in Bohusovice, because Terezin didn't have a station for passenger trains. The Germans had only built a provisional platform for the arriving transports. From Bohusovice we traveled straight to Trebic. There wasn't much waiting for us in our home town. The first few days we even had to stay in hotels, because our house had been sealed by the police. During our absence a German who had Aryanized my father's store had been living there. It took several days until we could move back into our original home. We found almost nothing of the original furnishings. So we used furniture that had been left there by the German. My parents got their store back, but in devastated condition. As one of the returnees, my father was greeted in Trebic by the regional governor himself. In his office he offered a seat to my father, who immediately recognized that his lordship had furnished the room with our chairs. We were glad that we had returned at all from the concentration camp, so my father overlooked such trivialities.

Out of 297 members of the Jewish community that had been in the town before 1939, only nine of us remained. [Editor's note: the Trebic town chronicle states that 281 Jewish citizens had been deported from Trebic. After the liberation ten returned to the town. One more had survived, but he never returned. The rest of the Trebic Jews became victims of the Holocaust.] Our family returned to its original home and my father restarted his business activities.

My parents never considered emigrating. My situation was different. I received a permit to enter Palestine, and everything was prepared for my emigration. In the end nothing came of it. After all, my parents weren't young any more, my sister unfortunately never returned and besides me they had no one. It was decided that I would stay with them in Trebic; of course at fifteen one doesn't make his own decisions.

In the middle of June 1945 they registered me in school. I was in the third year of council school. Despite having studied only two weeks, the teacher gave me a report card. It had only three B's. My good marks were a result of my stories from Terezin, because everyone was curious as to how we had lived there. I didn't have Jewish classmates in school any more. Basically I was the only one left of all the Jewish children that had lived in Trebic before the war.

In 1946 I became a scout. There were regular weekly meetings and on Sundays we went on trips. Our scout troop numbered between 20 and 30. We learned to make a fire, cook, and track and did all sorts of other activities. At Easter, when we had more days off, the camp leaders, among whom I later belonged as well, would go off to find a suitable summer campsite. They had to discuss with farmers and forest rangers where we would be allowed to camp out. It wasn't that hard to negotiate with them because they also benefited from us. In the summer we would help in the fields or clear brush in the forest. In exchange we got fed.

I studied at the technical high school in Brno, from 1946 to 1950. After I completed my studies I was drafted into basic army service. I was assigned to the Technical Assistance Battalion 7, the so-called Black Barons, which meant doing your army service with a pick and shovel in hand. We were divided into three approximate categories: 1. politically unreliable individuals, 2. priests and clergymen, 3. students expelled from school. I got put there for multiple reasons. My first offence against the socialist state was that my father had a business. Second, I was a Jew, and third, I had relatives in Western Europe. My final transgression was that I always said what I thought. During the draft they asked me if I had relatives abroad. I said yes. They probed further, whether I was in contact with them. I started to have enough of their questions. I could no longer restrain myself and told them to please not be angry with me, but I couldn't exterminate them, and I couldn't deny them either. They didn't say anything, just assigned me to the Technical Assistance Battalion.

My army service

There's another little story connected with my entry into army service. Just like in every interview, there was a torrent of questions. They asked me whether I had ever been in jail, I said yes. The next question was, how long? I said three years. They made a note of it. Then I told them that it was in a concentration camp during the war. They said that it didn't matter, it was all the same. Finally I was assigned a room with a soldier of the Wehrmacht, who was supposed to get Czech citizenship. Despite having behind him the Russian campaign, he had to undergo basic army service in the Czechoslovak army. Besides him there were also two priests in the room.

We practically spent our whole time in the army building military airports near Pilsen, Pardubice, Caslav and Line. I didn't mind manual labor; the only problem was that instead of two years we had to serve 32 months. The army as such wasn't so bad; it's just that afterwards a person was socially 'marked' for the rest of his life. The work wasn't difficult, despite that it was degrading for many. During schooling they made idiots of us. The truth is that our officers were also assigned to us because of their political unreliability. Maybe that's why they never treated us badly; after all in the end we had a common fate. The only different ones were the political leaders, so-called 'politruks' or politicos, who were placed there by the Communists.

In the middle of my army service the Slansky trial 8 took place. At the beginning of the trials I was a mechanical engineer at Line airport and worked in the technical department. I supervised the maintenance of construction machinery. During the trials they called me in and reassigned me to manual labor as a worker. Officially I never found out the reason for my degradation. When I went to the politico to find out what had happened he told me to go do my work and that I could be glad that they didn't throw me in jail. Those were the consequences of the Slansky trial. Now with the passage of time, those Communists seem quite comical to me.

A part of army life are stories, some of which have to do with alcohol. For example politicos, that is politically dependable officers, had one weakness: booze. Because they weren't exactly Einsteins, but dunces, they needed for people to appreciate them. Quite often they let themselves be tempted and it ended up that they would drink with us. You see, we had money and they didn't because their wives took it after payday. During a booze-up we slipped one politico money that the soldiers had collected for Korea and he spent it on drink. As punishment he was immediately transferred. [Editor's note: the soldiers of the Czechoslovak Army collected money intended to help North Korea in the Korean War (1950- 1953).]

Another incident has to do with the battalion commander and the chief of staff. Our commander was a laborer from Ruthenia who joined the Red Army and towards the end of the war became a mortar commander, this means of two men and a pipe. Because he was politically orthodox, he made it all the way to battalion commander in Czechoslovakia. The chief of staff was a staff sergeant from the First [Czechoslovak] Republic 9, therefore a trained soldier. Once he came to me and assigned me a task. The battalion commander was supposed to go to staff training and bring along a completed map of battle positions. The poor wretch didn't even know how to properly hold a pen, much less fulfill his orders. My task was to draw this map. At this time I was working with a pick and shovel and so my hands weren't much good. Here and there I made some ink-stains and I had to scrape the ink off with a razor blade like we used to do in school. The staff sergeant saw this and told me not to be stupid, that I should just add four legs and make it into a kitty cat. I gave the completed map to the commander, who was happy with it. He went off to staff training, and when he returned, I asked him how it had gone. He answered that when he showed them the map they had one look at it and sent him home. He never found out if the map was any good. The fact remains that a month later the battalion commander was transferred to the post of commander of a recreational resort in the Krkonose Mountains [Editor's note: mountains on the border between Bohemia and Poland. In 1963 the Czech side of this region was made into the Krkonose National Park. It thus joined the existing Polish Karkonoszki Park Narodowy, established in the year 1959]. The chief of staff was envious of his new position. We experienced many similar incidents. It was a tin-pot army.

After the end of my basic service I got a job at the Research Institute for Construction Machinery in Brno. Along with my work I of course also had to display a certain amount of politically cultural activity. I was editor of a so-called bulletin board magazine, in which we criticized conditions in our workshop. Our criticism offended the Communists that worked there. They became upset and problems began. Shortly after this incident came political screening. Because I was the son of a Jew and capitalist, they wanted to push me out of the institute. Our party cadre official took my side and said that my dismissal would be looked upon as vengeance for my criticism of workshop conditions and as a display of anti-Semitism. It was the first time under the Communist regime that being a Jew worked to my advantage. Besides my work I also studied at university, from which I graduated at the age of 38.

In 1968 [see Prague Spring] 10 we didn't perceive any anti-Jewish sentiment. On the contrary, I was happy because I had managed to finish university, the Faculty of Economics of Factory Management of Brno Technical University. And so at the institute where they had originally wanted to throw me out they ended up promoting me to the post of Deputy Director of Economics. I was in this position until 1972, when they realized that a person with my past wasn't right for that job and removed me. In those days one never found out the real reason for being removed. In my case though, it was quite clear. Before 1968 I was the chairman of the company ROH 11 committee, and so they came up with the idea that as ROH chairman I supported antisocialist elements in the country with a resolution against the occupation. Luckily the institute's director was a man of character. He told me that I had tried out the position of deputy director of economics and now I was going to be involved in the planning of technical development, forecasts and conception as Technical Development Manager.

Married life

I met my wife, Vlasta Friedova, nee Machackova, in an interesting way. I had a female friend in Trebic who used to go out with a boy from Brno named Zdenek. They met each other at scout camp. At one time I used to work as their postman. Usually after I delivered their letters Zdenek's parents would invite me for dinner. In the end there were so many of these dinners that I didn't know how to repay them, so I took Zdenek's sister as my wife. My delivery activities ended up being a bit less successful, because Zdenek broke up with his girlfriend.

My wife was born in Brno on 14th June 1931. She came from a Protestant family. Her mother was especially devout. Her father was a Catholic who had converted to Protestantism. My in-laws were both very tolerant. We got along well. We respected each other's beliefs and that was the most important thing. My wife wasn't from a wealthy family. Her father worked as a civil servant for the railway postal service. He accompanied the mail wagons. In his later years he became a worker at the post office. Her mother was never officially employed, but did work as a masseuse. We were married in 1956 at the Brno city hall.

The Trebic Jewish community never renewed its activities in the post-war years. For the major holidays, such as Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Passover I and my parents went to the synagogue in Brno. As far as my children go, my family and I discussed how they should be brought up. To put it simply, my children didn't get much religious education. My wife and I were of differing faiths, but mutually respected each other, so neither of us wanted to influence the children in one direction or the other. It ended up that my son has very weak religious feeling, practically none. However my daughter goes to the synagogue and has many Jewish friends. In fact even my wife went to synagogue during the major holidays.

In our family we celebrated Christmas, mainly because of the children. After my wife's death Christmas also disappeared from our home life. Of the Jewish holidays we still celebrated Chanukkah and Passover. Each year we had seder. My daughter learned it from her grandmother and so to this day prepares the seder schüssel [bowl]. We also observed Yom Kippur. Before this fast we would have supper. On our part it was because of the holiday atmosphere and not because of it being a deeply religious holiday. I think that the disease of modern times has affected Judaism the same way as it has other religions and beliefs.

I never picked my friends according to their religion. The important thing was the person's character and opportunities to spend our free time together. In the past there were few chances to spend time in Jewish company. In the end I don't see Judaism in Jewish society but in synagogues and religious life. However it's still pleasant for me to meet Jews. I would say that they are close to me in their thinking and character, but I wouldn't go see an exhibition of paintings at the Jewish community just for this reason. I'd rather go to the Arts Centre where they have nicer and better pictures. Everyone perceives their Judaism differently. Really, I think that I feel more Czech than Jewish, but as far as religion goes I feel Jewish.

Life in a totalitarian regime didn't prevent us from following political events in the world. The creation of Israel was a positive event for my circle of friends. We greeted it with great enthusiasm. Israel was born in a time when memories of the Holocaust were still very painful. We saw in it the possibility of sanctuary among one's own if we were again persecuted. It was for this that the state of Israel was born. The creation of a state meant a feeling of pride. Jews were always looked upon as people that either didn't know how or didn't want to fight. You could beat and kill Jews for no reason, without fear of reprisals. They used to say in Bohemia: 'Jud gehört ins Kaffeehaus' [German for 'Jews belong in the coffee shop']. The birth of Israel ended this era. It was a major event for all Jews all over the world. In the beginning Czechoslovakia had a positive relationship with Israel and this of course also showed in the relationship between Jewish communities and the Czechoslovak state, as well as the relationship of Czechoslovak Jews with Israel.

From here, a person viewed the wars in Israel in 1967 [see Six-Day-War] 12 and 1978 [the Lebanon War] as a spectator. We rooted for them and hoped that the Jews would successfully defend themselves. We couldn't do any more than that. In those days I watched and listened to only Viennese television, Viennese radio and Radio Free Europe 13, the newsletter of Jewish religious communities, was however never missing from our household.

I visited Israel for the first time five years ago [1999]. Last time was this year [2004]. It may seem funny to you, but the thing that surprised me the most in Israel was an ad for Coca-Cola. When I was getting off the plane I saw a Coca-Cola billboard written in Ivrit. It may seem funny, but we were used to Hebrew and Ivrit as the language and writing of prayers, not advertising. There and then I realized that Hebrew isn't only a language of prayer but also of a nation. A child has to use it to say that he's constipated an old man that he's thirsty. People use it to ask what's on in the cinema, in the theatre. I only realized this during my first visit to Israel.

Before 1989 [the fall of the totalitarian regime in Czechoslovakia] I managed to visit my cousins in London a few times, to which they had escaped from Vienna at the beginning of World War II. I always had big problems getting an exit visa. In fact for a few years in the 1970s I had no passport. The confiscation of my passport was caused by the following events: In 1968 I received a letter written in broken Czech. It contained anti-government proclamations. Suspecting that it was a provocation I handed the letter over to our director for him to do with as he thought best. He gave it to the police. Years later, the phone in my office rang and a certain Mr. Voslejsek introduced himself. He wanted to arrange a meeting at the police headquarters in Brno. I didn't know if someone was trying to play a joke on me, so I began to investigate. When I called the police headquarters they told me that they didn't know any Mr. Voslejsek. Therefore I didn't come to the agreed upon meeting. In the end he called me again and asked me to come. He explained that he was new there, and wasn't even really named Voslejsek and that's why they didn't connect us, which of course wasn't the truth.

At the police headquarters he led me off into a room and began asking about the letter I had received years ago. I had no idea where he was leading with his questions. In the end he told me that I was a very capable person and that they needed this type of person. At that moment I realized what they wanted of me [to sign a collaboration agreement with State Security - StB]. My answer was in the sense that I would be glad to help if they ever need advice with reporting company results or doing an economic analysis, but otherwise I had no idea how I could be useful to them. In the end we parted ways because he realized that they couldn't put anything over on me.

A short time later they summoned me to the passport office. They started to explain to me that they didn't have to renew my passport. That really got my goat and I told them to shove their passport somewhere. They really did stick it somewhere. I remained without a passport for about three or four years. Paradoxically, at that time I worked at the Heavy Machinery Works. The company director in Dubnice was going on a business trip to West Germany and needed a technician that spoke German. He called me and told me that I was going with him. I answered: 'No I'm not.' 'Yes you are.' 'I can't, they took my passport.' 'Who took it?' 'The cops.' 'Fuck your cops, you're going and that's that!' It took only a few days and in Bratislava they gave me a new passport, without my having to supply any sort of confirmation or document. From that time on I traveled in the world using a passport issued in Slovakia.

The Velvet Revolution

The Velvet Revolution 14, a transition from a totalitarian regime to democracy, was at first an adventure for me. An honest person will admit that it was an adventure. In the time of totality one was forced to obey. Entrepreneurship had been unthinkable and suddenly new opportunities began to open up. Capitalism had been for everyone some sort of scarecrow, a swearword, a pejorative against a systematically organized society. It wasn't until people started to openly say, 'we're going to build capitalism' that we began to realize that this capitalism wasn't some sort of capital crime, but only a way of organizing society. My revolutionary act consisted of the fact that at a directorial meeting I openly supported striking. Everyone looked at me as the local hero in those days. With the passage of time I see it as a comedy. It was about comical conflicts. If someone claims that he sees the time as a heroic battle, I won't believe him. People that stood in the squares and jingled their keys [during the Velvet Revolution people symbolically expressed their dissatisfaction with the Communist regime by jingling their keys during demonstrations], saw the situation as an adventure, some sort of diversion. What's true though, is that everyone had had their fill of the Communists.

My life started to change immediately after the revolution. In February of 1991 I and some friends started up a company. We had 'big' capital: 180,000 crowns. We rented out four rooms, bought a computer and started doing business in the sphere of planning and forecasting for companies. We were working under the assumption that people in company management were going to be changing and the new ones won't know a thing about planning and forecasts, so they'll hire us. In time our naivety became apparent. The people that got into management weren't ones that needed our concepts and forecasts but fortune hunters that wanted to get rich quickly. So we returned to design and made use of our contacts in Germany. After a series of similar activities we progressed to our current business in a natural way. We import truck trailers and spare parts from Great Britain. There are five of us in the company and we have a decent turnover.

During the last decade the Jewish community in Brno, which has around 300 members, has come to life. It should be noted, that for example the Brno community, especially under the leadership of Mr. Weber, has done a lot for Jewish solidarity. Cultural activities and trips take place on a regular basis. Every Tuesday the older ladies have a coffee circle where they can meet and talk. On Fridays there are usually lectures, discussions or exhibitions.

However there are less and less religious Jews. Religious feeling is weak. It has to do with people's overall alienation from religion. It hasn't left out Jews either. The major Jewish holidays will fill up Brno synagogues, but not Sabbath. Until recently we didn't even have a minyan. Since 1970, when Rabbi Feder died, the community has been led by a cantor, Mr. Neufeld. In the last few years, cantor Neufeld's son, Arnost, has led the services. About a year ago we engaged Rabbi Koller. For some time the cantor and rabbi served together, but then Mr. Neufeld fell ill. Since then the services have been led by Rabbi Koller, who is more orthodox. He's currently working on having a minyan at the synagogue. He's having some success, because this Saturday we will have a minyan for the fourth time in a row. Young boys from the Jewish Youth Union in Brno have also started to appear among us. Now they're learning to read from the Torah, and we hope that it will catch on and appeal to them.

Working in the Brno Jewish community

Last month I became chairman of the Brno Jewish community. I replaced Mr. Weber, who resigned after two terms and wanted someone new to take his place. A young member of the community can't take this position mainly for financial reasons. The problem I see is that the community chairman isn't an employee of the community and so doesn't have a salary, just a regular sum for travel and phone expenses. With this state of affairs there is no way a young person can come and work for just a few crowns. The only paid worker is Mr. Bauer, who is the director of the Jakub special organization. The religious community is 100 percent owner of this organization. The position of community chairman will bring major changes into my life as well. At present I work at my company until lunch and after lunch I go to the community. It's hard to have time for everything, so I've decided to leave the company and devote myself only to leading the religious community.

Besides leading the religious community I'm also the chairman of the Rotary Club for the years 2004 and 2005. [Editor's note: the Rotary Club is a world-wide organization of representatives of various occupations, who realize humanitarian projects, support high ethical standards in all spheres of life and help further mutual understanding and peace in the world.] The Rotary Club was founded approximately one hundred years ago by two American lawyers. It's essentially a worldwide humanitarian organization. There are many programs, but the main one is eradication of childhood polio in the world. That is the strategic goal. There are also a number of other humanitarian activities, from the amelioration of floods to supporting the physically handicapped. Finally, it supports mutual education and promotion of international friendship.

I don't think that research of this type [this interview] can be done over a couple of sittings, so quickly. A person gradually remembers places and names. We simply don't live in the past. We live in the present and the past is somewhere in the subconscious, and it isn't until one talks about it that memories start to float to the surface. I admire some ladies for how much they're able to remember. Either they have a better memory, or are less sclerotic than I am. Personally I live for what happens in the company, what is waiting for me at the community, what I forgot to arrange in the Rotary Club, because our roof is leaking, what I have to do at the cottage, so that we're prepared for winter. A person constantly has thoughts through which he lives in the moment. The past is like a computer's memory, where unnecessary information is erased.

Glossary

Laszlo Spiegler
Budapest
Hungary
Interviewer: Dora Sardi and Eszter Andor
Date of interview: May 2002

I don't know the maiden name of my grandmother on my mother's side, only that she was Mrs. Markus. She died long before the war. I remember when I was a child, she was ill all the time. She was always in bed. My mother had ten brothers and sisters; my mother is the eleventh child. They weren't born here in Ujpest but somewhere in the provinces, but they came to Budapest. It was a Neolog 1 family, but quite religious. I had an aunt, the wife of Uncle Herman, my mother's brother, who had been Christian; she converted to Judaism and she knew how to pray in Hebrew better than any Jew. She lived with my grandma. Uncle Herman never came back [from the war] and I don't know what happened to him. Miska Markus, another of my mother's brothers, was a victim of World War I; he got a disease, something to do with the brain, because a bomb had exploded near him and the pressure wave did him great harm; he later died - around the end of the 1920s. He was a merchant. Not in Ujpest, they lived somewhere in the Castle District [in Budapest]. His wife was Auntie Vilma.

My grandparents on my father's side came from Vagujhely, Trencsen county. My uncle lived in Puho. I must have been three or four years old when we were there. I remember Puho. My uncle, my father's brother, had a pub. No one was left. I don't know what my grandpa on my father's side did for a living because the poor soul died. I didn't know either of my grandfathers. My grandmother, my father's mother, could only speak Yiddish, because she was from the Felvidek 1. I couldn't tell you her name, I don't remember that, but I loved my grandma and she loved me. She was very religious, very kosher. She didn't have a wig, but her head was covered with a shawl. I was the only Spiegler boy and she had six granddaughters. I had three sisters, and my uncle had three daughters as well. I was the only one whom, when it was my birthday or Christmas, she took everywhere to buy candies I loved. This was your due for being a boy!

My father is Gyula Jakab Spiegler. His Jewish name was Itzchok. My mother was called Lenke Markus. Her Jewish name was Leye. My father barely spoke Hungarian. At the engagement he kissed my mother, who smacked his face. He said - because he couldn't speak Hungarian properly - 'I wish I had never got this smackering'. My parents spoke Hungarian with us, children, but they spoke Yiddish to one another, moreover, they corresponded in it as well. My mum's mother tongue was Hungarian, but she spoke Yiddish. In those days Jews used to speak mostly Yiddish. So they spoke this distortion of German, [that is Yiddish] moreover, they corresponded in it, too.

My father was an ironmonger, but he was also a wood- and coal dealer; I know that because it was written in my birth certificate. And when my father was taken to World War I, we already had a crockery shop. My mother ran it well during the war, while my father was on the battlefield. She bought a load of vessels and she only had to pay the advance, she even paid the tip because one couldn't find merchandise at that time. And then we said that I would take care of it - I was a little child, about four years old. My father was on the battlefield for four years, in World War I, he was on the Russian battlefield in Siberia. He deserted from there and suddenly he was at home. We lived in the same house, but in a bigger apartment because we had grown up. I was happy, as my father took me here and there, to markets and all. My father looked after the shop when he came home, and then the family grew financially, and we became quite well off, too. My parents were tired people because they ran a shop; they went to work at 7am and worked until the evening, 6pm. Later, in 1927-28, my father opened an enameling factory in order that his daughters should have dowries. At that time there was deflation as well, the crisis of overproduction, and my father wasn't a cartel member. And then the enameling factory ruined my father because the cartel ruined him. They had a contract with a big company; it was called Hutter and Stran, where they made the enamel in stoves. And they cancelled the order and there was no work, but the day and night workers had to be paid regardless. At that time the factory had been running for about six years, but it went broke. It cost us the crockery shop. It cost us our house. They auctioned off everything we had.

I was born in 1910. My Jewish name is Leben. And I know my wife's Jewish name as well; she was called Pesl. My elder sister was born in 1908. She was called Anna. Her Jewish name was Miriam. She died in 1939. Her heart took her from us. My other sister, Marta, was born in 1909, but I don't know her Jewish name. My sister Tace was the youngest; she was born in 1912. Manci was her Hungarian name, and Tace was her Jewish name. After Anna's death three of us were left. I inherited something from my mother as well as my sister. My mother was very ill, with heart problems.

There was no Jewish elementary school in Ujpest at that time. My wife attended the Jewish school already; her father was a teacher there. I finished four years of middle school, then I went to commercial school. I finished three years, but didn't want to work in a bank. Then I went to help my father anyway, and I became an ironmonger. Well, I was a boy and wanted to do what my father did. I became an apprentice ironmonger, and I had to carry 100-kilo bundles. I could carry them, but I told myself I wouldn't do it. Then I just simply didn't go to work any more. They said that I had to learn something, 'Don't be a merchant, please, learn some sort of technical trade'. And then it was announced here in Ujpest at the Nasszer brothers, that they wanted apprentices. They had a watchmaker's shop, a house of their own. I learned the watch-making trade there. I spent five years there. Sometimes they gave me jobs like taking out jewels, and once I took out to consignment a pearl necklace such that one could have bought a house with it. They trusted me!

I have worked since I was ten years old. I had no time to go and play on the plot. I came home from school, studied for a while, and then if I had any free time, I went to the shop. There were the three girls; they went to the swimming pool, while I was in the shop. I had to keep things in order. I bought dishes by the thousands, and sold things in the shop. When I was ten years old I was already selling jars. The cucumber and paprika wasn't pickled as it is nowadays, but they bought the jar and pickled them themselves. We sold them [the jars]. They weren't brought into the shop because there were too many, and I slept outside in a lean-to with my sister. When I was already fourteen years old we had been buying dishes by the thousands. I used to go shopping by myself. They put me into the shop as soon as they could because my mother was sickly, and when she was ill I had to stand in for her. My sisters had their circle of friends, and I didn't really like to bother with girls, I would rather work; I got so used to work. I loved working so much.

I never went anywhere for the summer holidays as a child. I was 18 years old when I saw Lake Balaton for the first time. There were cheap trains to Siofok; that was when I first saw Balaton. My sisters used to go to Puho; they spent their summer holidays at relatives.

My father always said that when he was young they worked very hard and had fun for a few coins. We had fun, too. Later, when we didn't have the shop anymore, we went to have a good time on the banks of the Danube, I would drink a glass of beer and dance. We went to Margaret Island, and danced there as well.

Before the war there was cultural life for the youth in Ujpest, they gathered every Tuesday. There was a cultural center that was full every Tuesday. The oldest of us must have been about 25. There were only young people. There was culture there, Hungarian, Hebrew... They sang and recited poetry. There was no food. It happened, back when the Jewish school still existed, that we popped in there to get a slice of bread and butter. This was before the war in 1936, 1937, and 1938. There was always good company. They went in for sports there. In the old times [before WWII], for example, the cultural center used to have a choral union, a Jewish choral union. They won prizes too. They used to sing Hungarian songs as well.

We observed every Jewish holiday very strictly, the fasting, too. My father went to the synagogue in the morning and didn't come out until the evening. There used to be a synagogue in Bocskai Street - it was ruined during the war - and we used to go and pray there. And I also went to the Orthodox synagogue. I don't know how to pray very well, but my friends, the Lichtensteins, were Orthodox too, they lived here in the neighboring house. I was always ahead with the prayers; I can still follow the cantor.

My father prayed wonderfully, I wish I knew a tenth of it. We had such a seder that it's hard to describe. My father lit the chanukkiyah. We had a huge one, which we put in the window. At that time we used to live a proper Jewish life. I used to light it for a while as well, but now I don't do so anymore. We celebrated Purim as well. As for the sukkah, we didn't have one; the Neologs usually didn't observe Sukkot. There was an Orthodox Jew in our house, he had a sukkah, but he never invited us. Still the Orthodox kept their distance. They went to the synagogue in Virag Street, which had a mikvah as well; and there was an Orthodox house in Virag Street just for them. They had payes.

Every Friday evening at home we lit the the candle very rigorously. We used to go to synagogue every Sabbath. It was obligatory at school. My parents' shop was open until 7pm on Saturdays. And they had to stay open all the time everywhere. But if there was a holiday and a Jew didn't close he was denigrated. Shops were scarcely open on Jewish holidays. Moreover, 75% of the shops were closed in Ujpest; there were so many Jewish shops. They did everything properly for the holidays; my father said a blessing over each child on Yom Kippur. We took the rules very seriously at that time. Once we went to a football match during Pesach. And I was thirsty and drank a glass of water. I felt such remorse after that because on Pesach you can't just drink something somewhere, everything has its rules.

One couldn't sit down in the synagogue on Friday evening; it was full. During holidays they rented shops in order to pray there. They got a Torah. The grocers had a house, and they prayed there as well. In Klauzal Street, where there's a grocery now, we used to pray there in the shop, too, because there was room there. We couldn't get into the big synagogues. This was before the war. My father used to go to Bocskai Street. That synagogue was old. It had a balcony, and there were tiny windows so one couldn't see the women from below. Men and women weren't together. Everyone from my family went to the synagogue.

The wealthy Jews used to go to the big synagogue; we were the middle-class. Many Jewish tycoons got into the big synagogue. But later my father got in there too. My uncle made seats for the synagogue and got a seat un return on the side, near the Torah; that's where he used to sit, and the seat is still there today.

As a child my head was always covered, I wore a cap all the time. We wore the cap at home, but later in school we didn't any more. My father for example, wouldn't eat without a cap. It happened that they went to one of his brother's and they offered him meat fried in breadcrumbs, but he didn't know it was rabbit, which isn't kosher. He put on his cap and we all ate wearing our caps. We prayed before and after eating and then it turned out that what we had eaten wasn't kosher.

When I had my bar mitzvah, a tight family circle of 75 people gathered. It was a dinner of fish dishes; the business went so well that my parents couldn't get away from the shop. It was at the house of my auntie, my mother's elder sister, because she had a big room, they were furniture- dealers, and there were tables in a circle and they sat around them. And there was singing, the 'Szol a kakas mar', the cantor couldn't leave that one out. [Szol a kakas mar is a Hungarian folk song, which was adopted by the Hasidic rebbe of Nagykallo, Hungary.] They shnorred money [collected donations] for various people. I got lots of presents. Books, jewelry, rings and watches. A wristwatch was quite a thing at that time. And then I got a lot of rings, none of which I wore, but the girls did. The whole community was there: the shochet, the cantor, his assistant, the main cantor and the rabbi. This was in 1923.

We ran a kosher household. We used to have a servant. The kashrut was something she was charged with very seriously. There was a sink for utensils used for milk products and a separate one for utensils used for meat. She couldn't ever get them mixed up. And there was also a separate cupboard for utensils for milk products and for meat. It would never occur to us to mix the milk products and meat. We kept the Pesach utensils separately, and every year they were made kosher and after that we couldn't eat bread in the house any more. They took the utensils out and put them away. I even remember that at the first dinner after Pesach there was bread with Liptauer [spiced ewe cheese mixed with butter]. There used to be a kosher slaughterhouse, there was 'Orthodox kosher', 'Neolog kosher', and there was a shochet. We went to the Neolog one because we were Neolog. Keeping the kashrut lasted until I stepped out into life.

Before the war I worked at Egyesult Izzo and then I was drafted into the army. [Egyesult Izzo was a world-famous Hungarian light bulbs factory.] I was in the army in 1936, 1938, 1939, in 1940 I was in forced labor service, in 1941 I was at home, and in 1942 I was in, the whole year.

When I was demobilized - after the end of the usual service, they held me back. They wanted to promote me but I wouldn't accept it, I wanted to come home. I became unemployed. I had a very good friend, whose uncle was the manager of the dispatch department at the Egyesult Izzo, he was also Jewish. He took me into Egyesult Izzo, and I was there until the end. I had a very good salary. I did everything, from 7am until 10pm. Manual work, administration in the evening, I did everything. I lived at my parents' house. At that time they yielded from their severity. We didn't eat pork, we didn't mix milk products with meat, but it was no longer as it had been in my childhood; for example it was no problem if I didn't go to the synagogue on Friday evening. Despite this, I rarely missed it.

I went to Egyesult Izzo and took home a heap of watches to repair. And that was my pocket money. I gave my salary to my parents because they needed it. And when I went out with my wife she didn't let me pay for her. Then we got engaged, and from that time on I paid for everything for her, from my evening watch repairing.

Then I had to join the army in 1932-33. We went to Balassagyarmat for training. From there we went to Oroszi. And when the holidays came, we were in Balassagyarmat, and then the Jews of Balassagyarmat sent us lots of food: meat, milk loaf, and challah. Moreover, it was just then that we got off duty.. At that time there was no Jewish platoon. When we joined up it was a very kind company, including both the company commander and the training officer. The training officer called out the Jews, 'Look, boys, I called you because if you do this much it will mean that much, so keep that in mind.' We could understand that. It meant that if we made any little mistakes he would make big trouble for them, so we had to keep it in mind. Later they posted me away. I went to the Castle District. The fall holidays found me there, and going off duty, we went to the synagogue; as we came down from the Castle - I had never worn foot-cloth on my feet before - and so my feet swelled up because of it. I became lame, and then I ended up at the battalion command. I had a good life there. I was a switchboard operator and courier. I went to the governorship. I had one case; they called me saying that the Ministry of Defense was looking for me. God almighty, they're looking for Laszlo Spiegler. I could tap every phone call. It turned out that I had to go somewhere in Zuglo to repair watches. The ADC ensign, the Battalion's second-in-command, told me, 'Listen, be very careful because this watch is the promotion officer's, so do a good job!' I did a good job and they were very satisfied with me. I worked and repaired watches as well. And I helped at the office, too, I went to the governorship if I had to, and to the Ministry of Defense, moreover I was on sentry duty. They liked me very much at the battalion as well. And I got good food there, though it wasn't kosher.

In 1936 I was at a large army exercise. Then I got a boot that was patched from the inside, and the foot-cloth blistered my feet in such a way that the flesh was exposed. I couldn't walk, so I presented myself to the chief medical officer, 'I respectfully report that I can't walk, my leg aches.' He examined it. 'What's your name?' he asked, and I told him. 'You are a Jew.' 'Yes, sir,' I replied. 'Then you can bear that,' he said. I didn't deny it, even in that situation. I still don't remember how my leg got better.

Then I had hardly gotten home in 1938, when they called me back to the Felvidek. There I was part of the first Jewish platoon in the country. Neither the rank nor anything mattered, only that we were Jews. At that time there used to be uniforms, and there were dumdum bullets as well because we had to guard the wagons. We were in the first line. This means that their own people were in the rear and the Czechs were in the front. And they said, 'Well, we are going to send somebody for reconnaissance from the Jewish company; who wants to go?' We went. And we did a good job. Then there was another event. The Jewish platoon was already in existence, and there were bunkers between the Czech and the Hungarian border. They were underground bunkers, impossible to blow up. And we had to attack them, 'Who volunteers to do it?' The whole platoon stepped forward. But there were also Jews who were bad. They sent one to arrange accommodation, and he went to buy leather instead. He was bound hand and foot. Another one was punished because when he was on sentry duty and wasn't relieved, he fired into the air. We had a sadistic battalion commander, it was terrible. We, Jews, couldn't get parcels, couldn't go on furlough.

Then I came home again for a short time, until I was called in again. I joined up in Szentendre; from there we went to a camp at Esztergom, we constructed a shooting-range for tanks. Then they brought us to the Ministry of Defense in Budapest, and we did unskilled work at a construction site. I did everything, but I didn't know how to put up a wall. We didn't have a bad time of it, especially me, because I worked hard.

When I was demobilized in 1938, I learned to dance and we used to go dancing. At that time there was a café right here at the corner, it was called Pannonia café, and there I met my wife. She was called Erzsebet Reich. She had three siblings. This house where I live at the moment belonged to my wife's family; her grandmother lived here. She was born in this room - there were no maternity houses in those times. Her aunt lived downstairs, and there were two tenants and a caretaker. And her grandmother had a glass and porcelain wholesale store as well. She sold it off, and my mother bought it. But at that time they didn't know we would be relatives. They were very religious; they observed everything.

Then I started to go dancing with her, and after a while I told her that I was going to betroth her as my fiancé. I pulled the ring off my finger and put it on hers. This was in 1939. After that we went out for five years, when finally my wife said, 'Well, we've been going out for five years, so I want to marry you properly.' My poor father-in-law was sitting out here, there was a big vestibule, and a worktable. He sat there, and I asked for his daughter's hand in marriage. Thereupon they went to my parents and asked them for my hand. This was in 1942. And immediately after our engagement they called me up again. It was only for two months. Then they demobilized me, and then called me up again. I was released from service again, and then they called me up in July 1942, and I was there until the end of the war. The wedding was held because they said in March 1944 that they would take away the girls but not the women. Then I came home - I was in forced labor service at Kassa - and we got married. It was a civil marriage. And when we came home we had our religious marriage in the synagogue of Ujpest. I had lived in Istvan Square before the war - I joined up from there -with my wife. But she was deported in May. Her brother was deported, too.

When we were in forced labor service we were in Keleti Karoly Street [in Budapest] and everybody was buzzing that they would convert to Catholicism because then they wouldn't be deported. It never occurred to me. It was then that they started to learn Catholic religion and cross themselves. It made me feel sick. 196 people out of 200 presented themselves, and all of them died. What I got was that I survived, and my wife, too, but my family was taken away. No one was left, they killed everybody.

I don't even remember when the Germans came in. I was in Buda, and the lorries were going up [to the Castle District], full of German soldiers. And then the sirens started to howl. The Germans were bombing. I didn't have anywhere to go. And this is when the deportations started. [Editor's note: Laszlo means the entry of the Germany army to Hungary in March 1944 after which the ghettoization and deportation of Hungarian Jews was launched.] They deported me to Mauthausen; I found out there what Auschwitz was, from the people who came from Auschwitz, because we were gathered in Mauthausen, and they sent us to Gunskirchen from there. I was liberated in Gunskirchen.

In Gunskirchen there was no drinking water, there was no water for washing, and we were sentenced to death. Peopled starved to death there. There was no crematory. There was nothing else but wood. Our guards were very evil. What the SS soldiers did with children was that they threw the bread down, sat in a circle, and the children snatched it from the ground. That place was for gathering us in order to be executed. We were to starve to death, and those who didn't would be burnt along with the entire forest. It was a Friday when we were liberated. Friday evening I didn't go anywhere, but on Saturday I started off towards Wels. An American woman came; she had been imprisoned as well, and she took us in to some house. My first wish was for paprika potatoes. A Black American man gave me a parcel. He said they were in the same situation as us [that is, the black people in America]. He said they weren't allowed to walk on the sidewalks either.

So then they gathered the Jews, because we were full of lice. I didn't have the strength to get in the car, we were so weak. Nothing but skin and bone, we had neither butts nor thighs. And they took us to Horsching; it was an airport. I got typhoid fever. I was in hospital because of that, for a month. I saw how they carried away the dead; they had a wooden ticket on their big toe, and there was wrapping paper around their body. They just took them away in lorries, all piled up topsy-turvy. The food was very poor. While in hospital, I ran away and begged for food. I didn't accept money. After the typhoid fever I ate 10-12 lunches. When I got out of hospital I thought, 'Well, now I should get home somehow.'

My friend had a bottle of oil, with which we would cook if we found something on our way. We left and the Americans took us as far as Wiener Neustadt, where they passed us to the Russians. We had cigarettes and they told us that a train was leaving at midnight for Hungary, for Sopron. And on the way we always had to give something to the Russians in order to drive the train further. We arrived in Sopron. I went to the Red Cross and they gave me some financial support. I went to the town hall; they gave me some financial support, too. In Sopron the train became full in a flash. How could I get to Budapest? On the top of the train; that's how I came home in 1945. We arrived at Kelenfold. I didn't have the patience to wait at Kelenfold, I walked across the Manci Bridge - this was its name, it was a pontoon bridge - I entered Nyugati station and slept there until morning. In the morning three women came. One told me, 'Your wife is at home.' I found out then. She had come home a month earlier. It was absolute bliss for me. But we had suffered very much. We didn't have children because we didn't want to. My wife said, 'Daddy, haven't we suffered enough? Should our child suffer as well?' She was in Worlitz. She got there from Auschwitz; she got into the workers group and escaped the gas chambers. The poor soul had been beaten so many times, she couldn't stand the factory, and they made her work at night; they made shell cases, and she fell asleep and they struck her down.

My elder cousin was a doctor and left for America in 1939. He survived. And he didn't want to let anybody know he was Jewish. He had a daughter and a son. His son started putting Jews down at university. Thereupon a boy who knew him said, 'But you are a Jew, too!' Thereupon he went home to his father, asking, 'Is this true, dad?' The answer was, 'It is, son." And then he told him what had happened to his parents. My cousin's last wish was to be buried in Jerusalem. And he is buried there. He turned back to Jewishness in his death, one cannot deny being Jewish.

They deported my parents, my family, to Auschwitz and killed them there. They killed one of my sisters, Marta, together with her two children; she had a twelve-year old son and a one-year old daughter. Once the Arrow Cross 3 men caught her and she begged them to let her off, because she had two children. They let her off. They let her go home, then they took away all of them from there. Her husband was called Ede Viskovicz. He was a merchant.

When we arrived back home, we saw that we'd been looted, the house didn't have anything, not even a glass. Only the walls remained of the house where my wife had lived with her parents before the terror. When she came back, she couldn't enter her own house. She had to lodge an appeal against it, and then she got back one room. Those who lived upstairs were Arrow Cross people, and they moved downstairs. As soon as they moved downstairs the owner of the neighboring house claimed that it was his furniture. And so we got this apartment completely empty. We had no furniture at all, not a single chair or couch. We didn't have kitchen furniture or anything. Only one trashy ice-box. We found the pictures in the cellar. My wife was lying ill with a fever of 41 degrees [106 degrees Fahrenheit], and we had only one bed and a pillow. She had vitamin deficiency, was full of abscesses and they mistreated her. I put a cold compress on her night and day. I managed to save her. We didn't eat meat when we came back, only around September; her sister brought us chicken. Until then we just ate split peas and paprika potatoes. Then, when I could buy them, I bought a goose and cheap goose-fat. I also bought a sack of flour.

When I came home my wife wore gym shoes and checked clothes from the Lager [concentration camp], and she used them at home. She didn't have anything, not underwear, nothing. Then I started to work. This was quite an episode of my life too, that I came home one day and the next day I went to Egyesult Izzo because I used to work there and they reported my departure when they deported the Jews from Ujpest. When I came back I applied for work. They said they couldn't re-engage me; the factory was closed. They gave me financial aid, but that was it.

My younger sister was the only one in the family who survived except me. She got married after the war; she had a son, Pista. My poor sister was ill. She died about six years ago. Pista got married to a gentile, and he didn't have the brit because my sister was worried about him. My sister was in Auschwitz as well, and in Ravensbruck, and I don't know where else, and she was liberated weighing just 25 kilos. And she gave birth to her child, and it's been a delightful experience since he came to this world. I always loved him very much, I still do; I gave him everything. He has two daughters but they wear the Star of David. The elder converted to Judaism in the meantime, she was in Israel as well. The younger, Eszter, also considers herself a Jew. She attends university in Italy. Pista also has the heart of a Jew. When they built an organ in the synagogue here many years ago, he donated 200,000 forints.

When I came back, at first one could only buy things and peddle them. Well, I did everything to get ourselves together. I was a very busy man, because a watchmaker was always needed. I had a shop of my own here in Kemeny Street for four and a half years. Then they [the authorities] started to pick at me in 1952. If somebody entered the shop, they asked me what they sold, what they bought. There was a revenue officer and I asked him what it was all for. He said I had to join the co-operative; they hassled me about it. Then I joined the co-operative in July 1952. I left the shop. I had bought it for 300 grams of gold and I had to leave it. There was no one to buy it. And then I worked in the co-operative. My wife learned to be a typist and shorthand secretary. She worked at a company. But I told her, 'Mum, don't go to work, I earn our living, and you don't have to.' But she wanted to go anyway. I retired in 1971. Since then I help with the correspondence and everything at my old workplace.

When I worked at the co-operative I went to the synagogue during holidays. The personnel director and the party secretary came because of a worker. I came out of the synagogue and asked, 'Are you looking for me?' 'No', they said, 'but we were.' They asked me where I had been. 'In the synagogue,' I replied. This was around 1953. I didn't deny it. And I wasn't a party member either. I hated the whole thing.

I starved a lot, and I said then that I wouldn't starve anymore; I would eat what I could. My kosher regime was interrupted before I was deported, as I said, I was a soldier then; they took me to the camp, and of course they didn't give me kosher food there. And there was no question of eating with a cap on my head. I almost went crazy when I was told to parade in front of the cross. I never liked that. I never denied my religion.

Before the war I didn't have a single Christian friend. That's just the way I wanted it. I had a Christian friend who had a Jewish wife, but this was after the war.

Both my wife and I paid taxes to the Jewish community. I go to the synagogue every week, I only miss it when I'm sick. I feel very much Jewish. If I could pray according to my feelings it would be nice. I like Jewish holidays. I like going to the synagogue; I'm always there. And I like our rabbi, too. I go to Obuda, to the Jewish cemetery, to visit my wife every week.

My wife was excellent at making Jewish dishes. She cooked very well; I had such a good wife! She was clean and thorough. I have been going to the Jewish old age home since my wife died. Before that, for three months, I used to eat at my cousin's house and at my sister's for one month. But she couldn't cook for me that way, and I only eat Jewish food. I still don't eat pork, though I'm not so kosher anymore. If I go to a restaurant, I eat turkey, which isn't kosher, but I still don't eat pork.

We've never been abroad because we didn't know any languages. And my wife was scared of traveling; after all she went through, it doesn't surprise me. We never went to Germany either. She was scared. Very scared indeed. I was in Israel on a package tour in 1988. Not with Jews, but they loved me. They knew I was a Jew. I went there because I'm a Jew. I wanted to see everything. I didn't want to see the birth of Jesus but what a Jew is like there. I was very, very happy to be there. I felt that it was my home. I felt very good in Jerusalem. I didn't go to the wall because I would have had to walk for three hours, and I'm a cardiac patient. It hurts that I couldn't go there. During the wars in Israel [the Six-Day-War 4 and the Yom Kippur War 5] we followed the news and were very proud of the Jews, and that we are Jews. And I'm still very proud.

Glossary

Fira Shwartz
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: October 2002

Fira lives in a big comfortable apartment in Troyeschina - a new neighborhood in Kiev. One can tell that the family cares for one another and keeps the home in good order. Fira is a very sociable lady, although interviewing her is a bit tough: she only talks about what she wants to talk about and avoids any subjects that may bring back heart-rending memories.

I have no information about the family of my father Israel Shwartz. He perished when I was a small child. I've never met anybody from his family. I don't even know where my father was born. We only have a death certificate stating that he died at the front near Leningrad in 1942 at the age of 41. Therefore, he must have been born in 1901.

I know more about my mother's family. My grandfather on my mother's side, Itzyk Borodianskiy, was born in Gornostaypol, a small town near Chernobyl, in the 1860s. He came from a poor family with many children. His parents were religious and observed all Jewish traditions. My grandfather studied at cheder and at 10 he became an apprentice to a glasscutter. He worked as a glasscutter in Gornostaypol for his whole life. He owned a small shop where he received and carried out orders.

My grandfather was married twice. He had two sons from his first marriage: Samuel, born in 1892 and Yankel, born in 1897. My grandfather's first wife died shortly after Yankel was born. About a year after his wife's death my grandfather remarried. His second wife, Esther, was ten years younger than my grandfather. Her family lived in Chernobyl. She came from a poor family, was the younger daughter and had no dowry. Esther was a housewife and a very nice woman. My mother, Rosa Borodianskaya, was born in 1905. My grandmother died in 1932 during the famine in Ukraine 1. She died before I was born, and all I know about her is what my mother told me. We also kept a photograph of her.

They lived in a small wooden house in Gornostaypol with three small rooms and a kitchen. My mother took me there once when I was 5 years old. I have some dim memories of my grandparents' house. There were earthen floors with quilted rugs on them. It was dark in the rooms because the windows were very small, and there were trees around the house. There were two stoves in the house: one in the kitchen, which was used for cooking and heating one room, and one to heat the two other rooms. The stoves were stoked with wood because charcoal was too expensive at the time. The ceilings were low and whitewashed. I remember a big nickel-plate bed, in which my mother and I were sleeping during our visit. The letter 'E' was embroidered on the sheets, and my mother told me that my grandmother Esther did the embroidery. There were also woolen carpets on the walls embroidered by my grandmother. They had a garden and a kitchen garden near the house.

My mother's older brothers studied at cheder. They also completed seven years of the Jewish lower secondary school in Gornostaypol. My mother studied at secondary school for eight years.

My mother's parents were religious. Her father read religious books after work. He prayed in the mornings and in the evenings. I don't know for sure whether there was a synagogue in Gornostaypol, but I believe there must have been one. Uncle Samuel told me that there were quite a few Jewish families living in Gornostaypol. My mother's family celebrated Sabbath and all Jewish holidays. I know this from my mother's brother Samuel, who later replaced my parents.

Gornostaypol was a small and quiet town. All stormy events shattering the country at that time - Jewish pogroms, the Revolution of 1917 2 and the Civil War 3 - didn't affect the town. I know that the Revolution didn't change anything in the life of my mother's family: They had been poor before and they remained poor afterwards.

My grandparents' children left the house when they grew up. Samuel became a tailor in Gornostaypol and moved to Kiev when he was 17. He got a job at a military tailor's shop where they made uniforms for soldiers and officers. He was an apprentice there at first, but he was very good at sewing and soon became one of the best tailors of the shop. He married a Jewish girl called Rosa. She came from Kiev. They had two children: a son called Semyon, born in 1922 and a daughter, Bella, born in 1928.

Yankel moved to Baku, Azerbaijan [2,000 km from Gornostaypol]. He went with his former classmate whose brother had moved to Baku two years before. I know very little about Yankel's life in Baku. He worked at a plant. He married a Jewish girl from Baku named Diphia, and they had two children: a daughter called Beba and a son called Naum.

After finishing school in the 1920s my mother moved to Kiev. Uncle Samuel convinced her that there were more opportunities in a big town. I know very little about my mother's life before I was born. She told me that she worked as a nurse in a kindergarten. I don't know how she met my father. He was a forwarding agent at the railway post office. My parents got married soon after they met. My mother was 24; my father was four years older. They had a civil ceremony at the registry office. Weddings were considered to be a bourgeois vestige, so they had no wedding party.

My father lived in a communal apartment 4. There were two other families living in this apartment. My father's room was small and dark. Its only window faced an entry corridor of the building. There was a wardrobe, my parent's bed, my bed, a table and a few chairs in the room. There was a big common kitchen where each family had its own Primus stove. There was a strong smell of kerosene in the kitchen due to kerosene containers that were kept there. My mother worked for some time after she got married, but she quit her job before I was born and stayed at home afterwards.

I was born in Kiev in April 1936. My mother called me Fira. Actually, this is affectionate for Esphir, but Fira was the name my mother gave me and the name written on my birth certificate.

I remember very little of my childhood before the war. I didn't go to kindergarten. My father often went on business trips, and I recall how happy I was when he returned from his trips. He took me out and bought me ice cream. I don't think my parents were religious. At least, I don't remember any celebrations of Jewish holidays or Sabbath at home. At that time religion was viewed as a thing of the past. Many young people rejected religious traditions and rituals as something outdated and unnecessary. We spoke Russian and celebrated Soviet holidays when my father was home. My mother cooked and we had my father's colleagues over as guests.

Grandfather Itzyk visited us quite often. He was living alone in Gornostaypol at the time. I remember him praying every morning and every evening. He put on his tefillin before saying his prayers. He explained to me what it was. My grandfather also had a tallit. that was like a big white scarf with black stripes and frange on edges. My mother cooked Jewish food when my grandfather visited us: she made gefilte fish, chicken broth with dumplings and baked strudels. My mother told me that she learned how to cook Jewish food from her mother. My grandfather wore a black velvet kippah at home and a black cap to go out. He wore a long black jacket and striped black trousers. He had a small gray beard. My grandfather was short and very vivid. My mother and father spoke Yiddish with him, but he spoke Russian with me. He liked me a lot and called me ketsele [kitty]. My grandfather was an old man, and our neighbors treated him with respect.

I was 5 years old when the war began. I remember that my father and I were planning to go for a walk on the slopes of the Dnepr River that Sunday, but in the morning he told me that it was cancelled. I burst into tears, because I was so unhappy about it. My mother cried, too, and I thought that she was disappointed by not going to the park. Only later did I understand that she was crying because of the war.

My father was released from service in the army because he was a railroad employee. He also received a railroad carriage at his disposal for the evacuation of his family. We all went to evacuation in this carriage at the beginning of July 1941: my mother's brother Samuel, his wife and daughter Bella, my father's fellow worker, his wife and two children, and our family. Uncle Samuel was not subject to recruitment due to his age. Samuel's son, Semyon, was recruited to the army during the first days of the war even though he should have been released from the army because he had one shorter leg and walked with a limp. He perished at the front in the battle for Moscow in 1941. My mother's other brother, Yankel, lived in Baku throughout the war. He was ill and released from service in the army.

We had very little luggage with us. We only took the most necessary clothing, my toys and children's books, my bed linen and a few casseroles. My father told us that we would return home soon. I don't know how it happened that Grandfather Itzyk stayed behind in Gornostaypol. When the town was occupied by the Germans in September 1941 my grandfather went to Kiev on foot. He walked about 100 kilometers. Kiev was already occupied by the Germans. My grandfather didn't find us and was ordered to go to Babi Yar 5 along with many other Jews on 29th September 1941. Wwe heard about this after we returned to Kiev in the fall of 1944.

We didn't know where we were going. I remember the first bombing near Kharkov. The train stopped and we jumped off the train to hide. I saw a German plane flying very low and I thought that the German pilot also saw me. After the bombing we returned to the train. We saw another train at the station. It had been destroyed by the bombing and many dead bodies were lying around it.

Uncle Samuel and his family got off the train at Buzuluk station - his acquaintances were living there. We moved on. The train stopped at Magnitogorsk, Cheliabinsk region [2,500 km from Kiev]. We got off there. All evacuated people settled down in the barracks there. There were two families in each room. The so-called 'rooms' were separated by sheets that served as 'partials'. We lived with my father's co-worker, his wife and children. My father worked at the railway station in Magnitogorsk. At the beginning of 1942 he was recruited to the front. He wrote us a single letter from there. A few months later we received the notification of his death. It said that he perished close to the village of Malyie Krestsy, near Leningrad. Regretfully, I have never been to the place where he was buried.

My mother and I were starving and freezing because we didn't have any winter clothes with us. I stayed inside the room for the whole winter. My mother had to go out to get some food in exchange for ration cards. She had to stand in long lines for hours and hours. I remember her buying a small fur tree on 31st December 1942. Then she went to the store. She came back with a face white as chalk and put a bag of food on the table. She went to bed saying that she was going to stay there and get warm. She never left the bed again. A week later she died of pneumonia.

I was staying with our co-tenants. They took me to the morgue to say farewell to my mother. My mother was lying on a steel table and there was a layer of ice on her face. I could never forget this image. Even after finishing school, when I would have been admitted to Medical College without exams, I recalled my mother's face under ice and realized that I couldn't study there. I wasn't allowed to attend my mother's funeral. She was buried in a common grave. There was not even a sign with the names of those that were buried there.

My mother had asked our co-tenant to write to her brothers. At the beginning of January 1943 Uncle Samuel came to pick me up and take me to Buzuluk. His family became mine. I started school in Buzuluk in 1943. I have no memories about that school. I only remember that I wanted to sing in the choir, but I wasn't admitted because I was too short.

In September 1944 we returned to Kiev. My uncle's apartment was occupied by a 'politzai' [expression used for former fascist menials]. We stayed with one of his acquaintances. My uncle returned to his former job at the tailor shop. He soon managed to get back his apartment, and we moved in there. It was a two-bedroom apartment in a two-storied wooden building in the center of Kiev. It used to be a communal apartment, but later it was refurbished into a two-bedroom apartment. There was gas heating and running cold water. We had a kitchen that had served as a corridor before; it was long and narrow. I lived in this apartment until the house was pulled down a few years ago.

In Kiev I studied in the 2nd grade of a Russian secondary school. I became a Young Octobrist 6 and later a pioneer. I loved dancing and begged my uncle to send me to a ballet school, but one had to pay for it, and he didn't have money to pay for my studies. My uncle didn't adopt me. He was my guardian so I received monthly allowances for my father, who had perished at the front. . My uncle treated me very kindly and supported me with everything I needed.

I was a sociable girl and made friends with almost all my classmates. The teachers and pupils were sympathetic to me. There were quite a few schoolchildren that had lost one parent to the war, but there weren't many that had lost both parents. I had free meals at the school canteen and received clothing and stationery every now and then. Half the pupils in my class were Jewish. There were also Jews among our teachers. I never really faced anti-Semitism in my whole life. Only once did some boys shout 'zhydovka' [kike] at me on my way home from school. I was taken aback but pretended that I hadn't heard them.

My uncle and his wife Rosa celebrated Sabbath and other Jewish traditions. I don't think they managed to follow the kashrut at that time. There was no place to buy kosher products. They never kept meat and dairy products in the same spot though, and there was no pork in our house. I became familiar with Jewish traditions through them. My uncle's wife always wore a shawl or a kerchief, even at home. At Chanukkah children were always given some money, although the family was poor. Every Friday Rosa cooked enough food to last for two days. She always managed to get some fish at the market. She made gefilte fish and baked challah in the oven. We prayed on Friday evenings, then Rosa lit the candles, and we sat down at the table for a festive dinner. My uncle had a tallit and he always wore his little cap and Rosa always wore a shawl.

Saturday wasn't a day off at that time. My uncle went to work in the morning whereas Rosa stayed at home and tried not to do any work. She used to say that her husband had to go to work, but that she had an opportunity to follow God's covenants.

At Pesach my uncle bought matzah at the only operating synagogue in Podol 7. Matzah was expensive; besides, it was rather difficult to get it at Pesach, because there were so many people that wanted matzah for this holiday. There was no bread at home at Pesach. Besides matzah we ate corn porridge on this holiday. Rosa cooked gefilte fish, boiled chicken and chicken broth with corn dumplings. She also made sponge cakes. My uncle conducted the seder, said the prayers and read the Haggadah.

At Purim Rosa always made hamantashen. Uncle Samuel and Aunt Rosa went to the synagogue at Pesach, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. They also prayed at home and they fasted at Yom Kippur. My cousin and I didn't fast. We thought religious holidays to be a thing of the past, but we loved and enjoyed delicious food on holidays and always looked forward to such holidays. My aunt and uncle observed traditions but kept it a secret from their neighbors and acquaintances and told us to remain silent about it. They explained to us that my uncle might have problems at work if they found out about his religious conduct.

At school we celebrated Soviet holidays and the New Year. 1On 1st May and 7th November [October Revolution Day] 8 everyone at school went to the parades and afterwards we gave concerts at school. My uncle and his family didn't celebrate Soviet holidays, but they enjoyed being off work. My cousin and I celebrated Soviet holidays with our friends.

After finishing lower secondary school I had to learn some profession and earn money for my living. I entered the Library Faculty at the College of Culture and Education. There were only girls in my group. Many of them came from villages. Only two of us were Jewish: I and another girl called Tverskaya. She was nice and we became friends. I knew from my uncle that she was Jewish. There was no anti-Semitism as far as I noticed. I got along well with my co-students and had many friends. I studied in college for three years and finished it in 1954.

I became a Komsomol 9 member in college. I was eager to become a Komsomol member. I liked to go to the movies and all the pretty and successful girls in these movies were Komsomol members. I believed that being a Komsomol member would change my life for the better.

I was 17 when Stalin died. I was never interested in politics and felt quite indifferent about his death. Besides, I had an appendicitis surgery at the time that took all my attention.

After finishing college I got a job assignment in the village of Vysokoye, Zhitomir region [200 km from Kiev]. Graduates usually got assignments in distant locations. I became a librarian there, but I had a very small salary - 400 rubles. My mandatory job assignment was to last three years. [This was a standard requirement that was to be followed by all graduates from higher educational institutions]. I rented a room from an old woman and had hardly enough money to make a living. Every now and then my uncle and his wife sent me food parcels. I had to stay in this village for another half year until they found a replacement for me.

I returned to Kiev in 1957, but I couldn't find a job as a librarian there. I couldn't live at my uncle's expenses and thus went to work in a shoe factory. At first I was a laborer at the storage facility, and later I became a laborer at the shop of the factory. I liked my job. The majority of the employees at the factory were Jewish. The director and chief engineer of the factory were also Jews. Of course, there was no anti- Semitism at the factory.

I met my future husband, a Jew by the name of David Kargorodskiy when I returned to Kiev. David was born in Kiev in 1936. Aunt Rosa and David's mother were close friends. David finished the Communication Faculty of the Mining College and got a job assignment in the Ural where he stayed for three years. His mother wanted David to meet a Jewish girl. She met me during one of her visits to Rosa. She liked me and when her son came to Kiev on vacation she introduced us to one another. We began to see each other.

David's mother, Haya Kargorodskaya, was a pensioner when we met. She had worked as a secretary at a plant before. Her husband, Leib Kargorodskiy, worked at the same plant. David's father was a very religious man. He always read the Talmud and the Torah at home, even after the war. He went to the synagogue on holidays. David's mother wasn't quite so religious. They always celebrated Sabbath: David's mother cooked a festive dinner, and they lit candles at home. David's parents celebrated all traditional Jewish holidays: Pesach, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. They often talked in Yiddish, but David was far from being religious.

We got married in 1959. We had a civil wedding and a wedding party afterwards. There were many guests at the wedding. My Uncle Samuel, who was my guardian, received my monthly allowances for my father. He had been putting the money into my bank account, and my wedding was arranged from that money.

After our wedding David had to go back to the Ural where he was working. I quit my job and followed him. David was a communications supervisor. We got a room at the family hostel. I stayed there for a year after which I had to return to Kiev. I had to make sure that I kept my residence permit 10 in Kiev. A few times a year militia authorities sent their representatives to check whether tenants where residing in the apartments they were assigned to. My uncle sent me a telegram notifying me that I had to come back to Kiev in order to keep my permit to live in the apartment. Every member of the family living in one apartment had a stamp in his passport - parents had stamps in their passports for their children - and those stamps served as a residential permit. The authorities strictly checked that people were registered and resided where they were assigned to. So I went back to Kiev and my husband joined me after about a year's time, in 1960.

David's parents lived in one room in a communal apartment with many tenants. My husband and I moved in with my uncle. My cousin Bella was married by that time and lived with her husband. My husband and I were living in the room where my cousin and I had lived before. We got along well with my uncle and aunt. We were a family. Although we were atheists we celebrated both Soviet and Jewish holidays with them because we respected my uncle's religiosity.

My husband got a job at the Giprosviaz Communications Design Institute. More than half of the staff of the institute was Jewish. David had no problems getting this job. I worked at the library. My husband and I didn't feel Jewish. We spoke Russian. I didn't know Yiddish at all, and David could only remember a few words from his childhood. We were an ordinary Soviet family and we felt like Soviet people. We raised our children that way, too. Our daughter, Margarita, was born in 1961 and our son, Igor, followed in 1968. My mother-in-law was helping me to look after Margarita, but as soon as a kindergarten opened near our home I took her there. Igor also went to nursery school and to kindergarten, and I went to work soon after he was born.

My uncle Samuel died in 1962. He was the only member of our family that was buried according to Jewish tradition. Such was his will and we fulfilled it. We buried my uncle at the Jewish cemetery in Berkovtsy [a neighborhood in the outskirts of Kiev]. The former rabbi of the Podol synagogue conducted the funeral. He was also buried in this cemetery when he died. Rosa, who died 6 years after her husband, and David's parents were buried without any rituals.

My mother's brother Yankel visited us in Kiev several times after the war. We corresponded but later he stopped writing. I have no information about him or his wife and only a bit about their children. Yankel's son Naum lived in Kiev after the war. He died before he turned 50. Yankel's daughter Beba got married. She had two children: a daughter called Galina and a son called Edik. After Beba's husband died in 1991 she moved to Germany with her daughter's family. They live there now.

In the early 1970s many Jews were moving to Israel. I wanted to move, too, but my husband was strictly against it. He said he grew up here and wouldn't be able to adjust to life in a capitalist country. I believed that our children would gain a lot by living in Israel and mostly wanted to go for their sake. I tried to convince him but he stood his ground. So we stayed in the USSR.

Neither my husband nor I were members of the Communist Party. In 1973 my husband insisted that I got a job at the Giprosviaz Institute where he was working. I got a job as an assistant secretary there. I made copies, did the typing, purchased new books for the institute and performed other small errands.

Our daughter Margarita finished lower secondary school and entered a medical college. After finishing this college she got a job as a masseur at a clinic. She Margaret got married in 1987. Her husband was a Russian. David and I weren't against their marriage. We had nothing against her Russian husband. We wanted my daughter to be happy. My granddaughter Karina was born in 1991. Unfortunately, Margarita got divorced. Her ex-husband supports her and Karina a lot though. We live with my daughter and granddaughter now. I retired after my granddaughter was born. My husband also retired after working in the institute for 43 years.

My son Igor studied at trade school after finishing secondary school. He became a mechanic and got a job at a vehicle maintenance yard. He was recruited to the army from there in 1987 and returned in 1989 after his service was over. It was difficult for him to find a job when he returned. This was already during the perestroika and unemployment was high. My son married a Ukrainian girl when he returned from the army. Their daughter Natalia was born in 1991. My son had to support his family. He got a job as a laborer. I feel very sorry for him, but this was the only job that he could get. In 1995 Igor's son Sergey was born. My son lives with his wife's family. They have a nice three-bedroom apartment in a new neighborhood in Kiev.

In recent years, after Ukraine gained independence, the life of Jews has changed a lot. There are many Jewish organizations. We get much assistance from Hesed. My husband and I receive food packages. We appreciate this support a lot, especially when considering that we receive such small pensions. We also receive medication from Hesed and other medical services. We often attend lectures or other cultural activities. This is a great opportunity for us to communicate and socialize with others.

I have come closer to the Jewish identity of my family. I study the history of the Jewish people and take much interest in it. My Ukrainian friend took me to her church a few years ago. I've attended the Jewish messianic congregation for several years [the Jews for Jesus congregation]. Jews in our church are converted into Christians. Hesed doesn't acknowledge this community. We are viewed as renegades there.

It has become my road to God though. We don't study the Talmud there, we study the Bible instead. We have a very good pastor. There are over 1,000 people in this community. We often have visiting priests from abroad. I enjoy attending this community. We have services twice a week and I try to attend them all. There's a choir and a dance group. This group is called Glorification. We sing religious Christian and Jewish folk songs. Regretfully, my husband doesn't believe in God. I feel so sorry about it. But I accept and respect his views. Different opinions must not separate people in the family or in this world. I wish politicians would understand that. I start each day with the quotation of a song that we sing in the community: 'God has given us this day to rejoice!'

Glossary

Naum Balan
Odessa
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ludmila Grinshpoon
Date of interview: May 2003

Naum Balan is a tall gray-haired man with a sincere and friendly face. He and his wife Lidia Lieberman live in a two-bedroom apartment. In the living room the furniture is of 1970s style. There are a few landscape paintings on the walls painted by Naum's brother Michael, an artist, and his daughter. Naum is very proud of his brother. Naum had a file of his family that he had made himself displayed on a big table. He has a beautiful sheet with his family tree with over one hundred names in it. Naum became interested in the history of his family in the 1980s. He corresponded with his elderly relatives to get more details, but he didn't get answers to all his questions since many details were gone along with the ones that knew them.

Family background
Growing up
During the war
Post-war
Glossary

Family background

My paternal ancestors came from Mostovoye, Ananiev district, Kherson province. [Editor's note: at the end of the 19th century it was called Liakhovo, Privolnoye.] There were 1,607 residents in Mostovoye and 862 of them were Jews. There was a synagogue, an elementary school, a district hospital and a steam mill in the town. There were a few markets where Jews had their shops. My great-grandfather Naftul Balan was born in 1844. He lived in Mostovoye all his life. He was a cattle dealer. Around 1864 Naftul married Sosia, a Jewish girl, born in 1845. Nobody remembers Sosia's maiden name. My great-grandfather Naftul perished during the Civil War 1, in 1919 when a gang 2 attacked Mostovoye. Bandits broke into the house and one of them cut off my great-grandfather's head when he was praying. My great-grandmother Sosia died in 1924. They had five children: three daughters - Chona, Shyfra and Esther - and two sons - Mosha and Michael. All of them were born in Mostovoye.

My grandfather Michael Balan was born in 1865. He was the first child in the family. He spent his youth in Mostovoye. Michael began to help his father when he was very young. In the late 1880s he married Reiza Bashuk, a Jewish girl from his village. My grandfather was a very business-oriented man. He often went on business to Odessa where he had acquaintances. In the late 1920s my grandfather sold his house in Mostovoye and moved to Beryozovka with my grandmother. They lived with their daughter Lisa. Grandfather often visited my parents in Odessa and Tiraspol. I remember his visits to Tiraspol. He wore traditional dark clothes, a long jacket and boots. He had streaks of gray hair, a beard and a moustache. He always wore a cap with a hard peak. My grandfather was religious. My father said he studied in cheder. I think he had food made specifically for him in our house since we kept a cow and pigs and he wouldn't have eaten pork. I don't remember whether my grandfather went to the synagogue in Tiraspol, but he always prayed at home. I liked to watch my grandfather preparing for praying covering his head with tallit and putting on a small box [the tefillin, on his forehead and hand]. Grandfather Michael died in 1939. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Beryozovka. I don't know whether he had a traditional funeral.

My grandmother Reiza's father, Solomon Bashuk, was born in Mostovoye in the 1840s and died in this town in 1902. That's all I know about him. His wife, my great-grandmother Etl, lived a long life. After her husband died she lived in the family of her daughter Golda Gorokhovskaya in Odessa. She died in 1941. Besides Golda, Reiza had two other sisters: Charna and Eidia.

My grandmother Reiza was born in 1863. She was of average height and was neither slim nor fat. I remember her wearing a kerchief, long skirts and long-sleeved blouses. I believe my grandmother was religious and observed all Jewish traditions, but I never took any interest in it and don't know any details. My grandparents spoke Yiddish. Grandmother Reiza died in Beryozovka on 3rd February 1937. She was buried in the Jewish cemetery. Michael and Reiza Balan had eight children: four boys and four girls. All of them were born in Mostovoye. They studied in a Russian school. My father's brother Abram died in infancy in 1902 and another brother Semyon died at the age of 14 in 1914. Betia, one of my father's sisters, lived in Kaluga where she died in 1978. That's all I know about her.

My father's brother Minia was born in 1897. He lived with his family in Beryozovka before the Great Patriotic War 3. His wife's name was Sonia. They had three children. I don't remember their names. Minia worked in a kolkhoz 4. I don't know what he did. I only remember that he always brought watermelons when he visited us. In July 1941 when the Great Patriotic War began and our family was ready to evacuate from Tiraspol, my father went to Beryzovka to take his brother Minia's family with us. His mother-in-law said, 'Why do we have to leave our home - did we do the Germans any harm? We don't have to leave'. They stayed.

When the Germans came my uncle's family was taken to the camp in Domanevka 5. He saw his wife and children being shot by the Germans. He buried them himself. He would have been shot, too, but Manya, a Jewish medical nurse helped him to escape. They kept wandering in the steppe for a long while and they lived with a Ukrainian family for some time. Uncle Minia knew German and pretended he was a German. When the Germans were retreating somebody reported to them that Minia was a Jew. They arrested and beat him so hard that his leg got fractured. It didn't knit properly and Uncle Minia was lame for the rest of his life. The Germans were in a hurry. This saved his life. After the war Uncle Minia and Manya got married. They lived in Beryozovka. My uncle continued his work in a kolkhoz. They had two sons: Senia and Alik. When their sons grew up they moved to Odessa were they worked as meat cutters at Privoz market. Uncle Minia died in Odessa, where he lived with his older son, in 1962. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery. Both sons and their families moved to Germany in the early 1990s. Senia has already passed away; Alik lives in Berlin.

Lisa, my father's sister, was born in Mostovoye in 1902. She married Moisey Rosenblatt, a local Jew. They had three children: Gedaliye, Emma and Anna. Before the war they lived in Beryozovka. When the Great Patriotic War began Uncle Moisey and Gedaliye went to the army and Aunt Lisa and her daughters were in evacuation with us. After the war they returned to Tiraspol with us. Gedaliye perished and Uncle Moisey returned home after the war. He had many awards. He worked as an accountant after the war. He died in the 1970s. Emma graduated from a pedagogical college. She was very sickly. She has already passed away. Anna, the younger sister, graduated from a technical college and worked at the wine and cognac factory in Kishinev. She doesn't work any more now. She lives in Kishinev with her husband, and their only daughter lives in Canada with her husband. Aunt Lisa died in Tiraspol in 1993.

As for my father's other sisters, Polia and Esther, all I know about them is that Polia was born in 1904, lived in Mostovoye, was married, had children and perished along with her children during an air raid in 1941. Esther was born in 1906 and lived with her husband and children in Odessa. They all perished in 1941.

My father Mark Balan, the oldest of the siblings, was born in 1890. I don't know whether my father was raised religiously, but from what I recall, he observed no Jewish tradition. After finishing a four-year elementary school, at the age of 12 my father began to work to help his father support the family since the situation was hard. They worked for their landlord Engelgardt purchasing cattle for him. Every now and then they got into trouble. Once some bandits attacked them, took away the cattle and locked them in a hut in the woods. They managed to escape from there.

When World War I began in 1914 my father was recruited to the army. He was almost 24 years old. He served in the rear in Simferopol first. He told me that one of his duties was to stand on sentinel stock-still for two hours. If his sergeant major noticed him stir, he started his countdown anew. Later my father went to the front. He was in the army of General Brusilov. [Editor's note: ?. ?. Brusilov (1853-1926): well-known Russian and Soviet commander. During WWI he was the commander of the Southwestern front. In 1916 he was in command of a successful attack of the Russian army known as Brusilov breakthrough. From May-July 1917 he was a Supreme Commander-in- Chief and between 1920-1924 he served in the Red army.] Once his regiment had to lie in hiding under the enemy's fire. My father and his fellow comrade were ordered to fetch some water. On their way back his companion was killed and my father was wounded in the neck. He was sent to a hospital in Kiev. This happened in 1916. After he recovered he returned to Mostovoye. My father never told me what he did for a living there.

My maternal great-grandfather Avrum-Itzhak Korsunski was born into a very poor family in the town of Novoukrainka, Elisavetgrad district, Kherson region, in 1818. My great-grandfather was raised in his aunt's family who also had twelve children of their own. When he turned 20 he decided to leave the family and live on his own. He had to work hard to make his living. When the Crimean War [1853-1856] began he was recruited to the army. His regiment was in Sevastopol. After the war Avrum-Itzhak purchased a small grocery store in Novoukrainka and married Getia, a local Jewish girl. I don't know my great-grandmother's maiden name. My mother didn't know the date of her death either.

My mother often talked about her paternal grandfather Avrum-Itzhak. He was a strong man with big hands and a large nose. My mother used to say, 'Azoy vi a kartoshke' [it looked like a potato in Yiddish]. My great-grandfather Avrum-Itzhak liked drinking and his nose was always of purple color. He lived in Novoukrainka separately from his children. When my mother brought him borsch or other food, when she was a girl, he always heated it on his Primus stove: he liked his borsch or tea very hot. He loved my mother and always had a small gift for her when she came to see him. My great- grandfather was tall and big; he had an upright posture and walked a lot. He rarely took his stick with him. Even in his old age, he had strong teeth and a clear sight. When somebody complained of a toothache, he used to comment that it was hard to imagine that a bone could ache. He read without glasses. He was a self-educated man. He read Russian newspapers and was interested in politics. My great-grandfather died in 1921: he was sitting in an armchair when they found him dead in the morning. He died at the age of 103. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Novoukrainka. My great- grandfather had only one son named Gersh.

My grandfather Gersh Korsunski's date of birth is unknown. Most likely, he was born in Novoukrainka in the early 1860s. He studied in cheder. He helped his father in the grocery store and later went to work at the mill owned by Varshavski, a local Jew. Later my grandfather bought a mill in Novoukrainka. In 1887 he married Leya Lev who came from the town of Bobrinets, Elisavetgrad district, Kherson region. My grandmother's father Tonchen Lev was born in 1822. I guess he was born in Bobrinets, too. He died there in 1912. My grandmother's mother's name was Pesia. I don't know the dates of her birth or death. My grandmother had one brother, Shlomo, and six sisters: Tsetl, Zlata, Mariam, Basheiva, Shyfra and another sister whose name nobody remembers. They were born in Bobrinets. My grandmother was born in 1870.

After they got married my grandparents lived in their own house in Novoukrainka. I don't remember this house. My parents and I went to Novoukrainka, but I was too small to remember any details. My mother told me that my grandparents were very religious. They strictly followed the kashrut and had their poultry slaughtered by a shochet. Their four children were raised religiously. They observed the Jewish traditions and rituals. They spoke Yiddish in the family. They were wealthy. My mother's brother and sisters studied in a grammar school. My mother told me that in 1919, during the Civil War, a gang came to Novoukrainka and broke into their house. Bandits demanded horses from my grandfather. Horses were of great value for villagers and my grandfather refused to give them any. One of the bandits grabbed his sable, but my grandmother began to scream and they didn't do my grandfather any harm. In 1922, after the Civil War, Soviet authorities arrested my grandfather for some reason. Grandfather Gersh never returned home and we don't know how he died. The authorities didn't offer any explanation of what had happened.

After my grandfather was arrested and gone, my grandmother Leya lived in Novoukrainka alone as all her children had left their parents' home by then. In 1934 the older children, Godia and Sonia, convinced her to move to Australia where they lived. She lived in her son Godia's house. In 1936 my grandmother died accidentally: she drowned in the bathroom. She probably felt ill, but there was nobody around and she drowned. This happened when she was visiting her daughter Sonia. Grandmother Leya was buried in Perth, Australia. For many years Uncle Godia couldn't forgive his sister Sonia that their mother died in her house. They made it up only two years before Sonia died.

Godia, the oldest in the family, was born in 1888. In 1908 he moved to Nikolaev from Novoukrainka and became a shop assistant. My uncle was a caring son and brother; he often wrote letters and sent gifts to his family. The owner of the store valued him highly and put all his trust in him. The owner offered him his support if he wanted to open a store of his own, but my uncle decided to move to Australia in 1913. He had a hard life in Australia: he was a laborer and worked in stores, but gradually he came to standing firmly on the ground. He owned a hotel and purchased a shell- rock mine. He married a Jewish girl, but she died when she was young. They didn't have any children.

Uncle Godia often traveled to Israel for charity purposes: he built a school and supported children's institutions. He wanted to visit us, but my father was summoned to the KGB 6 office where they told him to write his brother that he couldn't receive him on any plausible excuse: refurbishment in the apartment or something like that. My mother missed her brother a lot. She said she would recognize him among a thousand people. Finally, Uncle Godia arrived in Odessa in 1963. He stayed in Londonski hotel on Primorski Boulevard. My parents and I went to see him in Odessa since he wasn't allowed to travel to Tiraspol where we lived. Uncle Godia wanted our family to move to Australia, but my father didn't agree to this. After my father died Uncle Godia invited my mother to visit him in Australia, but she didn't dare to travel that far. Uncle Godia died in Perth in 1971. His nephews in Australia inherited his money. My cousin Rachel contributed some money to charity in Israel in the memory of my uncle.

Rachel's mother was my mother's older sister Sonia, born in 1897. As a child Sonia was smart and had an inquiring mind. She studied well, but was a naughty girl. My mother told me a story: during the Civil War some bandits were staying in my grandfather's home. There was a redhead among them who had a remarkable appetite. When their senior ordered Grandmother Leya to make vareniki [dumplings with filling] Sonia made a big varenik filling it with wheat wastes and put it on top of others on a dish hoping that the redhead would grab it. He did and got very angry when he found out that there was something wrong with the filling. Grandmother Leya was horrified, but Sonia just burst into laughter. All of a sudden other bandits began laughing, too, and the redhead laughed with them.

Sonia got married in the early 1920s. I think her husband's surname was Katel. Sonia's son Abram was born in 1923, and in 1924 Sonia moved to her older brother Godia in Australia. I don't know what happened to her first husband.

In Australia Sonia married Yakov Roshanski, a Jewish man who came from Bessarabia 7. They had two sons: Harry and Tony, and two daughters: Rachel and Liya. Liya was named after her grandmother. I saw my aunt Sonia in 1976 for the first time when she came to Kishinev on a visit with her husband. Sonia was a slim woman who looked young for her age. She died in Perth in 1989. Her son Abram visited the USSR in 1990. He wanted to find his father. We met and spoke Yiddish. I correspond with Liya. I don't know whether my relatives in Australia observe Jewish traditions, but Liya always sends me greetings on all Jewish holidays.

My mother had another sister, Rosa, born in 1895. She told me that Rosa attended a Marxist club. She died of twisted bowels in Nikolaev in 1914. Grandmother Leya also adopted a boy that had problems in his own family. His name was Veniamin. He took my grandfather's last name. He went to the front during World War I and never came back to my grandmother's home. Somebody saw him in Odessa after the war. In the 1960s our relatives mentioned to us that there was a Veniamin Korsunski who lived in Leningrad. I visited him when I went to Leningrad on business. They received me well, but that man told me that he wasn't the one I was looking for. My mother believed that he didn't want to acknowledge that he was a Jew since he hadn't told his wife that he was one. He was Russian, he said. I didn't find him looking like a Jew, anyway.

My mother Fira Korsunskaya was born in Novoukrainka in 1902. My mother enjoyed recalling her childhood. She was a healthy and cheerful girl. She was the favorite in her family and of their neighbors. She was her older brother's pet; Godia always gave her gifts. My mother told me that she always fought with street boys who teased her calling her names. They called her: 'zhydovochka - a Jewish girl [abusive] - Rukhlia died on a stove bench and other zhydy [kikes] came to her funeral...' I don't remember the rest of it. Those boys always threw stones into a bucket of water when she was carrying one. She ran after them to beat the obnoxious boys. She could always stand for herself. Her sense of humor never failed her and she was always cheerful.

My mother finished seven years of grammar school in Voznesensk. She studied well in grammar school, had an inquiring mind and was hardworking. My mother was fond of literature: she remembered poems that she learned in grammar school and often recited them to us. We liked listening to her. My mother was good at mathematics. When my brother Michael had problems doing his homework my mother helped him. She knew the Bible well and told us stories from the Bible. She wanted to become a doctor when she was a child. To enter a medical college women had to finish a school for medical nurses. My mother entered a school for medical nurses in Voznesensk in 1916. After finishing this school in 1918 she was sent to work in a hospital in Mostovoye where she met my father. My mother told me that my father made up any excuse to come to see her in the hospital: his leg hurt or he bruised his finger or something the like.

Growing up

My parents got married in Mostovoye in 1919. I don't know what kind of wedding they had, but knowing my grandfather Michael's religiosity, I would think they had a traditional Jewish wedding. After the wedding the newly- weds spent some time with my mother's parents in Novoukrainka. Grandmother Leya made my mother a very valuable wedding gift: a feather mattress that my mother kept until she died. After a few months, in 1920, the newly-weds moved to Odessa. At first they lived on Chicherin Street in the center of the town, but it turned out to be very cold and they moved to another apartment in Nezhynskaya Street in the same part of the town. My mother told me that my father and another Jewish man named Reznik kept a few cows in the stables in a beautiful building in the backyard of Gaevski pharmacy in Odessa. There was no pasture since the stables were in the center of the town, but it was a profitable business. They supplied fresh milk to residents of the town. In the late 1920s they closed this business. Perhaps, it was due to the end of the NEP 8.

Their son Adam was born in Odessa in 1920. He only lived a few months. The next was my brother Nathan, born in 1922. He was named after our great- grandfather Naftul. My brother Abram was born in 1925 and I followed in 1928. I looked like a girl so much that my mother called me 'meydele' [little girl in Yiddish]. In 1929 my parents moved to Tiraspol where life was not so expensive. My brother Aron was born there in 1930. He died of scarlet fever when he was one and a half years old. The doctors couldn't determine the right diagnosis.

In Tiraspol our parents rented a wing of a house at first. Their landlord's name was Bogaty [rich in Russian]. It was a small house with a kitchen and two small rooms - 50 square meters altogether. The living room was a little dark. There was a long old table covered with a tablecloth - my mother liked tablecloths - and five chairs. There were two wardrobes and a couch that served as a bed for Nathan and me. There was another bed for Abram. The other room was our parents' bedroom. There were two beds and a sideboard between them in the room. The rooms were heated with a stove. There was a table and a stove in the kitchen. My paternal grandfather Michael liked to pray in the kitchen - nobody knows why - when he and Grandmother Reiza were visiting us. We were the only Jewish family of many families living in the neighboring house, but we got along well with all other tenants and never had any problems.

There was a long basement that once connected a house and the shop of the landlord of the house. We, the boys used to go to this basement. There was old furniture, children's prams and other junk there. I found an old gun that was dropped there during the Civil War. My mother was a monitor of the yard. We had skittles, chess, checkers and other games in a sideboard in the hallway and all children in the yard could take them to play, but then they had to return the games where they belonged.

Around 1935, when they sold the house in Novoukrainka that my mother had inherited from Grandmother Leya, my parents managed to buy a house in Tiraspol. My mother always dreamed of a house of her own. There were three rooms, a hallway and a kitchen in the house. There was a small orchard in the backyard: there were apple trees, a cherry tree, an apricot and a plum tree that is still there. Branches of our neighbor's walnut tree hanged over the fence into our garden. I was responsible for our kitchen garden. I grew radish, onions and other vegetables on a small plot between the house and the fence. I designed and made a system of irrigation and planted bushes and flowers. There was a shed and a deep cellar in the yard. During the war we found shelter in this cellar. We kept a cow and two pigs in the shed. Although my grandfather Michael was very religious I don't remember him mentioning anything about pigs to my parents. There was also a chicken- coop in the yard where we kept chickens and ducks. We also stored wood and coal in the shed. There was a small pergola in the yard.

My father was a worker at the wood cutting factory in Tiraspol, and later he worked as a meat cutter at a market. My mother worked as a nurse in the town hospital for a short while, but then quit since she had a lot of work to do about the house and with the livestock. My mother put all her time and effort into the house and the children and my father worked to provide for the family. We spoke Yiddish in the family. My father wasn't religious. I don't remember him ever going to the synagogue while my mother always knew when there was a holiday. She told us the history of each holiday and cooked special food. I regret that I didn't listen to her as I should have and took little interest in all this. But I remember that we always had matzah for Pesach. My mother cooked fish, chicken broth and other delicacies. Before Pesach she took chickens to the shochet to have them slaughtered.

My older brother Nathan was good at drawing and liked photography. He attended a club of photographers at the town's Palace of Pioneers. I sometimes joined him to go there. Nathan and I had much in common and were very much alike. We were both dark-haired and dark-eyed while our middle brother Abram had red hair. He didn't have any hobbies, but he studied well. When I grew older I began to attend a drawing club in the Palace of Pioneers where I learned to play the mandolin and balalaika. I also attended an aviation-modeling club. Nathan went to a Jewish elementary school, but he didn't like it there and left it for a Russian school, which was the best school in town. Nathan studied well and was a Komsomol 9 activist.

In 1935 I went to the elementary school located not far from where we lived. It was a one-storied cobble-stone building. My first teacher, Sophia Yakovlevna, was a Jew. I studied well, but due to my misconduct Sophia Yakovlevna sometimes told me to leave the classroom. Once I made her so angry that she grabbed me by my collar and pulled me to the door along with my desk. My bag fell on the floor and my apple and slice of bread with butter and jam, which my mother had given me, rolled onto the floor. Sophia Yakovlevna kept pulling me telling me to send my mother to school. My mother had to go to school to talk with the teacher. However, I finished elementary school and always kept good relationships with Sophia Yakovlevna. I was very happy that she survived the occupation during the war. She failed to evacuate and stayed in Tiraspol.

When I went to secondary school I became a pioneer. I had all excellent marks at school. After finishing the 5th grade my schoolmates and I went on tour to Odessa. We walked in the town and went to museums. I also remember spending vacations in a pioneer camp at the seashore.

Tiraspol was a small town. There was a musical and drama theater in the town. My mother liked going to the theater. She often took me there. She liked Natalka-Poltavka [an opera by a famous Ukrainian composer Nikolai Lysenko] 10 and Zaporozhets za Dunaem [Dnieper Cossack Beyond the Danube - an opera by famous Ukrainian 19th century composer Semyon Gulak- Artemovski]. My parents often visited their relatives in Kirovograd, Bobrinets and Novoukrainka. I remember a trip to Kirovograd when we went to pay a visit to some of my mother's relatives. We went there by train and attended a birthday party of the son of one of our relative's. I remember that the food was delicious.

When Bessarabia became a part of the USSR in 1939 a special border patrol unit was organized at my brother's Nathan school. Senior pupils were to patrol the bank of the river with frontier men to prevent spies from crossing the border. We, boys, were also on guard. Once we saw a suspicious man, and we asked him to show his documents. He couldn't run away since there were people around. Some pedestrians joined us. This man didn't have any documents and we took him to a militia office. There were many such incidents.

During the war

I remember 22nd June 1941 - the beginning of the Great Patriotic War. My father was an early riser. He was the first to hear explosions: a bridge across the Dnestr River between Tiraspol and Bendery was bombed. My father woke us up and we went to hide in the cellar. The front was nearby and we prepared to go into evacuation. My father obtained documents for our departure and got horses. He went somewhere with Abram at night, probably to an office, to make final arrangements. For us to get packed my mother put a kerosene lamp on the floor. The light came through between the front door and the threshold, and two patrol soldiers saw it from the outside and came into the house. One of them said that my mother was signaling to the Germans and that she should be shot. Another soldier argued in response saying that she didn't do it on purpose. The first soldier wanted to take my mother with them. We were scared. Nathan and I got up and began to scream. My father came home soon and we managed to protect my mother.

We evacuated on horse-drawn carts. We picked up my father's sister Lisa and her children in Beryozovka. The family of my father's brother Minia refused to join us. We stopped in various towns. Once near Nikolaev I was wounded in my leg during an air raid. We reached the village of Nizhne-Chirskaya in Stalingrad region and stayed to spend a winter there. My father worked in the kolkhoz named after Stalin. He was a cattle breeder and we worked in the field. My older brother Nathan was recruited to the army in December 1941. In his letters he wrote about how they marched to Stalingrad - they had to cover a distance of about 100 kilometers - and how they stayed in a school building. Later he wrote from the front. Nathan disappeared in 1943. We don't know where or how it happened. In February 1942 my younger brother Michael was born in Nizhne-Terskaya.

When the Germans began their offensive near Rostov in summer 1942, we - I, my mother, my three brothers, Aunt Lisa and her two daughters - moved on with the kolkhoz cattle. We traveled on horse-drawn carts. Germans often bombed and fired at our group. I saw carts blowing up and people dying. German pilots pursued every person. I don't know how we survived. At the crossing on the Volga - I guess it was called Krasny Yar - there were military men crowding waiting for their turn to cross the river. The Germans bombed this crossing a lot. Soldiers found shelter in shell holes. We also looked for any hiding place we could find. We didn't unharness our horses since we didn't know when we might get a chance to get across the Volga on a pontoon.

My brother Michael was only six months old. My mother and he were hiding under the cart and my mother shielded him with her body to protect him from bullets. At night the Germans fired with tracer bullets that shone in the dark. In the daytime the sky was dark from avalanches of German planes that made a specific howling sound. There was a small church not far from the crossing where a military unit stayed. Many bombshells hit this church killing many military. I watched these bombshells falling down: there was hardly any fear left since we got used to firing. My father helped with fixing the crossing. They made a small landing stage and then the crossing began. Our cart was about to board the pontoon, but something delayed us and another cart boarded before we did. The pontoon moved, but we stayed back. We couldn't move backward since there were other carts jamming. When this pontoon was in the middle of the river it bumped into a mine. It exploded and sank and we stood there looking. We crossed the river on another pontoon. When we got to the opposite side another bombing began. The first cart turned over when trying to get on the bank. It took some time to get the horses onto the bank so that we could move on. We hid in a forest and watched the bombing from there. We saw big splashes of water created by the explosions.

We finally got to Palasovka, a railway station on the border with Kazakhstan, where we got on a freight train. Somebody stole some of our luggage at the station and we had little left. We were given bread on the train and a hot meal at the stops. I remember millet soup, however thin, but hot and tasty. We arrived in Karaganda [2,000 km from Odessa]. There were one and two-storied buildings with stone foundations and wooden structures in the town. There were barracks for workers from other locations near the railway station. There were lots of robberies and murders in Karaganda during the war.

In evacuation, people were supposed to find accommodation by themselves. We stayed in an earth house for two years. There was so much snow in winter that it was rather warm in the earth house. There were frequent snowstorms. Once there was so much snow that my father could hardly manage to get outside to shovel snow. After two years we moved to an apartment in a private house. Another family lived there. We stayed in this apartment until August 1945.

My father went to work at the meat factory. He was the head of a cattle supply department. Our life wasn't too bad. My father brought home some leftovers from the factory. We went to buy bread in Kustanai region where it was less expensive. My mother did the housework and looked after Michael. I went to the 7th grade at school. The school was big and there were wooden floors. There were children of various nationalities. I studied well. I became a Komsomol member in this school. Several times some boys called me 'zhyd' [kike] in the streets, but I fought back. Once, a boy hit me with his skates. This happened during a snowstorm in winter and I was caught unawares. There were two of them that came unexpectedly out of the blizzard saying, 'Ah, zhyd!' Well, there was some fighting, but when injured I had to run home. My mother got so worried when she saw blood dripping from the wound. I told her that I had had a fight. Basically, besides some minor episodes of this childish fighting I wasn't suppressed or persecuted in all those years.

My brother Abram finished secondary school in Karaganda and went to the army in 1943. When he received a subpoena to the military registry office he got an offer to go to work at a military plant where employees were released from service in the army, but Abram said he wanted to beat fascists like his older brother Nathan did. He went to the front. First he was sent to the town of Kushka [Turkmenistan] in the very south of the former USSR. My brother took a six-month training there: they trained horses to transport ordinance at the front. After he finished his training he went to the front. In 1944 my father received a notification that his son perished in Sumskaya region in January, but this happened to be false information. Abram was severely wounded in his face and got to a hospital in Leningrad. He was in the department of facial surgery. He recovered and went back to the front. He perished in the village of Parichi near Svetlogorsk in Gomel region at the end of 1944.

In February 1945 my father was ordered to go to the Ministry of Meat and Dairy Industry in Moscow. He received an assignment to join a military unit in Berlin. This was how he came to Berlin with Soviet troops. He was the supervisor of the cattle supply base of the Berlin meat factory for over a month. In summer 1945 he was released from his assignment due to his health condition. He was 54 years old.

On 9th May 1945 [Victory Day] 11 when we heard an announcement about the victory on the radio all residents of Karaganda rejoiced. There were so many people and enterprises in evacuation. We all dreamed of going back home. We waited until my father came to pick us up in late August. We went to Tiraspol from Karaganda via Moscow. This was my first time in Moscow. In the square in front of Kievskiy railway station [a railway from where trains to Ukraine and Moldova depart] where we were to board a train, I saw a staircase going down, and many people were going downstairs. I wondered where they were going and followed them. It turned out to be the metro. At that moment boarding on our train was announced and my father began looking for me. He was very scared when he didn't see me around, and he gave me quite a 'what the dickens' when I got back. I kept looking at Moscow from the train window. It was very interesting.

Post-war

We came to Tiraspol and found out that three other families lived in our house. During the war Romanian soldiers kept horses in our house. They bit on the barks of our fruit trees in the yard. There was a mess in the house: there were partials installed, plaster damaged and floors scratched. Our neighbors took our belongings. It took us a while to have these families move out; the town council helped us. After the war my father worked at the market. He was a foreman of the meat department. I went to the 10th grade at school. I also continued photography. I took my younger brother Michael to his teacher of music. He learned to play the violin. He was five years old then.

After finishing school in 1946 I entered the Electrotechnical Faculty of Odessa Communications College. I lived in a hostel and received a stipend, but this wasn't enough for a living and my parents supported me. Students also worked as loaders in the harbor to earn some money for a living. 1946- 47 were hard years. We tried to get up late in the morning so that we could have lunch at 12, because we usually didn't have any breakfast. We were given food coupons for a hot lunch at the canteen. After classes we bought a half-liter jar of corn flour at the market to make mamaliga [corn flour pudding] with shmaltz [melted pork fat] in the evening. We lived on the second floor and there were dancing parties on the first floor in the evening. We managed to drop by there to dance a little while mamaliga was being cooked. We didn't care about nationality at that time. There were no conflicts or anti-Semitism whatsoever in the college. I had friends in college and also visited my father's acquaintance and companion Reznik. His daughter Rita introduced me to Lidia Lieberman, a student of medical school, who was to become my wife many years later.

I finished Odessa Communications College in 1951. I studied well and got a [mandatory] job assignment 12 at a design institute in Kiev. But I liked practical work and chose to go to Kustanai in Kazakhstan [2,500 km from Odessa], where I was appointed as chief communications engineer. My parents gave me a pillow, a blanket and a box to store my clothing. I sent my luggage to Kustanai and went to the town via Moscow where I got an invitation to the Ministry of Communications. The deputy minister had a meeting with me. He said that I was to become the director of the communications office in Kustanai since my predecessor had been fired. Later I got to know that he had lost his job for criticizing comments regarding the Soviet regime in a discussion with friends. One of those friends sent a letter with this information to the KGB.

I even received a house when I arrived as my management thought that I was bringing my family with me. It was an old one-storied house where a cleaning woman and her daughter lived. I occupied only one room there and this woman was very grateful to me for this. I met Alexandr Lazerson at work. He came from Leningrad and worked there at the telephone station. His wife Maria worked there as telephone operator. In 1937 [during the Great Terror] 13 Alexandr's brother was arrested and disappeared. There was no court hearing or investigation. Alexandr and his family were allowed 24 hours to pack and leave the town. Alexandr was sent into exile to Kustanai and his wife and daughter were sent to another town. It took them a few years to get a permit to live together. They were very decent and friendly people. We were friends. Maria offered me to come to lunch every day and I took them to the theater and cinema to return the favor. There was a nice drama theater in Kustanai and a wonderful actor whose name I don't remember. He was admired in the town and we went to see performances where he took part with great pleasure.

When Stalin died in 1953 we were given red-and-black armbands. People looked preoccupied. Many cried. There were no loud discussions or laughter heard. People were asking each other how we were going to live without Stalin. Shortly after Stalin died Alexandr Lazerson was rehabilitated [Rehabilitation in the Soviet Union] 14, but his family stayed in Kustanai. Alexandr was like a father to me. In 1982 I went to see Alexandr Lazerson in Kustanai. He was dying. We talked and he said he had been waiting for me and now that he had seen me he could 'leave'. I still keep in touch with his daughter Galia.

In the early 1950s I went to work as a chief engineer at the telephone station and received a room in a two-bedroom apartment in the center of the town. My neighbor tenant had tuberculosis and I believe I contracted it from her. It was diagnosed in 1953. The doctors told me that I had to go to hospital; my lungs were affected and it was a disseminating process. I underwent treatment: pneumothorax and medications. They sent me to Borovoye recreation center in Kokchetav region, and I went there for the second time in 1954. I met Elena Mazdorova, a Russian woman there. She also had tuberculosis and was getting treatment in that same recreation center.

Elena was born in the town of Mamonovo in Altay in 1931. When we got well we got married in 1956. Elena moved to Kustanai. My parents had no objections against my marriage since I just informed them de facto. When Elena and I went to see them they liked her. Elena finished Kustanai Pedagogical College. She was a teacher of Russian literature and language in a school in Kustanai. After I got married I got the second room in the apartment. Thus, Elena and I lived in a two-bedroom apartment by ourselves. There was running water in the apartment but no other comforts. Later I promoted the installation of bathtubs in apartments. In 1959 I bought my first TV, brand of Record, as I worked in the communications field. TV sets were rare at that time and our neighbors came to watch TV with us. There were first refrigerators sold in Kustanai, but they were very expensive. An acquaintance of mine helped me to get a Soviet refrigerator ZIL-Moscow.

Our son was born in Kustanai in 1963. We named him Igor. My wife and I agreed that for our son to avoid any problems in the future he would have her last name and his nationality would be Russian. I didn't face any anti- Semitism personally, but after the Doctors' Plot' 15 in the 1950s state anti-Semitism was very strong.

My parents lived in Tiraspol. My brother Michael studied at school. He was the only child who stayed with our parents and they spoiled him a lot. Michael was fond of drawing and collecting postage stamps since he was five. I sent him his first stamps from Kustanai. When he grew up he became a member of the philatelic society of the USSR. He had a big collection of stamps. In 1962 Michael finished school and went to the army.

I was a success at my workplace in Kustanai. I became a recognized person in the town. I was offered a responsible job in Alma-Ata, the capital of Kazakhstan, but my parents were getting older and my mother wrote me that I had abandoned them. I finally made a decision, and in 1963 I moved to Tiraspol with my wife and son. We lived with my parents. My wife stayed at home looking after Igor. I couldn't find a job for quite a while. The Ministry of Communications of Moldova promised me a job, but they couldn't give me an apartment. I worked as a technician in a construction trust and then in the laboratory of the tinned food factory. In 1965 we moved to Kishinev where I got a job as an electrical engineer at Kishinev University. My wife worked at school. We lived in a room in a hostel until I received a nice two-bedroom apartment in a new district of Kishinev in 1968. We completed repairs: whitewashed the walls and painted the kitchen with oil paint. We bought a Moldavian set of furniture: a cupboard, a sofa, a dinner-table, chairs and a low table. Moldavian furniture was of good quality. We bought Romanian beds with good mattresses for our bedroom.

My father died at the age of almost 75 in 1965. He worked as a meat cutter at the market and got up early in the morning. On that day he got up as usual. My mother said goodbye as usual. When leaving he said 'good day' to her as usual and she replied, 'Gey in gezinterheit' [have a nice trip in Yiddish]. It was an early morning in April. There was ice on the road. My father fell and hit his head, but he stayed to wait for the bus to get to work. He worked all day, but when he came home he complained that he had a headache. My mother called an ambulance and sent me a telegram. I came immediately. The doctors couldn't help him. He died. We buried him in accordance with the Jewish tradition: I remember him lying on the floor wrapped in a shroud. We buried him in a coffin in the Jewish cemetery in Tiraspol.

My brother Michael got married in 1966. His wife Marina had a Jewish father and a Ukrainian mother. Michael and his wife had two daughters: Ludmila and Tatiana. My brother and his family lived in our parents' house. My mother didn't get along with my brother's wife and my brother felt sandwiched between them sometimes. Michael was a design artist in Tiraspol: he designed the interior for exhibitions, painted pictures and portraits. He worked in his shop. My brother became a well-known artist in Moldova. He took part in many art exhibitions and became a member of the Union of Artists of Moldova. His daughter Tatiana followed into his footsteps and finished the Art Graphic Faculty of Tiraspol Pedagogical College of Moldova. His daughter Ludmila finished construction college. They are both married.

After my father died, my mother's brother Godia from Australia continuously asked my mother to move to Australia. He said that he would send a medical nurse to accompany her since she wasn't feeling well. He invited her to come and look around and then my brother and I would follow her. However, I was a patriot of my motherland and I had no doubts about my decision: of course, I wasn't going to leave my country. After my father died my mother felt ill all the time. She lived a hard life: she lost two children, my brothers, and two sons that perished during the Great Patriotic War. But she never gave up: she cooked and even went shopping to the market a month before she fell so ill that she had to stay in bed. My mother died in 1976. She was buried near my father in the cemetery.

My family life wasn't perfect. In 1972 I left my family and moved to the town of Soroki where I worked at the construction of the water supply pipeline Soroki-Beltsy. I was senior engineer in a construction company and later I became head of the industrial technical department. I received a room with electrical heating, electricity and running water. In 1975 my wife and I divorced officially. I received a one-bedroom apartment with all comforts in Soroki. I left our apartment in Kishinev to my ex-wife and son. There was a drama theater and a cinema theater in Soroki so I didn't get bored. In 1981 my acquaintances reminded me about Lidia Lieberman that used to be a friend of mine in Odessa. By that time she had also divorced her husband. Lidia lived in Odessa and worked as a lab assistant in the pathologoanatomic department of the regional hospital. I wrote her a letter and then went to see her. We resumed our relationships. Lidia came to see me in Soroki and I often visited her in Odessa.

In the early 1990s I began to attend the Jewish community in Soroki. The community regained a building of the former synagogue. There weren't many Jews in the community, but we had beautiful celebrations of holidays there.

I often traveled to Kishinev where I met with my son Igor. Igor also came to see me in Soroki. Igor went to the army after finishing school. He returned from the army and got a job at a scientific research institute. He was a locksmith in the laboratory. He had 'hands of gold'. Igor married a girl from a Ukrainian and Moldavian family in 1986. Her name was Tania. I didn't have any objections; love is what matters. They have twin girls: Alina and Oksana. Igor's wife was a painter. They received a nice three- bedroom apartment in the suburb of Kishinev. My granddaughters went to work after finishing nine years of secondary school.

When perestroika 16 began I believed in Mikhail Gorbachev 17. I thought life was improving, but it wasn't quite so. In 1991 the USSR fell apart. I happened to be living in one country and Lidia in another. Perestroika developed a problem with the Russian language: even Moldavians that had spoken Russian before began to communicate in Moldavian. Russian speaking residents were looked at as if they were foreigners. Many people left Moldova for Ukraine or Russia.

Lidia and I decided to live together in 1995. I moved to Odessa. I had to have my documents changed. Moldavian officials were helpful and so were officials in Odessa, especially when I told them that I came from Odessa. Lidia lived in a communal apartment 18 in the center of the town. After her aunt died she inherited a one-bedroom apartment in Cheryomushki [a new district in Odessa]. We exchanged these two apartments and settled down in a new two-bedroom apartment with a balcony and all comforts in a new district of the town. Our apartment is on the second floor. It's very convenient for us since there is no elevator in the house and we are in no condition to walk higher upstairs. My son Igor often comes to see us here in Odessa. We support him. In my time, children supported their parents, but now things are different.

In the late 1990s my brother Michael, his daughters and their families moved to Germany. They live in the very picturesque area of Turingia: a distric in Darmstadt. Michael and his daughter Tania draw a lot. Michael has been exhibiting his works in Jewish communities in many towns.

I go to the main synagogue in Odessa on holidays when my health condition allows it. I don't pray since I don't know any prayers.

I identify myself as a Jew and wish all Jews to have a good life. I'm interested in everything about Jews and Israel. I knew about the establishment of Israel in 1948, but we didn't get any information about the country at that time. Israel is the life and the capital of all Jews in the world. In 1948 Israel won the war for independence, and I was glad they could stand for themselves since I heard people say more than once that Jews were no soldiers whatsoever. All my relatives, all our men were at the front during the Great Patriotic War and two of my brothers perished during the war.

The Gmilus Hesed Jewish Charity Center, established in 1992, provides assistance to Lidia and me. There is an aid visiting us. She brings us food and cleans our apartment. We receive food packages and medications. Whenever I can I attend events at Gmilus Hesed.

Glossary

Eva Meislová

Praha
Česká republika
Rozhovor pořídila: Pavla Neuner
Období vzniku rozhovoru: březen 2003

PLEASE NOTE - this is only the transcript of the interview, the final edited version will be uploaded later

Kazeta č. 1:

A: Jak se jmenoval tvůj tatínek?

B: Tatínek se jmenoval Alois Böhm a narodil se 18.8.1885 v Čelkovicích.

A: A kde byly Čelkovice?

B: U Tábora, takový předměstí, tenkrát.

A: A v Táboře pak žil celý život?

B: Ano. Byl živnostník, měli jsme obchod se suknem. Tedy jeho otec a pak tam byli partneři.

A: A co prodávali konkrétně?

B: Látky na kabáty a tak podobně.

A: Pocházel z české rodiny?

B: Ano, mluvili doma česky.

A: A jaké bylo jeho vzdělání?

B: Nevím, nepamatuju se, že by táta někdy studoval. Zažádal o živnostenský list a potom se stal dědovým společníkem.

A: A kdy tatínek zemřel?

B: Zemřel 30.6.1940 v Oranienburgu. Na začátku války v roce 39 kolovala po Táboře taková fáma, no nějaký Češi si prostě vzpomněli, že Rusové už přišli osvobodit Tábor a Němci pak udělali takovou razii a zatkli spoustu Čechů a hlavně Židů, mezi nimi i tatínka. Napřed byl v Drážďanech ve vězení a pak ho poslali do Oranienburgu. No a on byl zrovna v tom věku, kdy byl zvyklej denně kouřit, pít kafe, dobře jíst, no jak to tak bývalo. A prostě to nevydržel, oni tam byli taky dost mučený. Zajímavý bylo, že nám z toho Oranienburgu v tý době poslali urnu s jeho poelem, jeho šaty a všechny věci, které mu zabavili. Tenkrát to bylo ojedinělé. I úmrtní list nám dali. Urnu máme ještě teď na hřbitově. Měli jsme ji na židovském hřbitově, který ale zrušili, a že tam byla uložená jen krátce, dovolili jí mamince přenést na ústřední hřbitov, takže je uložený v urnovém háji v Táboře. Vymezili tam Židům místo u zdi. I moje maminka a manžel měli pak občanský pohřeb.

A: Byl Tatínek pobožný?

B: Táta nebyl vůbec pobožný, dokonce prý podle maminky vystoupil i z víry, protože po něm chtěli příliš vysokou náboženskou daň. Pocházel z české rodiny. My jsme chodily jako děti na náboženství, ale do kostela jsme chodili jen na Jom Kippur a Nový rok. V Táboře bylo asi okolo 800 židů, ale nikdo nebyl moc pobožný. Táta hodně kouřil a pil hodně kafe. Maminka si taky občas dala cigaretu, po válce kouřila dost, ale po infarktech jí to doktor zakázal a přestala. Táta byl pravej Žid, sportoval maximálně v kavárně.Když jsme o víkendu, v neděli chodili na procházky s maminkou, to byla taková dlouhá krásná lesní cesta, říkával tatínek mamince, že jde do kavárny, aby za ním přišla. Takže my jsme se procházely tak do čtyř odpoledne a ona pak šla ještě za tátou do kavárny.

A:  A pamatuješ si, že by sloužil v nějaké armádě?

B: Ne, nemyslím.

A: Měl tatínek nějaké sourozence?

B: Měl jednu sestru Julii, která si vzala křesťana pana Bělohlávka, který byl v Praze ředitel Spořitelny. Byla o něco mladší, asi dva nebo tři roky než tatínek. V Praze žila se svým mužem v nádherném třípokojovém družstevním bytě v ulici Na valech.

A: Měli spolu nějaké děti?

B: Děti neměli. On měl akorát syna z prvního manželství.

A: Strýc Bělohlávek zemřel kdy?

B: Bělohlávek zemřel ještě na začátku války. Jí z toho přeskočilo a chodila bez hvězdy a někdo jí udal, ale vůbec nevím, kde po Terezíně nakonec skončila. Ten nevlastní syn Julči se oženil s nějakou holkou, kterou oni nechtěli, protože jim nebyla dost dobrá, tak oni ho úplně vydědili a vůbec se s ním nestýkali. On pak s tou svou manželkou je začal trochu navštěvovat za války a maminka si myslela, že tetu Julču nakonec udal on kvůli tomu majetku.

A: A víš, co s ním bylo po válce?

B: On po válce žil v Táboře a pracoval v bance, ale já jsem se s ním nestýkala, protože se nezachoval dobře a  ani on neprojevoval žádný zájem.

A: Teď se tě zeptám na tvého dědu z otcovy strany, jak se jmenoval?

B: Děda z otcovy strany se jmenoval Jakub Böhm.

A: A kdy se narodil?

B: Narodil se v Batelově na Moravě, jen už nevím kdy. Tam měl továrnu na sukna. 

A: A kde ještě žil?

B: Do Celkovic se přistěhoval, když se oženil s babičkou, která tady žila, a otevřel si v Táboře obchod se suknem, kde pak byl můj tatínek společníkem. V Celkovicích měli dům, tenkrát to bylo takové předměstí Tábora, teď už je to v podstatě Tábor. Když dědovi zemřel otec, zůstali s bratrem a maminkou a bratři řídili továrnu. Jenže zkrachovali. Jeho bratr žil v Německu, ale nic o něm nevím, moc se nestýkali.

A: Kdy zemřel?

B: Děda zemřel v roce 1942 v Terezíně měsíc poté, co jsme tam přišli. Už mu taky bylo přes osmdesát let. 

A: Byl pobožný?

B: Nebyl nábožensky založený. Těsně před válkou se přestěhovali z Celkovic do Tábora do bytu, protože od nich z domu to bylo do obchodu do kopce a děda už nemohl. Pak za války se po nařízení, podle kterého Židi mohli obývat pouze některé čtvrti, přestěhovali k nám, my jsme měli velký byt. Pocházel z normální české rodiny, nicméně byl velký vyznavatel Rakouska-Uherska.

A: A jaký jsi k němu měla vztah?

B: Dědu jsem měla ráda, dost často u nás spal, protože to pro něj do Celkovic bylo už daleko. Ale nějaký zvlášť přátelský a srdečný vztah jsme neměli, ani s tatínkem. To spíš s maminkou.

A: Jak daleko to bylo od vás do Celkovic?

B: Ten dům v Celkovicích byl od nás asi čtvrt hodiny pěšky, byl to hezký poschoďový dům se zahradou u řeky.

A: A jak to tam bylo vybavený? Měli elektriku a tekoucí vodu?

B: Neměli elektriku, svítili petrolejkou a záchod byl na dvorku. Dědeček s babičkou byli talkoví normální jednoduchý lidi. Moc často jsme tam ale nechodili.

A: Víš o tom, že by sloužil v nějaké armádě?

B: To ne, alespoň o tom teda nevím.

A: A jak se jmenovala babička?

B: Babička se jmenovala Veronika Böhmová, rozená Redererová, ale nevím kdy. Narodila se v Celkovicích.

A: A bydlela ještě někde jinde?

B: Ne, tam také žila celý život, než se v 1937 nebo 1938 přestěhovali do bytu v Táboře.

A: A kdy zemřela ?

B: Šla s námi do Terezína a zemřela přesně za měsíc po dědečkovi, jednak byla už stará ale taky na sebe byli celý život zvyklí, tak zemřela taky trochu na ten smutek z jeho ztráty.

A: Měla nějakou profesi?

B: Ne, byla celý život jako žena v domácnosti, jejím koníčkem bylo chování slepic.

A: A pamatuješ si, jestli měla nějakou školu?

B: Myslím, že určitě ne. Ale měla bratra, který přednášel v Praze na Vysoké škole.

A: Byla babička pobožná?

B: Babička Böhmová byla pobožná, držela košer kuchyni, protože byla z pobožné rodiny. Její tatínek byl šamesem.

A: A kde šámesoval?

B: V Táboře.

A: Tak teď k prarodič§m z matčiny strany. Jak se jmenoval dědeček?

B: Dědeček z matčiny strany se jmenoval Josef Kraus.

A: A kdy a kde se narodil?

B: Narodil se v Čechticích a tam také zemřel ještě před válkou. Měl deset let před svou smrtí mrtvici a pak už vlastně všechny ty roky jen proležel.

A: A čím se živil?

B: Moc jsem ho neznala. Měli nějaký obchod ses míšeným zbožím a pokoušeli se dělat do zemědělství, ale bez úspěchu. Maminka říkala, že nevyrostlo nic z toho, co zaseli. Byli důkaz toho, že Židi a zemědělství nejdou dohromady. 

A: Byl pobožný?

B: Určitě nebyl pobožný, což nebyla ani jeho žena moje babička Pavlína Krausová.

A: A kdy a kde se narodila?

B: nevím, vím jen to, že pocházela z Mladé Boleslavi.

A: A žila ještě kde?

B: Provdala se za dědu a žila tedy v Čechticích. Po jeho smrti se přestěhovala ke svým synům do Prahy.

A: Víš něco o jejím vzdělání?

B: Ne, moc jsem u nich nebyla a nic jiného o ní nevím.

A: Jak se tedy jmenovala tvoje maminka?

B: Maminka se jmenovala Štěpánka Böhmová, rozená Krausová.

A: Kdy se narodila?

B: Narodila se 10.5.1895 v Čechticích ve Středních Čechách.

A: A zemřela?

B: Zemřela 6.2.1962 v Táboře.

A: měla nějaké školy?

B: Jako mladá dívka z dobré rodiny byla v Teplicích v penzionátu, kde bydlela a učila se a připravovala se na rodinné povinnosti.

A : A tam se seznámila s tatínkem?

B: S tatínkem se seznámila ve vlaku. Po svatbě (rodiče měli židovskou svatbu) se přestěhovala za ním do Tábora, starala se o domácnost a pomáhala tatínkovi v obchodě.

A: Byla maminka pobožná?

B: Pobožná vůbec nebyla, do kostela chodila akorát na velký svátky a to ještě aby předvedla nějaký nový model šatů. V táboře byla veliká krásná poschoďová synagoga, na balkonech měli místo ženy a nalevo seděli ty pobožný a napravo ženy, které si tam spíš přišly popovídat než se modlit, a ty, které se modlily, je upomínali, aby byli zticha.

A: A jaký byl její rodný jazyk?

B: Maminka pocházela z české rodiny, ale měla německou školu základní.

A: Měla nějaké sourozence?

B: Máma měla pět sourozenců, nejstarší Rudolf padnul jako voják v první světový. Další bratr byl zubní lékař a zemřel už v roce 1933 na leukémii. Jedna teta bydlela v Kralupech a další dva bratři žili v Praze.

A: A jak to u Vás doma fungovalo? Kdo řídil domácnost?

B: Maminka byla krk a tatínek hlava. Maminka všechno řídila, po stránce finanční byli dohodnutý, tatínek jí dával nějakej měsíční plat, a tatínek to dělal spíš z pohodlnosti. Prostě co se týkalo výchovy, to řídila maminka. Někdy jsme dostali facku, ale nikdo nás moc nebil.

A: A jaká byla maminka osobnost?

B: Maminka byla veselá a ráda se bavila,byla velmi oblíbená. I teď ještě na ní v Táboře lidi vzpomínají. Maminka chodila hrozně pěkně oblíkaná, dokonce šila v Praze. K tomu krejčímu jezdila i po válce. Měla vlasy do drdolu, ale měla jich dost málo, tak nosila takové tupé. Maminka byla velice elegantní a hlavně velmi oblíbená a veselá. Tatínek byl naopak poměrně vážný, ale měli se moc rádi.

A. Ty jsi měla bratra, je to tak?

B: Měla jsem ještě staršího bratra Rudolfa.

A: A kdy se narodil?

B: Narodil se  v Táboře 23.6.1921.

A: A jaké měl školy?

B: Vystudoval české reálné gymnázium, ale dál už nemohl pokračovat.

A: Měl nějaké koníčky, nebo byl členem nějakých organizací?

B: Bratr chodil taky do skautu jako já. Ruda byl členem sionistické organizace Hachšara, což byli mladí židé. Byl s nimi dvakrát v létě asi na tři měsíce na zemědělských pracech. Oni tam spolu všichni žili a bydleli a peníze, které vydělali, dávali do společné kasy, takový jako kibucnický život. Jirka tam byl s ním. Další rok, to už bylo tak vo roce 1940 nebo 1941 už museli jako židé pracovat nuceně. Vím, že dělali na regulaci řeky v Sezimově Ústí. Taky byly na pomocných pracech, když tam Baťa začal u n nás stavět bytovky.

A: A jaký jste měli s bratrem vztah?

B: Měli jsme spolu takový normální sourozenecký vztah.Vím, že jsem brečela, že se mnou v tanečních nechce tancovat a maminka mi říkala: "Nebreč a buď ráda, že máš vlastní nápadníky."

A: A jaký byl tvůj bratr člověk?

B:  Ruda byl krásný kluk a hrozně inteligentní, byl takový studijní typ. Chtěl se stát psychiatrem.

A: A on šel s Vámi do Terezína?

B: Jo, ale z Osvětimi šel do Schwerheide a zemřel na pochodu smrti.

A: Tak teď budeme mluvit o strejdovi. Jak se jmenoval?

B:  Můj manžel se jmenoval Jiří Meisl a narodil se 4.7.1921 v Červeném Újezdě u Benešova.

A: A jak se dostal do Tábora?

B: V roce 1930 jeho rodiče v Táboře koupili dům s obchodem a přestěhovali se tam.

A: Byl pobožný, měl třeba bar micka?

B: Jirka měl ve 13 Bar micva, na kterou se sjeli příbuzní a pamatuji se, že dostal hodinky. Bylo to v červenci a myjsme myslím byli s rodiče někde na dovolené. Oni bydleli naproti nám a my jsme spolu vlastně začali chodit už od patnácti let. On se taky hodně kamarádil s mým bratrem Rudou a naši rodiče se taky stýkali.

A: Jaká byla jeho rodina?

B: Pocházel také ze zcela židovské české rodiny.

A: A jaké měl školy?

B: Vystudoval před válkou ještě dvouroční obchodní školu a byl zaměstnaný v kanceláří ve Velimských cukrovinkách. Pak už byl doma a nemohl pracovat.

A: Jirka zemřel nedávno, že?

B: Ano v roce 1999.

A: V Táboře?

B: Ano.

A: Teď
tady máme informace o dětech.

B: My jsme děti neměli. Nemohla jsem. Na zacatku valky jsem docela tezce onemocnela a uz jsem pak nikam moc nechodila. Měla jsem bolesti už od roku 1939 a doktoři usoudili, že je to slepé střevo a tak mi ho vyoperovali. Když ale bolesti neustávali, zjistilo se v roce 1940, že mám nádor na vaječnících. Poslední menstruaci jsem měla ještě v Terezíně, tam ale dávali do jídla chinin a většina žen přestala menstruovat, já už potom nikdy.

A: Měli jste doma služku?

B: Babička i my jsme měli služku, která u nás bydlela a pomáhala s domácností. Prala a vařila, ale nebyla to chůva.

A: A Jaký byl váš byt?

B: Měli jsme velký byt, tři pokoje a kamrlík.

A: A co elektrika a tekoucí voda?

B: Měli jsme doma elektriku a tekoucí studenou vodu. Maminka vybudovala koupelnu s vanou a jednou týdně jsme se koupali. Voda se ohřívala, měli jsme vysoký kachlíkový kamna, ve kterých se topilo. V kuchyni pak byl sporák na uhlí, na kterém se vařilo. Táta byl zimomřivý a vidím ho, jak si čte Prager Tagblatt a opírá se zády o kamna a nahřívá se. V zimě se topilo jen v jednom společném pokoji a spát se chodilo do studenýho.

A: A to byl váš vlastní byt?

B: Byt byl nájemní, moje maminka nikdy nechtěla vlastní byt. Ona vždycky říkala, zaplatíš si nájem a nemáš s tím žádný další starosti. Mě to taky nikdy nebavilo starat se o dům. Těch služek jsme měli několik, protože to většinou byly mladý holky z vesnice, který si chtěli vydělat peníze, tak šli do služby, pak se často vdali a odešli.

A: A jaký jste k nim měli vztah?

B: Měli jsme je rádi, ale rodiče jim vždy vykali a nikdy si je nějak víc nepřipustili k tělu.

A: Služky byly i židovky?

B: Židovský holky spíš chodily k dětem, když už. Ale aby šla nějaká židovská holka za služku, to si vůbec nepamatuju.

A: Židi v Táboře byli chudší nebo spíš bohatší?

B: V Táboře žila střední židovská vrstva, ani bohatí ani chudí, jen jeden pan továrník a jinak spíš samí obchodníci.

A: Stýkali jste se s nimi?

B: Měli jsme mezi nimi i nějaké židovské přátele, s kterými se rodiče navštěvovali, ale ne ani tak kvůli tomu, že byli židi, prostě si byli sympatičtí.

A: A bylo tam hodně pobožných?

B: Bylo tam pár více pobožných rodin, ale většina nedodržovala ani šabat, stejně jako my. 

A: Chodila jsi do školky nebo jsi byla doma?

B: Vyrůstala jsem doma, ale bez chůvy. V Táboře jsem vychodila českou obecnou školu, od třetí třídy jsme se učili německy, z němčiny se myslím i maturovalo.  Pak jsem chodila do reálného gymnázia, ale absolvovala jsem jen pět tříd, v páté jsme se začali učit francouzsky. Scházíme se jako maturantky, ačkoli já jsem s nimi vlastně už nematurovala, tak říkají, že je samozřejmý, že patřím mezi ně. Naše třída byla dívčí a všechny se ke mně chovaly vždy slušně.

A: Vybavuješ si nějaký antisemitismus ve škole?

B: Nemůžu si stěžovat na nějaký projevy antisemitismu. Nikdy jsem si na škole nevšimla nějakých protižidovských akcí, ty spolužáci tenkrát ani nějak nevnímali, že jsem židovka. Maminka mě pak dala do rodinné školy, kam jsem chodila jen rok.

A: Co se dělalo v rodinné škole?

B: Kromě učení se tam šilo a vařilo a mě to hrozně nebavilo. Pak už jsme do školy nesměli chodit a maminka mě dala do učení k jedné švadleně a ještě jí platila 30 korun měsíčně za to, že jsem tam mohla chodit. 

A: Byla jsi dobrá žákyně?

B: Škola mě bavila, vždycky jsem se dobře učila a chtěla jsem být farmaceutkou.

A: Chodila jsi do nějakých kroužků?

B: Docela jsem sportovala, chodila jsem do Rytmiky, tam se tak tancovalo podle hudby, v zimě se bruslilo a lyžovalo, chodila jsem i do Sokola, hodně jsem cvičila. Před válkou jsem chodila na soukromý hodiny angličtiny, němčiny a francouzštiny k paní Polákové. Byla jsem taky u skautů a jednou nebo dvakrát jsem s nima jela na letní tábor. Pak jsem tam přestala chodit dřív, než mě vyloučili. 

A: A jak jsi se vyrovnávala s antisemitismem?

B: Necítím se zas tak židovsky a ani po válce jsem to tak necítila. Asi proto, že jsem žila v českém prostředí a celou dobu po válce jsem nežila mezi židama, v Táboře jsme byli v podstatě jediní. Jen si pamatuju, jak ještě před válkou, jsem čekala u doktora a když jsem byla na řadě vešla jsem do ordinace. Na chodbě pak křičel jeden Vlajkař tak, že to bylo slyšet až dovnitř, že jako židovka bych měla počkat až tam vůbec nikdo nebude. Toho Vlajkaře lidi po válce odchytli a pak byl odsouzenej, to vím, protože Jirka se šel na ten soud podívat. Pak byl těžce nemocný a nakonec chodil k židovskému doktorovi se léčit.

A: Co jste dělali ve volném čase?

B:  My jsme měli Tatru kabriolet a jezdili jsme hodně na výlety. Jezdili jsme pravidelně autem na výlety do okolí, Orlík a Zvíkov asi nejčastěji. Tam jsme se koupali. Tatínek, ačkoli se narodil u vody, neuměl plavat a vždycky běhal kolem vody křičel na nás, abychom se neutopili.

A:  Jezdila jste ráda v autě?

B: Pro mě ty výlety autem byly strašný, protože jsem nerada jezdila, pokaždý jsem totiž zvracela. Ještě když jsem se vdala, nesnášela jsem i auto i vlak.

A: A podnikali jste i delší výlety?

B: Tatínek jednou za rok vyrazil se svým kamarádem třeba na Slovensko. Ale normálně se tak daleko nejezdilo. Ani v zimě, protože u nás bylo tolik sněhu, že jsme vždycky lyžovali v táboře.

A: Slavili jste nějaké židovské svátky?

B: Žádný židovský svátky jsme neslavili. Strýc Bělohlávek byl hrozně pobožnej katolík a…

A: To byl manžel od otcovy sestry?

B: Jo, tak oni vždycky přijeli na Vánoce, ty jsme slavili. Jak byly bohatý, tak vždycky přinesli kolekce na stromeček a dárky. Jedli jsme kapra a bramborový salát. Vánoce vlastně slavili všichni, my jsme ani nevěděli  kdy a že je Chanuka. Doma jsme moc návštěvy neměli. Šabat jsme nedrželi, ani košer jídlo. Jedli jsme i vepřové. Maminka měla ve sklepě husy a chovala je na maso a sádlo.

A: Měli jste nějaké domácí zvÍřectvo?

B: Jezevčíka Maxela a potom, když umřel ještě kanára.

A: A co jedl?

B: Maxel dostával k jídlu naše zbytky, ale chodil vedle k řeznici, která mu vždycky dala něco dobrého. Vozila jsem ho v proutěném kočárku na panenky, ale pak jsme ho musli nechat utratit.

A: Měli jste nějaké jídelní zvyky?

B: Jedlo se společně, večeře byla vždycky v sedm a striktně se to dodržovalo. Bratr jednou chtěl svolení, aby mohl přijít pozdě. Měl holku a chtěl ji doprovodit. V centru bylo  místo, kde se korzovalo a maminka mu říkala doveď jí na roh ke Kubesům (tam to korzo končilo) a omluv se, že musíš být u večeře. Taky jsme společně obědvali.

A: A to jste chodili na oběd i během školy?

B: Měli jsme školu dopoledne a v gymnáziu byly hodiny pak ještě odpoledne. Otec taky zavíral obchod a šel na oběd a zdřímnout si.

A: Jedli jste nějaká specielně židovská jídla?

B: S židovských jídel jsme jedli maximálně šoulet a před Jom kippur jsme měli taky něco speciálního.

A: Byli rodiče nebo prarodiče členy nějaké politické strany?

B: Tatínek ani dědeček nebyli nikterak politicky angažovaní a ani se o to nestarali. Tatínek volil Živnostenskou stranu, ale vždycky říkal, že nejlepší strana je muž a žena.

A: A maminka měla nějaké zájmy?

B: Maminka měla takový kroužek, kterému jsme vždycky říkali kroužek starých panen. Byli tam židovky a křesťanky dohromady, scházeli se v kavárně nebo u některý doma. Po válce se ze židovek vrátila jen maminka a už nějak nebyla chuť tenhle spolek obnovovat.

A: A tatínek měl nějaké kamarády?

B: Tatínek chodil do kavárny s kamarádama. Nepamatuju si, že bychom se nějak jako různé rodiny moc navštěvovali. V každém případě jsme nerozlišovali, jestli jsou naši kamarádi židi nebo ne.

A: Kolik asi žilo židů v Táboře?

B:V Táboře bylo tenkrát asi 800 židů, a měli jsme tam rabína, kantora, šámese, kteří bydleli v bývalé židovské škole.   Nebyla ani žádná specifická část města, kde by se židi soustřeďovali, to až později za války z donucení je vyhnali pryč ze středu města. Rabín vyučoval náboženství, kantor asistoval při bohoslužbách. Židovská škola tam bývala ještě před první světovou, ale za nás už ne.

A: A mikve nebo ješivu?

B: Ani mikve nebo ješivu jsme neměli.

A: Dá se říct, co většina židů dělala za zaměstnání?

B: Většina židů byli obchodníci, s ovocem, galanterií a tak. Jeden byl továrník, ten měl sladovnu.

A: Ty pokoje doma, o kterých jste mluvila, byly velké?

B: Měli jsme doma velké pokoje, obývací, jídelnu, kde byl černý nábytek. A protože dívka z dobré rodiny musela umět hrát na piano, koupila mi maminka klavír, který stál v obýváku. Já jsem byla hudebně nenadaná, ale musela jsem na to piano hrát. Chodila jsem k jedné klavírní virtuosce Markétě Koprové, ale nikdy jsem se to nenaučila. Vždycky po obědě jsem hrála na piano, bratr na housle a když jsme měli otevřená okna, slyšeli jsme jak naproti zase hraje Jirka, a tak jsme vždycky přes poledne koncertovali.

A: A vy jste s bratrem bydleli v tom pokoji?

B: Jo, a pak jsme ještě měli ložnici, kde spali rodiče a my s bratrem jsme spali v tom obývacím pokoji. A kamrlík pro služku.

A: V kterém patře jste bydleli?

B: Bydleli jsme v prvním patře takového starého domu, který pak někdo koupil a plánoval tam nějaké přestavby, které se mamince nelíbili, takže jsme už měli vyhlídnutý modernější byt v centru. Mezitím ale přišli Němci a my jsme tam už museli zůstat. Majitel pak z chodby udělal ještě pokoj, kam nám pak nastěhovali jednu židovskou rodinu, což bylo dost nepříjemné.

A: Měla jsi židovské nebo víc křesťanské kamarádky? Všimla jsi si vzrůstajícího antisemitismu?

B: Měla jsem křesťanský kamarádky a ani jsem se nějak židovsky necítila, takže jsem si nějakého vznikajícího antisemitismu nevšimla. Dělala jsem to, co ostatní, chodila jsem do tanečních, i někteří moji nápadníci nebyli židé. Postupně už nás pak všechna možná nařízení protižidovská vyloučila z normálního života a stýkala se ta židovská mládež jen mezi sebou. Já jsem měla svoje dvě křesťanský kamarádky, jedna už nežije, ale za tou druhou ještě pořád jezdím do Tábora, je to moje nejstarší kamarádka.

A: Měli jste nějakou představu, co se s židy děje nebo, co se na ně chystá?

B: Vlastně jsme nic moc nevěděli co se děje, ani co se týče transportů, to se všechno rozhodovalo v Praze. Když jsme šli do Terezína, neměli jsme prakticky vůbec představu, jak to tam vypadá. Že je to hrozný, jsme zjistili až na místě.

A: Jak to probíhalo, když jste museli do transportu?

B: Když nás pak odváděli do transportu do Terezína, bylo to hrozný. Soustředili nás ve škole, tam jsme byli jednu noc, spali jsme na slamnících a pak nás vedli brzo ráno, takže tam ani žádní obyvatelé u toho nebyli. Věděli jsme, že jdeme do Terezína, ale jak to tam vypadá, jsme neměli zdání, šuškanda žádná k nám nepronikla. Do té doby jsme ani nějak fyzicky netrpěli, rodiče vyprodali všechno zboží z toho našeho obchodu, takže jsme měli z čeho žít.

A: Vy jste šli všichni dohromady a kdy?

B: Deportovali mě, babičku, dědu, maminku a bratra na podzim 1942.

A: Jak jsi tam bydlela?

B: Bydlela jsem na L-309 v takovém mládežnickém domě, kde bydlela samá mladá děvčata a pracovala jsem v prádelně, která byla mimo ghetto, tak nás tam vždycky vodili. Maminka pracovala na slídě, štěpení slídy. Starala se tam o malého chlapečka, asi pětiletého, který tam byl s tatínkem a oni byli vzdálení příbuzní.

A: A bratr?

B: Bratr pracoval napřed někde v zemědělství a potom v Kinderheimu. 

A: A prarodiče taky pracovali?

B: Dědeček za měsíc umřel a babička měsíc po něm. Jednak už byla stará a jednak na něj byla prostě zvyklá.

A: A jak to s vámi pokračovalo?

B: Potom jsme se jednou, nevím přesně, dostali do transportu a po mohl nám Viktor Kende, s kterým jsme se hodně kamarádili, prostě nás vyreklamoval. V prosinci 1943 jsme byly zařazeni znovu, ale jenom já a maminka, a to už nám Viky pomoct nemohl. Můj bratr a můj muž v transportu nebyli, ale přihlásili se dobrovolně, takže šli s námi. Manželovi rodiče byli už tenkrát pryč, on byl tenkrát nemocný, měl příušnice a s rodiči nešel.

A: Jak jste žili v Osvětimi?

B: V Osvětimi jsme byli v tzv. druhém rodinném táboře. Já jsem pracovala jako menáždienst, nosily jsme sudy s polívkou. Maminka se tam pořád starala o toho malého chlapce, kterého pak i s otcem zplynovaly. Bratr taky pracoval s dětmi v Kindrblocku s Freddy Hirschem. Po půl roce nás s maminkou převezli na práci. Dostali jsme se do Frauenlagru u Hamburgu.

A: Jak dlouho jste tam byli?

B: Tam jsme byli asi čtyři dny a bylo to tam hrozné. Jednou nás nechali klečet celý den. Jirka  s bratrem odešli 5.6. do Schwerzheide. Potom jsme odjeli do Harburgu, to bylo předměstí Hamburgu, tam jsme bydleli ve stodolách a lodí jsme jezdily do Morburgu, což byla velikánská továrna na oleje. Tam jsme pracovaly na obnovení továrny, já čirou náhodou v kantýně. A když už se ta továrna měla otevírat, přišel hrozný nálet a továrna byla zase zničená.  Pak jsme pracovaly v Neugraben, kde jsme odklízely trosky a v Tiefstack v cihelně, tam byl taky velký nálet.

A: Co jste dostávali k jídlu?

B: Jídla moc nebylo. Večer jsme dostaly čtvrtku chleba a moje maminka mi říkala: "Nesmíš to sníst, musíš si půlku nechat." Tak jsme si vždycky půlku nechaly, až nám to potom spoluvězni ukradli. Tak potom na to přišla, že je lepší to sníst najednou. V 1945 nás odvezli do Bergen Belsenu.

A: Jak to tam vypadalo?

B: Tam to bylo hrozné, to byly stany a ty byly plné mrtvol.

A: A tam vás osvobodili?

B: Tam nás 16.dubna osvobodili Angličani. Pak jsme se dostali do Prahy, kde jsme byli v nějaké záchytné stanici pro vězně a rozhodli jsme se, že pojedeme do Tábora.

A: A jak dlouho jste jeli domů?

B: Pár dnů snad. Oni nějaké ženy vězňů z Bergen-Belsenu poslali a zaplatili autobus pro své muže a když ten autobus přijel, zjistilo se, že oni už tam nejsou. Pamatuju se, že jsem ležela někde na marodce a maminka přišla, že odjíždíme do Prahy. Ten autobus byl strašně starej a nefunkční, v podstatě vrak.

A: A kde jste cestou spali?

B: Vždycky se na noc zastavilo a spali jsme pod širákem. Pamatuju si, že maminka vyprávěla, jak jednu noc, já jsem to nezažila, já jsem spala, naši dva řidiči zavraždili nějaký Němce a ukradli jim pneumatiky.

A: A věděli jste o Jirkovi a ostatních?

B: To je dobrá příhoda. Měli jsme dobré známé Macákovi, kterým maminka už dříve napsala, že jsme živy a jestli se vrátil bratr a Jirka a že se těší na buchty. V Táboře po příjezdu jsme potkali nějakého známého, pana Kratochvíla, on měl továrnu na nábytek, ten nás pozval, abychom u něj ten den přespali. To jsem ještě nevěděla, že můj muž už je v Táboře. On to taky nevěděl, jestli jsem živá. V Táboře byli nějací Lapačkovi, měli pekařství a on si k nim přišel pro chleba a současně tam přišla ta paní Macáková a ona té Lapačkové vypravovala, že jí maminka psala, že jsme živé a zdravé. Tím se to můj muž také dozvěděl.

A: A bratr?

B: O mém bratrovi Jirka nic nevěděl, protože prý už byl dost slabý a nešel tím prvním pochodem smrti a zůstal ve Schwerzheide. Pak ještě vypravili jeden pochod a na ten se přihlásil, jenomže nestačil. Jirka Frankl nám tehdy napsal, že on s ním šel, že měl Ruda nějaké cigarety a že to tam chtěl směnit za jídlo a že se to nepodařilo. Protože byli všichni slabí, tak nechtěl aby ho podpírali, tak si sedl někde u příkopu a oni ho zastřelili.

A: Kde jste tedy po válce bydleli?

B: Dostali jsme velký asi čtyřpokojový byt ve městě po židovské rodině Mendlových. Jirka  se svým  bratrem Richardem taky dostali byt a ještě s nimi bydlela sestřenice, Marta Navrátilová.

A: Měli jste schovaný nějaký majetek?

B: Měli jsme poschováváno spoustu věcí u jiných lidí, tak i něco z toho jsme dostali. Měli jsme potíže u jednoho kožešníka, u kterého bylo duté schodiště a maminka tam schovala spoustu věcí, včetně koberců a obrazů, který tatínek velmi sbíral, originály. Ten kožešník říkal, ať si tam všechno schová, ale maminka sepsala vše, co tam dala. Pak když jsme se vrátili, tak nám třeba z těch obrazů dal jenom rámy. Tvrdil, že mu všechno sebrali Rusové a maminka se naštvala a dala ho k soudu.

A: A jakto dopadlo?

B: Soud vyhrála a on nám musel zaplatit asi 30.000, což bylo tenkrát spoustu peněz. On okrad spoustu židů a hodně na tom zbohatnul.

A: Jak se k vám lidé chovali po návratu?

B: Po návratu nás přijali velmi dobře. Měli jsme taky věci u mých kamarádek, které nám všechno vrátili.

A: A co jste po válce dělali, šli jste ještě studovat?

B:  Rodiče Jirky  měli v Táboře původně velkoobchod s cukrovinkami a dům, tak se bratři rozhodli, že ten obchod obnoví. Celkem moc peněz jsme neměli po návratu, ale továrna Orion, továrna na cukrovinky, jim dala úvěr na zboží na jméno jejich otce, takže jsme začali. Já jsem byla s nimi zaměstnaná, maminka byla doma a vařila nám a hospodařila. Pak jsme se s Jirkou vzali a přestěhovali jsme se do toho domu po rodičích. Po válce jsme neměli tolik peněz, takže jsme měli společnou svatbu s Jirkovým bratrem Richardem.

A: A kdy byla svatba?

B: Vdávala jsem se 16.4.1946. Mí spoluvězeňkyně se scházeli na den našeho osvobození a poslali mi telegram ke svatbě a vlastně jsem si uvědomila, že se vdávám ve stejný den, kdy mě osvobodili.Pak jsme bydleli v jednom domě s Richardem, jeho ženou a jejich dětmi, Marcelou a Zuzanou. Jeho žena zemřela v roce 1972 a Richard se pak ještě oženil. My jsme tedy měli ten obchod s cukrovinkami, který nám celkem dobře prosperoval, nadřeli jsme se tam tedy dost.

A: Jak velký byl ten obchod?

B: Byl to velkoobchod, kupovali jsme ve velkém a prodávali malým obchodníkům.

A: Měli jste nějaké zaměstnance?

B: Měli jsme Tatrovku auto a závozníka. Musela jsem být celý den v krámě nebo v kanceláři. Když nám to v 1948 znárodnili, byla jsem vlastně ráda, že jsem se toho zbavila.

A: Mluvila jsi o nějakém příbuzném v Izraeli.  Jak to s ním bylo?

B: Maminka dostala byt v Hanušově ulici, měla u sebe ještě synovce, který se sám vrátil, byl to syn jejího bratra. Jmenoval se Harry Kraus, původně bydlel u svého strýčka v Praze, ale to prostředí nebylo pro něj moc vhodné, on měl bar. Tak si ho maminka vzala k sobě. On byl rozený 1933 a chodil málo do školy, tak ho maminka dala v Táboře do gymnázia, ale on spíš koukal po děvčatech a škola mu nešla. Potom ho maminka dala učit do České Třebové do nějaké tkalcovské továrny, to už byl ale rok 1948. On byl takový "hlavou proti zdi", takže se mu tam taky moc nevedlo a potom ho nějací kamarádi přesvědčili, aby šel do Izraele, kam se nakonec legálně vystěhoval.

A: A jak žil v Izraeli?

B: Nejdřív byl v kibucu Hachotrim, ale prostě se nemohl srovnat s tou disciplinou, tak potom odešel. Jeden čas byl v Haifě a pak se přestěhovali do Tel Avivu, dělal v nějaké prádelně a celkem se jim nevedlo špatně.  My jsme u něj taky byli se podívat.

A: A nenapadla vás v té době emigrace?

B: Ne, že by nás emigrace nenapadla, ale nechtěli jsme kvůli mamince, byla těžce nemocná, takže jsme jí nemohli opustit a ani už ji vzít s sebou. Manžel jí měl taky moc rád a měli jsme takový hezký vztah, takže bychom jí nemohli opustit.

A: A kdy jste tam vlastně byli?

B: V Izraeli jsme byli v 1969 na návštěvě a bratranec nás přemlouval, abychom tam zůstali, ale mě se tam moc nelíbilo. Letěli jsme tam a zůstali asi měsíc. Ale dohodli jsme se, že pojedeme domu a eventuálně to nějak uspořádáme, ale když jsme se vrátili, tak akorát zavřeli hranice. Ale já bych tam stejně nechtěla žít.

A: Pamatuješ si na události v roce 1968?

B: Když přišli v 1968 Rusové, byli jsme překvapení a zklamaní, asi jako všichni. Do Tábora prijeli tanky a Jirka se tam chtěl jít podívat a já jsem nechtěla, aby šel sám, tak jsem prekonala strach a šla jsem s nim. Oni se tam vlastně dostali náhodou.

A: Jak to?

B: Protoze jim lidi prehazovali na cestach ukazatele smerem na Prahu a tak se kolikrat dostali uplne jinam. Tak taky dorazili do Tabora. Tou dobou u nas take byli mladi Jirkovy pribuzni Jirka a Vera Navratilovi, kteri v okoli travili dovolenou se svymi partnery. Vim, ze cele dny chodili na mista, ktera Rusove obsadili a diskutovali s nimi. Vera byla se svym pritelem na vode a kdyz jeli tanky s vojaky pres most, udelali takovou hloupost, ze po nich hazeli bramborama. Nastesti se jim nic nestalo. V Tabore to nemelo tak ostry prubeh jako v Praze. Potom nás v podniku proverovali, jestli jsme loajální a souhlasíme se vstupem Sovětských vojsk, to se delalo vsude.

A: Měli jste po válce nějaké židovské přátele?

B: V Táboře jsme měli jedny přátele, on byl napůl žid, ale to nebylo podstatné. Nejvíce jsme se ale stýkali v rodině, jak jsme bydleli dohromady s Richardem a jeho rodinou. Oni byli jako rodiče už starší, takže jejich holky byli skoro pořád s námi, jezdili s námi i na dovolenou.

A: A Richard byl pobožný?

B: Bratr byl poměrně pobožný, chodil často do synagogy, ale holky nemají k židovství žádný vztah.

A: Kam jste s holkama jezdili?

B: Jezdili jsme hodně na dovolenou do Bulharska a na Slovensko. V Železné rudě jsme měli chalupu a tam jsme také byli často. Po 1968 se Marcela odstehovala do Prahy a Zuzana emigrovala a my jsme zustali v tom uz starem dome sami tri. Tak jsme se s Jirkou prestehovali do bytu a barak jsme prodali druzstvu, ktere za nej Richardovi dalo druzstevni byt.

A: Kde Jirka pracoval po znárodnění?

B: Po 1948 pracoval manžel v rozdělovně textilu a protože byl pilný a pracovitý postupně se vypracoval a byl v Budějovicích v celkem vysokém postavení. Jenže některým komunistům to nešlo pod nos a v průběhu akce 77.000 lidí do výroby ho vyhodili a tak musel začít od začátku. V Táboře byla továrna na silonová vlákna a tak se tam ještě s jedním známým přihlásil. Začínal jako spřadač, dělalo se tam nepřetržitě, soboty, neděle a to mu nevyhovovalo, protože buď spal nebo byl v práci. Nakonec se zase vypracoval na plánovače výroby, ale v 50. letech řekli, že ho jako bývalí živnostník nemůže dělat. Ředitel si ho zavolal a dali ho dělat mistra zase na tři směny a on tomu řediteli řekl: "Soudruhu řediteli, plánovače výroby dělat nemůžu, ale mistra, kde můžu ovlivnit stovky lidí, to dělat můžu?". Tak dělal mistra, ale pomaloučku se zase vypracoval, až nakonec skončil jako vedoucí odbytu. To bylo skutečně dobré postavení a tam to dotáhnul až do penze v 1981

A: A ty?

B: Já jsem nastoupila v roce 1950 do Jednoty, to bylo lidové spotřební družstvo. Původně jsem tam dělala takové pomocné administrativní práce, ale dotáhla jsem to až na vedoucí všeobecné finanční účtárny. Byla jsem tam 30 let až do důchodu.

A: Cítila jsi nějaký antisemitismus?

B: V podniku mě nikdy nezvolili do Závodního výboru nebo do nějaké funkce. Pracovala jsem tam léta a měla jsem vedoucí postavení, ale byla jsem židovka a můj muž bývalý živnostník. Ale my jsme to všechno brali tak nějak sportovně.

A: Kdy jsi šla do důchodu ty?

B: Do duchodu jsem odesla v padesáti ctyrech letech. V Jednote jsem pomahala jeste asi dva roky jako duchodkyne a pak jsem taky vypomahala na okresnim Svazu bojovniku za svobodu.  Jinak jsem se po válce s  žádnými konkrétními projevy antisemitismu vůči sobě nesetkala.

A: Byli jste členy obce?

B: Na zidovske obci jsme byli zaregistrovani uz od 1945. V Tabore zadna zidovska organizace nebyla a my jsme v Táboře žili jako židi prakticky sami, takže jsme nikomu nevadili ani nebyli na očích. Díky tomu jsem k židovství ani nijak výrazně nepřilnula. Měli jsme s manželem hezký život, takový jednoduchý. Nebyli jsme bohatí ani chudí a podle toho jsme také žili. Nebyli jsme ani nijak politicky angažování a nemůžu říct, že bychom byli nějak perzekvovaní.

A: A jak se díváš na Sametovou revoluci?

B: Po revoluci se mi to moc nelíbilo, já nemám v lásce ani Klause ani Havla. Já už jsem kapitalismus zažila, tak jsem věděla, že kdo nepracuje ani nejí. A to lidi neuměli pochopit, mysleli si, že když zazvoní klíčema, tak jim spadne všechno k nohám a pan Klaus je v tom podporoval. Takže mě ta revoluce moc nevzala.

A: Jirka zemřel kdy?

B: Manžel zemřel 17.7.1999 v Táboře. Děti jsme neměli.

A: A jak dlouho bydlíš tady?

B: Před rokem a půl jsem se přestěhovala do židovského Penzionu v Praze a moc se mi tu líbí. Není tu nikdo pořádně nábožensky založený, ale slavíme tu židovské svátky. Žili jsme s mužem vždycky skromně a vystačili jsme s tím, co jsme měli.

A: Ty dostáváš nebo jsi dostala prostředky ze všech fondů co tu byly pro oběti holocaustu?

B: Já mám pěkný důchod, s kterým vystačím, takže nemůžu říct, že bych byla závislá na těch penězích, co dostávám z různých fondů pro oběti holocaustu. Je to příjemné, ale nerozčiluju se jako ostatní, když náhodou dojde ke zpoždění.

A: Věříš a věřila jsi v Boha?

B: Byla jsem a jsem věřící člověk. Věřím, že existuje někdo, kdo řídí náš život, nějaká vyšší moc.

A: Myslíš, že je bůh žena nebo muž?

B: Bůh je podle mne muž a není jen židovský nebo jen křesťanský, je pro všechny. Ale, že bych se modlila, to si nedovedu představit.Věřím, že když se člověk narodí, má už svůj osud napsaný. To, co se nám stalo, se asi stát mělo. Náš osud je, že jsme Židi.

Kazeta 2   Eva Meislová

A: Tak teď se vrhneme na fotky. Popiš mi, prosím, fotku číslo 1.

B: No, jsou tu rodiče Jirky před jejich obchodem. Jirka tam stojí vedle nich, jako mladík.

A: A co to má za kalhoty?

B: Pumpky, v tom se tenkrát chodilo, byla to taková moda pro mladý.

A: Pamatuješ si, kdo to fotil a kdy?

B: To si bohužel nepamatuju.

A: Tak fotka číslo 2.

B: To už je po válce, to je Jirka na zahradě v Celkovicích.

A: A ta chalupa v Železné rudě?

B: To byla od Jednoty,od podniku, to nebylo naše.

A: Fotka 3.

B: To je maminka a Jirka, když jsme se brali.

A: To bylo v roce 1946?

B: Jo.

A: A kde,měli jste třeba židovskou svatbu?

B: Ne to bylo v Táboře na okrese.

A: Fotka číslo 4.

B: To je bratr někdy po maturitě. To se fotilo ještě před válkou a vím, že to pak maminka po válce nechávala takhle zvětšovat. Je z ateliéru Kliment.

A: A jaký byl Rudolf?

B: No, on byl hrozně krásnej a veselej kluk. Chtěl být psychologem, on byl akový hodně studijní typ. Byl strašně hodnej.

A: Fotka číslo 5.

B: To je maminka za mlada, někde na dovolené nebo na výletě.

A: Víš kdo a kde to fotil?

B: To fakt nevím.

A: Fotka číslo 6.

B: To je fotka jak jsem byla na tom skautském táboře.

A: A kde a kdy to bylo?

B: Myslím, že v Červené Řečici, kdy to nevím, ale počkej, bylo mi asi šestnáct let.

A: To vedle je maminka?

B: Jo, oni tam za mnou přijeli na návštěvu.

A: Vy jste spali ve stanech?

B: Jo, s podsadou.

A: A co jste tam dělali?

B: Hráli hry, učili se vázat uzle, koupali se a tak.

A: Fotka číslo 7.

B: To je tatínek. On jezdil každý rok se svým kamarádem řídícím Švehlou na pěší túry. Vždycky někde týden chodili po horách. Většinou jezdili na Slovensko a celý týden fakt chodili.

A: Švehla byl řídící školy?

B: Ano, v Borotíně.

A: A co to má za hůlku?

B: To je hůlka a na ní jsou štítky,které se přilepovali podle toho,kde člověk byl.

A: Fotka číslo 8.

B: To je na chatě u Hermíny Meislové, to je Jirkův tatínek a maminka. Ale to tam dávat nebudeme.

A: Fotka číslo 9.

B: To jsem já s maminkou na procházce v Táboře, to už je po válce.

A: Jste tak elegantně oblečené.

B: Jo, maminka byla hrozně elegantní a taky to byla nedělní procházka.

A: Fotka číslo 10.

B: To je děda od tatínka, pak Rudolf a já.

A: To je v Celkovicích?

B: Jo, na zahradě.

A: Rudolf je tu trochu tlouštík, že jo?

B: On byl tlustý a pak najednou ve třinácti letech zhubnul.

A: A to vzadu je váš dům?

B: Ne, to je sousedů.

A: Fotka číslo 11.

B: To je babička, děda a já zase v Celkovicích.

A: Fotka číslo 12.

B: Tohle je bratranec Harry se synem Michaelem,kterého si adoptovali, když mu byli tři měsíce. Oni s Lilly nemohli mít děti, ona měla RH faktor, krev ten její plod vždycky sežrala, byla asi desetkrát v jiném stavu, ale prostě to nešlo.

A: To vypadá jako jeho bar micka.

B: No jo, Harry nám tu fotku poslal a na rub napsal „žrádla byla fůra“.

A: A kdo je Lilly a jak se poznali?

B: Lilly je ze Slovenska, její rodina tam měla nějaké doly a přežila a potkali se v Izraeli. Brali se vlastně hned, Harrymu bylo devatenáct.

A: A on je syn Františka?

B: Jo.

A: A ze kdy je ta forka?

B: Asi z roku 1980.

A: A tohle, fotka číslo 13.

B: To je Jirka o Vánocích.

A: A fotka číslo 14?

B: To je naše svatba.

A: A co jsi měla za kytky?

B: Jo, to bylykonvalinky.

A: A co je to za lidi.

B: Tady je Sylva, ta z Argentiny, a plukovník Fink, který šel Jirkovy za svědka, on byl Jirkův vzdálený strýc, on přišel se západní armádou a byl to jeden z nejbohatších lidí v Táboře. Byl před válkou advokátem. Pak tam je pan Hofman, ten plešatý,byl to řezník a pak pan Freuned,žid z Tábora.

A: A kdo to fotil?

B: To byl pan Schlée, to byl pouliční fotograf, co chodil po oslavách.

A: Fotka číslo 15.

B: To je taky ze skautského tábora. Máme tu na sobě kroje, holky chodili v sukních.

A: A to jste tam byly jen samé holky?

B: Ne i kluci, ale ty měli samostatný tábor hned vedle.

A: Mám ještě pár dodatečných dotazů. Co si vybavuješ při vzpomínání na dědu?

B: Dědův táta umřel, když byl děda malej kluk. Děda po tom jezdil jako podomní obchodník, měl vozík a koně. Taky si rád zahrál karty a užíval život.

A: Babička Veronika měla bratra, který přednášel,pamatuješ si co?

B: Veronika měla bratra, který přednášel, moc se nestýkali. Jmenoval se Ignác Rederer. Já jsem ho moc neznala.

A: A jak vypadal ten váš obchod, s čím tatínek obchodoval?

B: Byl to obchod se suknem, měli jsme příručího. K tomu jsme měli krejčovskou dílnu a zaměstnávali jsme několik krejčích. Do Tábora přišla armáda československá před válkou a my jsme měli velké zakázky a šili jsme uniformy. Zaměstnávali jsme krejčí v domácnosti a byl tam také mistr. Šili jsme tam spíš kabáty a pro muže.

A: Co dělala babička?

B: Babička byla v domácnosti.

A: A děda teda nebyl doma přes týden?

B: Děda bydlel přes týden u nás, aby nemusel šlapat. Do večera byl v krámě, večer si přečetl Prager Tagblatt.

A: A co dělala babička ve volném čase?

B: Babička měla své kamarádky, ale ne židovský, tam žádný židovky nebyly. Sešli se a kecali. Moc volnýho času neměli.

A: Říkala jsi, že babička byla pobožná?

B: Babička byla pobožná, ale s mírou. Sama se modlila a držela košer kuchyni. Děda chodil do kostela jen na Yom Kippur. V těhle malých městech se žilo normálně, jak žili Češi, tak žili i židi. Babička šla ještě na Nový rok.

A: Takže táta byl taky pobožný?

B: Tátu nevychovávali v pobožnosti. Ten vůbec do kostela nechodil. Židi se sjížděli akorát na velký svátky.

A: Kde bydlela Julie v Praze? Co to bylo za čtvrť?

B: Na valech byla ulice v Praze 6 v Dejvicích. To byla nóbl čtvrť. Bydleli kousek od Stromovky. Strýc byl strašně spořivej a tak jsme chodili vždycky do města přes Stromovku pěšky. Bydleli v přízemí.

A: A Bělohlávek byl hodně pobožném, že?

B: Chodil často do kostela, i když byl u nás v Táboře.

A: On zemřel před válkou a jak vlastně?

B: Bělohlávek zemřel, byl operovaný na prostatu a nechal se omlazovat, nevím, jak se to dělalo. Bylo mu už přes 60 let. Byl zvláštní, nosil kramflíčky a maloval si nehty na červeno. Ke stáří zblbnul, už byl v důchodu. Nosil korzet.

A: On byl homosexuál?

B: Nebyl homosexuál, ale byl šíblej. Nepovedla se asi operace prostaty a s těmi omlazovacími kůrami dohromady to  asi způsobilo, že zemřel, to bylo na začátku války.

A: Teď ještě k rodičům od maminky, říkala jsi, že měli nějaké pole?

B: Nikdy se jim nic neurodilo, měli nějaké malá pole, bydleli na vesnici a moc se jim nevedlo. Maminka vždycky říkala, že koupil prase a to jim chcíplo. Měli šest dětí a měli se co otáčet.

A: Pamatuješ si jací byli?

B: Babička byla velice vzdělaná, jemná dáma, moc se k němu nehodila. Nevím, kde k němu přišla. Ona byla z města a on z vesnice. Maminka tam jezdila, ale já ne.  Měli venkovský dům na náměstí s tím krámkem, který maminka po válce dostala a hned ho za lacino prodala.

A: Teď potřebuju vědět víc o maminčiných sourozencích, jak šli za sebou a jak se jmenovali?

B: Emil, dentista, Rudolf padl v první světové válce, pak byl Bedřich, který byl bankovní úředník, tenkrát se říkalo disponent, pracoval pro Union banku a zemřel v Osvětimi 7.března. František měl výrobu ručně vyšívaného prádla, ubrusy a ložní prádlo v Praze v Truhlářské ulici číslo 5 v centru, dělali velmi krásné věci, dodávali dokonce i na hrad. Jmenovalo se to Makra.

A: A sestra byla Ana?

B: Anna, bydlela v Kralupech a prodávali barvy a laky.

A: Takže nejstarší byl kdo?

B: Nejstarší byl Rudolf, pak Emil, Bedřich, maminka, František a nejmladší Aninka.

A: A Rudolf byl čím?

B: Padl jako normální mladý voják, nevím, čím byl.

A: Navštěvovali jste se ?

B: K tetě do Kralup jsme jezdili na prázdniny a k Bedřichovi do Litoměřic taky. Ten žil nakonec v Praze. Měli dvě děti a  manželku Doroteu.

A: A koho jsi mělanejraději?

B: S Aninkou jsme se nejvíc stýkali a měla jsem ji nejradši.

A: Byl někdo z nich pobožný?

B: Nikdo z nich nebyl pobožný.

A: Scházeli jste se při nějaké příležitosti všichni najednou?

B: Maminka vždycky za někým jezdila, nestýkali jsme se všichni dohromady u příležitosti nějakého svátku.

A: Ta dívčí škola, kam maminka chodila to byla židovská škola?

B: Dívčí škola v Jihlavě nebyla židovská škola, normální rodinná německá škola. Další stupeň po základce.

A: A kam by jsi zařadila svojí rodinu, byli jste bohatý nebo chudý nebo jak?

B: My jsme byli střední měšťanská vrstva. Ani bohatý ani chudý.

A: Jak to u vás chodilo třeba při Yom Kippuru?

B: Na Yom Kippur maminka dělala večeři, barches, kuře v nudličkách. Maminka vždycky říkala tatínkovi „Ty světíš svátky jen podle jídla“. Když jsme přišli z kostela, tak k nám přišla taky babička, maminka dělala bábovku a dělala se svačina. Barches je vodou zadělaný jakoby na vánočku, podává se to třeba k masu.

A: A to je sladký?

B: Není to sladký.

A: A postili jste se?

B: Maminka se postila, my děti ne.

A: A chodili jste do školy, když byl Yom Kippur?

B: Do školy jsme nechodili tenhle den.

A: A Jirkovi rodiče?

B: Jirkovi rodiče byli pobožný dost, když byl svátek, měli zavřený obchod. Tatínek měl otevřeno, ten nebyl vůbec pobožně vedeném.

A: Kolik židů si měla ve třídě?

B: Ve třídě na gymplu nebyl ve třídě ani jeden žid. Ani na základní.

A: To byly soukromé školy?

B: Státní školy to byly. Na gymplu bylo pár židů, ale ne se mnou ve třídě. V Táboře bylo víc škol. Na Starým městě byla obecná škola a na Novým taky. Bylo to podle toho, kde kdo bydlel. Obecných škol jsme měli tři, gymnázia dvě. Tenkrát nebyli žádné soukromé školy.

A: Dodržovala jsi nějaké zvyky po válce sama?

B: Já jsem nedodržovala žádný svátky po válce. Po válce byla jen modlitebna. Maminka ještě dělal večeři a postila se, ale po její smrti už jsme to neslavili.

A: Teď mi prosím vysvětli, coto byla Živnostenská strana.

B: Živnostenská strana byla strana živnostníků. Byla to malá strana, která snad ani nebyla ve vládě. Tenkrát byla hlavní strana Národní socialisti.

A: Maminka měla ten svůj klub. Jak že jste jimříkali a co dělali, kolik jich bylo?

B: Klub starých pannen, asi deset žen, scházeli se u některý z těch kamarádek, dělali svačinu a tlachali. Taky se scházeli odpoledne na Silvestra. Udělali si takovej mejdanek. Když jsem byla vdaná, tak jsme s Jirkou chodili na Silvestra tancovat. Před válkou jsme tak čekali do půlnoci. Tatínek vůbec nepil. Po válce už se nescházeli, ty židovky se nevrátili a už to nebylo ono.

A: Jak bys hodnotila židy v Táboře před válkou?

B: Skoro všichni židi v Táboře byli asimilovaní.

A: Teď mi, prosím, popiš ty protižidovská nařízení.

B: Šlo to krok za krokem. První bylo, že jsme museli odevzdat rozhlasový přijímače, to bylo asi ve 1940. Potom jsme se museli sestěhovat, židi nesměli být v centru a nesměli jsme chodit po chodníku, museli jsme šlapat po silnici.

A: A nezkusili jste to vzdorovat?

B: Každý to dodržoval, protože se bál, aby ho ty Vlajkaři neudali. Bylo jich tam dost. U koho si člověk myslel, že je mu nakloněný, tak pak se z něho třeba vyklubal antisemita. My jsme dodržovali ty nařízení, takže jsme do toho města vůbec nepřišli. Žili jsme tam spolu na tom předměstí a stýkali se mezi sebou. Maminka vyprodala obchod a zavřela ho, potom, co tatínka zavřeli. Meiselům dali německého správce. Museli jsme odevzdat všechno zlato, co jsme měli. Jednou, nevím kdy, k nám přišli Němci. Maminka si nechala spoustu látek, jak v okně bývali takový ty polštáře, tak udělala polštář a byly v tom ty zabalený látky. Dělali u nás vojáci německý šťáru, měli jsme hroznej strach, ale byli celkem slušný. Už nevím, proč to dělali.

A: A kdy tam přišli?

B: Přišli večer.

A: Odkud jste dostali předvolání do Terezína?

B: Do Terezína jsem dostali předvolání z Prahy z židovský obce, celej táborském okres jsme se soustředili ve škole. Tam jsme byli všichni. Tam jsme jednu noc přespali a druhej den ráno jsme měli transport.

A: Kolik vás vy té škole bylo?

B: V tý škole nás bylo kolem tisíce lidí, byli jsme úplně namačkaný. Večer jsme tam přišli ani jsme nedostali najíst. Byla už dost zima, měli jsme nějaký ruksaky. Tenkrát jsme byli mladý, to se líp snášelo, než třeba děda a babička.

A: Kde si pak žila v Terzíně?

B: Já jsem bydlela na L- 309, tam byli samý mladý děvčata. To byl dům, který původně patřil nějaký pani, která tam s náma taky byla zavřená. Já jsem se s ní seznámila někde v nemocnici, když jsem měla záškrt.

A: Říkala jsi, že ten malej Kája byl jakýsi váš vzdálený příbuzný, kdo teda byla jeho matka?

B: Švagrová od maminčina bratra Franty. Oni jí zavřeli pro nějakou blbost a ten její muž tam sám s tím chlapečkem.

A: Kolik holek vás bylo na pokoji v tom domě?

B: Na pokoji nás bylo  12 na kavalcích. Vedle bydlela Zuzana Růžičková, cemballistka, stejně stará jako já. Byl to jednoposchoďový dům.

A: Co jste tamjedli?

B: Dostávali jsme kaši prosa jeden den, jindy jeden kynutém knedlík a na tom byla taková černá omáčka, ta nám strašně chutnala, taková sladká, dělalo se to z logru, z černýho chleba a do toho byly kousky margarinu. Vždycky jsme si říkali, že si to budeme dělat, až se vrátíme, ale nikdy se nám to tak dobrý nepovedlo. A jednou byla buchta. Maminka nejedla ty knedlíky, tak jsme si to vyměňovali. V poledne byla většinou čočková polívka a večer čtvrtku chleba.

A: A co jste pili?

B: Voda tam tekla a tu jsme pili. Já ještě z piety pořád tu kaši z toho prosa vařím, docela mi chutná, já říkám, to mám jako vzpomínku z Terezína. I s Jirkou jsme si jí vařili. Tenkrát jí vařili do vody a já ji vařím do mlíka, takže je lepší.

A: Když umřel děda a babička, měli nějaký pohřeb?

B: Oni mrtvoly spalovali a házeli popel do moře. Ty, co zrovna v tý době umřeli, tak měli pohřeb, my jsme se tam pomodlili a hodili to do moře. Jejich oblečení jsme dostali.

A: Pak, když jste jeli z Terezína, věděli jste, že je to do Osvětimi?

B: Nevěděli jsme vůbec kam jedeme, jeli jsme v noci asi dva dny. Najednou otevřeli ty dobytčáky a tam byl nápis Arbeit macht frei a teď tam lítali ty kápové a my jsme vůbec nevěděli, co se děje. Možná, že to někdo věděl, asi ty co se už tenkrát zajímali o odboj. My jsme mysleli, že jedem do něčeho podobného jako Terezín.

A: Jak jste se konkrétně dostali zpátky do Čech po válce?

B: Nějaká ženy z ČSR vypravili nebo zaplatili nějakej autobus, aby ty muže odvezl. Jenže oni tam ty muži nebyli, tak maminka najednou přišla a říká, jede autobus do Čech, tak pojedem s ním. Jeli jsme asi dva dni. To byla taková kára na rozpadnutí. Spali jsme venku pod širákem. Maminka říkala, že naši dva šoféři přepadli nějaký Němce ještě v Německu v noci a zabili je a sebrali jim gumy od auta. Já o tom nevím, já jsem spala. Pak jsme přijeli do Prahy.

A: Marta, Richardova žena, byla taky židovka?

B: Marta byla židovka z Prahy, byla vdova. Měli jsme dobrý vztah.

A: A jak se s Richardem seznámili?

B: Seznámili se přes jejího bratra Eduarda, který bydlel v Praze se svojí ženou a Richard za ním přijel. U nich zůstávala i Marta a tam se poznali.

A: Kterého sourozence maminky byl Harry syn?

B: Harry byl syn Františka.

A: Takže přežil jen on?

B: Ze všech sourozenců přežila akorát maminka, Harry a já. Bedřich a vdova po Emilovi šli do plynu 7.3. 

A: Harry šel po válce do Izraele, to bylo nějaký hromadný nebo organizovaný?

B: Po válce to byla taková vlna a řídil to nějakej chlápek trochu starší, mladý kluci, který se vrátili sami, to bylo organizovaný a šli do Hachotrim. Maminka byla docela ráda, protože on byl Harry těžko zvladatelném. Oni šli legálně, měl několik beden s sebou. Oni pak všichni bydleli v Hachotrim. On byl dost nespoutaném typ a nemohl si tam zvyknout. Jeho žena se jmenovala Lilly Kleinová a oženil se s ní v 19, brzy potom, co tam přišel.

A: Kde je Hachotrim?

B: Hachotrim je blízko Tel Avivu. Blízko kibucu českého Masaryk. Hachotrim byl zemědělskej a chovali strašně moc slepic.

A: Ta chalupa v Železné Rudě byla podniková?

B: V Železné Rudě to byla chata od Jendoty, tam jezdili i jiný lidi. Bylo to pro lidi od podniku.

A: Co jste s Jirkou slavili?

B: S Jirkou jsme slavili Vánoce, na Yom Kippur jsme nechodili do kostela. Všichni židi se buď odstěhovali nebo byli starý, když tak jsme jezdili do Prahy na modlitbu za mrtvý. Rudolf byl pobožnější a jezdil sem do Prahy na svátky, my jsme jezdili, když byla ta vzpomínková tryzna za ty mrtví, kteří 7.3. šli do plynu. Pesach ani Chanuku jsme neslavili. Jen macesy jsme si kupovali, věděli jsme , že je Pesach, ale ani jsem nedělala  žádný zvláštní úklid.

A: Zuzana emigrovala kam?

B: Zuzana emigrovala do Švýcarska.

A: V 68 byl v Táboře nějakej větší bugr?

B: V Táboře tam sověti byli přes noc a pak odjeli zas na Prahu. Nic se tam nedělo, bylo tam hodně lidí, všichni se šli podívat. Ale bylo to v klidu.

A: Teď mi , prosím,popiš Tábor před válkou?

A: Tábor před válkou bylo takový klidný provinční město bez průmyslu, byla tam sladovna a tabáková továrna. Starosta se zasadil o to, aby tam byla vojenská posádka. Postavili tam nový vojenský kasárna a tím se ten život trochu zpestřil, ale jinak to bylo provinční.

A: Kolik tak žilo lidí?

B: Před válkou tam bylo tak 15/ 20 tisíc lidí a teď je tam asi 32 tisíc lisí, oni k tomu připojili i ty okrajový vesnice jako Celkovice. Když jsem se vdala, toužila jsem se stěhovat do Prahy, ale Jirka tam chtěl zůstat, neuměl si představit žít v Praze. Měli jsme tam jedny přátele položidovský a žili jsme s tím bratrem hodně dohromady. Je tam nádherná příroda v okolí. Je tam velkej rybník Jordán a tam se chodilo koupat, byla tam plovárna. Na kraji města byl židovském hřbitov. V kasárnách byla československá posádka, docela velká, po válce to přestavili a říkalo se tomu Pentagon, RVHP tam mělo nějaký sportoviště. Z části kasárna bylo Gestapo za války. Tábor má moc krásný okolí, hodně lesů. Ale jsem celkem ráda, že tam nejsem. Nikdo mě tady nezná, v Táboře když jsem šla, tak všichni po mně koukali, nebo jsem si to aspoň myslela.

A: Jezdíš tam někdy se podívat?

B: Já tam jezdím každého čtvrt roku od úterka do pátku. Zůstávám tam u té své dlouholeté kamarádky, známe se ještě dřív, než když jsme chodili do školy. Ona byla učitelka v mateřské škole, Jaroslava Teclová, měla za muže lékaře. Žije se synem. My jsme spolu dost chodili na delší procházky do lesa a teď jí to chybí, že tam nejsem.

Ronia Finkelshtein
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Inna Zlotnik
Date of interview: November 2002

Ronia Finkelshtein lives in the Pechersk neighborhood in the center of Kiev. She is a tall slim woman with gray curly hair. She has kind and vivid hazel eyes. She lives in a three-bedroom apartment on the first floor of a building constructed shortly after the war. She has all necessary comforts in her apartment. She has a collection of books on history and archeology and works by Russian writers and poets from the 1960-70s. The furniture in her apartment is 1960s style. It has become difficult for Ronia to leave the apartment, and Hesed has appointed an aid to help her about the house. Hesed provides food packages to her every month. Ronia's nephews call her from Israel, Moscow and Poltava. Her acquaintances and friends often come to see her. Ronia is a kind and sociable person and people like to be of help to her.

My family background
Growing up
My school years
Beginning of the war
Post-war
The Doctors' plot
Retirement
Glossary

My family background

My grandfather on my father's side, Moisey Finkelshtein, was born in Cherkassy in the 1860s. All I know is that my father came from a working- class Jewish family. He told me that Cherkassy belonged to Lithuania at some stage, then to Poland, and at the time my grandparents lived there it was part of Russia. The town had Polish, Jewish, Lithuanian, Ukrainian and Russian inhabitants. Jews constituted almost half of the population: There were about 1,000 Jewish families. There were several synagogues in town.

My grandmother was a housewife. The family was religious: They observed all traditions and celebrated holidays. My grandmother died when my father was a small boy, and my grandfather passed away in 1920, shortly before I was born. I wish I had asked my parents more about my grandparents during my childhood. After my grandmother died my grandfather remarried. I dimly remember my father mentioning his sisters, or perhaps, they were his stepsisters. Frankly speaking, I wasn't really interested in them. They lived in Cherkassy and perished during the Holocaust.

My father, Abram Finkelshtein, was the oldest child in the family. He was born in 1890. Two years later his sister Runia was born, Lisa followed in 1895 and Yunia in 1898. My father and Yunia finished cheder and the girls studied at home with a teacher. When my father was 13-14 years old he left for Poltava [350 km from Kiev]. Poltava was a big industrial town. My father was a laborer, then he finished an accounting course and got a job as an accountant.

My father's sisters and his brother also moved to Poltava after the Revolution of 1917. Runia finished a school for medical nurses and worked at the Jewish children's home. Lisa finished an accounting course and worked as an accountant. Uncle Yunia graduated from the Industrial Institute in Kharkov and became an engineer. When they left their parents' home in the 1910s, they stopped observing Jewish traditions. Young people were under the influence of revolutionary ideas at that time and atheists in their majority. Lisa got married. Her daughter, Vera, was born in 1930. Lisa, Runia, Vera and our family lived in Chkalov in the Ural [3,500 km from Kiev] during World War II, and after the war we returned to Poltava. Vera became a journalist and got married. She has two children: her daughter, Victoria, is the director of a swimming pool, and her son is a doctor. Uncle Yunia got married, too. He has a daughter, Ira. During the Great Patriotic War 1 he was at the front, and after the war his family returned to Kiev. Yunia was the chief engineer at the Geological Department.

My grandparents on my mother's side were born in Poltava, or in a town near Poltava, in the 1860s. After their wedding my grandfather rented an apartment and they settled down in Poltava. Now Poltava is a big town, a regional center. At the end of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th century Poltava was an industrial center: there were several plants, factories, smaller enterprises and shops. There were also theaters and libraries. Jews constituted about one third of the population in Poltava. There were also Ukrainians, Russians, Poles, Lithuanians and Belarus. My grandmother told me that the Jewish community was prosperous at the beginning of the 20th century: there were ten synagogues, a yeshivah, a cheder, a Jewish hospital, an old people's home and a Jewish library in town.

My grandfather' name was Moisey Izrailevich and my grandmother's name was Polina Izrailevich. They weren't a very wealthy family. My grandfather didn't have a house of his own. I remember the small building in which they were renting an apartment. They had a big verandah and two rooms, poorly furnished.

My grandparents were very religious and my mother, being their older daughter, did her best to please them. My mother, Adel Finkelshtein [nee Izrailevich], went to the market to buy a chicken and took it to the shochet to have it slaughtered, and she bought all kosher food for them. My grandfather knew Hebrew. He prayed every morning and evening and recited a blessing before every meal. They had a mezuzah on the door: a small box with a prayer inside. They touched it with their hands and kissed it before going into the house. It was believed to protect from evil. I liked the big bookcase in my grandparents' home: I enjoyed looking at the books. I couldn't read at that time and don't know exactly what kind of books they were, but I remember some bigger volumes in Hebrew and the Torah among them. The rest of the books were in Russian. My grandparents spoke Yiddish, especially when they wanted to conceal the subject of conversation from us. They also knew Russian. They celebrated all Jewish holidays and honored traditions. They went to the synagogue every Saturday and on Jewish holidays.

My grandfather was an accountant at the timber warehouse, and my grandmother was a housewife. She wore a white silk kerchief. She was a beauty: She was slim and tender and had a caring heart. My grandfather loved her dearly.

They had six children. Their oldest son, Savva, was born in 1887. My mother Adel was born in 1890, Sonia in 1892, Nyura in 1896, Aron in 1898 and the youngest, Tania, in 1902. Savva and Aron finished cheder, my mother and her sisters studied in grammar school for a few years. After that my mother didn't work or study. She was helping my grandmother about the house.

Savva didn't continue his studies after finishing cheder. His parents couldn't afford to pay for his education. Uncle Savva was a worker. He had a Jewish wife and three children: two daughters, Sarah and Nyura, and a son, Aron. Sarah had a son and a daughter, Sabina. When they were in evacuation in Leninabad their son fell ill and died. Uncle Savva died in Leninabad during the Great Patriotic War. After the war his wife, Sarah and Nyura moved to Ashgabad in Middle Asia. Sabina married a Russian man there and moved to Zhukovskoye near Moscow with her husband, and her mother Sarah. Sarah died there. Sabina and I correspond, and she often calls me.

Sonia married an accountant, Michael Rabichkin, a Jewish man. He worked at the sugar factory in Kolomak near Kharkov. Aunt Sonia moved to Kolomak. Their son, Boris, was born in 1914. Shortly after the revolution the Rabichkin family moved to Kharkov. Boris studied at the Jewish school. He spoke Yiddish fluently and even read Hugo in Hebrew. [Editor's note: Victor Hugo, French poet and novelist.] After school he couldn't enter a [higher educational] institute, as new Soviet laws only allowed young people from working class families to study in higher educational institutions. He finished an industrial school and became a worker at the Locomotive Repair Plant in Kharkov. Later he became a correspondent for the plant newspaper. He got married and had a son, Erik. His marriage didn't last long - they divorced. Boris entered the Faculty of Literature at the Pedagogical Institute in Kharkov. He married a Jewish woman, Fania Shtitelman. In the late 1930s their son, Sima, was born.

Nyura married a Jewish man, Ilia Gershinovich. Their son Volodia was born in 1926. In the 1930s the Gershinovich family moved to Moscow. During the Great Patriotic War Aunt Nyura and Volodia were in evacuation in Leninabad, Middle Asia, and after the war they returned to Moscow. Volodia finished a military school there and married a Jewish woman. They had two children: Galia and Alik. Their family often moved from one place to another because Volodia was a military man. Aunt Nyura lived in Poltava.

Aron finished a military college in Leningrad. He married a Jewish girl called Marusya and they had a son, Jacob. Aron served in a military unit in Leningrad and Marusya was a housewife. He finished a tank school shortly before the war. During the Great Patriotic War he went to the front and perished. Aron and Marusya were in the blockade of Leningrad 2. They starved to death.

My mother's youngest sister, Tania, graduated from the Pharmaceutical Faculty of the Medical Institute in Kharkov and worked as a pharmacist in a pharmacy. She was single. During the Great Patriotic War she lived in Chkalov in the Ural with Aunt Sonia's family. After the war she moved to Kiev with them and lived there until she died in 1982. She was buried in the town cemetery.

My mother's sisters and brothers were not religious: they didn't observe traditions or attend the synagogue.

My father worked as an accountant in Poltava in 1913 and could provide well for his family. I don't know how my parents got acquainted. Aunt Nyura told me that my father was engaged when he met my mother, but when he saw her, he fell in love with her at first sight. He left his fiancée and married my mother. My mother's parents were religious, so my parents had a traditional Jewish wedding. My grandmother told me that there was a chuppah installed in the yard of their house: a velvet canopy on four posts. My mother wore a fancy wedding gown and a white veil covering her head and face. My father wore a new suit. The rabbi said a prayer, gave his blessing and pronounced the marriage contract. My mother's relatives, neighbors and my father's friends came to the wedding. There were tables laid in the yard and klezmer musicians playing at the wedding party.

My father rented a room on the first floor in the center of Poltava. My mother became a housewife. My sister, Luda, was born in 1914. My mother was told that Jewish tradition didn't allow to name a child after a living relative, but she paid little attention to this. She liked the name Luda, which was the name of one of my mother's cousins. The girl was very pretty, blonde and had blue eyes, but there was something wrong with the way she was fed. The baby died of dyspepsia at the age of 7 months. My mother was grieving and wore mourning clothes for a long time. The revolution of 1917 didn't change my parents' life style. My father continued to work as an accountant and my mother remained a housewife.

Growing up

I was born on 22nd August 1920. I was named Ronia after my deceased great- grandmother on my mother's side. It's an ancient Jewish name. We lived in a 20 square meter room my father was renting from a Jewish landlord. We had a leather settee, my wooden bed and my parents' bed with nickel balls. My father had a desk with carved legs and a bookshelf. There was a small yard near the house with a big lime tree, two old apple trees, a few jasmine bushes and a dogrose plant.

My mother was a very nice and kind woman. She took care of my father, me and my grandparents. My father first worked as an accountant and then as an inspector at the Oil Sales Company. He loved me a lot and spent plenty of time with me: he bought me books and toys and allowed me to do anything I wanted. Naturally, I loved him more than I loved my mother.

Aunt Nyura lived in our neighborhood, so my cousin Volodia and I were growing up together. We spoke Russian at home. My father and mother knew Yiddish and Hebrew. My mother studied in Russian at the grammar school and got more accustomed to speak and write in Russian. When our parents wanted to conceal the subject of a discussion from their children they switched to Yiddish, but it didn't really work the way they had expected. We grew up in a Yiddish environment hearing it in the streets and at our grandparents' home.

Our landlord sang at the synagogue, and my mother and I went to listen to him. The synagogue was a one-storied building in Komsomolskaya Street. Men prayed on the ground floor and there was a special area for women. There was a bigger two-storied synagogue in Gogolevskaya Street. My father wasn't religious and didn't go to the synagogue, but my mother attended the synagogue on all big holidays. I liked Jewish holidays. I remember the celebration of Rosh Hashanah, Chanukkah, Pesach and Purim. My mother made traditional Jewish food for our family and for my grandparents. We didn't follow the kashrut, but we didn't eat pork and didn't mix meat and dairyproducts. My grandmother, though, followed the kashrut strictly and my mother made kosher food for her. Our family got together at the table at my grandparents' on Jewish holidays.

My mother had special dishes and utensils for Pesach that she kept in the storeroom for the rest of the year. Before Pesach she did a general cleaning of the house. She removed all bread and flour from the house. We celebrated the first day of Pesach at my grandparents'. The table was covered with white tablecloth and there was gefilte fish, chicken, sweet and sour stew and red wine. My parents hid matzah under a pillow for the children to search for it. My grandfather put on his tallit, sat at the head of the table and said a prayer. My cousin, Volodia, and I were supposed to take the matzah from under the pillow on the chair beside my grandfather in a way that he didn't notice. It was a challenge.

I remember how Volodia and I looked forward to Chanukkah because we got some money on this holiday. We celebrated it with our landlord. I liked it because he used to give me a silver ruble while my grandfather only gave me 50 kopecks. On Purim my mother made a sweet honey dish - hamantashen - triangle pies stuffed with poppy seeds. I remember my mother making teyglakh: she made small balls from eggs and flour, baked them and dipped them in boiling honey. Then she put them on a board, pressed them into a thick layer and cut them into small cubes.

My grandmother wanted to raise us religiously. I remember my cousin Volodia often saying to my grandmother, 'There is no God!'. I begged him to say to her, 'Yes, there is a God' because I saw how hurt she felt hearing this heresy. But he was stubborn and kept saying, 'There is no God and that's it!' This was the period of the official struggle against religion 3, and Volodia and I were growing up under the influence of this propaganda of atheism.

My grandfather had acute problems with his stomach ulcer in 1925. At that time my grandmother was dying in the room next door. She died from pneumonia within three days. I didn't go to my grandmother's funeral, but my mother told me later that she was buried in the Jewish cemetery and that there was a rabbi at her funeral. My grandfather was grieving over his wife and didn't recover for a long time. Aunt Tania lived with him, but my mother took him to our home after a little while, because Tania didn't take proper care of him. She didn't observe Jewish traditions. My mother cooked kosher food for him, lit candles on Saturdays, and we celebrated all Jewish holidays.

When I turned 5 I went to the group of a German governess, Mata, who had finished the Froebel Institute 4. There were 6 children in her group, Jewish and Ukrainian. We went to walk in the park and she spoke German with us. I learned to read and speak German that way. She also taught us manners, and we played a lot. There were several parks in the center of Poltava: a beautiful pioneer park and a birch garden.

I saw a chuppah in our yard at about the same time. Our neighbors' daughter had a wedding ceremony. Our neighbors were wealthy people and they made a beautiful chuppah on four posts. The bride was wearing a wedding dress and had her head covered with a light shawl. The rabbi said a prayer. It was a beautiful sight.

The son of our landlord and his family lived in a two-bedroom apartment next door. He had two sons: Misha and Izia. They were a little bit older than I and we often played together, but they didn't really enjoy my company. They were boys and had different interests. They were a wealthy family. It was the period of the NEP 5 and they had two cinema theaters in the center of Poltava: 'Record' and 'Coliseum'. Misha and Izia took me to all movies. We watched 'A Thief from Baghdad', 'New York', 'A Kiss from Mary Pickford' and others. I don't remember what they were about, though.

There was a theater in the center of Poltava, but there was no theatrical group in the town. Theaters from other towns came on tours. I remember opera and ballet performances: 'Red Poppy', 'Bayaderka', 'Swan Lake' and 'Sleeping Beauty'. There was no Jewish theater in Poltava, so no Jewish theater groups came on tour.

In 1928, at the end of the NEP period, these cinema theaters were nationalized and our landlords moved to Leningrad. We occupied one of their rooms, and my grandfather lived in his own room. I had many toys: Aunt Lisa and Runia, who lived nearby, gave them to me. They brought a beautiful doll from Kharkov. Later I got skis and skates. Misha, Izia and I were fond of walking on stilts and were very good at it. I also played chess and dominoes.

My school years

When I was 8 I went to a Russian secondary school near our house. There were many Jewish children in our school. They didn't know Yiddish because their parents believed it was better for them to study in Russian schools to make their further education easier. In 1929 our house was transferred to the military. We received a two-bedroom apartment in a two-storied building near a big market. I had a room of my own, my parents lived in the bigger room. My mother bought a new cupboard and put my grandfather's bed behind the cupboard. We also had a wardrobe and two sideboards. There was a bookshelf in my parents' room. I also remember a desk covered with heavy green cloth and a low marble table. I had a wooden bed, a wardrobe and a book stand with my textbooks in my room. I liked reading, but we didn't have many books at home. We borrowed books from one another at school. We mainly read Russian classics. I remember books by Sholem Aleichem 6 and Jewish writers in Russian. There were many children in our yard. We played together, planted flowers and fed dogs. I had Russian and Jewish friends.

When we moved to a new apartment I went to another school. It was a Russian secondary school. I became a pioneer at school. The admission ceremony took place in the cultural center of the knitwear factory named after Nogin. I was to turn 10 in three months' time. When I came onto the stage and the commission asked me how old I was, my classmates began to whisper that I should tell them that I had turned 10. I couldn't lie and said that I would be ten soon. I was very concerned that they wouldn't admit me because children only became pioneers after they had turned 10. I was admitted, and when I got my red necktie I felt very happy. There were also badges with pioneer fire flames. I remember how proudly we were marching home past the synagogue. We ran into the synagogue, but were told to get out of there. We couldn't understand why. My grandfather was skeptical about my becoming a pioneer, but he understood that it was the trend at the time. I continued to celebrate Jewish holidays with my family, but I didn't tell anybody at school about it.

We had various clubs at school, such as a defense club and a physical culture club. We issued wall newspapers and took an active part in electoral campaigns. We went around the town on trucks holding posters. On Soviet holidays we arranged amateur concerts, recited poems and sang Soviet songs. I studied well. I was good at all subjects, but my favorite one was mathematics.

My grandfather died in 1932. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery. I wasn't allowed to go to the funeral, but my mother told me that there was a rabbi there. After my grandfather died our family celebrated fewer Jewish holidays until we stopped celebrating them completely. The Soviet power struggled against religion. When the older generation was still alive their families celebrated Jewish holidays, but later I didn't see any family that observed any traditions. In our family only my grandparents were religious, and the following generations lost their commitment to the Jewish way of life. Of course, they all followed the covenants and carried God in their hearts, but there was no outward demonstration of their faith. They didn't go to the synagogue or follow the kashrut. However, my mother tried to keep some traditions: We celebrated Pesach and had matzah at home. My mother fasted on Yom Kippur. She fasted until I strictly forbade her to when she grew older. She had diabetes. I gave her injections and told her that it was said that if a person was ill this person was released from strict obedience to religious rules.

I had a Russian friend, Lyusia, who was lame. Her mother used to say, 'Ronia, how I wish that Lyusia married a Jewish man. Jews are such good husbands. He would take care of her'. It was a common opinion that Jews made good and caring husbands at that time. And Lyusia did marry a Jewish man when the time came.

I became a Komsomol 7 member in 1936, when I was in the 9th grade. It was a natural flow of events - from pioneers to Komsomol members. I never took part in public events, but it didn't ever occur to me that I might skip Komsomol. When I was in the 10th grade we were allowed to put up a Christmas tree at school, it was so lovely! Some traditions have ancient roots, and the tradition to decorate a Christmas tree dated back to the times of Tsar Peter [Peter the Great] 8. It was hard to eliminate old traditions from people's lives and many people kept having a tree. Christmas Trees were forbidden before with the excuse that it was a waste of trees. [Editor's note: Actually, Christmas trees were forbidden by the Soviet power as vestige of the bourgeois past.]

There was one Jewish lower secondary school at the Jewish children's home in Poltava. Aunt Runia, my father's sister, worked at this school as a medical nurse. She took children home to make them familiar with life at home. I had many friends from this school. Vera, the director of this children's home, was a very nice and kind woman. She was like a mother to the children. She spent all her time with them, and they loved her. They had clubs at school and organized amateur concerts. To complete their secondary education these children went to ordinary schools. There were some of the children from the children's home in our school. They lived in the children's home until they finished secondary school. My mother invited many of them to our home to treat them to something delicious - she cooked traditional food or gave them tea and sweets, just to support them and let them know what the warmth of a home feels like.

Two of my uncles were arrested in 1937 [during the so-called Great Terror] 9. One of them was my mother's brother Semyon. He was a prosecutor in Kharkov. He was a very smart and intelligent man. The other one was Nyura's husband, Ilia Gershinovich. He was chief engineer at Dnepro power station, and later worked for Kaganovich 10. My aunts went to numerous authorities to find out what they were charged for, but they got no explanation. Only when the process of rehabilitation began [following the Twentieth Party Congress] 11, we found out that our relatives had been executed in 1937 and only found 'not guilty' in 1953.

Back then a terrible tragedy struck my Jewish friend Musia Drobnis, my schoolmate. Her father was Chairman of Sovnarkom [Presidium of the government of the USSR]. He was a big official. He left Musia's mother and moved to Moscow in 1923 when one daughter was a year and a half and the other 3 years old. The girls' mother worked at the stocking factory. Her ex- husband helped her every now and then, but they were very poor. In 1937 Musia's father was the director of a huge industrial enterprise. He was charged for derailing trains and arrested. Musia's family became impoverished. I remember them buying jam and eating it with brown bread. They enjoyed it so much that I felt extremely sorry for them.

The girls' mother was also arrested. She was accused of distributing anti- Soviet flyers. We didn't believe it. We knew that she went to struggle for the Soviet power when she was 13. Musia and her sister were expelled from school and forced to move out of their apartment. Their lives were ruined, they didn't have any means of living and had to do any work they could find. They were treated as members of families of 'enemies of the people' and couldn't even hope to get a better job or any further education. After 1953 Musia's parents were rehabilitated posthumously - it turned out they had been executed in the late 1930s.

I finished school in 1938. My friends Shura and Nina and I submitted our documents to the Kharkov Chemical Technological Institute. We were admitted. I lived in a hostel in the first two years. There were four of us sharing a room: Dora, Shura, Nina and I. We enjoyed ourselves, went to the cinema, theater and to parties, read books and went for walks. When I became a 3rd year student I moved in with my Aunt Sonia. Her son had graduated from the Institute before the war and lived with his wife Fania, an archaeologist, in his own apartment.

Beginning of the war

After my 3rd year I went for practical training to Zaporozhiye [250 km from Kharkov]. On 22nd June 1941 we went on an excursion to the Dnepro power plant near Zaporozhiye. It was a beautiful sunny day. We got off the bus and saw a crowd of people listening to a radio on a post. It was Molotov's 12 speech about the beginning of the war in the USSR. I knew that Europe was in war, but we were assured by propaganda that Hitler wouldn't dare to attack the Soviet Union. We rushed back to our hostel, and our management called the Institute and told us that we were to go back to Kharkov. We managed to get train tickets and returned to Kharkov within a few days.

I soon received a letter from my parents in Poltava. They wrote that my father had got an assignment to the oil terminal in Orsk, Ural, and my mother and I could go there by train. My mother wrote that the train was to stop for a longer interval in Donbass, and I could join her there. She had had some time to pack our luggage, which made our situation during evacuation easier. We met two days later in the town of Solnechnoye, Donbass. From there we headed to the Ural. We saw bombed down trains on our way and our train avoided air raids only by some miracle.

We managed to get to Chkalov [3,000 km from Poltava]. Zholtoye village, where the oil terminal was located, was between Chkalov and Orsk. My mother and I were waiting for our father to arrive. We were helpless without him. My mother had never worked before, and I didn't have a profession. Some time later my father's sisters, Runia and Lisa, and Lisa's daughter, Vera, arrived in Zholtoye. We were informed that my father had arrived at the oil terminal, but that he was ill. He had pneumonia before the war. He had left Poltava on a truck and caught a cold which resulted in tuberculosis. He was very ill, but there was no hospital or medication in Zholtoye.

There were six of us living in Zholtoye: my father, my mother, Aunt Lisa, her daughter Vera, Aunt Runia and I. We all lived in one room where my father was lying in bed, ill with tuberculosis. My mother's sisters Tania and Sonia, Boris, his wife Fania and their son, Sima, also arrived in Chkalov, Ural. My father went to work, even though he was ill. From September 1941 to May 1942 my mother and I looked after him. My mother went to the neighboring villages to exchange clothes for food for my father: We got butter and white bread. We didn't have much luggage, just some dishes, a few clothes and books, but we had to exchange all for food. I put on my father's winter boots and coat and went to Chkalov - I don't know how I found my way in the snowstorms - to get white bread for father because he couldn't eat brown bread. He couldn't digest it. The illness was stronger. My father died in May 1942. The area where we lived was flooded, and we couldn't get to the nearest cemetery in Orsk. We buried my father near the station in Chkalov.

My mother didn't work and we had to decide what we were going to do. I corresponded with my co-students and they sent me an invitation to come to the Institute. My mother and I decided that it was best for me to complete my education and get a profession. My Institute was evacuated to Alma-Ata in Middle Asia [2,000 km from Chkalov]. My mother and I arrived in Chirchik [4,000 km from Poltava]. There was a rich market in Chirchik. I couldn't resist the sight of grapes. I ate some and fell ill with typhoid. It resulted in pneumonia. I stayed in hospital for two months. My mother also lived in this hospital.

We had sold all our belongings and were starving. We couldn't make a living and went to Leninabad [5,500 km from Poltava] where Aunt Nyura and Volodia lived. Aunt Nyura was a doctor at the preserved food factory. At that time students of the Odessa Technological Institute came for training to this factory. Aunt Nyura introduced me to some students, and they told me to study at their Institute in Stalinabad, as one got a stipend and food portions there. My mother and I went to Stalinabad, and I studied at the Odessa Technological Institute for a year and a half. We stayed in the basement of a hostel in the unfinished House of the Government. There were six of us: four students from Odessa, my mother and I. My mother and I shared a bed, which was a usual way of living at that time. Our co-tenants, Lyusia and Fira, were Jewish, and Luba and Tania were Russian.

In August 1944 the Institute was to re-evacuate to Odessa, but the director didn't allow me to take my mother with me. I said to him, 'In that case I'm staying too. I'll find a job and a place to live'. He felt sorry for me and allowed my mother to come with us. In Odessa we lived in the hostel and shared a bed again. My mother was too old to go to work, and we lived on my stipend and the food that I received at the Institute. In January 1945 we went to have practical training in Leninakan, Armenia, and I sent my mother home to Poltava. I couldn't take her with me - the tickets were too expensive. Our house had been destroyed, and my mother stayed with my father's sister Lisa. Lisa, Runia and Vera were back from evacuation. My mother helped them about the house. After a month and a half I returned to Odessa.

Post-war

I remember Victory Day on 9th May 1945. We celebrated it in Odessa. It was a day of great joy. I remember the fireworks, the trees in blossom, people infatuated with victory, hugging each other, crying and dancing. I graduated from the Institute a month later and got a job assignment to the packed food factory in Kiev. I was an engineer there and received a room in the factory hostel. My mother came to me from Poltava. However, soon this factory was closed as an non-profitable enterprise. I lost my job and place to live.

My father's brother, Yunia, who was chief engineer at the Geological Department in Kiev, helped me to get employment at the Laboratory of Secret Testing at the Geological Department. My cousin Boris, his wife Fania and their son Sima returned to Kiev from Chkalov. Boris and Fania worked at the Institute of Archaeology and lived at the Institute - there were five rooms for the staff. I moved in with Boris and Fania, and my mother left for Poltava again.

Boris, Fania and I were very happy to learn that the state of Israel was established in 1948 and that the Jewish people finally had their own home country.

I worked at the Geological Department for five years. In the early 1950s, during the campaign against cosmopolitans 13, five employees of our laboratory, including me, were fired because we were Jews. I had access to sensitive information before. This access was cancelled, and my photo was removed from the Board of Honor. I was looking for a new job, but Jews weren't employed.

Later the Geological Department offered me a job at a geological expedition near Genichesk [700 km from Kiev]. There was a vacancy there because it wasn't an attractive location to work at. I was offered the position of the manager of the laboratory. The expedition site was 35 kilometers from the railroad. We were searching for nickel and cobalt - this was also sensitive area, but I was allowed to go there. [Editor's note: Natural resources deposit areas were state secrets in the USSR.] I took my mother with me. I lived with her and a friend of mine in a small room. I was glad that my mother was with me. She was a great cook and a very hospitable person, and my colleagues liked to visit us. Those were two beautiful years in my life (1952-1954). We were a great team of geologists and enjoyed working together. We got together in the evening to sing songs, discuss the latest news and books that we had read, had tea and danced. Life seemed wonderful to us.

The Doctors's plot

Soon we heard rumors that the Soviet power was planning to deport Jews to the autonomous Jewish region of Birobidzhan 14. It was a trying period: the Doctors' Plot 15 was at its height. We were living in fear. We got up in the morning and listened to the radio. Of course, we didn't believe in Jewish doctors being murderers. We were old enough to understand that it was a plot. Then Stalin fell sick, and again we rushed to hear the news on the radio. On 5th March 1953 Stalin died, and there was mourning all over the country. My first thought was, 'What's going to happen now? If there were persecutions before what would they do to the Jewish people now?'. My mother and I remembered the repression of 1937 and didn't feel any sorrow about Stalin's death, but many people sincerely believed in his impeccability and cried. I was concerned about the uncertainty. Many years later Aunt Sonia recalled the time when Stalin died and said to Boris 'How we lowered our eyes to hide our joy from other people'.

Our expedition was over in 1954, and we returned to Kiev. We had no place to live and Aunt Sonia gave us shelter in her house. They exchanged their apartment in Kharkov for one in Kiev. I began searching for a job, but due to state anti-Semitism it was almost impossible. I never faced everyday anti-Semitism. My colleagues always treated me nicely. Uncle Yunia helped me again: He got me a job at GIINTIZ [State Institute of Engineering and Technical Survey]. We completed surveys for the construction of sugar factories and other industrial facilities. I submitted my request for an apartment for my mother and me. Meanwhile we were living with Aunt Sonia and Uncle Misha in their 30 square meter room. Their son, Boris, and his wife, Fania, played an important role in my life.

After the war Boris and Fania worked at the Institute of Archaeology in Kiev. Boris had finished the Faculty of Literature at the Pedagogical Institute, but he specialized in archaeology and had inventions in that field. In the early 1960s the Institute of Archaeology sent him to a reserve in Olvia [400 km from Kiev] where he was the director for two years. Boris was successful with his work in archaeology. He also wrote poems and short stories, but he wasn't ambitious and didn't publish his writings. Fania was very smart. She was the manager of the antique section of the Museum of Western and Oriental Art in Kiev in the 1970s. I liked to visit her at home. She always had gatherings of interesting people: archaeologists, historians, poets and writers. Her friends became my friends.

I got along well with my friends at GIINTIZ. We went to all concerts at the Philharmonic and the Conservatory. I liked performances of Russian and Ukrainian drama - there was no Jewish theater in Kiev at that time. Neither my friends nor I went to the synagogue. Of all Jewish holidays we only celebrated Pesach. My mother always got some matzah for Pesach, but we didn't really follow all the rules when we celebrated this holiday. We didn't light candles on Saturdays either. It wasn't customary in our circle.

When I was 43 I received an apartment. My colleague and I got a two-bedroom apartment in the Otradniy neighborhood, far from the city center. I got a room and my colleague got a room. My mother and I shared my room. My mother didn't have a right for this apartment as she wasn't an employee of our Institute. She was very happy that we had a dwelling of our own, but she only lived in this apartment for three years. She passed away in 1966. She was buried in the Jewish section of the Baikovoye cemetery.

Retirement

I retired in 1975. I received a good pension of 132 rubles. I would have stayed at work longer, but I had to retire: Fania and Tania were very ill and we had to look after them. Boris, Fania and I decided to exchange our apartments for a three-bedroom apartment in the center of the town. It was better to live together to look after Boris' parents and Aunt Tania. Aunt Sonia and Uncle Misha died in the late 1970s, Aunt Tania passed away in 1982. They were all buried in the Jewish section of the Baikovoye cemetery.

Looking back I realize that I lived my life looking after my relatives: I gave them injections, took them to hospitals and looked after them. I haven't got my own family. I never met the man that would have made me feel like changing my whole life. My relatives always came first in my life.

Sima moved to the US in the 1970s. Boris, Fania and I visited him in 1990. It was my first trip abroad. We went to New York, Philadelphia, Chicago and Washington. We visited many museums. I am very happy I've been there, but during our visit Sima died in a hotel. Fania was grieving over him, and it was a great loss to Boris. Sima's daughter, Helen, moved to Israel shortly after Sima died. She almost convinced Fania, Boris and me to move there, too. We even had our documents processed, but at the last moment we changed our mind. To change life so dramatically at our age was just too much. Erik, Boris' son from his first marriage, also lives in Israel. I visited Israel in 1990. It's a wonderful country. I liked everything there. We traveled a lot, but I couldn't wait to go back home, to my town and friends.

Fania died of an infarction in 1992. Boris and I missed her a lot. Our friends supported us and often came to see us. Boris and I receive food packages at the synagogue twice a year. [The synagogue in Kiev supplies food to needy Jews at Rosh Hashanah and Pesach to support poorer people.] Once, when I was on my way to the synagogue to collect half a kilo of butter, I met an old non-Jewish woman. She asked me what I was going to get at the synagogue and when I told her she commented, 'How wonderful that you get support. There's nobody who thinks about us'. Frankly speaking, I felt ashamed of being privileged compared to many other old people who are less fortunate.

Boris died in 2000. I seldom leave my home now. A few years ago a fence fell on my back and injured my spinal cord. I have a nurse from Hesed called Nina Antonovna. She comes to help me around the house. There is another woman, Katia, who comes to cook. I receive a pension of 151 hryvna and I can pay these women. My niece, Galia Gershinovich, also supports me. She's a journalist in Moscow. She once said to me, 'Aunt Ronia, just imagine how happy my father would have been to know that I support you'. She sends me 600 rubles each month and this amount is almost enough to cover my monthly rent and living costs. It's very touching of her to support me. I can't pay her back anything except for my cordial appreciation of what she does for me. I understand that she doesn't have too much herself, but she still finds it possible to share what she has with me.

My cousin Vera lives in Poltava. She is a journalist with the radio. There is also my cousin Ira in Kiev. All my nieces and nephews are married to Russians: Sabina, Savva's granddaughter, is married to a Russian man, my brother Volodia's children Galia and Alik are married to Russian men with Kazakh and Tatar ancestors. I believe, love is the essential thing in a marriage, and nationality doesn't matter that much.

I am very happy that I'm not alone: Nina Antonovna and Katia take care of me, my nephews and nieces from Israel, Moscow and Poltava call me, Galia supports me by sending some money and my friends come to see me. The curator from Hesed brings me food packages twice a month. She also invites me to attend lectures on history, traditions and the culture of the Jewish people and go to concerts, but I'm too old to go. I am glad that people haven't forgotten me - it makes my life easier.

Glossary

Rahela Perisic
Bosnia
Interviewer: Klara Azulaj

My name is Rahela Perisic (nee Albahari) and I was born in 1922 in Sanski Most. My father, David Albahari, was born in 1889 in Tesanj (Bosnia) and my mother, Luna Albahari (nee Levi), was born in 1899 in Kladanj (Bosnia).

We lived in Sanski Most in a one-story garden house. Upstairs in this house we had a three room apartment and on the ground floor my father and his brother had a dry goods store. Next door to us lived my father's brother Jakob. They also had a garden house but their garden was much nicer than ours. Jakob's wife, Rena, grew beautiful flowers and had an orchard. My sisters, brother and I liked to stay at their house and play with their children. My father and his brother Jakob, two brothers, married two sisters, my mother and her sister Rena. Thus we lived liked one family.

A great number of Jews lived in Sanski Most. They had many professions among them: merchants, craftspeople, pharmacists, lawyers, etc. All in all it was a beautiful Jewish community, one that knew how to get along and was always ready to jump in and help someone when it was needed. There was a temple. It was an old modest building where all the Jews of Sanski Most gathered and marked their holidays.

My father and uncle's business did not go well and they decided to leave Sanski Most. My family went 12 kilometers away from Sanski Most to a place called Lusci Palanka. My uncle and his family went to Sarajevo.

We were the only Jewish family in Lusci Palanka. My father, who was a very sociable man, made a lot of friends quickly. Soon after our arrival he also established the first library and reading room and a group of mandolin players. My mother was well received by the other women and she was always willing to help the other women especially when it came to advise about running a household and taking care of children.

In Lusci Palanka my sisters and I went to elementary school. Since Lusci Palanka did not have a temple we went to Sanski Most for Rosh Hashanah, Sukkot and sometimes for Pesach. While there we stayed with our relative Avram Atijas and his wife Mazalta. For us children Chanukah was the best. I loved to light the candles. I remember before Pesach my mother would take all the dishes to the garden where she cleaned each plate. She also had a special trunk with dishes only for Pesach. Regardless of the fact that there was no temple in Luka Palanka my family always washed before the Shabbat and wore nice clothes. My father wore a dress suit as if he had come back from temple. Then he would read a prayer and after dinner we would go for a walk.

We did not stay in Luka Palanka for long. My father had to move because his business was not going well. This was not an industrialized environment in fact it was exclusively an agricultural region. In 1930 we moved to Drvar. Drvar was an industrialized town rich in wood. There was a cellulose factory and a big sawmill. The Grmec mountain was exploited by the sawmill and many people were employed in this industry. Unfortunately, we found that we were once again the only Jewish family. My father found a very good space for our future shop and very quickly the seeds of his and my mother's work began to appear. As very social people, they quickly had a steady clientele and my father was able to buy many shares and we had a solid savings.

When we finished elementary school my sisters, Flora, Judita and I continued our schooling in Banja Luka because there was no secondary school in Drvar. We lived with our aunt Rena and her husband Jakob who had relocated from Sarajevo to Banja Luka. My uncle's business did not go well and his family lived very modestly. My father helped him a lot.

My sisters and I joined the Jewish youth group in Banja Luka. There was a big temple and next to it a space for Jewish youth activities called Ken. In Ken we learned Hebrew, songs and Jewish games and we organized trips out of Banja Luka. Older girls and boys always went with we younger ones and they paid strict attention to our behavior. When we passed through the town everyone knew that we were Jews because we were dressed in clean clothes, not luxuriously, but very neat, and we were always well behaved.

My mother's brother, Haim Levi, also lived in Banja Luka. He had a big hairdresser salon. Frequently, he told me stories about his parents, Haim and Flora Levi. Since they died before I was born I listened to his stories with great interest. The story of my great-grandfather, Salomon, my grandmother Flora Levi's father, was especially moving and interesting. My great-grandfather was a banker of sorts. He had a currency exchange. He would take foreign currency and go from Banja Luka to Prijedor to change the money from Turkish currency to Austro-Hungarian. (Editor's note: we assume she is speaking of pre-1878, when Banja Luka was still in Turkish hands). He traveled a lot for this work. Once, while he was in Prijedor, someone noticed that he had a big bag from which he took out foreign money and changed it. Thieves waited for and killed my great-grandfather and took the money. His horse and dog returned home by themselves. My great- grandmother Bikina organized a search party and with help from the horse and dog she found the place where the crime occurred. The killer was quickly found and taken to prison.

My grandfather Haim and his wife Flora had a small shop. They sold mostly leather good including: saddles, horse harnesses, leather bags and other household goods. They lived modestly and observed all the holidays and customs because they were very religious. When their daughter Rena married she had to go to the ritual bath. For this ritual bath all the girls discreetly accompanied her to a place on the Vrbas River and helped her with the bath. Her hair was very long and they put some fragrant grass in her hair and on the way they sang. My mother told me about how wonderful these songs were. After the bath the bride was decorated and adorned until the morning. My grandmother Flora knew how to make the nicest tukada. A tukada is a hat which is placed on the bride and made from pearls and brocade. These were real pieces of art work. The young couple married under a traditional Jewish canopy and it was an event which all the young people of Banja Luka took part in. Six children were born from this marriage: Rena, Haim, Sarina, Luna, Leon and Matilda. Unfortunately, Matilda died very young. My mother's brother, Leon, was seriously injured during WWI. He never recovered from the injuries and died in 1923. His wife, Sida, died very quickly after him and the care of their three children: Zlata, Flora and Haim, was taken over by the remaining family members.

My paternal grandmother, Rahela Albahari (nee Atijas), was born in 1855 in Travnik.

She lived in a big family and had a lot of brothers and sisters. She was born while Bosnia and Hercegovina was under Turkish control. In Travnik there were a lot of Jewish families, more Sephards than Ashkenazis. There were rich and poor families. My great-grandfather was a small merchant and lived very modestly with his family. The male children learned a trade and female children did not go to school. My grandmother Rahela was very adroit, hardworking and curious about everything. She and her brothers learned Hebrew script and read religious books. Since the prayer books had Ladino (a medieval Spanish dialect written with Hebrew characters; Ladino, or Judeo-Espanol, was to Spanish what Yiddish was to German), she was able to use the Ladino to learn Hebrew. She spoke Ladino, Turkish, Hebrew and Serbian. She went to temple regularly, which was rare for female children at the time. She married Moshe Albahari when she was 17 years old. My grandfather Moshe's family lived in Travnik, and later moved to Tesanj, a small place in Bosnia. Moshe and Rahela lived in Tesanj and had a small shop. Rahela gave birth to 7 children: Salamon-Buhor, Jakob, Sabetaj, Leon, Gedalja, Ester and David. The children all left the house early; they learned a trade with friends or relatives in Travnik, Zenica and Sarajevo. When they finished their schooling, they got married, started their own families and lived in different places in Bosnia and Hercegovnia. Grandfather Moshe was sickly and he died of pneumonia around 1910. Since the children had moved away and she was left alone, Rahela decided to fulfill her longstanding wish to move to Israel and to die in the Holy Land. Her son Gedalja accompanied her to the ship, which sailed from Split.

When she arrived in Israel she educated Jewish children since she new Jewish history and how to read and write Hebrew quite well. She was in Israel when WWI broke out. Nostalgia and sadness overcame her. She was worried about her children. Unfortunately, she only managed to return to Bosnia in 1918. She died in Sarajevo in 1930. Before her death my father, my mother and my two sisters and I went to visit her. That is the first and last time I saw her. My father, David, was her youngest son and she was very close to him. I remember when we kissed her hand, first my father, then my mother and then the children and she kept repeating: "David, my sweet child."

Sometime around 1934, one could feel that bad times were coming. Fascism could already be felt in the air. After the unification of the Third Reich in 1938 (editor's note: this is how the respondent refers to the German takeover of Austria), many Jews arrived in Banja Luka from Austria. My uncle Salomon Levi took in one of these families. They left all of their property behind in Vienna. I was still too young to fully understand their situation. But, unfortunately, the hard times soon befell me too. For the 1940-41 school year I was enrolled in Prijedor. During this school year I started to have problems because my history professor was a fascist sympathizer and he always humiliated and insulted me in front of the whole grade. I cried after almost every class with him. My three school friends: Sveta Popovic, Joca Stefanovic and Milan Markovic were a great consolation to me. They would tell me: "Don't give in to him, hold your head up high, proudly, high, you are not going to let one fascist make you suffer." I listened to them. Numerus Klausus, a law which restricted the number of Jewish children who were able to go to school, had already been enacted. They carried this out especially rigorously with those boys and girls who were supposed to enroll in the higher grades of the gymnasium. At the teacher's meeting the director of my school insisted that I be thrown out, but I was lucky and my physics, geography and literature professors lobbied for me to stay. Their argument was that it would be better to dismiss a younger student who had time to transfer to some trade school rather than me. In the end they did not throw me out. I learned about this incident during the war when I met one my professors.

War broke out in 1941 and a German unit entered Drvar. Not much time passed before my father, mother and younger sister Judita, and my younger brother Moric, who was eleven, were taken to what was called a reception camp in Bosanski Petrovac by the Ustashe [Before and during WWII Ustashe were an extreme right wing political and military organization of Croatian nationalists on the German's side. They ruled Croatia from 1941-1945]. When this happened I was at my aunt's house. The Ustashe told her that she must send me to the camp but I did not go and I ran away instead. I hid in surrounding villages, however in the end I fell into the hands of the Ustashe and I suffered terribly when they took me to prison. But something happened to save me. Serbs, who were also mistreated by the Ustashe, attacked Drvar. I was liberated at that time. I immediately registered to help at the Drvar hospital. Salomon Levi, who I knew from before, worked there as a doctor. I contacted him and told him that I wanted to help in the hospital since before the war I had learned first aid in school. From that day I became a fighter against fascism. From then until 1945 I held a variety of different responsibilities and positions. Once the enemy attacked liberated territory and the people began to flee. Many mothers fled with weak children. Many children ran around like mad, fell in flames and disappeared. At the time I was in the 10th Krajiski brigade. I gathered these children, saved them from a sure death and took them back to a safe place. They were put up in a children's dormitory in Lika, which was established during the war. In honor of my effort to save as many children as possible, I was decorated with a medal of courage.

In the meantime, my parents along with Judita and Moric were supposed to be transferred from the reception camp to Jasenovac. However, my father was clever and while they were in the cattle cars waiting for the train tracks at the Prijedor station to be fixed he told my brother and sister to ask to the officers if they could use the toilet. Since there was not a normal toilet, they went a little behind the wagon and they managed to cross over the narrow-gauge railroad tracks. Shortly afterwards my parents managed to escape unnoticed and caught up with them. All four of them got on a train for Sanski Most. In Sanski Most they hid for some time; they wanted to reach Drvar because the Italians were there and they did not practice the same abuse the Germans did. With a lot of hardship they finally reached Drvar. I was ordered to stay in Drvar from the time the Italians took over to do illegal work. My father and mother spent the entire war running from place to place as liberated territories changed. My sister and brother were in the partisans.

In 1944 I caught pneumonia. The war efforts, hunger, walking, exhausted me terribly. My unit decided to transfer me to liberated territory from the medical facility. As soon as I got a little better I began to work in the youth organization in the liberated territory. This was in Bosanski Petrovac in Grahovo, in Jajce and in Travnik. At that time I was selected to be part of the top leadership for Bosnia and Hercegovina in the Central Committee of Anti-Fascist Youth. My work was a great help to our army. I organized youth to help carry the wounded, to plow, dig, sow since all the food was sent to the front lines. We started a literacy course, we taught the youth many useful things and skills. For this work I was also awarded. I received a lot of recognition. I received awards for serving Bosnia and Hercegovina, for contributing to the fight, and after the war for my work with children. I was in Bugojno until 1945 when I heard that Belgrade was liberated. Naturally we were overjoyed, however all of Yugoslavia was still not liberated. Fortunately that too happened.

The members of my family and I were reunited in Sarajevo in 1945. We all came to the family house. My father was very happy that all of his children had survived and said: "Children, do not worry as long as your head is on your shoulders, we will start over and there will be everything."

After the war we children continued our schooling, we went to so-called courses for one year and finished two grades. We all finished gymnasium. School was hard, there was no paper to be used and we were all greatly impoverished, but we were all ecstatic to be liberated. The Jewish community in Sarajevo received aid from different organizations like the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, so that we Jews had clothing and we received eggs, powdered milk, rice, etc. My father was very active in the Jewish community. Later he got work as the head of a shop and while at this job he found himself. He worked with such enthusiasm in this store. Frequently he told me how he wanted to teach young people that commerce could be an honest trade. Not to steal and lie. My mother Luna devoted herself to the house. She met each of us and picked each of us up. In this time of poverty and lack of food she managed to make all sort of things out of nothing. Everyone loved her. In our family house in Sarajevo she waited for each of our surviving relatives. They slept on the floors until they found something. She had to clean, do laundry and cook and she never complained, she was so happy to have her children around her.

My parents were proud of each of their children because they all finished some form of higher education. My sister Judita finished agronomy and lived in Sarajevo. She married and had a daughter Tanja. My brother Moric finished forestry faculty and at the same time went to pilot school. He married a Jewish woman named Rahela Maestro. My father was very happy that there would be at least one heir. Rahela and Moric had a son who they named after our father. My sister Flora finished a commercial academy.

In 1946, I participated in the building of the Brcko-Banovici railroad line. After finishing the work I met a wonderful young man, my current husband, Ilija Perisic. He was active in aviation. Very soon after we met we married, in 1950.My two sisters and myself all married Serbs. My father wanted Jewish son-in-laws, but nonetheless he respected our choices. My father died in 1973.

My husband went to an advanced military school and finished a degree in political science. He is very responsible; he worked hard in the air force war division. He retired as a general lieutenant colonel.

My mother was in Sarajevo during the summers because we, her children, came there on our holidays. Those were wonderful days when the family gathered together. During the winters my mother would visit the three of us in Belgrade. She died in 1993.

My husband was a pilot, an officer in the Yugoslav national army and was transferred from Sarajevo to Belgrade. In the meantime, I managed to enroll in a two year teachers' college and right when I graduated my husband was transferred to Nis. My first teaching position was in Nis. We lived in Nis seven years and at one time I worked in the Museum of National Liberation Battles.

In the meantime we had three children. While the children were small they went to stay with my parents in Sarajevo for the school holidays. My parents celebrated all the Jewish holidays, so that from a young age my children knew everything about the holidays. Since Jewish holidays in essence mark historical events of the Jewish nation, their grandfather and grandmother explained to them the importance of all the holidays. My husband and I are atheists and in our house we celebrated neither Jewish nor Serbian holidays. My children are from a mixed marriage and feel like both Jews and Serbs. My eldest son Simo, finished the construction faculty and currently works for Energoprojekt as a deputy director. He is married and his wife works as an editor at the daily newspaper Politika. They have three children: Ana, a university student studying political science, Maya a fourth grader in middle school and Djordje a high school student in the II grade. My middle son, Predrag, finished the technological faculty and has a master's degree. He is married and has two sons Nenad and Mladen both of whom are students. My youngest son, Miljenko, finished the construction faculty and works. He has a daughter, Darja, who is in the V grade of elementary school. All of my sons and their families are members of the Jewish community. Sometimes my grandchildren go with the rest of the Jewish children to the (Joint Distribution Committee/Lauder Foundation) summer camp in Hungary.

We were once again transferred to Belgrade in 1959. I became employed at the Institute for History of the Workers' Movement. I worked there processing documents from the National liberation battles until my retirement in 1969.

I get much satisfaction and joy from grandchildren. They are my greatest treasure.  

Matilda Hrabovecka
Bratislava
Slovakia

My family background
Growing up
During the war
Surviving Auschwitz
My return to Slovakia
Married life
Glossary

My family background

I was born into an Orthodox Jewish family, which had several rabbis, in
Presov region. My mother Dorota Friedmannova, nee Weil, was born in 1886
and came from Poland. My father Jozef Friedmann came from Stropkov and was
quite well off. He was born in 1884.

My maternal grandfather's surname was Weil. I don't know his first name. He
was born in Jaslo, Poland, and died before World War II, in the 1930s.

I would say our family was rather bohemian, although the men grew beards
and were religious. My father was also religious; he graduated from a
yeshivah, but I remember seeing him, when he thought nobody could, turn on
the radio on Saturday, although this was considered work.

Growing up

My parents had eight children, me being the youngest. My two older sisters
were Lujza and Anna or Anusa. Both worked and supported the family. Lujza
was the oldest. She was born in Presov in 1910. Before World War II she
finished an accounting course. She was deported to Auschwitz with the last
transport in 1942, along with her husband, Bela Wohlwert, and in December,
during the last selection, she was sent to the gas chambers. She spent
three months in the concentration camp. Her husband was also killed in
Auschwitz in 1942.

Anusa was born in 1912, also in Presov. She was good at music and played
the violin. She married Sandor Abrahamovic in 1937. He was born in Presov
in 1905. Before the war he worked as a shop-keeper. She was killed in
Lublin ghetto in 1942 at the age of 30. Anusa and Sandor had a son,
Herbert, who was born in Presov in 1938. He was deported to Treblinka,
where he died at the age of four. My youngest sister, Alzbeta, was born in
Presov in 1926. She was killed in Treblinka in 1942, only 18 years old.

My mother was the one who took care of the family, not only by keeping the
household, but also by trying to help financially, which wasn't really
common at that time. Our family wasn't very well-off because my father got
involved in a rather dubious business with gas stations and went bankrupt,
although one could argue that his bankruptcy was mainly the consequence of
his gambling habit; he liked to play cards. Despite their poverty my
parents tried really hard to provide education for all of us.

My oldest brother, Bernardt, left for France to stay with his uncle. My
younger brother, Henrich, became a locksmith, and the rest of us, girls,
attended a Neolog 1 school and later on a gymnasium. All the siblings
worked hard to support the family.

The Presov Neolog school was mainly attended by students from more well-to-
do families, thus I experienced the meaning of social differences in my
early years, which motivated me to join the Hashomer Hatzair 2 and later
the Communist Youth Organization.

Hashomer Hatzair was very important to everyone in our group of youngsters.
My youngest sister Alzbeta would go there with me, and the Kamenski
brothers, Pali and Lori, also came. Lori was really smart and quite
talented in school. He didn't survive the camps. Except for Rosenberg
Imrich, who was in Theresienstadt 3 during World War II, all the others
from our Hashomer Hatzair group were killed during the Holocaust.

I really loved going to school, mainly because we had wonderful teachers.
The headmaster's name was Svarc; we all loved him and referred to him as
,Svarc bacsi' [Uncle Svarc]. Then there was Mr. Reich, who was teaching
religion and Hebrew and then our class-teacher Mrs. Kleinova. She was the
mother of Professor Fischer, who taught in the physics department. It's a
sad thing to mention that from all the people I went to school with, only
about eleven survived. The others were killed during the Holocaust.

In 1939, when the first anti-Jewish legislation [see Anti-Jewish laws in
Hungary] 4 started to be introduced, I was learning to become a tailor.
Unfortunately, I never learned very much since they used to have me do all
sorts of odd jobs instead.

My sister Malvina, or Manci, was born in Presov in 1920. She graduated from
a high school, then we stopped going to school because of the anti-Jewish
measures. I went to work for a wood seller, who was Jewish and for whom my
sister was also supposed to work. But my father sent me without her and
Manci stayed home. He was always worried about her, since she was so
beautiful.

During the war

In 1942 they drafted me as the first member of my family and I was deported
in the first wave. One of my cousins fled to the Soviet Union. Later we
found out that he died in one of the Gulag 5 camps, so his escape from
the fascists didn't help him.

We left Presov for Poprad by train. It was my first trip on a train, and I
thought of the irony of life, whether this train trip was also to be my
last one. The people in Presov were horrified by what was happening to us,
Jews, but already in Poprad the atmosphere changed completely: Slovak
guards were beating us like crazy. They loaded us onto cattle cars and
transported us to Auschwitz.

My sister Manci went to the gas chamber along with my parents. It makes me
cry when I remember what a cute little thing she was, with those blue eyes
and dark hair. I really loved her. Sometimes I think of her, even today,
when I see her friend Katka Hexnerova, who lives in Kosice now.

Surviving Auschwitz

I spent three years in Auschwitz, full of suffering, selections and finally
a death march out of the camp. While I was in Auschwitz, I found out that
my friend from Hashomer Hatzair, Halmos Nusi, was there. Halmos came from a
rather wealthy family. Her parents had divorced years ago; she was an only
child, and, I would say, she was spoiled. She was sick as soon as she
arrived in this hell, and was taken to see a doctor because she was
complaining about a sore throat. Poor Halmos was dead even before they took
the rest of her group to Birkenau, but I don't know exactly what happened.

I could say that because of the horrors I witnessed, I developed my own
philosophy for staying alive in such a hell. To be frank, I find it painful
to say what that philosophy is today. The things I went through in
Auschwitz influenced my whole life: I always avoided standing in the back
of any group, or on the side. And I would never stand in the front, either,
so that I would never be seen as not being part of the crowd. And in
Auschwitz I survived, in fact, to the detriment of those who happened to be
standing on the sides. To put it bluntly, that means every survivor lives
on the grave of someone else, and I still find this hard to deal with.

From my entire family, my parents and sisters were all murdered along with
a number of relatives-even my four-year-old nephew Herbert. I survived
along with my sister Blanka and brother Bernardt. After I returned to
Slovakia, I realized at once how much my way of thinking and my values had
changed after three years spent in hell.

My return to Slovakia

It took me some time to come back. I took the last repatriation bus and
arrived in Neustvelica, near Neubrandenburg. I came back to Prague, but was
scared of the disappointments I knew were waiting for me at home. I didn't
know what to expect from those people and what freedom meant.

On the way, several Yugoslav women were trying to convince me to go home
with them, but I decided to go to Presov first and see if anybody had
survived. My sister was working as a clerk, and amazingly, she had somehow
managed to escape the concentration camp. I didn't blame her for that, but
she was nothing but a huge disappointment after keeping me waiting until
her lunch break! I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive her for failing
to understand what I had gone through.

I had too many ideals about the Slovak National Uprising 6 and everybody
who took part in it; everything seemed to be perfect to me. Suddenly, I
idealized the whole society and the situation that we were living in,
although I was worried about the future.

Then I enrolled in high school. I crammed four years into one year and
graduated in Kosice. But, it wasn't all so nice and easy. I was really
poor. I didn't even go to my own sister's wedding because I had nothing
nice, or even decent, to wear.

And, anti-Semitism wasn't exactly dead. Once I lined up for lunch tickets
at work. The line was long, and when people saw the number on my arm, they
said, 'Look at this Jewish woman. Hitler didn't manage to kill them all;
more of them came back than there were before!' I was horribly upset and
ran to the police to report it, hoping that this would be a solitary
incident. Evidently, my view of life was very distorted then, I'm sorry to
say.

Married life

I continued with my education and studied in Prague later on, where I met
and married a Jewish man from Presov, Mikulas Hrabovecky, who survived the
Holocaust in Slovakia. I married a Jewish man because I wanted to avoid
being called stinking kike when I became an old woman. If your spouse isn't
Jewish, you can never be sure that he won't call you names during some
crisis.

After school, my husband Mikulas and I moved to Bratislava, where I joined
the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia 7 and became a civil servant. My
status changed for the worse during the personality cult in the fifties,
when my brother, a convinced communist and party member, ended up being
imprisoned.

Nowadays, after my retirement, I take care of my granddaughters. I have two
wonderful daughters Katka and Viera, and they, along with their children
Zuzka, Nina, Jozef and Daniel, are the joy of my life. I'm also involved in
the Documentation Center of the Holocaust, which I helped establish. I
wrote a book of memoirs on my time in Auschwitz.

Glossary

Ivan Pasternak
Bratislava
Slovakia

My name is Ivan Pasternak, I'm from Bratislava, and I was born during the
Holocaust. My mother and me survived; my father died in Dachau. I was
hiding with my mother with the help of the Habel family from Devinska Nova
Ves near Bratislava. Grandmother Fanus Habel, Ludvicek, Ilonka, Jozinko and
children from Devinska Nova Ves helped us. The grandmother always knew in
advance about the fascist roundups. When it was announced for Devinska Nova
Ves, we had to move to Lamac to her relatives. And when the roundup was
expected in Lamac, we moved back to Devinska Nova Ves. The roundups
happened very often. They were looking for Jews. I wonder if it was due to
my mother's upbringing or if it was God's will, but I never cried on such
dangerous occasions. After the Holocaust we visited this family for the
first and unfortunately last time in 1947. The grandmother got ill; the
children moved to various places. We are still in correspondence with them.

Family background">Family background

My parents come from Presov. My mother's maiden name was Preisova. My
grandmother was Helena Preisova, nee Rotmanova. My grandfather was called
Eliezer Preis. We have a menorah at home with the engraving Eliezer Preis.
Their three daughters Katarina, Nely and my mother Marta attended school on
Konstantinova Street in Presov. My mother was born in August 1916. My
grandparents lived in a house with a nice verandah on Sabinovska Street.
The eldest daughter, Katarina, liked to sit there in a wicker-chair reading
novels. My mother used to tell her: Don't read so much, your eyes will get
bad. Now, that she is 80, she is partially blind.

The head teacher of my mother and her sisters was Ms. Bednarova, who was a
nun and a good friend of our family. The nuns were prosecuted later, in the
communist era, and they were forced to move from Presov to Bacs near
Dunajska Streda. I saw Ms. Bednarova when she was over 70 on the occasion
of the visit of my aunt Nely, who lived in Nairobi, Kenya. My uncle Sani
Gellert and Aunt Nely lived in Nairobi during World War II. They could save
their lives thanks to businessman Bata 1. He could see that the situation
in Central Europe wasn't good for Jews so he decided to send them to his
branch in Nairobi. My aunt and her daughter were cooking for the workers in
the Bata factory and this way earned money to survive the war. My uncle
Sani fought in the Czechoslovak Army in Egypt. All the family survived and
after the war a son, Andrew, was born, my cousin, who lives in London.

Our family has always been keen on sports. I have photos of both my
mother's sisters at a Presov swimming pool near the Torysa river. The
Jewish youth, members of the Maccabi 2 association, used to meet there.
Both sisters and their husbands liked to go for long walks. Both husbands
graduated from Charles University in Prague and then became doctors in
Zlin. They used to play tennis in Zlin.

During the war

Sad memories are connected with the early 1940s. The eldest sister,
Katarina, who lived in Kosino, which was part of Hungary then, came to
visit her parents. They didn't know that this was to be their last
encounter. My grandparents died in the Holocaust. They were deported in
1942 and perished in Auschwitz in 1945.

My father's family was called Pasternak. They were forwarding agents but
they were very keen on giving their children the best education possible.
My father's best friend was an English teacher. My grandmother was Rozalia
Pasternakova, nee Grossmanova; she died in 1944. My grandfather was called
Emanuel Pasternak. In June 1941 the whole family was still in Presov. They
lived on 14, Kovacska Street. I have a picture of the whole family in the
backyard of the house. My parents are sitting on the bench. My father's
younger brother Vojtech Pasternak is there with his wife Etela. At that
time he was a soldier with the Czechoslovak Army in Ruthenia [see
Subcarpathia] 3. I didn't know his brother Zoli; he died in the
Holocaust. William Pasternak, my father's other brother, was a high
military officer. He was a representative of the Jewish community in Presov
and a deputy of the Presov council. He had a son, Tomas, my cousin, who
died along with his father and my father in Dachau in 1945. Members of the
family, who escaped deportation for a certain while, had a special
exemption for 'economically important Jews'.

Presov was the first town where Jews had to be specially marked. They had
to wear white strips even before the rule about wearing yellow star came
into effect. I have a photo of my father that was taken for the
registration in police archives.

My parents Teodor Pasternak and Marta Pasternakova, nee Preisova, got
married on 1st January 1940. The wedding was held in a Neolog 4 synagogue
on Konstantinova Street in Presov. Their friends Edita and Pali Fraenkl got
married on 26th January 1941. The Fraenkl family survived the Holocaust by
escaping to Hungary. Once they were hiding in Gzongzos, when Horthy 5
groups were doing a roundup searching for Jews. The Fraenkls were hiding in
the loft and when the soldiers came to the fifth floor the whistles ordered
the soldiers to leave. More than 50 Jews were arrested and deported from
that house only. The Fraenkls had two children: Jancsi, who was born in
December 1945 and Elzi, who followed five years later. Their son Jancsi is
still a member of the Presov Jewish community.

My parents were very sociable people. The Jewish social life in Presov was
quite rich. The Jewish youth used to meet at a place where a swimming pool
was built later. They established a Jewish association called Fortuna. They
organized trips, social events and religious ceremonies in Presov.

The Maccabi association organized trips on the river Torysa, to the High
Tatras and also abroad. My father used to plan the trips. Already in 1926
Maccabi had over 50 members interested in tourism. They were mostly men,
but also about ten women. Most of my parents' friends, for example the
Gellert family, didn't survive the Holocaust.

My father was an eager football player. He played for Maccabi Presov. This
was a strong team; on 31st May 1924 the Maccabi football club won 2:1 over
Torokves in Presov. Torokves played in the National Football League,
whereas the Maccabi players were all amateurs. The football team was based
in a working class district nicknamed Mexico Platz [Mexico Square].

Post-war">Post-war

My mother and me survived and came back to Presov after the war. Our return
was a bit delayed because the trains only started running in June or July
twice a week from Bratislava to Zilina. In Zilina we had to wait for a day
for a train from Zilina to Kosice and from there we continued on a horse
carriage to Presov.

I graduated from university and stayed in Bratislava. I'm a teacher. My
mother lived here too; she died a while ago. I'm married, my wife's name is
Zuzka. She is a doctor and she is Jewish. We have two sons, Teodor and
Peter, who are both single.

Glossary">Glossary

Yakov Driz
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya

My family background
Growing up
School years
During the war
Post-war
Anti-Semitism
Married life
Glossary

My family background

I was born in the town of Tomashpol, in the Vinnitsa region of
Ukraine, on 3 July 1937. I was given the name Shloima-Yankel, in honor of
both my grandfathers. The origin of our family name Driz is as follows: In
the 1700s my great grandfather was to enlist in a 25-year term of service
in the tsarist army. Such military service was very difficult, and so to
spare him this hardship, his family decided to hide him somewhere far away
from Tomashpol. Since he had no education and could barely write out
Gaisinskiy, his last name, they decided to give him a new last name. They
just made one up, and all his descendants were called by this new family
name - Driz.

Shloima Driz, my father's father, was born in 1860. All I know about
him is what my parents told me, as he died before I was born. My
grandfather was an educated man for his time. He could play the violin, he
loved music, and he read a lot. He owned a store that sold all kinds of
merchandise - from food products to fabrics and shoes. My father worked as
a clerk in my grandfather's store. From time to time my grandfather took
business trips abroad. He usually traveled to Poland, where he purchased
fabrics. In 1920 the Soviet power expropriated my grandfather's store. My
grandfather couldn't overcome this shock. He contracted tuberculosis and
died in 1921.

My grandmother Eheived (this was her real name, and she was also
called Eva), born Averbuch, was a modest, religious woman. The family lived
in Tomashpol, one of many Jewish towns in the Vinnitsa region. My
grandmother was born the same year as my grandfather. My grandmother
Eheived starved to death in 1933 during the famine in the Ukraine1. Like
my grandfather, she was buried at the Jewish cemetery in accordance with
all Jewish traditions. She gave birth to ten children, eight of which
survived. My father, Abram Driz, born in 1884, was the oldest. The youngest
was Boris (Borukh) Driz, born in 1904. The difference between their ages
was 20 years. I can't remember all of my father's brothers and sisters, but
I can tell briefly about those I knew. One of his brothers, Nuhim, was an
active revolutionary and a Komsomol activist2. In 1919 he was killed in
Kiev while trying to escape from prison. He may have been killed by a
Denikin gang3. Another brother, Shmul or Samuel, was a poet. He and two
sisters who were dentists moved to the United States of America in 1919 or
1920. My father was not able to move to America with his brother and his
sisters, because as the oldest of the children, he had to support his
family by working, and did not have the opportunity to continue his
education. My father had only a primary school religious education. There
were two other brothers - I can't remember their names. One of the brothers
lived in Odessa. I don't know what he did to earn a living. In 1941 he and
his family - his wife Rieva and his daughter Tsylia perished in the Odessa
ghetto. His second brother - I don't remember his name - lived in
Privokzalnaya Street in Vinnitsa. Like my father, he was uneducated, and
worked as loader and carrier at the market to support his wife and two
children. They were killed by the Germans in 1941. Boris, my father's
younger brother, served in the Soviet army and then resumed his
agricultural studies, graduating from Moscow's Academy of Agriculture. He
enjoyed farming. Later, he became director of the first vehicle and tractor
maintenance facility in the Ukraine, located in the Odessa region. When the
war began he went to the front. In 1945 he served in the Soviet army in
Eastern Prussia. From there he was transferred to the Japanese front.
Later, the Ministry of Agriculture requested his return, as he was an
experienced specialist. He became director of the selection facility for
grain crops. He became Chief Agriculture Specialist in the Ulianovsk
region. Boris spent his last years in Ulianovsk, where he died in the
1960s.

Yiddish was spoken in my father's family, which was religious. They
always celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays and strictly observed all
Jewish traditions. My grandmother, Eheived, followed the kashruth and often
went to the synagogue. My father told me that they had beautiful Pesach
dishes in the house.

My parents married in 1917. My mother's name was Tsypa; her family
name was Zeltser. She was born in the Jewish town of Miastkovka - now
Gorodovka - not far from Vinnitsa, in 1893. The only thing I know about my
mother's parents is that her father's name was Yankel. After their wedding
my parents moved to Tomashpol. My mother's parents died before I was born.
My mother often told me that she was a granddaughter of the Miastkovka
rabbi, even at that time when it was dangerous to mention such facts. They
had three daughters in the family. My mother was the youngest. Their oldest
daughter, Haika, born in 1890 moved to the village of Velikays Kostnitsa
near Bessarabia, in the Vinnitsa region, on the Dnestr River. My aunt's
husband worked at the local mill. They had no children. At the beginning of
the war Aunt Haika's husband went to the front. There, he fell in love
with a nurse and never returned to my aunt after the war. She moved to
Tomashpol and lived there with my parents until she died. The second sister
was born in 1892. I don't remember her name. She and her husband David
Krivoviaz died during some epidemic. They had a daughter named Manya. My
parents took Manya to live with us, and she stayed until she got married.
We spoke Yiddish in our family. The daughters were educated at home, and
didn't go to school, but had private teachers teach them to read and write,
as well as the rules of conduct in society, good manners and foreign
languages - German, French.

My mother was very well educated for her time, she could read, write,
and even knew Latin. She worked at the drugstore before she got married.
She had beautiful handwriting. My mother learned to play the guitar before
she got married. When I was small Mama liked to sing a certain song in
Yiddish, accompanying herself on her guitar. This song was played at her
wedding. I remember some rhymes from this song in Yiddish: "Der shnei ist
geyongen drai Teig der Hanond", which means "It snowed 3 days in a row...",
etc. Later this guitar lay broken in our attic, but my mother couldn't
bring herself to throw it away. My mother didn't have a perfect voice, but
she was very musical.

My parents met in a very typical manner for their time. My mother was
living in Miastkovka and my father lived in Tomashpol. At that time, there
were people called "shathen" in Yiddish, who were engaged in matching
couples. They told my father's parents about a girl from a good family who
was of age to get married. My parents were introduced to each other and
soon married. They had a traditional Jewish wedding with a huppah. My
father was a shy, hard-working man. My mother told me that she liked him at
once. After the wedding, my father worked at grandfather's store for some
time. Later, after the store was expropriated, he went to work as a laborer
at the Tomashpol sugar factory. My parents had no children for almost ten
years. I was born on 3 July 1927 when my father was 43. In two years' time,
on 25 June 1929, my sister Polia was born.

Growing up

I remember my town, Tomashpol, since about 1933, when I was six. My
grandmother died at this time and this was during the period of famine in
the Ukraine. I remember seeing in the streets people swollen from
starvation. Some were still alive, but couldn't get up, and others were
already dead. All corpses were put on a horse-driven cart and taken away.
We were very poor. I remember my mother going to the market on
Sundays. She used to buy one glass of sour cream. We spread it on slices of
bread in very thin layers. But that sour cream didn't last long, and too
quickly, my sister and I found ourselves looking forward to the next
Sunday. My father continued working at the sugar factory. I knew the way to
the factory, so almost every day, mother sent me out to bring lunch to my
father. With spades, father and the other laborers packaged sugar in bags,
sealed them and loaded them on racks. At night, to earn some extra money,
my father worked as a night watchman.

In 1932, to save the family from starving to death, my parents had to
move to a village in the Kryzhopol district. There they got a job at the
mill. Father was paid with grain and this saved our family from starvation.
My sister and I stayed behind with grandmother and grandfather in
Tomashpol. My grandfather left us a house. There were three rooms and a
cellar where we kept food products and wood. It was a solid, warm wooden
house. My grandfather also left us some furniture. I remember a huge
cupboard with bunches of grapes carved on the doors. There was a shed in
the yard. During the occupation, when we were moved to the ghetto, our
houses remained empty, and people from neighboring villages removed windows
and doors and everything that was left in the houses. Later, the remains of
our house were removed to serve as firewood for heating the German and
Rumanian commandant's offices. It turned out that they sent people from the
ghetto to do this work, and I was among those who were sent to remove our
house. We were to take the wood to the gendarmerie. Chopping this wood was
a very difficult job. The house was made of hard oak beams and we had only
blunt saws with which to chop the beams into firewood.

My parents were religious. They went to the synagogue once a week, on
Friday. I remember there were two synagogues in Tomashpol. The big one was
called "Bes midrash". When I was five or six years old the authorities
closed and then removed this synagogue. But people kept coming to this
place like to the Wailing Wall to pray. The other synagogue was smaller
and was near our house. It was a long, one-story building with a basement.
On holidays they took the Torah out of this basement. Children carried the
Torah on holidays. My father had a thales and a tefillin at home. When I
reached the age of thirteen, my parents arranged a Bar Mitzwvahu for me,
and the rabbi conducted the ritual. We had many people at home on this day
- many friends and relatives came to the party. My mother lit candles every
Friday to pray. My father also prayed.
We also had ceders, everything that a traditional Jewish family would
have. I asked my father four traditional questions. I remember them until
now.
We observed all Jewish holidays at home. I especially remember Pesach
and Hanukkah. Pesach was a very festive holiday. When we were small they
took special dishes from the attic for Pesah festivities and we always
looked forward to these days. We got used to our dishes in the course of
the year and it was so exciting to view patterns on our Pesah dishes. A few
days before Pesach my parents and I went to buy flour - one and a half
pounds (one pound - 16 kg). We took this flour to the house where they
baked Matzoh. Jewish women worked there. They made dough and baked Matzoh
in big ovens. We always looked forward to eating Matzoh. We took a big bag
of Matzoh from the bakery home. During Pesach we helped our mother to make
flourt from this Matzoh. Later, Mama made delicious biscuits, cookies, and
pancakes that were called latkes from this flour. My mother cooked
traditional Pesach dishes: stuffed fish, clear chicken soup with dumplings
made from Matzoh and eggs, chicken neck stuffed with liver, and strudels
with nuts and raisins. We also had seder dinners at Pesach, everything that
a traditional Jewish family would have. I asked my father the four
traditional questions4. I remember them even now.

I also remember Hanukkah - my sister and I got some change from our
relatives on this day. We could buy some ice cream or toys with this money.
We always looked forward to Hanukkah, because, as I said, we were poor. And
some small change to buy an ice cream or a ticket to the cinema was a quite
an amount for us.

About 80% of the population in Tomashpol was Jewish. There were
Ukrainian villages near Tomashpol: Tomashpilka and Beloye. We children
went to one and the same school. Many Ukrainian children from the
neighboring families and my classmates knew Yiddish. They often came to
our house and we talked in Yiddish. There were no Jews left in Tomashpol
after the Great Patriotic War. Many of them were killed, the rest of them
left, but many people living there still speak fluent Yiddish and remember
Yiddish songs. We cared not about the nationality in those years. I mean,
we were aware that we were Jews and they were Ukrainian Christians and
there were gypsies nearby, but we never focused on it.

School years

In 1934, when I was seven, I went to the Jewish school. Children were
supposed to start school at eight, but I was eager to study. My cousin
Manya decided to help me. Manya was older than I and she studied at school.
She took me to the director and said that my mother had typhoid and had
asked her to accept me into the first grade Of course, this was a lie but
Manya told me to keep silent about it. Manya said that I was eight years
old already, but that we couldn't bring my birth certificate as it was
under my mother's pillow. The director didn't want to see my birth
certificate after she heard that my mother had typhoid. So I went to
school. I was the youngest in my class, but I did well in all subjects. All
subjects were taught in Yiddish. We even read the books of Russian writers
translated into Yiddish. However, we didn't have any subjects related to
Jewish tradition or history. We studied all the typical subjects taught at
any other Soviet school. Our school was the best in the neighborhood.
Teachers paid much attention to our involvement in after-class activities.
We had three orchestras, a choir that had Jewish and Ukrainian songs in its
repertoire, and a theatrical studio. We had a club where we had concerts
and performances. There were two Ukrainian schools in Tomashpol - secondary
and primary. Schoolchildren from these schools often came to our club.
There was no national segregation.

I studied for four years in the Jewish school. Unfortunately, in 1937
my parents transferred me to the Ukrainian school. The majority of children
from our school went there, too. There were no schools where we could
continue our education in Yiddish. After finishing Jewish school one had to
enter a Ukrainian or Russian institution for higher education. At that time
we didn't quite realize that it was the policy of our state to destroy
nationalistic priorities. I was successful at my Ukrainian school as well.
All pupils from the Jewish school spoke fluent Yiddish and Ukrainian. We
had a benevolent reception at our new Ukrainian school. Half of the
schoolchildren in our class were Jewish and the rest of them were
Ukrainian, from Tomashpol and the surrounding villages. I had both Jewish
and Ukrainian boys as friends. I still have a Ukrainian friend from my
childhood - Tolya Pokynchereda, who now lives in Chernigov.

I was eager to become a Pioneer. I didn't become a Pioneer while
attending the Jewish school, but when I went to the Ukrainian school I put
on a red necktie and from then on I acted like a Pioneer.

My mother was a rabbi's granddaughter and she wanted me to become a
rabbi's pupil, to study Hebrew and prayers. Rabbi Yankl came to our house
two days at week to teach me. I knew Yiddish and there is some resemblance
between Yiddish and Hebrew. I learned to read and then the rabbi began to
teach me to translate. I was learning some prayers by heart. I still
remember them. It lasted until I bumped into an astronomy textbook for
senior students, where I learned more about the world, and where what I
learned didn't quite agree with what the rabbi was telling me. I believed
that God created the world in six days but I also knew that there were
other planets besides the Earth, and other galaxies. The rabbi wasn't
always happy with what I was learning, but he continued to visit us until
he grew too old. Thus, we terminated our classes in 1936.

In 1936 disaster came to our family. I mentioned already that we were
very poor. Once Mama said that they would be selling the cheapest black
cotton in our store. We were standing in line the whole night taking turns.
A few hours after the store opened my mother came home, bringing 10 meters
of this cotton, with which she intended to make some clothing for us. In a
month's time someone suggested that my mother should sell this cotton for
20 kopecks more per meter than she had bought it. We needed money, and so
she sold the cotton. But someone informed the local authorities, and my
mother was arrested and taken to court. It was an open court, to show
others what punishment people would be subject to. For selling 10 meters of
cotton, my mother was sentenced to five years at the camp in Kem in the
Kolskiy peninsula in the North of the Soviet Union. I was in the second
grade then. My sister Polya didn't go to school yet. Aunt Haika, my
mother's older sister, took Polya into her family. I stayed with my father
and my cousin Manya. Then a new judge was appointed. His name was Fedyuk.
Manya arranged an appointment with him and told him that my mother had been
sentenced for nothing, actually, and that my father was left alone to take
care of two children. My father could hardly earn enough money to feed us.
The judge came to our home to see how we lived. He asked me whether I could
write. I told him that I was in the second grade and could write. Then the
judge said that we should write a letter to Stalin. He dictated the letter,
and I wrote "Dear Mr. Stalin ...." I wrote that my mother was sentenced to
five years in prison for selling some fabric, and that our father was
raising two children, and told him how poor we were, etc. At the end of
this letter I was asking Stalin to release my mother. A few months passed
and my mother returned home. She had spent about nine months in the camp.
She was very thin and took to smoking. We were happy to have our mother
back. However, my sister was living with her Aunt, and liked it there, and
stayed. Until 1940 there were four of us: my father, my mother, Manya and
I. In 1940 Manya married a young Jewish man from Tomashpol and moved in
with him. Then before the war my sister Polya joined us at home.

We heard on the radio and read in newspapers that Hitler had come to
power in 1933. The Jewish population of Tomashpol, especially the
intellectuals -people who remembered pre-Revolutionary Germany - were
continuously saying that they didn't believe that Germans could kill people
and that they were cultured people. We leaned about what was happening in
Germany from radio programs and newspapers. Later we watched movies. I
remember "The Swamp Soldiers" and "Professor Mumlock". These movies
described Hitler coming to power, the attitude towards Jews in Germany, and
the pogroms. The radio mentioned the "Crystal night" in Germany and the
massive riots against Jews.

The year 1937 is known for the arrests and obliteration of the best
representatives of the intellectuals5. Some of our acquaintances were
repressed, too. Judge Fedyuk, the judge who helped me to write the letter
to Stalin was arrested. He was a very nice and kind person, and he helped
many people. I was in the 6th grade then, and I remember my classmates
crying at school in the morning because their fathers had been arrested the
previous night. We believed that their parents were enemies of the people
- that was what we were told to believe - so we didn't sympathize with our
classmates.

At school, I was fond of painting. I liked to paint portraits. I made
portraits of great physicists: Galileo, Ohm, Volt and others. I made
drawings because my parents couldn't afford to buy paints. Once in 1940 I
was awarded a prize for my drawings. My mother wanted me to study music but
we couldn't afford it as we were poor.

During the war

In 1939 the war with Finland began. I saw people who returned from the
war to our town Tomashpol. There were many Jews among them. Among them were
victims of frostbite, others that had been wounded, and some who had lost
legs or arms. I remember this war. I also remember our army "liberating"
the Western Ukraine and Byelorusse. Of course, the official version was
that we were liberating our land in Western Ukraine and Western Byelorusse.
The population was enthusiastic about it. There were posters everywhere
with our Soviet soldier in hardhat embracing a Western Ukrainian peasant.
When Germans occupied Poland, we had a feeling of the inevitability of war.
We felt it, but we couldn't quite imagine the upcoming war. We watched such
Soviet movies as "If there is a war tomorrow..." and others, and all of
them stated that if the enemy attacked us we would put an end to him
promptly and on his territory. We were convinced that we were strong and
that nobody could defeat us. I remember a song from this period "If there
is a war tomorrow and if we have to leave tomorrow - you must be prepared
today!" Then they executed a Non-Aggression Pact with Germany6.
Ribbentrop, Germany's Minister of Foreign Affairs, visited our country and
we read about it in the newspapers. We were all happy that there would be
no war and Germans would not advance further than Poland.

On 20 June 1941 I passed my last exam at school. I finished the 7th
grade and was 14 years old. 22 June7 was Sunday. Our house was near the
market and many people passed by our house. One of the passersby said, "Did
you hear on the radio the announcement about the war? The Germans bombed
Kiev and attacked the Soviet Union". It came as a complete surprise to us.
Then Molotov8 spoke on the radio at noon. However, nothing changed in
Tomashpol in the first days. Then we heard that they were going to evacuate
the sugar factory. The Party and administrative authorities were gradually
leaving town. However, in Tomashpol common and religious Jews were the
majority. We were waiting until our turn came to evacuate. The Germans were
advancing rapidly. After all the officials had left Tomashpol, we got horse-
driven carts and prepared to leave on them. Several families were supposed
to leave on each cart, so we couldn't take a lot luggage with us. This was
the middle of July. All these carts headed to the east in the direction of
Vinnitsa. We were about 15 km away when the bombing began. The planes
dropped two bombs. Nobody was injured. We moved on. We met a group of
military motorcyclists. They stopped and asked us where we were going.
Someone in the head cart replied that we were evacuating in the direction
of Vinnitsa. Then the man who had asked this question told him that
Vinnitsa was already occupied by the Germans. So we had to return to
Tomashpol. On 20 July 1941 Germans quietly entered Tomashpol. We saw their
troops on motorcycles, horses, cars and bicycles. They were the front
troops and they didn't touch the population. A German soldier came to our
house and asked my mother to give him some water. She did. He drank the
water and said to my mother that he wanted to give her a present. He took
his wallet out of his pocket and showed my mother a picture of a young
woman standing beside a rose bush. The German soldier told my mother that
this woman was his wife. Then he took out a dried rose wrapped in paper and
said that his wife gave him this rose for good luck and that he wanted to
give it to my mother. He also wrote down his address and invited us to
visit him after the war. His name was Alfred Klemmer. After he left, my
mother said that those people that warned that Germans would do us no harm
were probably right.

In 3 days Paraska Shpileiko, our Ukrainian acquaintance living in the
neighboring village came to see us. Her family were friends of my parent's.
She told us to hide because Germans were killing the Jews. It turned out
that the front troops were followed by other military troops that were
grabbing Jews in the streets and from their houses. They got over 120
people and chased them to the Jewish cemetery in the outskirts of
Tomashpol. They forced them to dig up a grave and shot them all. My
classmate Fira Shwartz, Tomashpol Shoihet and many others perished there.
In the 1980s a monument was installed at this location. There is an
engraving on the obelisk on the common grave, which reads, "To the citizens
of Tomashpol, brutally shot by fascist occupants on 4 August 1941". We
escaped, firstly, because our house was in the outskirts of town, and
secondly, because Paraska let us know in advance. We hid in the cellar,
locked up our house and stayed in our shelter for two days. The Germans
left in two days, and they appointed my classmate's father, Slobodianyuk,
to be a village warden.

At the end of July this warden came for my father. My father told us
later that he and several other men were sent to bury the corpses of the
Jews that were shot. The corpses decomposed during all this time so that
they were unrecognizable. My father smelled so much of putrefaction that it
was hard to wash that smell out.

The shops and the market were closed. We were able to get some food
from local peasants in exchange for some clothing. At the beginning of
August people elected the Jewish council that was responsible for sending
Jews to do work at the direction of the village warden. It consisted of
older people. Young people all went to the front.
After the Germans, the Rumanians came to the town. There were two
Germans left to give orders to the Rumanians. The Jews were ordered to wear
bands with David's hexagonal star. In two weeks they cancelled this order,
because the policemen also wore white armbands and it was unclear from some
distance whether one was a policeman or a Jew. With one day's notice, we
were then ordered to sew a yellow hexagonal star on the black background on
our clothes. We had some black fabric at home, but no yellow cloth. Our
neighbors had a yellow undershirt and they tore it to pieces and shared
them with all neighbors. Two weeks passed and we were ordered to move to
the ghetto. They fenced one street and all Jews from Tomashpol and the
surrounding villages were moving there. There were several families living
in each house. Our family got accommodation in the basement of a wooden
house. This basement was formerly used to store coal and wood. We moved
beds from our house and took apart wardrobes for wooden planks to install
on the ground floor. My parents, my sister Polia, a distant relative from
Yampol, Manya and I lived in this basement. There were over one thousand
people in the ghetto. Half of them starved to death or died from diseases.
On 19 May 1941 Manya gave birth to two twin girls: Polia and Dora. Manya's
husband and his two brothers went to the war where they perished. Manya and
her children lived in this ghetto for two years and eight months. We lived
behind the barbed wire fencing with no money or food. It was so hard to
raise these baby girls. Manya died in 2001 and her girls are still living.
Of course, the years they spent in the ghetto had an effect on them; they
are sickly, but they are still alive.

Before the war, I learned from our neighbor, a tinsmith, how to make
buckets and other tin goods. This helped us to survive in the ghetto. Every
day we went to work chopping wood or carrying water to the commandant's
office. In the evenings I made buckets and my mother and sister gave them
to peasants in exchange for food. Once a week they opened a gate to the
ghetto. Rumanians with guns and dogs and policemen were posted at the gate
to the ghetto. The inmates of the ghetto were allowed to go out to the
nearby market for one hour. We had only this one hour to buy or exchange
something and come back. We didn't need to be watched. We had yellow stars
on our clothing and couldn't run away. There was no place to run. We
thought of the ghetto as our last shelter. We tried to be back on time. If
somebody was late Rumanian gendarmes beat him or her with whips, as they
were not trusted enough to be given guns, at least, at that time. On our
way back we tried to get a potato or a beet, or to pick an apple to put in
our pocket. This supplemented our food supply. Tomashpol's Ukrainian
population sympathized with us. When the policemen turned away, the
Ukrainians tried to give us food. Paraska, the woman who told us to hide
when the Germans were approaching, came to the ghetto on Sunday and waited
for Mama and my sister to give them some food.

We did all kinds of work. We shoveled snow in winter. When Germans
occupied our town they ordered me to take off my boots. I was 14 years old
then. After I finished the 7th grade my mother had bought me new boots.
This was quite an occasion in our family. But that German ordered me to
take them off, so I did. I didn't have any shoes until our liberation in
March 1944. In summer I walked barefoot and in winter I wrapped my feet in
rags tying them with a rope or even with wire. I came back from work
starving and frozen. We didn't get any food while we were at work. I still
have rheumatic pains in my feet at night. I also got abscesses on my legs.
We had no medications to treat them. No iodine or bandages, and no medical
facility in the ghetto. However, there were doctors and nurses among the
inmates of the ghetto. We tried to hide our ailments from the
administration of the ghetto, especially when the diseases were infectious.
My former schoolmate Tolia Pokynchereda sent some iodine to me in the
ghetto.
I collected tin to make buckets near the houses. The tin was old and
rusted and this rust seeped into my sores when I was busy making the
buckets. Soon I couldn't walk at all. At that period they stopped sending
me to work. However, previously I was sent to work almost every day and we
had to work promptly. If somebody fell the supervisors beat him or her with
a whip. Often, my mother could not go to work. She was not young and often
felt ill. Women did all kinds of work: they peeled potatoes, washed the
floors, cleaned up, and carried wood. When I couldn't walk any more my
father replaced me at work. Rumanians rarely came to the ghetto. The
policemen and the Jewish council were in charge there. The Rumanians were
afraid to enter the ghetto due to the terrible sanitary conditions. They
were afraid of catching infection. Many people in the ghetto got ill and
died.

The policemen raped girls, but the girls' parents tried to hide this.
And every day somebody would say that he knew for sure that the next day we
would be all shot. So we were living with the fear that every day was to be
our last day. Members of the Jewish council often came to pick up some
valuables to bribe the Rumanian gendarmes.

We didn't hear any news from the outside world. Later, Boria
Slobodianyuk, my former schoolmate and the son of the Tomashpol warden
started sending me newspapers, and we could read about the war, but this
was towards the end of 1943.

There was a rabbi in the ghetto. Religious people got together in
secret to pray. My father also went to some house of prayers to pray. They
got together a minian9 of at least 10 people.

Young people were falling in love. Life was going on even under such
difficult conditions. We celebrated Pesach, although we couldn't have any
Matzoh.

In the fall of 1942 we learned that the administration was planning to
get all Jews between 16 and 55 yeas old. I was 15 and my father was 59, so
we were relatively calm about it. I was not on the list, but just in case,
I decided to hide in the attic of an empty house. My sister Polia knew
where I was hiding. The Jewish officials announced that people had to take
enough food to last for three days, and some warm clothes, although it was
still warm outside. On this day, policemen came to our basement to enquire
about my whereabouts. My parents said they didn't know where I was, and the
policemen beat them up with their whips. They threatened to shoot them if
they didn't inform them where I was. Polia ran to find me to tell me the
whole story and I went home. As soon as I entered, the policemen whipped me
so hard that I fainted. My mother got me some food to take with me: a few
apples, some bread, cereal and a bar of soap. And she gave me my jacket and
a hat to take along with me. My father gave me his old boots. They were
sewn up with wooden pegs that hurt when I put on the boots. Nobody knew
where we were heading from the ghetto. I was waiting for our departure when
all of a sudden a Rumanian soldier called me to the exit door. My father
was there and he took my bag from me and went in. I went home. The soldiers
put all the people onto a truck and drove away. At home they told me that
my parents asked some Jews from Bukovina who spoke Rumanian to talk to the
Rumanian soldiers about replacing me with my father. My parents were afraid
of what was awaiting me. Besides, I could make buckets and provide for the
family, but my father couldn't earn anything.
Half a year passed, and we didn't know where my father was, or whether
he was still alive. Then we heard a rumor that those that couldn't work any
more were coming back. And they did. They were in terrible condition.
Previously healthy men looked like old people, so exhausted were they. They
told us that they had been working in the Nikolaev region. Germans were
building a strategic bridge across the Bug and the construction itself was
performed by Jews and captives. The Jews lived on the bank of the Bug. They
dug holes in the ground and put in some hay to sleep on it. By the way, the
father of my sister Polia's future husband was also there with my father.
He died there because fleas ate away his eyes. My father told us later that
the hay was stirred up by fleas. My father said that they got potatoes that
were boiled, unwashed and dirty for meals. Many people were dying but my
father survived. Later a commission arrived to inspect the progress of the
construction. German engineers were in no hurry to complete the
construction. They felt more comfortable in the rear. When the commission
asked what the reason for the delays was, the engineers blamed the Jews,
saying that they were lazy and didn't want to work. The commission then
gave the order to hang ten people from each crew. All Jews were lined up
outside, and asked which of them wanted to go home. A few people stepped
forward. Soldiers took them away, and the following day carpenters
installed gallows in the square. Ten people were brought back in front of
the line of Jews. Jews from the crowd were to put nooses around the necks
of the sentenced and push the boxes they stood on out from under their
feet. If somebody refused he was hanged as well. If somebody approached the
barbed wire fencing, the Germans shot them, too, and their corpses were
hung on the wire for several days.

My father was also supposed to return home with the first group of
people, but he was not among them. We thought he must have died on the way.
But my father had gotten off the train to go to the toilet and fainted
there from exhaustion. Only on the following day did the cleaning women
find him. My father was sent to prison in the Balta Odessa region. He
shared a cell with a communist who was later hung. He gave my father his
leather belt and my father brought it home to me. He was getting some food
in prison and his condition improved. When he was released from prison, he
went home. He got on the train that headed for Yampol instead of Tomashpol.
The Rumanian commandant sent my father to the "Pechora" camp 2 km from
Tomashpol. This was a horrific death camp. About 10,000 people starved to
death there. This was already 1944. Kiev had been liberated, but we were
still under the occupation. The security guard in the camp was loosened and
people could go out at night to get something to eat in the surrounding
villages. In this way, my father survived.

I remember our army coming to the village. The Germans and Rumanians
were running away in retreat. We saw two tanks with young men sitting on
top of them. They asked us where the Germans and Rumanians were and
suggested that I go with them to show them the way. I grabbed a German
rifle - there were weapons all around - and charged it. I was showing them
the way. It was on 16 March 1944. The regular Soviet army was at the
Vapniarka station then. These tanks were an investigation group. They shot
at the retreating Germans. I also took a few shots. Later, our army and
partisans entered Tomashpol. One of the partisans was a young Jewish girl
riding a horse. I asked her, "Have you and the Soviet army come here
forever?" and she answered, "Yes". I felt sad because my father wasn't with
us and we thought that he had perished in the camp.

One particularly horrible event occurred during the liberation of
Tomashpol. A young man, one year older than I, a blacksmith's son and a
blacksmith himself, fell in love with a very pretty girl in the ghetto. She
loved him, too. When all of us came out to meet our armies, this young
couple was also out there. A cavalryman saw them together and cried out
"What?! You are strolling around when we are going to war?!" and he shot
the young man, who had survived all the horrors of the ghetto and
occupation, only to be killed by a Soviet soldier. I don't know what
happened to the young girl afterwards.

We temporarily settled down in an empty house. My mother asked the
military to sell her a pair of boots, as I had nothing to protect my feet.
And they gave me yellow American boots as a present. We were living all
together: my parents, my sister Polia, Manya and her twin daughters. A
little later my mother's sister Haika also moved in with us. In 1944 I went
to the army. Later my parents rented a room. They never had their own
apartment and lived a very poor life. They didn't have any furniture, just
some boxes they used as furniture.

My father returned home before I went into the army. Our neighbor's
daughter came to tell me that my father was coming home. I didn't believe
her, but went out anyway, and saw an old, old man, exhausted, in some gray
clothing, barefoot, though there was still snow on the ground, and carrying
a stick. It's difficult to express what I felt when I knew that the man was
my father. As I said his clothing looked gray, but it was gray from the
fleas that it was covered with. This was horrible. We took off all his
clothes and burnt them. My father was ill for a long time afterwards.

After Tomashpol was liberated, the mobilization of young people over
17 to the front began. Young people under 17 were mobilized to the so-
called fighter battalion. We had trophy rifles and bullets and were helping
the military to guard the captives or transport them. Once we even were
ordered to look for parachute forces in the woods.

I also went to school and studied in the 8th grade before I was
recruited to the army. We went to the military registration office in
Vinnitsa, from where I was sent to the Far East. This was in the winter of
1944. We traveled across Siberia for 43 days. In the Far East I was sent to
the Pacific Ocean Navy. I participated in the war with Japan.10 After the
war we stayed in Port Arthur in China. We were liberating China, Korea and
Manchuria from the Japanese. We stayed to serve there after the war. My
service lasted six years. Later, this Pacific Ocean fleet separated into
two fleets - number 5 and number 7. My service was in fleet number 5, which
spread from Vladivostok to Port Arthur. . Photo # 7 I had friends there and
still meet with them annually. They are Jews, Russians, Ukrainians, Tatars
and members of many other nationalities. Ivan Khometsky, a Ukrainian, was
my closest friend then. We spent time together talking about our plans for
the future and about our lives.

Post-war

Those were difficult years. I remember the famine of 1947. I was in
the service then and I didn't suffer hunger - we were getting our meals and
life was not as bad as it was for civilians. But I knew that my parents
were suffering a lot. My father's body swelled from starvation.
Fortunately, his younger brother Boris took him to Ulianovsk. My mother and
sister survived this famine of 1947. In 1948 I came home on vacation. As a
gift, I brought my parents half a pound of rice (8 kg) - this was all I
could get.

My father and mother were still religious after the war. But there was
no synagogue and minians got together in private prayer houses. My father
always went to pray. The rabbi died in the ghetto. One man who knew the
prayers well led the minians for many years. Old people got together in
this way and the authorities didn't persecute them.

The struggle against cosmopolites that started in 1948 had an impact
on our family. Ovsey Driz, the son of my father's cousin and a famous
Jewish poet, wrote his poems in Yiddish. They were translated into Russian
by the famous Russian poets Mikhalkov and Marshak. In the early 1930s when
Ovsey Driz was beginning to write, a very famous Jewish poet, Lev Kvitko,
was helping him. Many of Ovsey's books were published before the war. After
the war no books in Yiddish were published. Ovsey's Russian was excellent
but when I asked him why he didn't write his poems in Russian he said that
he could, but then they wouldn't be his poems. When the struggle against
the cosmopolites began Ovsey couldn't provide for his family. His books
were not published and he was about to be expelled from the Association of
Writers of the USSR. Ovsey turned to the Soviet poet Marshak for help, but
he couldn't do anything for him. When I went to Moscow I often stayed at
Ovsey's home and was the first to hear his poems. Ovsey died in 1971 .

By that time, my sister had married our neighbor Abram Gedrich, a Jew.
She studied for seven years at school and then took a course in accounting.
She worked as an accountant in the Tomashpol hospital until her departure
to Ber-Sheva in Israel in the early 1990s. In 1962 Elena, the daughter of
Polia and Abram, was born. Lena and Polia live in Israel now. Lena
graduated from a music school in Vinnitsa. She has a daughter Asia, born in
1984.

I demobilized from the army at the end of December 1950. They wanted
me to stay for an additional term and offered me an apartment in Port
Arthur. But I couldn't stay, as I knew that my parents were living in
poverty. In 1951 I passed my exams for ten years of secondary school. At
that time I worked as a lab assistant at the physics laboratory, as I just
had to be earning money. In 1951 I entered Kiev's mining college. I chose
this educational institution because, as a participant in the war, I could
enter this school without having to take entrance exams. They also paid the
stipend that enabled me to study and live. I also had 2-3 months training
sessions in Donbass, which enabled me to support my parents as well. I
worked as a miner and was paid well. In 1955 I finished my studies in the
electromechanical department of this college. At first I couldn't find a
job. My eyesight was poor as a result of my experiences in the ghetto, and
to get a job as a miner I had to go through a medical examination. The
medical commission didn't issue me a work permit. I had problems finding a
job.

Anti-Semitism

Anti-Semitism at that time was both on the state and everyday level. I
obtained my diploma without a mandatory for that time job assignment, and
returned to Kiev. I went through job announcements and found one for a
foreman in the electric shop at a certain plant. I arranged an interview
with the manager of the human resources department. We discussed the
vacancy and then he asked me to show him my documents. He took my passport
and saw that my nationality was a Jew. He immediately told me to call back
in 2-3 days. I came back in two days and he said they had no vacancy for
the position of foreman, only for an electrician in that same shop. He
didn't expect me to agree to take this job. But I thought it would only do
me good to go through all levels, from beginning to end, to gain
experience.

In 1957 I got a job as a foreman at a military plant. Later, I was
promoted to Deputy Manager of the electromechanical shop. In few years I
became Chief Engineer at the plant. I worked there for 24 years and had
excellent performance records. I received a two-room apartment. But still I
felt some discrimination towards me, especially during the last year. In
particular, when the manager of the maintenance shop went on an extended
business trip for two years and I was offered the chance to replace him.
But I also had to keep my job responsibilities. I agreed. After some time,
the assistant accountant asked me about my salary rate, which I didn't
know. But I hoped that it would at least be equal to that of the former
manager of the shop. I asked the director, and it turned out that besides
not being paid for doing two jobs, I had a lower salary than my
predecessor. The director had realized that I would have to accept and was
taking advantage of my situation. If I quit this job, it would be difficult
for me to find another due to my Jewish nationality. And I had to stay at
this plant. In 1978 I got a job offer from another plant and agreed to take
it at once. I was appointed manager of the electromechanical shop at this
plant and from there I retired in 1987. But I decided to continue working
and got a job as a communications specialist. I quit finally in 1999.

Stalin's death in 1953 was a shock for me. I didn't believe the
country could live without him. People were crying. I think, these were
sincere tears. Later we recovered and life went on. Our thinking was
changing gradually and denunciation of the cult of Stalin and the speech at
the Party Congress11 was kind of expected event.

Married life

I got married in 1956. My wife Tamara Batenko is Ukrainian. Tamara was
born in 1934 in the Fastov Kiev region. At the time we met, Tamara was a
student in the Economics Department of Kiev University. We met at a party
and fell in love. Contrary to my expectations, my parents had nothing
against my marrying a Ukrainian girl. They must have changed their attitude
to such mixed marriages, regardless of their religiosity. They liked Tamara
very much. My mother always called Tamara her little daughter. Tamara got a
job at the Institute of Public Economy after graduating from the
University. Later, she obtained a job at the Academy of Sciences. But,
unfortunately, she was very sickly and had to retire because of poor
health. In the fall of 2002 we shall celebrate the 46th anniversary of our
wedding. On 20 July 1957 our son Alexander was born. He was born into a
mixed family and got no religious education. He is an atheist and a
cosmopolite - a man of the world. He obtained his education at the Kiev
Communications College. He is a colonel now and works at the army
headquarters. as chief editor of military TV broadcasting. His wife
Tatiana, a Ukrainian, is a housewife. We have two granddaughters: Katyusha,
born in 1984, and baby Mashenka, born in 2002. Katia is finishing school
and is going to continue her studies. My son's family live separately, but
every single day they call us or drop by for a chat.

In 1963 my mother died. She was in poor health after the years she
spent in the camp and in the ghetto. My mother was buried in Tomashpol in
accordance with Jewish traditions. My wife and I decided to take my father
to Kiev. By that time he was almost blind - he had cataracts in both eyes.
He lived with us for almost 15 years. After two surgeries, he could see
again. My father admired everything that we had: the tap with running
water, the TV and telephone. My father put on his thales and prayed twice a
day: in the morning and in the evening. Only in the last years of his life
he couldn't do it: he was too old to remember the prayers. My father died
in 1979 at the age of 95. He was buried at the Jewish cemetery in Kiev.
There was no rabbi at his funeral and I said Kaddish, which I remembered
from childhood.
My sister Polia moved to Israel. Unfortunately, I didn't dare to go.
My wife isn't a Jew and I was afraid that she would go through prejudiced
attitudes in Israel similar to the ones I experienced in the Soviet Union.
I have been to Israel twice and I now realize that I was wrong. But we are
old people now and it is too late to change our life so dramatically. I
liked Israel, our country. I admired the blooming Israel - the country
where ancient history and modern life have entwined so organically. It's
hard to imagine all the hard effort involved in turning the desert into a
blooming oasis. I respect and feel grateful to the people of Israel. I
visited my sister Polia in Ber-Sheva. She and her family enjoy living in
their new Motherland.

Many things changed after Ukraine gained its independence. Of course,
it will take some time before life improves, but I can see big changes.
There is no or almost no anti-Semitism in the new Ukraine. There is none on
the state level, and if there is some remnant of it, it comes from older
people. Young people have different outlooks. Jewish people hold management
positions and nobody has anything to say against it. I am not a religious
person, and do not visit the synagogue. A Jewish way of life is also
restoring. We have Jewish newspapers and magazines in Yiddish and in
Russian. I receive "Jewish news" and it is free for me. There are Jewish
performances and concerts. Hesed does a lot to support us physically and
spiritually. I attend very interesting lectures about the history of the
Jewish religion and celebrations of Jewish holidays. This is just
wonderful.

I don't want you to think that the life of our generation is a chain
of calamities. We lived through a lot of terrible things: famines,
repression, war, struggle against cosmopolitism and suppression of the
Jews. Many members of our family perished. At that most difficult time we
used to say that if we survived - although we didn't believe we would - we
would only talk about what we had to go through for the rest of our life.
But the years went by and I came to understand that people forget the bad
things and remember the good ones for a long time. I would like to address
all those who are going to read my story to try and do everything we can to
prevent any repetition of the past.

Glossary

Renée Molho
Thessaloniki
Greece
Interviewer: Molho Nina
Date of interview: October 2005

Miss Renée Molho is 83 years old. She is a beautiful, fine, and very elegant lady. She has slight movement problems and limps a little. She lives alone in a big apartment that she shared in the past with all her family. She has a very big balcony and is very proud of her flowers. Flowers are all over, almost in every picture on the wall. She told me that it is some kind of recognition towards the man who saved her. During the interview, she was emphatic, hitting her hand on the table. Sometimes she got upset with "all those words" but did not want to stop talking. She made an effort to speak in Greek but she also speaks Ladino and uses French or English words according to her convenience. She narrates with passion, she whispers in fear and gets tensed with indignation. She retired only two years ago at the age of 81 from the bookshop business that she was running with her husband. She worked there all her life since the liberation. She was running the department of French books which made the bookshop famous all over Greece.

Family background
Family life
Our religious life
Growing up
During the War
After the War
Glossary

Family background

My name is Renée Molho; my maiden name is Saltiel Abravanel. I was born in Thessaloniki on 9th August 1918. During the German occupation I lived in Israel. I speak Greek, French, English, Spanish [Ladino] 1 and I understand Italian.

I have two sisters, Matilde Dzivre who lives in Athens, and Eda Saporta who lives in Paris. Matilde was born in 1917 and Eda in 1921. They both speak the same languages I do.

All the members of our family were Spanish citizens. Our origins are from Spain but I don't know where exactly in Spain.

My paternal grandmother was called Mazaltov Saltiel, nee Saporta, and my grandfather Samuel Saltiel. Grandmother Saporta lived in an apartment by herself in a two-story house. On the first floor lived my uncle Sinto and on the ground floor my grandmother. Sinto was the older of my grandmother's sons.

The siblings of my father, Joseph Samuel Saltiel, were: Sinto, then came my father Joseph, then Uncle Avram, Uncle Mentesh, Uncle Sabetai and then Aunt Sol, who married [Vidal] Amarilio, Aunt Julia, Aunt Berta and Aunt Bellika.

Uncle Sinto was married to Bella Malah; their children were Samuel, Mathilde, Linda, Rosa, Renée and Alice.

Uncle Avram married Regina, aunt Regina, who knows what her last name was. They had two children, Lelia and Mathilde.

Uncle Mentesh had two boys with Rachelle Pinhas, Samiko and Moris. Moris used to come in the house yard and say to his mother, 'cota ikoula' [posta Rikoula], the post arrived Rikoula, meaning he had his underwear full.

Uncle Sabetai had Samiko and Julia and he was married to Rene, Aunt Rene. They were all Spanish citizens.

They used to call my maternal grandfather Nadir but his name was actually Shabetai. They called him Nadir because he was a very persisting and intelligent man. He used to get up at 4 in the morning to study French. When the Turks had to make a speech, he was the one to prepare it. He was such a good man and they loved him so much that they called him Nadir which means in Hebrew and in Turkish 'Rare.' They always loved and appreciated him.

I don't know what his profession was because when my mother, Stella Abravanel, married he was already dead. I never met him, I only heard of him.

My grandmother on my mother's side was Rikoula Abravanel, nee Tsinio. She lived with her children, my mother's siblings. They were David, Pepo, Leon and Mario, all Abravanel and Rachelle who married Avram Haim, who was selling oilcloths, and with whom she had five children: Lina, Elio, Renée, Nadir and Silvia.

Uncle Pepo married Mitsa Rosengrad, lived here in Thessaloniki and had one daughter, Rena Abravanel, Greenup in her marriage, who now lives in America.

Uncle David was a very honest and integral person. He was the manager of 'The Commercial,' a big tobacco company, and he was highly appreciated there. He never married and all his love went to his sisters, my mother and Aunt Rachelle, and their kids. He always came to visit and was interested in us; he wanted to see our school records and wanted to know who was a good student, who was not and why.

When my father's shop was destroyed by the fire 2 it was Uncle David who was next to him, to encourage him and he even gave him the money to start all over again. At the same time he opened a bank account for my mother so that she wouldn't have to worry, that she wouldn't have to ask anybody when she needed something. Of course I have a weak spot for him in my heart. He was always there for us, helping in any way he could.

Uncle Leon was married to Nini Nahmias and had two girls, Riki that is Rikoula, and Victoria, they were four or five years old when the war started. He worked at 'The Commercial,' the tobacco company managed by his older brother David.

Uncle Mario married Ida. Her father war a doctor, who had studied and had been trained in the Hospitals of Paris [les hôpitaux de Paris]. When they married they went to live in Paris with her parents but they didn't make it and came back to Thessaloniki. When they came back, Ida's parents followed them and her father was our family doctor and explained everything very nicely to us. I don't know what Uncle Mario did in France but here he was an expert in tobacco. They had a boy, Edward, and two girls, Renée and Lily Abravanel.

During the occupation they were not deported but were hiding in Athens. Edward had already died because during the gathering at Eleutherias Square 3 he got meningitis and died from it.

After the liberation they escaped to Israel hiding in a ship. But Uncle Mario, he was unlucky; he died in the ship and they threw him overboard. His daughters, however, got married in Israel and lived in the kibbutz Afikim.

My father, Joseph Samuel Saltiel, was born here in Thessaloniki [on 5th June 1881]. He spoke Spanish and German and, of course, Greek. He was beautiful, tall, dark-haired, attractive. He was not very funny; he was serious, probably more serious than he should have been because he had three girls and that bothered him. He dressed in a suit wearing a tie, and was never neglected, hat of course and gloves, he was always very well dressed. A very elegant man.

He read the newspapers, L' Indépendant 4, Le Progrés 5, maybe not every day but he read them very frequently.

My father wasn't very courageous and even if he had political preferences he would never express them publicly. He wasn't that kind of a man. But he was very wise. Let's say that two people had an argument, they would go to him to make the compromise because he was very just, correct and wise. They all trusted his sincerity and his logic. Middle man, intermediator, compromiser may be the correct word. He would ask: What are your differences with him? And yours? Why don't you do this or that and he tried to make them see sense and find an acceptable answer to whatever their problem was.

At home we didn't discuss things, current events, actuality, politics, rumors or anything. He wasn't the kind to have long conversations. He didn't talk a lot, he wasn't funny.. He wasn't communicative, nor expansive. I never remember him laughing out loud; he was always a little distant, even when he was with his friends, distant! You couldn't reach him easily but I was number one to his love.

He was not making favors to anybody but with me he would shake hands! He would never shake hands with anybody. If he had to, and couldn't avoid it, he would rush back home to wash his hands and clean them with alcohol. He was so afraid of microbes and contamination and in the end he died of cancer.

How was he? He was very strict, very strict and very just. He wanted to be just and this locked him into himself. He never showed any affection, hardly to anyone; to his wife I don't know. He was an introvert.

He didn't go to the army. At that time the army was Turkish. It was in 1912 that Thessaloniki became Greek and during the Turkish period paying a certain amount of money would assure that they didn't go to the army.

My father was a construction wood seller. He imported wood from Romania. I remember him coming back from a trip, and he wore high boots and a coat with fur inside and had a fur hat. When he came back he seemed to me, as I was a little girl, as big as the door, at least, this picture is still with me, my father big, tall, strong, and beautiful.

My mother had a completely different character. Aunt Rachelle, her sister, was tall and fat, while my mother was short, thin and very intelligent and had a happy disposition. She was always very elegant, always very well dressed. She was very careful, never got dirty and whatever was in fashion she would wear. I remember that once my grandmother Abravanel was very shocked because she was wearing a dress that was short; short is just above the knee! That was in fashion then so she was wearing it.

She was very small and she used to wear shoe size 34. At that time the shoes were always made for you. You didn't go to the market to buy shoes; you went to the craftsman who would take your measurement and make them for you. Often the shoes were not well fitted, they were very tight or short and your feet would have calluses all over.

She was a happy person and used to sing a lot. She was making jokes, and was laughing at any given occasion. She liked to read and had a subscription to a French historical magazine.

She didn't wear any makeup or lipstick but she used face powder and I still have a small box of it, well hidden, just to smell my mother.

I know that my parents' marriage was arranged by a match-maker. How did match-making work? Well, somebody who knew the families and knew that this family had a daughter, let's say 20 years old, could suit that family that had that and that boy, and they tried to put them in contact. The parents, of course, not the children. That was well before the age they get married now, at 18, 19, 20; if a girl was not married my 29, she was an old maid.

Marriages were combined. They knew the family; they were brokers, marriage brokers. He/she knew your family and he said, 'ah, he has a son, he has a daughter let's try to get them together .They went and they bargained: 'Yes, I will give you my daughter but how much does he want for a dowry? Dowry that much, and house furnishing that much, and clothing that much.'

Sometimes, during the first years, they lived with the wife's family, they said the groom will stay with the family and then he will make his own home. My parents didn't live with their parents because when they married my mother had no father and Grandmother lived with her boys who weren't married yet.

Marriage depended on what hands you were going to be in, what kind of person your spouse would be. It was rare then to have marriages based on love. I don't know any.

At this time there were not many mixed marriages, very very few. In our family the sisters of Aunt Mitsa, Ida Margariti, and Silva intermarried and all their children are Christians. I don't know what the opinion of the rest of the family was because when it happened I was a little girl. When I was a child, we lived in a house that had a big yard. In this yard was a big two-story house where my uncle Sinto lived with his family, on the first floor, and on the ground floor my grandmother and my grandfather with Uncle Mentesh and Uncle Sabetai, who were not married yet.

Family life

Our house was a small one on the other side of the yard. It had two rooms and a living room: a living room as you entered, two bedrooms and a kitchen, of course. It was heated by wood stoves but not in every room - one in the living room and one in the kitchen; the bedrooms were cold. One bedroom was for our parents and the other one for us, the three girls. Matilde had a bed of her own but Eda and I used to sleep together in the same bed.

Eda was younger than me and she was a joyful person. She was no pessimist, I was more of a pessimist, and I have always been. I always was much more reserved. Eda was exuberant, like my mother, happy, and she danced, she danced that Russian dance sitting down, kalinka, I think they call it, she danced a lot and she liked it.

In the house we had running water. We had running water, but in the yard was a hand-operated water pump. We used it to water the plants. The funny thing is that we also had a bath tub although this wasn't a common thing at the time. We had some kind of a boiler that operated with gas. It had a small base with seven beaks, you would open it, put a lit match to all the beaks and with the fire have hot water. It was a round thing, approximately 20cm, and when the fuel was finished you would open it up and put some more. We also had electricity.

In this garden we didn't grow anything edible, vegetables or so, just flowers and green plants. In this garden, all of us children gathered to play; five of Uncle Sinto and us three, but I used to sit on the fence and watch what they were doing because they were wild.

We didn't have any animals. In this yard we played and every night Uncle Sabetai gathered us and made us sing 'be, a, ba, be, a, be, ba, bo.' He would say the letters and we would sing like stupid 'l, le, l, la,' and then he would response with a cry of admiration 'Aaa,' or a cry of exclamation, 'Ooo.' He kept us busy; he gave us money and then took it back.

When we lived in this yard, my grandfather used to sit on a low parapet in front of the house and watched his grandchildren playing. There was a pomegranate tree that was very small, with two flowers, and he was waiting for them to turn into fruit, and one day he saw that one of the flowers was fading and fading. Eda had cut the flower and then when she realized what she had done she took a needle and pinched it back on. When my grandfather saw what had happened he was moved by her thought and didn't punish her.

My grandfather use to sit on this parapet because he had a hernia and a huge belly and he couldn't walk, and he was sitting on the parapet there, looking at his grandchildren play. He used to wear an andari 6. He couldn't wear anything else because his belly was enormous.

He didn't wear a kippah but he was a religious man. Every Friday evening a minyan would gather his house and do the traditional reading there, instead of at the synagogue. I don't know which synagogue they went to the rest of the week.

My father didn't attend. He couldn't leave his work. At first they didn't work on Sabbath but then, there was a law issued by the Greek government, in 1924, that defined Sunday to be the official weekly holiday and they had to work even if they didn't want to.

My grandmother dressed as we dress now. She didn't wear any of the traditional clothing of the Jewish women. I know those clothes only from pictures; nobody wore them any more when I was a little girl.

Many Jews lived in our neighborhood, but our family was so big, that we didn't look outside of it for friends. Actually all of them were Jews. The grocer and the man selling vegetables, and what I remember is that they would pass through the neighborhood and cry their wares. The man that sold glassware, he used to sing, 'The glass man is here, the cheap stuff is here, three for twelve and a half, three glasses twelve and a half.'

When the vegetable seller passed by my grandmother's home - my grandmother's home had two windows facing the street, in one window stood my grandfather and in the other, a bit in the rear, my grandmother - and my grandfather used to call the man and ask him, 'How much is it for a tomato today?' 'Ah very expensive, I don't want it, will you give it to me at a lower price?' 'Well, what can I do with you Mr. Samuel, how much do you want to pay?'

My grandfather would say a price and my grandmother, from the other window, would wave to the man, 'Say yes, say yes.' 'Well, what can I do with you, Mr. Samuel? I will give it to you but only because it's you.' Grandfather would take the goods and my grandmother would pay the difference from the other window, just to make my grandfather happy, to give him the satisfaction of having achieved something.

The streets? Who went out in the streets? From what I can recall they were unpaved, covered with earth not asphalt. I don't remember when I first saw asphalt. We didn't have a car but yes, of course, there were cars in the streets. We didn't have horses either; we rode on the bus or tram, rather the tram than the bus. I don't remember when I first rode in a bus, a tram, a car or a train.

We were still very young when we left that house. We left when we had to go to school, every time the school moved we moved too. First Konstandinidi then Gravias then... We were following the Mission Laique Francaise 7.

When we left this first house, we were still not alone, we were never alone, because the house we moved to was in a street full of Jews, all the neighborhoods were full of Jews, and we played hide and seek, and we went to hide one bus stop away from home. How can someone find you, can you tell me? And we played kede - kede. We used to put a stone in the middle, and whoever was called, kede kede Spain, kede kede Vienna, the person that was Vienna had to throw the stone at someone, if the stone touched him he lost.

Our religious life

My parents were religious people but not fanatics. My father used to go to the synagogue for the high holidays of New Year [Rosh Hashanah], Passover [Pesach], Yom Kippur etc. We were three girls, and girls didn't go to the synagogue then, almost only men. We stayed at home with Mother, but when my father went, he used to dress formally in striped trousers, a black jacket and a bow-tie [Ascot style, like an English gentleman].

We observed the kashrut in the sense that the butcher was Jewish and the meat was kosher. Every Friday the butcher came to our home to take an order, 'What shall I bring, should I bring a lombo?' Lombo was a piece of meat that you could boil and cut into thin slices, and he also brought meat to make minced meat. We would never buy it ready, we would mince it by hand, with a machine at home, and my mother used to call us, 'Who will come to mince the meat?'

Every Friday night my father recited the Kiddush. Not only did he recite the Kiddush, but he also cut some baked eggs [huevos encaminados], and gave us a piece and then, after the Kiddush, we went and kissed his hand and he blessed us. Every Friday. No Friday would go by that we didn't do it. We didn't make any special bread for Friday; we bought it from the Jewish baker.

At Rosh Hashanah we did whatever we should do. We ate whatever the religion says that we should eat. We did everything, and I remember some things that he used to say in Hebrew; they are still in my head although I don't know any Hebrew. My father didn't speak Hebrew but he read it. The traditional things of Rosh Hashanah are the same as we have now: apple sweet, to wish a good year, and meat balls with leek and with spinach.

We kept Yom Kippur. When my father came home, on the first evening of Yom Kippur we had to be ready, washed, clean, calm and my father would come and we would eat the traditional meal before the fast. We ate okra, meat balls and rice, a salad as a starter, and fruit at the end. We used to put dry raisins on top of the rice and eat it. We all kept the fast, my mother and father, also.

My father would go to the synagogue in the morning, but we, because we were girls, didn't go. We stayed at home and our friends would come over to our house or we would go to theirs, or we would go for long walks in the streets to pass the time. We stayed on the main roads that were paved. I went with my sisters and our friends.

When we ended the fast, we first ate sweets, to wish for a sweet new year, sweets with no lemon. Then we would drink lemonade and have biscuits with it; we bought those biscuits at the Jewish pastry shop, Almosnino. After that we had chicken in tomato sauce. There was no salad, just some fruit at the end as dessert. That's it, chicken with red sauce. No, before that we had a soup with angel hair pasta, and then the chicken. That's it.

Apple sweet, I make apple sweet without lemon, just sugar so that things will come sweetly. I grate the apple, then add sugar, approximately half the quantity of the apple and put it on a low fire. Then I taste it and, if need be, I add sugar. I never use specific measures.

We drink lemonade at Kippur because, it seems, it is good on an empty stomach. This is what we did as far as I can remember: have lemonade with biscuits. It seems that it is good for your stomach and prevents you from having to belch, or wanting to vomit. First the lemonade with the biscuits, then the soup, then the chicken with the red sauce. That was it, in every house the same thing, the same. This is a standard menu, if you take the book 'Les Fêtes Juives' [Jewish high holidays], this is what you will read.

Nobody taught me how to cook, you know how to cook without anyone teaching you, you look and you learn.

Pesach, I don't remember any more. We ate what you traditionally had to. The first night of Pesach my mother's brothers, Uncle David and Uncle Pepo, went to Aunt Rachelle and the second night, they would come to our house and we would have Pesach all together, and read the Haggadah, just like the first night. We read the Seder in Spanish, as we spoke in Spanish among us: 'He who says, this bread of slavery that our fathers eat in the land of Egypt.'

We eat matzah because on Pesach we don't eat bread. Matzah is bread that doesn't rise, and now we buy the matzah from the community. There used to be bakeries that made matzah in Thessaloniki when I was a child. It is not like now, that we have to buy matzah from the community. The Jewish population was so numerous that they made it here. They brought the matzah from the bakery, to the house and the pieces were so big that we had a special trunk to put it in, big pieces like 40 by 40 centimeters. and for eight days, during the whole period of Pesach, there was no bread in the house.

On Pesach we also make charoset. To be honest, nowadays I buy it ready from Daniel, a Jewish delicatessen shop and then at home, I taste it and say, 'Ah, what is missing? And I will put a little bit of this, of that, of orange peels ... because the one I bought is like mud, let me add a little bit of...'

Charoset is very complicated to make. There are a lot of things that you put in. In the old times we used to make it. You put orange peels, figs, plums, cracked nuts and dates, but no almonds, and a little bit of honey and sugar.

On Pesach we used to make burmoelos. When we finished dinner we had to have sweets and those were burmoelos; they are like donuts. First, you put a small cup of oil and a cup of water and you make them boil. When it is boiling you add a cup of matzah flour and take it off the heat and slowly you put six eggs until you get a firm dough and then you deep fry them. We fry them in olive oil.

When I was a child we had special frying pans that had hollow places in them, to put each burmoelo separately, but now we just put a spoon-full and it shapes itself on its own. Those are the burmoelos, and when they are well colored, we put them on a piece of paper, to absorb the oil, and then we put them in syrup and on a nice plate to be ready to serve. Many people put honey, but we make syrup. We also serve syrup separately so that everybody can add to his taste. The syrup is made from three quarters of a cup of sugar, 1 cup of water, 1 cup of orange juice and half a cup of lemon juice. You boil it until it is thick like honey and it is very, very tasty.

With matzah, people also make pastel [pitta]. You put one layer of matzah in a baking tin, wet it with water and some oil, and then, you put one layer of whatever you want - it can be minced meat or cheese with eggs, or something else you like - and more matzah on top and bake it in the oven; but in my house we didn't like it. It is heavy on the stomach.

We also made matzah soup. For the soup you take the juice from a chicken or lamb that we usually eat for Pesach and you break the matzah into pieces with your hands - not very small pieces - and when the juice is boiling you put it in. One minute is enough.

And after diner we sang many songs, all together, such as: 'There was a lamb that my father bought ...'

During Pesach we also baked eggs [huevos enchaminados]. There was a custom in Thessaloniki to visit relatives before Pesach. Visitors would come with their pockets already full of eggs that they were already given in the other houses, and by the end of the day, at their home, they had at least 15 of them. We didn't go to visit other houses. Girls didn't go, only men.

We prepared the house, we spread new embroideries, beautiful things, my mother put her jewelry on and visitors would come, dressed formally, and the house was shining. Everybody was in a hurry because there was another visit to make, and another, and another, but at least they came, and we saw each other, and we never lost contact.

For the Jewish high holidays there are many books. The book I have, 'Jewish high holidays,' gives you an explanation at first and then tells you what the Sephardic Jews eat and what the Ashkenazi Jews eat. Gefilte fish, we don't know. Gefilte fish, is the fish they, the Ashkenazi Jews, eat.

The Sephardim eat, instead of gefilte fish, what they call 'sazan,' which is fish in sauce. Sazan is a lake fish. They put the fish in a thick sauce with vinegar and leave it there. Also they used to take the caviar of the fish and make small balls and they put it with the rest of the fish. It is something that you eat whenever you feel like it. It is something you eat also cold. I never did because it is very heavy on the stomach.

During Sukkot, of course, we made a sukkah. My uncle Sinto, my father's brother, had a very big balcony, almost like a room; he made the sukkah and we all went there. They used to put blankets all around, in order to create a small room and then white sheets and pin white flowers all over. We sat there, we ate there, we saw each other, we talked, and it was very nice but we didn't sleep there.

My father went to the synagogue for every festivity, and we used to wait for him to come home, bring sweets and turn on all the lights in the house, for good luck. He brought home 'baissées,' special sweets made with eggs and sugar, which are completely white. He bought them at Almosnino, the Jewish pastry shop that was near our house and he came home. Then we went to our grandmother's, to kiss her hand and receive her blessings.

Sweets that we made at home were almond sweets, and quince sweets, as I told you. Now we don't make that kind of things any more. To make almond sweets you take a kilo of almonds, you boil them a little and then you peel them, so they become white, and then you mince them and you add half a kilo of powdered sugar, and the white part of two eggs, that you beat up so that they become fluffy as snow, and mix all of it well. Then you wet you hand with some water and lemon, so that the dough will not stick, and shape it into small pieces like children's fingers.

We also made Sotlach. We made a cream with rice flour and milk and sugar. We made this cream and then we put sugar in a pan, heated it, and let it become caramel and then we poured this hot cream inside the caramel and let it burn a little. It was very, very tasty.

At Chanukkah we lit the chanukkiyah, and that's it. And we sang 'Chanukkiyah dance with your aunt, Chanukkah dance with my grandmother.' That's all we did.

Bat mitzvah for the girls we did not do. As for bar mitzvah for the boys: our cousins had theirs at the synagogue and we all went, even the girls. We went to any synagogue they chose, but there was one here, in the neighborhood. Exactly where we now take the bus, it was the Bet Shaoul. The one we go to now, the Monastirioton 9, was at Vardari and it was far from our house, and we didn't go there.

I don't remember any other synagogues than the Bet Shaoul, since the girls didn't go often. We went when there was a marriage, a celebration, or a festivity. Women didn't go to the synagogue as they do now.

Women, let alone girls, didn't go to funerals either, nor to the cemetery. When my grandfather Saltiel died they put black curtains outside his house that went all the way down to the floor, and they took my grandfather and they had the funeral, and then they came back home and sat on the floor for the Kria.

All the family, and they were many, and then they served a meal, and it was like a big fiesta, because all his grandchildren were there, and he had many grandchildren. Aunt Sol had nine children, Aunt Julia five, Aunt Berta two, uncle Avram two, we were three. Anyway, the table was extended, because everybody had to be seated, the grandchildren too.

My grandmother, sitting on the floor, for the Kria, when she saw that she said, 'Is Samuel dead or are we celebrating a wedding?' And she was right. You see, my grandfather Saltiel had asked, before he died, that people not wear black clothes at his funeral, so grandmother said, 'When I will die you will wear black clothes.' They did nothing, when grandmother died there was no way to do it, she died in Israel and was buried in a hush, hush way. I cannot give you details because I wasn't there any more. They didn't have a kria or anything. My grandmother died full of sorrow.

Growing up

We were rather well off. We had a maid. We had maids that would live in the house and sleep in the house, all day and all night, and they were Jewish, all of them. Later, just before the war, we got one Christian from Ai Vat, but generally we had no strangers in our home. We had one, Paloma was her name, when she was feeling blue she would take a chair, put it on top of the trunk - we had a big trunk where we used to put our burning wood - and look at the tramway passing by.

We did not take care of finding husbands for them, they did that by themselves. We had a woman that came to do the washing, because all the washing was done by hand, and one day we asked her about her daughter and she said, 'She has a free love affair.' Now, can you see that this is nothing new? It has always existed.

Sterina was a maid we had when we were very young. She loved me very much and used to take me with her when she went to the grocer's. When she decided to leave us, well before the war, she went to Israel and got married there. When she got married she sent us a picture of her wedding. When I went to Israel during the occupation, she came to see me various times, with her kids, always happy and always at my service. She was in a good economical position; she was well.

My father, as I told you, was very strict and very severe and he wouldn't let us out of the house. Sometimes during the summer when we wanted to go to the movies, as we could not really lie, we used to tell him, 'We are going with Mr. Saporta.' Mr. Saporta was Raf, my friend Tida's brother, the one that married Eda after the war, and he was younger than us, and we went to Apollon, an open air movie theater. If my father had known that this so- called Mr. Saporta was Raf he would have never permitted us to go.

We went to the movies, all the girls together, my friend Tida Saporta, another friend called Frida Benroubi, my sisters, their friends, and usually we went to Appolon as it was near our house. Other friends were Frida's sister Nita Benroubi and Matilde's friends, because the age difference was so small that we were all friends. Some of my sister's friends were Ida Arouesti, Sara Naar and Rita Naar, her sister. We were all together, just girls, there were no boys in our group.

What kind of movies did we watch? Well, not those erotic things we see now, never. They were adventure films mainly. I remember Greta Garbo was in some of the movies.

During the summer my mother, who suffered from her legs, used to go to Langada, a village near Thessaloniki, approximately 50 kilometers north- west, which had natural hot springs, to take baths. She went by carriage, stayed there as long as it took for a complete cure, and then came back. She would go and leave us alone at home. One of the girls would go with her, usually it was Matilde, sometimes Eda, and sometimes I, but I was calmer and because my father had a preference [faible] for me, I stayed behind. Things with me were calm, nice and I did not fight with anyone.

What kind of kids were we? Well, as I said, I was very calm, no doubt about it, but Matilde and Eda used to fight; they pushed each other. They were not very disciplined. I don't know why they fought but they did. They were more... well, how shall I put it, they reacted more than me, while I was more patient. However. sometimes it is hard not to quarrel. On Saturday - I told you already that on Saturday we went to the movies - I took peanuts and piled them and prepared them, to take them with me to the movies and all of a sudden Matilde would take everything and, of course, there was a huge quarrel.

Eda was probably even naughtier than Matilde. My mother didn't know what to do with her, so she put her in the bathroom and locked the door, and Eda would kick and scream to get out. 'Let me out, let me out, I will be a good girl.' I don't remember what she did to be locked up.

I told you, my father slapped me only once and I was sick of rage for three weeks. 'How could he hit me?' I don't even remember why he slapped me. I remember that as I was sick Miss Morley, my American teacher from Anatolia [College] 10, came home to visit and see why I wasn't going to school and how I was doing.

When Miss Morley came my aunt Julia was at home. Aunt Julia was my father's sister, Julia Saltiel, who also married a Saltiel, Avram Saltiel. Well, Miss Morley says, in her best Greek, 'How are you?' and Aunt Julia replies in her best Spanish, 'Tell her I don't speak English.'

Other sicknesses? My mother, after giving birth to Eda, had some kind of a problem and every time she had her period she suffered a lot, was in great pain and didn't leave the house. I remember that she used to put towels with some kind of medicine on her belly to help her. I don't think she took any pills.

When Eda was young she got scarlet fever and they sent Matilde and me to my aunt Mitza's house, and my uncle Pepo's nanny came to our home to sit next to Eda and take care of her. We didn't see our parents throughout this period because they were afraid of contaminating us. We lived with Uncle Pepo and Aunt Mitza, and Eda was at home with Father and Mother.

I also remember that once, I was very sick. We had a very good doctor, but I could not see, I think it was typhus I had. And once they put me in a warm bath to lower my very high fever and it felt so cold! Well, you know what it's like when you have a fever...

We did not go for vacation apart from my mother's stays at the hot springs. Our house was on the sea, not looking out onto the sea but right on the shores; so we didn't feel the need of going elsewhere.

I went to the French school here in Thessaloniki, the Lycee Francais. I finished the Mission Laique Francaise and then I went to the American school, Anatolia College. I never went to a Jewish or a Greek school. My sister Matilde first went to the French school and then to 'Cshina,' a Greek private school for girls. That's why she knows better Greek than me.

There was a law 11 that said that we could not continue our schooling, as we had started. The law said that, all foreign citizens were obliged to go to the Greek elementary school, and then do as they wished. We were Spanish citizens, therefore we had to change schools. Matilde was about to finish the French school so she went to the Greek one afterwards.

Normally, I should also have been included but because I was very advanced in my studies, as compared to my age, my father didn't want to interfere and I was free to go as planed: finish the French school and then go to the American School.

Eda, on the other hand, was very young, still at elementary school, so she was sent to the Greek school immediately. She was put in the 5th grade, the corresponding class of the French school she used to go to, but she didn't know any Greek, so my father asked her teacher at school to tutor her for some time until she would be ready.

This teacher was Miss Evgenia and she used to say to my father, 'It is a pity, Mr. Saltiel, to push her so much, she is so young. Why start in the 5th grade, when she knows no Greek.' Anyway, Eda started her Greek lessons, and by the middle of the school year she was the best in her class, and Miss Evgenia said, 'You were right, Mr. Saltiel, you were right.'

We always knew there were other religions. We knew, we saw them, heard them, even in the neighborhood. In the Mission Laique Francaise we were not only Jews; we had an Armenian schoolmate, Irini Lazian, and also a Greek girl.

We didn't have any close relations with the Christians. Of course, I had Christian schoolmates and we saw each other sometimes outside school but there were no close relations. Nevertheless we had no exterior characteristics that would differentiate us from the rest of the Greek population either in our dressing code or in our behavior. They couldn't tell us apart.

When we went to school we dressed in a blue uniform with a white collar. At school we also studied Greek, but the way that now, they teach English at Greek schools. Everything was in French and we had two hours of Greek per week.

Surely there were teachers that you like or dislike more than others but I don't remember any of them. I was a very good student with regards to all subjects; I didn't like or dislike any. I was good everywhere.

At some point, when we finished school, we went on a five-day excursion with the Anatolia College; all the girls of my class and my teacher. We were 13-14 girls, three of us were Jewish: Germain Alvo, Roza Kohen, who now is married and lives in Athens, and me. What did I think of it? It was normal. I had finished school and went on a trip with everybody else. We went to Olympia and we saw wonderful things that I couldn't even imagine I would ever see, since my father was very strict. [Olympia: major archaeological site. In the center of Peloponnesus was the temple of Olympia where the Olympic Games were held in antiquity.]

I thought nothing of not sleeping at home; I was in good company, I was not alone, and I was with all the girls and my teacher, who were my daily companions.

Matilde, although she was older than me, didn't go on an excursion, because at the French school they didn't have a tradition of going on an excursion after finishing school; it was just the Anatolia College that did it.

At Anatolia we also celebrated the so-called commencement and we all dressed in white and everything. [Commencement: an event organized by Anatolia College every year, upon the graduation of its new alumni; something like the debutantes' ball.] My dress for the commencement was pleated all over and it had a big belt. You can see it in the picture that is still hanging in the hall of the school today.

We also used to wear hats; we called them 'shishia.' I had a green one, a very nice one. We wouldn't go out of the house without a hat. The hat, the scarf, the gloves. Yes, we also wore gloves. If only you knew how many gloves we knitted during the war! I cannot start telling you how many we knitted for the soldiers at the beginning of the war.

Our hair, at that time, we used to comb it a little rolling out at the edge. I had long tresses and I used to roll them on my ears, like telephones, as they would say. My sisters had no 'telephones.' I don't remember when I cut them off. To have a hair cut we went to a hairdresser, and my mother came with us. We had good legs then. It is only now that the hairdresser comes to our home because we cannot move properly any longer.

Books, other's than the ones for school, we didn't really read. My father read things related to the religion. He was not a fanatic but he read because he wanted to be well informed. In the evening we would all sit together and each of us did his/her own thing. Studying, reading, sewing...

Matilde used to play the piano. Almost eight hours a day on the piano. And now, nothing! She used to play the piano many hours a day. I had also started learning it but I had no patience to sit down and practice and I gave it up. Matilde had started learning with Lily Abravanel, who later on went to Paris and got married there.

Lily Abravanel was my mother's cousin: her father and my mother's father were brothers. Her father's name was Lazar. Lily went to the Catholic school 'Les Soeurs de Calamari,' and she had been influenced by them. They found her once, wearing a nun's hat [cornet] that she had made herself, and to protect her they sent her to Paris. In Paris she changed her religion, and married a Christian.

She had a daughter, who is a language teacher, and a son, who was working for the French electricity company, and another son, whose occupation I don't know, but he looks just like my uncle Leon.

She never told her children that she was Jewish and now there is a big mess about it because there is a Lazar Abravanel in Israel. He is the grandson of Lazar Abravanel, my mother's grandfather's brother, who in 1918 and 1920 was sent to Turkey with the Greek army and never came back. He deserted and went to Israel and stayed there and got completely cut off from the rest of the family. Now this Lazar Abravanel started looking for his relatives and his family and found out about his roots from Thessaloniki and through the computer [Internet] he was able to trace Lily's children in Paris and this created a whole mess.

At home we had no gramophone. My grandmother Abravanel had one and we went to visit her almost every Saturday. There, we would listen to music, classical music and all the songs that were en vogue then. There, we also found all the magazines because my uncle David, who lived with Grandmother, used to buy all the magazines considered serious. When we went to see my grandmother, my aunt Rachelle would also come with her children and the family united. They lived at one end of the city, the Vardari area, and we at the other end. My grandmother used to prepare separate food for everybody, whatever he/she liked, just to make us all happy. We found there good food, music, magazines, warmth. We were very happy to visit my grandmother.

The dreams that we had at that period were simple, young girls' dreams. It was normal that we were going to get married and found our own families. But in reality I couldn't see how we were going to get married because at that time you had to give a dowry and I don't know if my father could have afforded three dowries. Marriages were combined and bargained.

I don't know if I would have been able to marry then. And first of all there was absolute priority, for instance I couldn't marry before Matilde, she had to marry first since she was the oldest and then it was my turn and then Eda's, and this is why all the attention was given to her. Matilde always had to be very well dressed, by the famous fashion dressmakers, and her underwear was hand-embroidered and this and that...

Personal liking had nothing to do with marriage. Personal liking is only when you are not pressed to give a dowry and I don't know what else. I don't know anybody who got married without a dowry before the war.

Since we had no brothers we had no contact with boys. It was only later, at the beginning of the war, when we started living in the same house with Aunt Rachelle, with her sons, Nadir and Elio, and her daughters, Silvia and Renée, that we started having our first contacts with boys. The boys who were their friends.

Of course it was on my personal agenda to work. When I finished school I had already taken typing and stenography lessons. I had already applied for work at a petroleum oil company, and there were high chances I would have gotten the job had it not been for the war.

Matilde, she was stuck to her piano. At least eight hours a day she played. This is what she wanted to do. Eda was still very young, too young to work. My father, although he didn't like the idea of me working, didn't say anything because we needed the money. His shop had been burned down. I don't remember if it was in 1934 or 1935 but we were very short of money. My uncle David, my mother's brother, is the one that supported us and gave the money to my father to restart his business. Uncle David was such a nice man! He opened a bank account, in my mother's name, so that she wouldn't have to ask whenever she needed something.

My father's partner was my uncle Avran who had a very rich father-in-law and didn't care about anything. His father-in-law was Mr. Angel. My uncle Avran married my aunt Regina who was his cousin, Regina Angel, the daughter of one of my grandfather's sisters. It was not just my father's shop that burned down, it was the whole neighborhood, but unfortunately his was the last one for them to put out the fire. In this neighborhood were all the shops that sold construction wood, on Santaroza Street.

I have the impression that everybody was a Jew there, all the construction wood was sold by Jews; because my uncle Sinto, was also there, and my uncle Daniel, and my uncle Avran. Only my uncle Mentesh and uncle Sabetai were in the glass business. They sold widow glasses, mirrors etc.

I don't know any kind of job that was not done by Jews. No. They did everything and when we had a riot here and they burned down the houses in the Campbell district 12 - well, if you can call them houses, they were tin-huts, really - all the people who lived there and worked mainly in the port of Thessaloniki, decided, after the riot, to leave for Israel. They went to Haifa and built the port there, and the reason the port of Haifa exists, is because of them.

What I remember from Campbell is that my father had to take two buses to go to work, because his shop was very far away, compared to our house, and it was very early in the morning, and my mother stood on the balcony watching him going away, until he disappeared, and I felt something odd, a fear in my heart, without realizing what exactly was going on. I didn't ask any questions but everybody was scared. Proof of this fear is that they left. We didn't talk about it at home, not at all.

During the War

When the war with the Italians 13 was declared we moved to my aunt Mitza's house on Gravias Street. I don't know why we moved there, but my uncle Pepo and my aunt Mitza were in Athens, for some reason unknown to me. At their house were my uncle Leon and my aunt Mitza's sister, Silvia, with her husband Mr. Margaritis, my aunt Rachelle with her family, and all of us.

Our contribution to the war was knitting. We made socks and gloves for the soldiers. I don't know to whom we gave them but we knitted day and night. Me, my sisters, my friends, all of us sitting around and knitting for the soldiers in Albania.

Those soldiers were freezing and when they came back they had frozen fingers and frozen toes. I knew somebody named Saqui, he came back from the front with frozen legs and I don't remember if they amputated them or not but this was the issue. After the war he left for Israel and never came back.

Knitting and singing the patriotic song that Vembo 14 sang: 'Stupid Mussolini, nobody will stay, you and your ridiculous country, you are all afraid of our khaki colors [Greek military uniform].' We believed in those songs, we were impressed by them, Vembo was great, and we were putting all our souls into those songs.

When the Italians were defeated by the Greeks, the Germans, who were their allies, came rushing, to solve the problem! To save the face. I have a vague memory of that. I know that we were living at aunt Mitza's house, and the first day the Germans entered Salonica, they confiscated the house. We were all scared, obliged to move out, and find another house very quickly. They came and confiscated the house, I saw them but I didn't see them. I was so afraid. When they confiscated the house, they also confiscated my father's shop, and in exchange, they gave him some kind of a paper - I don't know where it is now - and we never got any kind of compensation for that.

I know that they confiscated all the important Jewish shops; they went to Alvo and emptied everything. He sold baths, and tiles, sanitary supplies and wires. For days German trucks were emptying it.

We moved here, to this neighborhood, just across the street from where we are now. The name of the street was Mizrahi and not Fleming as it is now. It was a big house that we rented, across Solono's house, who I didn't know at the time. Of course there were food rations. We went to the baker and were given a piece of moist 'bobota' [bread made of corn; during World War II it was the only one available and was part of the food ration]. One piece, not one loaf of bread each; the portions we could take were according to the members of the family.

Later on, when we moved into the ghetto with my aunt Rashel and her family we made our own bread. I don't know were we found the flour; it was the boys, Elio and Nadir, who took care of that.

We knew what was going on from the radio. We had an amazing radio and we could hear everything, even Vembo's songs.

We had no contact with the Germans. Somehow, because we were Spanish citizens, we felt protected, since we knew that Spain was an ally of Germany. What did I feel the first time I saw a German? I cannot see meanness; I cannot see it in the first glance. They looked normal, like normal people with nothing special, nothing to make you want to turn your head away.

We heard nothing about the camps, nothing about the concentration camps because they concealed it very well. And our rabbi, who was from Germany, maybe he knew, maybe he was aware of what was going on, but he chose not to speak. Rabbi Koretz. We thought that we were going to work and then come back.

People were so fooled that, even the money they had - when they were deported - they gave to the Germans, taking in exchange either Polish zloty or some kind of paper saying it was due to them, and they were going to cash it at the end of the trip. What did we know? We had no idea what concentration camps were. No idea! Some people had come from abroad, from outside Greece, and were saying some things but we couldn't imagine it. Our minds were not able to conceive it. We thought that they were telling stories.

Mrs. Kounio parents' had come from Austria but they were much older than us and we had no real contact with them. We could not form an opinion, because we didn't know enough to understand, and anyway, when the powerful want to fool you they do. They have the means to do it. We didn't know, and the people that came and told us we didn't believe. It was simply inconceivable. What they were telling us was impossible to digest, it was not real, and it couldn't have been real. They were not lying, they were gravely exaggerating. Or so we thought.

I had a schoolmate that was married in Yugoslavia, Bella, and when the Germans entered Yugoslavia she came back to Salonica to her mother, and she also had a little girl named Ettika with the most beautiful red - very red - hair. And they came here and they didn't have anything to eat, and her husband started selling small things, such as buttons, pins, handkerchiefs and things like that, and he was going from one house to the other to make some money, and buy bread. They had no bread, but Bella was smoking. When I went to Israel, I started smoking too, and all of a sudden I remembered Bella, how they had no bread but had to smoke, and I said to myself, 'Am I crazy? I quit on the spot.

Bella told us that when the Germans came they took everything. She told us of atrocities, but it was just in our imagination that we could see things like that. And then the order came to wear a star, and everybody wore a star. I don't know what would have happened if you didn't wear one. I didn't wear one. I was Spanish.

Then the Germans gave the order that Jews had to move into the ghettos. In Salonica we had never had a ghetto. We moved again, this time with my aunt Rashel, my mother's sister and her children. We went into the ghetto, with our own people, although I'm not sure that as Spanish citizens we had to. We felt more protected, as Spanish, since when they gathered the others, they didn't dare touch the Spanish.

Nina Benroubi probably didn't move into the ghetto. Her family name is Revah and the Spanish consul was married to a Revah from the same family. The name of the Spanish consul was Ezrati and he was Jewish too. I have letters of him and sometimes I wonder how we managed, writing letters, seeing the consul, the ambassador, etc.

Of course, we were scared at first. What am I saying. Not at first. It was after that we started being really scared - when people started disappearing, when we had to go to the ghetto, when we could not move around any more. How can you not be scared when you don't know one day what the next day will bring you, what will happen to you.

My father, when we were in the ghetto, was already sick and my mother had died. My mother had a small operation; she had a polypus that had to be removed. Since it was during the occupation my father took her to a private clinic for the surgery, and he was so precautious, so afraid that something would happen to her, that he took a stove to her room, to keep her warm, and he bought alcohol, and he sat in my mother's room, and whoever came in was obliged to clean his hands with alcohol, to be disinfected.

The operation was successful but the patient died. The operation was done during the German occupation and nobody took care of her, nobody came to see how she was doing, or to help her get up, or anything, and she got pneumonia and died. When the doctor saw her, he said that if she could make it to midnight she would survive. She passed away at five to midnight. It is written somewhere when exactly she died.

Then there was the funeral but I didn't go to it. The day she died, and there was the funeral, there was a terrible, terrible snow storm. It was snowing heavily and it was bitter cold, and they came to the house, and they took her, and I didn't even see her, and we did nothing about it. They took her, in a hurry, because they had to walk to the cemetery and come back before the night, and they buried her there. The men of the family took care of that. My uncle Sinto, her brother, his son Samuel, my father ... only men. We were girls, we couldn't do anything, we didn't go to funerals, and we didn't go to the cemetery. It is only now that it is fashionable for the women to go to the funerals. After the funeral we had the kria, at home, and everything was done as it should be, because we still had a certain freedom.

When the Germans took our cemetery 15 they had to unbury her, take the remains out of the tomb, and put her in the new cemetery, in the same grave with my grandfather and everybody was very upset and felt uneasy and afraid but what could we do? We had no power, nothing, no way we could defend ourselves.

At the beginning, when we entered the ghetto, we were afraid. Actually, not exactly in the beginning. Later, when we had to wear the star, when they started picking up people, making them disappear, limiting free movement ... You could not but feel afraid not knowing what will happen to you from one day to the other.

As for myself, I wasn't moving at all. It was due to my father, who was sick. He had cancer. He went through a period when he had a fever every evening, and it was only when his condition started to deteriorate, that the cancer was diagnosed, but they couldn't do anything about it.

During that period we were renting a home on Broufa Street together with Aunt Rashelle and her kids. It was in the ghetto. I have no idea how the limits of the ghetto were defined... We, the girls, didn't leave the house, but the others were moving around, within the ghetto. Food? We were buying it from the shops that were in the ghetto.

The other Jews were wearing the yellow star but I never put it on. I was a Spanish subject and they were not after us. None of our family wore the yellow star, despite the fact that we were living within the ghetto. I don't know for sure if other people that had no yellow star could move out of the ghetto. I was confined to our house, with my father, and had no particular wish to go out either.

Although we were feeling some sort of liberty of movement, compared to the others, we didn't make use of it, and whoever wanted to see us came to our place. All of Nadir's friends were coming, that is Toto Benies, Solon Molho, Davi Frances, and Senegal, who was the funniest of all. Actually his name was Rousso but his nickname was Senegal. You see he was going to the port, to have fun with the fishermen, and as his hair was very, very curly, one fisherman called him Senegal, the only African thing he could recall, and that became his name for all of us. Nobody would call him any other name and I think that, not even he himself would have responded to any other name.

This group of friends was coming to our place almost every evening. We had all sorts of discussions, we had fun, we were singing and sometimes we used to play games, all kind of childish games, and sometimes we played cards. We played cards with the neighbor downstairs, Isaac was his name. You see, he would get passionate in his desire to win while we didn't really care, so one would go behind him, see his cards and step on the foot or give another sign and Mr. Isaac would lose. I don't know why we liked to tease him but we were all very young and full of life, and we had to have a diversion from all the horrible things that we were suffering.

I cannot recall the first time I went dancing but I find it quite improbable that I would have gone alone, that is, without my sister. As we had no brother and our father was very strict we had nobody to take us dancing. Probably it was during this period that it first occurred with Nadir, Toto and the others, or it could have been at home where we listened to the music on the radio and probably danced.

We had a lady neighbor, of German roots, who was always complaining and shouting at us about the music, always wanting us to be quiet. Regarding anti-Semitism all I can recall is a servant from AiVat 16 that we had at home, who once couldn't control herself and said, 'You Jews deserve it.' When exactly this happened I cannot recall. She was referring to all the rules and limitations we were forced to follow.

Let me tell you another story. Aunt Mitsa had a cook who had two daughters. One of them got married and came to visit us on Broufa Street and she was crying. 'What is wrong, Eftihia?' we asked her. 'I'm not a lucky person at all,' she told us, and continued, 'A friend of mine entered a deserted house and she found it furnished and with everything in it and I cannot find anything.' And she was crying. Crying while telling us that she couldn't find an empty, furnished Jewish house!

My grandmother was deaf, because of the fall of the Zeppelin that was shot down in Thessaloniki during World War I, and since they didn't want to shout the names, particularly in front of the four-year-old son of uncle Sabetai, they would use nicknames like the 'the big grinch' and 'the small grinch' in order to talk. The big grinch was Hitler and the small grinch was Mussolini 17 and her grandson, who was four years old at the time, was telling her, and showing her, putting his little hands on top of the other, indicating, 'not even a stone on top of another will remain,' and this is exactly what actually happened.

We were afraid, actually very afraid, scared, particularly since we knew that they could come anytime, knock at your door, grab you and take you away. I don't remember to whom exactly this happened, but there were many rumors about who was caught, who was taken out of the ghetto, people that nobody knew what had become of them etc.

A few days after the death of our mother, it was probably my sister Matilde who had the idea to organize a white marriage between our father and Aunt Rachelle, our mother's sister, so that she could acquire the Spanish nationality in order to be somewhat better protected.

This white marriage didn't take place in the synagogue. I don't know where, probably in the house, and I have the document from the Spanish consulate. Nobody would go to the synagogue for such a marriage. My father was already quite sick, he was lying in bed, and he would do whatever we would tell him. So Aunt Rachelle became Spanish, but not her children.

During that period a second marriage was quite rare. You see, people wouldn't divorce. People would normally accept all sorts of conditions in order not to divorce, which is not happening now.

If a wife died, and she had a sister, they would try to marry her husband to the wife's sister, etc. Every effort would be made, so that people wouldn't be left alone. There are physical needs that have to be dealt with, and such moves should keep the families closely connected. It is better than leaving people wander, like street dogs.

This was the period of our friendly group. We were staying at home and every evening the 'group' would come home to keep us accompany. Nadir and his friends Solon, Totos and the others were there every night. They were all making their best efforts to make us laugh, by saying whatever would come to their minds. This is how I became friends with Solon and later our friendship turned into love.

Nadir was by nature a funny fellow, and together with Senegal they would play theatrical sketches for our benefit. There may even exist photographs of Nadir, wearing a round hat and long trousers, just like Charlie Chaplin. This is what they were doing, making fools of themselves, trying to make us laugh and put some humor in our lives.

There was also Bob. Bob was the son of a friend of Aunt Rachelle who lived in the Vardari area. He also was included in the company. Now he lives in Israel but a few years ago he came to see me here, in Thessaloniki.

This is how we witnessed the departure from Thessaloniki: The people who were gathered, were leaving with a small valise, or a small sack, walking without knowing where they were going. And, as we learned later, when they reached the railway station they were told to leave their money here, since it wouldn't be valid at their destination, and this is how they would take even their money. All this we learned from descriptions by others since we were staying at home and didn't experience any of this first-hand. We were living in an empty Jewish neighborhood. When they collected all the other Jews, we remained in this house.

The difference between the Germans and the Italians was that the Italians were human. They helped us at this point. It was them who provided us with the proper false papers, in order to travel to Athens, which was under Italian occupation at the time.

This is when Aunt Rachelle decided to go to Israel with Elio and the rest of her children and so she did, in two steps. First three of the children, Nadir, Silvia and Rene left, and later the rest of the family, that is, she and Elio.

All our relatives were Spanish subjects. The Germans had no right to take Spanish subjects to the concentration camps but, all the same, they were all gathered and sent to a concentration camp, with no forced labor. Later they were taken to a camp in Spain, then to a camp in North Africa, in Casablanca, Morocco, and later they were taken to Israel. All of them, with the exception of our father, my sisters and I, who had made an application to the German 'commandature' and asked for an exemption since our father was suffering from cancer, and somehow we were left alone.

This Italian man, Neri, helped us greatly since when they finally came for us, he managed to put Eda, our younger sister, with our father on a train to Athens, and a few days later Matilde and myself.

The decision to leave for Athens was made when we realized that we couldn't take proper care of our father. This Italian guy, Neri, who was working in the Italian consulate, agreed to prepare the proper documents for us to travel to Athens. It was my sister Matilde who went to him, and took care of all the proper documents. Was it Neri who came to our place or Matilde who went to his office? I'm not sure, since I was fully occupied with our sick father. According to these documents, we were Italian citizens, and these documents were to be given directly to the train commander.

This is how our father and Eda left for Athens. Eda and our father left while Matilde and myself left the apartment, we were living in, and went to stay at the place of a girl that was a manicurist. She put us up in a bedroom and we were there all day and all night, with the shutters closed. You see, she was a Christian and her father, who was living in the same house, knew nothing about us. She was bringing us food and we were waiting for when our turn would come to leave for Athens. The girls' name was Angela, simply Angela, no last name. We stayed there more than a week.

Matilde and I were left to leave last. They told us to come to the railway station at a particular date and time. The Italians were in charge of the train, we were with the Italians and we embarked on our journey on it. We had no papers since they were all given to the train commander. The train was supposed to stop at Plati or some other station after it. It was stopped well before for the Germans to control it. It seems that they guessed that something was happening in that train and we knew nothing, not even our names on our false papers or birth dates or anything. The only thing we were taught to say in Italian was, 'The train commander has all the free passages.'

And the moment comes that the Germans get into the train. All the passengers, we were asleep, and it seems that the train commandant took care of the Germans, gave him the papers and finally they got off the train again.

This train left with at least a whole wagon of Jews. Among others there were Rosa, who lives in Athens, the one who remarried, Charliko Joseph, she was first married to Marcel Nagari. All her family was in this wagon.

There were also young Italian soldiers in that train. One of them seemed to like me particularly and he asked to meet me in Athens but with so much fear, no room was left for flirting.

We arrived in Athens and went to a house in Magoufana, a suburb of Athens - Lefki today - a house offered to us by a monk from Mount Athos. The area was full of small farms, and this monk was coming every week, and we would open all the doors as he would pray, so that the entire neighborhood would listen. Once an airplane passed close by and I said to Matilde, 'Adio, Mary look!' You see, we were very easy to be spotted by someone who was after us.

At this place at Magoufana we were not alone. There was also Toto and two of his sisters. One of them was later deported and never came back, the other one married a Christian called Mikes, a member of the yachting club, and his children still live here in Thessaloniki. Toto also had another sister who had a slight mental disability and was not with us in Athens. She was also deported and never came back.

We stayed at Magoufana for quite some time. We were washing the sheets by hand and our hands would bleed, and when this priest saw the condition of our hands, he told us how to wash 'cloth against cloth' and how to tumble it. We would start at one end and fight our way to the other. In a minute he showed us how to do it, and it was simple.

This priest was called Father Kissarios. He would come to visit us every week at this little house, in Magoufana, with the farm and the vines. We were left with no money, and later it was Paul Noah who paid my share to the partisans. I suppose that this house in Magoufana must also have been paid for, but I don't know by whom.

Normally we would walk from Magoufana to Kifissia, a distance of approximately 13 kilometers. In order to purchase medicine for our father. We would walk in the dark, in the loneliness, with dogs barking and no papers, but at the pharmacy they would give us what we asked for.

The only outside contact we had was Elios, my cousin, who was hidden in a room on 3rd September Street with his mother, our aunt Rachelle. Later, when they left for Israel, we lost contact for a while.

It was quite lonely in Magoufana, so when Elios and Aunt Rachelle left for Israel we decided to go to Athens, to their place on 3rd September Street, which now was empty. First, our sick father was taken and the rest of us walked for a whole night from Magoufana to Athens. Thank God we had no unfortunate adventure, but we were walking all night, and it's a long walk!

So we stayed in Athens with our father. In the room we had a big container where our father could sit and make, whatever it was he had to make, and then, he was moved to an armchair, from the armchair to his container and back. It wasn't easy. We, the three sisters, were using the house toilet, which belonged to another family but I cannot recall their name.

One night a group of traitors came with the Germans, a quisling Jew and three Germans, to arrest Elios, who was living there before us. They didn't find him but they found us, who were Spanish citizens. At this time they had already deported all the Spanish citizens, and when they realized the situation that we were facing with the sickness of our father, they decided to take the two girls and leave one behind so she could take care of him.

Since I was the one with more patience in dealing with our father, I was left alone in taking care of him, and my sisters were taken away. They said they were taking them to check our papers etc but they didn't say where. During those moments you cannot think or feel. You are faced with fate, you live an accomplished act, and there is nothing you can do. I was left with the impression that my sisters would return but instead of that, after a short visit to the Gestapo, they were held in the military barracks at Haidari 18, a prison for all kind of people. This I learned, of course, only after the end of the war.

While we were still all together, taking care of our father, there was this lady, Mrs. Lembessi, who was the wife of an air force officer, who was helping us continuously. She happened to live in the same apartment block as Ida Asseo, who was a cousin of my best friend Tida Saporta, and she took us under her wing, always trying to help us.

Mrs. Lembessi was following closely the evolution of my father's health. She communicated with the doctor who was following his condition almost daily. The day my father died, Mrs. Lembessi was at our place at eight o'clock in the morning, having already been informed, by the doctor, that in his opinion it was quite improbable that he could last any longer.

He died exactly 13 days after my sisters were taken away. It happened early in the morning, while I was feeding him in bed and he refused to open his mouth. He turned his head aside and died.

Mrs. Lembessi was there to help me. She told me not to worry. It was the doctor that informed her and she was here now and she would take care of everything. She cleaned and dressed the body and then she went to telephone the Spanish Embassy. A little later some men came on behalf of the embassy; they told us to undress the body, wash it and put it in a sheet. Once again Mrs. Lembessi told me not to worry and went alone to do whatever was asked. Then we waited for a little and they took the body. They didn't tell us where they were taking him.

Mrs. Lembessi, once again, took over and took me, almost by force, since I was not in a position to think, to stay at her place telling me that, I should never return to this apartment, were my father had died. That same night the Germans returned for me, but I had fled.

What Mrs. Lembessi actually did was to ask her daughter to sleep on the floor so that I could have her bed. I cannot recall how many days I stayed there but she took very good care of me and even her husband was pressing me to drink some wine with my lunch every day since I was very weak. Mrs. Lembessi is included on the list of the Righteous Among the Nations 19.

Then it was time to worry, with the assistance of Toto, how we would leave the county. I have no idea where Toto was during all this period. I suppose he was somewhere around watching over us in his own way. I was staying at Mrs. Lembessi's, who would see that Toto was after me, and madly in love with me, and she would advise me not to marry him, because he didn't seem to her to be of the same value as me. All that love seemed improper to her. Mrs. Lembessi knew nothing about Toto's sister and her mental disability.

Following the instructions given to Toto, we went on Good Friday, the one preceding Easter, in the evening, to a place where a lorry, sent by the resistance, was expected to pick us up and take us to Evoia 20. Everything was arranged by Toto in agreement with the partisans.

At this place arrived all the people who wanted to leave Greece: there was Paul Noah and his wife Rita and their young daughter, Lela Nahmias, the wife of Moise Nahmias, who was one of Solon's friends, and many others whose names I don't remember. We were all scattered and the appointment was at a coffee shop where the lorry would come to pick us up. I was sitting with Toto at this coffee shop and we waited and waited and waited and nobody arrived. At some point it became clear that nobody was coming. We were very, very disappointed, and we had to return.

We were later informed that they couldn't manage to come and pick all of us up, and that half of the people were left behind. A few days later we received the message that it was this coming Friday, at the same place, that the lorry would come. Once again we went to the same place, we found the same people and at long last we got into the lorry.

The funny thing is that the driver wouldn't start the engine unless I would wave to him. Of course, I didn't want to do it but the social pressure of all the other passengers was such that I had no choice but to do it and quickly we went off...

With this lorry we went from Athens to the land across from Evoia. It was night when we started out; it was night when we arrived. Everything was very dark and we had to cross the sea to go to Evoia and the Germans had a big searchlight, searching the sea, and we entered little boats, and we had to be very quiet and paddle very silently and finally we arrived in Evoia.

It was during early summer and when we arrived in Evoia it was still very dark. We had to climb a big mountain in order to arrive where the partisans were. This is when, forced to walk what seemed an eternity, I started having blisters on my feet that same day, because I was wearing sandals.

Once we were up there, we were taken to a big room. The floor was not bare ground, it was maybe mosaic or marble, I don't remember, and there were some stinking blankets and we had to sleep there.

It was full of people. A lot of Jews. No, not a lot, everybody was a Jew; Jews that we knew and Jews we didn't know. Yvonne said, 'It's been three weeks that we are here,' and I panicked, only trying to imagine to spend three weeks up there!

We tried to sleep and at four o'clock in the morning they started shouting at us that the boat to take us across to Turkey had arrived and we had to hurry, hurry. Those people had been waiting three weeks and the boat came the same night we arrived!

Since we were up the mountain they gave us mules to take us down. Not for everybody of course; some would walk and others would go on the mules. We knew nothing about mules. The women who sat on the mules the 'cowboy way' by the time we arrived down there, had started bleeding, from the friction, from the animal's movement. Happily enough I sat sideways, you know, two feet together like in a side-saddle and I suffered much less.

When we arrived at the sea, to our big surprise, we found even more people, probably coming from other shelters, and children and old people and all of them were Jews. The partisans had long beards and I was very scared, to be honest you were scared only to look at them. And they gave us a 'lesson.' And what was the lesson? They gathered us and told us that they had caught a guy lying and put a knife here and took it out there: right through his throat. Now if you feel like lying or anything else, think twice.

Of course, the partisans were armed and they had big, long beards and they had bullets all around their belts and chest and... The same night we got up at 3 or 4 in the morning. They called us because the fishermen boat had come. We hardly stayed on the mountain at all. We just slept a little wrapped in a blanket on the floor. We didn't have the time to worry about what to eat, or where to eat, or how or where to wash, how to organize ourselves. We left immediately; we didn't stay three weeks like the others.

They asked for money. They said that whatever you have leave it here because for you it is useless, your money has no value from here on. This was not true, but people left their money there.

As for me, I had nothing to leave. My fee for the trip was paid by Paul Noah and he also gave me some money, because I had nothing. I had no money at all, hardly any clothes, no relatives around me, I had nothing, nothing at all.

I don't know how Paul did it - how he paid the partisans - but I know he did and he paid for Toto too, and I cannot tell you the amount because I was not directly involved in the act; it was Toto who took care of those things. I know that I am in dept to Paul.

We got into the small fishing boat. Except for myself and Toto there was also Mois Nahmias. Rita and Paul Noah with their daughter and Bob were not with us, they had left earlier and everything happened very, very quickly, and when we arrived in Turkey we were already expected there.

Nadir, Silvia and Rene, my cousins, had decided, long before us, to form a group of their own with two of the Noah children. They also left with the partisans but they never arrived. We have no idea whether they were betrayed, whether the boat was sunk, when and how they died, who caught them, etc. Up to this day nobody knows what really happened.

Anyway, so we entered the boat and we were crammed in the hold. We were less than fifty people, close to thirty. As the boat left, due to the stormy sea, people started vomiting. We had some containers, like buckets, and when they were full somebody would lift them up, throw the content in the sea and give them back to us.

I decided I that I couldn't stay in there anymore. I couldn't breathe. I wasn't seasick so I climbed to the deck and sat in a corner. The captain, a 23-year-old man - I was 20 at the time - saw me and told me that he had his own small cabin and I could go and rest there. All this happened without any effort from my side to charm him. No effort whatsoever.

This way I traveled rather distant from the rest of the passengers, having a place of my own. Toto was also out of the hold and our young captain very efficiently reached the coast of Turkey.

We arrived early in the morning at a place called Tsesme 21, and the captain would take each one of us and carry us one by one to dry land by walking in the sea and when he had brought the last of us he told us to walk ten minutes in a particular direction and wait there, as there were people coming to pick us up. The sun had not risen yet when he and his boat were gone.

A little later Greek people, representing the Greek state, came and took us to a coffee shop where they offered us breakfast. They were from the Greek consulate and they were there to assist us. I cannot recall if we met any Turks.

After we had our breakfast they put us on a train. I remember the train vividly and we were taken to a sort of camp where there were soldiers, Greeks and others. Of course, there were also many Jews.

We decided to look for Paul and Rita who had been loaded on another boat earlier. When we asked, we were told that they had not arrived yet despite the fact that they had left Greece a week earlier than us. We were very worried but one week later they arrived. You see, their captain had a girlfriend on an island and he took the boat with the passengers there, and in order to be with his girlfriend he stayed on the island for a week or ten days and, of course, the passengers stayed in the hold having extreme difficulty with food and the water and all.

What I can say for sure is that our captain was much more efficient in that respect, and brave, and within one or two days he took us to Turkey while the others that had departed one week earlier arrived ten days later.

This is what luck brings. When we were left in Athens, while they departed, we felt sorry for ourselves and thought we had bad luck but in terms of arriving in Turkey it ended up as our good luck, so you see, with luck you never know which is good and which is bad. Things are not what they seem.

The name of the camp where we were was Halep, I think, and upon arrival we were sprayed and showered in order to get sanitized. They were afraid that we had fleas and who knows what else, and maybe they were not wrong. There we met a lot of other Jews waiting to be sent to Israel by train, but we had rather limited contacts with the soldiers.

Soon after we arrived there was a Romanian family leaving for Israel by car and I was approached with the proposal to leave with this family. Despite the fact that I didn't know them, I decided to go. I thought to myself: they are going by taxi, the others will be sent in a goods train, let me take this chance and we will see. So I left with them, and in no time I found myself in Haifa and then Tel Aviv. I cannot recall how long this journey lasted. All I remember is that we left early in the morning and they spoke among themselves in Romanian and I didn't understand a word. When we arrived in Haifa, Sochnut 22 took over and we were taken to Tel Aviv. I stayed about eight days under the wings of Sochnut, which was an organization providing assistance and help to the newcomers. A nephew of my grandmother Saporta was living in Tel Aviv. He had a loan library; his name was Albert Alcheh. Finally, after eight days I went to stay with Lina, a first cousin of mine. At the back of my mind I was hoping to find Aunt Rachelle and Elio.

After I had stayed at Lina's for a week Samuel Molho came with a proposal. This guy, Samuel Molho, was somehow a relative since one of my father's sisters was married to a Molho, from his family. The proposal was to move to his place where he had built rooms on the top floor and there were staying Paul, Rita, Totos, and Mimi Nahmias, who was Rita's sister, and Paul's father and mother. He said, 'Since your whole group of friends is living in my place come and stay here too, so that you will not burden Lina.' This is how I decided to move and stay at Samuel Molho's place.

There I stayed in the same room with Mrs. Noah and her husband and Mimi who was the sister of their bride. My bed was under another bed and it was pulled out when the time would come for me to sleep. Four people in a small room. It was not easy. Poor Mrs. Noah couldn't sleep at night but she would cry for the loss of their two children that disappeared with Nadir, Rene and Sylvia. She had a lot of difficulty accepting the loss.

All my friends were staying at the top floor, where Samuel had built rooms and a kitchen and a toilet - everything that was needed - and there were also Frida and Jacque Saltiel. However, for me, the fourth person in the bedroom, it was rather tight. It was hard to wash yourself or put on some basic clothing and go to the bathroom, etc.

Now, Tel Aviv had a Thessaloniki Club, 'Le Club des Saloniciens,' and they were trying to accommodate whomever they could. Mrs. Angel, who was a member of the club, said that she would gladly accept at her house a girl from Thessaloniki approximately at the age of her own daughter.

Although I never went to the club they came with this proposal to me. They told me that I would be much more comfortable there, and it would be more peaceful, and I don't know what else. I thought that even three left in this small bedroom, it still was too much. And since I had a chance to move to this new place although it was away from my friends and with people I did not know, I decided to go for it and went.

At Mrs. Angel's place I had a room to myself. There was this couch that would turn into a bed. Every night I would make my bed and undo it in the morning in order to turn it back into a couch. Mrs. Angel's daughter was Nora and she was a fine girl and we got along very well, the two of us.

As soon as I arrived in Tel Aviv my priority was to find a job. I handed in all kind of applications for a job. I wrote that I knew French, English, Spanish and Greek. I applied at the post office, stating also that I knew typing and stenography, I applied at the military camp, at the bank that all the Thessaloniki's Jews were going to, the Discount Bank, which belonged to Tida Saporta's cousin, as well as the Cyprus Bank. Suddenly, an invitation to work came from the military camp and I went to work for them. It was the British military. I would wake up at five in the morning, get on a military lorry and go to the camp, which was rather far from the city. I don't even know in which direction we were going but once there I would type on a machine all day long. I would write whatever I was given but I cannot recall the subjects of the letters. During all this period I was wearing civilian clothing contrary to everybody else in the camp. I don't even remember at what time I would arrive back home from work. All I know is that it was extremely tiring.

I hadn't been working for a very long time for the military when a positive response came from the post office, and a little later from the bank. This is how I decided to quit the job at the military camp, since the long commuting in combination with the early waking up time and the long hours of work, was quite exhausting. I had a possibility to change all that and would have been stupid not to take it.

The post office had explained in their letter that they wanted me for some kind of censorship. I was supposed to read the letters of others and report whatever didn't look proper. I decided it was not a job for me and as soon as I received the bank's letter I went to the bank. That was the Cyprus Bank.

At the bank I was the secretary of the bank managers. We had two, one British manager and one Cypriot, and I had a small office to myself next to the managers while all the rest of the personnel were located in a big common room. The English manager would write the letters, I would type them and take them to him for signing. This, followed by the appropriated filing, was my job. The Cypriot manager would advise me on what to do and how to facilitate the British guy without pressuring him.

I had no exact time schedule since I would leave when I had finished with my daily job and put everything in order. It could be at three, or three thirty, or four, depending on the workload. When I finished I would not return to Mrs. Angel's for lunch but I went to a close-by Sephardic restaurant. The owner was Issua and there you could eat properly, with the others, the Ashkenazi.

At this restaurant I could eat alone. He would cook our way. He also made stuffed tomatoes since he, the owner, was from Thessaloniki and both the quantity and the quality of the food were highly satisfactory. There I would meet Charles Josef with his wife Nini and many other people like us.

Since I had no money and Paul had paid the partisans for me, I found a second job. After lunch at the restaurant I would go to an import-export agent, whose name I cannot remember, despite the present he gave me when I left. There I would take care of all his correspondence. He was telling me what he wanted and then I had to phrase it and write the letters properly. I was dealing with everything.

I would normally finish by eight in the evening and at that time I was so tired that I had no energy left for anything else, and this is the reason I never learned Hebrew. I studied for a week or so, at the beginning of my arrival, but had to drop it when I started working.

Then one day the bank manager called me and asked me about my second employment. He also asked me if I knew that I was not permitted to have a second job as I was involved with banking permissions. I had access to all the files, and whoever wanted information could contact me. I told the bank manager that despite the fact that I had no family, the money I was receiving was not enough and I had no other alternative but to have a second job. Then he told me that, formally, he knew nothing about my second employment. He was so satisfied with the quality of my work that he was prepared to cover up for me with regards to my second employment, and later, when I got engaged to my future husband he was literally crying when I was leaving. Believe it or not he explained to me that it was the first time he felt things where in such good order, due to my presence.

During the period I lived in Israel the only group of people I had contact with was my old group of friends. Most of them went to work in factories, since they didn't know any foreign languages. Some went to the Discount Bank, as the owner was from Thessaloniki and he was hiring people originating from there. It is worth noting that Matoula Haim, who later became Elio's wife, was also there, going to school, but I don't know any details about her. We hardly knew each other then.

With the two jobs, my days were fully occupied and I could do nothing else. All this period I never went any place. I didn't go to the synagogue, not even once, and all the high holidays I would stay at Mrs. Angel's. This family, the husband being also a distant relative of my mother, was not very religious; they would play cards and I would stay with them and not go out of the house.

During all my life in Thessaloniki there were no 'traditional' Jews there. In Israel I first saw Jews with long beards, round hats and black robes filled with greasy spots and I said to myself: Now I can understand the expression 'dirty Jew.' Not even in photographs had we ever seen Jews dressed like that. Even the children were like that and this was my first impression. In Thessaloniki we had no conscious knowledge that we were different from the rest.

People in Israel gave me the impression of being aggressive and rude. We were used to be more attentive and we showed more respect to each other. We were also sweeter in our way of speaking and wouldn't say 'tipesh,' which means idiot. Very quickly we learned the expression 'tipesh pilit/pilita,' which means foolish, idiotic refugees. After that I found a job and stopped being in contact with them.

Except from being arrogant, people in Israel also didn't take care of the way they dressed. They would wear these shorts down to the knee level, which we had never seen before in Thessaloniki. Even the officers of the army were wearing these shorts. After some time even your eye gets used to it, and, admittedly, it is practical for a hot climate, but at first they looked very neglected to me.

Some people from Thessaloniki ended up wearing these 'not taken care of' clothes, but I never did. I had one dress which I wore and it was always clean and ironed, I was never badly dressed or neglected, never. Of course, it was summer there as I had left when winter started.

We didn't have any contact with Israelis, men or women. All the contacts we had were with people from Thessaloniki and particularly I, as I was working in the bank, with an office to myself, and had no contact with the other employees who were working in the common room. I would not go to the common room.

I certainly missed my group of friends, but each one of them was occupied with earning his or her daily bread by working in factories, etc. Of course, I had more advantageous conditions but it was due to my knowledge of English and French and of typing.

The liberation found me in Israel. Later I learned what had happened to my sisters. As I wasn't in Greece I don't know what the liberation was like here. I remember a big cry of joy: the war is over, the war is over! I don't remember any celebrations but when you are closed in, working all day, you don't always know what is happening.

After the War

What changed immediately is that contact with Thessaloniki was established immediately. I learned that Uncle David and Aunt Mitsa were alive. Letters were the only form of communication, only letters. As they knew I was in Israel they could send me letters via Albert Altcheh and he would pass them on to me.

First, I made contact with the people who stayed in Greece, that is, Uncle Pepo and Uncle David. All the other members of my family had been moved from the concentration camps to Spain and then Israel. Actually, from Spain they were sent to North Africa, to Casablanca, and then to a camp in Israel. When they arrived I went to see them there.

When they came to Israel, Uncle Mentesh and Uncle Sabetai rented a small apartment to share and since it was rather small, there was no room for their mother, my grandmother, who was put in an old people's home.

During the war, Grandmother was with all the Spanish citizens and it was Rosa, the sister of Alice and Linda, who was a kind-hearted person, who took care of her, washing her clothes and everything else.

Life in the old people's home was not at all happy for Grandmother. As she was almost deaf, she would make noises when she was pulling the metal pots to pee, during the night, and other 'guests' were complaining. She was instructed to be more careful, but she couldn't hear.

Anyhow one day, they came to her and asked her if she wanted a haircut and as she didn't hear them or understood, she smiled and nodded and they came and cut her hair that she was wearing long, all during her adult life, tied in a low chignon. When Grandmother saw her face after her haircut she couldn't accept the outcome and she was crying and crying, and when I went to see her she told me, 'Look, look what has become of Mazaltov Saltiel, look!' And she was crying. What was there to say? The people, responsible for this hair disaster, said that she had been asked and agreed, and she said that she didn't understand. Grandmother died very, very sad.

All I had in my mind was returning to my people. I was starving for the warmth of my family and I knew that both Uncle David and Uncle Pepo were alive. Uncle David didn't get married and was living with his brother Pepo and his wife, Aunt Mitsa. All three of them thought of going to a small island and live there, hidden with their young baby daughter Rena. Unfortunately, the Germans caught them on the Island of Lesvos and put them in prison, but since Aunt Mitsa, who came from Vienna, knew the German language, she somehow managed to stay out of prison with her little daughter.

Aunt Mitsa made her living on the island by telling the future from reading coffee cups. She would learn what the news of the neighborhood were and as she knew the facts, she would say, for example, 'I can see here, in the marks of the leftovers of the coffee, that you have a relationship with someone. Ah! This is serious. Be very careful.' Her clients would bring her as payment a chicken or some potatoes or other useful things that would help her survive, as they had no money and no other means of support.

This lasted until the liberation when they all returned to Athens and later on to Thessaloniki. During this period I was in Israel so I don't know the rest of the details. What I know is that she never again touched a cup of coffee.

They sent me letters though Albert Altcheh since they knew how to contact me. Even the Spanish embassy in Athens knew how to reach me; they sent my travel papers to Ida Arouesti, a friend of my sister Matilde. This Ida, before the war, had a cousin who committed suicide by jumping from a balcony and to honor her memory, her father had built a synagogue, which today is called Monastirioton, and it is the big synagogue of Thessaloniki.

This is how I learned that my sisters were fine and we started our correspondence. Of course, I kept on working during all that time. Despite my desire to return I knew that my sisters were experiencing a severe lack of funds with the respective results.

They were both staying in Athens at Ida Arouesti's and as they had one overcoat to share, one of them would obligatorily stay at home in order to allow the other to go out. This unique overcoat was also a present from Ida. They were also making shoes out of rope as they had absolutely no money. They used rope for the bottom part of their shoes and they bought a sack, which were normally filled with 50 kilos of sugar, and used it to make the upper part of the shoes. Those were very difficult times!

Later Eda found a job at the Greek-British Chamber of Commerce while Matilde was unemployed. They were both passing the poorest period of their life. Ida later got married and went to Milan in Italy.

Some of my relatives that had gone to Spain had already returned to Thessaloniki. Uncle Sinto, Rene's father, wrote me a fine, touching letter asking me to go to him: 'You will be like my own daughter,' he promised, but Aunt Sol, his wife, Rena's grandmother and my father's sister, didn't agree to have us. I have kept this letter where Aunt Sol says that she has four boys - Davi, Sumuel, Joseph and Marcel - and that she cannot take care of us, having also three daughters, Mathilde, Jeannette and Paullina.

Uncle Pepo and Uncle David said that we were welcome and we could go and live with them anytime we wanted.

At this exact time Solon Molho came back from the island of Skopelos, where he was hiding during the war, and went to Uncle David and explained to him that he loved me and that he wanted to marry me. Uncle David wrote to me in Israel and my response to the proposal was positive.

Solon didn't know where to find me so he said to himself: 'Let me go to Uncle David.' So he went to Uncle David and told him, 'I love Renée, what are we going to do about it?' And uncle David wrote me a letter and I said to myself, 'Let me weigh things, we are alone, we have no money - not that Solon had any, I already told you that we started from scratch - anyway I have to get married. This is a person that I know, I know his family. Why not marry him?'

I knew Solon from the time of the occupation. As I have already told you there was a period that Solon, Totos, Bob and all the group of friends were coming every evening to our place. Of course, I had memories and I remembered Solon and after I gave the positive response I began to get prepared to return to Thessaloniki

I knew Solon's parents from before the war. They were Mair and Sterina Molho. Mair was a bookseller, Sterina a housewife and their children, in addition to Solon, were Victoria and Yvonne. Both his sisters were married and had children before the war. Yvonne, the eldest, was married to Henry Michel and had a son, Daviko, and Victoria was married to Youda Leon and had a son, Niko, and a daughter, Nina.

The Molhos were not a family of Spanish origin, contrary to my family, and I wonder if I should not go and get a Spanish identification card even now.

The Molho family was living in a house opposite ours, so they knew us and Sterina, as we passed by with my sisters, was saying to her son Solon, 'This is a girl for you to take as a wife.'

Sterina Molho was easy going and good willed, while at the same time she was a realist. She also had brothers that had gone to Italy, but I know nothing more about them. Here at home we have a set of dishes with the initial E which belonged to Sterina as her maiden name was Errera, and she was the only member of her family that didn't go to live in Italy, being married at the time the decision was made.

Now, Solon Molho was very much loved as a boy. You see, he had an older brother, who he didn't meet, because he set himself on fire while playing with matches under his bed and died. Family legend has it that it was the day that the Orient-Express arrived in Thessaloniki. When Solon was born, all the parents' love was directed to him. Solon's sisters were considerably older than him. I believe that the brother that was lost to this fire was born between the two sisters.

Solon, as a young man, was rather athletic. He would go on excursions, climb the mountains, go fishing, etc. He was also a boy scout. This is the reason why, later, we sent all our children to the boy scouts, to summer camps, etc.

Solon was attending the Altcheh school, which was located opposite their house, and it was rather convenient as during the break he would return to his house. He wasn't particularly quiet, prudent or calm as a child.

In the neighborhood was the shop of Thomas, a bicycle shop, where you could either rent or repair your bicycle, and Solon was at his shop every time he would get a chance.

Many years later, after the war, a middle aged lady approached me once at a pastry shop. She asked me about Solon, and what the news was, and how he was, and she explained to me that she was Thomas's sister. I told her, 'He is fine, thank you ...' She told me that Salomonikos used to come to the shop to get a bicycle and ride away and Mrs. Sterina would also come after him and ask Thomas to take good care of Solon. He was very much loved, you see.

Solon's father, Mair Molho, was a rather severe man and right after the marriage of his daughter Victoria, he took Solon, who was 16 years old at the time, to the bookshop and started training him. His first job was to count sheets of paper, to receive the newspapers, etc. so that he could have personal experience with all the bookshop tasks. The bookshop was the only one in Thessaloniki to carry international press and foreign, that is, English, French, German, etc. books.

Going back to the period of my positive response to getting married, all I knew then was that Solon belonged to a respected family that had a famous bookshop, that I had visited to buy books, that he was a close friend of Nadir, my cousin, that he was a member of our group of friends, that the was a Jew, that he seemed to be of a nice disposition and that was it. However, although we started from nothing, we fought and had a good life together.

At the time I met Solon, he was engaged to a girl called Dolly Modiano but apparently his mother didn't agree with it. Later Dolly got engaged to somebody else, as she realized that Solon didn't respond positively to her, that is, to Mardoche. She left with Mardoche and didn't go to the concentration camp since Mardoche had a lot of money. He wasn't very good- looking and didn't seem to be on the same level with Dolly, who was an intelligent and fine girl.

Solon, of course, had gone to the Greek army; actually he was in the army with Nadir and that's how they became friends. When the Germans arrived he was still serving in the army. I'm not sure where exactly he served, maybe Albania, or actually I think it was in Sidirokastro. From Sidirokastro he returned to Thessaloniki on foot. [Sidirokastro: A fort on the Greek- Bulgarian border. It was attacked by the Germans on 6th April 1941, and was taken three days later.]

He had to present the contents of the cash register he was managing in the army and they, Solon and other soldiers, walked to a port, took a boat that was chased by planes and then walked again in order to make it to Thessaloniki. The cash he was responsible for, was a serious source of anxiety for him, since it didn't belong to him but to the army, and when he managed to pass it to someone else, he left and arrived in Thessaloniki, as a civilian, not a soldier any more.

In the meantime the Germans had arrived in the city. As soon as they arrived, they confiscated the bookshop, threw everybody out without permitting them - owner and staff - to take even their personal belongings, not even their clothes and jackets, and they sent Mair Molho into exile. I don't know where exactly this exile was, maybe the island of Ios 23, but I know that shortly after, he was brought back and forced to sell the whole business to a German collaborator, a bookseller called Vosniadis, for the sum of three golden pounds. This is how the bookshop ownership 'changed.'

Solon stayed in Thessaloniki until the Germans decided to take measures against the Jews. Right after the gathering at Eleutherias Square in Thessaloniki, Solon left on a rowboat, saying, 'I am not staying here,' and went rowing to Evoia, and finally ended up in Athens, which was under Italian occupation. When those new instructions against the Jews were issued and all the Jews were put into the ghetto and later on, many left for the camps, our relationship suddenly ended.

However, in the meantime, from his return from the army until his departure for Athens, he was coming every evening to our place for a visit. We were staying at Brouffa Street with Aunt Rachelle, who had two boys and two girls. If you include us, there were five girls and the boys were, of course, rather happy to be in our company instead of going here and there. As our mother had recently died, they would come home and try to make us laugh. This is how I first met Solon and his behavior was very proper.

Uncle Pepo had invited me to return and I could stay at his place. Solon had returned and subconsciously he had me as his wife in his head, probably because of his mother telling him when she first saw me, 'This little girl is for you.' So when he came back from the island he went to Uncle David and told him that he wanted me as his wife and he wanted to settle down. Uncle David wrote to me, as I told you, and I evaluated the proposal, and I decided that I also wanted to settle down with him since I knew him and his family, and I didn't want to look elsewhere.

I knew very well, at that period, that Totos loved me. So how could I say yes to Solon had I not secretly loved him too? So when I said yes, I got prepared and took the return trip. It is worth noting that during that period in Israel a cousin of mine, Leon, was also after me and he would have liked very much to be engaged to me, let alone Toto. Solon was my choice. This Leon was a cousin of my mother, I don't remember how he was related, and his mother was English, and he would come and we would go out, but that was it.

During all this period we didn't go dancing even once. We would go to the coffee shop, have a coffee, sing a song, etc. We would find life, and the whole situation in Israel, rather monotonous. We were used to live different rhythms. We would go to the coffee shops in the evening and we wanted to sing, and be merry, and we sang the Greek songs that we knew in the streets. I cannot recall the exact songs we were singing, but we were singing with a lot of nostalgia for Greece and in this atmosphere I said to myself, 'I will go back.' I didn't ask the advice of anyone since I really knew what I wanted and I sent the positive response to uncle David and said that I would try to return.

What made me happy with the liberation was that letters started arriving, and I have kept these letters. Letters from my sisters and letters to my sisters, letters from Uncle Pepo and, of course, Solon's letters. I was happy. I would have my own family and not stay in a foreign country or in a foreign house. My days were very long as I would go out at eight in the morning and at best return at eight at night, but they were full of anticipation and joy.

So I arranged all the necessary papers and I returned with Charles Joseph and his first wife, Nini, who was the daughter of a first cousin of my father. All members of the Saltiel family, and even his second wife, Rosa, was also a Saltiel.

We first arrived in Piraeus and from there went to Thessaloniki. I cannot recall where I first saw my sisters after the war. Was it in Athens? Was it here? I do not remember. I stayed at Aunt Mitsa's place as there was nowhere else to go.

Eda was working at the Greek-British Chamber of Commerce in Athens. Matilde was also there but not working, and they were staying at Idas's. I cannot bring to my mind our first meeting after the war.

When I arrived in Thessaloniki, Victoria came to me as Solon was sick in bed. He participated in a yachting tournament and as he was shouting very much he had had a hernia and he was taken to the hospital, he was operated on and exactly when I arrived he was in bed recovering. Victoria was Solon's sister, married to Youda Leon with two children; Niko and Nina. I knew them from the period before the war but we did not have any relationship.

As for the Molho family, they were all deported to Germany: Solon's father and mother, Yvonne, his sister, and her husband and child. The same goes for all the rest of his relatives. The only one left was Victoria and her family.

The way they were saved is that one day they were at a drugstore and at this drugstore happened to be Doctor Kallinikides, and he was commenting about the dreadful things that were happening to the Jews. He also was saying that he would be willing to save a family of Jews. When they heard that statement, although they didn't know him, they approached him. Mrs. Kallinikides went to their place to take the children, to his own house. Later he managed to get in touch with the people who were occupied with transporting illegally the Jews to Athens, under the very nose of the Germans.

This way, very quietly, Mr. Kallinikieds saved first the children and then arranged for someone to pick up the adults, from another place, and arranged all the details for their safe journey to Athens. They left together with the youngsters, Niko and Nina who were five and two years old, respectively. They were very lucky and Mrs. Kallinikides remained a friend of the family forever.

When this happened, Solon was already in Athens. In Athens, when they found each other and in order to survive, they were manufacturing soaps: Solon assisting Victoria's husband, Youda, who had had a soap manufacturing factory in Thessaloniki and knew all about it. Selling them from house to house they were making a living. Later the Germans occupied Athens, so they were forced to go and hide themselves elsewhere.

They went to Glossa Skopelou. Giorgos Mitziliotis, the mayor of the village was one of the suppliers of Uncle Youda's factory, providing him with olive oil, which is a raw material for soap. All the Leon family, the grandfather and grandmother, Maurice, Jackos, Youda and his family and Victoria's brother, that is, Solon, etc. 14 persons were taken by him to Glossa. During the whole period of the occupation and until the liberation of Thessaloniki they all stayed there.

Giorgos took an immense risk, not only for himself and his family, but also for the whole village since he was the mayor and therefore the one in charge. The ones that could help did so. They were going out with Giorgos, cutting trees, assembling wood, looking after the animals, etc. They even had a mule. Once the mule refused to move and after various efforts that had angered Giorgos very, very much, in his desperation, he put his shoulders under the mule's belly and lifted her up and threw her over. The mule fell, got up and started walking back to the village.

The first period in Skopelos was a period with no Germans but when they arrived, the family was forced to move from place to place, so that the Germans would not notice them. What a life full of anxiety!

During that period, Solon, was also going to the local shipyard assisting in whichever job he could as he was young, full of strength and life. He also worked with the local ironsmith and on his false ID, his job is that of an ironsmith.

They also listened to a hidden radio so that they knew what was going on and what was happening in an effort to be in front of unfortunate happenings. When the war was over, they all came back to Thessaloniki.

Giorgos Mitziliotis and his brother Stephanis are on the list of the Righteous Among the Nations.

As soon as he arrived in Thessaloniki he went to the bookshop and a few days later he was given back the shop and the first floor was taken by the British Intelligence Service, who used it as a 'lecture and training salon.' I don't know from whom he took back the shop as I was not here during that period, but I know that one or two days later he was in his shop. The books, of course, were all taken by Vosniades, but the stationary, out-dated of course, was there. Later they brought the books that had not been sold by Vosniades, back to the shop.

Every day the top floor was full of people because the British had a big map and they were noting on the map the movement of the armies and how the Germans were retreating, etc. until the end of the war. The British were located in the shop until every spot was liberated. Then they opened the British Council, where amongst other things they had a library and they were teaching the English language. Exactly as it is today.

As the bookshop opened, books started coming from abroad and Greek books too, and I have the impression that we are certainly the oldest bookshop in Thessaloniki if not in the whole of Greece - older than Elefteroudaquis.

Solon was staying with his sister Victoria and her husband Youda at Karolou Deal Street while I stayed at Aunt Mitza's house. What I recall from our first meeting is that we were both very emotional. He was moved, as I was too, and we were crying and everything. We were greatly moved sentimentally. We were crying and we were kissing. What can I say? It is the desire to share what overcomes you and you do not calculate what you do. You do not think, let me kiss him now; you just do it as it comes with the moment. And it is quite natural and normal to kiss, to cry and laugh afterwards. First, the cries and certainly laughter follows.

When I returned to Thessaloniki the city was free. It was 1944 or 1945 and I had no problems whatsoever.

I cannot recall how long after this reunion we got married. It was Mrs. Margaritis, the sister of my aunt Mitsa, who was a musician who gave me my wedding dress, which was one of the dresses she was wearing to go to concerts.

The marriage took place at the Monastirioton Synagogue on 17th March 1946. I remember that all the marriage preparations were taken care of by Aunt Mitsa and Uncle Pepo and everything was very fine. And we were very happy. After the marriage, we all went to Aunt Mitsa's house. I don't remember who it was that placed his hand on top of the fireplace with such enthusiasm that the fireplace fell apart.

It is that the same place where we are living today, that was Solon's parents' house. It is here that Solon was born and where he came after he left Victoria's place. In this house, his parents' house, he found other people living: refugees, and, of course, they didn't want to move out. This happened with all the Jewish houses that were left 'empty' during the war. People moved in and after the war it was difficult to force them out. Anyhow, I don't know how Solon got the house back. I think it was with the help of Thomas, the bicycle man, but when we got married it was already available to us. I don't remember if there was any furniture left. All I know is that Solon took good care of it, and even built a fireplace for my sake. He wanted to make me happy.

Our honeymoon was a trip to Athens by boat. We went to Kifissia, a suburb of Athens, and stayed a few days there at a hotel and then came back to Thessaloniki. Upon that we started working and working and doing nothing else but work.

So we were married. He was a bookseller and I tried to make curtains out of an anti-mosquito cloth which I also dyed in a happy color, and hung them on the windows as they were facing the street, and it was the only way to protect our privacy, not allow to see from the outside what was happening inside. All our belongings, things, clothes, etc. were stolen by the man that was supposed to take care of them and it was very difficult for us to manage.

In the meantime, Eda was staying in Athens, working at the Greek-British Chamber of Commerce and Matilde, I think, stayed at Aunt Mitza's. Matilde married David Dzivre. Of course, it was match-making. Some people who knew them proposed and that's how they approached each other. They had two children, Nico and Yofi [Joseph]. Nico has already died.

Eda had first been engaged to Albertico Abravanel, but they didn't agree as he was a dark character and they separated. In the meantime, Raf loved her secretly, Rafael Saporta was Tida's brother and was one of our closest friends. All their family had been deported with the Spanish Jews, and after the war he never came back to Greece but lived in Paris, France. When Tida went to visit him she arranged for their engagement. Later they got married but I didn't manage to go to their wedding. They had a daughter named Sylvie.

In general, I would say that my sisters were never informed in detail of how I lived in Israel, neither did I get details about their life in the Haidari prison. All I know is that, from time to time, they would gather all of the prisoners in the yard and a German would select and take some individuals out of the line and send them to the firing squad.

As my sisters were Spanish subjects they were protected from the firing squad and the Spanish ambassador, Mr. De Romero, had involved himself with their survival. Every week he was sending a package with food to my sisters. It was Mrs. Lembessi, the lady who also helped me with my father, who was taking the packages to them.

If I go through my papers I'm sure I will find something about him. There are also pictures that were saved, and also the letters I wrote to my sisters, and other letters. I don't know how they happen to be in my house. I was the first one to get married and to have a house of my own, so I suppose, they gave them to me to guard and never claimed them back. Sometimes I open these letters and read them and see them from new prisms but anyhow ...

Going back, as a newly-wed I was very unhappy that I was staying in a house from where I couldn't see the sea and I had neighbors living that close. At first I had the impression that I was in a prison, with no space in front, as all my life I had grown up in houses overlooking and next to the sea.

Then Solon and I decided that it was about time to have children and so I got pregnant. I was very, very happy. Having a child in the family! It had been a number of years since we had seen children and when I first gave birth it was a boy! What a happy moment.

Samiko and his wife Clarice were in love with him; Samiko remembers Mair on his pot and gets emotional! Samiko Saltiel was a very close friend of Solon. He was living in the Vardari area, close to Nadir, and it is through Nadir that Solon met him and started hanging out with him until they became very close. The two couples, we were meeting quite frequently. We were close. Samiko and Clarice at some point decided to live in Switzerland and the friendship faded.

This first child was my first joy. The first joy for a long time and when we organized the brit milah, what a beauty he was, and how many people came! The Athens mohel came for it and I remember the brit, and the joy, and the majesty of it, and the atmosphere of joy, and the sweets, and the invitations, the people, and the live music, the Tchalgin.

In Thessaloniki before the war and for a short period after it, the Jewish musicians that would be invited in marriages, engagements and other fiestas, were called Tchalgin. And they played and played and played. I don't know the exact musical instruments they were using but they were sitting and playing and playing. I don't think that people danced at the brit milah.

When the second boy was born I was rather disappointed as I wanted it to be a girl. And once again the brit and the fiesta and everything; but I wanted a girl. God listened to me and, 'if not the second it will be the next child, so make another,' and it worked. The third child was a girl.

I never had a miscarriage but when I got pregnant for the fourth time I didn't want it since it would have been a lot more weight on my shoulders and the times were difficult so I forced a stop of the pregnancy. I think that, at the end of the day, this was a big mistake. After this fourth stopped pregnancy I was lucky and I never had problems with my health.

I started working at the bookshop when I decided that I wanted to be there.

All my children went to a good school. When they were at school, at home we had two ladies with the same name, Olga, who were taking care of the house and the children. 'Olga mama,' the older Olga, had been a maid of my mother- in-law for many years, well before the war, before they were deported. She was a couple of years older than Solon and this was the only family she remembered. When Victoria returned from the island, 'Olga mama' came back to work at her house, and when Solon and I had children she came to live with us. She spoke Spanish like all the rest of the family.

The other Olga was taking care of the house and also helping with the children, while 'Olga mama' knew how to cook exactly like my mother-in-law, as she had been with the family for many years and, of course, always kept an eye on the young ones.

I worked very intensively. First, I started by dealing with current problems, to order the requested subscriptions of the foreign magazines for the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, for the departments of Medicine, Architecture, Mechanics, etc. Then I started studying the French bibliography and little by little I was managing the whole French department.

Right after the war my husband was at the bookshop day and night. In order to start again he went to the Bank of Greece and asked for a loan. Let's say he asked for 150,000 drachmae. The bank manager sent him to the cashier and he gave him 300,000 drachmae, double of what he had asked for. With this money Solon managed to order the books for the first school term. We were in competition with another bookseller, and we would bring the first books by plane in order to be the first to have them.

Retail book sellers would be coming to the shop even at midnight, so that they would have the new books the next morning, in their shop. And I had the feeling that we never stopped working.

Of course, as I told you, we started with no capital. Not only that, but when the bookshop was closed by the Germans, there were open balances with foreign suppliers. When we re-opened after the war, in order to re-open our accounts with our main furnishers, despite the fact that obviously we were not responsible, we promised to pay whatever we owed them from before the war. We owed them nothing but we paid all the same.

This way, we paid Hachette, Oxford and the others, the French, the English, even the Germans, we paid. I don't remember the exact details of those accounts but what I know for certain is that we paid even the last penny of all our foreign debts. Not all of them together but slowly we managed to reduce and finally pay off all our accounts. We never used other peoples' money for ourselves!

One day there was an article in the foreign newspapers about King Paul. [Paul, King of the Hellenes (1901-1964): King of Greece from 1947 to 1964.] I don't know exactly what the article was about, as there was censorship during that period, but they came and wanted to arrest Solon who, of course, was not responsible since the newspapers had already been given permission by the censorship to circulate.

Solon, probably out of his anxiety, had a big boil on his top lip, right below his nose and it was very dangerous due to the amount of puss and it became a serious threat to his health. He saw many physicians and it took quite some time for him to be treated and recover, as the boil had to be neutralized.

At the bookshop we had all the newspapers and we were reading them. I cannot say that I was reading the Greek press, since it was much easier for me to read the French or the English papers.

The years went by slowly and we approached the 100th anniversary of the bookshop in 1988, its official date of creation being in 1888, and we decide to celebrate it. We organized a very successful reception and the French state decorated Solon and me with the title of 'Chevalier des Lettres et des Arts' and this is not an easy recognition to be given by the French.

They decorated us for services offered to the French Nation. If you work 100 years, and you are in contact with French publishers, it is expected that they may honor you, not only because they wish it but because you have earned it yourself, and it is due to your own merit. It is not an easy and simple thing.

For the celebration of the 100 years we printed a small commemorative booklet with the bookshop history and we also gave a reception. Whatever I do not remember is included in this booklet, and there was also a book where professors of the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki and clients and friends were writing their thoughts and their impressions about us.

Anyhow, time keeps on passing and since then we have received a number of 'slaps in the face.' I couldn't say that I faced any sort of anti-Semitism. Even the first book orders of the Aristotle University were given to us. It was not at the very beginning of the bookshop after the war, but the professors of the university were coming to the shop and we had very good relationships with them, particularly the good and active ones, not the ones who were there only for the title.

I never faced any problems because I was a Jew, no, no. We had a lot of acquaintances and friends who were Christians and you can go through the pictures of Mair's marriage to see many of them. From my early childhood, I was chic, elegant, and this is no joke. Whatever I needed, I wanted it to be top quality. I preferred to have one piece of good quality as opposed to two or three inferior ones. I went to the top couturiers, dressmakers of Thessaloniki and even Mrs. Kiouka, the top one, when she gave an interview a few years ago, she made reference to me being a good and proper client of hers.

Every summer, when my children were young, we were going for vacation to Agia Triada, a small village on the sea shore near Thessaloniki, as my husband could come and go every day. In the morning he would depart with the car of Jack Saltiel, or directly by boat, which would leave him in the wharf next to the market and the bookshop. They would return in the evening.

Jack and Frida Saltiel lived in Thessaloniki for a number of years after the war and then left for Athens and later Canada. They had three boys, Riro, Tiko and a third one, no girls. They went to live in Canada where they are now. It never occurred to us to leave Greece and go to live elsewhere.

We were not going to the synagogue very frequently. Of course for the memorial service of my father, and my mother, and quite frequently on Fridays, I would go to light a candle and ask God to take care of us and not to forget us.

All the Jewish high holidays we celebrated at home, like Rosh Hashanah, Pesach, Sukkot etc. We certainly didn't make our own sukkah during Sukkot. After the war nobody was doing it, so we were all going to the sukkah that was set up at the community and we were going only on one day, not the eight days that Sukkot lasts. I cannot recall until which age I was taking my children there.

At the door you can see a mezuzah which for me symbolizes a prayer, a prayer of protection by God. This is what it represents for me. I don't stick to the mezuzah as an object, since when I want to pray, I pray wherever and whenever I wish. I don't consider the existence of the mezuzah as a push towards praying. It is in order for God to protect this house in which I live.

I don't know if I have taught Judaism to my children. I believe in God but I don't consider myself a fanatic stuck to the religious rules. As for my children I don't know what they do where religion is concerned.

Spanish was the language we were using with my husband. With my children we were speaking in Greek and sometimes I would use Spanish so that their ears could get used to its sound.

After the war, we kept contact with all the relatives that were alive. All of my father's family was alive as they were Spanish subjects, except for Uncle Leon who was deported with his family and never came back. He was deported with his neighborhood. They deported him with the rest of the non- Spanish Jews. He was married to Nini Nahmias and they had two children, Riki, or Rikoula, who was named after my grandmother, and Victoria, innocent Victoritsa, who was four or five years old.

In particular, we met Uncle Sinto who was here with his family, Uncle Avram, Uncle Mentesh and Uncle Sabetai. All of them have now passed away. Uncle Mentesh and Uncle Sabetai, as Spanish subjects, were taken to Israel during the war. After the liberation they came back here, stayed a few years and later returned to Israel again, where they lived and died. Uncle Avram also went to Israel, only Sinto stayed here. Two of his children are still alive, Rene Arditi and Linda Erera.

How do I think my life would have evolved if there had been no war? It would have depended, I guess, let's say on the person I would have married. If we assume that he would have been as good as the one I actually married, it would have made no difference, provided that I could manage to love him.

It happened in our society that people, with no education, had managed to have a lot of money, but had no manners. You have to understand that our family from both my father's and my mother's side were 'very refined socially.' This is the reason that I say it all depends on the husband you get. Love marriages were very rare. I don't know any.

The city, on the external side, would look the same, but with no presence of the people we knew. All the neighborhoods in which Jews were living were now empty of Jews, their houses full of Christians. Whole streets like Misrahi, today Fleming Street, where we are now staying, were occupied only by Jews with the exception of one laborer called Filipou, who would come to the houses for small jobs. His son later became an architect and good friend of Jews.

However, the fact is that now, in this street, we are the only Jewish family while in the past there was not one Christian family. This is not only in this street but in many neighborhoods like '151' 24, 'Vardaris' 25, etc., but I wasn't very familiar with these areas. The true outcome was that we had lost all our contacts and we were isolated.

The Christians were very, very neutral toward us. When they would see you in the street they would look at you as if to say, 'Ah, so you survived,' a little surprised, but an approach that was neither a friend's nor an enemy's reaction.

Discussions took place based on certain circumstances, particularly when we were meeting Maurice Leon, Jako Leon, the grandmother and all of the people that were hidden on the island with Solon. We had a lot of contact with them, despite the fact that they were relatives among themselves, their life in common on the island had strengthened their ties, and it was us and them and them and us.

Somehow Victoria and Solon knew about their parents - that they would never return. They would know it by what the people that came back; by what the survivors of the concentrations camps, were saying and they were not saying much.

I never had an opportunity to talk with people who returned. We were not discussing the subject, not even with the Capon family that retuned, Hasday Capon, who was a close friend of ours and we were going out together often, never spoke. We didn't talk about it because they refused to touch the subject. Even Marcel, Marcel Nadgari who, as you know, wrote whatever he could, and put it in a bottle which he buried, and it was found years later, and this is how they know what happened to him. Even him, he never talked about his experience in the concentration camps at that time.

All the people who came back, refused to talk about their experiences, as they didn't want to remember it. Also, they were confronted at first with people's disbelief and that didn't help at all. It was only later, after fifty or sixty years, that they decided to talk.

Since their experiences contained extreme acts, difficult for the human brain to grasp, in terms of evil, and the people who would listen couldn't believe that those things had really happened, it was only at the end of the survivors' lives and under the fear of the approaching end that they decided to write and talk about their experiences so that people would know. Some of them fifty years later.

It has never happened. Discussions were not welcome and Hasday wouldn't talk. How can I explain, the Jewish society that was left were all Spanish and Italians. Even some Italians had disappeared at the end, as had happened to the Fernandez family that was completely wiped out.

We never discussed the subject with Solon either. It was silently decided that as they had no news, they would never return. Neither his parents nor Yvonne, the other sister, who had been deported with her son and husband and never returned. They never really learned it officially. What did you expect? For them to send you the death certificate?

Still, it is good that some talked. I was listening at Simone Veil 26, who was explaining why she started talking, and about the implications they were making, as if they had gone on a pleasure trip. And she said to herself, at the end, they are going to give them medals! Let me sit down and write things as they are.

I never discussed these subjects with my children because they never had the patience to sit down and listen. I am very sorry to say it but had you not been asking, you would not know how I grew up, what I have been through and how and how my life has been.

I didn't have much contact with the Jewish community, only with the children's camp when the kids were young. I cannot say that I have any particular contact with the Jewish community even now but I was always correct concerning my obligations. I just didn't have close contact with anyone. Of course, I knew all of them, I respect them and they respect me, but I have no closer contacts.

It has been quite some time since I have sent an application to the Claims Conference, which sent me a positive reply, but for the time being I have not seen a practical outcome.

Normally, I go to the cemetery in Thessaloniki, where the great majority of my relatives are buried. My father was buried in Athens. His dead body was taken care of by the Spanish embassy and I left as soon as possible and a couple of hours later the Germans were there, looking for me, but I was gone. When I left that house, I stayed with Mrs. Lembess and from there after many adventures went to Israel. I didn't know where my father was buried; it was only when I came back from Israel that I learned that he was buried in the Jewish section of the 1st cemetery of Athens, which is a Christian cemetery with this small Jewish section. Of course I have visited my father's grave and prayed and paid my respects.

In the cemetery I start with the grave of my mother who is buried with my grandfather, their names are Stella Saltiel and Samuel Saltiel. Then I go to the graves of Uncle David Abravanel, who died first, and then to Uncle Pepo Abravanel, then to Aunt Mitsa Abravanel. The next grave I go to is my husband Solon Molho's.

Then I go to the grave of Jeannette Bensousan, the mother of Rena Molho, my daughter-in-law, who is married to my son Mair. Next is Renée Avram, the second wife of Joseph Avram, a friend who had been married in his first marriage to my best friend, Tida Saporta, who later became sister-in-law to my sister, who married her brother Rafael. After that, I go to Mme. Gentille Saporta who is Tida's mother and her grave is next to my mother's.

Next I go to Maurice Haim. He was an employee we had at the shop who was killed by the 'rebels' when he was drafted into the army during the civil war 27. I cannot remember any other Jews taking part in the civil war; after all it's sixty years back and I simply can't recall.

Then I go to the monument for the ones lost in the concentration camps and say a prayer. Then there is a series of rabbis, and I also say another prayer over their graves. Oh, I forgot, I also go to the graves of Uncle Sinto and Aunt Bella Saltiel, the brother of my father and his wife.

Of course, we recite the Kaddish at the memorial anniversary of my father's and mother's death. First, I refer to them and then I have written down all the names of the men and women that I feel should be remembered.

A few years ago I would go to the synagogue for those anniversaries, but now I call a rabbi to recite it at home. His name is Daviko Saltiel. Naturally, we make a separate memorial for each one of them and I take the opportunity to refer to all the names of the dead people I would like to remember.

My son, Yofi, continued the bookshop and my son Mair opened a stationary shop and my daughter worked sometimes at the bookshop and sometimes at the stationary, nothing steady.

Yofi married Yolanda Papathanasopoulou, who was Christian and became a Jew. She studied the Jewish religion and when we went to Yugoslavia for the marriage, the rabbi passed her through a series of examinations on religious issues, converted her and then they got married. I cannot say I was glad, as I would have preferred an outright Jew, but I find that, even now that they are divorced, she has done a very good job with her children, who are growing up very properly.

Her son had a nice bar mitzvah and her daughter who is called Renee after me, had her bat mitzvah, all under her supervision. I could say that somehow they are following the Jewish religion, as they went to the Jewish school, they went to the synagogue every Friday, then to the Jewish club, and they kept the traditions with their mother, etc. Anyhow we don't know what the future will bring.

I have six grand children. I have three children and each one has two children, a boy and a girl. My eldest son Mair married Rena Bensousan and their children are Solon and Milena. My second son married Yolanda Papathanosopoulou and their children are Sami and Renee. My daughter Nina married Maurice Carasso and her children are Naomi and Dov, and now she is divorced. They all are Jews but not fanatics with regards to religion.

My favorite grandchild is Milena who shows me more love than the others. I do not see her very frequently but this is not easy since she lives in Athens, but when she comes to Thessaloniki she will always drop by and see me, always.

I have many wishes, but all of them now depend on the wishes of others, to assist me with transports, etc. As long as my husband was alive they would all come to our place during the celebrations and we would sit at the table, eat, play cards, sing, laugh and everything was fine.

Today things are different. My daughter Nina is trying to gather us, all together, at her place but it is not the old atmosphere. That is normal when the head of the family is missing. Anyhow, thanks to Nina we all get together.

I cannot say that I cook any more. Since Nina took over, there is no real reason for me to cook. Of course, when I am asked to do something and help, I will do whatever is necessary, for example make the sweet for Rosh Hashanah, the sweet called 'doulce de manzana.' I do it myself and we should not put any lemon, only sugar, so that everything will be sweet.

I thank God that he gave me a good husband who loved me and helped me. I have three children whose health and well-being I wish for with all my heart, and I pray to God to take me sweetly. This is my prayer.

Glossary

Tsylia Aguf
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Elena Zaslavskaya
Date of interview: November 2002

Tsylia Aguf is a nice charming lady. She is very sociable and active. She participates in a number of programs of Hesed. She has many friends and acquaintances. Most of them are of Jewish nationality. She must have been very pretty when she was young. She has pleasant memories about many of her admirers. She loves her children and grandchildren. She has a clean home, furnished with furniture from the 1960s. She has many books.

My family background
Growing up
During the war
Post-war
Glossary

My family background

My grandparents on my father's side died long before I was born. All I know is that my grandfather, Ovsey Pekar, was born in the small town of Korostyshev [30 km from Zhytomir] in the 1870s. There were about 4,000 Jews in town. There were a few synagogues. There were also Ukrainian inhabitants. There were no nationality conflicts. Jews and Ukrainians supported each other. My grandfather owned a small food and haberdashery store. He spent a lot of time at work. He provided well for his family. They lived in a solid wooden house. My grandfather was religious. He went to the synagogue on Saturdays and celebrated all holidays.

My grandmother, Tsyvia Pekar, was born in Korostyshev in the early 1870s. She got married when she was young. She was a housewife. She was moderately religious, celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays. She didn't attend the synagogue. During rush hours she helped her husband in the store. My grandmother was killed by bandits in 1919 1. My father told me that they stunned her at the gate of her house, trying to remove her jewelry. My grandmother defended herself, and they began to hit her on the head. She died of the injuries. My grandfather couldn't bear the pain of the loss of her and died from an infarction ten days later.

My grandparents had five children: two sons and three daughters. They all left their parents' home when they were in their teens. They grew up as atheists and didn't observe any traditions.

My father's sister, Rachel Pekar, was born in Korostyshev in the early 1900s. She finished a Jewish grammar school there. After 1917 she lived in the town of Gostomel [20 km from Kiev]. There were only a few Jewish families in Gostomel. Rachel was a laborer at the Factory of Musical Instruments. She remained single. She perished in 1941 when the Germans occupied Gostomel.

My father's brother, Ilia Pekar, was born in Korostyshev in the middle of the 1900s. He finished cheder, Jewish grammar school and an accounting school in Kiev. He worked as an accountant in an office in Kiev. He was married but had no children. He died of cancer in the late 1930s and was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Kiev.

My father's second sister, Sarah Pekar, was born in Korostyshev in the late 1900s. She got married and moved to Zhytomir [150 km from Kiev]. There were many wealthy Jews in town at the time. There were a few synagogues, a Jewish hospital and Jewish stores. Jews were craftsmen and merchants. There were a few Jewish schools and a yeshivah in Zhytomir. Sarah's husband was a shoemaker. They both died in Zhytomir in the late 1930s. Sarah's daughter, Tsylia, lives in the US. I correspond with her.

My father's youngest sister, Rosa Pekar, was born in the early 1910s. She was born blind. She was short and pretty. She had wide-open blue eyes, and one couldn't tell that she was blind. She finished Russian secondary school in Korostyshev and graduated from the Pedagogical Institute in Kiev. She studied at the Postgraduate Philosophy Faculty. She read special books for blind people. Rosa lived in the hostel of Kiev University. She had a room of her own, which was unusual for the time. She kept her room very tidy. When she studied at the university, they provided a woman to read for her. After finishing her postgraduate course she became a lecturer of philosophy at the university. She had admirers, regardless of her blindness. Rosa perished in Babi Yar 2 in 1941. Our distant non-Jewish acquaintance took Rosa there by her hand. She bought her a loaf of bread and butter for the road and accompanied her without knowing that Rosa was destined to die there. She told us later how she died.

My father, Moisey Pekar, was born in Korostyshev in 1900. He finished cheder and a Jewish secondary school. He studied Hebrew and Yiddish. After the Revolution of 1917 the Soviet power expropriated my grandfather's store, and my father had to work to provide for his brother and sister. He finished an accounting school and left for Teterev, a small town near Kiev, located in a beautiful pine-wood. He got an accounting job at the logging facility owned by my mother's father. He met my mother while working in Teterev. My father was a very decent and honest man. He read many books in Russian and Yiddish. My grandfather on my mother's side, Khaim-Duvid Polischuk, was born in Radomyshl in 1879. Radomyshl was a small town in Kiev province [60 km from Kiev]. At the end of the 19th century there were about 7,000 Jews in town. There were several synagogues, Jewish shops and hospitals, Jewish schools for boys and girls and a yeshivah. Most of the Jewish families were wealthy. Jews were craftsmen and merchants. There were also Ukrainian inhabitants. The Jews and the Ukrainians got along well.

My grandfather finished cheder and a Jewish school in Radomyshl. He was a timber dealer. He was a very religious man. He prayed, observed all Jewish traditions and celebrated holidays.

Before the Revolution of 1917 my grandfather and his family moved to Teterev where he built a house. He started his own logging and timber business there. He believed that the woods near Teterev were better than in Radomyshl and that his trade would be more successful.

There was no Jewish community in Teterev and there was no synagogue. There were very few Jewish families in town, and my grandfather gathered a minyan, ten Jewish men, at his home. There were a few Jewish men from the surrounding villages besides those from Teterev. My grandfather had his tallit and tefillin on and said his prayer swaying to and fro. Other Jewish men followed him. On weekdays my grandfather wore his customary clothes. He didn't wear a hat. He only put a cap on to say a prayer.

Ukrainians liked my grandfather. They asked his advice in family disputes and educational issues like where to get a teacher for a child. Those who were illiterate often asked my grandfather to read letters for them and my grandfather always supported them. He was a very kind and wise man. In 1918- 1919, during the many pogroms 3 in the Jewish neighborhoods of Ukrainian towns, Ukrainian men guarded my grandfather's home and rescued him from bandits more than once.

My grandmother on my mother's side, Tatiana Pekar, nee Taibn, was born to a wealthy Jewish family in Stavishche, Kiev province, in 1880. The Jewish community numbered almost 4,000 Jews. There were several- synagogues and Jewish schools in town. Jews were mainly craftsmen and merchants.

My grandmother had teachers who taught her at home. She studied arithmetic, Yiddish and Hebrew. She could read and write in Yiddish and had a good conduct of Russian and Ukrainian. She was religious. She celebrated Jewish holidays, lit candles on Saturdays and celebrated Sabbath. She didn't wear a shawl or a wig. My grandmother and grandfather were very much in love with one another. He tenderly called his wife Feygl ['my little bird' in Yiddish]. He often asked conductors of passing trains to bring her olives or sweets from Kiev. On their way back they gave these things to my grandfather, and he generously tipped them. Any caprice of my grandmother was a must for my grandfather.

After the Revolution of 1917 my grandfather became the supervisor of a timber agency. He wasn't very enthusiastic about the revolutionary ideas of fraternity and equality of all people. He didn't become an atheist, either. My grandmother, on the other hand, was inspired by Lenin's idea of universal wealth that was about to come. She read Lenin's books in Russian.

My grandparents had seven daughters and a son. My mother's sister, Frania Polischuk, was born in Radomyshl in the middle of the 1890s. She finished a Russian grammar school in Kiev. She didn't work. She was very sickly and died in Kiev in the 1930s. She was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Kiev.

The next sister, Ida Grinberg [nee Polischuk], was born in Radomyshl in the late 1890s. She finished a Russian grammar school and a pedagogical school in Kiev. She was a teacher of natural sciences. She married Grigoriy Grinberg, a Jewish man, and they had three children: Sarah, Yasha and Milia. She divorced her husband and married a non-Jewish man, a former officer of the tsarist army. My grandfather disavowed Ida when he heard that she had married a non-Jew. Ida's marriage didn't last - her husband died. I remember Ida coming home after her non-Jewish husband passed away, approaching her father's bed, kneeling down and asking his forgiveness. My grandfather forgave her. Ida lived in Makarov, near Kiev, where she worked as a teacher at a secondary school in the last years of her life. She died in Makarov in the late 1930s.

My mother's other sisters, Rachel and Eidia Polischuk, were twins. They were born in Radomyshl in the middle of the 1900s. They finished a Russian grammar school and graduated from the Medical Institute in Kiev. During the war they were in evacuation in Kuibyshev where they got married. They stayed in Kuibyshev after the war and worked as doctors. They died in Kuibyshev in the middle of the 1970s. They were buried in the cemetery in Kuibyshev.

The next sister, Genia Verba [nee Polischuk], was born in Radomyshl in the early 1900s. She finished a Russian grammar school in Kiev. She got fond of revolutionary ideas and became the secretary of the district committee of the Communist Party in the small town of Monastyrishche [80 km from Kiev]. There were a few Jewish families in Monastyrishche, but there was no synagogue in town. Genia married Falik Verba, a devoted communist and party activist. They moved to Tbilisi [Georgia] in the middle of the 1930s. Genia died in the middle of the 1950s. She didn't have any children. I don't know where she was buried.

The youngest sister, Khinia Godik [nee Polischuk], was born in Radomyshl in the early 1900s. She finished a Russian grammar school in Kiev and graduated from the Medical Institute in Kharkov. She became a pharmacist. She married Boris Godik, a Jewish man. He perished during the Great Patriotic War 4. During the war Khinia was in evacuation in Ufa [2,500 km from Kiev], where she stayed after the war. She died there in the 1970s. She was buried in the town cemetery.

My mother's brother, Dmitriy Polischuk, went to cheder and then finished a Russian grammar school in Kiev. He graduated from the Medical Institute in Kiev. During the Great Patriotic War he was a doctor in hospitals. At the end of the war he held the rank of a colonel of medical services, and as of 1946 he was the director of the hospital in Novograd-Volynskiy. In the 1960s he got a job assignment in Ufa where he died in the 1970s. I don't know where he was buried. His son, Tsalia Polischuk, a student of the Kiev Medical University, perished near Leningrad during the Great Patriotic War.

My mother's sisters and brother and their families tried to observe Jewish traditions. They weren't deeply religious and didn't go to the synagogue, but they never forgot that they were Jewish. They had matzah on Pesach, didn't eat pork and didn't mix meat and dairy products, although they didn't follow the kashrut laws [strictly].

My mother, Esphir Pekar [nee Polischuk], was born in Radomyshl in 1900. She came from a wealthy family and she got an opportunity to finish Russian grammar school in Kiev. She told me that she was a pretty girl. When she was 10-12 years old, she collected money for a charity for children's homes with the son of the director of the grammar school. They had a poster with an appeal to contribute money for children's homes and collected contributions on trains. This boy was my mother's first love.

My mother didn't continue her education. In 1920 she met one of her father's employees. They liked each other, but they came from different social layers. He was a clerk, and she was the daughter of a business owner. That stood in the way of their marriage. They were meeting secretly. When my grandfather understood that my father had serious intentions he gave his consent to their marriage.

My parents got married in Teterev in 1920. They had a rich traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah and klezmer musicians. After the wedding the young couple moved to Kiev where my mother's older sisters lived and worked. They rented an apartment in the center of the city. My father got a job as an accountant in an office, and my mother became a housewife.

Growing up

I was born in Kiev in 1921, and my sister, Maria, was born in 1923. My parents lived in Kiev for five years. They didn't quite like living in a big city. My mother's father also wanted them to move to Teterev. We moved there in 1925. My father got a job as a forester. My grandfather built a spacious house for us with eight rooms and nice furniture. There was a children's room, a living room and a study for my father in the house. We had big rubber plants in the living room. Our house and my grandfather's house were close to each other. My first impression of Teterev were geese. There were so many of them walking across the town and hissing at people.

My grandfather was a deeply religious man, and he cared about traditions a lot. He didn't want Jews to forget their identity and follow the slogans of the Bolsheviks about the elimination of religion. Jewish men used to come to my grandfather's house for Sabbath prayer. If there were less than ten men, my grandfather asked my father to attend their prayer, although my father was a convinced atheist. My father used to sit there reading his newspaper while the others were saying their prayer.

Once I got into the room during a prayer and tied together the tassels of the tallitim. The men didn't notice anything. Only when the prayer was over and it was time for them to go home did they find out that they were tied together. My grandfather was terribly angry with me - for the first and last time in my life.

I have no memories about Sabbath. I think we didn't have a festive dinner on Sabbath. Praying was the most important for my grandfather.

I remember how we prepared to celebrate Pesach. At first we did a general clean up of the house making sure that there were no breadcrumbs left in the house. Then flour was delivered to the house, and we began to make matzah. Jews from all the neighboring settlements came to make matzah at my grandfather's house. My grandmother and other women made the dough for the matzah. To eliminate any doubt about the kashrut of the matzah a baker came from Kiev. He rolled out the dough and put it into the oven. We didn't eat bread for a whole week during Pesach.

Before Pesach we took special fancy dishes and kitchen utensils from the attic and put our casual utensils in the attic. If there weren't enough utensils everyday ones were taken to a pit with boiling water in the yard. There was a hot stone in the pit to keep the water hot. Forks and spoons were tied together with a rope before they were put into the pit. Forks and spoons and other utensils were put into the pit to be kosher for the use on Pesach. My mother's sisters, her brother and their families came to the first seder from Kiev. During the seder we were leaning against pillows according to the tradition like free people, not slaves. [Editor's note: all these ritual are written down in the Haggadah.] My grandfather, who sat at the head of the table wearing a tuxedo, conducted the seder and said prayers.

My duty was to ask the four questions about the traditions of this holiday during seder. I knew them by heart, and when the time came I recited them in Yiddish. There was a saucer with some matzah covered with a white napkin on the table. I was supposed to hide it. The one who found it had to give me ransom. I liked all these processes. I hid the saucer with matzah somewhere safe and enjoyed watching the others searching for it. Someone found it and I received a little money [Editor's note: this tradition generally goes inversely: an adult hides the matzah, called afikoman, and if a child finds it he gets some present.] After the official seder ceremony, when people at the table recalled the history of the exodus of the Jews from Egypt, and ate a bit of meat, bitter greeneries, and a piece of boiled egg, the feast began. There was Gefilte fish, sweet and sour stew and dishes made of matzah flour on the table. I was so small that that's all I remember about it.

I also have some memories of the celebration of Chanukkah in our house. I remember my grandmother and mother lighting the Chanukkah candles, saying short Chanukkah prayers and singing special songs. It was also good to receive some money on Chanukkah. I could buy something for this money. Once I bought sweaters for my sister and me. My grandmother always made pancakes with geese fat on Chanukkah.

On Yom Kippur the whole family fasted and remembered the deceased relatives. My grandmother and grandfather went to the cemetery to recite the Kaddish.

During the week we had bean soup with meat, baked potatoes and boiled beans, marinated beetroots and red borsch and sauerkraut. We mostly had chicken that we took to a shochet, who lived nearby, to have it slaughtered. We also ate rabbits. [Editor's note: rabbits are not kosher meat, but this food was customary for the family.] Chicken meat had to be soaked in water for two hours and kept in salt for another two hours to get rid of all the blood. After this the meat became kosher and could be cooked.

In winter we sometimes had a slice of pork fat - it was considered to be very good for us. Pork fat was kept separate from all the other food to follow the kashrut rules. There was also a special plate for slices of fat. Pork fat was supposed to give you much energy and helped us to keep ourselves warm in cold weather. A small slice of pork was quite sufficient to stay healthier.

There was no kindergarten in Teterev. My mother taught me to read and write before I went to school. We also learned poems by heart. My mother knew many poems by Russian and Ukrainian poets. My mother was also fond of singing and often sang a sad song about Beilis 5 in Russian. I can still remember the lyrics. In 1928 my younger sister, Asia, was born, and I became her baby sitter.

I was my grandparents' favorite. They spoiled me a lot. I always got the best presents like an expensive sweater, pants or a toy, on holidays and the most money on Chanukkah. I had many toys and many dolls. I never had to clean the house. My grandfather told me to ask my younger sister Manya to do it. I was cuddled and didn't have set chores about the house. Manya dusted rugs in the hallway. However, I was a good girl and tried to do many things myself. My grandfather tenderly called me 'goat', probably because I was rather restless. I loved to jump up and kiss him on the bald patch of his beard.

I went to primary school in Teterev in 1928. There were two classrooms in our school, one for the 1st and 3rd forms and another one for the 2nd and 4th forms. We had two teachers: Alexei Romanovich and Ludmila Mikhailovna. They were married. I didn't like them, because they punished me. Once I got hungry during the class and decided to eat an apple. They made me eat my apple in front of the class to punish me for the violation of discipline. I could never forget that. There were actually no Jews in Teterev. I was the only Jewish pupil in my class. But I didn't face any anti-Semitism.

The 1930s were very difficult. [The interviewee refers to the Ukrainian famine.] 6 We had to stand in lines near the only small store in Teterev for hours and hours hoping to get some bread. Sometimes we managed to buy grain wastes to make bread ourselves. Our main food was potato peels. In spring 1932 my mother got a job as a guard of carrot fields in the neighboring collective farm. She used to bring a few carrots home. Carrots supported us a little bit.

I was rather spoiled and refused junk food. I got swollen up from hunger. In summer 1933 my mother's sister, Genia, came to visit us. She didn't have any children. When she saw my condition she took me with her. I went to the primary school in Monastyrishche. I believe, I was the only Jew in my class, but I got along well with the other children and didn't face any anti-Semitism. My aunt bought me homemade riazhanka [yogurt] at the market every day. It was a luxury for the time, but my aunt had a good income and could afford it. Once thieves broke into our house. They stole two herrings that my aunt received in her party food package. My most horrific memory from that time was a jellied meat dish made from the flesh of a child. My aunt took me to a party meeting where some people brought this dish to. It turned out that a woman from a village had slaughtered her stepson and cooked the meat. I remember how horrified I was. Of course things like this were criminal, but people went crazy from starvation. She did it when she was not quite herself, and she was taken to a mental hospital after.

There was a road leading to the cemetery in Monastyrishche not far from our house. Every day villagers took their deceased relatives, who had starved to death, to the cemetery. I used to go for walks in Monastyrishche by myself. Once I was followed by a man with a knife. I hardly managed to hide behind my aunt's gate. I ran fast and that rescued me from that man. Very often people were losing their mind from hunger. After this incident my aunt took me back to Teterev as it became dangerous to stay in Monastyrishche.

In 1933 the Bolsheviks took away the house built by my grandfather. We moved to Zhytomir where my father's sister Sarah lived. After we moved we didn't celebrate any Jewish traditions. We studied in Jewish schools, and our mother was more concerned about providing for us than traditions. The only difference between Jewish and other schools at that time was the language of teaching. We studied the same subjects and this school was similar to any other Ukrainian or Russian school. Our father fell ill with encephalitis. He was paralyzed and our mother had to take care of the family. I became responsible for all the housekeeping. My sister Manya looked after our house. My mother worked as a cashier at a barber's in Zhytomir, and later she went to work at a lemonade factory. She washed bottles there. She got a very low salary for it. To help my mother provide for the family, I also went to work at the factory part time, filling bottles with lemonade.

My mother's sisters came to visit us in 1935. They decided that it would be better for the children to be in a children's home. But when they told my mother about their idea her face got distorted at the thought. My mother fell ill and had to go to hospital. She recovered from her shock, but her face remained distorted. The children stayed with the family.

I enjoyed studying at school. I was an easy-going and sociable girl. I became a pioneer and then a Komsomol 7 member. All children joined the Komsomol league, and I just followed the common procedure. I didn't take part in any public activities. I liked dancing and acting. I had many non- Jewish friends. We spent a lot of time together. Once they took me to the night service at a Christian church. It was a beautiful service, but I got tired of standing for such long hours. I didn't feel remorse for going to a church. It didn't even occur to me that I was doing something wrong. I was a pretty girl and played main parts in our school performances. I enjoyed acting very much.

The period of the Stalinist repression [the Great Terror] 8 didn't affect our family. We didn't discuss this subject in the family. My mother and father were very ill and there was nobody else to discuss it with. I only remember how my grandmother's lips trembled when she pronounced the name of Stalin. She hated him, but she never explained the reasons to us, and we were too young to ask.

In 1937 my father died in a hospital in Kiev where he was brought to by my mother's sisters. My father was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Kiev. It was a huge loss to me, although we knew that he was severely ill and death was only a matter of time. After my father died a Jewish man began to court my mother. I don't remember his name. If it hadn't been for me my mother would have married him. I couldn't imagine another man to take my father's place. I cried a few nights in a row, and my mother didn't dare to start living with him.

I often went to dancing parties. My mother was concerned about me and always chaperoned me there. Young men that wanted to invite me to dance had to ask her permission. It was okay with me. I felt protected, and when I didn't like a young man, I could always refer to my mother's presence. I had admirers. I remember a Korean man, Venia Kim, kissing me for the first time. A studio was shooting a film in Teterev. There were a few Korean actors there. One of them asked me whether he could escort me home. He kissed me good-bye and I felt so ashamed. At home I took different cups of tableware. I covered my eyes with them until I forgot about the incident. Venia Kim wrote me letters for a long time.

I finished school in 1937 and entered the Faculty of Philosophy at the Kiev Pedagogical Institute. I actually wanted to become an actress, but my father said once that one had to be exceptionally talented to become an actor. He didn't believe I was particularly gifted, and I couldn't do anything against his will. He had great influence on me.

I lived in a hostel in Kiev. There were four of us in a room. We got along very well. We didn't have enough food and scrubbed our pockets for a few kopecks to buy half a loaf of bread. When we got a stipend we bought khalva [oriental sweet mass]. We couldn't afford to buy tea. Sometimes in summer we bought a watermelon. We locked our room so nobody would come in and eat the watermelon. I fainted from hunger in class several times. I gave Russian lessons to earn some money. I received 80 rubles, which was hardly enough to buy bread.

I was the Komsomol leader of my group at the Institute and later I became a member of the Komsomol bureau of the Institute. One summer I was awarded a trip to Alushta [resort at the South coast of the Crimea]. I traveled by train for the first time in my life. I have the brightest memory of the beach divided into two parts: one for men and another one for women. It had nothing to do with religious rules. There were people of different nationalities. It was because holiday makers were nude on the beach and that's why there were separate beaches for men and women. My acquaintances tried to convince me to drop any prejudices and take off my clothes, but I couldn't - this was the way I was brought up. We could lie in the sun and bathe nude, but I didn't dare. I wore a black swimming suit.

I had many admirers at the Institute. I didn't have a problem of meeting young people, but I didn't quite know who I needed. I met my future husband at a party at the Institute. His name was Mark Aguf, and he was a Jew. He was a student at the Faculty of Architecture at the Kiev Art Institute. He fell in love with me.

During the war

In June 1941 I went to work as a pioneer leader at a pioneer camp in Vorzel, a small town near Kiev. I was there when the Great Patriotic War began on 22nd June 1941. I went back to Kiev. My husband-to-be insisted that I evacuated with him and his parents. I went with them without saying good-bye to my family and friends. I didn't have any luggage with me either. The train we took belonged to the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. My husband's father was a party official and got train tickets for the whole family. He joined the Territorial Army to defend Kiev. It was a comfortable train. It didn't stop or wasn't kept longer than necessary at stations, and we reached Kustanay in Northern Kazakhstan [2,500 km from Kiev] very soon. Kustanay was a small town populated with Kazakh people. There were no Jewish families in the town. Mark and I got married there. We had a civil ceremony and obtained our marriage certificate at a registry office.

My husband was born to a Jewish family in Kharkov in 1919. His father, Michael Aguf, was born in Lugansk, Eastern Ukraine, in 1888. His mother died when Michael was 3 years old. His father married another woman. He didn't get along with her. When my husband's father was young he got inspired by revolutionary ideas and joined the Communist Party. Before the Revolution of 1917, when he was 18, he was arrested on charge of undermining the tsarist regime and revolutionary activities. He was in jail for four years and then he was sent to exile in Siberia 9. After the revolution the Bolsheviks released him and he made a party career. In 1918 he began to work at the Central Committee of the Bolshevik Party located in Kharkov at that time. He married Elena Eskina, a Jewish woman, and their twin sons, Mark and Boris, were born in Kharkov in 1919.

My husband's mother was born in the small Jewish town of Stavishche, near Kiev, in the 1870s. There were about 1,500 Jewish families in this town. There were several synagogues and a Jewish school. Elena finished a Russian grammar school in Kiev and a high school for girls. She was a very intelligent woman. She didn't observe any Jewish traditions and didn't speak Yiddish.

In the middle of the 1920s Michael Aguf got a high official party position in Kiev. He was a very educated and intelligent man and soon became the secretary of the Union of Ukrainian Writers. His wife was an editor with a magazine. When they moved to Kiev they got a luxurious apartment in the building that belonged to the Union of Ukrainian Writers. There were polished parquet floors, expensive furniture and carpets in the apartment. They had a huge collection of books by Soviet and foreign writers. They didn't have any Jewish books and didn't observe any Jewish traditions. They spoke Russian.

My husband's twin brother, Boris Aguf, finished a Russian secondary school in Kiev. He studied at the Pedagogical Institute, went in for sports and wrote poems. He took part in the Finnish campaign in 1939 10. In 1941 he went to the front and perished. Any mentioning of his name caused pain to his relatives.

My husband finished a Russian secondary school in Kiev and entered the Faculty of Architecture at the Kiev Art Institute. By the time I met him he was a 4th year student.

The day after we got married he went to the military registry office to ask them to cancel his release from the service in the army that he had as a 5th year student of a higher educational institution. Within a week's time he went to the front. I was pregnant. I was very upset because I thought that it was untimely to have a baby. I carried heavy loads to terminate my pregnancy, but it didn't work. I gave birth to a strong healthy girl in Kustanay in 1942. I named her Victoria.

Our first winter in Kustanay was very cold and hard. We got a room in a wooden house where I lived with my husband's parents. Our landlords were Kazakh. They treated us very nicely and liked to play with my daughter. I didn't face any anti-Semitism during evacuation. In spring 1942 we received a cow from a local collective farm. We had to give milk to the collective farm, but we were allowed to keep some of it for our family. We also got a plot of land. There were stones on our land, but we cleaned it up and planted potatoes. Besides, we got a smaller plot of land 5 kilometers from our house where we were allowed to plant watermelons and pumpkins.

I got a job at the local newspaper, Stalin's Way. This newspaper was published six days a week and was very popular. It was published on a demy printing paper because there was no other paper in Kustanay. The newspaper published propaganda articles about the accomplishments of the Soviet people, and local news. I was a proof-reader and edited articles before they were published. I enjoyed this work. I worked with the newspaper until it was time for us to go back to Kiev in 1944. My mother-in-law looked after my daughter. We worked at night to have the newspaper published in the morning. During the day I could work on our field. On winter nights I was scared to walk in the darkness across the deserted town. I wore boots that some of our neighbors had given to me: one boot with a sharp tip and another one with a rounded one.

At the end of 1942 my father-in-law arrived. He had to leave Kiev on foot before the Germans entered the city. He walked 5 kilometers and then caught a train. He found a job in Kustanay. He became deputy manager for logistics supplies. This agency was responsible for food and good supplies to the town. My husband was at the Leningrad and, later, at the Northwestern fronts. He had the rank of First Sergeant. He was a courier at the headquarters. Once he had to deliver a report. When he left the tent of the headquarters a shell hit and destroyed it, killing everybody inside. My husband survived. He sent us letters with his poems and small paintings.

At the beginning of 1944 my father-in-law obtained a special permit required to return to Kiev. [Until the middle of 1944 Kiev was still closed for those who wanted to return from evacuation.] Postwar Kiev made a hard impression on me. I cried bitterly when I came to Kreschatik, its main thoroughfare, and saw it ruined.

A writer lived in the apartment that had belonged to my husband's parents before the war, and it seemed impossible to get him move out. We received a small room near the center of the town. There was a big stove and almost no furniture. Our neighbors gave us some old folding beds and chairs. The water piping was ruined and we had to fetch water from a well in another yard. We had no electricity and lit a kerosene lamp when it got dark. We made soup with semolina - that was our only food. We received bread by cards but had to stand in lines for many hours.

Another thing I remember from this time is the public execution of German captives in the main square of the city. Gallows were erected in the square. The condemned Germans were taken to the square on trucks. The soldiers that carried out the execution put a rope around the necks of the captives and the truck moved on. I had nightmares about this incident for a long time afterwards.

When we returned to Kiev I began to look for a job. I couldn't find any. I was openly told that I didn't have a chance to get a job with my Jewish name, Tsylia. Then, quite incidentally, I got a position as a human resource inspector in an office. This office hired workers to restore Kreschatik. I liked the job. We also received food packages. My colleagues treated me very nicely. Once they even came to help me chop wood. In the summer they once left a huge watermelon in my office for me. They also talked with our management, and I began to receive more food in my food packages: more bread, cereal and flour. Once a group of 10-12 German prisoners of war were sent to our office. I had to make a list of their names. I remembered German from school and went to the yard to write down their names. There were only Germans in the yard. They encircled me so tightly that I could feel their breathing. I got so scared that I almost fainted. Fortunately, one of our employees was coming across the yard. He took me by my hand and led me out of the circle. The Germans did all kinds of construction activities in our office, but I was never again sent to contact them.

My husband returned from the front in 1945. He was shell-shocked, and I took him to all kinds of doctors until he finally got better.

My mother, her sisters, my two sisters and my mother's parents were in evacuation in Kuibyshev during the Great Patriotic War. I have no information about their life there because I had left without even saying goodbye to them. Throughout the war we didn't hear from them and didn't know whether they were alive. Only after I returned to Kiev in 1945, did we receive a letter from my mother. It arrived at the hostel where I had lived before the war. My acquaintances, whom I met by chance, gave it to me. The letter said that they were alive, that everything was all right with them but that they weren't going to return to Kiev. My mother, my sisters and my grandparents stayed in Kuibyshev after the war.

Post-war

I went to complete my studies at the Pedagogical Institute in Kiev in 1945, and my husband was in his 5th year at the Kiev Art Institute. I graduated from the Institute in 1947 and got a job in the Russian secondary school in the center of the city. I liked my job. I got along well with my colleagues, and the children's parents were satisfied with my work. My husband graduated from the Art Institute and became an architect with Kievproject, one of the leading design institutes in Kiev.

In 1948 the state of Israel was established. All of a sudden I had the feeling of getting a home and being protected. Those were the scary years of the campaign against cosmopolitans 11 or, to be more precise, of the height of state anti-Semitism. My husband's father began to have problems at his work with the Union of Ukrainian writers. He was accused of lack of love for his motherland and patriotism, although nobody could tell what this 'patriotism' was to be like. Such accusations were only made about Jews. We watched him very closely fearing that he might commit suicide. His ideals and belief in the fair communist society were scattered. At the beginning of 1953 Stalin died, and the process against my father-in-law stopped. On the occasion of Stalin's death I took my pupils to the meeting ground beside the school building. I was crying so heavily that I had to leave the meeting. I felt like something irremediable had happened.

My grandmother died of pneumonia in Kuibyshev in the late 1950s, and my grandfather passed away in 1960. They were buried in the town cemetery - there was no Jewish cemetery in Kuibyshev. I didn't go to the funeral. My mother and sisters notified me in a letter. I don't know if my grandparents observed traditions after the war. My mother and sisters didn't write anything about it in their letters.

Our son, Boris, was born in 1956. We didn't raise our children Jewish. Firstly because we weren't religious and secondly because religion was persecuted by the Soviet authorities. Our children studied in Russian schools. However, they always identified themselves as Jews. They knew about the tragedy of Babi Yar. We learnt about it right after we returned to Kiev from evacuation.

We lived in one room in a communal apartment with my in-laws for 14 years. We had guests on Soviet holidays and at birthday parties. They were Jewish guests for the most part. We discussed the situation in Israel and the status of Jews in the Soviet Union. We never celebrated Jewish holidays.

Our family received a two-bedroom apartment in Kreschatik in 1966. The same year my husband's father died, and his mother passed away in 1976. They were buried in the Jewish cemetery in Kiev. I was grieving over them. They were like mother and father to me. They cared for me a lot.

Our daughter, Victoria, finished a secondary school in 1968 and tried to enter the Kiev Polytechnical Institute. She passed her entrance exams but wasn't admitted. We realized that her Jewish nationality was the reason for their refusal to admit her. Victoria got a job at the Arsenal plant [a big military plant in Kiev that specialized in the production of optical devices]. After working at the plant for several years, she entered the Moscow Aviation Institute, where she studied by correspondence. She graduated as an optical tools specialist. She began to work at the design office of the same plant.

In the 1970s, when large numbers of Jews were leaving the country, my husband and I firmly decided to stay. We both enjoyed work. My husband wrote books on architecture and defended his thesis. Our daughter wanted to move, though. It was her dream to travel to Cyprus and Greece, and moving to Israel seemed to bring her a step closer to have her dream come true. Well, she got married in 1974 and a year later her son Michael was born, so she dropped the idea of moving to Israel. Victoria married a Jew named Zaretskiy, but she divorced him in 1976. I retired in 1975 to help my daughter look after her son. My grandson, Michael, graduated from the Kiev Medical Institute and works as a medical expert at the Ukrainian Ministry of Internal Affairs.

Our son, Boris, followed into his father's footsteps. After finishing school in 1974 he entered the Faculty of Architecture at the Kiev Art Institute and graduated from it with success. He married a very nice, though non-Jewish, girl. They have a daughter, Elena. She is a 4th year student at the Kiev Art Academy. They don't observe any Jewish traditions.

My mother died in Kuibyshev in 1971. She was a receptionist at the local polyclinic. I went to her funeral.

My sister, Manya, finished a secondary school in Kuibyshev and graduated from the Medical Institute in Novosibirsk. She got married and had a daughter, Tatiana. She was a doctor at a hospital in Novosibirsk. Manya's husband died in a train accident in the 1970s. Manya and her daughter moved to Israel in the 1990s. We correspond with them.

My younger sister, Asia, got married when she was 16. She had a daughter, Ludmila. Asia finished the Medical School in Kuibyshev and worked as a medical nurse at the local hospital. She is retired and lives in Kuibyshev now. She is divorced. Her husband left Asia for another woman.

My husband died in 1986. He was an outstanding architect and wrote many books on architecture. He died when he was working on his doctor's thesis. I married my old acquaintance, Leon Rubashevskiy, in 1992. His wife had died and he felt very lonely. We decided to live together. My second husband died in 2001. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Kiev.

In the early 1990s the USSR disintegrated. The Communist Party was dissolved. Neither my husband nor I were members of the Communist Party. We despised party activists because we believed that no talented person could get involved with party activities. I was very enthusiastic about the changes. It brought freedom of speech. One could speak his mind without fearing to be arrested for telling an anecdote that might be out of place. Even though the standards of living sank in the 1990s and prices went up, I wouldn't like the Soviet power to return.

However, I felt sorry about the disintegration of the Soviet Union. It's annoying that we are considered to be citizens of different countries when going to Russia to visit friends. Take the crossing of the border, for instance, where customs officers check your luggage looking for pieces of sausage or pork fat because there is a ban on taking food products out of Ukraine. That's something we are not used to, and I find it humiliating. I don't travel, but my children and friends face this problem.

I was very enthusiastic about the restoration of Jewish life in the 1990s. I take part in many activities. I worked as volunteer with Hesed for a long time. I'm one of the most active members of the intellectual club in Hesed and attend the Sholem Aleichem 12 Association in Kiev. Besides, I like to attend concerts and performances. I read Jewish newspapers published in Ukraine. I'm not leaving my country for Israel or any other place. My children and grandchildren want to stay here, and I cannot and do not want to live in another country.

Glossary

Lazar Gurfinkel
Chernovtsy
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: November 2002

Lazar Gurfinkel is a short man with thick gray hair. His wife and son moved to the USA in 1997, and he lives alone in a three-bedroom apartment in the center of Chernovtsy now. A nurse from Hesed comes to his home to help him with house chores. She cleans his rooms, does the shopping and cooks for him. Lazar feels lonely, though. He was glad to give us an interview. He told us about several generations of his family, sometimes in amazing detail. He has good manners and a soft voice. Lazar has a clear memory and a sound mind. He is very glad that people show an interest in Jewish life before the Holocaust and in the history of Jewish families. To him it means that people go back to their roots, something that had been suppressed in the USSR before.

My family background
Growing up
Our religious life
My school years
During the war
Post-war
Married life
Glossary

My family background

My father's parents lived in Khotin, which belongs to Western Ukraine now and was formerly part of Moldavia [Bessarabia] 1 which again was part of Romania between 1918 and 1940. My grandfather, Leizer Gurfinkel, was born in Khotin in the 1840s. He died after a stroke in 1913. My grandmother, Beile-Enta Gurfinkel, was also born in Khotin. She was born in the same year as my grandfather. She fell seriously ill when she was a child. Jews in town believed that her parents gave her the second name of Enta to swindle death, which was to come for Beile. However strange it may sound, my grandmother did recover from the disease that all doctors had diagnosed as incurable.

Khotin was a small district town with Russian, Ukrainian, Moldavian, Romanian and Jewish inhabitants. Jews, about 13,000 people, constituted almost half of the population. There were about seven synagogues and two Jewish elementary schools in Khotin. There were no pogroms in Khotin. People respected each other's traditions and religions. There were no pogroms in Khotin. Jews were craftsmen and merchants. There were tailors, shoemakers, carpenters, fur and leather specialists. There were several richer Jews that owned big stores. There were also lawyers, doctors and pharmacists among the Jews.

There were also poor people, mostly widows with children, who had lost their breadwinner, or sick people, who couldn't go to work. The Jewish community in Khotin supported poor families. On Fridays poor women and children went begging in the main streets of the town, where the Jewish middle class resided. They got one or two lei in each house. Giving alms on Friday was a tradition. People were willing to help poor people buy a challah, fish and other food for Sabbath. Poor Jews usually went begging on the first half of the day and managed to visit 50-60 houses. But of course, they kept having problems. They needed money to buy clothes, wood for winter and other things. There were about 7 synagogues and two Jewish primary schools in Khotin.

Jews resided in the main streets of Khotin. It was better regarding their businesses to live in the central part of town, where they had more customers. They usually lived in one-storied wooden or stone houses with shops occupying the part of the house that faced the street. The rest of the house served as a living quarter for the family. Non-Jews resided in the outskirts of town, where land wasn't so expensive, and they had bigger plots of land with gardens and orchards. There were many gardens in town.

On Mondays there was a market in Khotin. Farmers from the surrounding villages sold their dairy products, eggs, fruit and vegetables, meat and chickens. There was a yard where they sold pigs, cows and horses. Jewish store owners used to display some of their goods in front of their stores on market days. They had more customers on these days because the farmers usually sold their products before the afternoon and went to buy essential goods in the shops: matches, kerosene, salt and so on,. etc. They also bought warm winter boots and clothes. Jews were selling shirts, boots, threads and buttons at the market.

There was a shochet at the market who slaughtered chickens and ducks that Jews bought for a holiday or Sabbath. To buy kosher meat Jews went to the meat factory where cattle was slaughtered in accordance with the rules of kashrut. Jewish butchers bought cattle at the market and cut the meat. Jewish butcher stores had to meet the requirements concerning kashrut. Butchers had no right to sell pork because in that case all other meat on sale in the store became non-kosher. Therefore, they only had Jewish customers because farmers usually bought pork at the market.

My grandfather was a religious man. He didn't work. He spent his time praying and reading religious books. He went to the synagogue every day and observed all Jewish traditions. My grandfather was a very kind, nice and reserved man. He loved his wife and was very attached to her. They spoke Yiddish at home, but they also knew Russian and Moldavian. My grandmother was moderately religious. Friday evening the family celebrated the coming of Sabbath, and my grandmother said a prayer over the candles. They followed the kashrut. My grandmother wore the trousers in the family. The breadwinner who provides for the family is also the head of the family. She was very smart in business. She went to purchase golden jewelry in Turkey to sell it in town. She stored it at home and sold it to her neighbors and other clients.

They lived in a big one-storied stone house in the old central part of Khotin. My father showed me the house, but I didn't go inside because another family lived there. They were a well-to-do family. There was only a small backyard with a shed and a toilet: a wooden booth with a cesspool. Land in the central part of town was very expensive, and people didn't have orchards or flower beds. My grandmother planted flowers on the boundaries of the house.

My grandparents had four sons and four daughters. My father was the youngest in the family. The oldest was Aron, then came Isaac and Samuel. After Samuel three daughters were born: Lisa, Fania and Shesia. There was another daughter after Shesia whom I didn't know and then came my father. My father Michael - his Jewish name was Michel - was born in 1878.

My grandfather was a religious man. He went to the synagogue every day and observed all Jewish traditions. My grandmother was moderately religious. On Friday the family celebrated Shabbat and my grandmother said a prayer over the candles. They followed the kashrut. My grandmother wore the trousers in the family. Breadwinner that provides for the family is the head of the family. She was very smart in business. She went to purchase golden jewelry in Turkey to sell them in the town. She stored it at home and sold to her neighbors and other clients. My grandfather was a very kind, nice and reserved man. His wife provided for him and his main pastime was praying and reading religious books. My grandfather loved his wife and was very attached to her. They spoke Yiddish at home, but they knew Russian and Moldavian. They lived in a big one-storied stone house in the old central part of Khotin. They were a well-to-do family. There was only a small backyard with a shed and a toilet: a wooden booth with a cesspit. Land in the central part of the town was very expensive and people didn't have orchards or flower beds. My grandmother planted flowers on the perimeter of the house.

My father and his brothers studied in cheder. Their sisters studied at home with teachers from cheder. They studied Yiddish, Hebrew, the Torah and Talmud, mathematics, literature and French. After the boys finished cheder they continued their education at the Romanian lower secondary school.

Isaac was a doctor. He graduated from the Medical Faculty of Novorossiysk University in Odessa. He took a course of advanced training in surgery in Berlin. After finishing it he became the chief surgeon at the regional hospital in Kishinev. When Bessarabia joined Romania in 1918, Isaac stayed in Kishinev but lost his position as chief surgeon. Jews weren't allowed to hold high official posts. He became a private doctor. Isaac had three daughters from his first wife. After his wife died in the 1920s, he married a colleague of his, and they had a daughter. Isaac was religious and observed Jewish traditions. He died of pneumonia in 1932. My father patronized his daughters and helped the widow.

Aron and Samuel became pharmacists Two other brothers became pharmacists and lived in Russia. In 1918 the area where they lived joined the USSR, and their family lost track of them. The Soviet authorities were suspicious of families that had relatives abroad. Even questionnaires or application forms had an item line asking, 'Do you have relatives abroad?' A positive answer might have become an obstacle for getting employment, admission to a higher educational institution, etc. During the period of the Stalinist repression [the so-called Great Terror] 2 a person that admitted having relatives abroad might have been accused of espionage and arrested. I know that Samuel lived and worked in Yampol, a small city in Vinnitsa region. He perished in the ghetto there along with his family at the beginning of the Great Patriotic War 3. Aron owned a pharmacy in Oriol, a regional town near Moscow. It was nationalized after the Revolution of 1917 4. He moved to Moscow because he was afraid of other sanctions against him, and the family didn't hear from him after that.

My father's older sister, Lisa, got married before the Revolution of 1917 and moved to New York, USA, with her husband. The two other sisters, Fania and Shesia, moved to Odessa. They got married and had children. Fania graduated from the Odessa Medical Institute and became a doctor. Shesia didn't work. After the Revolution of 1917 we didn't have any information about them. After the war we got to know that my father's sisters evacuated to Pyatigorsk at the beginning of the war and perished in 1942 when the town was occupied by the Germans.

After finishing grammar school my father finished a course for pharmacist assistants in Kazan. He wanted to get higher education, but it was difficult for a Jew to enter university [because of the five percent restriction] 5. My father's older brother, Isaac, helped him to get into Moscow University. The Association of Noble Families of Kishinev issued a request to the rector's office of Moscow University to admit Michael Gurfinkel, pointing out that his brother had contributed a lot to the Russian Empire. This document was signed by the marshal of the nobility in the province and a gentleman of the monarch's chamber. My father went to Moscow with this paper and obtained a permit to take entrance exams.

He was admitted and studied at the Pharmaceutical Faculty for five years. He was very hard up and if it hadn't been for charity meals at a students' canteen sponsored by Morozov, a Russian merchant, he wouldn't have been able to complete his studies. My father couldn't find a job in Khotin after graduating. There were only two pharmacies in town and no vacancies. He found a job at a private pharmacy in Tambov, a Russian provincial town. Later he worked in Fastov, near Kiev, for several years. When the owner of one of the pharmacies in Khotin died, his widow inherited the pharmacy. She had no special education and was looking for a manager. My father's sisters wrote to my father and told him to come to Khotin. He arrived and became the manager of that pharmacy.

My mother's parents lived in Kamenets-Podolsk. Her father, Yankel Akkerman, was born in Kamenets-Podolsk in the 1840s. Her mother Pesia Akkerman [nee Lukacher], was a few years younger than my grandfather. My grandmother's parents also lived in Kamenets-Podolsk. My mother, Sarah Gurfinkel [nee Akkerman], was born in 1881. She was their only child. She was named Sarah after her father's mother but called Sopha at home. My grandmother died of typhoid in 1884 when my mother was 3. My grandfather didn't remarry.

My grandfather's sister, Feiga, lived in Khotin with her family. She raised my mother while my grandfather provided for her. Feiga was a widow and had two children of her own. She married her deceased husband's brother, and they had two more children. . Feiga owned a small fabric store. She bought fabrics at the fabric warehouse to sell them in her store. She provided well for the family. She was moderately religious. They celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays. They spoke Yiddish and Russian in the family. Feiga didn't have a housemaid. Her husband replaced her in the store when she needed to cook for the family. She was tall, thin and strong. She was an intelligent businesswoman. I met her several times and it was always interesting to talk to her. She died in the ghetto in 1942 at the age of 98.

My grandfather rented fields from a landlord and leased smaller plots to farmers. After the harvest he received his share of crops. During the harvest season he stayed in villages, and on the weekends he came to stay with Feiga. He led the same life after my mother got married. My grandfather died in 1925. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Kamenets- Podolsk, near the spot where my grandmother was buried.

There was no grammar school for girls in Khotin. My mother and Feiga's children studied at home with a teacher who came to teach them Hebrew, Yiddish and the Torah. Another teacher came to teach them the educational program of elementary school. At the age of 10 my mother went to grammar school in Kamenets-Podolsk, not far from Khotin. She lived in the hostel on weekdays and went to Khotin on weekends. My mother spoke fluent Russian and read a lot of Russian books. When she was younger she went on trips to Kiev and Odessa.

After finishing grammar school my mother returned to Khotin. She didn't continue her studies and didn't work. She was a young lady preparing to get married. My mother was a friend of my father's sister Fania. Fania introduced her to my father sometime in 1911. My mother was very beautiful. My father and mother liked one another and got married shortly afterwards in 1912. They had a civil ceremony in the town hall and a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah. They rented a big hall for ceremonies in Khotin and had the chuppah and the wedding party in that hall. After their wedding my parents spent their honeymoon in Italy.

When they returned they stayed with Feiga for some time, but then they moved in with my father's parents. The owner of the pharmacy where my father was working moved to live with her son and sold the pharmacy and her house to my father. The pharmacy and the house where in the same building, so my parents had their own dwelling. In the beginning my father managed in the pharmacy alone, but then his work-load increased. At that time prescribed medication had to be prepared within two hours, and my father hired a young assistant to help him.

Growing up

My older brother, Moisey, was born in 1913, and my sister Pesia, named after my mother's mother, followed in 1916. She was called Polia at home. I was born in 1924. I was named Leizer after my grandfather on my father's side who died in 1913. In Hebrew my name is Eliezer, which means 'God is help'.

In 1925 my grandfather Yankel, my mother's father, died. He was buried at the Jewish cemetery in Kamenets-Podolskiy, near where my grandmother was buried. In 1918 my parents moved into another house. My father bought a big house in one of the main streets - a better location for his business - and he moved his pharmacy into it, too.

Romanian was the state language in Bessarabia from 1918, but Jews mostly spoke Yiddish or Russian. We spoke Russian at home. Sometimes my parents spoke Yiddish when they didn't want us to understand what they were discussing. We had a Ukrainian nanny. She was kind to me, and I was attached to her. I learned Ukrainian from her and Russian from my parents. I actually spoke a mixture of these two languages. I learned Yiddish when I was about 5 years old from the children I was playing with. We lived in a Jewish neighborhood, and all our neighbors were Jewish. I couldn't read or write in Yiddish, but I spoke it fluently.

We lived in that house until World War II. There was a backyard, a shed and a well in the yard. The pharmacy occupied three rooms, the biggest of which served as the sales area. Powders were prepared in another room, and tinctures and decoctions were made in the third room. There were also storerooms for pharmaceutical utensils. Our family was lodging in four rooms: a living room, a dining room, my parents' bedroom and a children's room. There were also a kitchen, a verandah and a few storerooms in the house. When I was small I slept in my parents' bedroom. Later, me and Mmy brother and sister shared the children's room. There were two beds, a wardrobe, a sink, a table, two chairs and a bookcase in the room. We dined and received guests in the dining room. There was a table, six chairs, a cupboard and a sofa in the room. Our living room was beautifully furnished. There were four windows, carpets and curtains on the windows. There were pictures on the walls, ancient vases and a crystal chandelier.

My father's mother lived with her older son Isaac, but later she moved in with my father. She was old and weak and couldn't cook herself or walk outside. After Isaac's wife died he found it difficult to look after her, and he wrote to my father asking him whether he could take care of their mother. My grandmother arrived shortly afterwards. She had a housemaid whose task was to look after her. My grandmother died in 1938 when she was over 90 years old.

My nanny died when I was about 6 years old. We also had a housemaid and a cook. They were Ukrainian. The housemaid was responsible for cleaning the rooms. She had to clean seven rooms every day. In winter she had to stoke the stove and clean it. The cook did the shopping and cooking every day because there were no fridges to store food. There was a built-in boiler in the stove for heating water. My mother didn't work - she had housekeeping responsibilities.

Our religious life

My parents didn't follow the kashrut. We ate all kinds of products, including traditional Jewish food. When my brother was a student in Bucharest he had meals at a restaurant, and when he came home on vacation he always demanded pork chop, the food he was used to. The cook made pork chops for him, and we took advantage of the chance to have pork, too. We didn't observe Sabbath, but we celebrated the major Jewish holidays: Pesach, Yom Kippur, Rosh Hashanah, Chanukkah, Purim and Sukkot. My parents weren't deeply religious people, but they paid a tribute to religion.

Before my brother was to have his bar mitzvah my father hired a teacher to teach my brother Jewish traditions and religion. He taught him Hebrew, prayers and other things. My father hired a teacher for me when I was 10 years old. He taught me Hebrew but translated things into Yiddish for me to understand. I studied the Pentateuch Torah and the Talmud. When I turned 13 my father took me to the synagogue in a cabriolet. I had my bar mitzvah ritual. I said a prayer, and my father treated all community members with traditional vodka, wine and honey cookies. I got tefillin and came of age. My mother arranged a party for me at home. We invited many guests: our family, my parents' friends and my friends.

My father went to the synagogue on all big Jewish holidays and on the death anniversaries [Jahrzeit] of his parents to say prayers for them. He took me with him after I turned 7. While my brother was still in Khotin we went there together. My father had a seat at the synagogue. This synagogue had a special meaning to our family. My father's grandfather on his mother's side had funded its construction, and it was called after my great-grandfather, Avrum Shai Yoffe. My father also made contributions to charity and the maintenance of the synagogue. He had a seat of honor in the eastern part of the synagogue as the grandson of the man who had constructed the synagogue. The Holy Ark, where the Torah scrolls are kept, and the place where the cantor sings or says prayers are traditionally located in the eastern part of a synagogue. All believers must face the East during praying because our religious capital Jerusalem is in the East. There were benches along the eastern wall of the synagogue for the citizens who had contributed their lives to the Jewish community and the synagogue. On Saturdays, when my father wasn't at the synagogue, somebody else took his seat, but it was his on Jewish holidays when he attended the synagogue. I usually sat beside him. My mother attended a different synagogue, the one that her deceased father had attended. She went there on holidays.

My mother knew all the traditions. She kept fancy dishes and utensils for Pesach in a special box. She made traditional food on Pesach. Our cook helped her with the cooking. We didn't have any bread in the house during Pesach but ate matzah instead. All Jewish bakeries in Khotin sold matzah. Before Pesach the rabbi went to all the Jewish bakeries to issue a certificate confirming that they had cleaned the bakery of all the bread and bread crumbs. They made matzah flour for sale, too. We had gefilte fish, chicken broth and boiled chicken on Pesach. My mother also made chicken cutlets, stuffed chicken neck and pudding of matzah and eggs. There were also delicious pancakes from matzah meal that we ate with jam or honey. My father conducted the seder very ceremoniously. He had several prayer books. I also had a few of those books. I still have one that my parents gave me before the war. During seder I asked my father the traditional 'four questions' [the mah nishtanah]. Each member of the family drank a glass of wine. We opened the front door. It was a tradition that any traveler that didn't get home could enter the house and join the family for seder. There was also an extra glass of wine for Elijah the Prophet. It was believed that he visited every family at seder.

On Chanukkah our father gave us some change and a spinning top [dreidel]. I also remember Tu bi-Shevat. We had various fruit growing in Israel: dates, figs and raisins. We could buy them in stores and had them on the table.

We had guests for Purim. Poorer Jews, adults and children, gave performances in the houses of wealthier people and received money for them. These performances were short, because Purimshpilers had to make the rounds of as many families as possible to earn more money. It's obligatory to partake a festive meal on the day of Purim. It is customary to eat food with seeds, for example, hamantashen with poppy seed filling. One should drink more wine than one is accustomed to. It's correct to invite guests, especially the needy. The conversation should be focused on words from the Torah.

On Yom Kippur and before Rosh Hashanah we fasted for 24 hours including children over 5 years of age. After going to the synagogue [on the day of Yom Kippur], when the first evening star appeared in the sky, the family sat down for a festive dinner.

My school years

Neither my brother nor I went to cheder or a Jewish school. There were two Jewish schools in Khotin: a private one and a state-funded one. According to the Rumanian constitution the children of ethnic minorities could study at a national school. In the state-funded school pupils studied in Yiddish and Romanian. The other school was a Talmud-Torah, a religious school where children studied the Torah and Hebrew. It was funded by the Jewish community and Jewish organizations. According to the Romanian constitution the children of ethnic minorities could study at a national school. We studied at the Romanian elementary school. My father wanted us to continue our education and believed that we would be better off if we started our studies in Romanian. Our primary education was free of charge, but when we went to grammar school our parents paid a set amount for each year. Students wore uniforms. Poor people couldn't afford to pay for their education, but for the middle class it was affordable. My brother and sister went to a lyceum after elementary school. After that they entered the Pharmaceutical Faculty of Bucharest University. They both wanted to follow into my father's footsteps.

I went to the state elementary school when I turned 7. I faced anti- Semitism from the first days of school. There were only two Jewish pupils among the 40 of us in class. There were Romanian, Russian and Ukrainian pupils. They called me 'zhyd, zhydiura' [kike]. Sometimes I fought with them, sometimes I kept silent. Our teachers didn't encourage anti-Semitism and didn't demonstrate any. After finishing elementary school I went to the Romanian grammar school.

In 1933 Hitler came to power in Germany. Romania was a military and political ally of France and England that won in World War I. Under the Versailles Peace Treaty Romania received Bessarabia and Bukovina at that time. We believed that Romania wouldn't enter a treaty with Germany. We were hoping that France and England wouldn't allow Germany to occupy Romania, but it happened otherwise. There were fascist organizations in Romania. Two parties the Iron Guard 6 and the Cuzists 7, openly declared that they were against Jews. They were saying that Jews were robbing the Romanians and took hold of all key positions in trade and economy. But they weren't in power. The Liberal Party was in power, and it was loyal to Jews. There was no oppression of Jews. Only officers' schools and seminaries didn't admit Jews.

In 1937 my brother graduated from university and came back home. He began to work at my father's pharmacy. My father was the manager of the pharmacy, and my brother joined two other pharmacists to do everyday work.

My father died in 1939. He died within two days. He had intestinal obstruction that caused peritonitis. My father was buried according to Jewish traditions.. After the funeral my brother and I went to the synagogue every day to recite the Kaddish for a whole year. My brother went to the cemetery twice or three times a week. Somebody reported to the rabbi that my brother was a frequent visitor at the cemetery. The rabbi explained to my brother that it was against Jewish rules to come to the cemetery so often. He told him that a deceased relative needed to have his peace. My brother became the manager of the pharmacy. The pharmacy generated a good income, and my mother didn't have to worry about how to support the family.

We read about the situation in the USSR in a daily Russian newspaper issued by Russian emigrants. What we read there made us feel scared: continuous trials over 'enemies of the people', former revolutionaries and communists [during the so-called Great Terror]. The middle class had a very negative view of the situation in the USSR.

We heard on the radio that Bessarabia was to become a part of the USSR a day before the Soviet army units came to town. They entered it in the fall of 1940. Almost all Romanians had left their homes the night before. We had nowhere to go. On the first days of the Soviet power we were told about equal rights, freedom and the brotherhood of all people. Later we found out that people were arrested for no reason and put to prisons without a trial. Many wealthier people perished in prisons in the first days of the Soviet regime. Then the authorities turned to the middle class. They took away our pharmacy. We were afraid of further actions on their part, but they left us alone.

My sister was a student in Bucharest, but when she got to know that the Soviet army occupied Bessarabia she came home. My brother and sister couldn't find a job. They moved to Chernovtsy due to the unstable situation in Khotin. My brother became the manager of the regional veterinary storage facility. My sister found a job as the manager of the railroad pharmacy. My sister and brother spoke fluent Russian and had no problem with their work. I went to the 10th grade of a Soviet secondary school at the time.

My mother and I stayed in our house. All the best apartments in town were given to Soviet and party bosses. The Soviet and party authorities selected houses to their liking and forced their owners to move out. People were afraid of the tyranny and didn't resist especially because of all the previous arrests of innocent people and the pressure on wealthier citizens. Then there was another boss, the deputy chairman of the town council, who wanted our house. The Soviet authorities suggested to my mother that we kept one room for ourselves and gave the rest of the house to the family of this man. My mother refused, and the authorities just took all our belongings outside the house and sealed the apartment. The director of the pharmacy allowed us to take books and bed sheets to the storeroom but asked us to do it secretly. We stayed overnight in the house of my father's friend ( a doctor) and left for Chernovtsy in the morning.

My brother arranged a meeting with the regional prosecutor for us. The prosecutor told us that unless our house had been nationalized what had happened was a gross violation of the law. He asked us to wait at the reception. It took him a few minutes to solve our problem. When he came back he told us to go to Khotin and get our house back. We did as he had told us and got it back. The same manager of the housing department that had forced us to move out of our house brought us our keys and apologized. My mother and I arrived in an empty house. All our belongings had been taken outside the house. My brother and sister saved some money for us to hire loaders to take our belongings back into the house. The authorities left us in peace - they didn't dare to disobey orders that they received from higher authorities.

At the beginning of May 1941 my sister and her fiancé, Boris Leikin, came to visit us. Boris was Jewish. He was the secretary of the party organization of the railroad in Chernovtsy. My sister met him at work. She was beautiful and smart, and they took to liking one another and decided to get married. On 1st May 1941 my sister took him to Khotin, and after a few days they registered their marriage.

During the war

In June 1941 I passed all my exams successfully and obtained my certificate of secondary education. Three days later the war began. On the night of 22nd June my mother and I were woken up by an explosion, followed by many more. I saw a plane flying so low that I could see black crosses with a white stripe. Then a vehicle stopped near our fence. The military in it began to shoot at the plane from anti-aircraft weapons. This happened at 5 o'clock in the morning. We went outside. A military told us to stay calm and that it was just another military training. I went into the street and saw wounded soldiers on a vehicle.

By 9 o'clock the director of the pharmacy told us that the war had begun. I had a radio. I switched it to the Moscow frequency, but there were no announcements. I switched to short waves and heard an announcement in Russian, but I could hear that it wasn't the mother tongue of the speaker. He said, 'Farmers, don't burn your fields or take away your cattle. Such actions will be viewed as sabotage against the German army and punished according to the war laws'. Then another program announced that Adolf Hitler would be on air at 10 o'clock in the morning. I could understand German and listened to his speech. He explained that he decided to attack the Soviet Union and that it was a pre-emptive step, as the Soviet Union had plans to attack Germany. That was all he said.

We were hoping that the Soviet army would be strong enough to hold back the German troops, but after a few days we saw them retreating. My sister and her husband evacuated to Samarkand region in Uzbekistan. He became the secretary of the party organization of a mine near Samarkand. My sister became a lab assistant in the chemical laboratory at the sugar factory. My brother came to us from Chernovtsy.

On 6th July the Romanians occupied Khotin. The three of us failed to evacuate. After a week or two the Romanian police ordered the Jewish population to come to the central square at 8 o'clock the following morning to be deported to a different area. They threatened to shoot all Jews that stayed in their apartments after noon. We packed our winter clothes and valuables, because we understood that we wouldn't come back home for a while. The doctor, my father's friend, a Polish man, lived nearby, and my mother asked him whether we could leave some of our belongings with him. We left some valuables and family photographs, and he kept them for us.

We were taken to the ghetto in Mohilev-Podolsk [250 km from Khotin]. We were convoyed by gendarmes. The Romanian police obliged farmers from the surrounding villages to provide horse-driven carts, and older or sick Jews and children climbed onto them. My mother's sister, Feiga, was with us. She was an elderly woman. We were on the way for about two weeks. We exchanged the few clothes that we had and my mother's jewelry for food. Local farmers came to the side of the road with the products they wanted to sell.

The territory of the ghetto was fenced with barbed wire. There was one gate guarded by Ukrainian police. The ghetto was in an old Jewish neighborhood, and the newly arrived Jews were accommodated in the existing houses. There were about 12,000 Jews from Khotin alone, and there were many from other locations, too. The Romanian authorities decided where to send people. There were ghettos and camps all over Vinnitsa region. Two or three families lived in one room. People were sleeping on the floor and didn't have any sanitary facilities. Many inmates were dying from diseases and starvation. Feiga died there, too. During the first winter there was no heating, and it was a severe winter. We were only allowed to fetch water from the well at set hours. Carpenters, construction men and tailors , etc. had a right to leave the ghetto to go to work. They had a special pass.

The local Ukrainian farmers knew that the inmates of the ghetto had no food. They brought milk, apples and homemade bread to the ghetto to sell it three times more expensive than the market price. A pile of potatoes or a bottle of milk cost a golden ring or a nice jacket. We lived on my mother's golden jewelry for a year. Then we had good luck. There was a vacancy at the pharmacy of the town hospital. My brother spoke fluent Romanian and Russian and had a diploma from a Romanian university. He was employed and received a salary for his work. He was also allowed to leave the ghetto. In the evening he bought milk, vegetables, apples and butter at a low price at the market, and we didn't starve.

There was a Jewish self-government in the ghetto. The Germans called it (Judenrat 8. The Romanians authorized a Jewish attorney to select representatives for this Judenrat. The Judenrat was responsible for sending people to work on the roads and bridges. The Romanians needed roads for transportation purposes and involved many workers to have all the repairs done. I worked in the ghetto team. Other inmates were sent to other locations where they worked to exhaustion and were then shot. Basically, members of the Judenrat were trying to take care of their families and relatives.

In 1943 the Romanians got concerned about the development of the situation and became less strict with the rules. Romanian Jews began to send parcels with food and medication through the Red Cross charity organization. Once a month the Jewish community council gave us cereals and mamaliga. The Swiss Red Cross obtained permission to take orphaned children from the ghetto to Jewish communities in Romania. Later, when Israel was established, these children were moved there.

The Jews didn't celebrate any holidays in the ghetto. Religious Jews prayed in expectation of death, but it only scared the others. They got together for a minyan and prayed droningly for days in a row. It sent shivers down your spine.

We were liberated at the end of March 1944. We met the Soviet army units with joy. At least they didn't shoot us. We arrived in Khotin with another family. Half of the town had been burned down. My brother thought it would be easier for him to find a job in Chernovtsy and left. He was offered a job at the veterinary department of the town administration. The authorities promised to give him an apartment in Chernovtsy, and he came to Khotin to take us to Chernovtsy with him. We liked the town. It was clean and homely. People spoke Yiddish in the streets, and there were synagogues and a Jewish theater. We rented an apartment while waiting for my brother to receive the apartment that he had been promised.

My brother and I were registered at the military registry office. It was obligatory. My brother got the rank of an officer and obtained the status of a reservist. I went to serve at a reserve regiment in the Ural. I had a two-month training and then our units were sent to the front. I became a gun-layer of 82mm mortar in a mortar unit. Officers didn't demonstrate any anti-Semitism, but soldiers were prejudiced towards me. When I came to the unit the first time I was asked how I happened to be at the front when all Jews were 'fighting' in Tashkent [Editor's note: Tashkent is a town in Middle Asia; it was the place where many people evacuated to during World War II, including many Jewish families. Many people thought that the entire Jewish population was in evacuation rather than at the front, and anti- Semites spoke about it in mocking tone.] I replied that I got there exactly as they did.

We went across Latvia, Lithuania and then to Eastern Prussia. I knew German and became an interpreter in the counterintelligence unit in Konigsberg. I interpreted at the interrogations of German prisoners of war. After the unit left Germany I was transferred to another division. When the war was over our division was sent to the Far East and from there to the People's Republic of Mongolia. In August 1945 we were sent to the front in the war with Japan 9. I stayed there for three months. I participated in combat action in Manchuria which was occupied by Japanese troops. Manchuria is a mountainous area. It was difficult to fight with the Japanese troops hiding in the hills. The war with Japan was short. After the capitulation of Japan we were sent to Zabaikaliye where I completed my service term. In summer 1946 I demobilized and returned to my mother in Chernovtsy.

Post-war

In 1946 Jews, Romanians and Moldavians living in the USSR were allowed to move to Romania. The Soviet power allowed the population living in the areas that had joined the USSR in 1940 to move out. The border was open, and there was a minimum of formalities for departure. My brother decided to leave the country. My sister, who had divorced her husband in evacuation and came to live with us, decided to go with him.

I was in the army when they made the decision to move. My mother decided to stay and wait for me to come. I was the youngest and my mother's favorite, and she didn't want to leave me there alone. When I came to Chernovtsy I went to the visa department to obtain a permit to move to Romania. I explained that my brother and sister were there and that my mother and I wished to reunite with them, but the authorities refused. I went to their office several times until they told me that if I didn't leave them alone I would move, but to Siberia rather than Romania. So my mother and me stayed in Chernovtsy. Life was very hard: we were starving. There was a system of coupons to get food and everything was a big mess. Anti-Semitism was getting stronger.

I decided to continue my studies and entered the Medical Institute in Chernovtsy. I was admitted without exams because I had been at the front. I didn't face any anti-Semitism at the Institute. Most of my fellow students were demobilized soldiers, and they didn't assess people by their nationality. Besides, they had met Jews at the front. Many Jews served as doctors. Anti-Semitism was getting stronger and stronger in the town from 1948, during the campaign against 'cosmopolitans' 10, and Jewish workers of science and culture were accused of Zionism, espionage and disruption of the basics of the Soviet regime. The Jewish school and theater were closed. Many Jewish workers in the fields of science and art were fired. Many Jews were arrested on charges of espionage or Jewish bourgeois nationalism. Fortunately, there were no close friends or relatives of mine among them.

My friends and I were enthusiastic about the formation of Israel in 1948. We viewed it as a home for Jews. My fellow student, an invalid of the Great Patriotic War and officer of the Soviet Union, a communist, wrote a letter to the Central Committee of the Soviet Union saying that since the Soviet Union voted in the UN for the formation of Israel, veterans of war wanted to go to Israel to defend it from Arabs. They replied: 'We find it unnecessary...'. He moved to Israel in the 1970s when a number of Jews departed. I didn't think about going there at that time.

I graduated in 1951. I wasn't a Komsomol 11 or a party member, I just didn't feel any need joining any of them. There were many vacancies in Ukraine, but Jewish doctors were sent to distant areas in Russia, to the Ural and Siberia. I got an assignment to a district town near Leningrad. I finished a course of training in Leningrad and became a radiologist at a district hospital. There were many patients: invalids of war and wounded people - survivors from the blockade of Leningrad 12.

My mother was living alone. She got no pension because she hadn't worked. She received a small rental payment for the lease of our house in Khotin to a pharmacy, and I sent her part of my salary.

In 1953 the Doctors' Plot 13 began. The chief doctor of the hospital I worked in was an anti-Semite. There were four Jews among the twelve doctors in our hospital. He couldn't fire us and couldn't express his feelings, but he didn't keep his hatred to himself. However, the director of the hospital was a very decent man. We had a meeting to discuss the article 'Killers in white gowns' published in the Pravda [main communist newspaper], and he told us not to believe what was written there and go on working. He also expressed hope that this tendency wouldn't reach our distant location. He told us to put all details in patients' record books to have evidence of our professional approach to work. We didn't have any problems with our patients.

In March 1953 Stalin died. I didn't sympathize with the man, who was the leader of the Soviet power, which caused so much suffering to the people. I was only concerned about what was going to happen in the future.

My job assignment was to last three years, and then I was planning to go back home. But there was a lack of doctors, and I had to work there for another five years. I had to write a letter to the chairman of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR explaining to him that I had to go back to Chernovtsy because my old mother was ill and I had to take care of her, and that I was a veteran of the Great Patriotic War. The Supreme Soviet sent a letter to the hospital to approve my request to quit my job.

I returned to Chernovtsy in 1956. There was anti-Semitism, and it was difficult to find a job. I was offered a job as a radiologist in a district town near Chernovtsy. I worked there and went to see my mother at weekends. I got a good salary and my life was improving, but my mother was growing older and had problems living alone. I began to look for a job in Chernovtsy. I found one at the town children's hospital. The chief doctor of this hospital obtained an employment approval for me from the regional health care department. I worked at the children's hospital for over 30 years. I retired in 1987.

I stopped observing Jewish traditions when when I joined the army. On Soviet holidays I went to parades with my colleagues. It was a mandatory requirement, and there were punishments for not attending such political events. Generally speaking I was an atheist, but I didn't get involved in any political activities. My mother didn't observe all Jewish traditions after the war either. She only said a prayer over the candles every Friday night. She didn't go to the synagogue. She prayed at home. My mother had prayer books. On the death anniversaries [Jahrzeit] of our relatives she read prayers in their memory.

My colleague at the children's hospital had a relative. This colleague of mine was also a radiologist and a Jew. His relative again graduated from Chernovtsy University and was an assistant at the Geo-Chemical Faculty. My colleague introduced me to her and her family. It was my future wife, Fania Aizinger, a Jew. She was born in Chernovtsy in 1930. She was reasonable and kind. She wasn't a striking beauty, but she was good-looking.

My sister worked as a pharmacist. She didn't remarry. My brother worked at the factory that manufactured medication in Bucharest. He was the manager of a scientific research laboratory. He was married and his wife was a housewife. My brother and sister didn't have any children. My sister died in 1993, and my brother died in 1996.

Married life

I went to visit my sister and brother in Bucharest in 1958. My brother and sister advised me to get married. I returned to Chernovtsy and proposed to Fania. We had a civil ceremony in 1959 and a small dinner party at home. My mother baked a cake and made dumplings with buckwheat. I bought a bottle of wine. There were about ten guests at our party.

Our son was born in 1960. We named him Michael after my father. My wife went to work, and my mother looked after our son. After some time I realized that my wife and I were very different people, but we stayed together for the sake of our son. My mother died in 1966 at the age of 85. We buried her in the Jewish cemetery in Chernovtsy.

After the Twentieth Party Congress 14 anti-Semitism began to decline. Khrushchev 15 denounced the Doctors' Plot. But then there was a political tendency to employ Ukrainians that was called national workforce. Jews were having problems finding a job. Although all my ancestors were buried in this land, somebody would tell me that I wasn't 'local'. I wasn't afraid to argue when I heard such statements. I knew I had nothing to lose.

When Jews began to move abroad in the 1970s we couldn't leave. My wife's brother was working in the censorship office of the KGB department and he was considered to belong to the officials who had access to sensitive information. He would have had problems if his own sister had moved abroad becoming a 'traitor'. He would have lost his job. He was married and had a child and we closed this issue for ourselves. That was the only reason. I've always felt that I'm a son of my people. I sympathized with the people who were moving to their motherland. I wish I were with my people. Regretfully, I couldn't go there. I wish I could visit Israel and hope I will be able to go there.

Michael finished secondary school with a medal. My wife worked at the Chernovtsy University as an assistant at the Geo-Chemical Department. This helped when my son entered the Faculty of Physics and Mathematics. Upon graduation he began to work as an engineer at the Electronmach Plant, a military plant. I wanted him to get married and have a family, but my wife was afraid that he would become more distant from her if he married and talked him out of marriage. Five years ago my wife and son moved to the USA. I didn't want to go with them. I believed it was time for my son to start his own life without our influence. Fania died of an infarction last year. My son works as an engineer for some company. He writes letters and sends me photographs. He is still single. He is planning to visit me some time. I live alone. I retired in 1987. I had worked at the children's hospital for over 30 years.

In the recent decade Jewish life in Ukraine changed. I believe there are many aspects in this process. We've got in touch with freedom. We can speak our mind without being afraid that we could be arrested. I'm not afraid to speak openly of the past and discuss social or material issues. Jews have recovered their national identity. We can say openly that we are Jews and we don't have to change our names to 'better sounding' ones. Many people have a difficult life receiving miserable pensions though, whereas people could manage with their pensions during the Soviet power. Nonetheless there's more freedom.

I attend Jewish concerts and performances. I'm also involved in public activities. As a war veteran I often visit Jewish secondary schools. I'm invited to meetings with pupils on all significant phases of the Great Patriotic War, such as the victory in Stalingrad, Moscow, Victory Day and the liberation of Ukraine. I talk with children, tell them about the war and about the ghetto where I almost starved to death. I'm a live witness of the Holocaust. I just do what I can.

Glossary

Zakhar Benderskiy
Chernovtsy
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: August 2002

Family background
Growing up
During the war
Anti-Semitism
Married life
Glossary

Family background

My father's parents came from Kishinev, the capital of Moldova, which belonged to Russia before 1918. My grandfather, Shmul Benderskiy, was born in Kishinev in the 1850s. He was married to Hana Benderskaya, born in Kishinev in 1858.

I have bright memories of my grandparents' house at the crossing of Podolskaya, Bolgarskaya and Dumbarskaya streets in the center of Kishinev. I was born and lived there for quite a long timethere.. It was a big stone house with a big yard. There was a flower garden in front of the house. My grandfather loved gardening and growing flowers. There was an arbor with grapevine in the yard. There were bunches of grapes in the autumn. There was a round table and six chairs in the arbor. The family got together for tea on summer evenings. There were quite a few rooms and a big kitchen in the house. Two or three rooms were usually rented out. The family lived in the five other rooms. It was always cool in the house in the summer. There was old heavy furniture. Everything seemed huge to me: the big chairs with high backs, the big sofas upholstered with velvet and the high wardrobes with many doors. There were pictures on the walls. They were portraits of my grandparents' family and religious pictures with biblical subjects.

There were also photographs on the walls. My grandfather was fond of photography. I didn't like to be photographed. I was a vivid boy, and I hated to sit still for a minute or two. Everybody in the family was trying to avoid being photographed, so my grandfather took pictures of houses and landscapes instead. He had a small room that served as his photo lab.

Part of the house was my grandfather's tobacco factory and tobacco store. My grandfather had another tobacco shop at the market. The factory 'Benderskiy and Sons' manufactured cigarettes and tobacco. My grandfather's agents purchased dry tobacco leaves from farmers. He had ten employees at the factory. The factory yielded good profit - people needed tobacco at all times.

I remember my grandmother in the wheel chair. She was paralyzed. In 1903 there was the most horrible Jewish pogrom 1 in Kishinev. It lasted three days. People said it was arranged by the Russian government. Many Jews were killed and many houses destroyed. The police didn't interfere. There were no policemen in the streets. About 600 Jews were killed. There was a high number of injured people, too. Later the police arrested those that were involved in the pogrom. They were brought to court, and some well-known lawyers and writers spoke against them. The famous Russian writer Vladimir Korolenko 2 demanded the death sentence for the pogrom-organizers. But the verdict for them was a short-term sentence.

My father and grandfather told me about this pogrom. We had quite a few pictures that my grandfather took after the pogrom, but they were all lost during the war and evacuation. I remember a picture of my grandfather's store with broken windows and a total mess inside. I knew that there was also a picture of our house after the pogrom. I asked my relatives about it, and later my brother sent it to me from Israel. There's one picture of our house and another one of the street with the bodies of our neighbors on the pavement. My father told me that my grandfather presented these pictures in court.

My grandmother also fell victim to this pogrom. My grandfather was on business in the surrounding villages at the time. My grandmother was alone at home. She was beaten very severely by the pogrom-makers. They left her unconscious in the yard thinking that she was dead. She survived, but she had her backbone injured and spent the rest of her life in a wheel chair. She had a woman to look after her. My grandmother died in 1923.

My grandfather took a lot of effort and spent a lot of money to reconstruct his factory and house after the pogrom.

My father, Srul Benderskiy, was the oldest of my grandparents' eight children. He was born in 1880. All the children were born in Kishinev. I don't remember the last names of his sisters in marriage. Raya herwas married. When the Soviet power was established she escaped to France because she didn't believe in the idea of communism and the power of the poor. She lived in Paris with her husband and daughter. She died there. My father's second sister, Frida, moved to the US before 1918 and married an American. My father's third sister, Dora Korenberg, lived in Kishinev. She owned a pharmacy where she worked with her husband. They had two daughters, who emigrated to Israel later. My father's fourth sister, Fania, and her husband lived in Kishinev. She was a housewife. I don't remember what her husband did for a living. There was another sister, Nyuka. Her husband worked at the customs in Kishinev. They had a son. During the war they were in evacuation in the Ural, and they returned to Kishinev after the war. Nyuka and her husband died in Kishinev, and their son moved to Israel. He died there recently. My father's brothers, Erik and Hil, moved to Israel with my grandfather in 1925. They died there.

My father's family was religious. There were several synagogues in Kishinev. The population was multinational, consisting of Moldavians, Romanians, Russians and Jews, who constituted about a quarter of the population. They spoke Yiddish, Russian and Romanian. There was a Jewish theater, Jewish grammar school and Jewish secondary schools. All these were closed after 1940 when the Soviet army entered Bessarabia 3 and 'liberated it from the Romanians'. My grandfather and his sons went to the big synagogue not far from their house. They celebrated Sabbath and all Jewish holidays. My grandfather wore ordinary clothes. He had a beard and wore a kippah. Before going out he put his hat on top of it.

My grandfather's sons studied at cheder, and his daughters were educated at home. All children could read and write well in Hebrew. After cheder my father and his brothers finished the Russian grammar school in Kishinev. They all got a higher education. My father and Hil studied at the Commercial Academy. Erik graduated from the Medical Academy in Kishinev. All members of the family spoke fluent Russian and had a good conduct of German and French. My father and his brothers also knew Latin. They all spoke Yiddish in the family.

My mother's family lived in Orgeyev. Orgeyev was a smaller town, about 50 km from Kishinev. Its population was Russian, Moldavian, Romanian and Russian. There were many Jewish families in Orgeyev as well. There were several synagogues, a cheder, a Jewish school and kosher shops. There were no Jewish pogroms in the town.

My grandfather on my mother's side, Solomon Tomashyn, was born in Orgeyev in 1862. He had a hardware store. My grandmother, Tzypra, was also born in Orgeyev in 1864. She was a housewife. They had nine children. My mother, Tania Benderskaya, was born in 1885. She was the first baby in the family. She was named Tube at birth but called Tania in the family.

I knew almost all of her brothers and sisters. Sarrah Krasnaya [nee Tomashyn] lived in Orgeyev. Her husband was a driver. During the war they were in evacuation in Siberia. After the war Sarrah, her husband and daughter emigrated to Israel. Their daughter got married there and moved to Argentina with her husband. In the 1960s Sarrah and her husband went to visit their daughter in Argentina and died after an epidemic broke out there.

Mara and her family lived in Orgeyev. During the war she was in evacuation in Kokand. She fell ill with typhoid and died there in 1942. Bella lived in Orgeyev. She was married and a housewife. She had two sons. Polis, the next girl, was in a ghetto in Transnistria 4 during the war and perished there. Netta got married and moved to Chernovtsy. During the war she was in evacuation in Middle Asia. After the war she returned to Kishinev.

I knew two of my mother's brothers. Fuka lived in Bucharest where he owned a hat store. The Germans shot him at the very beginning of the war. My mother's second brother, Yakov, graduated from the Faculty of Law of Kishinev University. He stayed in Kishinev and became a well-known lawyer. In 1940 Moldavia joined the USSR, and my uncle moved to France. He lived in Paris. He worked for some time until he retired. His two sons lived in Paris, too. My mother had another brother called Foka.

My mother's family lived in a big house in Orgeyev. One part of the house was my grandfather's hardware store. There was an orchard and a vegetable garden near the house. My grandmother grew green vegetables, carrots, beans, and so on. A farmer from the outskirts of Orgeyev brought eggs and meat twice or three times a week; and dairy products were delivered every day.

All children in the family got a religious education. The boys studied at cheder, and the girls were taught at home. My mother and her brothers and sisters finished Russian grammar school in Orgeyev. Only Yakov had university education.

The family was very religious. My father and I usually went to the synagogue in the morning. However early we came, we always saw my mother's brother Yakov. He usually left later than we did. I asked him once why he prayed so much. He replied that there were 16 of them in his family sitting at the table to have a meal, and he was the only one of them to pray to God. So he had to pray for all of them. My mother told me that her family strictly observed Jewish traditions, celebrated Sabbath and all Jewish holidays and followed the kashruts. I believe that people raised in smaller towns are more religious than people in bigger cities. My mother's family spoke Yiddish.

Growing up

My mother told me that she met my father through a - shadkhan. .My mother didn't like my father's beard. My father was so eager to marry her that he shaved it off. My mother gave her consent, and they got married in 1906. They had a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah. They had two wedding parties: one in Orgeyev and another one in Kishinev. After their wedding Grandfather Shmul bought them a house near his house in Kishinev. There were four rooms and a kitchen. There was also an orchard and a flower garden near the house. My father worked at my grandfather's factory for some time, and my mother was a housewife. My older brother, Fivel, was born in 1908 and my sister, Frima, followed in 1910. I was born on 28th April 1912. I was named Sukher at birth. My younger brother, Wolf, was born in 1917.

In 1918 Moldavia became part of Romania. The state had a monopoly of the tobacco industry. They expropriated my grandfather's factory and store. It was different from how it was in the USSR. My grandfather wasn't arrested or exiled. They reimbursed my grandfather the cost of his property. He bought a smaller house in the neighboring street. He didn't want to start another business. He bought another house on the outskirts of town. He grew grapes, berries and vegetables and enjoyed gardening. He gave money to all his children so that they could start their own business.

My father bought a rubber goods store for this money. My grandfather also bought him a house near the railway station to open another store. I don't remember how the others invested their money. My father wasn't good at business and almost went bankrupt in 1938. He let his house near the railway station to Baptists. A delegation of Baptists came to him in Kishinev to ask him to sell his house. They wanted to remove it and build a church. My father said that if they wanted to build a church he would just give them this house. They thanked him and gave my father a Bible for his kindness. My father always gave away what he had.

Our family was very religious. The kashruts was strictly followed in our house. We only ate kosher food. We had special utensils for meat and dairy products. There were kosher food stores at the market, and there was a shochet, who slaughtered all chicken and geese.

On Friday mornings my mother began her preparations for Sabbath. She baked challah and cookies, cooked stuffed fish and boiled chicken. In the evening my mother lit two?? candles and prayed over them. On Saturday my parents went to the synagogue. We joined them when we grew older. After dinner we sang religious songs in Hebrew glorifying Queen Saturday.

Before Pesach my mother did a general clean-up of the house. She had a woman coming in to help her. They bought a lot of matzah at the synagogue to last during Pesach. We didn't have any bread in the house on these days. My mother also made beetroot kvass [beetroot broth] for borscht [vegetable soup]. She cooked stuffed fish and stuffed chicken neck. The chicken neck stuffing consisted of fried flour, onions and giblets. My mother made clear chicken soup with matzah dumplings and borsch. She made lots of pastries: sponge cakes, strudels with jam and nuts and cookies; all from matzah flour. When my brother and I grew older my mother made it our responsibility to crush matzah in the mortar. She also made latkes, small pancakes from potatoes, matzah and eggs. My father bought special red wine for Pesach. Even children were given some wine on this holiday. We went to the synagogue and later had seder at home. Father read the Haggadah. The entrance door was kept open on the first night of Pesach. My mother explained to me that it was kept open for the prophet Elijah to come into every house.

Everybody fasted on Yom Kippur, even children over 5 years of age. On the eve of the holiday my mother brought white hens and roosters from the market for the kapores ritual. It went like this: mMy mother took a hen and gave another one to Frima, my sister. My father and all sons took the roosters. We had to turn these chickens quietly above our heads after the prayer saying, 'May this be my atonement'. Later my mother took these chickens to the synagogue for the poor. We weren't supposed to eat them. We went to the synagogue in the morning, then we came back home, read the Torah and had a nap. Then we went to the synagogue again. The services end at nightfall, with the blowing of the tekiach geedolah, a long blast on the shofar. It was required to wear white clothes on this day. The family strictly followed all rules. My mother made sure that everything went smoothly, and my father observed it all because he loved and respected her very much and wanted to please her.

My brothers and I always looked forward to Chanukkah. This was a very merry holiday. There were lots of delicious things on the table, we had guests and received Chanukkah gelt. At Sukkot my father made a sukkah in the yard, and we had lunch and dinner there. We celebrated all holidays.

I studied in cheder for a year before I went to a Romanian state school. There were a few Jewish schools in Kishinev, but they were too far from where we lived. Besides, the language of teaching in all higher educational institutions was Romanian, and my parents understood that it was better for me to study at a Romanian school. My brothers also studied in this school. It was a 4-year elementary school. Education was free of charge. Secondary education wasn't for free. We studied in Romanian. We began to study foreign languages in the 2nd grade: German, English and French. In grammar schools children also studied Latin or ancient Greek. We also studied religion, and our class was divided in two groups: one group of Christian children and one group of Jews. About half the children in my class were Jewish.

I had more Jewish friends. In our street all houses belonged to Jews. There were Jewish youth organizations in Kishinev: Maccabi and Hapoel [Hapoel Hatzair] 5. I attended the Maccabi. We were too young for any Zionist activities. We spoke Yiddish in these groups. We played tennis and other sports there. We arranged competitions. I was doing well in sports. There was also a cultural program in the Maccabi. We celebrated Jewish holidays. We arranged Purimshpil performances for Purim. We sang Jewish songs in a choir and arranged concerts and balls. I was also a member of the scout organization for teenagers. We wore a uniform: blue shorts, a white T-shirt and a blue necktie. We had strict rules there. The motto of our scout unit was, 'Our soul has to be as pure as the air here'. We took part in a number of competitions: start fire with one match, cross the river on a rope, and so on.

I had four friends. We were all Jews. I also had a Romanian friend. He was my classmate. He wasn't part of my Jewish company, but my Jewish friends knew that he was my close friend. I didn't feel any anti-Semitism when I was at school. But there was anti-Semitism when the Romanians came to power in the 1930s. It was difficult for Jews to enter higher educational institutions, and there were separate seats for Jews at some universities. Students protested against this segregation and arranged demonstrations of protest. These special seats were almost always unoccupied - the students refused to attend classes, but nothing changed and many students went to study in other countries.

I read a lot. We had many books at home. They were mainly classics and religious books. I don't remember my father reading books, though. He usually read newspapers. My mother used to read a lot. She read religious books in Hebrew and fiction in Yiddish and Russian.

In 1925 Grandfather Shmul and his two sons, Erik and Hil, moved to Palestine. My grandfather always wanted to live in this country and fight for the independence of Israel. He sold his factory and bought some land in Palestine for this money. He leased this land and made money for a living that way. My grandfather returned to Kishinev after a couple of years, but his sons stayed in Palestine. He sold his house in Kishinev and left for Palestine again, leaving the money with his children. He visited Kishinev several times. Life was difficult there. They didn't have a place to live, the soil was poor and stony, there were lots of mosquitoes and scorpions and malaria was widely spread. My grandfather didn't insist on our departure to Palestine. We had a good life here, and we didn't want to leave. We thought that we could consider moving to Palestine once our relatives had settled down there.

When I was in the army in 1932, my grandfather came to Kishinev and left for Palestine with my older brother Fivel. Fivel worked as a laborer in Ramat-Gan. He went to the beach, put up a sign saying '3 piastres per hour' and went to sleep. If somebody wanted to hire an employee for this fee they woke him up. He didn't always have work. Later Fivel studied at college. After that he got a job in the logistics department of a soap factory and worked there until his retirement. Fivel and his family lived in Ramat-Gan. He died in 2000.

I finished school in 1932. I was 20 years old. I went to the army for one year. I didn't have to serve full term because I had secondary education. During my service my commanding officer sent me to the officer's course. I became a lieutenant after finishing it.

When I went to the army my grandfather came to Kishinev and left for Palestine with my older brother Fivel. Fivel worked as a laborer at first. He went to the beach, put a sign saying "3 piastres per hour" and went to sleep. If somebody wanted to hire an employee for this fee they woke him up. He didn't always have work. Later Fivel studied at college, but I don't remember the name. After that he got a job at the logistics department of soap factory and worked there until retirement. Fivel and his family lived in Ramat-Gane. He died in 2000. My grandfather came to Kishinev again in 1933 after I returned from the army. Once he went to the market to buy some fruit. He returned home, bent over the basket to put the fruit on the table and fell over. He was dead. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Kishinev beside my grandmother Hana. The funeral was held according to Jewish traditions. Many people came to his funeral. They all knew and loved my grandfather. We corresponded with Erik and Hil for some time after my grandfather died. It lasted until the Soviet power came to Kishinev. I kept in touch with my brother until he died.

After the army I entered Commercial Academy in Bucharest. Since I was an officer who had completed service in the army, I was admitted without exams. I had to pay for my studies. I attended classes in the morning and worked in the afternoon. I worked at an insurance company. Later I got a job as a waiter in a restaurant and worked night shifts. I was a good employee and promoted to administrator soon. I was responsible for the waiters and the dance group at the restaurant. This was a good job and paid well. But I had to leave this restaurant after an incident.

This incident happened in 1938. The fascists were in power in Germany, and the Romanian fascists became more insolent because they felt that they had a backup. Once there was a fight in the restaurant. It turned out that members of a fascist organization, the Iron Guard 6, were sitting at one table, and members of another fascist, anti-Semitic organization, the Cuzist 7, at another table. They started a fight. I called the police, and they took the fighters to their office. They called me to the police station to testify. I told the commissar about the fight. Then one of the suspects, who wore a jacket of a military cut and boots, said that his name was Zelea Codreanu 8. Everybody in the room turned pale when he said his name. He was the leader of the Iron Guard. I got very scared and left the police office. On the next day I told the owner of the restaurant about the incident, but he replied that there had been no incident whatsoever. I understood that the police had hushed up this case and feared that the Iron Guard would be looking for an opportunity to take their revenge. I had to leave the restaurant. I left before they could fire me. It didn't make my life easier, but it probably helped me save my life.

I graduated from the Commercial Aacademy in 1938 and got married. My co- student introduced me to my future wife, Jeannette Duvidesku, a Romanian Jew. She was called Hana in Kishinev. She was born to the family of a Jewish tradesman in Bucharest in 1911. Jeannette only spoke Yiddish and Romanian. It was okay with me - I was fluent in both languages. We had a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah in Bucharest. It was no problem at that time. The synagogues were open and there were rabbis there. We couldn't imagine that it would be over so soon. There was a rabbi from the big synagogue in Bucharest. The synagogue issued the ketubbah to us. We lived with my wife's family in the beginning. I met people in Bucharest and soon they began to address me to issue annual reports for them or conduct an audit. We purchased an apartment and good furniture. I had several permanent customers, and my wife and I were quite well off. Jeannette was a housewife. We went to the synagogue on holidays and celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays quite like our parents did.

In 1938 my mother died in Kishinev. She was buried in the Jewish graveyard, according to Jewish tradition. After my mother died my father sold the house and moved to my younger brother Wolf. Wolf had finished the Electro- Technical College by that time. He was married and worked as an engineer at the electric appliances factory in Kishinev.

My sister Frima finished a private French school in Kishinev. The owner and director of this school was a French woman. The children studied all subjects in French. The fee they had to pay was high, but it was worth it. After finishing this school Frima went to study at the Medical Academy in Belgium. She met a Romanian princess there. This princess did a lot of charity work. She contributed money to the construction of hospitals and supported them. The princess went to the Medical Academy in Belgium to learn about the latest medical developments. The director of the academy told her that they had a student from Romania and the princess wished to meet her. They talked for a long while and the princess invited Frima to visit her when she came to Bucharest. Frima expressed her doubts, though, saying that there was little possibility that she would be allowed to enter the princess' palace in Bucharest. Then the princess gave my sister a ring telling her to show it to the guard when she arrived. Upon graduating my sister went to visit the princess. She showed the ring to the guards, and they let her in. A new hospital was being built in Kishinev, and my sister was appointed the supervisor of the therapeutic unit there. She worked well and liked her job.

Emigration to Palestine wasn't allowed. The British Embassy issued permits for emigration but only very few. There was also a green card emigration lottery for Palestine at the British Embassy. In 1936 Uncle Erik won a green card for a woman to go to Palestine, and he offered it to Frima. She decided to go. She stepped on the land of Palestine wearing a silk dress and high-heels. Uncle Erik and Fivel met her and took her to their kibbutz. People were working hard in the kibbutz, and they were wearing their working robes and no shoes. A woman gave Frima an old shirt and pants. My sister told me later that she looked into the mirror and didn't recognize herself. Frima wrote letters to us. She became a patriot of Israel. She wrote, 'I learned to struggle for the independence of my motherland here'. Later my sister got a job as a doctor.

She got married and took her husband's name, Kizbrunner. They lived in Haifa. This name was hard to pronounce and my sister changed her last name to Beer, which means 'well' in Hebrew. They had two daughters. They live in Israel now. When Frima and her husband retired they sold their house in Haifa and moved to the old people's home 'Golden Age'. It's an expensive home, but my sister and her husband could afford it. Recently my sister's husband died. She moved to a one-bedroom apartment in the same home. I visited her recently. There is a synagogue there. I was there on the eve of Rosh Hashanah, and I went to pray at this synagogue. My sister feels lonely in Israel. Her daughters live their own life. Frima calls me at 6pm every Friday. Every time she comes, she says the same - how lonely she is and how much she misses me. She doesn't live a religious life in Israel due to various reasons.

During the war

In 1939 the situation in Romania grew very unstable. Many Polish people escaped to Romania. There were many of them in Bucharest. They told us many scary things about the horrors of the German occupation and about how Hitler treated the Jews. We were afraid that Hitler would come to Romania soon. In 1939 the Romanian fascists, members of the Iron Guard, killed Prime Minister Calinescu, because he was a democrat and refused to cooperate with the Germans. After he was shot on the road by the fascists, they went to the radio station and announced that an act of justice had been done and that Calinescu was dead. On the following day people were killing the leaders of the Iron Guard in the towns. I saw four dead bodies in the uniforms of the Iron Guard at a crossing and a poster near them saying, 'All traitors will be executed this way'. But the democrats failed to get rid of all the fascists. Once I was walking home late in the evening when three strangers approached me saying, 'Remember these words: The Guard is moving ahead'. I didn't have a typical Jewish appearance. They must have mistaken me for a Romanian. If they had known that I was a Jew, they would have killed me. I felt very upset. I understood that Hitler would find big support here when he came. We realized that we had to escape while there was still a possibility.

In 1940 Moldavia joined the USSR. Kishinev became a Soviet town. My younger brother Wolf changed his name to Vladimir to obtain his Soviet passport. He was taken to the army. Many richer inhabitants of Kishinev were sent to Siberia. My father was poor at that time, and the Soviet power didn't touch him. He had become an accountant in a tobacco store in the 1930s. He received a small salary. He always went to work wearing a hat, a tie and a walking stick. The director of the store used to tell him, 'Comrade Benderskiy, we are going to a Soviet Bank. You don't need to wear a hat and your walking stick. There are no hats and sticks in the USSR'. But my father wouldn't listen to him. He continued to dress as he thought was appropriate and was always polite and reserved. My father never used the word 'comrade' which was commonly used at the time. He didn't have any problems because of his manners.

I knew very little about the Soviet Union. We didn't know anything about the crimes of Stalin and his companions. We watched Soviet films, which were showed the happy life in the Soviet Union. We believed that there was no unemployment or anti-Semitism in the USSR. We believed that people in the USSR enjoyed freedom. My friends were moving to the US, Turkey or Brazil from Romania to join their relatives or friends.

I also made my choice because my family was in the USSR, and I believed that everything would be fine here. When Kishinev became a Soviet town in 1940, my wife and I left our apartment in Bucharest along with all our belongings and moved to Kishinev. We obtained Soviet documents. My name Sukher was written as Zakhar in my passport, and my wife's changed from Jeannette to Hana. We rented an apartment in Kishinev. I got a job as an accountant at the Kishinev administration. The reality was different from the movies. The shops were empty, and we received food on ration cards. It was all pretty depressing, but we couldn't leave.

In June 1941 I received two tickets for a recreation center in Odessa. We had to obtain a permit to go to Odessa. Such was the procedure for all inhabitants of the areas that had recently joined the USSR. My wife and I obtained a permit to go to Odessa and went to the sanatorium for 12 days. I had 24 days of vacation, and I convinced my wife to make a trip to Moscow for the remaining 12 days. We arrived in Moscow on 22nd June 1941. We stayed at the International Hhotel near the Kievskiy railway station in Moscow. We had a distant relative in Moscow - the brother of Aunt Sarrah's husband. I had never seen him before, but I had his address and decided to go and see him. We went there and he told us that Molotov 9 had spoken on the radio announcing the war with Germany.

There was another announcement later saying that all holidaymakers had to return home. We went back to the hotel, and it had already been turned into a hospital. We stayed with our relative overnight, and in the morning we went to the railway station. We had to stay there for three days until I managed to get tickets to Razdelnaya in Odessa region. From Razdelnaya we went to Kishinev. On the following day I went to the military registration office and was admitted to the army. Next day there was an order issued to relieve all accountants from military conscription. We all believed that the war would be over in a few days. I went back to work. I was told there that the administration was evacuating. My wife and I were taken to the railway station and got on a train. We had one suitcase into which we had only put the most necessary clothes. We didn't know where we were going.

My younger brother and his family also went into evacuation. We were both trying to convince our father to go with us but he refused. He said he wasn't afraid of the Germans. All people that knew Germans during World War I believed that they were educated and intelligent people. My father stayed in his apartment and didn't open the door. There was a German man, Karl, who lived in our street. My father knew him very well, and they were friends. When my father heard Karl's voice at his door he opened it. Karl was with the Germans. I was told later that the Germans sent my father to the ghetto in Vinnitsa. He perished there.

Our trip lasted for about a month until we reached Tashkent [3,000 km from Kishinev]. I went to the evacuation office and told them that I was an accountant. I got a job at the equipment yard where I worked throughout our evacuation.

We shared a room with several other families. Later my wife and I moved to a separate room in a small building in the yard of the cultural center. I had good performance records at work. I learned Uzbek. I stayed there for some time after the war as an instructor in accounting. I was awarded a bicycle for my efforts. I also straightened up the tractor repair processes and was awarded a medal 'For valiant labor'. In the fall of 1945 I went to Kishinev with my family. I obtained a certificate of mobilization to the labor front from the military commandant of Tashkent.

Our daughter, Emma, was born in Tashkent in 1944. The three of us returned to Kishinev in the fall of 1945. I obtained a certificate for mobilization to the labor front from the military commandant of Tashkent.

I was told at the Ministry of Agriculture that there was no work for me. I found a job at the construction site of a shoe factory. The Germans had destroyed Kishinev. The street we used to live in was in ruins. My family lived with my childhood friend, Iosif Shwartz. He told me about the tragic fate of many of our friends. Iosif and our friend Yakov Golub were recruited to the army and went to the front. Later an order to demobilize all soldiers that came from Bessarabia and Moldova was issued. Stalin didn't trust those that had only lived under the Soviet power for a short period. They were released from the army without money or food in late fall. Many of them starved to death or died from the cold. Yakov Golub came from the family of a storeowner in Kishinev. They were a wealthy family. Yakov was helping his father at the store. He was a very nice, honest and decent man. Yakov got to Kishinev after he was released from the army. He was ill with typhoid; he had caught it on the way home. He died about a hundred meters from his home. Two of our other friends were missing. Iosif came home ill with tuberculosis.

My younger brother, Wolf, and his family returned from evacuation in 1944. During the war the electric appliances factory was in the Ural. The factory facilities in Kishinev were destroyed. Its employees and their families lived in the barracks that were storage facilities before the war. There was no heating. The barrack was heated by self-made stoves from sheet iron. My brother received an apartment in 1953 when he was deputy director of the factory.

Anti-Semitism

I didn't expect to receive an apartment in Kishinev. An acquaintance of mine told me that there were many vacant apartments in Chernovtsy and that this town hadn't been destroyed during the war. My wife and I decided to go to Chernovtsy. The local authorities told us to find a vacant apartment and obtain all necessary documents to move into it. We moved into this apartment on the following day. I became chief accountant at the furniture factory. My wife was a housewife. I was very glad that we moved to Chernovtsy, which is a beautiful town. The Jewish population constituted about 60 per cent. Now there are about 3,000 Jews in town. People spoke Yiddish in the streets, and there was a Jewish theater, school and synagogue until 1948. There was a very warm and friendly atmosphere in Chernovtsy.

I had a colleague named Savchuk, a Ukrainian man. He came from a village not far from Chernovtsy. He told me that villagers could only come to town if they wore shoes. They had their shoes in their bags and put them on when they approached the town. Jewish couples and families wearing their best and fanciest clothes used to walk in the central pedestrian street, Kobylianska street, in the evening. I didn't face any anti-Semitism, and I had a feeling that I had made the right choice to leave Romania.

By 1948 this feeling weakened. The struggle against cosmopolitans 10 began. Scientists and teachers were losing their jobs. Accusatory articles were published in the newspapers. Neither my family nor I had any problems in that regard but anti-Semitism was growing stronger. The Jewish theater and school were closed, and it wasn't advisable to go to the synagogue. Religious people were expelled from the Communist Party, got lower positions at work or were dismissed. The only Jewish holiday that my wife and I celebrated after the war was Pesach. We got matzah from a private underground bakery. I brought some flour there and received matzah on the following morning.

It was difficult to get food products at that time, and we cooked whatever we could get. Sometimes we had a chicken, but mainly we had potato pudding and fried fish from the canteen at work. Religious holidays were working days and so was Saturday. Anti-Semitism entered our life. There were anti- Semitic expressions in the public transport and in the streets. Gravestones were destroyed at the Jewish cemetery and words like 'Jews, get out and go to Israel' were written on the walls of buildings. This lasted for a long time.

In 1953 the Doctors' Plot 11 started. A doctor called Timoschuk wrote to the Pravda newspaper that a group of Jewish doctors involved in the treatment of Stalin gave him poison instead of medication. I don't know whether Stalin and Beriya 12 believed it to be true or whether they took advantage of this insinuation to trigger another round of anti-Semitism. Of course, sensible people knew that it was slander, but many other people believed it to be true. There were rumors about the deportation of Jews to Siberia.

In March 1953 Stalin died. There was a meeting at our factory. Many people were crying. They couldn't imagine their life without Stalin. I didn't cry, but I felt concerned. We weren't aware of all those horrors caused by Stalin. We only knew what the propaganda said. If only I had known how many people died in labor camps and all other crimes that he had committed, my attitude would have been different. The only thing we knew was that fascists and capitalists were bad, and that Stalin was good. This was what we had been told, and this was what became the conviction of many people.

I believed at once what Khrushchev 13 said at the Twentieth Party Congress 14 about Stalin's crimes. The Twentieth Congress was the beginning of the denunciation of the cult of Stalin and revealed the truth about this period. Nobody in our family was a party member.

Our daughter went to a Russian secondary school. She studied well. She finished school in 1962. It was difficult for a Jewish girl to enter a higher educational institution in Chernovtsy at that time. My daughter and I were aware of it. I had a friend in Lvov. He suggested that Emma came to study in Lvov. She entered the Faculty of Economics at the Polytechnic Institute in Lvov. My wife and I missed our daughter a lot. Emma lived at my friend's family during the first year of her studies until she got a bed in the hostel of the institute. She graduated and married her co-student, Grigory Koifman, a Jew from Lvov. Emma got a job in Lvov. Jeannette and I were happy for our daughter. Our happiness didn't last long. She died soon after giving birth to our grandson in 1969. She died of postpartum hemorrhage.

My wife and I couldn't have our grandson with us. My wife got very ill after we buried our daughter. We wouldn't have been able to raise the baby. He was called Alexandr. His father and grandmother took care of him. I spent my summer vacations with him in Lvov every year. Alexandr was a smart and healthy boy. He went to school when he turned 7. He came to visit us on his summer vacations, and we visited him during his winter vacations. We also supported him with some money. Alexandr finished 9 years of Russian secondary school in Lvov and continued his education in Israel. He studied under the educational program Sochnut. After finishing school he served in the Israeli army. After his service he entered university. He lives in Israel now and has a job. He has two sons. We correspond and he calls me every now and then. I think Emma would be proud of her son.

I was very enthusiastic about the foundation of Israel in 1948. The dream of all Jews finally came true, and they gained a country of their own.

In the 1970s a number of Jews began to move to Israel. I sympathized with those who were moving there and was happy for them. We had many relatives in Israel, but my wife and I weren't going to move there. I worked and my wife was a housewife. She said that she would stay where her daughter's grave was. After Emma died Jeannette became very ill. She died in 1973.

There were people returning from Israel in the 1970s. I had a colleague. He was a janitor here. He moved to Israel being sure that he would get everything immediately: an apartment and a good job. He realized that he had to work hard to get all the comforts he wanted and didn't like it at all. There were TV programs and articles in newspapers about him. They were saying that a Soviet person couldn't get adjusted to the capitalist world. He got his former job and received an apartment. He was hoping to get a better job in Chernovtsy and was very unhappy about it.

Married life

I got married for the second time in 1978. My wife's name is Sophia Lazko; she's Jewish. She was born to an assimilated Jewish family in Chernigov in 1920. Her parents were engineers. She finished school and worked as a typist at a military unit in Chernigov. During the war she went to the front. She was a topographer at the army headquarters. After the war Sophia decided to go to Chernovtsy. She didn't want to go back to Chernigov where all her relatives had perished during the war. Sophia was a lab assistant at the sanitary-epidemiological facility in Chernovtsy. She's a very nice and kind woman. We are very close. We have common interests and friends. I'm so happy to have met her. The Soviet power forced us to forget Jewish traditions. It's too late for me to restore them. We didn't live a Jewish life. We only celebrate holidays in Hesed.

My brother Wolf left for Israel in 1985. His son had left for Israel in the late 1970s. Wolf and his younger daughter went there after Wolf retired.

In 1995 I visited my sister and brother in Israel. They showed me around the country. I admired how my people had changed the desert into blooming gardens and modern towns. I visited Jerusalem and prayed for my family at the Wailing Wall. I went to synagogues and visited Christian and Muslim temples. It's a wonderful country, but I felt homesick after a month. I wanted to be back in Chernovtsy, back at my mountain and the land where my wife and daughter are buried.

Ukraine became independent and the Jewish way of life began to be restored. We have several Jewish communities in Chernovtsy. Hesed provides big assistance to us. We get food packages and medication. There are highly qualified doctors with Hesed. We also attend lectures, concerts and interesting films about Jews. We can get Jewish newspapers and magazines for free at Hesed. If it weren't for Hesed we would live a poor and miserable life. People that had been working their whole life receive a pension that's smaller than the fee they have to pay for their apartment and everyday things. It's very important that we can go out and meet people. We celebrate Sabbath and all Jewish holidays in Hesed. There was a festive Purimshpil performance at the town theater at Purim. Volunteers from Hesed visit us at home. We also have a nurse visiting us at home. It's very helpful and makes our life different. The synagogue is open. We celebrate Sabbath and all Jewish holidays with Hesed. There was a festive Purimshpil performance at the town theater on Purim. The synagogue is open. We don't go there often, but we always attend it on holidays and on the death anniversaries of our relatives. I'm 90 years old. I'm glad to have lived to the time when I can see it all with my own eyes.

Glossary

Mojsze Sznejser is an 84-year-old cobbler, who still works in his own workshop in Legnica. He comes from a small town called Lukow. Before World War II he lived and worked in Warsaw, and after surviving the Holocaust in the USSR he moved to Legnica, a town in south-western Poland, where he is a member of the local Jewish community. During our four meetings in his workshop and his apartment, he shared with me his memories of his large family, and sketched a picture of Jewish life in pre-war Lukow and post-war Legnica. His narrative style is very laconic, that is why his story appears short, but in his frank, simple words there's a certain hidden logic and coherence. These short paragraphs say more about his life than a long essay might do. Mr. Sznejser also sings very well in Yiddish, which made the interview even more interesting.

My name is Mojsze Sznejser. I was born on 5th March 1920 in Lukow. My father was called Dawid Josef Sznejser. He was a cobbler. My mother's name was Szajndla Sznejser, her maiden name was Sosnowiec. I had two brothers and one sister. My brother was called Abram and my sister was called Chana. I was the oldest. Then came my brother and sister; the age difference was two years. My other brother died young, in the 1930s, as a child - Icek, his name was. We lived in Lukow, on Pilsudskiego Street, near the cinema, and in the apartment there Dad had a cobbler's workshop.

Ma's family came from Radzyn Podlaski. That's in Lublin province [a region in eastern Poland]. I remember my great-grandfather was called Awrejnu, and my great-grandmother Suwe Gitl. My grandfather was Bejro Lajb Sosnowiec, and my grandmother Rywke Laje. I don't know her maiden name. Granddad worked for a miller. He had a beard, like my great-grandfather, but not a long one, it was average. I used to go there, and I would sleep at Granddad's. I remember Granddad's house in Radzyn. After the war I came back to Poland and went to visit that place, Radzyn Podlaski. I remember, half the house was finished, and the other half was still unfinished up to the war. I came back in 1946, and other people were living there, a Polish family. I said to them, 'I haven't come to take it back, just to see what it looks like. I went back a second time, the same year, and it had all gone. Somebody had taken it down.

I didn't go to the synagogue with Granddad, because I went with Dad back home in Lukow, and Granddad went there, in Radzyn. I remember I went there once on a Saturday by bike, from Lukow to Radzyn, and that was a sin, so when Granddad asked me: 'Where were you?' I answered: 'I was here, sleeping at a friends' place.' I couldn't have told the truth, he'd have leathered me.

On Dad's side the family was from Lukow. Granddad, I remember, was called Szymen Sznejser, and his wife Pesech. I don't know her maiden name. Granddad was a cobbler too. They lived near the Polish elementary school, where they rented an apartment off this one Jew. It was this one room and a corridor. Granddad would sit working in the room where the beds were too, and there was a bit of a kitchen taken off that room. They weren't rich.

Dad had one brother and two sisters. His brother was called Sahje and he was a cobbler too. His wife was called Ruhla, her maiden name was Sobelman. They had three children, but I only remember the name of one son - Herszel. They lived in Lukow. One sister was called Gitla. She stayed with my grandparents; I don't know if she got married.

Dad's other sister was Zlata. She married Aaron Konski, a tailor. They had a lot of children: Mojsze, Szlojme, Szyje, Herszel, Chaim, Josel, Abrejmale and Chana. Eight children. At first they lived in Lukow, where one son - Szyje - was religious, wore sidelocks and went to the yeshivah. And then they moved to Warsaw, where my uncle got a job as a tailor for the army, and Szyje stopped being religious and started to work. In Warsaw they lived at 20 Twarda Street, I remember to this day. I had one more cousin, more distant family, related to Grandma on Dad's side, Mojsze Zilberman was his name. He was very big, tall. He worked as a tailor, was earning. When he came over when I was small, he would give me a zloty. 'Here you are, have a zloty,' he'd say - I remember that. They lived in Warsaw, at 50 Dzielna Street.

Ma had three sisters and four brothers. She was the oldest. Her sisters' names were Toba, Frajda and Liba, and her brothers, in order, Symche, Mendel, Chaim and Mojsze. And that uncle Symche, I've got a photo of him from before the war, well, he had a son. I remember that son - back before the war I slept in the same room as him in Radzyn. That son, Dawid - in Polish Tadek Sosnowiec [he didn't change his name, that was just what they called him if they used a Polish name] - after the war, he went to Warsaw, got married there and settled down. He died a few years ago, now only the young generation lives there. And Ma's youngest brother, Mojsze, well he's still alive, in America. He went to Israel after the war, changed his mind there and went to America. He had his own apartment, and left it. I didn't ask why.

Ma's sister Toba lived in Siedlce with her husband - Shulke Wyszkowski. I went to their place once; I was going home for Easter [Pesach] from Warsaw. I went in to him and said: 'I'm going home.' And he said: 'Wait!' He nipped out and bought something - 'Now off you go home.' He bought something so that I'd have something for the holidays at home. Ma's second sister, Frajda, lived in Siedlce too. Her husband, Mendl Zonszajn, was a painter. He painted stations as well. When he came to Lukow to paint the station, he lived with us on Pilsudskiego Street. That was when my father was already dead. He worked a while and then went back home.

There was Ma's more distant family too; they lived in Radzyn, not far from my grandparents. He was Ma's cousin, Icek Kopciak. He was a carter, he transported all types of goods, flour, grain, whatever people gave him, and he'd carry it all from Radzyn to Lukow and back. I knew his father and mother. The Kopciaks lived on the same square as my Ma's parents. It was this big square, not cobbled, on the edge of town. In the center of town there was a church and a rank for cars and out there on the edge a lot of Jews lived. And there was a prayer house there, on the same square.

My Ma was very pretty; I remember that she wore a sheitl - a wig. And she taught poor girls to dance. I don't know, I didn't see it, but people told me that she taught dancing. She didn't make anything from it, she taught her poor friends. That was back when I didn't exist yet. She was still a girl. After that she couldn't teach, because she had a family. And she helped Dad with his work: he taught her to repair galoshes and do heels. He had bad turns with his heart because of the stinking glue, so she repaired the shoes herself. Apart from that she kept house. She cooked well, ooh! Very well. She did everything just as it should be. Dad got his portion first of all, he had to. Yes, she could cook and bake. Everything was kosher.

On Thursdays everyone went to the mikveh, first women, and then men. There was a very big synagogue and special prayer houses. And the women went into the synagogue by a separate entrance and stood where the young people studied during the week. It was connected to the synagogue, and there were these special little open window holes, so that the women could hear the prayers and repeat them. There were other prayer houses too, smaller ones, and the Hasidim 1 had their own prayer house. There was a yeshivah as well, and a bes medresh. I remember the rabbi, too, he lived down by the river, in an upstairs apartment; I never went there. But I remember that people didn't like him. He made himself out to be the cleverest, you see, he wanted to prove that he was somebody, to rule everybody. That's why they didn't like him.

On Saturdays nobody worked. You weren't allowed to do anything, not even heat up water. If your candles burnt out, you didn't light them again. If people had electric lights, somebody else [a shabesgoy] came to switch them on. We had a kerosene lamp, and again, once it had burnt out, nobody lit it again until later on Saturday. Everything for Sabbath on Saturday was prepared on Friday. Ma made the cholent and took it down to the bakers', because their oven was hot all Friday. They put all the pots in it and then on Saturday they opened up the oven and it was all hot. They brought the cholent home and everyone ate. And when Father died it was hard; at Easter [Pesach] Ma would go out to make matzah to earn enough to keep us. And of course she was given matzah.

My father died when I was coming up 12, at the age of 42. I remember that he didn't have a beard, and on his head he had a hat, like the ones in the Russian army. He served in one of those armies, back when it was still the Tsar's army [see Partitions of Poland] 2. He was a good cobbler, all his customers were Poles. The workshop was through the courtyard at first, and later at the front, onto the street. Dad wasn't very religious, but Sabbath was observed. And when Dad went to the synagogue, he took me with him. I remember we always sat on the left.

I remember that before he died, Father went to the hospital; he had heart problems. And my mother dreamed that she was burying him. At the same time a friend had come to see my father and given him a bit of vodka to drink, and Father died in the hospital. And then that same friend came to our house; I remember we had this closed-off corridor, and well, he opened the door and took Father's sheepskin.

I hardly remember my sister Chana. I just have a photograph of her, nothing else. I remember that she learned to count and sew, because that was what she had to do. She had her friends, but I don't remember her having any toys, just these dolls made out of twisted rags. And after that I don't remember anything at all, the war was a different life, and that other life just went, was lost. My sister was still young. And when me and my brother escaped into the woods [early in the occupation], she stayed with Ma. And when we came back they weren't there any more.

I remember the holidays, Chanukkah and Purim. Once I dressed my brother up at Purim, and he had a saber, a real saber, and we went to our uncle's, Dad's brother, who we seldom went to see. It must have been after Dad died, because before that, when we were small, I don't remember us dressing up. And at Pesach Ma did everything herself at home, baked challot, cooked noodles. There were separate plates and mugs for Pesach, and if there weren't enough, then they had to be cleaned. I still have separate plates, like we did back then at home.

At home we spoke Yiddish. But I could speak Polish as well. I went to elementary school, but only until my dad died, then that was the end of it. I couldn't go to school any more because I had to go out to work. And after that I only attended evening classes. But I remember the teacher at the elementary school, Miss Cetnarska: she taught Polish, sums, everything. And there was another elementary school, where only Jews went, but the teachers were Polish. I went there for religious studies. Once a week they had Jewish religious studies there. I went to cheder as well, and then to talmud torah. Our lessons were in Hebrew. We learnt to pray and translate into Hebrew. We were taught by Josel the baker, and then by Awrum Zyto, who came from Israel [Palestine at that time], and taught us Hebrew. The cheder was private, I remember, at old Nissenbaum's home, who taught us. The talmud torah was in a big room connected to the synagogue. You had to pay for it all; Dad was poor, but we had to pay anyway.

Lukow was a very pretty town. There were two churches, two grammar schools, the 22nd Riflemen's Regiment [a unit of the army of the Second Polish Republic]. It was a lovely life! And Lukow was bigger than Radzyn. In Radzyn you had to walk nine kilometers to the [train] station, but in Lukow there were two stations, one for Lublin and one for Warsaw. I often went to Radzyn by bus to visit my grandparents. Ma would go to the driver and tell him to throw me off in Radzyn by the church.

There were different youth organizations in Lukow: Shomers [see Hashomer Hatzair in Poland] 3, halutzim, Shomeradats [Hashomer Hadati], Zionists, but no one in my family was interested in that. They had their own work. I sometimes went to Zionist meetings, but we didn't get out much, because there wasn't time. We had to work.

There were a lot of Jews in Lukow before the war. They had bakeries, and there was a Jewish slaughterhouse. The Jewish slaughterhouse was in this big building near the river. There were two slaughterhouses in the building: the Polish one and the Jewish one. The Polish part was closer to the river. But the slaughterhouses were separate: separate entrances and exits. If they did something wrong with the meat in the Jewish part and it wasn't kosher, they would give it to the Poles. And then they settled up with money. But normally everything had to be kosher. And on the right side the Poles slaughtered pigs and other [non kosher] animals. And all the blood flowed down into the river.

In Lukow, before the war, there were different sorts of Jews, like in every nation. I remember one Jew was killed by some other Jews. Why did they kill him? Because he split on some others. He was called Jojne Bocian, he was a party bloke - a communist. And once, the Polish police caught a few communists and put them inside, and Bocian was among them [during the Second Polish Republic, in the 1930s, the activities of communist parties and organizations were illegal]. Well, one of the policemen went to a tailor to have something done, and the tailor was Bocian's brother-in-law, Sliwka, his name was. This tailor asked him why they'd arrested Bocian, and if they could let him out. The policeman said that they could let him out, but on one condition: he wanted him to denounce the others. Bocian agreed and they let him out.

Bocian went to the [communist] organization and said that they had to have a meeting. He wanted the police to catch them. But the other people weren't stupid. They were surprised that he had been let out, while the others were still inside, and they worked it all out. They arranged a meeting somewhere in a field and sent someone to watch the site. And one of them was there and saw the police come but that Bocian wasn't there and the others weren't there either. And then when Bocian asked why they hadn't had the meeting, they said that they were going to have it another time. And Bocian told the police again. When he was sitting with his parents and his brother-in-law at dinner on a Friday evening, this guy from the party came to him and told him he had to go to Siedlce to do something. Bocian went by train. In Siedlce there was this guy standing in a doorway, and he told him to come up to him for instructions. Bocian went into the entranceway, and the other guy killed him. The next day his mother screamed: 'Help! They've killed my son!'

There were rich Jews too. Gasman, for instance, who was a cobbler, had a large firm, other cobblers working for him, and who built a big house. I didn't work for him, because the firm wasn't around any more in my day, but people used to talk about it. I just saw the house, this very big house. There were other rich Jews, mostly bakers. I remember there was one who lived near the bridge; he had a very big apartment. And when the kids were walking to school, whoever they were, Polish or Jewish, and stood in front of the window looking in, the baker would call them and give them a roll. 'I haven't got any money,' the child would say, but he just said: 'Eat up, eat up, your Ma will pay.' And whether or not she paid, he would give out the rolls either way. And his brother, Josel the baker, he was a teacher, and taught us Hebrew.

Life with the Poles was harmonious enough. We lived with them like brothers. They'd come to us, so we'd go to them, you had to. When my father died, the neighbors would come round to my mother and say: 'Neighbor, why don't you come round for some potatoes?' I still remember those neighbors' names: Chajkowski, Golaszewski. And when a Polish funeral was passing the Jews paid their respects too, and took off their caps. We didn't wear kippot on the street, you see, but caps or hats. But later on, when I was working and just going to evening classes, there were times when youths were out to beat us up, throw stones at us [in the late 1930s anti-Semitic feeling in the Second Polish Republic intensified]. The teachers didn't let us out then, so that they wouldn't throw stones at us.

It was only Poles that came to us with work - farmers, teachers. And when Dad made some shoes for this one Pole and Ma took them round, she took me with her, and when I got there I had to kiss his hand out of respect. And I'll tell you what else I heard, what they used to say: that back in the time of the Tsar there was this old Pole with a beard, Kaminski, who had 18 children. Well, when the Ukrainians wanted to throw the rabbi out of the window, he wouldn't let them throw him off the balcony. Well, I heard that when he died all the Jews went to the funeral.

The Kaminskis owned the cinema and the library, they were very rich. We rented our apartment off Kaminski's son. That son, Mietek, his name was, he had a bit of a limp. He was into stuffing birds and other animals. He wanted to take me hunting, but my mother told me not to go, because if I ran around I could get killed by a stray bullet. That Mietek rented apartments to lots of Jews, and if anyone couldn't pay, he didn't throw them out, he would just tell them to sweep the street a bit. Mietek's wife was the daughter of a chimney sweep, and very nice. They had two children. I used to go round to their house every day. Sometimes they'd send me out for something. Their children were younger than me, but I got on with them. Those were very good people.

I remember one other thing that happened, that was on Pilsudskiego Street too, the cinema was there and the club was there. This Jew, a dancer, was walking by the club, it was a Saturday, and he was going to the club, not to the synagogue. And another Jew, with a beard, was going to the synagogue, and two Polish army officers grabbed him. One grabbed the Jew by his beard and pulled it. And the dancer, oh he could fight, I saw what he did - when he head butted the one of them, the other officer ran away.

I remember that where we played there weren't any Polish children. We played ball [football] mostly. We played in a field, and the farmer would come and chase us away. Because he had sowed it and we were getting in the way and wrecking the field. There were a lot of children in Lukow. There was this one Jewish kid in Lukow, who went to the grammar school, an only child, the son of a rich painter. Well, he had those wheels on shoes [roller-skates]. The only one in Lukow! And I remember I used to go to the cinema, because my brother helped out at the cinema. One guy would let us in, and we'd sit there quiet as mice. Good films and all sorts there were. They'd screen banned ones, but I went anyway.

My grandparents and parents didn't go on vacation, but I remember that rich Jews did. Poles would let out their homes, sometimes even moving into the barn, because they were paid. There were places like that in the woods, three kilometers or so from the town. I didn't go away anywhere, just to family in Warsaw, Siedlce and Radzyn Podlaski.

After my father died I had to work. First I worked for this one master [cobbler]. I wanted him to give me another zloty, he wouldn't, so I moved on. To Mojsze Onikman. I worked there and my brother did too. I've got a photograph of us working together, with one other guy - Lajbele Bomstein. That Lajbele was denounced to the Germans by his own father! Lajbele met a girl somewhere; she was escaping and hiding from the Germans. Lajbele found a Pole and hid the girl with him, threatening to kill him if anything happened to the girl. Later on he hid there too, and some other people as well. His father found out where he was and split on them all. They killed the whole family and all the people hiding there. A father split on his own son!

After that - this must have been in 1936 - I came to Warsaw, to my uncle [Aaron Konski]. I remember he said: 'There's so many hungry mouths around here there'll be enough for another one!' And off he went. Went off there and then, and found me a job. I stayed there until the war. Ma, my sister and my brother knew where I was, because I'd left home to earn some money. I lived with my uncle, at 20 Twarda Street. We lads all slept in one big room, my uncle and aunt and their daughter in the other. There was this bed, big enough for five people. And in the workshop was the kitchen and my aunt made dinner there and she'd argue with me for not coming in for dinner. My uncle was a tailor for the army and once, I remember, Edziu the neighbor came round, a Pole, and wanted to learn to be a tailor. And my uncle asked his mother: 'Do you agree? Edziu wants to be a tailor.' And she says: 'Yes.' 'Well then, so be it,' said my uncle, and from then on Edziu got dinner. And later on, that Edziu came to my cousin's funeral; I was there too.

When I lived in Warsaw I didn't have any contact with the Jewish community, I didn't go to the synagogue, just straight home from work. We didn't work on Saturdays, so I would go to these unofficial beaches to swim [on the bank of the Vistula], and the police would chase us. That was in Praga [a district of Warsaw]: young people, students used to meet up there, on Zamenhofa Street. I worked first of all on Panska Street - my uncle got me the job - then at 49 Mila Street, and then at 12 Zamenhofa Street, by the passage - there was this passage there to the other side [of the street]. And the youths used to meet at 26 Zamenhofa, all our youths [Jews]. There was this spot there, where people would meet, talk about this and that, just young people. That was a to-do, it was great.

I went back home right before the war. In 1939, in September or October, I and my brother Abram escaped into the woods. It wasn't easy, you had to hunt for food, and keep your wits about you, and you had to be careful with other people in the woods too. After that we slipped over to Brest [see Annexation of Eastern Poland] 4. In Brest it was a bit different. In Brest they did a round-up and shipped me off to Belarus, to Gomel, and there I worked in a factory, Selmasz. It had belonged to a Jew, that factory. I did whatever work they gave me to do there: I worked the thresher, the chaff. I lived with this family in a Jewish woman's house. I asked the foreman to give us some coal to burn. They gave us fuel, but she burnt it for herself and not for us in our apartment, so I got out of there right then.

By then the Germans were rounding people up [in June 1941 Germany attacked the USSR], and I escaped by train to Kurgan, out there it was Russian. There I worked as a cobbler. I wasn't in uniform back then. Later on the Russkis [Russians] were scouting for the army and they sent me to Chelyabinsk, to an aluminum factory. That was when I got separated from my brother, who got sent elsewhere. In Chelyabinsk I worked on a building site. And I said to the foreman: 'I'm a cobbler.' So he said: 'Go and get your tools, you can repair shoes.' But I didn't understand Russki [the Russian language], didn't understand that you had to get a permit to leave, so I got on a train to Kurgan and off I went. I don't remember where they caught me, it might have been Alma Ata or somewhere else, but they hauled me off the train and they were telling me I had escaped from the army. And after that they ferried me around, I can't remember where the court was, somewhere in Russia. I didn't understand anything, they were all speaking Russian. I got the death penalty, that's all I understood. But just afterwards they kept me in prison - I don't remember where or how long. Later they changed my sentence to ten years' labor - I'd learnt a bit of Russian, so I understood that.

When they'd changed my sentence they shipped me out to Nizhniy Tagil, to a camp, and turned me out into the middle of nowhere. Starved as a dog I was. Frozen hands. I even slept in my clothes, had nowhere to lay my head. After that they built barracks and we slept in our clothes there too, as they didn't heat them. One camp commandant came out from Moscow and gave an order that they were to hand out mattresses. Once I started working there, this naradchik [Russian term for an official in a labor camp] came along and said: 'You're going to Moscow. You're going to work and from there you can get home.' He was a Jew, he was in the camps too, but he was a naradchik.

And I went to Moscow. In Moscow I worked in a camp, as a cobbler. They brought work down from the Kremlin and then sent it off to the front. We were mending shoes. About 30, 40 people worked there. I was strong then, always got what I wanted. Once, it was a Sunday, I remember, we went to the kitchen to eat. I sat down, and opposite me Ivan Gadzhuk [another prisoner] wanted to sit. He could have sat down, there was space, but he wanted to sit where somebody else from the gang was already sitting, an older guy. And he [Gadzhuk] was a strapping guy. And Gadzhuk tells the old man to get up and make room for him. The old guy, like old people do, got up slowly, Gadzhuk pulled the bench out, and the old guy didn't make it, and he fell over. So I say to Gadzhuk, 'Ivan, happy now? Do you have any honor?' And he starts insulting me. Then he grabbed the bench, pulled a leg off it and threw it at me. I picked the leg up, went over to Ivan, and gave it to him on the head, grounded him and kicked him all I could. He had his boys, but none of them came over because they knew I was right.

That night I was afraid to sleep, because Gadzhuk could have come. So I put a cupboard up [against the door] and I had this big knife. I slept all night and in the morning we went to work. The women working in the office went to the director and told him everything, that Mishka, that's me, had a brawl with Gadzhuk. The director came to me then and asked whether I couldn't have sorted it so that Gadzhuk wouldn't come to work any more at all. That's what the director said!

All of us in that plant had to make quotas [quantity of work performed in relation to the average per employee according to a plan imposed from above]. And I made the biggest quotas and that saved me. 400 percent, 450 percent I could do, day in, day out, and I had a good reputation. They set store by those quotas. That reputation saved me. There was an amnesty for the Russians, and I got counted as one of them. They'd read in my papers that my town was Lukow, see, and out there near Moscow was Wielkie Luki, and I came home as a Russian. That was in 1946.

Practically all my family was killed in the war. I don't even know which year my Ma and my sister died. My brother Abram survived: he was in Russia too, and then in Romania. There he met his future wife, a Romanian Jewess. Straight after the war they went back to Russia together. From Uncle Konski's family everyone was killed, only one was left - my cousin Szlojme, or Stanislaw Konski. They died in Warsaw; I don't know how he came to survive. He'd have told me, but I didn't ask. Back in Brest [in 1939], I met that other cousin of mine, Zilberman. He said: 'I've got to go back to Ma, because I left her behind.' He went back to his mother and he died too; they died together. Her name was Sonia. From Ma's family they all died except Uncle Mojsze Sosnowiec. He lived the war out in Russia as well.

When I went back to Lukow I remember that some people came round asking if I wanted to help take ours [the corpses of Jews] out of the Catholic cemetery. I went to the grave, opened it up, and we dug out three men and two women, and took them to our cemetery. And this Pole, Mr. Cholocki, when he met me, he gave me a photograph of the Germans finishing off Jews wearing prayer shawls. He'd hidden to take the photograph, sat up in a tree. He gave it to me, didn't want anything for it. I gave it to some other Jews who were emigrating. 'Here you go,' I said, 'this'll come in handy abroad.' I met the church organist in Lukow too, Schiller. He said to me: 'Give us a hug! Come here, I'll tell you everything. The Germans came round to his father during the occupation and said: 'You're coming to work with us.' And he shook his head: 'No!' So they killed him on the spot - him, a German himself. He would always grab me by the ear. There are all sorts of people in every nation. I can't forget that Schiller, he knew me, see.

When I got back to Lukow I started working straight off. They gave me somewhere to live; I had a place to lay my head. And I'd still be there, in Lukow, to this day if it weren't for this one Jew, who took me in. Borrowed a few coins off me and said: 'Come on, we'll go West.' And off he went, first of all to Warsaw. I chucked everything and went after him, first to Warsaw, and then he says: 'How can I go anywhere - the wife ill, the kids ill.' I could have stayed there at his place, but I didn't want to, he'd already had me once. And I went off to Dzierzoniow. And that rogue came to Dzierzoniow from Warsaw to sell things. He brought some chocolate. And I took my money back then. You see, he asks me if I want to buy some chocolate, so I say yes, that he should leave it, and I'll pay him when he comes back. And that's what he did, left some chocolate and went off. Then he came back and wanted his money. So I said to him, 'You only took me in once, I'm not being had again!' Because he had borrowed some money off me and not given it back to me. He thought I'd forgotten. But I outwitted him.

I went to Dzierzoniow with my wife, Chaja, nee Sznajser. I'm Sznejser and she's Sznajser -that was a laugh. We came back from Russia to Lukow together, and then went to Dzierzoniow, where our first son, Dawid Berek, was born on 10th February 1947. Well, I worked in a co-operative there, as a cobbler, and Uncle Mojsze came to see me, my mother's youngest brother. During the war he'd been in Russia too, and then he lived with his wife and children in Legnica. And he took me to Legnica. There, in Legnica, Chaja and I got married, got all the papers. We just put our names down in the municipal council. We went, we and our witnesses, and that was all. We didn't have a wedding in the community before the rabbi; at the time no one went to the community. I saw weddings like that before the war, under the chuppah, and with all the family. My uncle Mojsze Sosnowiec had a wedding like that, only I can't remember where.

I worked for that uncle of mine, he was a cobbler too. My uncle gave us somewhere to sleep, a tiny place, just me and the wife there, and the oldest boy, he was just a baby then, in a pram, a few months old, see. And then I found an apartment and it was all right. After we had two more kids: my son Szama was born in 1950, and my daughter Syma in 1952.

After the war my brother Abram came to stay with us in Legnica, with his wife. At first they lived with us, I gave him a separate room, and later he found another room and went to live there. Two years he was here and then he went to Israel. I never thought of going there. I wanted to stay here. This is my country.

After the war there were a lot of Jews here in Legnica. The synagogue was on Chojnowska Street. I used to go to the synagogue on the holidays. I didn't go on Sabbath. There were lots of people, see, and sometimes I was at work. Now on Saturdays I go to the synagogue, well, got to help keep the ten up [the minyan]. I know how to pray: I've got my prayer shawl here too, and I put it on, but not all of it, because I've forgotten it now. Back then there were lots of people. There was a synagogue and a SCSPJ club [see Social and Cultural Society of Polish Jews] 5. I went to both. I always went to the SCSPJ on an evening: we'd come, play dominoes, and there was a buffet bar. Life was different - lively; we'd go to the club, to the park, once in a while to the cinema. The club was on Nowy Swiat Street. You could go every day of the week. They'd have an act come in and play; there was a Jewish theatre. The theatre was on Nowy Swiat Street as well. They'd come from Warsaw, from Wroclaw; the shows were in Yiddish. There were Poles that sang in Yiddish there too. One time they came up from Wroclaw, and I said: 'Listen up, I'll sing you a song, but without the piano, so everyone can hear.' And I sang for them, and they clapped.

On the holidays they would organize something in the synagogue, but it was the same folk who came here to the club. And there were Jews who didn't go to either, didn't want to let on that they were Jews. But I went to the club from the beginning; I never thought of letting it go. You can't change what you are. A man who changes is a good-for-nothing. Because he'll change all the time. But I will always be who I am, what's the point of going round lying? I can't, that's my nature. My kids are the same. My oldest son was called Dawid Berek, after my father and my granddad from Radzyn, and my second son Szama, after my other granddad - Szymen, and my daughter Syma too.

Here in Legnica everyone always knew, and still does, that I'm a Jew. I've never really had any problems. On Kartuska Street, where my workshop is, everyone knows me well. I tell them, 'That's who I am, and I'm not going to change.' People who know me call out to me from a long way off. There's this one Pole who's been going mushrooming in the woods with me for 40 years. 40 years, and he won't go with anyone else, only me! It was he who taught me to pick mushrooms. Like a brother, he is; once I needed him to go for my daughter to Swinoujscie [a Polish Baltic port], because she was coming back from Denmark, so I ask him if he'll go, and all he asks is when. I told him 'today', so he got straight in [his car] and went. He's known me so many years and to this day he comes into my shop every day. He came to have his shoes mended once and we got talking. And it's 40 years now.

I belonged to the party [the Polish United Workers' Party] 6, but I never sold anyone. My boss said: 'You have to inform.' But I said no. He didn't really want me to, see, he just wanted to know what kind of a guy he was dealing with.

Later on I worked in a Jewish co-operative, it was called Dobrobyt [Prosperity], my uncle worked there too. It was a Jewish co-operative but there were Poles working there as well: cobblers and boot-makers, they made bags there too. Then they changed the name to 'Kilinskiego'. I worked there until 1960, until Gomulka closed it down. My uncle handed in his notice and went abroad: first to Israel, and from there to America. But in 1960 I opened my own place and I sat and made shoes.

In 1968 I remember that it wasn't much fun when all that fuss reached us in Legnica. It was just Gomulka's work [see Gomulka Campaign] 7. Well, not his on his own, but the organization [the Polish communist party, PZPR], but he made the most noise: 'All the Moszkes [Moses] to their dayyan!' And I sent my children away. I said to them, 'What can you do? Go.' I thought that they would have a new place there, that perhaps they'd make a place for us. My son Szama went to Israel and my daughter Syma to Denmark. I thought that one day the wife and I would go to live with one of them.

In Israel Szama went straight into the army. Almost straight away he was injured and went to stay with family, my mother's cousin, Icek Kopciak. (The Kopciaks had left for Israel earlier, and before they left they had lived in Legnica too. Icek worked in a co-operative, Model, where they made hats). But there in Israel Szama didn't want to stay with them. One day Kopciak's wife put some food out and he ate a lot. Szama was very ill, but he didn't say anything to her. And she went to her husband, who was in the garden, and told him that Szama had eaten a lot. And the window was open and he heard. And right away he wrote to me, 'Dad, I'm not going there again.' And after that I didn't have any more news from him. I just found out in a letter that he had died, and that he had left a few zloty. Well, I could at least have written back and told them to put up a headstone in the cemetery, but I didn't think, and I didn't do anything.

Syma got married in Denmark and her married name was Gertner. She was in contact with the Jewish community there. She lived with her husband and her mother-in-law. I went to stay with them. The mother-in-law was a Russian Jewess, not a very nice woman. When my daughter put food in front of me she looked kind of oddly. And then in 1993 my daughter died too. She's buried in Denmark in a Jewish cemetery.

I stayed in Legnica with Dawid, my eldest son. He didn't want to leave, because he didn't want to leave me. My wife died in 1986, right after the disaster in Russia [the April 1986 disaster at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant in the Ukraine]. She went out early in the morning, breathed in the air and that was it, at once. She died shortly afterwards. My son married here in Legnica. But then he threw his wife out. Because she told me that when she's in the kitchen she didn't want to see me. In my house! So Dawid threw her out. And they had a child, a son, Mariusz is his name. She taught him to be against his father. When Dawid wanted to talk to his son, he would run away. Then, when he got married, he didn't invite his father, and when they had a baby they didn't invite him either. It's only now that I'm in touch with him: he comes round from time to time, at last, after 35 years I'm a grandfather to him! All that was hard for Dawid. And he paid child support money for 18 years. In the end he died too, in 2002. I prayed for him for a whole year, recited the Kaddish. I've given my grandson a lot of things his father left, because Dawid was always buying things for him, even though he couldn't talk to him.

I carried on working. And I still work to this day, you have to live a normal life, see. And I miss Lukow, my town, life was good there. Not long ago this guy came in with a pair of shoes to repair. And he asks me whether I'm not from Lukow. Someone had recommended me, someone from those parts. He gave me the work. Other than that there's no work, but you want to chat. Sit and wait to die? You have to keep going.

Glossary:

Albert Eskenazi
Belgrade
Serbia
Interviewer: Ida Labudovic

My family background
Growing up
During the war
Post-war
My life in Israel
My return to Yugoslavia

My family background

I do not remember my paternal grandparents. My grandmother died three months before I was born, and my grandfather a few years earlier. My grandfather was Abraham Eskenazi and I am named Abraham, after him. Later we changed that to Albert. This is what they called me at home; however, in my first certificate from the Jewish elementary school in Zagreb, my name was "Abraham Eskenazi." When I was in the first grade of the gymnasium, when my Serbian language teacher, who liked me very much, called on other students to answer a question and they did not know, he would then say: "Let's go, Abraham, child of God." Otherwise, no one ever called me "Abraham." When I came back to Yugoslavia from Israel I had a problem with the authorities, so I officially changed my name from Abraham to Albert. I entered a request with all the details, because in my birth certificate it said Abraham Eskenazi. They told me that Albert and Abraham are not the same. But, I told them that I am now called Albert, and not Abraham. They allowed me to continue using the name Albert, but Abraham remained written in the registry.

My paternal grandfather was a lawyer in Bjeljina. He lived there. He was Sephardi. He observed the traditions. He was not Orthodox, but like the rest of the Jews from his generation, he observed the holidays, went to temple and socialized with others. It was not a ghetto, but all the Jews, especially from smaller places, socialized in the communities or at the holiday parties for Purim, Hanukah. At that time, there were about 150 Jews in Bjeljina. The Jewish community organized cultural activities and people gathered there, not only on holidays but during the rest of the year, when there was a lecture or a guest. They were very close. All the Jews were from the middle class; maybe there was a group who were poorer, maybe 20 percent, most likely those who were tradesmen. But Jewish solidarity was well-known, and our fellow citizens looked upon this with envy. Rich Jews helped the poorer ones, and it was not just with alms but with substantial help for their children - clothing and shoes. During the holidays, the children would get all they needed from the richer members of the community. I do not remember if there was anti-Semitism there, as I do not remember it in the whole of Bosnia.

My grandfather was buried in Bjeljina. His daughter went there after the war went to visit his grave, but she could not find it. The Jewish cemetery had been dug up.

My grandfather had three daughters: Vikica, Perl and Heda. All of them were born in Bjeljina. His first two sons, Michael - known as Mikica - and Jakov - known as Jakica - were born nearby in Brcko. Since there were no descendants there to maintain and visit the graves, the graves were dug up and new gravesites were made from them. After my grandfather's death, my grandmother moved to Slavonski Brod. I do not know how she managed; most likely, she received her husband's pension. As far as I know she was a housewife. She was not employed and she lived there until her death in February 1929. I was born in June of that year but she had died three months earlier.

I remember my maternal grandparents. My grandfather was a rabbi for the whole area of northern Bosnia. My grandfather was born in Bosnia but I cannot remember where. Together with his brother, Nisim Kabiljo, he went on pilgrimage to Palestine around 1890 and there two things happened. My grandfather met my grandmother, who was born in Palestine, they married and had their first four children: three sons and one daughter. My grandfather went back to Bosnia, and had another seven children. His brother remained in Israel where he made a big family. He was no longer known as Kabiljo, but rather Haviljo, which became a famous name in Jerusalem. In the center of the city there is a Haviljo Family Square. They were producers of candy, halvah and sweets. Theirs was the first big factory and it operated for a long, long time. When I came to Israel I went to the factory. The halvah produced by Shmuel Haviljo was well known and they were famous for it. After his death, the city of Jerusalem decided to name a small square in the center of town Haviljo Family Square. I have seen this street sign. Their grandchildren still live in Israel. They were real Israelis. One, Shlomo Haviljo, was a colonel in the Israeli army; another was Avram Haviljo, he worked as a diplomat; a third, Mose Haviljo, worked in the factory. Shmuel Haviljo hired several Yugoslavs who came to Israel as part of the first aliya because his father, Nisim Haviljo, was of Yugoslavian descent.

Growing up

I was born in Slavonski Brod. My parents lived in Bosanski Brod, but there was no maternity hospital, so they moved to my grandmother's and lived there. Then my sister was born 16 months later, on October 20, 1930. Today, when I want to joke with Bosnians, I tell them that I am not a Bosnian. A large bridge spanning the Sava River separates me from Bosnia. You are on one side, and I am on the other in Slavonia, a Slavonian. Life and circumstances made it so that I do not even remember my birth place, as I was not even 2 years old when we moved to Zagreb. I saw Slavonski Brod when I was 35. I went to Slavonski Brod with my mother and she showed me where she used to walk with me in my carriage, and where we lived. I do not remember what our house looked like, but I know that the street was called Trenk. Trenk Street exists today, named after the Croatian baron, Trenk.

Because of the war, when we fled Zagreb in 1942, for Mostar, I had to go through Slavonski Brod and Sarajevo. We spent a whole night at the station waiting for the train in Slavonski Brod. I spent the whole night at the station and did not manage to see my birth place.

My parents met in Derventa. My maternal grandfather had a manufacturing workshop there where he sold all sorts of things. The two saleswomen in the store were his two daughters: my mother and her sister. I do not remember what brought my father to Derventa or how long he remained there. He fell in love with my mother and she with him and, according to custom, they received their parents' blessings and married in Doboj on August 10, 1925. I do not why they married in Doboj. I was born four years later. Their first child died during birth. My father worked for a Jew as a traveling salesman supplying materials and scraps of material. They sold everything in bundles, which his boss obtained in Zagreb, where he had a big warehouse. My mother was a housewife and never worked.

I started school in Zagreb when I was 6. I went to the Jewish school, which at the time was well known and experimental. All the Jewish children went to this school. It was called the Jewish Elementary School. The school had four grades, then there were four grades of lower gymnasium and four upper grades. It was lovely, as school children we went to temple on Fridays two at a time in the morning. The temple was close to the school. The school was in the Jewish community building. Today the Jewish community is still in the same place. In the Jewish elementary school we had religious studies and Hebrew lessons, in the third and fourth year. The teachers were named Martin Mozes and Greta Vajs. I started to learn my first letters and words in Hebrew in the school. I did not know that I would live so many years in Israel and that I would teach and translate Hebrew one day, but that is when I started.

My mother's father was a rabbi and his two sons also learned to be rabbis, although they never worked as such. One was named Samuel and the other Moric Kabiljo. They knew everything that a rabbi needed to know. In addition to being a rabbi, my grandfather was a shochet, and he circumcised newborn male babies. He circumcised all his male grandchildren born before 1941, including me.

I do not know why, but my maternal grandmother and grandfather moved from Sarajevo to Zagreb in 1939. They probably made this move because they had a daughter, my mother, there who could take care of them because they were quite old and sick. Their other children who had made something of themselves also helped them. The second-eldest son, Jozef Kabiljo, had a big information bureau in the center of Belgrade. David Kabiljo, the eldest son, was a successful merchant in Prijedor. Moric was a merchant in Derventa. The others worked in someone else's firms. Two of them worked for Jozef.

I remember when they moved to Zagreb. I went with my mother and father to their place. They changed apartments twice. Whenever I went to visit them, my grandfather sat on the couch and prayed. He had big and small prayerbooks, and whenever I went there he was praying. He spent several hours a day praying or reading, but his reading was like his praying. He knew a lot of things by heart. He had an enormous amount of books. My grandmother took ill and died at the end of January. It was a nice funeral with all her eight sons and two daughters there. Their eldest daughter died from diabetes problems in Belgrade, before her mother.

All of my grandmother's eight sons married Jewish women, even Sephardi women. I do not think there was an Ashkenazi woman among them. All three daughters also married Jews: My mother married Eskenazi, another Kraus, and the third Altarac. At the time it was possible for everyone to find their own mate and our elders and parents wanted their children to marry Jews, which after World War II was impossible. All were dead, disappeared.

Our entire childhood in Zagreb was fully involved in Jewish activities. My sister and I went to the Jewish school, and were active in all events. We had religious studies and Hebrew language lessons. When we entered the gymnasium, religious studies was part of the curriculum. There were two of us Jews and one Evangelist; we went out during these classes and played football. But we went to Bible once a week with our rabbi, Samuel Romano. Every half-year, we needed to get a stamped certificate stating that we had been to religious classes, and our grade was entered into the certificate.

We were a poor family. We lived in an apartment that did not have its own bathroom; we used the bathroom in the hall. We were the only ones who used it, but it was not in our apartment. We lived very modestly, and my sister and I received help from rich Jews who had shoe, coat and clothing stores around Zagreb. When there was a holiday, we would go to their stores and receive a coat, shoes. They took care of the poor children. There was a time when we could not even pay the rent. The rent was 200 dinars monthly, and my uncle, who lived in Belgrade and who was rich compared to us, sent 200 dinars every month to pay our rent. What my father made was enough to feed us. 

During the war

World War II arrived. The Germans came to Croatia. They created and installed their own authorities, and with them came the Ustashe. Laws against the Jews were enacted. First they had to register, then that they had to hand over, their stores and property. Everyone who lived in a better apartment was evicted and slowly they were taken to camps. Once my grandfather was widowed he spent one month with one daughter and another month with one son, etc. He had two remaining daughters: one in Zagreb and one in Nova Gradiska. In November 1941 he went to stay with his daughter in Nova Gradiska because she still had not been deported. They said that those that lived in smaller towns might be saved. However, one day the Ustashe came and took my aunt Mirjam; Merjama, my mother's sister; her husband, Bernard Kraus; their children, Zlata and Jelena; and her elderly father. Zlata was older than me and Jelena was my age. They were all taken to the Stara Gradiska camp. From there, the women and children were taken to Djakovo. None of them returned.

My grandfather did not conduct services in Zagreb because he was already too old. He went to temple. There were two temples in Zagreb, one Sephardi and one Ashkenazi, which was enormous and was destroyed by the Ustashe in 1941. My grandfather demanded that all of his children - and this was not hard because they all listened to him and respected him - observe the Jewish tradition, practices, go to temple on the holidays, if not every Saturday and Friday evening. All of his children had to teach their children about Judaism from a young age, which we continued later in the Jewish school. I remember when my mother taught my sister and I the basic Jewish prayers. We still had not started school at that time. She would take us in her lap and recite Shema Israel, and we would repeat it a few times. After a few days we knew the Shema Israel. My mother - and even more so her brothers, two of whom had studied to be rabbis - observed the holidays at home. The two of them surely observed kashrut. From the earliest childhood, we received lessons in Judaism and knowledge about our roots. When we began the Jewish elementary school we received even more.

In Zagreb, Belgrade and other places, there was a Jewish youth society called Hashomer Hatzair - "Ken," which in Hebrew means "nest." There were social events; we had clubs for youth, students and children. Some of them were in the community's building, but most were in a special space. Ken and Hashomer Hatzair had a space in the center of Zagreb on Ilici Street on the second floor. There was a third Jewish group, B'nai Akiva. My sister and I went to B'nai Akiva for some time because we got the nicest cakes there, but I went to Ken before that. I hear that even today the children come to the club only to get Coca-Cola, cakes and snacks. That is almost equally as attractive as that which they learn in the clubs. I remember that we went because of the cakes, which were made by Jewish women who brought them to the club. This club was at the Kresimirov Square, which still exists today. We also had a very developed sports club called Maccabi. It was originally called the Zidovsko Gombacko Drustvo Makabi (Maccabi Jewish Gymnastics Society). Maccabi had a very strong table tennis section. Maccabi played in the Zagreb football league. We went twice a week for exercise, gymnastics. It was on the same street as the Jewish school. The hall was beautiful and it still exists. It made our day when we went to Maccabi. We had some famous, first-rate athletes in boxing, fencing, gymnastics and football. The table tennis player Herskovic was the best in the country. Leo Polak, the boxer, was first in the Balkans. A few years later, someone said he had been the best Croatian boxer of all time, even though he was a Jew. I met him when we were getting ready to escape in 1941; he came to the community to get his documents. My father introduced me to him: "Leo Polak, the famous boxing champion."

As soon as the war began and the independent state of Croatia was established, the persecution of the Jews began. They expelled us from all schools and faculties of the university. I remember that the director of my gymnasium called my mother and, in a very cultured way, he said that he unfortunately had to inform her that her son could no longer attend school, that he was very sorry, but that the order came from the government, and he asked her to please understand. I remember that he said: "There will come a time when they will be able to go to school again." Clearly, that referred to only those who survived, because 80 percent did not survive. My sister almost finished elementary school, but she could not enroll in the gymnasium.

Our community established a Jewish school so that we did not miss out on our education. This was in Zagreb. The school functioned very well. The professors were all Jews. There was one for Croatian-Serbian language, another for mathematics, handiwork, etc. However, since there were waves of deportations to the camps, every day there was one professor fewer or two students fewer. They would come to people's houses during the night and take them away to the camps.

In school, we celebrated Shabbat. We lit candles and sang songs. We did this until the school lost its sense, once 80 percent of the teachers had been deported, and maybe there was one left. One day Mikija was not there, they had taken him; Lee was not there, they had taken her.

My father was taken to Jasenovac on September 19, 1941. First he was taken to Stara Gradiska and then to Jasenovac. It is hard to know what was worse, to be in Stara Gradiska or Jasenovac - the camps were even connected. We stayed in Zagreb, and no one touched us. They took the Jews in two ways, sometimes the whole family and sometimes just the head of the family. When they took my father, they took only the men. However, two months later, they came after the women and children as well. We were not at home. I remember the details. We heard that the next day they were going to deport all the Jews whose last name began with K. We had relatives named Kon. That morning my mother went with us to the Kons, who did not live far from us, to tell them what we had heard and to hide. My mother drank coffee with them, then we went back to our apartment where our neighbor told us: "Mrs. Eskenazi, run away; they are looking for you. Hide until this passes." We hid for a few days with relatives, he was a Jew and she was a Catholic and was in some way protected. Afterward, we hid with a Croatian family we knew from when we had lived on Sava Road. Then we hid with a Moslem waiter who knew my father. My father had gone to a café where he worked; his name was Fajko. He hid us with his wife. At some point my mother lost her nerves and patience and said: "No one is going to hide us any longer. We are going home and whatever is the fate of the others will be our fate as well."

In the meantime, my uncle came from Derventa. He had done so much for the economic development of Derventa and the region that he received Aryan rights. It was the rare Jew who was rewarded for his involvement in Croatian causes, culture, architecture. The Aryan rights would protect them, or at least they believed these would protect them. However, my uncle along with his entire family was captured, put on a train and taken to Zagreb. At the Zagreb station, they waited to be sent someplace else. We raced to the station to see them. Then something unexplainable happened - they were sent back to Derventa, and it was clear to my uncle that they must flee before they came for him again. They came to Zagreb. They hid in our apartment while they prepared papers to flee. The destinations were between Mostar and Split, because the Italians were there. Their papers arrived and luckily they arrived in Split. My uncle's Croatian assistant from the store followed them to Split to make sure that they arrived safely. His name was Marko Covic. Indeed, they did arrive safely. They fled further, for Argentina, and my other uncle from Belgrade had successfully made it to Split, so they had money and gold to bring with them.

Before they went to Argentina they sent my mother, sister and I false documents. These said we lived on Brac, and that the children were being treated for an illness in Zagreb, and they were now returning to Brac through Sarajevo and Mostar. The goal was to get us to Mostar. Marko Covic followed us as well, to be sure that we arrived in Mostar. Mostar was the destination for the majority of Bosnian Jews from Sarajevo and western Bosnia. All those who were able to reach Mostar were saved. There were two or three families there from Zagreb.

There was a Jewish community in Mostar, which had its own kitchen, where we received two meals a day. However, because of some agreement with the state of Croatia, the Italian authorities had to hand over Mostar to Croatia. The Italians knew that as soon as the Ustashe enter Mostar, they would come after the Jews first. So, the Italians organized to have us transferred to an island that remained under Italian authority.

We were transferred from Mostar to Jelsa Island, then to the city of Hvar. We had our own kitchen in some deserted hotel on Jelsa. The women organized themselves, and we had a stove and wood from the surrounding forests. We children collected oak-apples. Every seven days the Italian authorities gave us sugar, flour, pasta, parmesan cheese and jelly, according to the number of members in a family. Each adult had to register at the police station every day. After Jelsa, where we were for three or four months, we were transferred to Hvar where we were put up in five hotels, which were empty because there was no tourism. We were in Hotel Slavija, which had a wonderful owner named Tonci Maricic, who gave us everything. He left us alone to organize ourselves and he solved all the problems. The Italians paid for this, but what was important was how he treated us. After liberation, many people visited him and he came to Sarajevo and Zagreb. This friendship lasted as long as he lived.

Then the Italian occupational authorities decided that all Jews who were on Hvar, Korcula, Lopud and Kuparij should be transferred to Rab. On Rab there was a camp where Slovenes lived before, under terrible conditions. Half of the camp was comprised of brick buildings and the other half of barracks. The camp was surrounded with multi-layered thorns, wires. When we saw this, we realized this was a real camp, with wires. Later we realized this was neither Jasenovac nor Auschwitz. We were organized. We had a big kitchen; we organized cultural life. There were pianists, actors, doctors, lawyers and other experts among us. We children were divided by age. The elder ones worked. As children, we did not feel camp life. We were so small and we were able to go swimming every day. There was one Italian guard for all 100 of us.

My mother was employed in the tailor shop that made uniforms - not new uniforms; they repaired used ones. She worked seven hours in this tailor workshop and the prize was one loaf of bread. My mother worked for that, so that we would have a little more bread, for the growing children. We could withstand all of that - until the Italians capitulated. The Italians were anxious to do this because they were never soldiers like the Germans. This is a nation that has a nice language, nice poetry, a nation that loves to love - but they are not warriors. Yes, their army did damage throughout Dalmatia, and certainly people were killed, but they were humane in their treatment of us, if one can say that. The Italians threw down their weapons, and the partisans came. In the camp itself, there was a partisan organization, which we children did not even know about. The partisans knew that we would be unable to hold the island much longer and, since they had already liberated us, they wanted to transfer us to more secure territory.

Post-war

We were transferred in groups to liberated territory by large and small boats. First we were sent to Lika and then to Kordun and the last destinations were the Banija in Petrinj, Glin and Topusko. We came to Topusko, where there were many deserted hotels and buildings, and we found accommodation there. Everyone had work. My mother worked as a cook and my sister and I took care of some baths. This was the spa at Topusko; there was a building with pools of warm water from nearby springs. We bathed every day and they called us the cleanest partisans, because partisans tended to have lice and only bathed once in a while. I became a courier, first in the command center in Topusko and then in the Zavnoh, the anti- fascist organization. This was the partisan authority for Croatia.

Zavnoh had its own management, technical and health sections, the partisans' future ministry. I was assigned to the management department, which was responsible for legislation. My boss was Leon Gerskovic, a Jew. He later became the third most-important person dealing with legislation in Yugoslavia: first was Mosa Pijade, then Kardelj and then Leon Gerskovic. When they transferred me to the propaganda section, where the mimeograph machines spun out materials, this started my love of printed things, of printing things. I was in this section of Zavnoh almost until the end of the war. When the Germans capitulated, Zavnoh was moved to Sibenik, liberated territory, as was the rest of Dalmatia. We were in Topusko for some time and then we transferred with some other command to liberated Zadar, for a month. One day the Zadarian whose house we lived in, a partisan himself, told us that our command was being transferred to Zagreb, which was already liberated on May 8, 1945. We all jumped on the truck. We parted ways at Hrvatski Karlovac, because military men could not transport civilians. We were transferred to a huge empty factory hall where we spent two days and where we awaited a freight train to Zagreb. We missed the train but another truck came with a covered tarpaulin. We jumped on. On the bridge over the Sava there were the guards who we had feared would not let us through. From the other side of the bridge, through which was the entrance to Zagreb, the sentries raised the flag, when they saw partisan hats they said, "Pass through." We got off with our luggage before the Zagreb Cathedral. We went to the first guest house, we asked the owner if we could leave our luggage until we found our relatives, and one told him that there were weapons inside so not to touch anything. The man responded: "Mister comrade, do not worry." It took them a long time to learn to say "comrade" instead of "mister." We found our relatives; it was a happy homecoming from the partisans. We hoped my father survived, but he did not return.

At the age of 16 I became employed in state service in the president's office of the Republic of Croatia, in the printing department, a continuation of the propaganda department from Topusko. The boss was the same, the staff new and then my mother went to the center of Zagreb where Tanjug was in the same building. We found my boss from the partisans who wrote a letter of recommendation for me: "Comrade Albert Eskenazi worked as a courier in the management board of Zavnoh. He is a lucid, reliable and hard-working young man, we believe he would be able to be of use for more important work - signed by the chairman, Nikola Rupcic." His wife, Ruza Rupcic, was my professor of Serbo-Croatian.

My friends from school returned to Zagreb within two or three months, some from Italy, some from Switzerland and some from the partisans. A cafeteria was opened in the Jewish community. The first and second floors, where earlier there had been a school and community offices, were for homeless people.

Because I went to work when I was 16, in the printing department, I was unable to go to the gymnasium on a regular basis. I started going to night school where I was able to pass two grades in one year. Every night I went to classes. I skipped the seventh year because I left for Israel.

I fell in love with the world of newspapers; I started to write for the main syndicated paper in Croatia. I wrote articles on sports and a column called "the voice of work." I started to feel great love toward this calling, and I had lots of material at my disposal as I could access the whole archive. I started to write articles in other Zagreb newspapers. I wrote for "Napred" and "Vjesnik." After two years in the printing department, the editorial office of the Belgrade "Borba" decided to print an edition in Latin characters in Zagreb. By phone and teleprinter, the text was copied in our department. I asked my boss to allow me to be a real reporter and to work in a real newspaper editorial room. From the first day that "Borba" began publishing a Latin edition in March 1948, I was transferred to the editorial room. I was the youngest reporter; I worked on cultural and sports columns.

My life in Israel

On May 15, 1948, Israel was declared a state, and preparations began for aliya. Whoever wanted to could sign up to go, except doctors and engineers, until 1951, when the five-year plan was finished. My sister went on the first aliya in December 1948. Two months earlier, she had married, and she went to Israel with her husband and his parents. I did not want to go, but my uncles in Argentina pressured us - after everything that happened, Jews could once again be declared guilty - and they persuaded my mother. In the meantime, my sister contacted us and told us that our relatives and the old- timers received her nicely. When she left she was already pregnant, and in June she had her first son.

I had work I liked very much and I lived very well; we had a nice small apartment. However, my relatives managed to convince us to leave, and my mother began to yearn for her daughter. We went to Israel in July 1949 - even though my sister wrote that we should not come because, "there you are a gentleman and here you will be just a worker." This did not bother me. I thought I would stay a little, learn about the situation and when I returned I would be a little expert on the Middle East. We traveled six days. In Haifa they sent us to the reception camp "Sent Lux." All of the people my age were immediately mobilized into the army, but since I came by myself I was not taken. From this camp we were transferred to another, closer to Jerusalem, so that we could be closer to my sister and our relatives. We were in these buildings another two or three months, but I still did not have work even though before that I had worked in the larger reception center in Bet Lit, in Netanya. One of our people who came on the same boat as me gave me a job. He was a professional cook and he got me work in a bar in Tel Aviv. I worked as an assistant in the kitchen and as a dishwasher for two months. Then we went to Jerusalem and found an apartment in the old part, a Jewish apartment in an Arab-style house. We had permission to bring all our things with us. Only those who had paintings had to seek special permission. The apartment had three rooms. Then I read in "Hitadut ole Jugoslavia" that a locksmith was looking for an assistant. His name was Laci Balok. I thought I needed to learn some trade. He had a workshop, we made keys, fixed stoves, made frames for doors. I worked almost a year with him and then I was advised to go into the army. I went in October 1950 and I came out in December 1952. After demobilization, I registered in Jerusalem. Again I did not have a trade, so I worked as a collector for a political party, until a friend of mine suggested that I learn a good trade that is valuable everywhere. It was zincography in the best printing house in Jerusalem, with Mihael Pinkovski, a Russian emigrant. We agreed that even though most trades are learned in four years that I would learn everything in two years because I was no longer young enough to be an apprentice. I did this until I left Israel.

In the meantime, I went to visit my relatives in Italy, Zagreb and Belgrade after nine years. In Belgrade, I visited my uncle's brother. We got along very well. Even though he was 15 years older than me, I respected him like a father. We were in the partisans together. I went to visit him for two days. One afternoon, an elderly couple came; they were his good friends Sandor and Ruzica Katan. An hour later, there was someone else at the door - a girl of 20 or 21 came in and moved toward my uncle's brother to kiss him. Being a miscreant, I asked her if she gave everyone kisses. She answered: "No, everyone who gets one from me must earn it." And that is how I met Sarina. I asked right away how the Jewish community was organized. At that time, Albi Vajs, the president of the federation, was giving a lecture. I went to the lecture, then we all went together to the theatre to watch "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof." The third day we sat in a nice pastry shop and ate cakes. At that point, I asked her if she wanted to marry me. I was sure she did not. She said she would and we decided to get married. I had to go back to Israel; she came once she had her papers in order. We were married in Israel.

My return to Yugoslavia

The whole time I was in Israel, I wanted to return to Yugoslavia. I made a request through the Yugoslav Embassy in Jaffa. A month later, a negative response arrived, stating that I left of my own free will. A condition for going to Israel was that we renounce our Yugoslav citizenship. Later I learned that the government sent all the ambassadors a circular letter not to accept returnees, because many wanted to return because of the hard life in Israel. I wrote a second request, but no one told me to go to Belgrade and find a connection there. My father-in-law was a driver for a general who was third in the hierarchy of the Yugoslav army, Vlado Janic. The general called the assistant minister for interior affairs and that is how we got permission to return.

I received work immediately in BIGZU in the department for zincography; there were not enough people who knew this trade. I remained there for 27 years; for the last 10 years I was a boss. In the meantime, I got an apartment. I had two children. I have five grandchildren. We live in a big house where each has his own apartment. After retiring I wanted to start writing, but my brother-in-law made an appointment with the then-president of the Jewish community, Jasa Almuli, to discuss the position of secretary. As soon as he saw me, he offered me the job. The $300 salary attracted me and, instead of staying two or three years, I remained for 10 years. After 10 years, I was tired and spent, and wanted someone younger to take my place. In addition, since I have been involved in Hebrew language for more than 50 years, I became a teacher of language and an official translator for Hebrew language, translating in both directions.

Since my return from Israel, 39 years have passed. I feel secure as a Jew. I never felt any anti-Semitism, even though everyone knows I am a Jew. My children also never felt anything in school. Here and there, there were a few situations, but the government very quickly punished those who carried them out. This is not strange since Serbs and Jews suffered together in the past, especially under the Nazis. Many Serbs even hid and saved Jews. This is very dear to me. It makes me proud and soothes me.

Sarra Eidlin 
St. Petersburg 
Russia 
Interviewer: Inna Gimila 
Date of interview: April 2002 

Sarra Eidlin is a short woman, very compact and dexterous, with lively, kind eyes and a very active face mimicry, which allows one to read emotions that she experiences as she tells her life story.

Her hands gesticulate earnestly when she describes this or that scene from her life.

She is friendly and hospitable and possesses an open soul and a warm heart.

It was a real pleasure for us to have this interview, because we established contact and understanding easily.

• My family background
• Growing up
• During the war
• Post-war
• Glossary

• My family background

I was born in 1914 in the town of Kherson in Ukraine, into a religious family. A beggar Jewish woman, called Sarra Leya, when she was dying, asked my grandmother to give a girl born in our family her name in her honor. My parents gave me the name Sarra in her honor.

Almost only Jews lived in our district. My mum lived with her parents, so during my childhood I learned all the Jewish traditions: I knew that nothing should be done on Saturdays; I knew how to behave on holidays and what traditions to observe.

My maternal grandparents were born and lived in the first half of the 19th century in Kherson. Grandfather Gersh Levit, born in the 1840s was a melamed, a teacher, and that's how he earned a living. He had a big thick beard and he was almost bald. He wore a high hat, a skull-cap and dark long clothes. I remember Jewish boys coming to our house and studying in a separate room. I could hear Jewish words and prayers. Grandma Feiga Leya Levit, who was also born in the 1840s, was a housewife. She was a very hospitable and kind woman. I don't know her maiden name or her background, she never told me and I never asked.

My paternal grandfather, born in 1840, lived in our house for several years. His name was Zalman Eidlin. There was a Jewish colony not far from Kherson, it was called Lvovo, near the small town of Kalinindorf in Kherson region. My grandpa and father came from that place. Grandpa Zalman lived with us after his wife died. I don't know anything about her. He was kind, did nothing, prayed a lot and read Jewish books. He was very old, and mum and grandma took care of him. He died aged 80 when I was four or five years old, in 1918 or 19. Our family had no pictures of him.

The elder generation and my parents spoke Yiddish to each other, but lived among Russians and Ukrainians, so they knew Russian pretty well, and spoke in Russian to the children as well. In 1920 my maternal grandparents celebrated their golden wedding anniversary. They had lived together for 50 years. All relatives, even poor ones, came to the celebration, collected some money and presented an expensive golden watch to grandpa and a black silk skirt to grandma.

My grandmother died in Kherson in 1922. My grandfather lived another 10 years after. Before he died he had made a voyage to several cities and visited his children, who lived in Odessa, Leningrad and Moscow. He was very proud of that trip of his. He died in Moscow at his daughter Khaya's place in 1932.

While Grandpa Gersh was alive, Jewish traditions were preserved in our family, but later on it slackened a lot: we celebrated holidays less frequently, forgot the prayers and the language. We weren't able to demonstrate our religious predilections under the Soviet regime [during the struggle against religion] 1. Religious people were persecuted; Russian Orthodox churches were blown up; economic warehouses were arranged in the Catholic cathedrals, and synagogues were shut down. People were intimidated.

We could gather in the family circle at home, but we couldn't openly advertise the celebration of Rosh Hashanah, for instance. I remember how, in 1923-1924 in Kherson, we placed and decorated a tent with branches in our yard and our family had lunch and dinner in it. It was Sukkot, the fall holiday.

Grandma and grandpa Levit had six children: Khaya, Volodya, Sonya, Boris, Fanya and Maryasya - my mother.

Their elder daughter, my aunt Khaya, was born in the 1860s. She lived for 94 years, married a native of a Lvov Jewish colony in the 1880s, a religious man called Gersh Kart. He was a sewing cutter and lived in Kherson by that time. Khaya was the most religious of all her sisters and brothers. While grandpa was alive she celebrated all the holidays with us. I remember it because my mum as the youngest daughter lived at grandpa's after she got married.

Aunt Khaya and Gersh Kart had four children: Bella, Vladimir, Boris and Malka. Their elder daughter Bella was born in 1904. Bella is my eldest cousin. She was born in Kherson, as were all Khaya's and Gersh's children. She left for Odessa in the 1920s to study at the Chemical and Pharmaceutical Institute. She didn't graduate from the institute because she married a native of Odessa from Peresyp 2, David Lvovich Katz. He was a commissar in the Kotovsky 3 division, which was located in Odessa after the Civil War 4.

After some time David was transferred to Berdichev, a town with a lot of military units. Bella had no complete higher education at that time, though she was rather well-read and was a good orator. Several years later David retired and was sent to one-year courses to become a construction company manager. After these courses he was assigned to Moscow in 1930. He worked in the defense narkomat [people's commissariat] and supervised the construction of defense fortifications in the east of the country. It was a secret construction.

Bella worked as an instructor at one of the Moscow party raykoms [district party committee]. She graduated from Mendeleyev Institute in Moscow and after that worked at Narkompischeprom [People's Commissariat of Food Industry] as Glavmargarin Manager, that means she supervised all the plants that produced margarine. When the war broke out David became head of a big construction trust, which was evacuated to Tashkent. Their family also moved there, they already had two children: a son and a daughter.

At the beginning of 1945 after the war ended their family returned to Moscow and David was designated a commander of a brigade, which dismantled electrical power stations in Germany under the Reparation Agreement 5. The dismantled parts were sent to the Soviet Union. Reparation meant something that the Germans, as the defeated, were supposed to deliver to our country under the Agreement. A lot was removed from Germany as the country, which lost the war.

Bella worked at the Promenergomontazh Scientific Research Institute as an engineer and retired after some time. She died at the age of 84 in Moscow in 1998. She was an atheist and a Soviet person, regardless of the fact that her mother Khaya was a religious woman. Bella's and David's son Marlen graduated from the Moscow Aircraft Institute and worked at Baykonur 6 during the time when the space-vehicle launching site was under construction and the first space flight took place.

He was irradiated severely and died of sarcoma in 1963 at the age of 40. He was my grand- nephew. Marlen's daughter Lina graduated from the Pedagogical Institute in Moscow and works as a mathematics teacher at school. She still works, though she is already retired. Her daughter Sonya, after graduating from the institute, also works at the same place. She also lives in Moscow with her husband Vladimir and daughter Sofia, who is fifteen years old. Both Lina and her daughter Sofia married Jews and remained Soviet non-religious women.

Khaya's and Gersh's second child, Vladimir, was born in 1906. He studied at the Odessa University. He died at an early age, approximately in 1922, during an appendix operation.

The third child was Boris. He was born in 1908. He was a construction engineer. He married a Russian woman in Kherson during his studies. His wife was considered the most beautiful woman in town. He had a daughter. Her name was Zoya. Before the war Boris was head of a construction trust in Stalingrad, where he was assigned after he had graduated from the Odessa Construction Institute.

Boris evacuated his trust from Stalingrad to the town of Yurga in the east of the country. An artillery plant, a whole town and a railroad station, Yurga-2, were constructed near that city under Boris's supervision. He was an important person, respected by everyone. After the war Boris worked in the town of Gorky at a plant in the position of head of a construction department. Later he worked at the staff of the Gorky gorispolkom [municipal administration, executive committee], supervising a construction department. In 1972 he was recommended for a State Prize with a group of engineers for the invention of unique construction tiles. He obtained the prize, which was very honorable. Boris died in 1990.

Khaya's fourth child is her daughter Malka, born in 1919. She finished a construction technical school in Kherson and moved to Moscow, where her parents had lived since 1930 with their elder daughter Bella. Malka, Malla in Russian [common name] 7 graduated from the part-time department of the Construction Institute and worked as a principal engineer at the Stalproyekt Institute until retirement.

After the war everyone had to exchange passports and the office employee offered to write Malla instead of Malka in her passport. Thus she became Malla. Malla lives with her daughter Tanya in Moscow, who is also a pensioner, and her husband Ilya. He is a Jew too. Tanya also graduated from the Construction Institute with an excellent certificate. She worked at a construction company too. They live a non-religious secular life.

Khaya's husband, Gersh Kart, died in Moscow after the war in 1949 or 1950. They were in evacuation in the Urals during the war. He didn't participate in the war, as he was too old. He worked at the Klara Tsetkin sewing factory as a trimmer. He cut out patterns. He was a wonderful tailor. He sewed a perfect coat for his daughter from a soldier's blouse pattern. They lived in Izmailovo district in Moscow.

It is so called because when Jews were allowed to live in big cities after the [Russian] Revolution of 1917 8 mostly Jews inhabited this district. When Tanya married Ilya, they exchanged their two-bedroom apartments for one four-bedroom apartment. Now they live near Rizhsky Railroad Station.

My uncle Volodya, mum's elder brother, was born in Kherson in the 1860s. He was married to a Jewish woman. Their whole family starved to death in 1921 in Kherson during the famine in Ukraine 9. They had an apartment in the center of the city and lived moderately, but his wife was a 'stinker,' as everyone called her, she was a bad housewife. It was always very dirty in their apartment and everybody blamed her for that. It was a real shame to have such a wife.

Volodya came to us and told my grandma and his mother and said, 'Bathe me, mum.' We had a zinc bath, into which we placed a samovar and the water was heated. Vladimir and his wife had four children. They all starved to death, except their elder daughter Sonya.

Sonya was born in 1900. She lived at our place in Kherson and studied at the medical school. Sonya stayed with our family. She had a wedding, which was called 'Schwarze Hipe' [chuppah]. There was a canopy; everybody walked around it, but there was no music, since Sonya was an orphan and an orphan was not allowed to have a merry wedding with music. At the end, though, a violinist was invited.

Everything was exactly as a Jewish wedding means it to be: everybody was dressed beautifully. However, later on Sonya and her husband didn't observe the Jewish traditions, deviated from religion and led a life of secular Soviet people. Sonya moved to Moscow from Kherson and got married there. She died in the 1950s in Moscow. She worked at a newspaper stand. She could not work as a physician because during her first operation she felt unwell at the sight of blood and ran out. Her husband was a Jew and worked as an engineer at a plant. He died in Moscow of an illness at the beginning of the war. They have a son, Vladimir.

My mum's next sister, Sonya, was born in the 1880s. She married Gersh Kontsevoy in Kherson. He worked as a seller in a kerosene-store. Sonya and Gersh had four sons and they were all born in Kherson: Motya, Isaac, Iosif and Zalman. After 1930 they all moved to Moscow. Actually, the whole Kontsevoy family left Kherson. Their elder son Motya, married a native of Moscow, Rosa, a Jewess, and lived with his family in the suburbs, at Udelnaya station.

Now this station is part of the city. They had two daughters, Valya and Sonya. Valya graduated from the Planning Economic Institute in Moscow and worked at the Gosplan of the USSR. Then she married a Jew whose name was Boris and moved to Kishinev [Moldova] with him, where he worked as a dispatcher at the railroad.

They have a daughter, Maya. Later Motya and Rosa moved to their daughter in Kishinyov. Motya died at the age of approximately 90. Rosa died in Kishinyov in the 1980s, several years before her husband. Currently Valya and Borya live in L.A. in America; they are retired. Their daughter finished a technical school and travels a lot: she has been everywhere in California and visited Ireland and Spain, too. She has been living in America for five years already.

Sonya, Motya's second daughter, graduated from the Pedagogical Institute in Moscow as a teacher for handicapped children, but never worked as such a specialist. She married a Jew, his name is Alexander, and moved to Lvov. She worked at a library there and retired there. Her husband had higher education, was in charge of an electricians' team, which put electrical power stations into operations. He worked in this position all his life. They have recently left for Germany for permanent residence. They don't know Jewish customs. They have a daughter who lives separately. They wrote to me that everything became more expensive with the introduction of the euro. However, she visited Venice, Italy, with her husband Sasha and were present at a carnival. It's almost impossible to describe their impressions! She wrote to me that she liked Venice but wouldn't like to live there. This is how she spends time in contrast to us, Russian pensioners. I, personally, as a war participant, have a high pension. But a lot of people, for instance, my daughter Maya, have a pension of $50 only, though she worked as a principal engineer all her life. We cannot go anywhere with this pension.

Lena, daughter of Sonya and Alexander, attends computer courses. She is an adult already and a mother of two children. Her wedding took place in Lvov in the palace of Earl Potocki. [Editor's note: Potocki, Valentine (d. 1749): Polish count martyred as a proselyte. According to legend, during his studies in Paris count Potocki once went to a tavern with a friend of his, also a young Polish aristocrat, and they noticed that the owner of the tavern, an old Jew was studying the Talmud. They asked him to teach them the principles of Judaism. Potocki converted to Judaism in Amsterdam and settled as a Jew near Vilna in Lithuania. He was reported as a proselyte to the authorities and was arrested. As he refused to recant, he was burned at the stake. So far no historical evidence for the story has been discovered, although it is generally believed to have been true.] Her mother had been saving money for a year to celebrate the wedding. The wedding was splendid. Not a Jewish one, but secular. She had such a magnificent wedding dress, that some rented it for their weddings later. She had two children, but she divorced this husband and left for Germany with a different man.

Yura, son of Sonya and Alexander, graduated form Nuremberg University in Germany, works now, and acquired German citizenship. The rest in the family were not able to receive citizenship. They still have Ukrainian passports and citizenship.

The second son of Sonya and Alexander, Iosif, lived in Moscow, where he moved as a boy. He married a Russian woman there. She was run over by a tram and died. Iosif worked as an electrician in Moscow. He wrote poems and some of them were published in Ogonyok magazine. When the war broke out, he moved to Yurga, to the north and joined his cousin Boris there, son of Khaya and Gersh Kart, in evacuation. Iosif worked there for the Svet Ilyicha newspaper and continued writing poems. When he retired he continued to contribute to this newspaper. He died in Yurga in the 1980s. He has a son, Volodya, who lives in Yurga. He works in oil fields now.

Sonya's and Alexander's third son, Isaac, was born in Kherson in 1910. He lived in Moscow, took part in the war and returned disabled. He lived in a communal apartment, since his relatives had left already. He got acquainted with a woman and raised her children. He didn't have children of his own. He died in Moscow in the 1990s.

Their fourth son, Zalman, was born in Kherson in the 1910s. He worked as an editor-in-chief for a newspaper, a House Organ at the Moscow watch plant. [House Organ: an informational newspaper, published at the enterprise for the purpose of keeping the employees informed about the life and events of their organization]. His wife was Russian. He didn't get evacuated during the war and perished there. His wife didn't want to deal with our family. I don't now why.

My mum's brother Boris, the fourth son of Gersh and Feiga Levit, was born in Kherson in 1885. His wife Klara was a Jewess. He sold quilted jackets from a tray at the market place. They lived in a rented apartment in a three-story house, as many of my relatives did. They moved to Rostov-on-Don [a city in the south of Russia] in the 1930s, as it was difficult to live in Kherson, and Rostov was a more lucrative and populous city. Boris went out of his mind in the 1930s and died.

Everyone lived on starvation rations. I remember how Volodya, who died, came to Aunt Khaya. He was a big guy but he was crying and it was a pity to see it: he had got the bread ration and had carried it under his arm. Some hooligans had robbed him of it and he couldn't protect himself. Everyone was starving then. I remember how we three children sat on the bed.

My parents were suffering from jail-fever or spotted fever, and they were under quarantine. They survived. My mother's brother Boris got ill before the war in 1941. He had some sanity problems and he died before the war. He and Klara had a daughter and three sons: Iosif, Vladimir and Mayorka. They remained in Rostov and didn't get evacuated. To be more precise, Klara and her daughter Manya stayed.

The Germans were in Rostov twice during the war. When our forces kicked them out the first time, the citizens threw flower pots on their heads from the windows. So when the Germans conquered Rostov the second time, they were very angry with the city. Klara, Manya and two children were put into a truck, which was called the 'mobile gas chamber.' People were murdered in this truck with gas. No one ever saw them again.

The two sons of Boris and Klara, born one after another, graduated from Rostov-on-Don University. The elder, Iosif, was assigned to a metallurgical plant in Nizhny Tagil. He had been working there as an engineer for many years. He died in 1992. The second son, Volodya, was drafted to the army in 1940. He was married to a Don Cossack woman, Alexandra. She is still alive and lives with her daughter in Moscow.

Volodya returned from the war holding the rank of colonel. He returned to Moscow and worked there at a military organization until he died. Their daughter Klara was named in honor of her mother. Klara is in Moscow. She married a Russian. His name is Alexander Mokhov. He is a colonel. He works now at the Ministry of Health. He has a very warm and kind attitude to our Jewish family. Klara works at the State Library.

The third son of Boris and Klara, Mayorka, graduated from an institute in Moscow and worked as a teacher in a technical school. He died at an early age. He had a Russian wife and had a daughter, Marina. She is very nice to us. She works now for the tax authorities in Moscow.

My mother's sister Fanya Georgiyevna, or Fani, was born in 1891. Fani finished a school in Kherson before the Revolution. They lived poorly. She even had to ask her rich classmates for the textbooks and they sometimes didn't let her in, asking to wait outside. After the Revolution she went to Odessa to study at the institute with her niece Bella. They were almost of the same age. Unlike her niece she graduated from the Chemical and Pharmaceutical Institute, married a Jew, Nisya Zelmanov. This aunt was very much respected. She wasn't extremely religious, but followed the kashrut, prayed, knew and tried to observe all Jewish traditions as far as possible. Her husband Nisya was in charge of a grain-collecting station; later it was called grain procurement station, 'zagotzerno'. The station was located in the suburbs of Odessa and Nisya started an apiary, a bee-garden, there.

Obviously, the famine wasn't as severe in Odessa as in Kherson, where we lived, because Aunt Fani sent us parcels with cereals. Nisya's brother lived in St. Petersburg. At the beginning of the 1930s Aunt Fani and Uncle Nisya moved to his place in St Petersburg. By that time she only had one son, Vladimir. They lived in a communal apartment 10 in the center of the city.

Their room was next to Nisya's brother in the apartment. Fani worked as a pharmacist in a drugstore and combined her job with managing a hospital-car, which checked the quality of food products at each station on the Murmansk railroad. She even planned to write a thesis. I keep a brochure of hers. This brochure was published by the Higher Medical Courses in 1935, called 'Sanitary analysis of foodstuffs and food.'

After Kirov 11 was killed in Leningrad in 1934, Nisya's brother - I don't remember his name - was put into prison as a Trotskyist 12. Then Feiga's son Volodya, who was a YCL [Young Communist League] member, went to the party organization and stated that his uncle had been arrested as an enemy of the people 13. However, he himself was exiled from Leningrad to timber- felling sites in the north, as a nephew and relative of an enemy of the people.

Volodya's mother solicited for her son's release, but as soon as she got a permit for Volodya's release, signed by Kalinin 14, she received a message that said that Volodya had perished in an accident: he had been hit by a log in the process of timber loading. This happened at the end of 1938.

Fani and Feiga died in 1958 in Leningrad. Fani's husband Nisya Zelmanov died in 1955. Nisya's brother disappeared in the place he was sent to. We never saw him again.

My mother, Maryasya Gershevna Eidlin, was the youngest among her brothers and sisters. She was born in 1895 in Kherson. My mother gave birth to me when she was nineteen years old. She finished four years at a Jewish school in Kherson. She liked to read. Her sister Fani hired a teacher for her, who came home and taught her. My mother was the favorite child in the family. She assisted her mother, with the household duties. Later she was a housewife. My mother was very religious, read prayer books aloud at home, attended the synagogue on holidays, observed all ceremonies. She didn't mix dairy and meat utensils, and she kept kosher.

My mother was a sick person. She had heart problems. She suffered a lot of miscarriages because of her health condition. When she was in hospital she was treated by a German physician called Berbayer. He wasn't able to cure her. Later this physician worked for the Germans during the war as a mayor. He appeared to be a bad person, tried to save his own skin. My mother died of loss of blood in Kherson in 1929 at the age of 39, when I was 15. Four children remained after her death.

• Growing up

My father, Yerakhmil Zalmanovich Eidlin, was born in 1880 in Lvovo Jewish colony near Kherson. However, this is not precise information. There was a time when my father worked as a handicraftsman. He was the only child in the family. My father walked on foot from his village to the synagogue in Kherson. He studied at cheder and left his village for Kherson to look for a job.

He was engaged in trade, but later on, when Uncle Gersh Kart taught him, he became a trimmer. My father rented a corner in a big four-bedroom apartment of my mother's parents. This was how dad met mum. They got married in 1913. They had a wedding with a Jewish chuppah. My mother took her husband's last name. I was born a year after they got married, in 1914.

I finished a seven-year Ukrainian school in Kherson. During the first two years of studies I had a private teacher, Olga Richardovna. She supplied us with writing-books, taught us to read and to count. My parents paid her for that. She was a secular woman. In 1923 I went to a Ukrainian national school and studied there until 1928.

I remember from my childhood how we celebrated all Jewish holidays at home: Purim, Pesach, Chanukkah and Rosh Hashanah. I lit lamps on Sabbath, I was a shabesgoy, as grandma called me and I was forgiven because I was just a small child. I remember how I lit candles with grandma. Grandma always cooked food for Sabbath in a stove, covered up the stove door with clay to prevent food from getting cold, and everything was served hot on Sabbath. We always had clear soup and peas, which were cooked separately. Stuffed fish was cold. It was before the famine [in 1930], and during the famine we ate porridge on holidays and on common days.

Besides this, I remember how grandma prepared for Pesach, how she burnt all breadcrumbs in the stove in a wooden spoon, everything was burnt together with the spoon. We also had Pesach utensils. A stone was made red-hot, we threw it into hot water to purify it, and thus utensils were prepared for Pesach. We only had a few special utensils at home. All the rest were baked [burnt].

We bought milk from a Jewish woman for Pesach. I remember how we hid matzah under grandpa's pillow. It was the custom [The interviewee is referring to the afikoman]. One of the boys was supposed to take it out, when he turned away. I remember Pesach 'fir kashes' [Yiddish], the 'four questions.' Certainly our boys, my brothers, did that. I was only present.

One had to drink four glasses of wine. Each time one took the glass, a little had to be poured out into the plate. We had six glasses on the table for five members of the family. The sixth glass was poured for Elijah the prophet 15 and the door was left open. The chicken was cut by a shochet at the synagogue.

We never had any Jewish pogroms 16 in Kherson. The Civil War didn't affect us. I only remember how we children were led to the cellar because of some military operations nearby. All grandfathers were buried according to Jewish customs. I don't remember how grandma Feiga was buried, but mum told me that grandpa endured starvation, kept the whole fast. I don't remember any other holidays, because it was a very long time ago. Some things I still remember and they appear in my memory like separate pieces of past reality, not like precise clear stories.

I remember how Feiga, my younger sister, was born. She was born at home in 1926. A midwife came to help my mother. She was paid for it. It was a custom in Kherson to give birth to babies at home. Nobody took a woman in childbirth to a hospital. I don't remember if there were gynecologists or maternity hospitals. I remember how my brothers were circumcised. There was a whole ceremony, but I don't remember it in detail.

Some people came. I also remember how at one of the cousin's, uncle Boris's son, Mayorka, a minyan was collected, for ten people to be present. I remember that there was a huge fish on the table prepared for stuffing to feed to the guests after the ceremony.

In 1928 I entered the Jewish Industrial Special School, but lessons were in Yiddish, so I wasn't able to study there. My mother tongue is Russian. I also know Ukrainian perfectly, I learnt German, but I don't speak it freely. I wasn't able to study at the Jewish school because I didn't understand many terms. I remember, when I was a pioneer, there was a Zionist organization in Kherson.

Our neighbor lived across the street. We were taken there for a meeting and were lectured - I don't remember about what. I attended this meeting maybe twice. They were children of approximately YCL members' age, and I was younger. There were Zionists in Kherson but I didn't participate in their activities.

In 1929, after my mother died, my father got married a second time. Aunt Khaya in fact married him off. Father remained alone with four children: Mordekhai, born in 1917, Volf, born in 1920, my sister Feiga and me. Mum's sister, Aunt Fani, was a very smart woman; she wrote letters to father after my mother's death: 'Don't seek a mother for your children, you won't be able to find any. Better look for a wife, you are to live with her!' But aunt Khaya found a woman. I don't know how she managed to do it. Her name was Anna Lazarevna. She was a Jewess. She took my father's last name. She gave birth to two children: Lena and Ilya. Their whole family perished during the war in Kherson.

Anna Lazarevna was able to tell my younger brother Volf, 'Go buy some bread in the store, school can wait.' She never loved us, father's children. They lived in dad's apartment and their life wasn't going right. Dad started to drink, though he had never drunk before. He was at the head of a sewing workshop at the Society of the Blind in Kherson. He was the only person with eyesight there.

He worked in administration and wasn't able to get evacuated when the war broke out. Their neighbor wrote to me later; her signature was crossed out, I think, by the military censorship: the signature and last line were snipped off. She wrote that 9,000 Jews and 6,000 Russians had perished. It wasn't possible to leave Kherson: the railroad was cut off and the ships weren't able to carry everyone, so father remained there. All citizens were taken out of the city, a ditch was dug out and people were executed. They all perished. My father perished too. It happened at the end of 1943 or the beginning of 1944.

I studied at the road construction school between 1929 and 1931. After finishing the school I was assigned to work as a foreman at the Jewish Kalinindorf district. A position of a foreman is much lower than a technician, who supervises the works. I worked at the administration of the executive committee and supervised the construction of bridge roads. In 1932 a party central committee resolution was introduced for all officials in charge to move to agricultural districts. I was authorized by the YCL and worked in a kolkhoz 17.

We got a message that Voroshylov 18 was planning to visit us. I was urgently summoned to Kalinindorf and we constructed pavements and decorated the city hastily. There was this drunkard technician, who was responsible for the sinking of the ferry that I was supposed to use for loading planting seeds. I was urgently summoned because of that accident. I had to figure out how to drag out the ferryboat. We pulled the ferry out and restored it. I was so nervous that I came to the rayispolkom [District Executive Committee] chairman and told him that I was leaving for home. I left for Kherson and finished short-time courses for estimators at a canned food plant. I counted how many cans the workers made, thus calculating their salaries.

Working at the plant, I simultaneously studied at the workers' faculty of the Odessa Water Resources Institute. This faculty assisted those who had no education to enter a higher school. We studied in the evening after work. Jewish traditions were out of the question - I was a YCL member, and religion was alien to YCL members.

In fall 1933 I was assigned to work at the machine-tractor station [MTS] according to the mobilization program of the YCL obkom [regional committee]. The Komsomol 19 members were summoned and informed about the necessity to participate in works for a year. I had this stepmother, Anna Lazarevna, so I left without demur. Total collectivization 20 was carried out and the kolkhozes were to be strengthened. I visited various villages, conducted seminars and taught people how to arrange Komsomol meetings. I was always an active member. I was also sent as an authorized member for sowing grain crops.

There was the editor-in-chief of a house body for the political department of the MTS, Weisman. He entrusted me with the production of Komsomol pages and dreamed about making me his secretary. But he was soon transferred to Kiev. I was left almost alone. The newspaper was signed by the political department deputy head; all the rest was done by me: I collected materials and printed everything. The newspaper was called 'For Bolsheviks' Kolkhozes.' In 1935 these political departments were shut down.

At the beginning of 1935 I moved to the town of Gayvoron in Odessa region. From then on I worked for the district newspaper, Put Communy. Later its name was changed. At first I supervised the mass department in the editorial office: wrote articles, taught new employees, rural reporters and conducted meetings. Reporters went to kolkhozes and brought me material for publication. Later I became the executive secretary for the newspaper.

In 1939 I became deputy editor-in-chief and in 1940 I was approved editor-in- chief for the same newspaper. I worked there until 1969, and then retired. There was no Jewish employee with the newspaper except for me. Everyone knew I was a Jewess, but I didn't feel any anti-Semitism at that time.

• During the war

My younger brother Mordekhai finished several grades in a Ukrainian school and worked in Kherson as a car and tractor re-fueller. When I started to work I took both my brothers to live with me in Gayvoron. Mordekhai worked at a machine-tractor station as a mechanic. He moved to Nikolayev in 1939 according to mobilization. He worked as a mechanic at the Andre Marti ship- building plant. [Andre Marti: leader of the French sailors' rebellion at the Black Sea; Secretary of the Comintern Executive Committee.]

Later the plant was renamed. Andre Marti seemed not to satisfy communists anymore. He worked as a foreman and had a reservation, which kept him away from the army, in spite of his call-up age. The country needed him at the home front. However, in 1940 he voluntarily joined the army and served in Roven region and in western Ukraine. In 1941 when the war broke out, they were bombed on the first day. The first and last message about him was that he was in Kiev in 1941. Mordekhai perished at the front.

My other brother, Volf, came to stay with me in Gayvoron in 1936. He finished a Russian secondary school there, left for Moscow and entered the Moscow Transport Engineering Institute. He was a final-year student when the war broke out. The institute was evacuated and he stayed in Moscow to participate in the defense.

When, in December 1941, the Germans were driven away from Moscow, he was sent to a tank school in the town of Vetluga in Gorky region to become an officer. He finished that school in 1943, studied for two years, and fell ill with meningitis. He was allowed vacation and came to visit me in Podolsk, near Moscow, where I was in evacuation. He stayed with me for a month. I insisted that he continue his studies at the institute. There was a Party and Government Resolution introduced regarding recalling final-year students from the front for the purpose of continuing studies.

His institute was in evacuation. I asked him, 'Did you write an application to say that you want to leave the front and continue studying?' He replied, 'What? How can I, a Jew, ask to be released from the army during the war?' He felt uneasy writing such an application, as he was a man of honor.

I remember how one man, standing on his knees, asked my Russian husband to go to the front instead of him. After some time Volf returned to school and visited the combatant department. He was told that there was a detachment being formed and he was supposed to accompany it to the front. The studies office offered him a teaching job, since he had completed three years at the institute. But he refused, and in several days left for the front with the detachment. I keep one of Volf's last letters, which he sent to me from the front.

He perished in January 1944 in Dnepropetrovsk region in Ukraine. I was looking for my brothers in order to find out what had happened to them. A notification about Volf's death arrived after some time: 'He perished, burnt in the tank on 11th January 1944'; and the place was indicated. I heard a lot of conversations about Jews not participating in the war, 'resting in Tashkent.' But I don't understand it, both my brothers perished at the front.

When mum died my younger sister Feiga was three-and-a-half years old. Aunt Fani, mum's elder sister, adopted her and took her to Leningrad. Feiga is still alive and lives in Leningrad. She finished a secondary school in Kherson and graduated from the Faculty of Biology of Leningrad University. Being a final-year student she got married and thus acquired a free certificate, without any assignment. Formerly, the Party assigned all institute graduates to workplaces prepared in advance for young specialists. It was called 'the assignment.' Feiga worked for a long time, all her life, at a laboratory of a children's hospital. She is retired now, but continues to work. She is 73.

Her husband, Berg Zvyagin, a Jew, is a candidate of physical science. Feiga took his last name. Berg was in the army during the war and had been to many fronts. After the war he defended a thesis and taught physics at the Leningrad Institute of Mines. Now he is an activist at the synagogue, attends it and observes all Jewish ceremonies. He and his wife are present at all Jewish events. They have a daughter, Marina. She graduated from university, became a candidate of mathematical science and works as a teacher. However, neither I, nor Feiga have grandchildren any more, but I'll come back to that later. We meet every weekend and visit each other.

I married a Ukrainian, Kuzma Yefremovich Zelinsky in 1938. He was born in 1911 in the village of Salkovo in Gayvoronsky district. It is a Russian territory. I worked in Gayvoron at that time. There was a township nearby, which was called Khaschevataya. There was a Jewish school, a Jewish kolkhoz 'Progress' [the district leader] and the Jewish town council before the war. [Village (town) council -self-government body in kolkhozes and small inhabited localities of rural type]. I know that because I worked there and knew the territories around. It was Odessa region.

The town council was also a progressive one. After the war there was a Russian town council established, but the chairman of the council was a Jew, Yakov Izrailevich Vinokur. My husband Kuzma was raised in a big family with nine children. He went to the town school and later joined the army. Their family was very nice to me, and his mother said that I was her best daughter-in-law. His father came from the village of Polish settlers, which was formed during World War I.

My husband's parents were common peasants and worked in the kolkhoz. His mother remembered the serfdom times. His father's name was Yefrem, and his mother's Natalia Danilovna Melnik. His mother stayed with me in evacuation during the war in Podolsk.

Kuzma returned form the army and worked in DOSAAF [Voluntary Society of Assistance to the Army, Aircraft and Navy]. They taught the youth and prepared them for service in the army. We got acquainted at a Komsomol meeting when he came back from the army. We knew each other for about two years, and then he proposed to me. He knew that I was a Jewess. I accepted his proposal and didn't discuss it with anyone; I had become a rather independent person by that time.

There was no wedding; we just registered the marriage at the ZAGS [civil marriage registry office], which was located in a room in the rayispolkom building. Kuzma didn't even have three rubles to pay for the registration. We were registered on credit, since it was in rayispolkom [District Executive Committee] and everybody knew us as active YCL members. Later our friends came to celebrate the wedding, and his mother also visited us to take a look at me.

We lived together and rented an apartment at first, later we got an apartment from the state. I didn't take his last name: there was a boy in my class at school who told me that my last name was sonorous. I remembered it and didn't want to change my last name. Later during the war when Kuzma was at the front, I regretted that very much, because we had to show our documents everywhere to prove that we were husband and wife. Kuzma's mother tongue was Ukrainian, but he also spoke Russian. He worked in DOSAAF, later as a secretary at the rayispolkom. We had a Russian housemaid, whom we paid some money and we provided her with food. We actually had several at different times.

They helped me all the time. I kept housemaids while the kids were small because the working hours were irregular; we had to work a lot during the evenings: I never got home until I completed the newspaper, so I could come home from work at 12 at night or at 6 in the morning. The children had to stay with someone. I worked at the editorial office. Even my baby Maya was brought to me there, so that I could feed her. My elder daughter Maya was born in Gayvoron in 1939.

When in 1941 the war broke out I was evacuated with my daughter Maya and my husband from Gayvoron. We were escaping from the approaching front line in whatever possible way: on horses, on trains, on passing cars. Trains didn't leave on schedule. There were lice on the walls in the railroad cars. The train traveled for two weeks and nobody washed himself. I never thought that the Germans might reach so far because we had such a strong army. We had been traveling 400 kilometers in the train for two weeks.

We made a stop at a kolkhoz. I found out that my cousin Boris was in Stalingrad and we left for Stalingrad. But by that time dreadful battles took place there. Then we began to find a way to Pyatigorsk, where my husband served. We reached the place in summer 1942. I met my husband in Pyatigorsk. I worked there for several months as a radio broadcasting editor and got an apartment.

In fall 1942 the Germans landed at Mineralnye Vody station not far from Pyatigorsk. The military artillery school, with which Kuzma was evacuated to Pyatigorsk, was the only one that defended Pyatigorsk. When the Germans retreated, we were provided with a train and on that train we went to Podolsk. It was a one-month journey! It happened at the end of 1943. At the end of 1944 Kuzma joined the front-line forces and appeared in Germany, in Leipzig. When he came back, we went to Gayvoron at the end of 1945.

• Post-war

After the war, when the Party Schools 21 were first organized, I sent him to study to Odessa in a Party School and he became a party supervisor. I started to work for a newspaper. In 1947 our second daughter Yekaterina, or Katya, was born. Kuzma never came back to me from Odessa. There was a trial and my friends persuaded me not to divorce my husband. So we remained non- divorced.

He didn't want to live with me because he'd found a new wife. I knew about his life, and he about my life. He assisted our daughters, paid the alimony until Katya came of age. He died in Odessa in 1970. My husband didn't have any problems about me being a Jewess. He simply fell out of love with me and abandoned me with two children.

In 1969 I defended a thesis at Kirovogradsky Pedagogical Institute for the specialty of 'Ukrainian Language and Literature.' I worked for the newspaper before moving to Leningrad. I retired in 1969 when my grandson, Katya's son, Volodya was born. I took care of him for a year, then exchanged my apartment and left for Leningrad. I continued to work in Leningrad. When my seniority was calculated, it came to 52 years. I didn't work at the editorial office any more, though I was a member of the Journalist's Guild. There was no job for my profession and I worked as a typist for a housing trust. I enjoyed my life. I went to all the theaters with my daughter and watched the best performances.

I thought that my life in Leningrad was something that God had rewarded me with in exchange for all my suffering. I went on tourist trips to Volga, in Leningrad region, organized trips for the party cell and party committee. Life was wonderful. We had a friend who worked at the theater ticket office. We overpaid a ruble for each ticket but always got the best tickets for the best performances. I've seen all the famous actors. If there was a 'burning' ticket at the Trust for a tourist trip, they gave it to me and I went on the trip. The Trust had a good trade union.

My elder daughter Maya worked in Leningrad. Her friends helped her to find a job. She lived with temporary registration in the city for eight years and rented corners. She was registered in the region; she had paid for it. I exchanged my 'villa' for a garden, and a vegetable garden in Gayvoron for a room of 12 square metres.

My daughter found an old woman who had come to Leningrad in 1926 to participate in a construction project. So I obtained a room in an apartment located in Vasilievskii island [one of the disctricts of St. Petersburg]. It had a very small kitchen and three neighbors. My daughter wasn't able to get registration with me. They told her that she had to get registration from her employer otherwise it wasn't possible to get registration in a big city.

Maya graduated from the Leningrad Institute of Mines as an electrician, mechanical engineer. After graduation she worked at the Graphite Combine. Later on an incident happened with her. She worked as a foreman at the mechanical shop in Zavalye in Gayvoron district and simultaneously was the secretary of a YCL organization.

Maya is a very well-educated girl. She had practical work in the mines and the miners never cursed in her presence, she couldn't stand it. Katya, for example, could say a swear word, but Maya was a very delicate person. She listened to the radio and concerts very attentively and liked classical music very much. Later she moved to Leningrad to study.

A worker came to her mechanical shop looking for a part. She told him, 'Go to the Komsomol meeting!' And he replied: '...you - he used some dirty words - I cannot finish this part and you make my head spin with your Komsomol meeting!' She held a piece of cloth in her hand and slapped it across his face for those swear words. A huge thing was stirred up out of it: the foreman beat the worker. She wasn't invited to party plenary sessions anymore. When my daughter was summoned to the party committee, she was asked, why she had hit the worker. She told them that he had cursed. And they said to her, 'Well, well, what a pampered young lady we have here!' I wrote an article to the central newspaper Izvestiya. I called the article 'In defense of a pampered lady.' I received a lot of responses and comments. It was a huge story. In short, my daughter had to leave Gayvoron.

She went to Murmansk region where a friend of hers worked; they studied together at the Leningrad Institute. He wrote a letter to her saying that she could come; get a job and a room after a year of work. She left for Murmansk but never reached it. With her railway ticket it was possible to make a stop. She made a stop on her way from Gayvoron to Murmansk in Leningrad for ten days. My younger sister Feiga lived there. Besides, a lot of friends, who studied with her at the institute, lived there, too. They helped her to find a job at the Heavy Machinery Central Design Office in Metallostroy, near Kolpino, in the suburbs of Leningrad. She worked there for many years and became principal engineer.

Later she was transferred to the Electrosila plant and worked there until she retired. Maya had a fiancé, his name was Lyonya Weissman. His mother was Russian and his father was a Jew. They planned to get married. She wanted to stay in the city, but his parents worked somewhere in the North. His mother arrived and she didn't like my daughter at all. After that Maya never got married.

My younger daughter Yekaterina [Katya] finished a secondary school in Gayvoron and went to work in Kirovograd. She worked as a laborer in a vinegar shop at the foodstuffs plant. Later she was appointed foreman. She got married in 1976. Her husband was a Ukrainian. His name was Pyotr. He still calls me mother. He now lives near Kiev. He was a musician in the army. She worked at the plant at that time and was on duty 24 hours every day. They got acquainted on the phone. He was on duty in his unit and the soldiers were entertaining themselves, calling girls on the phone. They got married and in 1969 their son Volodya was born. He was born in the town of Kirovograd. After he finished a vocational school he was drafted to the army.

Volodya joined the army in 1988 and served in the town of Kaunas in Lithuania. In 1990 two months were left before his demobilization. The soldiers were driving in a car, 15 of them, and sang songs. The driver wasn't very well trained. The car turned over at a sharp turn and 12 people were killed. Katya fell ill from grief and died in a year. During the year that Volodya perished and Katya was still alive, she adopted two kids at the boarding school, a girl for herself and a boy for Maya. This boy lived with us for six years and perished, too. He was riding a bicycle at our summer house near Moscow, fell into a pit, smashed his head badly and died. When Katya died, a childless newly wedded couple adopted the girl. Thus we remained with Maya.

I never wanted to emigrate to Israel. I liked it here, in this country and I didn't want any changes at my age, so the constitution of that country didn't influence me in any way. My parents' graves are here. I was at the burial place, but couldn't find mum's grave. There is a memorial at the place of my father's execution. 15,000 were executed there.

Meetings are held there annually on 9th May, Victory Day 22. I wrote to the Kherson Rabbi and asked him to send me the lists of the executed and information about my parents, if possible. A woman from the Rabbi's office called me and asked me, 'Where was your father born?' It happened five years ago. I replied that I didn't remember where he had been born for sure, but I was certain that he had perished there. Later I lost contact with the Rabbi. But I visited the place on my own, when I came to see my daughter Katya in Kirovograd.

When Hesed was set up in 1993, the Warm House program was the first to be arranged. My friend invited me there. We got together and listened to lectures about customs and holidays. I celebrated Pesach according to what I remembered from my childhood. In a year or a year and a half when that woman left I began to conduct the Warm House myself. Food products are delivered to us. I don't cook lunch, only starters and desserts. I get accustomed to this tradition and try to introduce others to it, telling my recollections at these meetings. I have 13 people at my Warm House. There are very interesting people, even a candidate of science, so there is a lot to talk about and to recall.

I turned back to my Jewish origin, when the situation in the country started to change. We celebrate all Jewish holidays, get acquainted with the Jewish customs, talk about our current business, about our families and celebrate birthdays. We always have refreshments on the table during such meetings and everybody is happy. People say that as soon as they leave, they begin to wait for the next Friday to come. Sometimes women fall ill and we call them and visit them in hospitals.

So we have a very friendly and united family. There are two lonely women among my visitors who still live in communal apartments. In the near future they will supposedly get separate apartments in a social house, which is already built, though something needs to be completed in order to let people move in. As they say, I combine jobs: I'm also a member of the War Veterans Council. I'm a war veteran myself, I have eight medals and recently received a 'front-line soldier' medal. But I'm not as strong as I used to be, so I'm now impatiently waiting for the re-elections in order to be free of this position. However, I'm not planning to get rid of the Warm House.

Hesed delivers food products permanently and there is enough strength so far for cooking and keeping in touch with people. Seminars are held for volunteers, as well as boat trips on the Neva River and trips outside of the city, which helps to regain vitality. I also attend concerts, which the Jewish community arranges in honor of Jewish holidays. I didn't really become a very religious person. I don't pray every day, but I celebrate the Sabbath with the first star every Friday and wait for every Jewish holiday with pleasure.

• Glossary:

Samuel Sukhenko
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Orlikova

I was born in a very small town called Grigoriopol. The town got this name
in the middle of the 18th century from the Armenians, in honor of Grigory
Potyomkin. Grigoriopol was on the Dnester River in Moldova. The nearest
town on one side was Dubossary; on the other, Tiraspol.

Four nationalities lived in the town - Armenians, Russians, Jews and
Moldavians. The population was about 1,000. However, there was a town
council, one gymnasium and a technical college. The Jews lived in several
small curving streets, in little houses with earth floors. They had an
ancient synagogue there. The Jewish population - about 100 families -
worked in commerce and crafts. Except for domestic crafts, there was no
industry there. There was one steam mill that belonged to a rich Jew named
Borshir. In our small town I never felt any anti-Semitism - we all were one
family.

The Sukhenko family differed from the rest of the Jews in the town because
our family toiled the land and did not live among the Jews. There were four
brothers. My father was the youngest. He was born in 1870; his name was
Kopel-Duvid. We lived among the Armenians. The oldest brother, Joseph, who
was 20 years older, lived among the Moldavians. He had a large garden and
raised bees. The third brother, Shloime, lived among the Russians, while
the fourth, Yankel, lived between the Jews and the Armenians. He died young
from the Spanish flu.

Who are my forefathers? I became interested in this question when I was 16.
Uncle Joseph, who at the time was older than 90, would tell me: "Your
grandfather was Pushkin's contemporary, he was born in the 18th century; he
was arrested and had to serve 25 years in the army under Alexander I. He
took part in three wars and returned home when he was 37. We don't know
whether he converted to Christianity, but he came back with the name of
Sukhenko. For his service he received a big land plot forever and 100
silver rubles." So, my father and his three brothers possessed this land
until collectivization. When my grandfather returned from the army, his
relatives found him a poor girl to marry, and she gave birth to a lot of
children, who were all Jewish.

My father was a farmer. We grew tobacco. My grandfather was a hatter. My
father's mother, Leah, was able to treat our whole village with herbs. My
father served in the military for four years under Alexander III in the
town of Bendery. In 1902, he left for Argentina; he was invited to develop
agriculture there. My father spent five years in Argentina and spoke
Spanish fluently. He also knew Russian, Moldavian, and certainly Yiddish.

My mother, Tsivye, was born in Chisinau; her father was a house-painter.
Most probably, they were artists, and my sisters and I inherited their
artistic abilities. My mother was illiterate, but she had talent. In the
kitchen, we had a small ceramic pot filled with glue. She used to shape it
- into a little dog, a kitten, or a piggy. All these figures were very
expressive - the dog would stand on its hind paws, the kitten would be
stretching itself. Of course, in that uneducated environment, nobody
appreciated it properly.

My maternal grandfather had several sons. The family was very poor, and,
when my mother was 3, she went to live with her aunt in Kamenka. My
mother's mother, also named Leah, lived with us until the end of her life.
She was a very strong woman. Grandmother told us that she married when she
was 14. Her husband kept horses for the post office, and she worked in the
bakery. Grandmother Leah had a big trunk filled with clothes. From time to
time, she used to air them in the yard. Among her things, there was a
shroud that had been prepared for her burial. As soon as she took her
shroud out, I, the wise guy, would wear it and run around the yard. She
would stand in the doorway and laugh - it was a good sign.

My parents had 10 children; four died when they were young. The first boy died when he was 8 days old, from blood poisoning when he was circumcised. Three girls died in the first year. My elder sister Taube (Tanya) was born in 1902. She married when she was very young. Tanya was going to be a painter, but unfortunately, she did not have the opportunity to receive a good education. She began to work as a secretary after the death of her husband. She had no children. At the end of her life, she lived with our
youngest sister, Inna.

I was born in 1908; in 1912, my sister Lena was born. After graduating from the seven-year school, she married. Lena was a housewife and raised two sons. My youngest sister, Inna, was born in 1920. She was single. First, she worked as a theatre designer, then as a book designer in a children's publishing company. My brother, Fima, was born in 1925; he was killed at the front when he was 18.

My parents lived a very good life. We rented a house with five rooms. My two grandmothers lived with us. We had two cows, goats and a large yard. Every Saturday we had a wonderful dinner at home. We always had some poor guest at the Shabbat table. When he left, my mother would give him a chicken and a loaf of bread that my grandmother had baked. Every morning my father would put on a tallit, white clothes and pray. He regularly went to a synagogue. On the way back, the sons always looked in on their mother, who lived near the synagogue. They would drink a toast, wish their mother a peaceful Shabbat and go home.

I remember well our family seder. We arranged some chairs, covered them with pillows so my father could recline on them. There were new plates and glasses on the table; we ate matzah and all sorts of things. Then we opened the doors, Father said a prayer and offered a glass of wine. Children always wondered: Would they see the wine receding in the glass? We believed that somebody really would come to drink it. My parents were fond of singing: both of them had a good ear for music. Every Saturday they used to sing Jewish songs together, and Tanya danced with a walking-stick. I still remember those melodies, although then I was only 9 or 10 years old. This continued until 1920.

Soviet rule began in 1917; first, the Germans came, then Denikin's soldiers. In January 1920, the latter were thrown out, and the Soviet rule began. There were no pogroms. But when 90,000 of Denikin's soldiers passed through our village, they would rob Jewish houses and rape girls. This went on for three days, and I remember every detail of it, even now. All day and all night, by horses and in cars, Denikin's army passed through our village. We lived in a very beautiful house, so my parents, my youngest sister and me moved to our neighbors. It was a small house with an earth floor. A poor Jewish family lived there. Once, five Cossacks burst into the house. They were looking for gold, but those poor people had never seen any gold themselves. Then Cossacks began to threaten to kill them. They told us to stand on the trestle-bed near the stove and said, "Now we'll kill you." My father, who was a military man, whispered to us, "Be quiet, they just want to intimidate us." They heard and began to shout: "Who here speaks, Zhid?" Then they took the neighbor's daughter, stripped her naked, straddled her and prodded her with whips. All the same, where could her parents find gold? Then they took her by force to another room. After some time they went away; the girl was left there. We run away from their house as quickly as possible. I was 11. Denikin's soldiers left, and for a whole week, nobody was in control. Then a small detachment of mounted Red Army soldiers appeared. In front of us boys, they shot a soldier of the White Guard, whose body then lay in downtown for a long time, eaten by pigs.

And then everything began: no job, no money. Special food-confiscation units, for Bolshevik powers, took our cow, grain, horses - everything. Then an American aid society appeared and fed the Jewish children. They gave us rice and cocoa. My aunt had five children. Her husband died from the Spanish flu. What could that poor woman do? My father supported her. We lived in miserable conditions. There were two reasons. First, the food-confiscation units ate all our grains. The next year, we had a poor crop, so when spring 1922 came, we had nothing to plant. The authorities gave us some corn seed, and my father took me to plant it. He chopped a hollow in the ground, and I dropped the seeds. That autumn we had a fantastic harvest, but life still was very hard. Everything was incredibly expensive. For instance, a kilo of corn was 3 millions rubles, while a box of matches was 1 million. However, the same year, 1922, Lenin introduced the New Economic Politics. The next month the market was filled with various goods.

I started my education at the age of 4. My grandmother took me to cheder, which was a 15-meter-long room with a wooden floor and two benches. The rabbi was an old man. I studied there until I was 8. We read stories about the Jewish people. The instruction was in Yiddish. At home, we spoke only Yiddish.

I began to speak Russian at the age of 6, because my sister Tanya went to gymnasium and brought home her alphabet book, which I learned very quickly. When I was 8, my father decided that I needed to know Russian, and he sent me to the parish school. I was the only Jew in that school. I was placed in the second grade because I could read. I had a very clear articulation, and I read from the Gospel. And it was the Gospel that led me to atheism. When I was 10, I began to write poems and short stories. I tried to imitate Yesenin, Bagritsky, and others. My teacher, Nastasia Nikolayevna, insisted that I continue with a literary education, but I realized it was only imitation, which nobody needed.

I was a Pioneer, but before that, I was a Boy Scout. After 1917, our villages were occupied by the Austrians for about a year. The boys were organized, given sticks about 1.5 meters long, and we had to listen to lectures. At our school, we had the portrait of the first British Boy Scout. I was a Pioneer for a very short time. I remember than once we spent some time in the woods while at a summer camp. In 1924, I joined Komsomol, when every young man or woman joined, in connection with Lenin's death.

At 15, I graduated from the seven-year school and went to Tiraspol. I worked as a carpenter in a factory. There were a lot of Jews in Tiraspol. Mainly they worked at the big fruit-processing factory, but also in various crafts. Almost all the shoemakers, bakers and shopkeepers in Tiraspol were Jews, and we didn't feel any anti-Semitism there. In 1926-1927, I lived with a Jewish family. I worked with the husband, and his wife, as was the custom, brought our lunch to the factory.

I realized that I needed to study. In 1929, I left Tiraspol for Leningrad, and began to work at the furniture factory and study at the workers' faculty by correspondence at the same time. In two years, I graduated from the faculty. I entered the Architecture Institute when Komsomol members were invited to enter.

At home I was called Shmilik. My friends called me Milia. In 1936, everybody had to obtain a passport. Passports were written by the students themselves. My colleagues asked, "What name do you want in passport?" I said, "Samuel" - it was the first name that came to mind.

I graduated from the institute in Leningrad with honors in 1936, and immediately began the post-graduate course, studying in the evenings. At the same time, I was sent to a prestigious institution as an architect.

In 1936, something terrible was going on in Leningrad - the destruction of people. When Kirov was killed in 1934, all Leningrad knew that Stalin had killed him. You can't imagine what was going there. All the students came out to see how Kirov's body was carried to Moscow on a carriage, and Stalin himself was standing behind it. Then the Stalinist terror started. Today you could meet your friend, but tomorrow he could be arrested and executed. I wanted to get as far away from that place as possible. My manager at work was a Swedish man named Vigman. He understood what was going on. He sent me on a business trip to the Far East for one year. I had planned to join the Communist Party, but on his advice, I cancelled my registration with the Party in Leningrad. I did not register in the Far East either. I spent one year there, in Khabarovsk, designing one of the districts of that city. I was afraid to go back to Leningrad, so I found some connections in Kiev in the post-graduate course I was taking. I came to Kiev in 1938.

Very quickly I found a job in the Military Designs Institute. We designed the defense line that was built in 1940; we designed military aerodromes, as well. We built dozens of them. Our business trips were carried out in the following way: you were sent there for a month, did a certain portion of the work, returned, and another person was sent. Everything was encoded. I also saw many Jews at the sites building aerodromes, and my heart cried out for them. They wore black plush caps, beards. I thought a lot about them - they most likely all perished there.

I designed two aerodromes on our western border. On the eve of World War II, I was at an aerodrome in Peremyshl. On June 21, 1941, a small plane landed there; I was standing with General Ivanov. The plane brought a commander who said, "War broke out with Germany." I was sent to Lvov on June 22. In the afternoon, German planes began to bomb the city. As soon as they finished bombing, our planes appeared, but the bird had flown. Our planes flew away, while those appeared again - it was the same for some days. At our headquarters, nobody paid attention at me. "You are free," they said. "You can go anywhere you like." All railways were already cut off, so I had to make 30-kilometer rush to the East.

On June 27, I left Lvov and with great difficulties arrived in Kiev a few days later. When we were moving eastward from Lvov, there was a unit that picked up only those it wanted. I saw a lot of Jews who were sent back with the words, "Go back to defend Lvov." At the river crossing - you can't imagine what was going on that bridge! People tried to cross it by car, with cows, while planes flew above their heads.

In Kiev I lived in Proreznyaya Street with my two sisters. While I was away, my sister Lena Nagornaya, who had lived in Trans-Carpathians with two children - 1 and 5 five years old - raced to Kiev. A few days later, Tanya sent her, her children and our younger sister deeper into the country. On July 8, Tanya and I gathered our belongings and went to our offices. On July 9, we were put on a train for the East. We came to the city of Ulyanovsk, and our Military Designs Institute became part of the Volga military command. Three Kiev residents - three Jews - were put in charge of three groups. I was sent to Buzluk to continue to build an aerodrome there; then I was transferred to Chkalov. I did not wear any uniform, I was considered a civilian, but I could not leave that place because of the war-time laws. I designed many aerodromes and roads near the front line.

On November 6, 1943, Kiev was liberated. On November 12, 1943, I was sent to Kiev. The city was bombed every day. Kiev was ruined... Once I ran into a pre-war colleague. He was an engineer. He showed me a narrow green paper with the words of the sadly known instruction: "For all kikes of the city of Kiev..." He was a Ukrainian, and his wife was a Jew. Not far from the street leading directly to Babi Yar, he sensed something, and they turned to the nearest lane. The same day they left Kiev for a village; after some time, they came back. He had a two-room flat, so he hid his wife in the second room, bricked up a door, leaving a narrow hole near the floor. The hole was covered with a carpet. When his neighbors asked, he said his wife had been at Babi Yar. For almost two years, she lived this way, and lost her mind. Moreover, her sister came. She was in the military and escaped. He hid her in the same place. My colleague fed them both, cooking in small portions, for neighbors could suspect nothing. The most dangerous time was when Germans turned out people from Kiev and burned houses. But he decided, "Come what may" - and didn't go anywhere. All of them survived, and later, his wife recovered. That was the first time I heard the words "Babi Yar."

During the war, I was awarded with many medals. The Special Military Command was set up in Kiev, and I worked there until the year 1949.

My house was taken for an official use. I was given another flat, in Vorovsky Street. Tanya, Lena and her children, and Inna moved there, as well. In 1946 I invited my parents to live with us. So, we had eight people living in that one flat; it was a room in a communal flat, and we were cramped.

In 1944, the Military Liaison School moved to Kiev. Its deputy chief, a military man, had a daughter, Nina, who later became my wife. I fell in love with her. The city was empty, and we met one another. She was 15 years younger than me. She was a Russian girl. She had graduated from nine grades of school. Fifty to sixty percent of her friends from school were Jews. My dear Nina taught organization of industry at the Polytechnic Institute in Kiev. Every year, she was supposed to name two young people for the post- graduate course, and she always named Jews. Later she was summoned to the director, who told her, "Listen, we need to raise our national comrades," to which she said: "Right, but they need to have heads on their shoulders, too." They could do nothing with her.

When I got married, my mother said a wise thing: "God has created all people alike." And in her family I was considered a son. My Nina was a better Jew than I was, and she worried a lot. The worst thing in our country was official anti-Semitism. Let me give you an example. I often visited Leningrad. Especially I liked to go to Kazansky Cathedral, which was turned into the Museum of Atheism. First, as a professional, I was interested in its interiors. And second, the exhibition was very interesting. Once I noticed the bust of Spinoza, which had a sign saying: "a famous Dutch scholar." I asked the museum specialists: "Excuse me, I have looked at your exhibition on Spinoza attentively, but still have no idea about his nationality. Who was he? A Dutchman? Or maybe...a Turk?" They were very confused and mumbled, "Don't you see? It is written here - 'a famous Dutch scholar.'" That was the time when a Jew couldn't be called a Jew. One more example: I organized exhibitions for our government. The system was that, first, the exhibition was visited by the government, led by the first or second secretary of the Communist Party of Ukraine, then members of the Council of Ministers came, and so on, and only after that a small group of professionals was allowed to come. Once, an official came for a preliminary inspection. He was delighted with everything, but suddenly he stopped dead. "Comrade Sukhenko, what is this?" "A pedestal for a sculpture," I answered. "But look at its form! It is a hexahedron!" When I asked what was wrong, he said, "This is a Jewish sign." "What Jewish sign? Sorry, but it is a pedestal for a sculpture." "No, it is a Jewish sign," he began to shout. "You are either a cretin or idiot," I said. But he continued to yell, "You are a Jew, aren't you?!" "YES," I said. You won't believe me, but I got away with it, although consequences could be rather serious.

We felt cramped in our flat. I was offered another job, with higher salary and promises of a new flat. I rented a flat at the writers' house, 48 Lenin Street. Famous writers lived there. I rented a room from the widow of a Jewish poet, who had moved from Poland and was killed at the front. Every night, a car would come and take away this or that writer. Once I heard a knock on the door at 2:00 a.m.; somebody came in and said they needed a witness for the arrest of writer Itzik Fefer. I refused, claiming I had a terrible stomach ache. The next day Fefer's sister came to me and asked me to take a parcel to him. I took the parcel, spent eight hours in line and passed it to him. My friends scolded me, "What will happen to you?!" Later I learned that Fefer was executed. How can one be a member of the Communist Party after the death of Mikhoels - a great man, a great humanist? I remember the death of Stalin, how people behaved wildly, like idiots. He was a monster; I can't believe he was born of a woman.

In one year I increased the personnel of our design bureau from 10 to 120 people. A year later, I received a flat in Kreschatik, close to the cinema. We worked with interiors of theaters, cinemas and flats. I took part in many exhibitions and was awarded many medals there. I was living a very good life. In 1949, my daughter Olga was born. She studied at the same school her mother had studied at, and she graduated with honors. She was sent to one of the leading institutions, and now this institution is nothing.

When Nixon was about to come to Moscow I decided to show him the interior of the Yalta conference, the Levadia Palace. I examined the building, but there were no pictures, no descriptions - everything was top secret. Then I realized that there must be people who had seen it before. The one who used to be a lieutenant became a colonel. These people were brought to me and they told me everything they remembered about the building. The building was built in the modernist style. So, I ordered, "Find me chairs in the modernist style." And chairs were found, and I had them renovated. Then I found pictures in the modernist style. And then I called Moscow and reported that the task has been completed, for which gratitude was expressed.

In the most difficult times - in the 1960 and 1970s - when Jews could not find jobs, I used to tell my friends that nobody would touch me: such specialists could not be discharged. My family never discussed emigration. I knew too little about Israel. It is only now that I'm learning more and reading about it.

Asaf Auerbach
Praha
Česká republika
Rozhovor pořídil: Lenka Kopřivová
Období vzniku rozhovoru: říjen 2005 – únor 2006

Vždy, když jsem za panem Auerbachem přišla, měl výbornou náladu, neustále se usmíval. Nepamatuji se, že bych ho kdy viděla mračit se. Ba naopak, zpívá si, pohvizduje si... Po smrti své ženy žije s Robinem, svým psem, v bytě na jednom z pražských sídlišť. Ŕíká, že jeho život není moc zajímavý - a přece. Jeho rodiče byli sionisté a pan Auerbach se narodil v jednom z palestinských kibuců. Rodina se však vrátila zpět do Čech, prožila zde těžká třicátá léta a na jejich konci se rozdělila. Asaf Auerbach se svým starším bratrem Rubenem měli to štěstí, že se dostali mezi tzv. Wintonovy děti 1, skupinu dětí, kterou se podařilo zachránit Angličanu Nicholasi Wintonovi. Válku prožili v Anglii a po návratu domů, do Československa, byli konfrontováni s hrozivou realitou osudu evropských židů. Navzdory všem očekáváním, z nichž žili po celou dobu války, mnoha z nich se nepodařilo přijít domů a znovu se šťastně shledat se svými rodiči - také rodiče Auerbachovi zahynuli v Osvětimi. Pan Auerbach říká, že jeho život není zajímavý - není to tak docela pravda.

Rodina
Dětství
Pobyt v Anglii
Po válce
Glosář

Rodina

Chcete, abych vyprávěl o rodině, ve které jsem žil, o svých předcích, jaké prostředí mne, příslušníka minoritní entity žijící, jen občas v harmonické symbióze se svým okolím, obklopovalo. Své rodiče jsem viděl naposledy v létě ´39, kdy jsme s bratrem jako Wintonovy „děti“ emigrovali do Anglie. Bylo mi jedenáct, v tom věku jsem se o tyto reálie moc nezajímal, bral jsem je jako danosti, to snad nezajímalo žádné dítě mého věku pokud nepřišlo na příklad do bezprostředního styku s agresivním antisemitismem. Znal jsem ho jen zprostředkovaně, o tom co se děje v Německu jsem do určité míry věděl od rodičů. Takže jsem neměl mnoho podnětů ke kladení otázek, spíš jsem informace přijímal, ne je vyhledával.

K seznamování se svou dávnější minulostí jsem se dostal až velmi pozdě. Náhodou. Četl jsem asi před šesti lety, nejspíš v Roš Chodeš 2, to je měsíčník židovské obce, poznámku o tom, že vyšel almanach k tuším 900. výročí založení Bečova nad Teplou, a že v tomto almanachu je také stať o dějinách tamní židovské obce. To už byl silný podnět, neboť v Bečově se narodil můj otec. A tak jsem zašel do Židovského musea za autorem této stati a požádal ho o kopii. V ní jsem se dozvěděl, že přítomnost židů v Bečově je historicky doložena od roku 1310, že se tam počet židů postupně zvyšoval, jejich počet kulminoval v roce 1880, kdy tam žilo 100 židů, asi 4,5% tamního obyvatelstva. Chtěl jsem se ponořit do „stromu života“ rodiny svého otce, vypůjčil jsem si ve Státním archivu na Hradčanech matriky bečovské židovské obce, ale daleko jsem se nedostal. Teprve za vlády Josefa II. byli židé nuceni přijmout rodinné jméno 3 a z tohoto roku je první zachovaný zápis o narozeních a sňatcích v Bečově. Matrika zemřelých se zachovala až z roku 1840. A tak nevím, kdy se mí předkové přistěhovali do Bečova a odkud. A nebylo jednoduché luštit matriky. Jsou psány v němčině, jak jinak. Ale švabachem a o krasopisu se už vůbec nedá mluvit. Nicméně jsem tam snadno vyhledal zápis o narození mého otce Rudolfa 23. března 1899, Simonu Auerbachovi a Luise rozené Fischerové. Jejich sňatek však v matrice zaznamenán není, nevím kde se uskutečnil.

Dědeček Simon je v knize narozených veden jako Samuel Auerbach, narozený 8. 6. 1849 jakožto nemanželský syn Abrahama Auerbacha a jisté Löblové, jejíž rodné jméno jsem nerozluštil. S ní měl už jednoho syna narozeného 16. 7. 1847. Prababičku rozenou Löblová dodatečně pojal za ženu, a to v červenci 1849. Její věk není v knize uzavřených sňatků uveden, ač to bylo zvykem. Nebyla to však pradědečkova první žena. Tou byla Babette Kleinová, se kterou se oženil 28. 10. 1840. V té době mu bylo 30 let a 3 měsíce, nevěstě 29 let a 11 měsíců. Asi to bylo bezdětné manželství, v knize narozených jsem žádného potomka nenašel, nenašel jsem ani v knize zemřelých pradědečkovu první ženu, takže je možné, že ji zapudil, protože mu nepovila žádná dítka a tak si mohl vzít matku svých nelegitimních synů.

Pradědeček Abraham zemřel podle matriky na marasmus v roce 1896 ve věku 86 let. V knize zemřelých jsem v roce 1902 nalezl záznam o úmrtí Fanny Auerbachové ve stáří 86 let. Narodila se tedy v roce 1816 a mohla by to tudíž být má prababička rozená Löblová. Z údaje o stáří pradědečka Abrahama v době jeho prvého sňatku vím, že se narodil v červenci 1810. V matrice jsem však záznam o jeho narození nenašel, takže se asi do Bečova přistěhoval a tím mi znemožnil pátrání po prapradědečkovi. A není to tím, že pátrání mi znemožnila skutečnost, že židé nemívali rodinné jméno, v době jeho narození už jej mít museli.

A tak nevím, odkud přišli. Mám takovou nedoloženou hypotézu. Na sever od Bečova, několik desítek kilometrů za naší hranicí s Německem, leží městečko Auerbach, Kolega z práce mi odtud před 15 lety poslal pohlednici, je to malebné městečko označené Kurort Auerbach, u nás se tomu říkávalo klimatické lázně. Před časem jsem si zahrával s myšlenkou, že tam zajedu, ubytuji se v hotelu a až jim řeknu, že se jmenuju Auerbach tam na mne budou koukat s otevřenou pusou. Ale jet tam kvůli tomu?

Jméno Auerbach není vzácné, to jenom teď v Čechách, dřív bylo dost časté a jinde je asi časté i dnes. Nedávno mi dokonce jedná známá vyprávěla, že kdesi četla, že to je nejstarší doložené židovské příjmení v Čechách. Slyšel jsem to poprvé, ale nevylučuju to. Na Starém židovském hřbitově v Praze, na zdi vedoucí podél chodníčku po kterém se hřbitovem prochází, jsou plechové tabulky se jmény naproti hrobkám pochovaných osobností. Hned ta první říká že tam leží jistý Auerbach, byl to současník Rabi Löwa 4 a císaře Rudolfa II [Rudolf II. (1552 – 1612): z rodu Habsburků. 1576 – 1611 římsky císař a český král – pozn. red.]. Takže to bylo v době, kdy ještě židé příjmení zpravidla nepoužívali. Kolikrát už jsem si říkal, že bych měl zajít do Židovského musea a někoho se optat čím se tak vyznamenal, ale skutek utek.

Zpět k dědečkovi. Podle matriky sňatků se Samuel Auerbach, svobodný, 1.3.1882 oženil s Annou Luxbaumovou, starou 31 let a 1 měsíc, která je vedena v knize narozených jako matka tří dětí zplozených s (teď už) Simonem Auerbachem. Nejstarší Jenny se narodila v roce 1883, kdy zemřela nevím, neznal jsem ji, nevěděl jsem ani o její existenci. Až po válce jsem se dozvěděl, že trpěla duševní chorobou a zemřela v psychiatrické léčebně. Zda před válkou nebo až za války to nevím, ptát jsem se nechtěl. Ale znal jsem nevlastního otcova bratra Leopolda, ten se narodil v roce 1885, jediný z rodiny byl zámožný, měl v Karlových Varech obchod s obuví a velký činžovní dům. Občas přijížděl do Prahy a navštěvoval nás, ale nebylo to často. Byl svobodný a v roce 1940 se mu podařilo utéct do Palestiny. Tam se mu moc dobře nevedlo, zemřel v polovině padesátých let. Byl to nezvykle obětavý člověk, podporoval mou babičku, svou nevlastní matku, po úmrtí dědečka jí koupil v Terezíně domek, kde měla obchůdek, táta z Terezína dojížděl do Litoměřic do obchodní akademie. A tak zřejmě financoval i studia svého nevlastního bratra a nevlastní sestry, která vystudovala konzervatoř.

Druhý sňatek Simona Auerbacha jsem v matrice nenašel, asi se oženil s Luisou, tedy mou babičkou, v jiné obci. Nevím odkud babička pochází. Kdysi mi to sestřenice řekla, když jsem se jí ptal, zda babička mluvila česky nebo německy, neboť ani to jsem si nepamatoval. Pocházela z vnitrozemí a proto uměla dobře česky. S babičkou měl dědeček dvě děti. Jako první se narodila v roce 1897 teta Ida a po ní 23.3.1899 Rudolf, můj táta.

Dědeček zemřel v Bečově 13.3.1914 ve věku 64 let a 9 měsíců. Fáma tvrdí, že byl alkoholik. Táta ani teta o něm nikdy nemluvili.Tomu se nedivím. Jak už jsem řekl, babička se s dětmi pak přestěhovala do Terezína. Já jí však pamatuju až z doby, kdy žila v Nuslích u své dcery, tety Idy. Babička toho moc nenamluvila, proto jsem si taky nedokázal vybavit, zda mluvila česky nebo německy. Před očima jí stále mám jenom jak sedí v kuchyni na židli, mírně se usmívá, ruce v klíně. Sestřenice mi vyprávěla, že se jednou strašně pohádala se svou dcerou, sbalila si svých pět švestek a odebrala se žít u svého syna, tedy u nás. Jenže přechod z obvykle poklidného prostředí u tety, kde nejvíc hluku nadělalo křídlo, na němž teta učila děti hrát, do bytu, kde se bratři věčně hádali a prali, tak to bylo z bláta do louže a za několik dnů prý sbalila svých pět švestek a vrátila kajícně k dceři. Toto je bez záruky pravosti.

Babička byla v roce 1942 deportována do Terezína 5 a tam, zemřela tak zvanou přirozenou smrtí díky nepřirozeným podmínkám. Jinak by se dožila vyššího věku. Datum úmrtí si nevzpomenu, musel bych zajít do Pinkasovy synagogy a tam ho na zdi vyhledat.

Takže zbývá něco říct o tetě Idě a její rodině. Vystudovala konzervatoř, hru na klavír. Vdala se za Otto Druckera, stavebního inženýra, v lednu 1927 se jí narodila dcera Dita a v únoru 1929 zemřel manžel na zánět středního ucha. Přecházel ho, bylo to právě v době pověstných třeskutých mrazů, které tehdy sužovaly střední Evropu, a tak teta ve 32 letech ovdověla. Po druhé se už nevdala, a tak ty tři ženy tří generací, babička, její dcera a vnučka, žily spolu. Měl jsem k nim z našeho vršovického bytu blízko a navštěvoval je tak jednou za čtrnáct dní, to už přesně nevím,většinou jsem chodil sám. Pěšky. Teta i sestřenice přežily válku v Terezíně, teta mi jednou vyprávěla, že se tátovi podařilo ji dvakrát vyreklamovat z transportu do Osvětimi, do kterého již byla zařazena. Měl nějaké vlivné známé. Takže možná, kdoví, bylo dobře, že už se nevdala. Bylo by určitě obtížnější vyreklamovat z transportu oba a tak by nakonec možná odjeli do Osvětimi oba. O tom, jak by o jejím osudu rozhodl Mengele nemám pochybnosti.

Neměla to lehké po válce. Malou penzi po manželovi – jaká asi mohla být po asi pětiletém zaměstnání – strýc už jí nemohl podporovat, hodin hry na klavír po válce taky moc nebylo, její předválečná „klientela“ byla nejspíš převážně židovská. Poměrně velký byt v Nuslích, ve kterém žily do transportu do Terezína, už zpátky nedostaly. Místo toho jí a Ditě dali podkrovní garsoniéru na Pankráci v šestém patře, se skoseným stropem, asi tak šestnáct metrů čtverečních, bez výtahu, a tak uhlí tahaly ze sklepa do šestého patra po schodech. Když Dita emigrovala do Austrálie v roce 1949, tak jsem tetu často navštěvoval a při té příležitosti nanosil uhlí. Teta odjela za dcerou na jaře 1951, bydlela z počátku sama, byla zaměstnána v kavárně, kde vařila kávu a čaj, později, když už sestřenice s manželem měli dům, tak se přestěhovala k nim. Dostávala po nějakém čase z Německa, v rámci tak zvaného Wiedergutmachung, jakousi penzi, s tím vystačila. Často jsme si psali, až do její smrti v roce 1986. Jednou tu ještě byla na návštěvě v doprovodu dcery, bylo to v květnu 1978, zrovna když jsem slavil padesátiny. Dita teď z té dálky jezdí poměrně často, jednou za rok, nejvýš za dva – vídám ji tak častěji, než sestřenici z matčiny strany, která bydlí v Mostě. Přitom nejsou mezi mnou a mou mosteckou sestřenicí žádná nedorozumění, jenom to časově nevychází.

Dita mi vyprávěla, že jí v Terezíně jedna cikánka věštila z karet budoucnost a předpověděla, že se s budoucím manželem seznámí na lodi. Na obchodní lodi, co ji vezla z Marseille do Sydney déle jak dva měsíce protože po cestě v každém přístavu nakládali nebo vykládali zboží, se rozhlížela po potenciálním manželovi, ale nebyl tam. A pak se s ním seznámila na přívozu v Sydney. Což je taky loď. Takže cikánka nelhala. Je to maďarský žid, před válkou emigroval do Anglie a po válce se přestěhoval do Austrálie, mají dva kluky, čtyři vnoučata. Manžel ještě pracuje v makléřské firmě. A to je mu už přes osmdesát. Doma by ho prý nicnedělání zničilo. Alespoň Dita to tvrdí.

Víc už toho o tátově rodině nevím. Tak teď mámině rodině. Pocházela z odlišného prostředí. Tátova rodina, to byli velmi chudí němečtí židé, máma pocházela zase z českožidovského středostavovského prostředí. Dědeček, Jindřich Fantl, narozený v roce 1867, pocházel z vesnice Chlebnik. Babička, narozená v roce 1873, byla tuším odjakživa Pražanka. Její maminku, tedy mou prababičku jsem znal. Jmenovala se Róza Epsteinová, narodila se v roce 1848, tedy v roce, kdy se narodil o generaci mladší dědeček Auerbach a zemřela v roce 1936, to už mi bylo osm let, takže si ji pamatuju. Měla prý nálevnu alkoholických nápojů, ale v době, kdy jsem ji znal už žila u své dcery, dlouhá léta jí vedla domácnost, protože babička trávila hodně času v obchodě. Její vnoučata jí milovala. Mám pocit, že jim byla bližší než jejich maminka, asi proto, že na ně měla víc času.

Když jsme přijeli s mámou za jejími rodiči na Smíchov, kde měl dědeček U Anděla, v dnes už zbouraném domě, obchod s pánským prádlem, a to bylo pravidelně jednou týdně, tak jsme vždy nejdřív zašli za prababičkou. A když jsme jí nezastihli doma, tak jsme jí našli v parčíku u Vltavy. V kapsáři měla pro mne vždycky cucavý bonbón. Nebo několik slepených. Pak jsme teprve šli do krámu za dědečkem a babičkou. Dědeček s babičkou a prababičkou a před tím i se svými dětmi bydleli ve Vltavské ulici, pár minut chůze od Anděla. Byl to typický prostorný měšťanský byt v domě z přelomu století.

V krámě za kasou kralovala babička, dědeček „úřadoval“ vzadu v „komptoáru“, což byla úzká temná chodba ohraničená zdí a zadní stranou stěny z regálů, na jejím konci psací stůl se stolní lampou, telefonem, psacím strojem a dalšími náležitostmi a tady zase kraloval dědeček. Občas mi dovolil psát na stroji, což jsem považoval za velký projev dědečkovy přízně. A za pultem obsluhovala teta Oly s příručím. Později, když děda předal obchod tetě Oly, tak mne posílali pro dědu do blízké kavárny, kam chodil každé odpoledne, samozřejmě kromě šabatu, na partičku karet. Tam jsem ho vždy našel s nezbytným viržinkem a nedopitou vystydlou černou kávou. Vždy dohrál hru, dopil kávu a bez reptání, že mu zrovna jde dobrá karta, posbíral na stole drobné a odešel se mnou do kšeftu.

Měli čtyři děti. Nejstarší Markéta, moje máma, se narodila v roce 1900, rok po ní strýc Rudolf, s delším odstupem v roce 1908 teta Olga a v roce 1915 teta Mirjam. Strýc Rudolf byl stavební inženýr, vídal jsem ho zřídka, byl na stavbě tabákové továrny na jižním Slovensku jako stavební dozor Československé tabákové režie, to byl státní monopol na zpracování a prodej tabáku a tabákových výrobků. Byl svobodný, měl vážnou známost, křesťanku, naléhala na něj, aby si ji vzal, nechtěl ji však ohrozit a chtěl se oženit až po válce. Kdyby si jí byl vzal tak by neskončil svůj život kdesi v Polsku, jenže jak to mohl tušit?

Zato teta Olga přežila právě proto, že se v roce 1937 vdala za křesťana, taky to byl stavební inženýr, Němec z Těšínska, vystudoval německou techniku v Praze. Oskar Dworzak. Takže asi jeho předkové až tak moc čistokrevní Němci nebyli. Samozřejmě na něj naléhali, aby se rozvedl, nedal se, možná tak i sobě zachránil život, neboť z tohoto důvodu nenarukoval do armády. Mohl taky zmrznout u Stalingradu, v lepším případě být po válce vysídlen nebo vyhnán 6, vyberte si sloveso, které se Vám víc líbí. Dědečkovi, pravověrnému židovi, se ovšem manželství s „nežidem“ pranic nelíbilo, asi se ani nezúčastnil svatby, na fotografiích ze svatby není ani on, ani babička.

Hůř na tom byla teta Mirjam. Ta se vdala sice za žida, ale o rok dřív než její sestra, a to bylo pro dědečka taky těžce stravitelné, měla počkat až se vdá starší dcera. To se u židů nedělá. Prožila Terezín, půl roku s manželem v tak zvaném rodinném táboře v Osvětimi, při selekci oba sice obstáli, ale byli už odděleni, strýc Oskar zemřel vysílením na pochodu smrti 7, několik desítek kilometrů od Terezína, kam je pěšky vedli. Teta pak byla v Hamburku, kde hlavně odklízeli sutiny po bombardování, konce války se dočkala v Bergen-Belsen, což bylo snad v posledních dnech války to nejhrůzostrašnější místo pod sluncem. Po válce se vdala za Františka Klemense, ten se vrátil do Prahy po emigraci v Anglii, sloužil tam jako navigátor v bombarďáku, dokončil tu pak studia medicíny. StB 8 ho obtěžovalo, něco na něj měli a slibovali mu beztrestnost pokud se upíše ďáblu jako spolupracovník, což odmítl a tak se rozhodli v roce 1951 ilegálně překročit hranice. V té době měli už dvě děti a třetí na cestě. Dr. Klemens měl obavu dát mladšímu, tehdy dvou nebo tříletému synovi, kterého nesl spícího na zádech dostatečně velkou dávku sedativ, ten se probudil v tu nejnevhodnější chvíli, zařčal brečet a tak je pohraničníci chytili. Strýc seděl delší dobu, přidali mu za neúspěšný pokus o útěk z vězení, teta si odseděla tuším půl roku, a to ještě nadvakrát, byli tak „ohleduplní“, že jí přerušili výkon trestu, aby mohla porodit mimo věznici. Nejspíš tam neměli porodníka ani porodní bábu, tak proto. A tak po tu dobu měla teta Oly [Olga] pět dětí na starostí. Nezáviděníhodné. Strýc měl po výkonu trestu zákaz vykonávat lékařskou praxi, pracoval ve fabrice, rozhodli se emigrovat legálně, trvalo to dlouhou řadu let, než jim to povolili. Emigrovali do Izraele, strýc už zemřel, devadesátiletá teta žije teď u své dcery. Podrobně o tom martýriu píše můj bratranec, syn tety Olgy, Ivan, ve své knížce nazvané „Report“. Já jsem s nimi užší kontakt v padesátých a šedesátých letech neměl, přestěhovali se nedlouho po návratu strýce z vězení do Písku.

Vlastně jsem Vám zapomněl říct o dalších osudech dědečka a babičky Fantlových. Dědeček měl štěstí – jinak se to nedá říct – zemřel ve své posteli na zápal plic v květnu 1940. Nedovedu si představit, jak by ty hrůzy snášel. Nepřežil by ani Terezín. Když jsem tento názor kdysi řekl tetě Mirjam, tak mi ho potvrdila. Babička byla z jiného těsta, to byl bojovník s obrovskou energií, který se jen tak nedal. V 72 letech onemocněla v Terezíně břišním tyfem, nechápu jak v těch podmínkách dokázala tyfus přežít a dočkat se tam konce války. Osvětim by nepřežila.

Babička zemřela v roce 1954. Ani ten závěr života neměla lehký. V posledních dvou letech žila v židovském starobinci, šťastná tam rozhodně nebyla, to mi bylo jasné, když jsem jí přicházel navštívit. Tehdy starobince vypadaly trochu jinak než dnešní domovy důchodců a jak neměla co dělat, tak se jí hlavou honily asi hodně smutné neodbytné vzpomínky na zemřelé děti. Měl jsem jí moc rád, po válce mi byla ze všech příbuzných nejbližší.

Dětství

Takže se mám konečně vrátit ke svým rodičům, osudům svým a bratrovým? Nerad, pořád to bolí, i po tolika letech. Mládí rodičů bylo poznamenáno příslušenstvím k sionistickému hnutí 9, to bylo v té době in, tak se tomu dnes říká, ne? Tam se zřejmě seznámili a připravovali na návrat do zaslíbené země. Připravovali se na práci v kibucu na nějakém statku a učili se ivrit, tedy novodobé hebrejštině V roce 1922 emigrovali do tehdejšího britského protektorátu Palestina. Stali se členy kibucu v Bet Alfě, patřili mezi zakládající členy, přijeli do pustiny vykoupené od arabských šejků, postavili stany a postupně obojí zvelebovali. Na fotografii z roku 1930 už to tam vypadalo velmi slušně. Je to pohled z kopce, na stráni je veliký sad s již vzrostlými stromy, nejspíš pomerančovníky, pod svahem už řada budov, zejména hospodářských. Při kopání jejich základů narazili na zachovalou mozaikovou dlažbu synagogy z šestého století, tak je z toho museum. Hodně známé, fotografii té dlažby jsem viděl v několika publikacích.

Kibuc je zemědělské družstvo, fungující na principu každý podle svých možností, každému podle jeho potřeb. Ovšem velmi uskrovněných potřeb, podle možností kibucu. Měli společné stravování, když se jim roztrhaly kalhoty tak dostali nové, atd. Tedy základní komunistická idea. Jak řešili problém nekuřák versus kuřák deseti cigaret denně versus kuřák třiceti cigaret to nevím. Možná dostávali jakési kapesné. Kibucy jsou v Izraeli ještě dnes, je jich už méně, nežijou tam taky už tak sparťanským životem jako tehdy. Od zemědělských družstev, tak jak jsme je znali tady, se ale podstatně lišily tehdy i nyní. Do kibucu vstupovali dobrovolně, mohli kdykoli přijít a kdykoli odejít. Často tam začínali svůj život imigranti i po válce, než se rozkoukali a rozhodli pro jiný, nezávislejší život. Takže ke kibucu měli a asi dosud mají poněkud jiný vztah než měli naší družstevníci k jejich družstvu, tomu asi taky odpovídala pracovní morálka. Byl je tam navštívit prezident Masaryk 10, dochovaly se fotografie, jak si s kibucim povídá v jídelně, ale jsou tmavé a neostré.

No a my jsme se tam narodili. Ne v Bet Alfě, ale v Ain Harodu, to je nedaleké městečko s nemocnicí. Nejdřív bratr Ruben na Silvestra v roce 1924 a pak já v květnu 1928. Zachovalo se potvrzení vrchního rabinátu v Jeruzalémě o svatbě rodičů. Bylo to až v roce 1926, asi hromadná svatba všech párů do té doby žijících na hromádce, nejspíš byli rabíni pohoršeni a tak jim kibucim vyhověli. Jim samotným to asi nevadilo. Bratr byl tedy v době narození nemanželský, ale na rodném listu nic takového napsáno není. Zato v mém rodném listu je omylem napsáno, že je otec Polák. Asi to bylo rodičům lhostejné, byli přece pouze Židi. Až těsně před naším návratem do Československa koncem roku 1930 se otec chtě nechtě musel odebrat na matriční úřad v Ain Harod a tam podepsat místopřísežné prohlášení, že není Polák ale Čechoslovák. Na základě toho mi příslušný matriční úředník na rub rodného listu napsal, že se na základě přeloženého místopřísežného prohlášení Nationality Polish mění na Nationality Czechoslovak. Takhle jednoduše jsem změnil svou státní příslušnost. U nás by to asi bylo složitější. Zejména po válce. K cestě z Palestiny se mi váže jedna vzpomínka. Je to bez záruky, taky jsem si to mohl dodatečně vsugerovat. Stojím na palubě lodi a přede mnou nic než moře. Mohla by to být skutečná vzpomínka, ten rozdíl mezi vyprahlou Palestinou a Středozemním mořem mohl být hluboký dojem.

Proč jsme se vrátili? To nevím, nezeptal jsem se, proč by mne to tehdy mělo zajímat? Neznal jsem ani pojem sionismus. Vracela se tehdy řada rodin, asi hlavně ze zdravotních důvodů, jsou tam dost jiné klimatické podmínky než na jaké byli zvyklí a také fyzicky namáhavá práce, slyšel jsem, že tam řádila malárie, tak asi hlavně proto. S několika těmito rodinami jsme se stýkali i tady. To víte, že jsem si mockrát po válce řekl, že kdyby tam tehdy rodiče vydrželi, tak by bylo všechno jinak. Asi si to za války, možná ještě naposledy na rampě v Osvětimi, řekli také. Kolikrát v životě děláme klíčová rozhodnutí, která pak litujeme když dodatečně zjistíme jejich následky pro celý zbytek života? To co se stalo nemohli v roce 1930 předvídat ani astrologové. V té době byl Hitler ještě směšná bezvýznamná nula. O tři roky později by se už určitě rozhodovali jinak.

A tak jsme se tu octli v době velké hospodářské krize 11. Začátky asi nebyly jednoduché,  přijeli jsme se s holýma rukama, jak v té situaci táta sehnal práci nevím. My kluci jsme neuměli česky, já měl dost času se naučit, bylo mi dva a půl roku, bratr si ale musel pospíšit, měl na to před vstupem do školy tři čtvrti roku. Ale v Anglii jsme na to měli mnohem méně času. Z počátku, do mých šesti let, jsme bydleli v pavlačovém domě na Žižkově. Vzpomínky téměř žádné, jen to že jsem chodil rok do mateřské školy Na Pražačku, to byla tehdy úplně nová škola, asi proto se na ní pamatuju. A pak si ještě vzpomínám na to, že v domě byl obuvník, spíš příštipkář, že jsem ho chodil navštěvovat do jeho temného krámku, zvědavý na to, jak to dělá a on mi něco vyprávěl. Jak vypadal náš byt si nevzpomínám. Vlastně ani na ten další, kde jsme žili dva roky. To bylo v Podbabě, kousek do kopce od konečné tramvaje. Tam jsem začal chodit do školy. Na školu si pamatuju. Bylo to několik provizorních přízemních dřevěných staveb, v každé z nich dvě třídy proti sobě. Po Praze jich bylo víc, v jedné takové učila pak začátkem padesátých let v Bráníku manželka.

Když jsme přijeli koncem letních prázdnin v roce 1936 z pionýrského tábora, tak nás na nádraží očekávali rodiče, ale místo do Podbaby jsme jeli do Vršovic. Do našeho třetího, teď už posledního bytu. O stěhování nám předem neřekli, to bylo překvapení. Byla to novostavba, byt byl prostornější, měli jsme tam velký obývací pokoj, který byl dětským pokojem a jídelnou, rodiče měli pokoj o něco menší a po celé šířce obou pokojů byl balkón. Měl asi stejnou velikost jako ten můj současný. Kuchyň měla jen nepřímé světlo, mezi naším pokojem a kuchyní byla od metru až ke stropu zeď ze skleněných cihel. Byl to už moderní byt, s ústředním topením, teplou vodou, výtahem v domě, v suterénu byla prádelna s pračkou a vyhřívaná sušárna. Ten tento byt bych dokázal ještě dnes namalovat, vidím ho zcela jasně před sebou. Tam jsem dochodil tehdy tak zvanou obecnou školu, to byla první až pátá třída, na konci školního roku v červnu 1939 jsem se ještě přihlásil na měšťanskou školu, ale tam už jsem nechodil, koncem července jsme s bráchou odjeli do Anglie.

Mé vzpomínky na mládí se vážou v podstatě jen k Vršovicům. Tehdy tam bylo ještě spousta nezastavěných ploch, kousek od nás kasárna 28. pěšího pluku a jeho vojenské cvičiště, tam jsme jako děti taky směli, o pár set metrů dál Eden s kolotoči a letním cvičištěm, které se v zimě proměnilo na kluziště. Nic nám nechybělo. Hodně jsem tehdy četl, to byla moje nejmilejší zábava, ležet na břiše a číst si. Doma jsme mnoho knih neměli, já si z nich pamatuju jen na Švejka 12, toho jsem poctivě celého přečetl, z dětských knih si pamatuju na Čapkovy 13 pohádky a Dášenku a taky na knihu Bambi od nějakého severského autora, byla o životě kolouška. Ta se mi moc líbila. Měla zelenou plátěnou vazbu se zlatým nápisem. Asi mi jí někdo daroval k narozeninám. Vzal jsem si ji s sebou do Anglie, asi tam zůstala. Chodil jsem pravidelně do dětské knihovny, byla na Korunní třídě na Vinohradech vedle vodárenské věže, pěšky to nebylo ani půl hodiny. Ta dětská knihovna je tam pořád.

Jak to vím? Chodím se psem k veterináři do Vršovic. Našel jsem ho kdysi v telefonním seznamu, když jsme si pořídili tady toho welsh teriéra, jmenuje se Dr.Bondy, takže bylo zřejmé, že je souvěrec, tak proč bych ho nepodpořil, a navíc Vršovice, na které stále nostalgicky vzpomínám. A tak tam jezdím minimálně dvakrát za rok na vakcinaci, pokud nespěchám tak jedeme tramvají k Orionce, kde to v oněch dávných dobách nádherně vonělo, sejdu po schodech dolů na Ruskou, pak do Bulharské, v té jsme bydleli, na chvíli se zastavíme a já se dívám na náš balkón, vzpomínám a v duchu tam vidím mámu. Bulharskou pak dojdu do Kodaňské, po obvyklé trase do školy, u té se taky chvíli zastavím, před tou jsme v hodinách náboženství my nekatolíci hrávali škatule škatule hejbejte se, no a pak už je to jen kousek k panu doktorovi Bondymu.

Rodiče byli komunisté. Zřejmě si to přinesli z kibucu, což byla jediná fungující skutečná  komuna, fungující bez diktatury proletariátu, vedoucí úlohy strany, represí, gulagů či drátěných zátarasů nabitých elektřinou. O tom, co se dělo už tehdy v Rusku nevěděli a pokud někdo něco tak svatokrádežného tvrdil, tak to určitě považovali za nepřátelskou kapitalistickou propagandu 14. A tak nás v tomto duchu také vychovávali, nechodili jsme cvičit do Sokola 15 ale do Federace proletářských tělovýchovných jednot, místo do Skautu do Spartakových skautů práce a v létě jsme jezdili do pionýrského tábora v Soběšíně na Sázavě, tam ta indoktrinace intenzivně pokračovala, jak jinak. Byla to nezpochybnitelná, nekriticky přijímaná víra, Svatou trojici nahradili Marx-Engels-Lenin, mesiáše Ježíše nahradil Stalin. Jinak si podlehnutí tomuto náboženství nebo spíš bludu neumím vysvětlit.

Nevěřím, že by v té době někdo vstupoval do strany s výhledem, že si tím vytváří předpoklady pro to, aby v budoucnu získal neomezenou, nekontrolovatelnou moc nad lidmi a zdroji bohatství společnosti, být rovnější mezi rovnými, ale možná někdo byl tak předvídavý. A stejně to nemůže ospravedlnit to co někteří z těchto původně idealistů a těch co k nim přidali později napáchali. Promiňte mi tu odbočku od tématu. Klidně ji vymažte.

Tak tedy táta se po návratu z Palestiny angažoval, pokud vím, hlavně v tak zvané Rote Hilfe, po česku Rudé pomoci 16, která pomáhala komunistickým, možná i sociálně-demokratickým utečencům z Německa a Rakouska u nás. Zůstala ve mně vzpomínka na to, jak jednou k nám přišel jeden pán, ve vaně se čvachtal jako pominutý, a tak jsem se mámy ptal, proč tam tak vyvádí. Vysvětlila mi, že utekl z koncentráku, a že se několik měsíců nekoupal a proto si to teď chce pořádně užít. Pak u nás ještě poobědval a odešel. Takové návštěvy chodívaly často.

Ovšem jako člen komunistické strany mohl mít táta v práci problémy. A tak na 1. máje šli do komunistického průvodu máma s Rubenem, mne vzal táta na Václavák na chodník a tam jsme jim mávali. Vzpomínám, že máma měla na hlavě červený šátek. Jednou se nás druhý den paní učitelka ptala, co jsme dělali o 1. máji. Jeden snaživý hoch se hned přihlásil a žaloval, že viděl mámu s bratrem v komunistickém průvodu. Ale paní učitelka ho za tuto informaci nepochválila, místo toho nám udělala přednášku o demokracii.

Po okupaci 17 ihned vypuklo zatýkání angažovaných antifašistů podle předem připravených seznamů, a tak v prvních dnech po okupaci táta doma nespal, občas zašel ve dne, ale na to jsme měli zvláštní znamení: kdyby byla na balkóně pověšena deka, tak by to znamenalo, že je u nás Gestapo. Nevím, zda bychom stačili deku pověsit, naštěstí táta v těch seznamech nebyl, a tak se po skončení vlny zatýkání vrátil domů. Ale pracoval i potom ilegálně, to vím, byl součástí organizace zajišťující ilegální přechody do Polska. Vlastně i já jsem, věřte nevěřte, ve svých jedenácti „ilegálně pracoval“. Několikrát mne táta někam poslal s ústním vzkazem. To byl vzrušující zážitek, ale taky to mohlo být nebezpečné, kdyby v tom bytě právě bylo Gestapo. Jak bych jim vysvětlil proč přicházím k neznámým lidem na návštěvu? Ale táta mne asi neposílal tam, kde by takové nebezpečí hrozilo. Detaily si už nepamatuju.

Doma jsme mluvili jenom česky, nevzpomínám si, že bych byl poznal, že to není tátova mateřská řeč. Perfektní ale asi nebyla, protože v dopisech, které nám rodiče psali do Anglie, byly k poznání máminy opravy tátových gramatických prohřešků. Ale dělala to tak, že to bylo téměř k nepoznání. A nebylo jich mnoho. Na výslovnosti to asi znát bylo. Jenže v tom věku jsem to nevnímal.

Tedy abych řekl pravdu a nic než pravdu. Chodil jsem asi dva roky jednou týdně na soukromou hodinu němčiny a máma dostala nápad, že budeme jeden den v týdnu mluvit německy, abych se procvičil. Nápad nepochybně dobrý, určitě bych se tak naučil víc a rychleji, toho je dokladem, jak jsem se pak rychle souběžně naučil anglicky a německy v Anglii. Tam ovšem nouze naučila Dalibora housti. Doma jsem to po delší či kratší době vždy vzdal a máma nebyla asi důsledná a trpělivá.

Nevím, co bych Vám ještě řekl k životu před válkou. V mých dětských očích to byla idylická doba, žili jsme dost skromným životem, zámožní jsme určitě nebyli, nepamatuji se, že by rodiče, když spolu mluvili někdy zvýšili hlas nebo se hádali, když jsem to později vídal u jiných manželů tak jsem z toho byl vyjevený, nemohl jsem to pochopit, protože jsem s tím předtím nepřišel do styku a nevěděl, že něco takového existuje. Něco jiného byly vztahy mezi mnou a bratrem, tam to jiskřilo pořád, jak už to tak mezi sourozenci bývá, zejména když jsou dva. Asi když je jich víc, tak už to tak není, to už se ta sourozenecká soutěživost a závist rozptýlí. Taky to v Anglii hned přestalo. Rodičovskou přízeň jsme si už závidět nemohli.

Bratr hodně sportoval, tak moc doma odpoledne nebýval, já byl zase domácký typ, nejraději jsem byl s mámou, pozoroval jak vaří a vyptával se na to i ono, pomáhal když mi to dovolila, po velkém prádle jsem s ní chodil dolů do prádelny a pomáhal dávat prádlo do odstředivky, věšet a sbírat prádlo, jezdil s ní pravidelně jednou týdně na Smíchov, někdy i na návštěvy jinam. Ale asi jsem taky zlobil, občas mne máma honila kolem jídelního stolu s vařečkou, asi se mi podařilo mnohé dobře mířené ráně přece jen uniknout. Že bych dostal někdy nabančeno od táty, tak to si opravdu nepamatuju. Možná taky tím, že pracoval mimo Prahu, byl účetním revizorem, kontroloval zda členové kartelu dodržují dohodnutá pravidla, a tak v pondělí ráno odjížděl a vracel se v pátek večer a v sobotu dopoledne pak odcházel do auditorské firmy, pro kterou pracoval a zřejmě podával zprávu o svých zjištěních. Pamatuji se jen na jeden nedokonaný výprask, utekl jsem před ním do koupelny a zamkl se, strašně jsem se bál bití, odolal jsem tátovým výhrůžkám, že to bude horší když neotevřu, táta to nakonec vzdal.

No a pak bylo najednou po idyle. Hitlerovy projevy přenášené rádiem, které rodiče poslouchali, já jim sice nerozuměl ale z jeho způsobu hysterického řvaní poznal, že to nebude nic příjemného, okupace Rakouska 18, Mnichov 19, protektorát. A jak už bylo nebezpečí cítit ve vzduchu, tak začínala cvičení leteckých poplachů, vřískaly sirény a my se museli jít schovat do nejbližšího domu a čekat až siréna oznámí konec poplachu. Máma vstoupila do dobrovolných zdravotních sester, koupila si uniformu a chodila po večerech na školení Červeného kříže. Vzpomínám jak jsme šli s mámou koupit plynové masky, prodávali je vedle Viktorky Žižkov, byl jsem na tu svou moc pyšný.

Ráno 15. března 1939, to už jsme z rádia věděli, že prezident Hácha 20 tak zvaně požádal Hitlera o ochranu ,–nevím před kým - jsem šel jako obvykle do školy, jako vždy procházel Heroldovými sady a tam se rozvalovali němečtí vojáci, náramně hluční a veselí, sami se sebou spokojení, topili pod vojenským kotlem a cosi si vařili k snídani. A taky si pamatuju, jak obléhali cukrárny a s odpuštěním se přežírali šlehačkou. Asi v Třetí říši nebyla. Nebo využívali pro ně velmi výhodný směnný kurz 10 Kč za marku, který zavedli hned první den po okupaci a obchodníci byli povinni přijímat platbu v markách.

Ještě jedna vzpomínka, nezdržuju? Klidně to pak vymažte. Jako školní dítka jsme jednoho dne místo vyučování šli povinně vítat našeho prvního protektora rytíře von Neuratha 21. Tuhle povinnou vítací činnost si po Němcích oblíbili i komunistické režimy. Ale to už chodili vítat i úředníci, vojáci, milicionáři a kdo ví kdo ještě. Učitelé nás odvedli na Smetanovo nábřeží, před námi na kopci Hradčany, kde se pan protektor hodlal usídlit, kolem špalírů školních dítek projížděly kabriolety a rozdávali papírové fangličky s hákovým křížem. Školní dítka je házela pod sebe, byli jsme přece čeští vlastenci a tehdy ještě nevěděli, jak moc se máme bát, a tak přivezli další várku, a to se několikrát opakovalo, pan protektor měl zpoždění, stáli jsme tam asi tři hodiny. A pak kolem nás projel dlouhatánský průvod a my ani nakonec nevěděli, který z těch mnohých uniformovaných pánů se spoustou pozlátka je ten pán, kterého jsme přišli přivítat. Stejně už jsme fangličky neměli, ležely v kalužích pod námi. Asi jsme si ve vlastních očích připadali jako nebojácní hrdinové.

Pobyt v Anglii

O chystaném odjezdu do Anglie jsme museli vědět brzo po 15. březnu, neboť jsem přestal chodit na němčinu a místo toho začal chodit na angličtinu. No a po skončení školního roku už jsme se začali připravovat na odjezd, měli jsme odjet 1. srpna. Před námi báječné dobrodružství, jak jinak bych se v tom věku podíval do Anglie. Stejně to bylo jen na pár měsíců, brzy buď padne Hitler, přece se ho Němci musí chtít zbavit, a my se vrátíme nebo rodiče přijedou za námi. Tak proč si dělat starosti? Začaly horečné přípravy, všelijaké nákupy, na každém kousku prádla muselo být našito jméno, aby to mohli po vyprání roztřídit. Teprve po letech jsem si všiml, že na mé prošívané dece je v jednom rohu paspulka s nápisem AUERBACH našita jen z části a do ní zapíchnuta jehla s nití; máma asi musela odejít od šití a pak na to zapomněla. I takové maličkosti dokázaly po letech vnést do duše hluboký smutek.

Jedno červencové nedělní ráno, právě jsme seděli v kuchyni u snídaně, zazvonil u dveří listonoš; přinesl telegram, ve kterém bylo napsáno, že odjíždíme už 18. července. Nevím proč tehdy z původního velkého transportu nás 70 vybrali k dřívějšímu odjezdu, ti zbývající pak ještě odjeli do Anglie 1. srpna, ale ten další, který měl odjet 1. září už nedojel. Podle fámy sice odjel, ale v Německu je vrátili. Ten den Němci napadli Polsko, vypukla světová válka. Když přišel ten telegram, tak jsem se rozbrečel, protože to znamenalo, že opustím rodiče dřív, než jsem to měl v hlavě zafixováno. A to už máma nevydržela a taky se rozplakala. Pak už jsme byli stateční, nebo jsme se alespoň, tedy hlavně rodiče, přemáhali. Vlak odjížděl o půlnoci z Wilsoňáku, tak nás rodiče ještě před tím vzali na večeři do nóbl restaurace na Václaváku. Pamatuju si to jako by to bylo dnes, protože jsem byl poprvé v restauraci. Byl to Vašatův rybí restaurant s úslužnými číšníky ve fracích, stříbrnými příbory, atd. Moc jsme toho asi tu první noc nespali, byly tam děti mnohem mladší než já, ty celou noc proplakaly. Ještě v noci jsme překročili hranice protektorátu, pozdě odpoledne druhého dne jsme opustili Německo a byli v Holandsku. Z vlaku jsme do té doby vystupovat nesměli, jídlo a pití na cestu jsme měli z domova. Sice jsme z toho asi pojem neměli, ale najednou se nám ulevilo, cítili se volní. Z Holandska si pamatuju, že tam snad nikdo nechodil pěšky, všude spousta kol, není divu, když je to samá rovina. Pozdě večer jsme dojeli do přístavu, tam nás naložili na loď, přidělili kajuty a konečně jsme se mohli natáhnout a vyspat. A ráno jsme se už vzbudili v anglickém přístavu v Harwichi. Takže jsme si tu plavbu lodí ani trochu neužili. Vlak do Londýna odjížděl až v poledne, tak nás vzali na hřiště, hráli jsme fotbal. No a odpoledne jsme už byli v Londýně, na nádraží nás odvedli do nějaké haly a tam si nás naši budoucí opatrovníci rozebrali. Pro mne, bratra a ještě dalších šest dětí si přijela paní Hanna Strasserová a odvezla nás do Stoke-on-Trent, čtvrtmiliónového zakouřeného průmyslového města ve střední Anglii. Těch šest dětí jsem do té doby neznal.

To bylo tak: Hanna byla přítelkyní rodičů, znali se z kibucu, i ona s manželem a synem se vrátili do Československa, žili v Teplicích odkud její manžel pocházel, asi dvakrát jsme s mámou byli u nich na návštěvě. Bratr byl u nich rok na výměně, aby se naučil německy, tomu se říkalo na tauši, jejich syn byl zase u nás, aby se naučil česky. Po Mnichově bydleli v Praze nedaleko od nás, taky v Bulharské ulici a do Anglie emigrovali už začátkem roku 1939. Asi se tam Hanna dozvěděla o akci Nicholase Wintona, a tak iniciovala vytvoření Czech Children Refugee Committee – North Staffordshire Branch neboli výbor na záchranu českých dětí, který dával dohromady lidi, kteří chtěli pomáhat, shánět finanční dary na kauci, kterou chtělo ministerstvo vnitra dřív, než dali Nicholasu Wintonovi pro nás povolení k pobytu, peníze na financování našeho pobytu a zajistili i ubytování, paj nás často navštěvovali, zvali k sobě domů, vozili na výlety a tak. Městské zastupitelstvo dalo k disposici jeden z domků v sirotčinci – nazývalo se to Children´s Homes neboli dětské domovy – nebyl to obvyklý sirotčinec, ale to čemu se dnes říká dětská vesnička: oplocený pozemek s vraty neustále otevřenými, od vstupu vedla slepá ulice, spíš alej se vzrostlými stromy, na konci velikánské hřiště, po obou stranách aleje dvojdomky, v každém domku opatrovnice, kterou děti oslovovaly mother, a s ní asi deset dětí obou pohlaví ve věku od tří do čtrnácti, takže to byla taková velká rodina, ale bez otce. Tak jako v rodině taky museli doma pomáhat: zametat a vytírat podlahu, mýt nádobí, škrábat brambory, nosit uhlí a tak.

No a jeden z těch domků byl tehdy prázdný a město ho dalo k disposici našemu výboru. A tak bydlení,vodu a elektřinu výbor pořídil zadarmo, jednou za rok nám tamní důlní společnost darovala fůru antracitu a na to ostatní potřeby už sháněl peníze výbor. Ze začátku to šlo, později už to bylo stále obtížnější, válka přinášela lidem jiné problémy, odborové organizace, náš hlavní sponzor, měly podstatně menší příjmy a asi i pomáhal rodinám členů, kteří narukovali. I my jsme pomáhali v domácnosti, to mi nevadilo, byl jsem z domova zvyklý, táta v neděli vařil oběd, uměl jen jedno jídlo, rizoto s uzeným masem, ale to nevadilo, vždy jsem se na to znovu těšil. No a my s bráchou po obědě myli a utírali nádobí. Postě máma měla v neděli den odpočinku. Už jsem zase odbočil.

Z těch domácích prací jsem měl strach jen když jsem přišel na řadu se zatápěním v krbu, jiné vytápění tam nebylo. Několikrát to zhaslo, kouř šel do pokoje místo do komínu, chvíli to vždy trvalo, než se oheň umoudřil. Ale zima tam byla stejně, pokud člověk nestál přímo u krbu, kde si nahřál půlku těla a po otočení o sto osmdesát stupňů tu druhou. Navíc jednoduchá okna a já rozmazlený z bytu s ústředním topením. A první dlouhé kalhoty mi koupili až v patnácti!

Ale první týden jsme byli rozmístěni po rodinách, neboť nás očekávali po 1. srpnu, a tak ještě nebyly dokončeny přípravy. Po nastěhování začala intenzivní výuka angličtiny, neboť ani ne za dva měsíce začínal školní rok. Učila nás Angličanka, učitelka angličtiny v penzi, předtím učila angličtinu v Palestině, ta ovšem česky neuměla, takže jsme se učili pomocí obrázků, ukazováním na věci a tak. Asi to měla vyzkoušené, něco nás naučit musela, takže jsme za šest týdnů nastoupili do školy. Mne nechali opakovat pátou třídu, po půl roce usoudili, že už umím dost anglicky a převeleli do šesté třídy, do které jsem věkem patřil. Tam jsem dokončil šestou a sedmou třídu, pak udělal zkoušku na dvouletou průmyslovku, tam mne to bavilo, učitelé nás dokázali zaujmout, bez problémů jsem jí absolvoval. Dokonce jako premiant. Poslední dva roky v Anglii jsem strávil v Československé státní střední škole, což bylo gymnasium financované československou vládou v exilu, tak tam už jsem problémy měl. Ne kvůli češtině, tu jsem nezapomněl na rozdíl od mnoha jiných, ale s biflováním nezáživného učiva, to mne nebavilo. A tak jsem procházel s odřenýma ušima.

S rodiči jsme si po nějakou dobu mohli dopisovat, jenom to dlouho trvalo, pošta procházela cenzurou v Anglii a Německu a navíc jsme ji posílali přes známé v USA, také to byli bývalí kibucim z Bet Alfy. V Praze jsme k nim s mámou chodívali na návštěvu. To šlo až do vypovězení války Spojenými sáty Německu, ale i pak jsme ještě měli nějakou dobu kontakt. Byla možnost dopisování zprostředkovávané Mezinárodním červeným křížem v Ženevě, to bylo vlastně určeno pro válečné zajatce na obou válčících stranách a nějak se stalo, že i nám to bylo umožněno. Bylo to velmi sporé psaní asi jako telegram, omezené na dvacet pět slov kromě adresy a psát jsme museli německy. Na druhou stranu se psala odpověď. Kam se to odnášelo k odeslání nevím. Několik jich mám schováno, všechny asi ne, tak nevím, kdy to přestalo. Nejspíš v roce 1942, když rodiče byli odtransportováni do Terezína. Ne, nepřišlo mi to divné, neboť i ostatní děti už tyto zprávy nedostávali a tak jsem si myslel, že to Němci zatrhli, nebyli jsme váleční zajatci.

Bombardování jsem nezažil, jen jedou spadla bomba do nedalekého domku a zcela ho zdemolovala, nejspíš nějaké německé letadlo bylo zasaženo a potřebovalo odlehčit zátěž. Přitom to bylo průmyslové město, uhelné doly, strojírenské podniky a tak. Ale nálety jsme v průběhu bitvy o Britanii užili ažaž, prakticky noc co noc přes Stoke létaly bombarďáky někam dál na sever. Začaly houkat sirény, vzbudili nás, my se rychle oblékli a běželi do nedalekého protileteckého krytu, který byl společný pro celý sirotčinec. No a když na zpáteční cestě přeletěli tak zahoukali konec náletu a my mohli zpátky do postele. Dost často se to opakovalo i víckrát za noc. Takže jsme se moc nevyspali. Ale ráno se šlo do školy, jakoby nic, s nezbytnou plynovou maskou, ta se nedala porovnat s tou, která mi zůstala doma nepoužitá. Tato byla uložena v papírové krabici ze které čouhal špagát, aby se dala nosit přes rameno a místo skleněných zornic tam byl ovál z celuloidu. Takže jsem tou maskou pohrdal, ale nosit jsem jí musel. Jako všichni, i dospělí. Jiné pro civilisty nebyly, zato byly zadarmo.

Opatrovala nás časem se měnící manželská dvojice, také z Československa. Bez výjimky to jim byla němčina mnohem bližší než čeština, případně čeština jazyk neznámý, a tak jsem se vlastně souběžně s angličtinou naučil i německy. Tak ale už tak dokonalá zdaleka nebyla, se slovníkovou zásobou jsem na tom byli dobře ale z gramatiky bych dostal pětku. Brzy jsme si na sebe zvykli, nevzpomínám, že by mezi námi dětmi byly nějaké animozity, hádky, rvačky. Samozřejmě mi byla část osazenstva sympatičtější, ale to nebránilo celkem pohodovému soužití. Taky z nás udělali pěvecký sbor, bratr hrál na pianovou harmoniku a Ralph, to byl jeden z nás na housle, a tak jsme chodili „koncertovat“ po městě, to nás ještě oblékli do čehosi strašného, co sami ušili a o čem si Angličané měli myslet, že to je československý kroj, ani vám to nechci popisovat. Nám říkali, že to má být propagace Československa, aby si nemysleli, že pocházíme z Afriky, ale nejspíš hlavním cílem byla sbírka na provoz domova. Ale na tu dobu stejně rád vzpomínám.

Horší to bylo s pobytem v Československé státní škole, kde jsem byl poslední dva roky. Něco jiného je soužití deseti dětí a soužití dvou set dětí. Vadila mi deprivatizace, nechápu proč Angličané si tolik potrpí na své boarding schools, tedy po česku internátní školy. Možná proto, že poslat dítě do takové školy není nijak laciné, že u bohatých to patří k bontonu, ale taky si asi myslí, že se v tom prostředí jejich dítko „zocelí“. Na sobě jsem to nepozoroval.

Čtvery letní prázdniny jsem prožil na severu Anglie na různých ovčích farmách, tak trochu jsem pomáhal, v posledních dvou letech dost pilně se senosečí. Byly to obrovské plochy luk s víceméně volně se pasoucími stády tak osmi set ovcí, noci trávily pod širým nebem a jelikož sníh je tam vzácností, tak se asi zčásti i v zimě napásly a nebyly závislé jen na senu. Ale bylo ho dost, sklízeli jsme ho celé léto. Tedy když nepršelo. A to bylo dost často.

Bratr byl z nás osmi nejstarší a v osmnácti, v létě roku 1943, vstoupil dobrovolně do československé armády. Po něm postupně i ostatní kluci, kromě mne, já byl nejmladší, osmnáct mi bylo až v roce 1946. Takže ke konci války jsme z původních osmi zůstali už jen, tři, kromě mne ještě dvě holky, ty byly mladší než já. Koncem května, možná začátkem června mi do školy přišel dopis od bratra, který mezitím dorazil s armádou do Prahy. V něm mi psal, že ve Vršovicích nikoho nenašel, tak zajel na Smíchov, tam našel tetu Oly a Mirjam a babičku, že děda zemřel a že o rodičích je známo jen to, že byli odvezeni kamsi z Terezína a od té doby nic. Asi si už uvědomoval, nejspíš z vyprávění tety Mirjam, jaký osud je postihl, to mi naplno napsat nedokázal a tak jsem dál žil v iluzi, nebo chcete-li v naději, že se ještě odněkud vynoří. Podobně na tom byli asi taky matky a manželky vojáků, jimž napsali vojenští páni, že jsou nezvěstní a taky dlouho doufali, že se vrátí, obzvlášť pokud byli na ruské frontě. Odtamtud se váleční zajatci vraceli ještě začátkem padesátých let.

Návrat zpátky organizovala naše vláda a tak nás, tedy mne a ty dvě dívky, jednoho dne koncem srpna 1945 naložili do vojenského letadla asi pro přepravu parašutistů, protože jsme seděli jsme podél trupu na dřevěných lavicích, pohodlné to zrovna nebylo. A bez občerstvení! V Ruzyni nás naložili do autobusu a odvezli do budovy YMCA v Žitné ulici, kterou předělali na provizorní ubytovnu a přidělili nám každému postel. Dal jsem kufr pod postel a rovnou šel na Karlovo náměstí, nasednul na šestnáctku, a jel na Smíchov. Neboť šestnáctkou jsem tam vždy jezdíval s mámou. Anděl byl v tu chvíli můj jediný pevný bod ve vesmíru. Zašel jsem do obchodu, neboť jsem nevěděl kde teta bydlí. Tam byl jen příručí, kterého jsem znal už před válkou a ten mne nasměroval.

Kolikrát jsem si v Anglii představoval jak přijedu do Vršovic, vzhlédnu nahoru k balkónu zda tam nezahlédnu mámu, pak zazvoním u dveří, otevře mi máma nebo táta, vykřikne radostí a tím přivolá druhého rodiče. Jak budeme nekonečně šťastní, vstoupíme po druhé do stejné řeky a pak už to bude jen nádherný, idylický život …

Po válce

Dopadlo to jinak. Zazvonil jsem u tetiných dveří, přišla mi otevřít drobounká stařenka, pozdravil jsem, zeptal se zda je paní Dvořáková doma, stařenka řekla, že šla nakoupit, že se brzy vrátí, a pak jsme se s babičkou ve stejném okamžiku poznali a objali. Babička mne vzala do pokoje, sedli jsme si a babička začala plakat současně radostí i bolestí. A pak jen opakovala, a to velmi často až do své smrti „Proč jsem raději nezemřela já?“ Od té doby vím, že pro ženu není větší bolest, než smrt dítěte. Ten den když babička umírala, tak jsem ji s tetami navštívil v nemocnici. Byla v morfiovém deliriu, nepoznávala nás a jen opakovala „Grétinko“. Tak oslovovala svou dceru, mou mámu.

Občas si půjčuji v místní knihovně anglickou knihu, abych úplně nezapomněl, co kdyby se to ještě někdy hodilo. Minule jsem si půjčil autobiografický román Sons and Lovers od D.H.Lawrence. Vypráví tam o smrti svého staršího bratra, o zármutku své matky, jak stále opakovala „If only it could have been me!“ Takže babiččina reakce nebyla výjimečná.

Asi za půl hodiny se tety vrátily z nákupu, zase velké vítání a objímání, Mirjam rozhodla, že okamžitě zajdeme do Žitné pro můj kufr a hned první noc v Praze jsem spal u tety na Smíchově. Bydlel jsem tam dva roky, až do maturity. Měl jsem postel v obývací hale, která byla zároveň jídelnou, halou se procházelo z předsíně do obývacího pokoje, ložnice i koupelny a tak o soukromí nemohla být řeč. Samozřejmě to bylo lepší než žít v sirotčinci, což se stalo mnohým, i těm dvěma dívkám, co byly se mnou v Anglii. Jednou jsem v tom židovském sirotčinci byl se spolužákem navštívit jeho bratra. Byla to otřesná zkušenost, která mi umožnila uvědomit si oč lépe na tom jsem a snad se i tolik nelitovat. Ale i tak návrat domů byl nesrovnatelně smutnější než odjezd do Anglie. Tehdy to byla doba velkých nadějí, spíš jistoty, že se brzy shledáme. Ale život musel pokračovat, tak jsem zašel do nejbližšího gymnasia a s odřenými uši přečkal zbývající dva roky do maturity. Po maturitě jsem spolu s několika spolužáky odejel na tříměsíční výpomoc zemědělství do vylidněného pohraničí. Tehdy to byla údajně podmínka pro přijetí na vysokou, mnozí se na ní vykašlali a stejně je do školy vzali. Ale nelituju, byla to taky životní zkušenost.

Manžel tety Oly tehdy už projevil zájem, abych se odstěhoval. V té době už byla teta Mirjam přestěhovaná do svého původního bytu, kupodivu nebyl obsazen. Bylo to v Bulharské ulici, tedy několik domů od mého předválečného bydlení. V tom domě mi našla podnájem a tak jsem se tam odstěhoval. S financemi to bylo špatné, měl jsem sirotčí penzi po tátovi necelých šest set korun a k tomu od americké židovské organizace JOINT jsem prostřednictvím pražské Židovské obce dostával tisíc korun měsíčně. To představovalo dnešních asi dva tisíce korun. Ale na oběd jsem v týdnu jezdil na Smíchov, večeřel většinou u tety Mirjam, takže takhle to šlo jakž takž zvládnout. Za čtyři roky jsem vystudoval na ČVUT statistiku a nastoupil do práce v energetice, v té jsem byl zaměstnán v různých ekonomických funkcích celý život.

To ne, problémy v zaměstnání s tím, že jsem žid, jsem neměl, i když to bylo všeobecně známo. Bodejť ne, když mám tak exotické jméno, nad kterým mnozí kroutili hlavou. To spíš s tím, že jsem nebyl v partaji, to samozřejmě mělo vliv na mou kariéru, v tom jsem nebyl výjimka. Občas mi někdo řekl že kdybych, tak bych, ale to pro mne nebyl dostatečný důvod k tomu, abych se o členství ucházel. Když mi to po vojně v roce 1954 přímo nabídli a dali mi do ruky přihlášku k vyplnění, tak jsem si ji sice odnesl domů, ale po několika dnech jsem to decentně odmítl, že je mi sice myšlenka socialismu velmi blízká, ale že do strany s projevy antisemitismu vstoupit přece jako žid nemůžu a nechci. Bylo to nedlouho po procesu se Slánským 22 a jeho bandou sionistických spiklenců, kupodivu můj postoj pochopili. S další nabídkou mne už nikdy neobtěžovali.

Na jaře 1950 jsem se oženil s dívkou, se kterou jsem chodil už od oktávy, ke konci roku se narodil první syn, Ivan, a v roce 1956 druhý, Pavel. Oba se slušně učili, vystudovali techniku, starší strojařinu, mladší elektrotechniku, oba jsou ženatí. Ivan má dvě děti, dcera nedávno ukončila vysokoškolské studium, stavařinu, syn zase loni na vysokou nastoupil, studuje architekturu. Mladší Pavel bohužel děti nemá. Chtěli je, ale nevyšlo to. Oba synové cítí sounáležitost se svým židovstvím, ale nijak ho nepěstují. Proč by taky měli, když ani jejich „čistokrevný“ otec se v tomu nevyžívá. Ivan jednou před námi prohlásil, ani už nevím v jaké souvislosti, že je víc hrdý na své poloviční židovství než na své poloviční češství, což mne u srdce zahřálo, manželku popudilo. Ale kupodivu na to nereagovala, přešla to, jakoby to přeslechla. To bylo dost neobvyklé.

Takže ještě zbývá něco povědět o dalších osudech mého bratra Rubena. Ty byly poněkud méně přímočaré, než ty moje. Po propuštění z armády se odstěhoval do Brna ke kamarádovi z vojny, který tam dostal byt, a tak tam s ním bydlel, dostudoval průmyslovku a v létě 1946 maturoval. Do zaměstnání nastoupil do Teplic, nevím proč si vybral Teplice, možná proto, že tam kdysi byl na tauši. Své komunistické přesvědčení z mládí nezapřel, vstoupil do strany, možná taky proto, že to pokládal za dědictví po rodičích, a byl velmi aktivní. Chtěl splynout s majoritní společností, a tak si změnil jméno na Pavel Potocký. Stejně jsme ho ale všichni jeho blízcí do konce jeho života oslovovali Rubene. Nenásledoval jsem ho, protože pro mne jediným dědictvím bylo mé jméno a mým úkolem bylo, aby ve mně pokračovali. Nenásledoval jsem ho ani ve vstupu do strany, ne proto, že bych myšlenkám socialismu nevěřil, ale spíš z pohodlnosti, nechuti k organizovanosti, ke spolkaření všeho druhu.

To, že si změnil jméno mě mrzelo, ale nic jsem mu neřekl, byl to starší brácha, tak jakým právem bych ho mohl kritizovat, jenom jsem si říkal, že když už, tak mohl zvolit mámino jméno za svobodna Fantl, to německy ani židovsky nezní. Prý je to jméno sefardských židů 23, to jsou ti, co přišli ze Španělska. Údajně odtud pochází dědečkovi předkové. Mirjam mi jednou vyprávěla, že nám máma chtěla po návratu z Palestiny nechat změnit rodná jména, a že já měl být Karel. Ale tehdy to nešlo, jenom změnit německá příjmení na česká. Tedy po vzniku Československé republiky 24 v roce 1918, kdy se to stalo „in“.

Zase odbočuju. Tak tedy jak už jsem řekl bratr byl velmi činný ve straně v Teplicích, a tak rozhodli, že je to, čemu se tehdy říkalo perspektivní kádr a že by se měl politicky dál vzdělávat. K tomu sloužil Lidový dům v Hybernské ulici, kdysi a teď znovu sídlo sociálních demokratů. Internátní škola, ve které strávil školní rok 1949/1950. Pak byl asi půl roku jakýmsi začínajícím referentem v partajním aparátu. Ale to už začaly čistky ve straně, podezřelí byli hlavně interbrigadisté, kteří bojovali proti generálu Frankovi ve španělské občanské válce 25, ti co byli za války v Anglii a jak už je zvykem po staletí, židé. Bratr vyhovoval dvěma kritériím, tak mu decentně řekli, že by měl odejít pracovat mezi dělnickou třídu, aby ji lépe poznal 26. No, mohl taky dopadnout hůř, mohli z něj taky udělat protistátního spiklence. Ale na to tam byl asi příliš krátkou dobu a se špičkami nepřišel do styku.

Odejel do Ostravy, fáral dva nebo tři roky pod zemí, žil s dalšími brigádníky v dřevěných barácích, tedy spíš s lumpenproletariátem než s proletariátem, nevím už kolik jich bylo na pokoji, měl tam postel, skříňku nic víc. V roce 1951 jsem byl služebně v Ostravě, tak jsem to využil a zajel do ubytovny, dost mne to šokovalo. Po několika letech se vrátil do Prahy, dojížděl do Vodochod, kde se vyráběly tryskové stíhačky, pracoval tam několik let jako zámečník. Když Sověti v roce 1956 vyslali armádu do Maďarska 27 k potlačení povstání tak to byla ta pověstná poslední kapka a vystoupil z partaje. Tehdy to nebyla žádná sranda, snad desetkrát si ho povolali na výbor a snažili se ho různými „argumenty“ přesvědčit, aby zůstal straně věren, byli peskováni, že dělník vystupuje z partaje, ale trval na tom, tak ho konečně pustili. Byl z toho ve velkém stresu. Po nějaké době si našel práci v Modřanech, denní dojíždění do Vodochod bylo časově hodně náročné. V Modřanech taky pracoval jako zámečník a pak nějaký čas jako technolog, takže konečně mohl uplatnit své vzdělání. Oženil se, narodily se mu dvě děti a v roce 1969 emigroval do Spojených států, zemřel před dvěma lety. Po roce 1989 byl jednou s dcerou, ta je taky Mirjam, na návštěvě v Praze, když jsem ovdověl tak jsem byl u nich, to bylo v roce 2000.

Ani tam to neměl lehké, zejména první roky. Z počátku žili v New Yorku, pak se přestěhovali do Denveru, našel si práci jako technolog, manželka pracovala v továrně na prádlo jako šička, dcera vystudovala vysokou a nyní je profesorkou na vysoké škole v Miami. Synovi se do studií nechtělo, v něčem se potatil, nechal si změnit jméno z Jana na Michaela a doma mu stejně říkají Honzo, je řidičem náklaďáku, svobodný a stále bydlí s mámou. Což je vlastně dobře, protože by jinak byla sama, její angličtina je i po tolika letech prachbídná, nikdy si v emigraci nezvykla ale zpátky taky nechtěla. Dospělí děti by se určitě nevrátily, tak proto asi. Mají tam pěkný domek se zahrádkou a hypotéku už splacenou.

Takže to by snad už o rodině bylo všechno. Říkal jsem Vám hned na začátku, že na nás nebylo nic zvlášť zajímavého, co by stálo za sepisování. Byly dramatičtější osudy, ty by se spíš měly uchovat v paměti. Jenže v mnohých rodinách nezůstal nikdo, kdo by jejich příběhy mohl vyprávět.

Takže chcete ještě abych řekl něco o vztahu naší rodiny k náboženství, k židovství v širším slova smyslu, k tradicím. Byli jsme téměř všichni bezvěrci. Dědeček z máminy strany byl hluboce věřící, denně chodil ráno i večer do synagogy se pomodlit, o šabatu tam pobýval téměř celý den, byl v představenstvu smíchovské synagogy a členem, snad dokonce předsedou pohřebního bratrstva, které v židovských obcích obstarává poslední věci člověka. Jeho členové se chodí modlit k umírajícímu, po smrti oblékají do rubáše, ukládají do rakve a A pokud byl nemajetný tak zajišťovali z darů souvěrců pohřební výdaje. Židovský pohřeb jsem zažil jen jednou, pohřeb smíchovské babičky v roce 1954. Tehdy mne zarazilo, že je pohřbívána v obyčejné bedně sbité z hrubých neopracovaných prken, zprvu jsem se v duchu pohoršoval, myslel jsem že tety chtěly ušetřit na rakvi. Pak mi teprve došlo, že to je židovský obyčej vyjadřující myšlenku, že při narození i ve smrti jsme si všichni rovni. O náhrobcích to ale neplatí. Těmi už se dávají najevo majetkové poměry zesnulého stejně jako na křesťanských hřbitovech.

Snad ještě dědův syn Rudolf byl věřící, ale určitě nebyl tak častým návštěvníkem synagogy. Ani nevím jak to bylo s babičkou. Za dědečkova života určitě dodržovala určité zvyky, ženy se však tradičně tolik nemodlí jako muži, nemají na to čas, když se musí starat o domácnost když muži někde mudrují a hádají se o význam toho či onoho biblického výroku, nemají ani přístup do modlitební síně, smí jenom do vyhrazených prostor. Zatímco muži od nepaměti se v útlém věku učili hebrejštinu, aby mohli číst svaté knihy a o nich disputovat, jejich ženy zůstávaly analfabety asi až do zavedení povinné školní docházky. Takže s babiččinou nábožností jsem se setkal až po válce. To jednou v roce, v Den smíření trávila čas od rána do pozdních odpoledních hodin v Jubilejní synagoze, to je ta v Jeruzalémské ulici, celý ten den se v souladu s náboženskými příkazy postila. To znamená u Židů nejen nejíst ale také nepít. Teta Oly měla obavy, aby v důsledku toho v jejím věku na cestě domů neomdlela a tak jsem pro ní před koncem bohoslužeb došel, čekal před synagogou a doprovodil ji domů. Jom Kipur a Roš Hašono tedy Nový Rok a Den smíření jsou tak zvané Velké svátky a v tyto dny mnozí Židé, kteří jinak synagogu nenavštíví po celý rok a ani doma se moc nemodlí a nejspíš i mnozí nevěřící zaplňují synagogy po celém světě. Asi to v nich posiluje vědomí sounáležitosti s židovstvem i když jinak se snaží asimilovat a splynout s většinovou společností.

Rodina se však přece jen scházela kompletní jeden den v roce a to na seder [seder: termín vyjadřující zejména domácí bohoslužbu a předepsaný rituál pro první noc svátku Pesach – pozn. red.], slavnostní večeři k uctění památky odchodu Židů z egyptského otroctví. Ta večeře má velmi přísný přesně stanovený rituál, nejmladší člen rodiny klade nejstaršímu členovi rodiny stanovené, vždy stejné otázky, a dostává na ně každý rok přesně stejné odpovědi. Tím nejmladším jsem byl já, vzpomínám, že dědeček seděl v čele prostřeného stolu, já vedle něj po pravé straně na delší straně stolu, a kladu mu v hebrejštině otázky, které mne v hodinách náboženství naučili, on mi hebrejsky odpovídá a já mu nerozumím ale vím o čem povídá, to nám v hodinách náboženství pan rabín vysvětlil. Všichni se usmívali, jak jsem to krásně přednesl, měl jsem před sebou knížku, ve které samozřejmě hebrejsky byly napsány otázky [Čtyři otázky, Ma ništana: tradične přednesené nejmladším účastníkem sederu o Pesachu – pozn. red.]a odpovědi, ale naučit jsem se je musel nazpaměť, jinak by to bylo hrozné koktání.

Do synagogy jsem jednou ročně chodil, ale ne na Den smíření, byl to svátek kdy děti pochodovali synagogou, každé v ruce propůjčený praporec s Davidovou hvězdou [byl to svátek Purim – pozn. red.]. Jak jsme procházeli kolem představenstva synagogy, které sedělo před schránkou na tóru, tak jsme byli jeho členy obdarováváni kornoutem cukroví. Děda tam taky sedával a já byl na něj pyšný.

Ještě jednou jsem byl v synagoze, vím přesně datum, bylo to 1. ledna 1938, bratr měl bar micvah, neboť den předtím mu bylo třináct, věk kdy hoch vstupuje mezi dospělé a četl z Tóry text stanovený pro tento týden. Bar micvah je moc slavná událost v židovské rodině. Zda to uměl přečíst nebo si to nabifloval to nevím. Já jsem už o bar micvah přišel, kdybych byl o to stál, tak jsem ho mohl mít v Anglii, v Československé státní škole jsme měli „svého“ českého katolického kněze i rabína a malou motlitebnu. Tuším, že se v ní střídaly katolické a židovské bohoslužby, určitě by mne rád připravil, ale já byl hrdý na své beznabožství. Dnes toho lituji, patří to neodmyslitelně k židovství tak jako obřízka, takže se cítím o to ochuzen.

Věřící, nevěřící, na náboženství jsem chodil, bylo to vždy jednou týdně odpoledne ve škole, chodili jsme tam z více tříd a učil nás kantor z nuselské synagogy, asi ve Vršovicích žádná nebyla. Byl to starší vysoký hubený pán, velmi tolerantní, přicházeli jsme skoro všichni bez jarmulky, neměli jsme žádnou, a tak jsme si při modlení na začátku a konci hodiny – „Šema jisrael adonaj elohejnu, adonaj echad.“ [hebrejsky: „Slyš Izraeli, Hospodin je náš Bůh, Hospodin je Jeden.“], dál už to nevím, jedna taky začínala „Boruch ato Adonaj“ [hebrejsky: „Požehnán jsi Pane“] - si dávali dlaň na temeno hlavy a tím ten handicap překonali. S úsměvem se nás ptal, zda jsme měli k obědu vepřo-knedlo-zelo, když ano, tak jsem mu to řekl, ani jsem asi v té době nevěděl, že bych to jíst neměl [kašrut, rituální způsobilost, židovských předpisů týkajících se jídla předepisuje, které živé tvory je dovoleno jíst, a které ne. Vepřové maso je zakázanou potravou – pozn. red.]. Ale on se jen usmíval a nekomentoval to. Pak nám vyprávěl biblické příběhy, před začátkem svátků proč je slavíme a taky se pokoušel nás naučit hebrejsky. Tak v tom jsme nevynikali, myslím, že jsme se nedostali dál než k přečtení slabikáře, z něhož si pamatuji jen první stránku, tedy po vašem tu poslední. Na ní byla namalovaná zahrada a pod ní hebrejsky GAN. Opravdu se zlobil, jen když jsme s námahou odslabikovali v textu slovo „jejo“, což nic neznamená, židé tím obcházejí napsání božího jména, Jáhve, to je zakázáno. Podezřívám se – a nejen sebe – že jsme se na to, jak se rozčílí těšili a nikdy nezapomněli říct jejo. Proč jsem, doma vychováván k bezvěrectví chodil do náboženství? Ze stejného důvodu, ze kterého brácha absolvoval bar micvah: kvůli dědečkovi. A mně to nevadilo ani neuškodilo.

Jinak jsme židovské tradice nepěstovali, ani košer stravu. Už jsem vám přece říkal, že táta v neděli pravidelně vařil rizoto z uzeného, miloval jsem chleba se sádlem posypaný škvarkama, to byla nějaká pochoutka [kašrut, rituální způsobilost, židovských předpisů týkajících se jídla předepisuje, které živé tvory je dovoleno jíst, a které ne. Vepřové maso je zakázanou potravou – pozn. red.]! Nevím, ale možná ani na Smíchově na to nebyli tak přísní, tedy kromě séderu a že po celou dobu svátků pesach jedli macesy místo chleba. Proč si to myslím? Když jsme s mámou byli na každotýdenní návštěvě tak jme tam byli až do večera a tak jsem večeřel na Smíchově. To mi dali dvě nebo tři koruny, to už nevím kolik, v létě mne poslali do vedlejšího krámu, mlíkárny, a tam mi mlíkařka nalila hrnek mléka, k tomu dvě housky a trojhránek možná dva ementálu, měla tam stolek, u kterého jsem to snědl. Ale v zimě mne posílali na roh do uzenářství na párek s hořčicí. A to zrovna kóšer není. Ale svíčkovou na smetaně jsem ochutnal až po válce. Takže tu máma asi neuměla, neboť to jí doma nenaučili, maso a mléko v jednom pokrmu být nesmí, dokonce má být oddělena sada nádobí na masové pokrmy a na mléčné pokrmy [kašrut, rituální způsobilost, židovských předpisů týkajících se jídla zakazuje jest masitou a mléčnou stravu při tomtéž jídle. Podobně se striktně navzájem odděluje vše, co přichází do styku s mléčnými a masitými pokrmy – pozn. red.]. V biblických dobách nebyly chladničky a při těch teplotách na Středním východě toto pravidlo bylo rozumné, ne? Jinak jme asi jedli to co ostatní. Měl jsem rád plněné bramborové knedlíky se zelím, buchty, ty máma upekla den před velkým prádlem a my je pak měli k obědu, miloval jsem houskové knedlíky s vejci, to bývalo k večeři, ještě teď mám před očima, jak sedíme s bráchou u stolu a já mu je kradu z talíře a hned byl důvod k sváru.

Ne, ani vánoce jsme doma neměli. Nejspíš jsem se doma na to zeptal, když mi kamarádi vyprávěli o štědrovečerní večeři a nadílce. Ale doma mi zřejmě na to odpověděli, že křesťani mají křesťanské svátky a my židé zase židovské svátky. S tím jsem se zřejmě spokojil, neboť vím, že jsem svým spolužákům vánoce nezáviděl. S tímto logickým zdůvodněním jsem se spokojil.- I když později jsem ke svému údivu zjistil, že někteří židé vánoce dodržovali právě kvůli tomu, aby to jejich dětem nepřišlo líto.

Ale tak úplně jsem o vánoce nepřišel. Zaměstnanci firmy, ve které táta pracoval, dostávali od pana šéfa kapra. Živého. Ale táta ho domů přinést nemohl, protože byl v týdnu mimo Prahu. Sídlo firmy bylo v ulici Ve Smečkách a tak máma vzala síťovou tašku, starý ručník a mne a jeli jsme pro něj. Tam měli v kanceláři dřevěnou káď, takovou co se z nich loví kapři na ulici před vánoci, z ní jednoho vylovili, zabalili do mokrého ručníku, vložili do síťky a my ho odvezli domů. A pak už musel ve vaně počkat až přijede v pátek táta a vykoná nad ním ortel smrti. Ale určitě jsme s jeho snědením nečekali až do Štědrého večera. Asi jsme ho zbaštili hned v sobotu nebo neděli. Jak ho máma připravovala si nepamatuju.

A pak tu byla ještě jedna vazba k vánocům. Bratr měl o Silvestra narozeniny, ty se u nás slavily, a aby mi nepřišlo líto, že dostal dárek a já nic, tak mi darovali pytlík s prskavkami. Zapaloval jsem jednu od druhé dokud jsem všech deset vevyprskal. Na tento dárek jsem se vždy předem těšil a byl jsem s těmito svými vánocemi naprosto spokojený. Vlastně jsme těmito prskavkami přivítali i nový rok.

Takže chcete mermomocí vědět, v čem spočívá mé židovství, jak ho vnímám, co pro mne znamená. Nebyla by nějaká jednodušší otázka? Proč se klade zrovna nám, židům? Nebo nám tak často a jiným jen sporadicky? Co víc: proč si ji klademe sami? Když se zeptáte deseti Čechů co pro ně znamená češství, tak vám všichni dají přibližně stejnou odpověď. Podobně když se zeptáte deseti Němců, deseti Francouzů, a tak dále. Nikdo se nezamýšlí nad tím, že se Čech píše s velkým Č nebo Němec s velkým N. I když těsně po válce jsme psali němec, ne Němec, ale to proto, abychom dali najevo své hluboké a nesmiřitelné opovržení. Když jsme se naučili rozlišovat mezi hodnými a zlými Němci, tedy těmi, kteří žili na východě a těmi na západě, tak to už jsme je zase psali s velkým N. Vlastně se divím, mohli jsme nadále ty západní psát s malým a ty hodné s velkým a takhle jednoduše je rozlišit. Cikán se snad taky téměř vždy psal s malým c, Roma s malým r už nikdo nenapíše. Zase zbytečně odbočuju.

Ale tak úplně zase ne. Protože když se zeptáte deseti židů, v čem vidí svou židovskou identitu, tak asi dostanete řadu nesourodých odpovědí. Jsou židé s velkým Ž a židé s malým ž, ale to nesouvisí s jejich opovrhováním nebo neopovrhováním majoritní společností. Nejjednodušší to mají ti, co se už narodili v Izraeli a žijí tam, ti asi mají stejný vztah k židovství jako Češi k češství, tak to jsou Židé s velkým Ž. Což nevylučuje, že jsou zároveň židé s malým ž, tedy věřící. Tedy židovští židé. Vy jste to ještě nikdy neslyšela? To se nedivím, já taky ne, právě jsem si to vymyslel. Ale proč ne, když může být český katolík nebo pakistánský muslim.

Horší je to s námi v diaspoře. Pro věřící je to asi taky poměrně snazší na tuto otázku odpovědět. Prý když se v Brooklynu zeptám pejzatého žida v kaftanu, který vypadá jako jeho předkové, když se před sto lety přistěhovali z Haliče kým je tak mi hrdě odpoví, že je Američan. Pro něj je tedy vztah k židovství, alespoň si to myslím, především jeho vztah k židovskému náboženství, takže to je žid s malým ž. Je to tak jednoduché? Vždyť ten pejzatý židáček, hrdý na to, že je Američan se záměrně anachronicky svým zevnějškem odlišuje od většinové populace, stýká se téměř jen s jinými pejzatými židy, žije v jakémsi dobrovolném skoro ghettu, mnozí z nich ještě mluví, čtou a píší nejen anglicky, ale i jidiš, nejspíš pro mnohé z nich je jidiš mateřská řeč. S tím se tuším u třetí generace Italů či Irů či Čechů narozených ve Spojených státech sotva setkáte. Nejspíš si to své amerikánství ten pejzatý anachronismus osvojil v americké škole, kde se vlastenectví pěstuje ve velkém, vlajky jsou na všech možných místech. Ale lepší vlajky než neustále se měnící fotografie nejvyššího pantáty v rámečku ve školách a úřadech. Takže lituju, v tom amerikánství brooklynského žida se  nevyznám.

A co s námi neznabohy? Nedávno jsem o tom mluvil s jedním moudrým, vzdělaným pánem, vysokoškolským profesorem v penzi, taky nevěřícím. Když jsem mu řekl, že neznám odpověď na to co jsem víc, zda Čech nebo Žid, tak mi řekl, že on je především Čechem a pak teprve židem. A to prošel těmi nejhoršími lágry. Copak se to dá změřit? Je snad z 80 % Čech a z 20 % žid? Nebo to je 90 ku 10, nebo 70 ku 30? Když řeknu český katolík nebo americký mormon nebo francouzský jehovista tak všichni vědí co mám na mysli. Ale když řeknu český žid? To už nemusí být nutně věřící. Takže zase jsou s námi problémy, vybočujeme stále z řady.

A když řeknu židovský žid? To nelze napadnout ale je to pojem neznámý a na první pohled absurdní. Ale v tom je zase ta zvláštnost: všechna ostatní významná náboženství jsou náboženství bez hranic, na rozdíl od křesťany pěstují misionářství, nejraději by ze všech černochů nadělali křesťany, nechápu proč je k tomu někdy dost nevybíravě nutili, jindy zase mazaně jim nadbíhají prostřednictvím charitativní činnosti. Proč jim neponechají jejich víru? Jako by na tom záleželo v co věří, zda mají jednoho boha nebo deset bůžků. Hlavní je, aby alespoň v něco věřili, k něčemu měli úctu, v něčem nacházeli útěchu, něco vytvářelo základ etiky. Teď mne napadlo: nenahrazují křesťanům svatí bůžky? Taky má každý z nich nějakou funkci, ten ochraňuje před tím, ten druhý zas před něčím jiným, a tak dále. Misionářství se mi proto protiví. Že by to byl podvědomý vztah k antimisionářskému židovství?

Má v tom jasno alespoň židovská náboženská obec? Chcete-li vstoupit do obce, tak to musí schválit nejvyšší náboženská autorita v obci, rabín. Ale neřídí se tím, zda jste věřící nebo nevěřící. Řídí se halachou , tj. předpisem, který mimo jiné říká, že židem je ten kdo pochází z židovské matky. Na otci už nezáleží, neboť kdo ví kdo opravdu je otcem, dokažte to. Teď už by to šlo, umíme přečíst DNA, jenže co kdyby pak vyšlo najevo, že hlava rodiny není otcem? To by byl malér větší než to, že ho rabín nechce jen tak přijmout do obce.

Takže ten, kdo má jen židovského, s prominutím, nejistého otce, už židem tak říkajíc ze zákona není, musí konvertovat k židovství a to není snadné. Musí před rabínským soudem vykonat zkoušky ze znalosti hebrejštiny a svatých spisů, zejména příkazů a zákazů, dodržovat základní náboženská pravidla a nevím co ještě. Zatímco já můžu být analfabet a totální ignorant a nevěřící a přesto nikdo nemůže zpochybňovat mé židovství a tudíž i právo být členem náboženské obce. A tak nejvyšší náboženská autorita rozhoduje podle kritérií, která s příslušností k náboženskému společenství, řádně zaregistrovanému na ministerstvu kultury, nesouvisí. Samozřejmě to nevím, ale možná polovina členů této náboženské obce jsou nevěřící. Pokud vím, tak do synagogy z nich s tou pravidelností jako můj děda chodí hodně málo, možná deset, možná dvacet. Není to absurdní? Takže vidíte, že u židů nelze uplatňovat standardní postupy.

K něčemu se přiznám. Když jsem byl na vojně, to bylo začátkem padesátých let, tak na nás chtěli, abychom vystoupili z církve. Byl jsem nevěřící, a tak jsem si logicky řekl, že tam nemám co dělat. Tak jsem jim to lejstro vyplnil a odevzdal. Na štěstí jsou vojáci bordeláři, kde to lejstro skončilo nevím, z obce mi nadále před každým židovským Novým rokem posílali složenku na náboženský příspěvek s tím, že od počtu přispěvatelů závisí výše státního příspěvku. Tak jsem jim pravidelně posílal stovku nebo dvě a tak jsem členem obce nakonec zůstal. Taky mi posílali Židovskou ročenku, tu jsem koupil a poctivě celou přečetl. Ale to byla má jediná židovská aktivita. Žil jsem ve smíšeném manželství a necítil potřebu se s touto náboženskou komunitu stýkat. Je mi to líto, na stará kolena k tomu neumím najít cestu zpět.

Že se vyhýbám přímé odpovědi a na dotazy odpovídám dotazy, pochybuju o všem možném, zejména o sobě? Tak to asi opravdu jsem žid. Já se těmi otázkami nesnažím vyhnout odpovědi, já ji těmito otázkami hledám. Tak tedy jsem Čech i Žid a necítím potřebu nebo nutnost kvantifikovat poměr mezi mým češstvím a židovstvím. Proč taky, k čemu by to bylo. Čech jsem ze stejných důvodů jako ostatní Češi. Žiju tu téměř od narození, téměř celý život, čeština je téměř můj rodný jazyk a je to jazyk, který ovládám zdaleka nejlépe v porovnání s těmi ostatními, které také nějak ovládám. Chodil jsme téměř jen do českých škol, mí předkové tu už žijí nejméně dvě století a nejspíš mnohem déle – co když ten na starém hřbitově je jakýsi vzdálený příbuzný – takže mám s Čechy, ale nejen s Čechy společné dějiny. Česká kultura je mi nejbližší, je to prostředí, na které jsem zvyklý. Takže nemám důvod, proč bych se neměl cítit Čechem, i když mne někdy štvou. Zejména jejich časté projevy xenofobie. Ale to není české specifikum.

Tak proč jsem tedy taky Žid? A jsem s tím malým nebo velkým ž? Škoda, že není nějaké třetí, to by mi vyhovovalo nejlíp. Prostě mé židovství je něco ve mně, nezávisle na mé vůli, ať se mi to líbí nebo ne, i kdybych přestoupil k jiné církvi jako to udělal olomoucký arcibiskup Kohn [Kohn, Theodor (1845 – 1915): římskokatolický církevný hodnostář, částečne židovského původu – pozn. red.], protože mí rodiče byli židé, jejich rodiče byli židé, rodiče jejich rodičů a tak dále až do těch biblických dob, kdy ještě Češi nevěděli, že jednou budou Češi. Ale ani to není odpověď. Protože dejme tomu třetí generaci Holanďanů narozených ve Spojených státech už asi vůbec nic nepojí k jejich prapředkům v Nizozemí, k holandské kultuře. Neznají ani slovo holandsky. Na rozdíl od toho pejzatého anachronického brooklinského žida, který mluví a píše anglicky i jidiš a navíc hebrejsky, aby mohl předčítat v synagoze z Tóry, číst si v talmudu a porozumět čtenému. Holanďan třetí generace se nezajímá o to, která partaj tam je u moci a nejspíš ani neví jak se jmenuje holandská královna. Zase na rozdíl od Židů i židů, kteří dění v Izraeli vnímají velmi citlivě.

Někteří Holanďané ještě pěstují krajanské spolky, jednou dvakrát za rok se sejdou, vezmou si holandské kroje, na nohy dřeváky, ve kterých už neumějí chodit a zpívají holandské národní písně s americkým přízvukem. A možná ještě lamentují nad tím, že si New York nezachoval své původní jméno New Amsterdam, o to je připravili ti zatracení Angláni. Ale určitě už nemají pocit, že jsou američtí Holanďané a určitě se jich nikdo proto taky neptá, v čem spatřují své nizozemství.

Asi nic nevymyslím. Kdysi na tuto otázku odpověděl Ota Ornest [Ornest, Ota (1913 – 2002): vlastným jménem Ohrenstein. Divadelný režisér a překladatel – pozn. red.] slovy, že je to osud a úděl. Nevím zda to měl z vlastní hlavy ale nic lepšího nevymyslím. Asi opravdu je ve mně to židovství dáno především tím, že jsme byli po staletí nenáviděni, pronásledováni, zaháněni do ghett, zabíjeni při pogromech a nakonec systematicky vyvražďováni. To je asi to společné dědictví, to jsou asi ty naše společné dějiny, které se odvíjely společně s dějinami zemí, ve kterých jsme žili nebo nás přechodně tolerovali, které z nás dělá židy, ať chceme nebo nechceme. Samozřejmě kromě víry a svatých spisů, které měly rozhodující podíl na přežití židovstva. Proto i arcibiskup Kohn zůstal podle mého názoru židem, ať už si to přiznával nebo ne. Přinejmenším proto, že kdyby se dožil holocaustu, tak kdo ví, co by se s ním stalo, zda by ho katolická církev dokázala ochránit před Osvětimí. Asi by si to musel přinejmenším uvědomit, chtě nechtě. Tak jako mnozí konvertité, kteří nebyli arcibiskupy. Ale já jim tu konverzi nezazlívám, jenom mám pocit, že je od židovství neosvobozuje. Vždyť i pokřtěná Madelaine Albright [Albright, Madelaine (nar. 1937): americká politoložka, diplomatka a politička. Dcera československého diplomata židovského původu, Josefa Korbela – pozn. red.] si to na stará kolena uvědomila, a ta přitom nebyla ohrožena.

Na druhé straně si myslím, že by můj pocit sounáležitosti s židovstvím asi časem hodně vybledl, kdyby nedošlo k tomu, k čemu došlo a život uplýval po roce 1937 poklidně dál tak, jako před ním a s antisemitismem jsem se bezprostředně nesetkával. A to zejména po smrti dědečka, který byl mým nejsilnějším poutem k židovství, který by mne určitě ještě dovedl k bar micvah…

Pochybuju, že by mne byl nějak zvlášť zajímal osud Izraele, možná by to ještě dnes byl britský protektorát Palestina, ale asi bych ze zvědavosti svou rodnou zem navštívil. Snad by to ve mne už tehdy něco probudilo. Byl jsem tam v roce 2000 a uvědomil si až tam , že to je víc než standardní turistický poznávací zájezd s cestovní kanceláří, že tam jsou mé kořeny, že se tam kdysi rodili, žili a umírali mí dávní předkové. Ale už předtím jsem si uvědomil, že je domovem mnohých, kteří zázrakem unikli holocaustu, jejich dětí a dětí jejich dětí, proto je pro mne něčím jiným, než by byla kdyby…

Zase ten rozdíl mezi námi a většinovou společností. Znáte snad Čecha, který by měl nějaký vztah k místům odkud je před jeden a půl tisíciletím přivedl do této země oplývající medem a strdím praotec Čech? Vědí alespoň s jistotou odkud přivedl?

Napovídal jsem toho víc než dost, kdo asi najde trpělivost si to přečíst, nebo se nad tím dokonce zamyslet? Benjamin Franklin kdysi na konci dopisu své dceři napsal přibližně: „Promiň, že jsem neměl čas napsat ti kratší dopis.“ Moudrý to pán.

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