Travel

Kofman Raikhchin
St. Petersburg
Russia
Interviewer: Olga Egudina
Date of interview: May 2006

I met Kofman Wolfovich in his cozy and hospitable apartment. It was rather difficult for me to settle the date of our meeting because Kofman Wolfovich leads a very active life. Meetings with friends, trips out of the city, visits to the synagogue - he has time and energy to do everything.

He speaks slowly and in low tones. Like a painter’s brush, his words draw for us first scenes of his childhood which he spent in a small provincial town, then terrible episodes of war. It is a great pleasure to meet Kofman Wolfovich and listen to him. No doubt we are very lucky that he agreed to share his memories with us.

My family background

Growing up

During the war

After the war

Glossary 

My family background

I remember nothing about my great-grandmothers and great-grandfathers. I did not see them alive and I do not remember any stories about them.

The most distant relatives whom I remember are my paternal grandmother and my maternal grandfather. To tell the truth, I met my grandmother only several times. She lived in Turov town in Belarus, not far from us and came to visit us sometimes. Her name was Tsipere. Our family lived in Petrikov town (60 kilometers far from my grandmother’s place). Our towns were very much alike. At that time in Belarus there were many small towns where a great part of population was Jewish. There it was customary to give people nicknames according to the name of place they came from. For example my father was called Velvl de Babunichi (i.e. Velvl from Babunichi). Babunichi was a small village in Belarus. So now I know that my father was born in Babunichi. Only judging by his nickname I could understand where my father was from. Regarding my grandmother, I remember that she had a domineering disposition in the town. Her husband died early in life and I do not know how she earned for living. She had only 2 children. I say only, because at that time poor Jewish families used to have much more children. You know that nowadays a family with 2 children is considered to have many children.

Unfortunately I remember nothing about my father’s sister: I even forgot her name. I remember only that she and her husband lived in Baku [now Azerbaijan]. I also remember almost nothing about my mother’s parents. I was named in honor of my mother's father. So it becomes clear that he had died before I was born. He was a manager of woods at a rich Polish landowner Tadeush. Father told that sir Tadeush liked to play chess with my grandfather. My grandfather was a good player, but just in case (not to provoke wrath of sir Tadeush) he gave him odds. And the landowner used to discover his intentions and say ‘Oh you, cunning Jew!’ My grandfather had 16 children. I do not remember their names and details of their biographies. My information is most scanty. One of them was lost during the Russian Civil War of 1918-1920 1, the other one fell a prey to pogroms. Two of them emigrated to America during the first years after the Revolution of 1917. My parents corresponded with them till 1947, then their correspondence was interrupted, and I was afraid to recommence. I already studied at the College (it was in 1947), when I received a parcel from our American relatives. It contained clothing: unprecedented luxury in those times. But my College friends said ‘Be careful!’ - It is strange that nothing happened after that parcel: do you know how it was called? It was called relations with people who left abroad! Therefore I even did not thank them for the parcel. Sure, I am ashamed for it, but persons who lived in this country at that time can understand it.

Parents of my father were religious and my father inherited religiousness from them. He studied in cheder and later in yeshivah.

Sister of my father was younger than him; I do not remember her name. She lived in Baku (now Azerbaijan) together with her husband. She had 2 children.

I was born in 1924 in Petrikov town and lived there till the beginning of the war, when I was 17 years old.

Petrikov was a small town (its population was about 5,000). There lived quite a lot Jews: 1 Jewish school among 5 ones in total. I studied at that school during 7 years. The school was not just a traditional Jewish one, but Soviet-Jewish: they taught us in Yiddish, but never discussed religious topics. In our town there were woodworking plant and brickworks, therefore sidewalks were made of planks and roadways were made of bricks. I do not remember any consolidated Jewish community in our town. There were 2 synagogues: for men and for women. My father visited the synagogue regularly till 1937. There were no special Jewish residential areas in our town: people of different nationalities lived where they liked. Most Jews of our town were handicraftsmen, but I also remember many Jews in the government's employ.

The town was built on the River Pripyat, which became notorious all over the world for the Chernobyl disaster. [Chernobyl disaster was the largest damage of nuclear power station in the history of mankind: it resulted in atmospheric contamination in all European countries, and in particular the river Pripyat was poisoned.] Because of the original relief, the town was divided into 2 parts: upper and lower one. At first we lived in the lower part (low-lying lands) of the town. Every spring high water flooded that part of the town. Water reached window sills. It was impossible to stay at home. Therefore all members of our family moved (by boats) to our neighbors - Byelorussians, who lived a little bit higher. Sometimes we had to stay at our neighbors for a fortnight. Herefrom it becomes clear that our relations with neighbors were the most kind despite of nationalities. During my life in Petrikov I never came across any manifestations of anti-Semitism. I both never faced it myself and never watched anything of that kind regarding other people. Everybody respected one another, respected other's culture and religion. Many Russians and Belarussians spoke Yiddish.

In our house there were 3 rooms. We had no water or electricity supply. The house was heated by Russian stove 2, we used it also for cooking meals. We had rather large vegetable garden, which helped us very much: as who should say, it fed us. We always had a cow.

Several years later, when my father’s salary increased a little we managed to buy a house in the upper part of the town. At that time I was 7. In our new house there were 5 rooms and it seemed to us a palace. Parents placed a room at the boys’ disposal (to go in for photography). It was all that could be desired! There we also had a large vegetable garden and a large apple orchard.

My father worked as a supplier. He went round the neighboring villages by cart and bought dried mushrooms, berries, dressed skins and so forth. On the territory of the town market my father had a special room, where people from the neighboring villages could bring agricultural production and sell it to my father, earning some money for it. Later all products were put on sale.

Our family was very loyal politically, my parents never criticized actions of authorities, and at least they never did it in presence of their children. My father was always very interested in politics, both foreign and internal. He was a talented public speaker. When he started talking about something, people gathered around him (wherever it happened) to listen to his speech. I remember that during the civil war in Spain 3 my father made a fiery speech (I guess inspiration found him at the town market). The import of his speech was to hand land in Granada to peasants. [‘…To hand land in Granada to peasants’ is a citation from Granada, a poem by Michael Svetlov. Michael Svetlov (Sheynkman) was a Russian Soviet poet. He was born in 1903 and died in 1964.] Father suggested contributing to relief fund for Spanish republicans. And people immediately started collecting money.

Great Terror 4 did not leave our town aside. I remember quite well the following episode: in our kitchen stove at our place father is burning certificates of honor which he was awarded with during many years of his work. From conversation of my parents I understand that these certificates were signed by various important figures already shot by that time, and it is better to get rid of them to get out of harm's way.

At school every morning was begun with a question: ‘Whose father was arrested this night?’ It was very seldom when nobody was taken away. And you understand that it happened in our small town!

Celebration of Russian religious holidays always came to the same end: some Russian neighbor came running to us to save herself from being beaten by her drunk husband. On revolutionary holidays (November 7 5 and May 1) they arranged demonstrations, which I always participated in. [May 1 was the state holiday in the USSR: the Day of the International Solidarity of Workers.]

Our family observed kashrut. Several Jewish women used to buy a ram by clubbing together and take it to shochet. They did the same with hens. They used to send children for easier purchases. Before Pesach women made matzah by turns in every Jewish house. It turned out that Russian stove just touched the spot for making matzah.

My father was born in 1890. His name was Velvl (Wolf) Raikhchin. He finished cheder and yeshivah. Father participated in the World War I, was taken prisoner, moved to Germany and worked there for a German burgher as an assistant on his farm. He lived there for about 3 years, having kept warmest memoirs about the owner. These memoirs nearly cost him his head, when the Great Patriotic War burst out 6. But I am going to tell you about it in due time.

After my father was delivered from captivity, he arrived in Petrikov. I do not know the reason why he chose Petrikov: I guess it was the nearest settlement larger than his native village. He began working as a supplier. Later he became a manager at the regional food products warehouse. A special building was constructed for it. It was large and made of bricks. In this country people always lacked food products (both during war and peace time). Therefore a person who was a master at a food products warehouse always (so to say) stood high esteem of everybody around. For example, a municipal official came to him and asked his assistance in buying a bottle of vodka. Well, was it possible to refuse? But father tried to decrease this sort of contacts to the lowest notch. By the way, thanks to my father’s position we sometimes had an opportunity to go by a lorry which delivered food products to shops.

Father tried to teach me religion and tradition, but unfortunately I was interested in it very little.

My Mum was born at the end of 1890s. Her name was Haya, nee Fridman. Most probably she was born in Poland. By the time of father’s return from the front line, she already lived in Petrikov, and I don’t know how she had got there. Their marriage was arranged by matchmaker (shadkhan). They got married in 1921. Their wedding took place in the synagogue according to tradition (chuppah, etc.).

Mum was very kind, very attentive and full of love to her children. We often got ill and she nursed us, regardless of her own health. She had to keep large house and vegetable garden, take care about the cow. All this adversely affected her health and Mum died an early death from heart disease: she was a little over forty. It happened in 1940. I remember that during her funeral ceremony father suddenly said ‘Nobody knows where our bones will lie.’ You know, his words appeared to be prophetical: neither he, nor his elder son happened to be buried beside her.

Father was much more strict than Mum. His life was also not easy. He assumed obligations for hard work at home. He had to saw and cut fire wood, to bring water for vegetable garden! He never beat his children, but sometimes he gave us fits.

Mother tongue of my parents was Yiddish. We all spoke only Yiddish at home. Naturally I considered Yiddish to be my mother tongue, too. When I entered College, I had to fill in a questionnaire, there I wrote Yiddish regarding my mother tongue. The Head of the 1st department sent for me and said ‘You’d better change it for something better.’ [In the USSR 1st departments were responsible for keeping vigilant watch over loyalty of employees. The 1st department of each institution was closely connected with NKVD 7 and KGB 8.]

My father visited synagogue regularly. Mum went there very seldom and children never did it. Moreover, at our Jewish school there was a group named Light Horse. To my shame I was its member. We had to go along the streets and look into windows to find people celebrating Pesach or Shabbath. We were obliged to explain them their mistakes.

At home we celebrated all Jewish holidays and every Shabbath. You know, as is customary at Jewish house, you can be hungry all the week long, but on Saturday you will have chicken, gefilte fish, etc. on your table. As for me, most of all I liked Pesach. I liked both meal and action with asking questions, searching afikoman, etc. All boys of our family were circumcised, but parents did not arrange bar mitzvah for us: there came a time when it was dangerous.

At home we never had any assistants. To tell the truth, all children from early age did everything to be best of their ability.

Financial position of our family was more than modest. Only father earned money, having 4 children. I know it for sure that without vegetable garden and the cow we would be not able to survive.

Members of our family had no idea about holidays. On days off father brought us to woods. Woods around our town were very good; they were very close to houses. We liked to collect mushrooms and berries very much, they were of great use for our family in winter: we used to dry mushrooms. I do not remember Mum making jam: I guess sugar was too expensive.

My parents never wore traditional clothes. They always put on very modest secular clothes.

At home there were only religious and children's books. Number of religious books was great. When I studied at the Jewish school, we read books in Yiddish written by Jewish children's writers. Later we began to read in Russian and in Belarus language. We had no system in reading: there was nobody to advise. For example, Mum never read books. As for me, I was an active reader of school library. I was interested in books of cognitive character: reference books, encyclopedias. I borrowed them from our school library. Father subscribed for the Der Emis (it means The Truth) newspaper in Yiddish. It was published in Moscow. Besides father always demanded that children should bring daily newspapers (central and Belarus). So every morning we ran to a newsstand to buy lots of newspapers. When I grew up a little, I began reading Pionerskaya Pravda children’s newspaper.

One of mother’s sisters lived in our city (I do not remember her name). She often visited us. She was much more educated, than my parents, therefore we liked to have a talk with her on different topics, we asked her about everything and she answered our questions willingly.

Growing up

When I was little, I did not attend a kindergarten, I stayed at home with Mum, my brothers and my sister. I do not remember Mum amusing us by doing something special. But we were in good health. We always had what to do about the house and in the vegetable garden irrespective of age: weeding, watering, destruction of caterpillars and Colorado beetles, protection of vegetables and fruit from crows, and again weeding.

I went to school at the age of 6. I was not a child prodigy, but I had an elder brother (he was 2 years older than me). We attended cheder together with him. To tell the truth cheder was at our place: melamed visited us at home. In 1930 authorities started struggle against religion 9 and parents stopped inviting melamed. It was time for my brother to go to school, and there was no place for me to go, therefore parents sent us together to the same class. Our school was Jewish, all subjects were taught in Yiddish. Russian was taught as a foreign language. At our school there was a very good director Pachevsky. Teachers were qualified and respected children. I was very good at chemistry. I remember a teacher of mathematics: a real dragon, but a square shooter and a very good teacher. And our director taught us both Russian and Yiddish. By the way they studied in yeshivah together with my father in their time. And one more: in Leningrad I studied in the same students’ group with the nephew of our director. It's a small world, indeed!

Besides my school I had many hobbies. In our town there was a special institution named Children's Technical Station. I attended there groups of aircraft modeling and radio one. There were a lot of sports groups, too. I went in for track and field athletics at the stadium. Most friends of mine were my schoolmates: some of them were elder, others were younger than me. During our studies in the groups teachers spoke their mother tongues: sometimes Russian, sometimes Belarus language, and sometimes Yiddish. I never went anywhere for vacation.

I was an Oktyabrenok 10, and a pioneer 11, and a Komsomol member 12.

In 1937 when I finished the 7th class, our school became extinct as a Jewish one. [In 1918 Soviet authorities permitted national minorities to teach their children at schools in their mother tongue. But in 1938 they issued an edict ordering to teach all schoolchildren in Russian.] It became Belarussian. There came a lot of children who finished rural seven-year schools. Teachers started teaching in Belarus language, and Russian was still taught as a foreign language. Here I’d like to tell you that my sister studied at our Jewish school her first three years, and then parents sent her to a Russian school, though by that time our Jewish school still functioned. You see, parents understood that studies at a Jewish school give no good outlook for a child. Other parents understood it too and stopped sending their children to the Jewish school.

Now I’d like to tell you about my brothers and sisters.

My elder brother Paltiel was born in 1922. He did not come back from war: he was killed in 1944 in Lithuania. My brother was prodigy. At school he was interested in physics, mathematics, and astronomy. He studied at different circles together with me. He was my first and best friend. I am sure Paltiel could have achieved much, but he was killed so early in life. He left for front from Petrikov. Later we left for evacuation and knew nothing about him (he knew nothing about us, too). At that time a radiobroadcast was devoted to people bereaved of their relatives. Thanks to that broadcast, my brother found us, and we corresponded till the day of his death.

My sister Sofiya was born in 1926 in Petrikov (like all of us). She studied at Jewish school, then at Russian one. After the end of the war she returned to Petrikov. They found a groom for her in Bobruisk (oh, that everlasting fame of shadkhanim!). That person (his family name was Zaichik) was a loyal supporter of soviet political regime all his life long. He held a high post in the national education institution. When authorities started struggling against cosmopolitism 13, he was dismissed and sent to a school in the suburb of the town as a teacher. Soon he became a director of that school. But as soon as it became possible to emigrate to Israel, he immediately got ready for a trip to Israel. People tried to persuade him to stay here, he was offered different posts, but he was inexorable. He said ‘I cannot live in the country which treated me that way.’ They left in 1979 with their 3 sons. My sister did not study anywhere after school, but she managed to master profession of bookkeeper without any assistance.

My second brother Isaac was born in 1928 in Petrikov. By the beginning of the war he finished only 4 classes. When we reached the terminal of our evacuation (Uzbekistan), my sister got fixed up in a job as a bookkeeper. She was very sociable, quickly began speaking Uzbek language, enjoyed esteem and love of local residents. One day an Uzbek made a strange request: he asked her to let our younger brother Isaac go with him. He was engaged in supplying activity, as our father did in Petrikov. He had to go from one distant mountain village to another, therefore he needed assistant. So my brother spent with him all the time we were in evacuation. We saw him only occasionally. He enjoyed his life, did not miss us very much, and made a lot of new friends. After evacuation my brother returned to Petrikov together with us, but soon he remained there alone: I left Petrikov for study, Sofiya got married and left for Bobruisk, and Daddy had already died by that time.

After a while Isaac moved to Sofiya (to Bobruisk), but it turned out to be uncomfortable for him. I suggested him to come to my place in Leningrad. He arrived and some time we lived together with him in our hostel, but he had no residence permit 14. Therefore he found a factory where they gave that sort of permit and a place in a hostel. It was a factory for processing leather. My brother finished secondary school without attending lectures, and entered Technical School for light industry employees. [Technical School in the USSR and a number of other countries was a special educational institution preparing specialists of middle level for various industrial and agricultural institutions, transport, communication, etc.] After the Technical School he graduated form the Textile College and worked at one of the Leningrad factories. In 1988 he left for Israel together with his son (his wife had died by that time).

During my childhood we were friends mainly with my elder brother. We were together all the time: at school, at home - everywhere.

During the war

But now we’d better go back in June of 1941. My brother and I finished the 10th class. We felt like quite adult and important. Several days we spent walking around the town together with our former schoolmates talking about our future and making plans. On June 22, 1941 (Sunday) at noon I heard some noise in the street. We had no radio at home, but our neighbors heard Molotov’s speech 15 and ran out of their houses. By the way, early in the morning on June 22 many citizens heard drone of airplanes and bursts of bombs, but everybody thought it was military exercise.

Next day we together with all our classmates went to the local military registration and enlistment office. [Military registration and enlistment offices in the USSR and in Russia are special institutions that implement call-up plans.] They enlisted almost every boy, except me: I was the youngest (only 17 years old). My brother Paltiel was among the called up boys.

I joined the Komsomol Battalion. Its task was to go round the neighboring villages and ask peasants, whether they noticed enemy spies. I was given a nearly blind horse and a rifle that dated back to the time of civil war. I did not manage to find a spy.

Day by day the front line approached our town. There appeared first victims: people occupied in building protective constructions around the town, were shot from planes.

Soon the town started preparing for evacuation. One of officials of high rank in our town was our relative: his surname was Zaretsky. He convinced Jews to evacuate. But my father refused flatly, he told everybody that when he was in captivity during the World War I, the owner of the farm where he worked was very good to him. Many Jews of Petrikov also considered life under Germans to be much better in compare with Soviet regime. I guess that many Jews were saved thanks to the following circumstance: after occupation of Poland [on September 1, 1939 Germany invaded Poland] through our territory there passed many Jews forced to leave their native places. From their stories it became clear that times had changed completely and that Jews would not expect anything good in case of German occupation. Therefore many Jews of Petrikov started preparing for evacuation. My father had a good reason not to leave: he considered himself standing sentinel, because products from his food warehouse were delivered to neighboring woods for partisan groups.

On July 5 the first barge with evacuating people left (among them there were communist party workers with their families and plenty of luggage). Early in the morning on July 19 Zaretsky came to our house on horseback. He talked to my father in Yiddish:
- Velvl, leave immediately, save your children.
- I cannot do it, I keep the keys from warehouse.
- Give me the keys and make all ready for leaving. In half an hour I’ll send a lorry to you.
So we moved to the station. There was a heated goods van, ready for departure. [A heated goods van was a freight car adapted for transportation of people.] That was the way I went by train for the first time in my life.

Later we got to know that about 400 Jews remained in our town. Later all of them were executed by shooting.

At first we arrived in a collective farm in Tambov area 16. There we (several families from Petrikov) started working in the field. Less than in a month it became clear that Germans approached quickly, therefore we decided to go farther to Uzbekistan. Our way was long and painful, but at last we found ourselves in Samarkand area, in some kishlak. [Kishlak is a rural settlement in Central Asia.]

My father started working as a shepherd, my sister got fixed in a job of a bookkeeper, and I already told you about my brother Isaac. As for me, I started working at the anti-malaria station. I was obliged to go round the local residents and distribute anti-malaria medicine. I was usually cheered by the following: ‘Doctor is here!’ I also had to spray oil over the surface of water reservoirs to destroy malarial gnat-worms. I guess I managed my task, because during my work there were almost no cases of malaria. The malicious irony of fate was hidden in the fact that when I already was at the front line (in 1943), my father got ill with malaria and died.

Once on my way a batman-rider found me and handed over a call-up paper from the local military registration and enlistment office. It happened in August 1942.

But I got to the front line not in a day. At first they sent me to Samarkand to take a course organized for inexperienced soldiers. After that course I was put down for allowances as a soldier of regiment ready to leave for the front line. But for some reason the regiment departure was postponed, therefore I was sent to Ashkhabad to School of Junior Leaders. A lot of junior commanding officers were lost at the very beginning of the war, therefore there was lack of that sort of officers. I finished that School and (as I had secondary education) was sent to the courses for commanders of middle level. I spent in Andizhan 3 months studying there. After that I waited for appointment for several months and at last was detached for service at the Reserve officer regiment of the Western front. They informed me only about its staff location: it was in Tula. So I left for Tula. It happened in April 1943.

I do not remember why we made the first stop in Yasnaya Polyana. [Yasnaya Polyana is a homestead of Lev Tolstoy 17. In 1941 during 2 weeks it was occupied by fascists. They placed there a German military hospital. Fascists buried their dead soldiers near the tomb of Tolstoy. Crosses with swastika stroke our eyes.

In Tula I found the army headquarters not without difficulty. There I was told that I was appointed the commander of the rifle regiment #529 (army #50). So I had the only aim: to find that regiment in the fields of action. And I started having a haversack and a document which allowed me to get C. ration. From time to time I met fellow travelers, sometimes I saw local residents who were coming back to their liberated settlements. On the front road junctions I saw direction signs like Smirnov’s Disposition or Artamonov's Disposition. That was the veiled way to name military units. I hardly found out that Artamonov's Disposition was the very place I needed. At last I got there after many days of wandering.

My platoon was located on the fringe of the forest. At that time operations were of local character. We had to suppress centers of resistance of retreating Germans. Thanks God, our losses were not bad. Soon we passed to the offensive, which was over by the end of September. Last fights which took place several kilometers away from the left coast of Dneper, were especially bloody. In my platoon there remained less than half of soldiers’ number. In order to get prepared for the following fights, we stopped in the wood near the front line (near the River Pronya). It was interesting to watch the way people immediately rendered that forest habitable: there appeared tents, dugouts, earth-houses. These earth-houses saved many lives when the enemy airplane started bombing. No people were killed, but 4 horses were lost. Suddenly bombardment stopped for some reason. We went on living there, and lived even comfortably: besides field-kitchens we had a bath-house, a hairdresser's, a place for repair of uniforms. Soldiers watched films. But all the time we kept the army regulations strictly. I used to set a guard in the zone of our regiment. One evening I was walking from one post to another and heard a hail ‘Stop! Who’s coming?’ I had no time to answer and heard the report of a gun. The bullet twanged in the air a centimeter away from my ear. Later the soldier confessed to be asleep at the switch. He awoke from dream and fired a shot automatically. We did not punish him.

Fresh forces were young people from liberated territories, who reached call-up age during the years of occupation. But sometimes we came across adult men: deserters and polizei soldiers. [During the Great Patriotic War people in occupied territories called a local resident serving in fascist police a polizei.]

Their fate was decided by special services.

They lacked boots for new soldiers, therefore some recruits joined the ranks wearing bast shoes. [Bast shoes are Russian country wicker footwear made of bark of young deciduous trees].

Meanwhile they set us the next task: to force a crossing over the river and attack enemy troops on the high opposite bank. They gave each soldier a new submachine gun and two reserve cartridge-drums.

One day before the dawn they gave us combat 100 g of vodka [this portion of vodka was usual for soldiers of the Soviet army before a fight]. Rockets Katyusha started their two-hour preparation fire. [Katyusha was informal name of the soviet rocket launcher mounted on a lorry. In 1941-1945 during the Great Patriotic War they played an important role in operations.] So the soldiers crossed the river and pinned down on the opposite steep bank.

On a signal the platoon went in to the attack. Fascists fired at us using all kinds of weapon: guns, mortars, machine guns. Suddenly a shell explode in front of me, I smelled burning and fell down. By that time our soldiers captured enemy’s emplacement, but bombardment went on. After a while sanitary instructor found me and tried to take me away from the battlefield alone. I said ‘It’s useless, leave me here, call hospital attendants.’ He answered ‘I have no right to leave you here alone; I am obliged to take an officer to the hospital alive or dead.’ Probably he meant the order, notorious as Not retreat a step. [In August 1942 Stalin signed an order #227 more known as Not retreat a step, which allowed commanders and special groups to shoot soldiers who retreated without an order. They considered injured people who remained on a battlefield to be retreating, too.]

But he did not manage to move me alone, therefore he hardly dragged me into the deep shell-hole nearby and threw branches over me. It happened early in the morning. It became already dark, when I heard a voice ‘Comrade commander!’ By that time I lost my voice and could not respond. After a while a sanitary instructor and 4 hospital attendants came across me and carried me to the hospital.

It is difficult to imagine hospital if you never saw it. It was a huge tent with operational tables standing very close to each other. At each of them surgeons struggled against death. They sawed off hands and legs, disinfected the intestines which dropped out of the abdominal cavity. Surgeons had no idea about day or night time. They spent all the time at the tables. In my body they found 9 shell splinters. They managed to extract only some of them, the others are still inside my body. They immediately made blood transfusion. Later in hospitals they made it several times more and each time they named the donor. My saviors were women from Vologda, Kostroma and other places of Russia - women exhausted by starvation and uncertainty about destinies of their relatives, who replaced their fighting husbands at workplaces. My gratitude to all of them!

So I had to stay in the front hospital for a month: I was non-transportable. Later I was moved to hospitals in Klimovichi, Tula, Kazan. In the Kazan hospital I spent 6 months. I’ll never forget concern shown for injured men by medical personnel: from a nurse up to the chief medical officer.

While I was in evacuation, studied and was at war, I never came across any manifestations of anti-Semitism. But in hospitals sometimes I felt some anti-Semitic tinge. Injured people liked to tell funny stories about Jews, where Jews were shown in unfavorable light. Now I understand that they had no malicious intent, some of them probably knew nothing about Jews. But at that time it was very unpleasant to me, because I never came across something similar earlier.

In May 1943 I left the hospital walking on crutches and having a certificate of disabled soldier and 2 government awards: Order of the Great Patriotic War (I Class) 18 and a Medal for Military Merits 19.

I reached the kishlak in Samarkand area, where my sister lived. By that time my father was already dead. My sister (who worked as a bookkeeper from the beginning of the war) taught me accounting. I got fixed in a job at the office which was engaged in purchase of grain, and worked there quite successfully. We lived in that kishlak in a very interesting premise: a long wattle and daub house divided into compartments. Formerly (when in Uzbekistan polygamy was authorized) each compartment was intended for one of the wives of the harem. So we lived in one of those compartments till the end of the war. When the war was finished, we decided to return home (to Petrikov). In August 1945 we started our trip.

After the war

The town did not suffer severe destructions. Our house remained safe, but it was impossible to live in it: doorframes were taken out, floors were partly disassembled. We decided not to repair our house, but to sell it and to rent a smaller one: by that time our family was no more as large as it was before the war burst out. In the town there appeared Jewish families, but they were families which returned from evacuation. I already mentioned that fascists executed by shooting all Jews who remained in Petrikov. I started working as a bookkeeper. In the town there was a newspaper Stalinskaya Pravda. Rose Shusterman, a young lady and my schoolmate was an editor-in-chief. She helped me to become an employee at that newspaper. I worked in several places more as a part-time worker therefore I managed to earn for living.

In our town there were no anti-Semitic manifestations (neither before the war). Once I had to work as a teller before elections to the Supreme Soviet of the Soviet Union. I made speeches at different meetings and incited people to vote for the block of communists and at-large candidates (at that time they called it this way). My electoral district included an orthodox church. I went there and asked the priest to invite his parish to vote. He understood my request. Later he often visited me at home, especially when I was ill. In Petrikov people paid no attention to nationalities or religious traditions.

But I did not want to work as a bookkeeper all my life long. Therefore I decided to go to Leningrad to study. I wanted to study at the College for Cinema Engineers, but I got to know that they had no hostel for nonresident students. So I chose the Leningrad College for Fine Mechanics and Optics. [The Leningrad College for Fine Mechanics and Optics was founded in 1930.] I arrived in Leningrad and filed my documents. My certificate was full of excellent marks, therefore I was taken in without entrance examinations. I studied there for 6 years and showed interest in future profession. I had a lot of friends, but I never paid any attention to their nationality. So I cannot tell you, which of my friends was Russian and which one was Jewish. The same was during all my life. For example my close friend (we were friends since we were students of the 3rd course) was Russian. We made friends according to our interests: someone was at war (it was possible to talk to him about war); the other one was my fellow countryman, etc.

After graduating from the College they sent me 20 to Kharkov to work at the factory which belonged to sensitive areas of national defense: it had no name, but only a number - 201. [In the USSR numbered institutions worked on confidential, usually military subjects.] In 1950s in the USSR there appeared a new industry branch - rocket production (our factory was founded in connection with it). That sphere of knowledge was not only new, but also a priority one, therefore they invited only intelligent graduates. At first they suggested me to go to Komsomolsk-on-Amur, but I wanted to go to Kharkov: it seemed to me that I could find very interesting work there. The factory manager came to Leningrad himself to find young specialists. He looked through my documents and agreed to take me. In total 10 graduates from our College were sent to that factory and 4 of them were Jewish.

At the factory I wanted to work at the design office, but they sent me to a workshop as a foreman. Today it is an open secret that our factory worked out and produced radio equipment for rockets (both ground, and on-board). We sent our production to Dnepropetrovsk, where they assembled rockets.

Here it is necessary to tell you that by the moment of my arrival to Kharkov I was already a married person. Among the students we associated with I met a girl whom I fell in love with at once. To my pleasure, she returned my love. She studied at the Pedagogical College named after Hertzen (department of Russian language and literature). We got married in Leningrad immediately after presentation of my degree work. Maiden name of my wife was Ginzburg, her name is Natalia Alexandrovna. She was born in Leningrad in 1929. During the 1st year after our marriage we lived separately: I left for Kharkov to work there, and my wife had to study at her last course. We visited each other on vacations. Later she graduated and moved to my place (to Kharkov). She worked at the Ukrainian school and had a good reputation.

In Kharkov they were obliged to put a room at my disposal, because I was a young specialist. Therefore I got a room in the two-room apartment (the other room was occupied by my young colleague and his young wife). We lived in harmony: no quarrels, no conflicts. I worked in Kharkov 4 years and decided to return to Leningrad, but it appeared to be not so simple. They told me that I worked at the defense industry enterprise and would go on working as long as they needed. The factory manager had a domineering disposition and was very competent. During the war he arranged work of evacuated factories in the Urals and was awarded honorary title of Hero of Socialist Labor. I held him in high respect and did not want to come into conflict. In the meantime in 1956 some changes were made in the labor legislation, and the procedure of dismissal became simpler. Here I’d like to tell you that I am pleased with the Kharkov period of my life: my work went well, I was valued according to it and people held me in respect.

We moved to Leningrad and settled down in the communal apartment 21 in my wife’s room. By that time we were already a family of 3.

The only child of us was our son Alexander; he was born in Kharkov in 1955. He finished his high school having good marks. After school he entered the Leningrad College for Fine Mechanics and Optics. Since his childhood he was very sickly, and I know it from my own experience that a student of the Leningrad College for Fine Mechanics and Optics had to do everything in his power to manage. He had to fulfill strong requirements, study many difficult subjects, make plenty of drawings, etc. Therefore having finished the 1st course, my son decided that he would not be able to pass through exams and left the College. He started working as a draftsman (he had enough time to master it at the College) at the Army Medical College. [The Army Medical College was founded in 1798.] Later he trained for a new profession of repairman of medical equipment and entered Military Mechanical College. [Military Mechanical College in Leningrad was founded in 1875.] He graduated from it studying by correspondence. [Correspondence course allowed students to study and work simultaneously.] On graduating from the College he wanted to remain at the Army Medical College, but to work as an engineer. But they refused, and everybody understood that the reason was the so-called item 5 22. Therefore he continued to work there holding his previous post, which did not require to have higher education.

In 1990s he decided to change profession and entered Polygraphic Technical School, which he finished with excellent marks. [Technical schools appeared in the USSR to prepare employees of middle level for industrial, agricultural and other organizations.] Since then he works as a proof-reader at different publishing houses. He is a highly respectable worker: because of his engineering education he can make various scientific texts ready for publication. He is married, but unfortunately they have no children.

We did not bring our son up as a Jew. Certainly he knew that he was Jewish. You see, it is rather difficult to forget about it living in the Soviet Union. As soon as you do, they will remind you. Later I’ll tell you how my son helped me in my Jewish affairs.

Having returned to Leningrad, I started working in one of institutions which belonged to sensitive areas of national defense (now it is named the Institute of Distant Radio Navigation). It was easy for me to find job, because of my previous working experience: a person from Kharkov special institution was welcomed everywhere in our sphere. I worked there 40 years up to my pension: I retired on pension in 1997, by that time I was 73 years old. There were no manifestations of anti-Semitism at our institute. You see, its director was a person who always took Jews into his institute. And in fact in the USSR there were times when it was not easy for a Jew to be employed. Once a personnel manager of our institute told the director that he was not able to take in a guy because of the item 5 22. Director answered ‘Well, then it is necessary for me to go to the local Party committee and let them explain me what item 5 means.’ And that guy was immediately taken in, because in fact the instruction not to take Jews was secrete. As for me, I remember some insignificant troubles, but in comparison with the situation at other organizations it was trifle, not worth speaking about.

One day a large group of 150 persons were going to be presented with government awards for some successful work. Placing of awards was up to the institute administration. I was recommended for Order of Honor, but the local Communist Party committee did not approve it. As a result, I was awarded only a medal. And during the Six-Day-War 23 at one of our meetings they decided to hold up to shame Israeli aggressors. I stood up and said that it was not an aggression, but a preventive action of the country surrounded by hostile neighbors. Immediately I was called a nationalist, and they stopped inviting me to meetings for half a year. You may consider it strange that despite of all this I speak about absence of anti-Semitism in our institute. Be sure that in comparison with other Soviet institutions we (Jews) enjoyed an earthly paradise in our institute. I often made business trips. We often sailed by ships on the Baltic Sea and tested our equipment.

My wife worked at school, but she retired on pension much earlier than me: it happened in 1979, when she was 50 years old. You know that school teachers have the right to retire before the generally accepted pension age. [In the USSR and Russia women retire on pension at the age of 55.]

In summer we never went to the south. Our son was often sick, and doctors did not recommend us to change climate. We used to rent a room somewhere in Leningrad region and spent summer time there. My wife had long annual leave and spent there all summer together with our son, and I managed to be with them only during one month.

To tell the truth, when I became a pensioner I was bored for lack of an occupation. And I had a friend, a Jew. In contrast to me, he knew much about the Jewish life of our city: he visited Hesed Avraham Welfare Center 24 and the synagogue. He spent his free time working at the Nadezhda factory: a small factory at Hesed Center producing wheelchairs, crutches, canes and other things useful for elderly and disabled people. Understanding my low spirits, my friend brought me to that factory. I liked to be there and started working as a designer. I received no money for my work: we all were volunteers. I worked there about 7 years. I made business trips. It was interesting for me, because I made myself useful. But later everything changed there: they started doing business and I did not like it. They started paying workers, while when I came there for the first time, there worked only volunteers. It seemed to me, that after that something very important disappeared, the spirit of workers group changed and I did not want to work there any more.

As soon as I began working at the Nadezhda factory, I identified myself as a Jew. You understand of course that I am joking now: I never forgot about it, but before I knew nothing about the Jewish community of the city. In Hesed I got to know that at the synagogue there was a group for studying basis of Judaism. I went there and found it good. I have been studying there already for several years. We begin at 9 o'clock in the morning with a pray (chief rabbi is at the head of it). I like listening to rabbi singing, I like his pretty voice. Listening to him, I always recollect my father praying. After praying there come teachers from yeshvah. They tell us about the week’s Torah portion, Jewish holidays, and history of our people. We study in homelike atmosphere: people argue, ask questions. Most of the group members are pensioners.

And earlier I visited synagogue very seldom, even not every year. We did not celebrate Jewish holidays, did not observe Tradition. But since 1980 we celebrate Seder at home. Our family is not large (we have no relatives), but we invite our friends and in total we gather about 20 persons. Natalia Alexandrovna prepares snacks, and I am responsible for spiritual part. We do not observe kashrut strictly, but we never eat neither pork, nor sausage.

About 8 years ago together with my friend Rem Altshuller we decided to found an organization devoted to memory of Holocaust victims and history of Jewish heroism. That was the opportunity for my son to render us invaluable assistance: he found for us interesting information in different libraries, spent many hours searching in the Internet. At first we wanted to organize our work at Hesed, but its director said no. Please don’t ask me why: I do not understand it. Sephardi organization lodged us. Their rabbi Rabaev put a room at our disposal. There functions an exhibition and a library. Pupils of Jewish schools, Jewish businessmen often visit us, and they like our exhibition.

During all my life I had friends of different nationalities. It never came into my mind to choose friends according to nationality. Some of my friends married Russian girls, and their Russian wives became my friends. I don’t know if it was possible for me to marry not a Jewess, but I chose my wife thinking not about her nationality - be sure! We have no relatives in Leningrad after departure of my brother.

Now I’d like to tell you what I think about the major events in our country and in the world. During the Doctors’ Plot 25 I was in Kharkov. Moral environment was painful. People claimed that there were cases of assaults against doctors (fights and beatings). Heads of our institute started eliminating Jews from the Party and even discharging them.

When Stalin died, I considered it to be a disaster for Soviet people. I was afraid that all capitalist countries would attack the USSR and tear it to pieces. In the central square of Kharkov there was a meeting: people came on their own, nobody invited them. Almost everybody cried. And one of my colleagues came up to me and said ‘Have you heard that Yossi has died?’

I can’t explain it, but I paid no attention to the Hungarian events 26. First, we had just moved to Leningrad and I had enough to worry about. Second, I had no company to discuss it with, and from the Soviet newspapers it was difficult to understand something. And regarding throw of tanks to Czechoslovakia 27 I understood everything well: the USSR had no reason for that. By that time I already had friends and discussed the situation with them in details.

During the Israeli wars [23, 28] my sympathies were completely on the side of Israel.

I took the news about Perestroika with enthusiasm. We often listened to Radio Liberty 29 through the noise [in the USSR they used to jam western radio broadcasts by means of special devices], therefore we knew what happened in the world and understood the way war-lords were going. When Gorbachev appeared 30, I was glad that he was trying to break this dangerous tendency.  

I already mentioned about my connections with the Jewish community of Petersburg. We receive food packages from Hesed Center for holidays. I never received any help from other organizations.

Glossary:

Bela Menahem Ishakh
Ruse
Bulgaria
Interviewer: Patricia Nikolova 
Date of interview: November 2004 

Bela Ishakh is a pleasant person with interesting viewpoints on life. Her wisdom that was gained through experience over the years is expressed in many valuable pieces of advice, sayings and observations that Bela is pleased to share with others. Her hospitable home, situated near the Danube, invokes the feeling of orderliness in life and in the family of Bela Ishakh. The sensation that she is the mistress of the house may easily evolve into the sensation that she is the mistress of the situation and also the family ruler. In this respect, it will not be incorrect to say that the position Bela Ishakh has in her family determines the atmosphere of matriarchate.

I am a descendant of a Sephardi 1 family, but unfortunately, I don’t know many specific facts, or any emblematic family stories connected with my ancestors. What I know for sure is that they lived in Silistra, a town near the Danube River, where I was born, too. 

My grandparents’ paternal and maternal parents are not known to me. I know only that the whole family was burned in the death camps in 1943 after the deportation of Macedonian Jews 2. I don’t know when the parents of my parents were born, and I can’t say anything about their life before their coming to live in Bulgaria. I have no idea of what their home might have looked like. I only know they were not rich.

My parents were called Menahem and Roza Alfandari. They were born in Istanbul and Silistra, respectively. My father was born in 1889 and died in 1969, and my mother was born in 1903 and died in 1968. They were buried in the Jewish cemetery in one and the same grave. Dad was in the trade with grain crops, wheat, rice, and Mom had always been a housewife. They had elementary education.

My parents were religious people and this was what my children inherited, too, since my father and mother actively helped me with the bringing-up of my own children. We attended services at the synagogue quite regularly, especially on the high Jewish holidays such as Yom Kippur, Pesach, Chanukkah, Lag ba-Omer, Purim, and Rosh Hashanah. My favorite holiday was Pesach. I liked the history of this holiday, especially the lesson of this holiday, which was for me that the Jewish people have been united because of their faith and the strength of this faith.
   
We spoke Ladino 3 at home, but of course we could communicate in Bulgarian when the situation required it. We used to read non-religious books mainly, secular novels by Mayne Reid [(1818-1883): Irish-American novelist] and others, and after that Marxist literature, dialectical materialism. We, the children read these books.

We lived a simple life in a tidy, humble house in the Jewish neighborhood of Ruse. The house had two rooms and a kitchen. We used wood for heating. There was no electricity then. We had oil lamps. Despite the poverty of my childhood, I cannot complain because I felt good.  

I was born in 1925 in the beautiful town of Silistra, near the Danube River. I am a hairdresser by profession. I have two sisters whom I love very much. The first one is Victoria Markus [nee Alfandari] and the second is Ester Alfandari. Both of them are now in Israel. I was the youngest of all the three, but I was the first to marry.

During the totalitarian period my sister Ester lived in Sofia and immigrated to Israel in 1999. Now she lives in Rishon Le Zion. She is married to David Alfandari, who worked as a textile designer when he lived in Bulgaria. They are not religious. Their son, Simon Alfandari, is a doctor. At present, Ester and David are pensioners.

Victoria lived in Ruse together with her husband Leon Markus and after his death in 2002 she moved to Israel – to stay with her son Avram Markus. They live in Kiryat Yam. They are not religious, either.

As a child, I attended the Jewish nursery and the Jewish school in Ruse. The Jewish school then started when the kids were first-graders and ended when they completed their seventh school year. After that, I graduated from the Jewish school in Ruse. Adon [‘Sir’ in Ivrit] Yosif Safra was our teacher in Ivrit. He was a favorite with us because he was very intelligent and nice. I didn’t hate any of the subjects at school, I didn’t need private lessons in any of them, and I didn’t play any musical instrument. 

We moved to live in Ruse when I was still very young. I remember that Ruse always had nice markets. Villagers from the nearby settlements came to sell their goods and the citizens crowded to buy things. We had a big and a small market there. We preferred the small one. Tuesdays and Fridays were the market days. All tradesmen there were favorites with us.

In the Jewish quarter on David, Vidin, Klementina, Gurko, Dondukov and Korsakov Streets, where the Jewish population lived, there were only small houses to see. The relationships between the poor and rich Jews were regulated by the Jewish community that collected funds from the rich Jews to give them to the poor.

I’d like to tell you in brief the history of Jews in the town of Ruse, known in the past as Ruscuk [in Turkish]. It was founded in 968 by Russians who one year before that crossed the Danube River fighting against the Bulgarian Kingdom 4. The name Ruscuk in Turkish means ‘many Russians.’ Turks captured the town in 1398. In 1519 the inhabitants were mowed down by plague. At the end of the 17th century, Ruse was a small town without significant commercial importance. Its population most probably was between 6,000 and 7,000 people, 600 families were Bulgarian.

No evidence of Jewish presence in the town was recorded until 1788, when the first Jewish tradesmen arrived. They did not settle there permanently, though. The first Jew who settled in Ruse was Mayer Ben Aron, called Bohor Karpus. He was the forefather of a family with the same name that lived in the town until 1948, when they immigrated to Israel.

At the end of the 18th century the town was governed by Mustafa Pasha. His wife was once ill and a Jewish nurse looked after her. But the Jewish holidays Rosh Hashanah and [Yom] Kippur were nearing and the Jewish woman said she had to go to Giurgiu [opposite side of the Danube, in Walachia, today Romania], because there lived her family and there was the nearest synagogue. Ruse had no synagogue back then. All Jews from Ruse traveled to the nearest towns where there were synagogues.

Mustafa Pasha was convinced that a synagogue would keep them within the town, so he donated one of his houses near the riverbank and it became the first prayer house for the Jews in Ruse. This happened in 1797. The first chazzan of the Ruse synagogue in 1800 was Avram Gratsiani. In 1824 a funeral commission [Chevra Kaddisha] started operating.

By the middle of the 19th century, Ruse had become one of the largest towns on Bulgarian territory. It was a settlement with boosting economy and was developing into a big center of enlightenment and culture, as well as an important river port. Crucial importance for the town development was the construction of the Ruse-Varna railway line in 1866.

In Ruse there were three synagogues: two were of the Sephardim, and one belonged to the Ashkenazim. In both of the Sephardi synagogues, ‘the small’ and ‘the big’ one, as they used to call them, there were religious rituals taking place. On weekdays, the rituals were performed in the small synagogue.

Usually, my family attended services at the big synagogue. The reading of the Torah on Erev Sabbath and for other Jewish holidays was taking place at the big synagogue. Every family that had paid a voluntary fee had special places reserved there. During the prayerful days at Pesach, Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah even women were gathering in the synagogue whose seats were separate from those of men; women’s places were on the balcony.

Yosif Alhalel was the chazzan of the Sephardi synagogues, and he was also a secretary of the Jewish community. Albert Yulzari was the shammash as well as the archivist. Naftali Rut was rabbi at the Ashkenazi synagogue, while Lupo Geldstein was the shammash. Chevra Kaddisha responsibilities were entrusted by the community to Simon Segal and Morits Kronberg. Both the Ashkenazi and Sephardi synagogues were religious centers where young and old Jews gathered for Erev Sabbath and the Jewish holidays. There the Jewish traditions were kept alive and passed from father to son. The religious activity of the synagogues was part of the activity of the whole community. 

There were no major differences between the large Sephardi and the significantly smaller Askenazi communities – neither from a religious nor a lifestyle point of view. Our Bet Am was a community. Periodically, concerts and social evenings were organized there, which attracted the Jewish youth. Events organized by the Askenazi or by the Sephardi community were intended for all the Jews. The only difference was that we had separate municipalities.

Later, when the time of the Law for the Protection of the Nation began 5, the Ashkenazi municipality was ruined, and so was their synagogue. Of course, Ashkenazim in Ruse spoke Yiddish to each other; they spoke usually in Bulgarian with us. Frankly speaking, I don’t recall any marriages between the Sephardim and the Ashkenazim. If something of the kind had happened, I would have remembered it, that’s for sure.

The [Sephardi] Jewish community had its own building that contained three office rooms, a big hall and a library. Not every Jewish organization these days could boast about such preciseness of governing the community as ours could. Our community, for example, kept registers of its members’ marital status. We had registers of the families in Ruse, registers of the marriages, a book for the newborns and another one for the funerals. Today one can still see them because they are well preserved, although nobody keeps such records here anymore.

We also had a kind of internal healthcare, within the community. The Bikur Cholim 6 committee provided nurses or ‘rohesas’ [Ladino for ‘doctors’] to those people who were old and lived alone. Chevra Kaddisha was the funeral committee and its heads were Mois Aron Hakim and Yosif Shlomo Kapon. They took care of the cemetery, so that it looked decent, and also made sure the funerals were carried out in line with the Jewish traditions. There was a small hut within the graveyard where a custodian lived permanently. These customs now may sound like a fiction.

I remember Ez-Chaim, the committee for poor and sick women in childbirth. Auntie Mari, Auntie Ernestina, Adon Aron and Auntie Sofie were in charge of this. Their full names were Mari Avram Asher, Ernestina Aron Djaldeti and Sofie David Maer, but I can’t remember any biographical facts about them. However, I remember them as selfless and dedicated people. Usually they visited in shifts the sick people and provided them with medicines and funds. Isak Eshkenazi and Baruh Magriso were in charge of the committee for voluntary donations. Their mission was particularly respected within the community, because it was they who secured funds for the community’s budget, but I learned about this later.

We also had an old people’s home. For example, nowadays, the only old people’s home operating in Sofia it is known under the metaphorical name ‘Parents’ home.’ Half a century before that there was an old people’s home in Ruse, owned by the municipality, as it is today the situation with the house in Sofia. Yako Kapon was the director of the one in Ruse. A total of 20 poor and lonely people were accommodated there and all their expenses were covered by the municipality. As a matter of fact, none of my relatives has ever been accommodated there.

In those days there were a lot of charity activities taking place within our community. The funds in the Jewish municipality’s budget were used for financing the implementation of special programs. These programs were socially intended and they helped poor people achieve a better living standard. The whole Jewish community co-operated for the implementation of these programs.

Jewish traditions were preserved to a great extent thanks to the Jewish school. We studied there from first to seventh grade. During our Hebrew classes we read the Tannakh and learned what the origin of the tradition was. The school’s headmaster Adon Josif Safra read the Tannakh for us and taught the kids to speak Hebrew. The school, which had 15 classrooms, a canteen and a gym, provided the opportunity for education of children from pre-school age up to the stage when they completed their elementary education. We didn’t have a yeshivah, but the school had a canteen, where dozens of children from poor families could have meals, including me and my brothers. On Pesach these children were given new shoes and clothes. 

As far as the school holidays of 1929 and 1930 are concerned, I was sent to Ruse’s Jewish school on the Varna campus. Several poor kids were selected and sent to holiday resorts with the financial support of the Jewish community. That was the first time I got on a train. Several rooms with beds were prepared for us in Varna. There was a chef, too, and we called her Auntie Hursi.

After school we usually went to the Maccabi 7 yard to play. The chairman of Maccabi was Baruh Ovadia, a prominent public figure of Ruse’s Jewish community. Wonderful celebrations of the high holidays Chanukkah, Purim and Pesach were organized under his auspices. On Lag ba-Omer for example we had an impressive manifestation with music in the streets of Ruse, we always had a drummer in the avant-garde. In the afternoon the whole Jewish community would gather at the Habermann site near Ruse, on a meadow, where we, the Maccabi members, would present complex physical exercises and gymnastic pyramids. It was a nice time.

Back then Maccabi was openly a Zionist organization whose aim was to prepare healthy and strong young men and women who would then immigrate to Palestine in order to build anew the Jewish State. We were prepared for that and most of my friends emigrated there during the great immigration process in 1948 [cf. Mass Aliyah] 8 and some of them even before that.

It is known that a group of 200 Jews set off on a boat from Varna in 1940, but they suffered shipwreck in the Marmara Sea and most of them died. These were mainly young Jews from Sofia and Plovdiv. At the same time, a recruitment campaign for young people who want to immigrate to Israel was taking place in Ruse. However, there was no mass emigration from our town after this campaign, but I am not informed about the reasons.

When I was young, I was an active member of the Union of Young Workers, or short UYW 9. That was in fact the reason why I met my future husband, Aron Gavriel Ishakh, who was also a member of the UYW. We met in our illegal club in 1945. [Editor’s note: It must have already been legal, as this happened after 9th September 1944 when the communists came to power in Bulgaria.] We had to prepare a wall-newspaper then, but I can’t remember any details except for that we gathered in the UYW club on Gurko Street. He saw me home and we became friends.

We married on 19th September 1945. We are proud that our wedding was one of the first civil marriages that took place in Ruse.

As a matter of fact, my husband Aron started working at the age of 14. As a boy he walked round the streets of Ruse together with his two brothers, Solomon and Samuel. The three of them used to sell balloons to earn their living, as they were very poor. Moreover, they were half-orphans because their mother had already died of cancer. So their sister Rebecca looked after them for a long time. She was already 13 years old when their mother Sofi Aron Ishakh died. This tragic event, which changed the life of my future husband, happened during the Law for the Protection of the Nation. We didn’t know each other back then, though.

What I know about my husband’s family is that unlike me he is a native Ruse citizen. His maternal grandfather, Aron Eshkenazi, was the son of the Silistra rabbi. When our compatriots moved to Israel and we remained here without a chazzan, it was he who read the prayers in the synagogue. His father on his mother’s side had been a well-known tailor in Ruse.

My husband’s mother was a dressmaker. They were very poor, especially after her death. Since his father, Gavriel Ishakh, had to earn the living for four children and himself, he was forced to sell what he produced for next to nothing.

During the Law for the Protection of the Nation my future husband was sent as a worker to a forced labor camp 10 for Jews. Barely 18 years old he was sent to the camp in the village of Mikre, Lovech region, and after that he was moved to ‘Sveti Vrach’ camp and then to another one in the village of Veselinovo, Shumen region. In fact, Jewish men were then used as working force at no cost. They used them to build the road between Shumen and Burgas.

I remained in the Jewish ghetto of Ruse, where I made social contacts with the young Jewish boys and girls who were interned from Sofia. All of us were then supporters of the Union of Young Workers. My friends’ names from this period were Violeta, Sami, Moni, Stela and others, but I can’t remember their family names any more.

There was also Galiko, who was interned from Sofia. He was handicapped. That was how he was born – with tangled legs and strangely twisted arms. Our Jewish community looked after him and regularly walked him in the town in a perambulator.

Our gatherings of the Union of Young Workers often took place at his house. We often discussed the idea of the foundation of [the state of] Israel, which meant we were Zionists to a certain extent. I remember that the house he was renting was right opposite to Maccabi. In spite of the terror, I think this period was romantic. 

I remember very well the period of the Law for the Protection of the Nation and the effect it had in Ruse. Here, especially, the Jewish community has always had good relationships with the Bulgarians. But I should underline that before the Law for the Protection of the Nation and at the beginning of World War II several particularly aggressive fascist organizations were set up in our town. They were called Brannik 11, Ratnik 12, Legionnaires [Bulgarian Legions] 13 and Otets Paisii 14. They were youth organizations after the model of the German ‘Hitlerjugend’ [Hitler Youth] 15, that is – the first youth organizations with anti-Semitic character here.

I remember that the members of Brannik, Ratnik, Legionnaires and Otets Paisii often used to march in the streets of Ruse as if in a threatening demonstration. They promised death to Jews, their slogans were: ‘Death to Jews’ or ‘Jews out of Bulgaria.’ They would also beat young Jewish people and write anti-Semitic slogans on the houses’ walls, such as ‘Long Live Hitler,’ ‘Death to All Jews’, and they would circulate provocative leaflets and so on and so on. Their goal was to raise anti-Semitic feelings in Bulgarian society. That proved eventually that anti-Semitism in Bulgaria was imported, it had no true origins in this society, since it was imitative.

Reactions of the Bulgarian society then were quite normal. Bulgarians did not pay attention to these fascistic young people. The official authorities behaved differently, though. I think that is why a total of 460 Jews was unfairly convicted and imprisoned between 1940 and 1941. Responsibility for these unfair sentences lies on  King Boris III 16, who was known to be an ally of Hitler during this period. Of course the Bulgarian government then is also to be held responsible.

Among those imprisoned  from Ruse were my acquaintances Moni Hakim, Sason Panizhel, Liza Hason, Jules Aroyo, Yako Melamed, Salvador Papo, Eli Ashoev, Hor Eliezer, Mois Natan, Izidor Ayzner, Yako Yulzari and others. They were imprisoned because they were detected as being members of the Union of Young Workers.

Meanwhile, 260 other Jews were fighting in the partisan groups. [Editor’s note: These are the actual figures, as the interviewee knows them from her husband, Aron Gavriel Ishakh, who had studied the archives and card-indexes of the Jewish community in Ruse as a chairman of the Israeli Religious Council in Ruse.] Among them from our town were Yako Izidor Yakov and Miko Yulzari. I remember Yako Yakov, who made a career as a political officer after 9th September 1944 and was the director of the theater in Ruse for many years.

The administration of the Jewish community also had its own position on the issue during the war. It counted much on the Jews who led Zionist organizations. The policy of the community put accents – of course we felt these bans as an instance of terror, but we couldn’t do anything against them – on Zionism and the Jewish religious traditions.

The war period unexpectedly sharpened the struggle between the individual Jewish organizations. Their ideological predilections sharpened. On the one hand, all Zionist organizations – Poalei Zion 17, General Zionists 18 and Revisionists 19 – were unified in their idea that the Jews should stay away from any fight against fascism. They thought that any kind of participations of Jews would strengthen the anti-Semitic feelings. They tried to persuade Jews in different ways and I think they were right.

The chairman of the community, Yosif Levi, several times at Erev Sabbath appealed to the attention of parents to do everything they can and exert influence on their children not to take part in the fight against fascism. The youth organization Hashomer Hatzair 20 was of the opposite opinion. The most influential among them were Izidor Ayzner, Yako Yakov and Tinka Dzhain, who organized a course for supporting the anti-fascist struggle.

Part of the young people from the sports organization Maccabi – Moni Hakim, Miko Yulzari, Fifi Mashiah and Liza Hason – attracted a great group of supporters of the same cause. These young Jewish men and women from Ruse, organized in groups of three, led the illegal conspiracy activities against fascism. Although my husband, Aron Gavriel Ishakh, and I did not join them, we were also engaged in the illegal activity connected with the Union of Young Workers.

I remember very well some of their bravest actions. For example, in 1941 during the German invasion of the Soviet Union 21, Leon Tadzher, who was a docker in Ruse and had escaped from a Jewish [forced] labor camp, decided to inflame the oil refinement utilities of the ‘Petrol’ plant. He killed with his knife the German security guard who tried to take hold of him, but was caught by the workers who started running after him. Later, Leon was sentenced to death and hanged.

Leon Tadzher’s full story was as follows. He was born in 1903 in Sofia and he found a way – I don’t know how exactly – to immigrate illegally to Palestine already in the 1920s. He was expelled and returned to Bulgaria in 1934 because of his revolutionary activity against the English colonialist administration.

When back in Sofia he earned his living as a workman in the construction sector. He actively took part in the strike of the sector’s trade union. In those days Leon Tadzher as a prominent Zionist with leftist [communist] views was often invited by the Jewish national library club to deliver lectures on Zionist topics, for example: why should the country Israel be constituted, why should people immigrate to Israel.

Leon Tadzher appeared on the police’s list of dangerous communist activists, that is a criminal for the then monarchist government. So, on 11th April 1941 he was officially asked to present himself before the police and was accused of something he hadn’t done. He was beaten and tormented, after which he was released because of lack of evidence.

After he was let free, Leon was interned to Isperih. Then, after the introduction of the Law for the Protection of the Nation he was sent to a Jewish forced labor camp near the village of Tserovo.

When the war between Germany and the USSR was declared, Tadzher escaped from the camp and was hiding in the huts and orchards near Ruse. He managed to get in touch with the local illegal communist workers who helped him to start working as a docker and after that as a blue-collar worker in the state-owned Ruse factory Petrol under the false name Dimitar Kirov and a Bulgarian identity card.

At the end of 1941, Leon Tadzher set fire to the crude oil refineries of the Petrol plant. The rest you already know. He was hanged on the central town square in Ruse on 17th November 1941.

After this event, the Gestapo, which had offices also in Ruse, demanded that the regional police chief of staff detain 300 of the most distinguished Jews in the town, and send them to the Germans for deportation to death camps.

This is one of my most dramatic memories. The compiling of the list was assigned to the chairman of the Jewish community, Yosif Levi. The list was ready but it contained the names of those next of kin to political prisoners and anti-fascists instead of rich and well-known Jews. In fact, the richer among us managed to buy themselves out of this list for a serious amount of money. The money was handed to the regional police chief of staff, Stefan Simeonov, who was also our delegate on Jewish matters. He had no objections on his turn.

After that, the Jews whose names had remained on the list were arrested and sent to the temporary camps Somovit 22 near the Danube River and Kailuka 23 near Pleven, after which they were to be deported to the death camps. But as it is known – the camp near Kailuka  was set on fire. Among the ten victims of the arson, only one man was from Ruse – Nissim Benvenisti.

The substitution of names in the list as well as the bribery of the Gestapo in Ruse became known after 1944. The chairman of the community, Yosif Levi, then hid in the English Embassy. From there he managed to escape to Palestine. He was not brought to justice, because he was forced to present such a list to the then Bulgarian authorities that were controlled by the Gestapo in Ruse.

From this difficult period, I remember well the victims of the Jewish community in Ruse: Izidor Ayzner, who was two years older than me, and Tinka Dzhain – she was one year younger.

Izidor became a member of the Union of Young Workers in Ruse when he was very young; he was only 17 years old. He was very clever and respected with his knowledge of Marxist ideas. That is why he was very soon appointed secretary of the Ruse Union of Young Workers’ town committee. He was also known for his talent for organizing the meetings of young people. I was among them, too. Thus Izidor could build a strong organization in a very short period of time, which consisted of 150 young men and women, most of them Jews.

What kind of activities were we involved in? Led by him, we were distributing leaflets and were writing anti-German slogans on the houses’ walls at nights, for example. But it didn’t last for long. Izidor was caught by the police during the Law for the Protection of the Nation in 1942 and was sentenced to 15 years imprisonment. He was, however, tormented to death in the Varna prison, where he was sent to, as a result of which he died in May 1943.

Ana Ventura was the daughter of the well-known Ruse industrialist Avram Ventura, who owned ‘Zhiti’ factory. Influenced by Izidor Ayzner she became an active member of the local young workers’ organization – of course it was an illegal organization – yet before the Law for the Protection of the Nation was introduced. After Ayzner’s death she became a secretary of UYW regional committee. She organized and led many campaigns against the fascist regime of which my friends and I only heard because we didn’t take part in them. I admired her. Ana Ventura was killed in her illegal lodgings in Ruse in February 1944.  

Tinka Dzhain had a similar fate to that of Izidor Ayzner and Ana Ventura. Tinka and I were both members of Hashomer Hatzair with the only difference that she was influenced by Isi Ayzner and Yako Yakov and became a member of the illegal Union of Young Workers. She took part in many campaigns against the fascist authorities. I don’t remember what exactly they were. She got involved in illegal activities already in 1943,during the Law for the Protection of the Nation, becoming a political commissioner of an illegal fighting group.

In the end she was betrayed by the person in whose lodgings she lived illegally. The police executed her in the village of Bozhichen in the region of Ruse. After 10th November 1989 24, we, the Jews from the Ruse’s Jewish Organization spent own funds to build a memorial for her at her place of death – on the central square in Bozhichen. 

After 9th September 1944 25, my husband worked many years for the police, then called militia, and after the democratic changes in Bulgaria [in 1989] became a chairman of the Israeli Religious Council in Ruse. He has always been one of the most respected people in both Bulgarian and Jewish communities. He is also known for the fact that he introduced the ‘Personal Number’ [‘Edinen Grazhdanski Nomer’ (EGN), which stands for ‘Unified Civil Number’, used to certify the identity of Bulgarian citizens] in Bulgaria after the pattern of western European societies. His major passion – to collect facts and commentaries on the history of Ruse’s Jewry materialized recently in his book ‘Historic Notes on the Jews in Ruse’ [Ruse, 2002].

After the foundation of the state of Israel 26 we all felt it as our country and our sympathies for the Jewish nation increased even further. During the wars in Israel of 1967 27 and 1973 28 we were regularly reading all kinds of commentaries on them in the Bulgarian press, although we didn’t believe in them at all. From the letters we received from our friends there, we knew that the war was incited by the Arabs. I have been to Israel only once – in 1989 – and I loved the life there. When I came back to Bulgaria I felt the difference at once. In fact, from all our relatives it was my husband and I who remained in Bulgaria.

I have two daughters: Sonia, born in 1946, and Roza, born in 1953. My elder daughter graduated from the mechanical technical school ‘Yuriy Gagarin’ in Ruse and now works for ‘Shalom’ 29, being also the chairwoman of the economy commission at ‘Shalom.’ She is in charge of the collecting of rents from the organization’s estates that were let. These funds go for support to the local Jewish organization.

My younger daughter works as a statistician at the Statistical Office. Roza is divorced; her family name was Dalakmanska, but now she is Ishakh again.

My elder daughter’s family name is Grigorova. Her son, Aron, lives in Ramat Gan and in 2004 he became father of a son, whose name is Ben. I am very sad I am not around him in Israel now, so that I can at least get a glimpse of my great-grandson.

Aron graduated from a commercial and industrial management college and is a certified engineer. He works for a company and they are very satisfied with him. Before that his name was Roman, because there was a regulation once [in socialist times] that children from mixed marriages were Bulgarians and they could not have foreign names.

My children were brought up in line with the Jewish traditions by their grandfather and grandmother Menahem and Roza Alfandari. They were very religious people, observed all the traditions and thought very highly of the Jewry. That means they strictly observed Jewish rituals on holidays and on Sabbath.

My parents passed on to my children their knowledge, firstly, about the Jewish cuisine and, secondly, about our holidays Pesach, Yom Kippur, Rosh Hashanah, Sukkot, Lag-ba-Omer. They celebrated these at home. Of course, we used to attend services at the synagogue, but rarely. I mean, we visited the synagogue only for the high Jewish holidays, such as Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Chanukkah, Pesach, Sukkot etc.

The date 10th November 1989 was warmly welcomed by the Jewry of Ruse. As a matter of fact, our regional organization ‘Shalom’ is apolitical. We don’t like focusing on politics, but it was very favorable for us that our estates were given back to us as we now have the chance to lead better lives; now we can also make use of the freedom to reconstruct our traditions. Before that we were deprived of our buildings and we had to pay rent to the municipal Housing Estate Fund.

We were not allowed to observe our rituals in public. They wanted from us to have our events together with the Fatherland Front 30. We didn’t have much choice then because of the policy of the Bulgarian Communist Party’s Central Committee. Their idea was to quickly and easily assimilate Jews through mixed marriages between Bulgarians and Jews. As a result there are almost no Jews in Ruse nowadays, and those who remain are of mixed origin. There are only five pure-blooded families left in Ruse now. I am proud that the Ishakh family is among them.

As a matter of fact, during the totalitarian period, when we were deprived of our estates, we were also deprived of our synagogues. I am speaking of the two synagogues: the big Sephardi one and that of the Ashkenazim. The small Sephardi synagogue was demolished in 1935 because it was then almost in ruins and the Jewish community took a decision to demolish it. An apartment block was built on the site. The big synagogue was given as an atelier to a town council sculptor and he made his sculptures in there. So our synagogue started looking like a bungalow.

The Ashkenazi synagogue was given to the state lottery and they built twelve small rooms in it. When we were given back our estates in 1989, we were also given the two synagogues. We had a double problem to solve. We had to pull down the inner walls in the Ashkenazi synagogue in order to transform it into a synagogue and a club again.

We needed money, but we didn’t have it. That is why we sold an estate. I am speaking of an old house that was in the possession of a Jew who immigrated to Palestine before 1948. The house remained as a property of the Jewish community in Ruse. It was located on Alexandrovska Street, and we started the reconstruction. That happened in 1992.

Meanwhile, the big Sephardi synagogue started falling into ruins. It was crumbling away in front of our eyes, but we didn’t have the money to reconstruct it. We asked for 100,000 BGN [which equals some EUR 50,000] from the central governing body of Shalom in Sofia – but the sum was very high and there was nobody to give it to us.

That was the reason why the governing committee of Ruse’s Shalom decided to sell it to an Evangelist sect. [Editor’s note: It is most probably a smaller neo-Protestant Church.] All the Jews in Ruse are convinced that it is a sect, not a widely accepted branch of the Christian religion. And we sold it. They spent USD 120,000 to reconstruct the building.

It is sad, but it looks now exactly the way it did 50 years ago. But it is no longer functioning as a synagogue. And it will never be a synagogue again, because we don’t have funds to buy it back from the Evangelists. 

If I have to express my personal opinion of the historical date of 10th November 1989, I would rather say I am satisfied with the changes. I feel freer than before, my family also enjoys the new social conditions. After the changes, I, as all other Jews of my age, received the three installments of the aid from the Swiss Fund. It is no secret that both my daughters have their jobs, and both my sisters immigrated to Israel where they feel comfortable.

This is the one side of the coin, though. On the other hand, I don’t’ like the economic changes that took place after democracy was established in Bulgaria. Unemployment, poverty and discontent – that were the seeds of democracy here. Before 1989, everybody had a job, the society was calm, everybody could build his own home. My family was even in the possession of a plot of land where we grew okra and grapes for making wine.

This unemployment has affected the other part of my family: my grandson [Sonia’s son] is jobless, so is my daughter-in-law. It is paradoxical how we reached to a situation when my husband and I have to help them out with money from our pensions; to help them with our advice and to take care of them.

Glossary

Hana Muchnik
Kishinev
Moldova
Interviewer: Zhanna Litinskaya
Date of interview: July 2004

Hana Muchnik lives in a small two-bedroom apartment in an apartment building built in the 1970s in Kishinev (Chisinau in Moldovan). The apartment is modestly furnished and one can tell that the family is rather poor. Hana is a very nice lady with gray, neatly done hair and a sweet smile. Hana is very ill: her legs fail her, and it was a problem for her even to come to the door to open it for me. Every move causes her pain, but she is very friendly and hospitable. Hana tells me she’s been thinking of keeping the memory of her ancestors and their life in their little town. She happily agreed to give this interview.

My family backgrownd

Growing up

During the war

After the war

Glossary

My family backgrownd

I come from the small town of Orhei located on the picturesque bank of the Raut River in Bessarabia 1, about 60 kilometers from Kishinev. The long street, I would even call it Jewish, leading from the river was populated by Jews. There were a number of stores and shops owned by Jews on it. Tailor Facer had clients as far as Kishinev, Nisemboin owned a confectionary, medications and hygienic means were sold by Fishelev, the banquet hall was owned by Breutman. Then there were Shistik, Volovskiye, Golbinskiye: they were our neighbors. The majority of houses in Orhei were one-storied buildings: only Fishelev, a wealthy man, built two two-storied houses: one for himself and one for his son. My grandfather and our family lived in a long one-storied building with two front doors: one for my grandfather’s and one for our family.

My paternal grandfather, Joiseph Muchnik, born in Orhei in the 1850s, was rather wealthy. He owned a big leather/shoe store: it sold shoes and leather, glue and components for shoemaking. His clients were shoemakers of Orhei and they often visited my grandfather at home. My grandfather and my father treated them with scorn: the shoemakers’ guild was at the very bottom of the town’s hierarchy. My paternal grandmother died long before I was born. I can’t even remember her name. My grandfather remarried. His second wife Udl boasted of her distant relation to the very Baal-Shem-Tov 2. She was 20 years younger than my grandfather and agreed to marry him for his wealth. They didn’t have children together. She and Joiseph were very religious. They were real Hasidim 3. When my grandfather grew old and blind, and could work in his store no longer, Udl left him and moved to America, where her daughters lived. My grandfather lived to the end of his life in solitude, getting warm by our hearth. He died in 1935.

My father, the oldest of the children, was born in the 1980s. His sister Leya, whom I never knew, came next. Leya married Rozhkovskiy, a Jewish man from Ukraine. They had a son and lived on the Soviet side of the Dniestr after the Revolution of 1917 4. Therefore, during the Romanian rule 5, before Bessarabia was annexed to the USSR 6 we didn’t even mention to anyone that we had relatives in the USSR. Leya and her husband died before the Great Patriotic War 7. I met their son, Moisey Rozhkovskiy, after the Great Patriotic War. He was a veteran of combat actions and lived in Kishinev before he moved to the USA in the mid-1980s. This is all the information I have about him.

Indl – she was called Inna at home – my grandfather’s next daughter, was a beauty. I heard that when she was young and walked along the streets in Kishinev or Odessa 8, men turned their heads after her. She married Iosif Pagis, a lawyer, who was a public rabbi in Orhei. He kept Jewish birth and death records and was a well-respected, and even honored, citizen of the town. Iosif was a Zionist 9, and when the Soviet rule was established in Bessarabia in 1940, he was exiled to the Gulag 10 with Indl and their younger daughter Esphir. Iosif was taken to a camp in Tuman [Sverdlovsk, today Russia] where he died. Indl didn’t live much longer than him. She also died in the north. Esphir got married after the war and returned to Kishinev. About 20 years ago she moved to the USA with her family. Now they live in San Francisco.

The life of the older daughter was tragic. Surah was as beautiful as her mother. Shortly before the war she got married for great love. At the very start of the war her husband was mobilized to the army, and Surah and her husband’s sister, who was in the late stages of her pregnancy, walked out of Orhei. On their way they bumped into Constantinescu, a Romanian officer, whom Surah used to know in the past: he had made advances to her then, but she’d rejected him. He decided to take his revenge. He brutally raped Surah and her pregnant sister-in-law and killed them. Indl’s son Nathan Pagis was an officer during the Great Patriotic War. He got a medical education, graduated from Kishinev Medical University and became a neuropathologist. Now he lives in Canada with his family.

My father’s next sister Sluvah married Froim Pagis, a Jewish man. He wasn’t Iosif’s relative. Sluvah had two children. Her older daughter was lost during evacuation. Sluvah never found her. Sluvah’s son was traumatized by bombings, fear and horror. After the war the three of them returned to Kishinev. Sluvah died in the mid-1970s. I have no information about her son.

My father’s younger brother Leibl, born in the 1890s, also owned a store. His first wife died and he had to raise their son Haim. His second wife Rosa was quarrelsome and irritable. She didn’t accept the boy and he had to live with other people. Rosa and Leibl had two sons: Yakov and Shura. He was a failure both in his family and in his work life and all he thought was left for him was to put an end to his life. Leibl was found hanging in the shed by his house. This happened in the late 1930s. Rosa, who was much affected by this, didn’t even live two years after his death.

Haim, the older son, didn’t get any support from his relatives and moved to Palestine. My mother didn’t accept him, and he didn’t forgive her for the rest of his life. He fought in the war against the Fascists in the English army. Yakov, who was 15 years old, and Shura, 13 years old, evacuated in 1941. Yakov was an epileptic. He had another seizure, fell into a ditch in Central Asia and suffocated. Shura, the younger one, returned to Orhei and visited us occasionally. My sister gave him food and some money. Shura became a jeweler, got married and had two daughters. He wasn’t happy in his family life and began having problems when jewelers who were working with gold illegally started to get prosecuted. Shura resolved the situation in a very simple way: he hanged himself like his father did.

My father’s younger sister Hona, born in the early 1900s, also married a Jewish man. Her family name was Tarover. Hona’s son perished at the front during the Great Patriotic War. She and her husband returned from the evacuation and settled in his house. She and her husband died from typhus during an epidemic shortly after they returned.

My father, Duvid Muchnik, the oldest in the family, was born in the early 1880s. I don’t know whether my father had any education besides cheder. All I know is that he was a rather literate man. He could read and write Yiddish and Romanian. He must have also known Russian. He loved Pushkin 11, but we didn’t speak Russian in our family before the Soviet rule was established. My father, being the oldest son, was helping my grandfather Joiseph in the store before the Soviet rule was established. My father was raised in a religious Hasidic family, but he never became a Hasid. My father was very religious, but he observed religious beliefs other than Hasidic ones. It’s hard to say to what religious trend my father belonged to. All I remember is that he often argued with my grandfather about religious issues. My parents’ marriage was prearranged, as was quite common in Jewish families.

My mother’s family came from the small village of Chichelnitsa, not far from Orhei. Her parents died long before I was born. I think my grandmother had died before my parents’ wedding since my mother named her first daughter after her. [One of the most common Jewish practices is to name a child to honor a relative. Sephardi Jews name their children freely after both living and deceased relatives. However, Ashkenazim rarely name children after living relatives.] My grandfather died a few years later. I heard that my grandfather Anchel Sorotskiy, born in the 1860s, was rather wealthy. He owned land and fields. He hired workforce to work in these fields. He also kept cows and sheep. Mama told me that her family lived in a big two-storied mansion. There was beautiful expensive furniture, musical instruments and toys at her home. Even her and her sister’s dolls, as tall as the girls, were purchased in England. Grandmother was a real lady and supervised housemaids and governesses helping her about the house. From what I heard, Grandfather Anchel had a hard and quarrelsome character. Neither his family nor his employees liked him. The villagers working for him burned down his mansion and cattle farms during some upheaval, and my grandfather actually went bankrupt. He and Grandmother Elka died very poor because my grandfather’s bankruptcy dramatically affected their lives.

My mother’s older brother, Gershl Sorotskiy, got married, when my grandfather was still wealthy. His father supported his family and he actually didn’t learn any vocation. Later he was a farmer, but had no employees working for him and could hardly make ends meet. He and his wife Sosia had eleven children. Two of them died in infancy. Gershl and his family were miserably poor and would have starved had it not been for my mother’s support. Only Gershl’s older son Simon got a higher education. He lived with us in Orhei, finished a gymnasium [lyceum], studied and graduated from Kishinev University and worked as a lawyer. I have hardly any information about his other children. Gershl died before the Great Patriotic War. His wife Sosia and five daughters were in evacuation and after the war they returned to Chichelnitsa. Sosia died at the age of 95. After she died her five daughters moved to Israel. They are rather wealthy now.

Mama’s younger sister Beila, who got married while she was still a girl from a wealthy family, didn’t live with her husband long. When my grandfather went bankrupt and died, Beila’s husband left her and took her son Anchel and daughter Elka with him. I have no information about them. As for Beila, she moved in with us and actually became my second mother. My mother’s youngest brother David died young. This is all I know about him.

My mother, Golda Sorotskaya, was born in 1886. I think she must have studied with a visiting teacher [melamed] at home: this was quite common with wealthier families. She could write and read Yiddish like my father. My parents didn’t tell me about their wedding, but I think it was a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah and lots of guests. After the wedding my parents lived in my grandfather Joiseph’s house. In 1908 Mama gave birth to a girl. She named her Elka. My older brother Haim was born in 1910, and in 1915 my second brother, named Anchel after my deceased grandfather, came into this world. My mother had no other children for a long time before I was born on 18th September 1923.

Growing up

Though I was the youngest of the children and one would have thought I was to be everybody’s favorite, I felt like nobody needed me at all. My sister and brothers, who were much older than me, ignored me and didn’t want to play with me. My parents didn’t take any account of me and could, in my presence, discuss subjects that were not appropriate for a child to hear. So I heard my mother telling a neighbor that I was an unexpected child and a ‘burden,’ and I think this affected my whole life. However, I can’t say that I was mistreated. I had everything I needed and even more, but I lacked warmth and love that each child needs so much. Aunt Beila, who was living with us, was my favorite. I followed her and demanded that she played with me and she never refused me: she played with dolls and stones, read me fairy tales and told me stories. I guess this also helped her to suppress her longing for her own children.

We lived in one half of my grandfather’s house. There were four big row rooms: a living room, a bedroom, another room, where Aunt Beila and the older children lived, a kitchen and a cellar in our part of the house. There was a store, two big rooms and a kitchen in my grandfather’s part of the house. There was a warehouse and sheds, where food products for holidays were stored in the big long backyard of the house. I remember Uncle Gershl riding his wagon into the yard to have sacks full of flour and cereals, jars of jam and jarred fat loaded on it to haul these food stocks back to his home in Chichelnitsa, where his numerous family were waiting for him. Gershl arrived quite often. My father thought we had too much for our family and just ignored these visits of his. Our family was rather wealthy: I guess the store brought good profits. However, there were no luxuries at our home. Mama did all housework herself and only Aunt Beila helped her about the house. Marusia, a Moldovan girl, came in to do the laundry. Marusia could often be late – she had a drinking habit – and I remember how nervous my mother was when she didn’t show up on time. When she did come in, everything got going: there were big boiling tubs with the laundry, the smell of soap and then the washing was hanged on a long line in the yard. 

Mama was an excellent housewife. She cooked delicious food and baked white bread. When my brother and I were fed up with white bread she gave us money to buy brown bread. Jewish traditions were observed in the house, particularly, the kosher rules. The meat and dairy products were kept separately: there were separate utensils, preparation boards and knives for these products. On Friday Mama started the preparations for the celebration of Sabbath. Beila usually did a general clean up and Mama did the cooking. She left the food in the oven to keep it hot. Our neighbors Volovskiye, older people, sent their housemaid to bring their food to keep it till the next day in our oven and pick it up on Saturday [Shabbath]. On Saturday we weren’t allowed to do any work. We had Alexei, a Moldovan old man, come in to stoke the stove, light a candle and take the dinner out of the oven. My father was back from the synagogue by that time, and the family sat down to dinner. My father was very religious. He had a cap on working in his store and wore a kippah, tallit and tefillin on his hand and forehead. My father prayed every day at the nearby synagogue. This synagogue was called the ‘market’ synagogue in Orhei [the construction of this synagogue was funded by merchants and tradesmen]. On Saturday and on holidays my father went to the big, beautiful synagogue where my parents had seats they had paid for.

The children in our family were raised in accordance with Jewish traditions. I was sent to a private Jewish kindergarten, though it existed for no longer than about six months. I was taught the Yiddish alphabet at home. When we had guests, I was put on a chair in front of them to demonstrate my knowledge of the alphabet. My grandfather Joiseph spent a lot of time with me: he taught me Hebrew, told me about the Jewish religion and about Hasidim. I felt that my grandfather needed me in his life and I appreciated it a lot, lacking my parents’ love. Udl had left my grandfather: he was old and he could hardly see and I accompanied him to the synagogue, carrying his prayer book. I went for walks with my grandfather and he gratefully kissed me, wishing me well. I enjoyed the holidays in my grandfather’s house to the utmost. He was well-respected in the town, and I remember the celebration of the Simchat Torah [last day of Sukkot], when older Jews got together in his house to pray, sat at the table having a meal, sang and danced with the Torah – I liked it so much!

My uncle, the public rabbi, was the only rabbi in Orhei [there was a title of spiritual rabbi (kohein) and public rabbi. The spiritual rabbi performed at the synagogue and the public one represented interests of Jews to the state authorities]. When the rabbi visited the town on holidays, he stayed in my grandfather’s house. On these days I felt significant. Firstly, I never left my grandfather’s side on these days and I looked at the visitor with admiration: I believed he was close to God. Religious Jews came to the house to visit the rabbi, waiting for their turn in the fore room and the yard. The shomes invited visitors to the rabbi. Then the rabbi and my grandfather had lunch and I joined them.

There was always plenty of food. According to the Jewish customs, the leftovers are sacred and are given to people. The visitors asked me to say a word for them to my uncle about giving them some leftovers and I was very happy to be of help. This was done every year before 1934, when my grandfather was bedridden due to severe illness. He died in 1935. The rabbi, whom my grandfather had received in his home, came to the funeral. The rabbi recited the mourning prayer for my grandfather. I went to my grandfather’s funeral and took part in the mourning, though according to the Jewish rules the children whose parents were living weren’t supposed to attend funerals or go to the cemetery, but my parents didn’t mind my going to the cemetery. [The halakhah only says that a person is permitted to recite the Kaddish for other close relatives as well as parents, but only if his/her parents are dead. Probably in Hana’s community there were different traditions.]

Our family also observed all traditions and celebrated holidays. My favorite holiday was Pesach. Purim was celebrated one month before the Pesach. This was a merry holiday. Mama baked hamantashen and made fluden, cookies with honey and nuts, and we brought shelakhmones [mishlo'ah manot, sending of gifts to one another], a tray with cookies, strudel, sweets and apples to our neighbors. There was a carnival procession in the streets, stopping by each house. The owners, including my father, dropped their contributions into a special box of contributions for Palestine. I enjoyed the feeling of expectation of Pesach. The preparation started immediately after Purim. Everything was cleaned and fixed, painted and repaired. [The Passover cleaning, the mitzvah of biur chametz – getting rid of chametz – and other traditions described below belong to Pesach traditions according to the halakhah.]

Elka and Haim, the older children, left the house and lived their own lives. Anchel was a little older than me and didn’t enjoy the holidays as much as I did. Our parents bought us gifts. I got new patent leather shoes made by a client of my father’s. I don’t know where my old ones disappeared each time, though I only wore them once. Mama must have sent them to Gershl’s daughters. I also wore a new dress: a lovely velvet or lace dress.

The first sign of the holiday was a box of matzah. The box was locked and it wasn’t allowed to start eating the matzah before the holiday. On the eve of the holiday the special crockery was taken down from the attic. I loved this crockery! The silver spoons and forks were shining, but were cleaned again nevertheless. I had two little cups: the blue and the white ones. The table was covered with a new starched table cloth. In the evening the seder began. At ten o’clock in the morning we had breakfast with the last slice of bread: there was to be no bread in the following days. My father cut a piece of bread into ten little pieces and placed them around the house. His next step was to sweep it onto a plate with a goose feather. I followed him, watching that he didn’t miss a crumb and indicating it if he did. However, he never missed a piece.

Mama and Aunt Beila were busy in the kitchen cooking and stewing, paying no attention to me. I remember getting hungry, nagging Aunt Beila: ‘The child is hungry!’ Mama hasted to fry a goose liver offering it to me, but with no bread. An hour later I get hungry again: Mama offers me a hard-boiled egg. I couldn’t wait till the evening came! The family got together at the table. There was my bed in this room and I knew that I wasn’t going to bed before the end of the celebration. The rules required having guests on seder, but who was willing to come to somebody else’s home! However, Jews found the way out; the military sent out two privates to each Jewish house: it was good for the boys to celebrate with a family and for families to follow the rules.

There were dishes required by the Haggadah and other traditional Jewish food: stuffed fish [so-called gefilte fish], chicken broth with matzah kneydlakh, nicely smelling rich stew, tsimes, matzah puddings. My father reclined on cushions at the head of the table. He dressed up and had his tallit on. I was small and nobody seemed to take any account of me. However, I knew they couldn’t have a holiday without me. At the start of seder my father would address me. I’d stand up and distinctly answer the four questions about the origin of the holiday: the family would all look at me and I’d feel proud. Then I’d fill everybody’s glasses and my own. My father reads the Haggadah, the men repeat after him and the seder begins.

Frankly, I was upset that it was my brother Anchel to look for the afikoman and get a gift, but this was a custom and wasn’t to be questioned. At a certain time my father left the table and opened the front door. It was cold and dark outside. My father pronounced: ‘Whoever is hungry, come in to have a meal! Whoever is thirsty, come in for a drink!’ I don’t remember anybody coming in, but the tradition was followed. The expectation of Elijah–ha-nevi was the highlight of the celebration. There was a glass of wine for him on the table, and he was expected to come in at night. I decided to stay awake till he came in, but of course, I fell asleep. The next morning I thought: well, maybe next time. When I fell asleep each time I plotted something else. I checked the level of wine in the glass in the morning, and when it looked as if there was less wine left I believed Elijah-ha-nevi had visited our house, indeed! This was the happiest holiday ever.

I also liked Rosh Hashanah and I started fasting on Yom Kippur at an early age. I didn’t like the Sukkot: it was already cold and I didn’t want to have meals in the sukkah. However, Papa made me put on something warm and come into the sukkah for a meal. I remember Chanukkah: the Chanukkah candle stand, the candles that my father lit in the evening, sweet doughnuts, the gifts and some money that I got. I liked all holidays, but seder in our family has particularly warmed my heart ever since.

I went to the Jewish elementary school Tarbut 12 at the age of six. Usually children went to school at the age of seven, but I and two other children who knew the alphabet and could read, were admitted to school. When Romanian inspectors came to the school, we had to hide away, because going to school at the age of six was against the rules. The following year I was admitted to the first grade. I was upset and cried bitterly, fearing that people might think that I had failed with my studies, but then I started getting all excellent marks and became the best pupil. I knew Hebrew and could read and write in Hebrew. I finished elementary school with the best marks. I had all ‘tens’ [the highest point in Romanian schools] marks in my school record card.

I wanted to continue my studies in the Romanian public gymnasium, but I didn’t get the sufficient number of points [admission to the gymnasium was based on the results of Mathematics and dictation tests]. My sister Elka had finished this gymnasium with honors a few years before. Then she went to Bucharest, where she entered the University: Uncle Iosif Pagis advised her to enter the Pharmaceutical Faculty. Several years later Elka realized this wasn’t what she wanted to do. She liked literature. While continuing her studies at the Pharmaceutical Faculty she entered the Faculty of Literature and Philosophy of this University. Elka graduated with two diplomas: in Pharmacology and Literature. She went to work in the Jewish school in the town of Arciz [today Ukraine]. She worked as a teacher. In 1933 she married Mendel Vinograd, the director of this school. When she heard of my failure at the entrance exams to this school, she arrived in Orhei and visited the gymnasium where everybody knew her. She demanded my written work and made sure that the mark given for it was fair. At her request I had another exam and entered the gymnasium.

At the end of my first year the average point of each pupil was written on a board. Olympia Machedon, the daughter of the director of the gymnasium, was the first on the list, Popuzha Popescu, the daughter of a policeman, was number two, number three was Olga Timozina, the daughter of a priest, the fourth was Sarrochka Beilis, a beautiful Jewish girl, and number five was Hana Muchnik. Senior gymnasium girls were asking who was this Hana Muchnik and I ran away humbly. Since then I was number two or three at the end of each year. I was awarded a letter of honor or a gift: books, as a rule. In the sixth grade I happened to be the first on the list and was highly disappointed, when I didn’t get any gift. At the end of vacations I received a big parcel from Bucharest. My friend and I went to the post office to receive it: it contained sketch books and books of Romanian classical and contemporary writers.

The national composition of the gymnasium was diverse. There were Romanian, Moldovan and Russian girls in my class. Half of my classmates were Jewish girls. We got along well and were polite with each other. The Christian girls had religious classes, and so did the Jewish girls: we studied the basics of Judaism. On Jewish holidays the Jewish girls were given vacations. I remember mentioning to my friends my concerns about missing two days of school on Rosh Hashanah and having no notes from classes. Popuzha Popescu heard me saying this and offered me to come by her place and pick up her notes. I went to the policeman’s home and knocked on the door. Nobody answered. The door was open and I stepped into the beautiful fore room. Then I humbly opened a few doors before I came onto the roofed terrace, where the policeman’s family was sitting at the table. I apologized, but the policeman invited me to join them for lunch. Then Popuzha gave me her notes. We joined some kind of a scout organization at the gymnasium. We even wore neckties that looked like pioneer 13 neckties.

There were a number of Zionist organizations in Bessarabia in those years. My older brother Haim moved to Bucharest at the age of 15 and entered a vocational school. Haim became a high-skilled worker. He also became fond of Zionist ideas of restoration of Israel. He joined a Zionist organization of young people, I don’t know the name of this organization, and was preparing for repatriation to Israel. In a camp in the Carpathians he met and fell in love with a Jewish girl named Tubele. When he told Mother about Tubele and his intention to marry her, our mother got very angry: Tubele came from a poor family and wasn’t our equal. Haim left his fiancée and moved to Israel in 1927. He got married there and had a daughter. Haim was involved in the establishment of the kibbutz settlements in Israel. In his letters he tried to convince Anchel to move to Israel. Anchel moved to Palestine in 1936. However, shortly after he moved there, he was killed by terrorists.

I wouldn’t say I had steady Zionist interests, but I joined the Maccabi 14 Zionist organization of young people to keep the memory of my brother. This organization also prepared us for repatriation to Israel. They stated that the establishment of our Jewish state must be peaceful. I attended this organization in secret. I don’t think my gymnasium would have appreciated this had they known.

During the years of class struggle in Bessarabia some young people joined anti-Fascists and the others became Cuzists 15, but I was rather apolitical. I didn’t even know who Lenin 16 was. I heard the name of Stalin, but I hardly knew anything about the Soviet Union. When the Red Army entered Orhei in late June 1940, it was something new and different for me. I had finished the gymnasium with honors by that time. Thus, before I could take my Baccalaureate exam [In Eastern Europe the Bachelor’s degree, noted in the diploma refers to the graduation from high school], the Soviet rule was established. My friends and I decided to greet the Soviet Army. I dressed up and tied a red ribbon in my hair. I remember my father saying sadly seeing this: ‘What are you so happy about, Daughter?’

Seeing the Red Army warriors we felt disappointed: they looked exhausted and dirty. A few days after the Soviet rule was established, the repression and arrests began. Our store was nationalized and they expropriated my grandfather’s part of the house to accommodate some of the Red Army commanding officers. They also occupied our biggest room. My father was summoned to the NKVD office 17, but he said they treated him properly. They explained to him that nationalization was a program of the Soviet government and my father had no resentment toward the Soviet power.

I took up a short-term course of teachers’ training. My sister had tried to teach me some Russian, but it didn’t work. I came to the course hardly having any knowledge of Russian, but the others were no better in this regard. I finished this course two or three months later and received a job assignment to the Moldovan village of Malovata. I had tears in my eyes leaving home: this was my first departure from home. The school I was to work at was on the picturesque bank of the Dniestr. I liked the location and warm weather and I understood there were other places to live in besides Orhei. A few days later Mama arrived and rented a room for me and Sarrah Shoichetman from Orhei, who also came to work at the school. The school consisted of two classes: the 1st and the 2nd grades. Sarrah and I worked quietly in our first year there.

During the war

In the middle of June 1941 I went home for vacation. I also took up a course of advanced teachers’ training. On 22nd June we listened to Molotov’s speech 18. He made the announcement about the start of the Great Patriotic War. I went to the center of town where people were gathering by the radio. At that time the first bombing started. People started to panic. We rushed to the basement of a house and waited till the bombing was over. Then I rushed home worrying about my family. I found Mama sobbing after me at home. Bombings occurred every day. We took hiding in the basement, but my father refused to hide away. He said nothing could happen to him at the synagogue and after each air raid alarm he ran to the nearest ‘market-place’ synagogue.

Elka arrived shortly before the war. Her husband was mobilized to the army. She had had a miscarriage that affected her fertility and she couldn’t have children. My sister went to work at the Orhei Medical School teaching medical nurses for the army. When the evacuation began, the medical school arranged for a wagon for our family. We could load one piece of luggage onto it and had to follow the horse-drawn wagon walking. My sister tried to convince my parents to evacuate, but my mother said she wasn’t going to walk and would try to find another wagon to depart. My sister and I agreed with our parents that we would meet across the Dniestr.

We left Orhei on 7th July. We walked for a few days and couldn’t remember when we had our last meal. During air raids we took hiding in hay stacks and when they were over we buried the dead. When we approached a crossing on the Dniestr River, there was a crowd of people waiting for their turn to cross the river. The army units were the first ones to cross. My sister and I headed back to Orhei. The town was deserted, but my parents and aunt were there. They found no wagon and yet again refused to leave with us.

On 13th July my sister and I left the town another time. We crossed the Dniestr and stopped for a rest in a small forest. I had a red blouse on and had to change it: we were told to wear neutral colors for safety considerations. Then we headed to the railway station and after we covered a few kilometers we saw a train. There was a Ukrainian woman and her son on the open train car with some equipment loaded onto it: they didn’t let us board the platform, but an officer, passing by, helped us onto the platform and told the woman off. We moved on, sitting with our backs to one another, but later we made friends with the guy and he was even courteous, helping me to jump off the train during raids. He also watched that we didn’t walk too far from the train when it stopped.

At the Yasinovataya station [today Ukraine] somebody snatched my bag with our documents and 1000 rubles that I had. However, they dropped some of the documents, but the money was gone. We moved on trying to escape from bombings and Fascists. At a station we heard an announcement: ‘Attention of passengers! The train on the first line heads to Rostov, Stalingrad, Kuibyshev and Saratov.’ We boarded this train and arrived at Rostov [today Russia]. From there we headed to the Northern Caucasus. At one station we bumped into Uncle Leibl’s son Yasha. He asked us to take with us a box with silver tableware, but we had our hands full and my sister advised the boy to leave the silverware with some local residents.

Thus, we reached a village in Ordzhonikidze district [today Azerbaijan] in the Northern Caucasus, 2500 kilometers from Kishinev. We were assigned to a kolkhoz 19; I don’t remember its name or location. My sister went to work as a teacher in a local school. I was young and strong and was sent to work at the threshing floor. I worked for two days and got fever measured at 40 degrees Celsius. I was taken to a hospital and the doctors there got together to decide about my condition. They were talking to one another, thinking that I couldn’t hear them. However, I did hear that I had enteric fever. My doctor felt sorry for me and took care of me as he would of his own daughter. I wouldn’t have survived if it hadn’t been for him. My sister was unaware of what had happened to me. The daughter of the head of the kolkhoz, who was also in my ward and whose family brought her eggs, cottage cheese and sour cream pronounced through her delirium: ‘Have you given food to Nyura – she called me by this Russian name – as I shall not eat the food, if she doesn’t have it’. I asked the nurses to cut my hair short, but an old assistant doctor did what he could to avoid cutting my long hair. When my sister finally visited me, she cut my hair. As soon as I recovered, I developed pneumonia, but I survived again thanks to my young age and human kindness.

My sister’s husband Mendel found us. Bessarabians weren’t mobilized to the front-line forces, because the Soviet authorities didn’t fully trust residents of the areas recently annexed to the USSR, and he was released [Editor’s note: probably this fact had different reasons, since later on there were Bessarabians, as well as Bessarabian Jews in the Soviet army’s front line troops]. Mendel carried me to the car waiting by the front door of the hospital and the three of us drove to Makhachkala [Dagestan, today Russia]. From there we took a boat across the Caspian Sea and from there we took a train to Tajikistan. Our destination was Stalinabad [Dushanbe since 1962, today capital of Tajikistan] where we were accommodated in a barrack for over 100 people. Mendel fell ill with typhus and my sister contracted it as well. A few days later the doctor, a pretty Ukrainian lady diagnosed me with typhus. I was taken to a hospital. It took me a long time to recover and I had to learn to walk anew. All tenants of the barrack fell ill with typhus. About seven of us were released at one time and we had to hold hands to get to our barrack across the town.

My sister met me. Mendel had been mobilized to the labor front 20 in the north and he occasionally sent us food parcels. A few months later we stopped receiving any parcels or even letters from him. Half a year later we received a letter where Mendel wrote that somebody had reported that during the Romanian rule he was a Zionist and an active participant of the Zionist movement. He was convicted to ten years of imprisonment and kept in a camp near Norilsk [Taymir, today Russia].

My sister Elka was a very strong person. She stood up to this disaster. She went to work as a pharmacist. She received rationed food with pork fat, or a pork head or offal. Besides, we had bread cards 21.

Life was improving. I made friends with Gita Luriye, a Jewish girl from Latvia. She convinced me to go to the course of medical nurses for the front. It lasted three months and I finished it with honors, but frankly, I didn’t even know how to make an injection. One month later I was summoned to the military registry office. I went there, but when they found out that I was from Bessarabia they released me. It happened one more time with the same result, but when I was summoned there for the third time, the military commander told me to come back with a spoon and a mug. I packed my clothes and my sister went with me to see me off.

I didn’t even realize that I was mobilized. The first sergeant inspected the line of girls and asked me where I was going. He said that if I was going to the front line I didn’t need my suitcase. I was always sensitive to jokes and this time I burst into tears. So, he let me go back home, leave my suitcase there and take a blanket and a pillow with me. In the morning I came back to the unit again: this was the fifth reserve infantry regiment. We were accommodated in the barrack and received some old uniforms. Every day one of us was sent to the front line. I don’t know whether I would have been sent to the front if I hadn’t fallen ill with malaria. Shivering and fever were exhausting me. I felt like this every day. A professor of the institute of tropical diseases, whom I consulted, explained that I had been bitten by two mosquitoes and I had two types of malaria at the same time: three-day malaria and tropical malaria. I had treatment, but I couldn’t overcome it until I finally returned to Moldova.

I was released. My sister helped me to get a job as a medical nurse in a hospital. It didn’t take long for me to understand that this job wasn’t good for me. When a patient died and the doctor asked me to turn him on his bed I was horrified and ran out of the ward. The doctor told me to think over whether I could be a medical worker. I quit the hospital. My sister helped me again. She helped me to get a job as a medical nurse at the blood transfusion facility. I received rationed food and worked there until the re-evacuation.

When in summer 1944 the liberation of Moldova began, my sister started packing to go back home. Elka wrote a letter to the People’s Commissariat of Education in Soroki [Soroca in Moldovan]. Kishinev was still occupied. Shortly afterwards we received a response and started obtaining all necessary documents. We left home in December 1944. We took a train to Moscow where it took us two days to get tickets to Kishinev. It took us three days to get to Kishinev from Moscow. I had visited Kishinev twice before the war and admired the town. This time I saw it in ruins. We hired a wagon to take us to Orhei. The cabman, a young handsome Moldovan man, asked us about where we were coming from and where we worked. Being rather suspicious, I suspected that he probably had something negative on his mind and told my sister about my suspicions in Yiddish, but she calmed me down. When the guy heard that Elka was a teacher and was going to work in Orhei, he asked her whether she could help him to enter the teacher’s training school. My sister told me in Yiddish that the guy had no evil thoughts.

After the war

We got to the town at about two o’clock in the morning. The town was ruined [according to the official information, about 95 percent of the town was in ruins]. The central street was in ruins, overgrown with weeds. The guy took us in the direction of the light. This place happened to be a militia office and we wanted to stay there overnight. The militiaman on duty told us to leave the office. My sister told him we had nowhere to go and we spent the first night in our hometown by the stove in the militia office.

The following day my sister met an acquaintance of hers, who gave us shelter. I went to where our house had been. I was born and grew up in this house, but I couldn’t find anything. Some passers-by told me that the house was hit by a bomb and the locals disassembled the ruins. They told me about my parents and Aunt Beila, who died a terrible death. On the first day the Fascists gathered all Jews of the town at the quarry and killed them. [Editor’s note: not all the Jews were gathered and killed during the first days. For further information, see glossary 22.] Those people told me they saw my mother, father and Aunt Beila walking there. I was sitting, where I was born and grew up, crying. Then I saw three acacia trees where I used to play as a child.

When my sister and I saw each other again, she told me what I had already been told: her colleagues told her the same story. Elka was told that when the town was liberated, the mass shooting site was dug up to discover the remains of the deceased. The documents of her friend Lyonia Averbukh and his wife were also found there. He was a successful lawyer and had an opportunity to evacuate, but he stayed, convinced by his Cuzist friend Papoy, who told him that not a single hair would fall from his head. However, even Papoy couldn’t save his friend. 

Our life was going on. My sister’s husband was still in prison. Elka went to work at the Teachers’ Training School, where she received a room. It was a little room, but there were two beds, a table, two chairs and even a stove in it. It was all right to live in it! I went to work as a cashier in a canteen. My sister kept telling me that I had to continue my studies at the Medical College. However, after having typhus twice and malaria I was too weak to go to study in a college. My sister told me to try at least a technical school. I entered the Financial School in Kishinev, the Department of Finance and Taxation.

I lived in a hostel and often went to Orhei to visit my sister. My sister and I were very close. I forgot the grudges of my childhood, when I thought the adults didn’t like me and laughed at me. Elka was the dearest person to me. My older brother Haim lived in Israel, but we had no contacts with him. I received a stipend and Elka was supporting me. Of course, life was hard, particularly in 1946-47, when the people starved. However, I have the brightest memories of my student years. There were many Jewish students at my school and I had many Jewish friends. There was no anti-Semitism in those years.

However, I faced prejudiced attitudes during the issuance of job assignments 23. I requested a job in Orhei to be with my sister, but all Jewish students were assigned to the worst locations. I was sent to the godforsaken town of Bravicheny where no transportation was available. I had to walk there. Before long, I wrote a request to relocate me to Orhei and sent it to the Ministry of Finance. They relocated me to Susleny, 15 kilometers from Orhei. I worked in the financial department in Susleny for a few years. My boss was very good to me and helped me to get another assignment. I even had a choice between Bendery, Tiraspol or Beltsy and I chose Bendery.

In early 1953, I moved to work in this town. I worked as a financial officer in this town for 25 years. I received a small room in a shared apartment 24. This was the period of the state level anti-Semitism. I wouldn’t say it affected me. I remember that during the period of the ‘Doctors’ Plot’ 25, when all Jews felt that their people were endangered, my supervisor, basically a nice person , told me how she went to a Jewish doctor, who took a long time to examine her, probably intending to poison her. I listened to such things, but had to keep silent. When Stalin died in 1953, I didn’t grieve or cry. Somehow I knew he was the reason for many of our troubles.

My sister was a good teacher. She kept the fact that her husband was in prison secret, but shortly before 1953 her management declared that she would be fired, being the wife of an ‘enemy of the people’ 26. Now I had to support my sister both morally and financially. Fortunately, shortly after Stalin died, her husband Mendel was rehabilitated 25 and returned to Orhei and Elka returned to work.

I was already 30 years old. I knew I had to somehow take care of my personal life. Somebody introduced me to a single Jewish man in Bendery. His name was Isaac Fishman; he was five years younger than me. He was born in Bendery in 1928. I didn’t feel any love toward Isaac, but I was much attracted by his having a big family. I was missing a big Jewish home and the way of life I was used to since my childhood. I gave my consent to marry him. So it happened that I never knew love for a man in my whole life.

In 1955 Isaac and I registered our marriage, and there was a small wedding dinner. I was well-respected at work and shortly after the wedding I received a two-bedroom apartment. Isaac was a mechanic and a highly-skilled one. He was good to me and we had a good life. My husband’s family celebrated all Jewish holidays, and my husband and I joined them and I felt like I was back in my childhood again. We also celebrated Pesach and had matzah at home. I wasn’t religious and my husband was an atheist, but we liked getting together at the table and giving and receiving gifts, being attached to the traditions of our ancestors.

In 1957 my dearest little daughter was born. I named her Goldina after my mother. She was a sweet and lovely girl. She studied well at school and had the dream to study in a college. We led a modest life. Financial employees had low salaries. However, we had everything we needed. I could even afford to take my daughter to the seashore every summer. Perhaps, this wasn’t good for her. Goldina suddenly fell seriously ill at the age of 17: she happened to have lupus, a rare disease of the immune system. The doctors didn’t know the cause of the disease, but they said it might have been radiation at the sea. My dear little daughter died in 1974, and my life lost any sense whatsoever. I didn’t live my life: I existed. Isaac was also much affected by our daughter’s death. Being a man, he couldn’t show his tears and suffering, but it was very hard on him. In 1976 my husband died from a heart attack. I buried him beside my daughter in the town cemetery in Bendery. There were no rituals, but my father-in-law recited the mourning prayer.

My sister and her husband Mendel lived in Kishinev. Mendel was very ill. He couldn’t work after he returned from jail. He received a miserable pension. They received a small two-bedroom apartment. They were very close. They went for walks and talked a lot as if to compensate for the years they had spent apart. In 1978 Elka became a widow. Two years after her husband’s death she developed diabetes and had her leg amputated. I retired to take care of Elka in Kishinev. Some time later I exchanged my apartment in Bendery for one in Kishinev for my sister and me to have a bigger apartment. I tended to Elka for five years before she died in 1984.

In the early 1990s my brother Haim found me. He lived in Haifa in Israel and I went to visit him. I was happy to have one member of my family in Israel. I admired Israel. What a beautiful country! What nice people: smiling, friendly people, the sea, so much sun! My brother was a worker at a plant, but he has had a very good life. He and his wife have a nice spacious apartment. Unfortunately, he lost his only daughter in the 1980s. She was seriously ill and died young. I was considering moving to Israel, but I’ve always been so irresolute and I feared changing my life at my old age. I feared loneliness in a nice, but different country. Haim didn’t try to convince me, giving me an opportunity to make my own decision. When leaving Israel, I knew it was my farewell to my brother. He died a few years ago. In the mid-1980s I visited Orhei and went to the cemetery. All of a sudden I stopped still, staggered. There was a gravestone with my grandfather’s name engraved on it: Joiseph Muchnik. Since then I’ve been visiting my grandfather’s grave and the mass grave where my parents ended their days.

I am very ill and hardly ever go out. I wouldn’t have lived this long, if it hadn’t been for the support of Jewish organizations and Hesed 27. They give me moral, physical and financial support. There is a visiting nurse tending to me. I have many friends in Hesed. I attend the Day Center where I am taken by a bus and where we listen to Jewish songs. I read Jewish publications. I return to my little town in my thoughts. I would like to immortalize the memory of my dear ones and I write articles to our Jewish newspaper. I think, this story that I’m telling today, will also help to keep the memory of my family and the past of a little Jewish town in Bessarabia.

Glossary:

Ninel Cherevko
Lvov
Ukraine
Interviewer: Zhanna Litinskaya
Date of interview: December 2002

Ninel Cherevko has lost her son recently - he died in Israel. But she stays reserved and looks younger than her age. She resides in a small 2-room apartment with old furniture that she has had since the first years of her marital life. Ninel speaks very slowly thinking over every phrase she pronounces trying to recall dates and names. One can feel an approach of a teacher and professional lecturer.  Ninel often asks for a break, especially when she tells about her father's arrest, occupation and her son's death.  She pulls herself together to go on with her story. She enjoys giving an interview as if she is glad to drop her thoughts about her hard life like a heavy load. After the interview Ninel asks me to commemorate her son Alexandr.

My family background

Growing up

During the War

After the War

Glossary 

My family background

I often think about the history of my family and I believe it is typical for our country. It shows how Jewish children raised in religious or even moderately religious families observing Jewish traditions dedicated themselves to the revolution and construction of socialism in Russia and became adept to the ideas of Marxism-Leninism. They shared the history of their country.  

My mother's parents were born in one of the towns in the south of Russia in 1870s. They lived their life in Evpatoria in the east of the Crimea. The population of Evpatoria constituted 30-40 thousand people: Ukrainian, Russian, Crimean tatars, Karaim people and gypsies. There was also Jewish population that wasn't numerous. Here were churches, a synagogue, a Karaim Kinassa and a mosque. The town was at the Black seashore. In summer many holidaymakers came to the town in summer - Evpatoria was a resort at the Black Sea famous for its therapeutic mud. 

My grandfather Joseph Doctorovich received traditional Jewish education at cheder. He was a trade agent and representative of few companies. He traveled to smaller villages and towns to make trade deals: he purchased food products: flour, sugar, etc. He had his interest from each deal. My grandmother Irina Doctorovich (in Yiddish she was called Ida). She was a housewife and looked after the children.  My grandmother could read and write in Yiddish and Russian. She probably finished a primary school. The Doctorovich family was a bourgeois family: they were educated and intelligent people. They were not poor, but they managed somehow. My grandfather didn't have a permanent income and often there was no money in the family. They lived in a house of 3 rooms and a kitchen in the vicinity of the town.

My mother's parents were moderately religious. My mother told me that they observed all Jewish traditions and celebrated Shabbat. On Friday my grandmother and her daughters cleaned their house and made food for Saturday. They also baked hala bread. There was always Gefilte fish on our Saturday table. Lunch of Saturday was always different than on weekdays. Meat and chicken were a luxury - my grandparents didn't keep any livestock and bought all food products at the market. There was plenty of food sold at the market. My grandfather, when he was at home (when his business required he worked even at Shabbat and ignored religious conventionalities) came home early on Friday and the family changed into clean clothes and sat to a festive table. My grandmother lit candles and the family took to a meal. This is all I know from what my mother told me. My grandmother and grandfather went to synagogue only on big holidays since it was located far from their home - in the center of the town.  They celebrated Jewish holidays: Pesach, Yom Kippur and Chanukah. My mother told me little about their celebration: her mother Ida died in 1914 and Jewish traditions left the house along with her. Grandfather Joseph missed her very much. He died in 1917. They were buried at the Jewish cemetery in Evpatoria. No religious rules were followed at their funeral.

I know two of my mother's sisters. My mother told me that there was also a brother that died in infantry. I don't know his name. The girls studied at a Russian primary school. I don't know whether there was a Jewish school in Evpatoria. Older sister, Sophia, born in 1892, got married in 1920s. She married Sasha Grigorenko a Ukrainian man.  They lived nicely together, but they didn't celebrate Jewish or Ukrainian traditions. Sophia had four children: Nikolay, Michael, Valentina and Alexey. Only Nikolay got a higher education. He became a construction engineer. During the Great Patriotic War Sophia and her family were in evacuation and after the war she returned to Evpatoria. She died in the middle of 1980s. After her death we lost track of her children.  

My mother's sister Eugenia, born in 1896, became an apprentice in a sewing shop. She began to take part in revolutionary movement in 1910s.  She was a member of one of underground Komsomol groups that distributed flyers and propagated communist ideas. Evgenia was one of the first Komsomol 1 members in Evpatoria when Komsomol was established in 1918. One of Komsomol members was Liya Shulkina came from a rather wealthy family - her father Moshe owned a mill in Evpatoria. She had a brother. Liya and Misha became Evgenia's friends. Evgenia often came to their house where she met Liya's brother Khaim. She fell in love with him. Khaim stood aside from the Komsomol organizations. During the Civil war of 1914-1918, when the town was occupied by White Guard units 2 Komsomol members were shot in the center of the town. Liya Shulkina perished there as well while Misha and Evgenia hid in Misha's house. There is a monument to Komsomol members that perished at that time and the name of Liya Shulkina is engraved on the marble stone. After the White Guard units left the town Evgenia married Haim Shulkin, a Jewish man. She became a dressmaker and didn't take any part in public activities any longer. Her husband Haim was a trade agent. Misha continued to work at the Komsomol group for some time. When the period of NEP was over 3 the father of Haim Moshe was dispossessed 4, but since he was too old he wasn't sent in exile to Siberia but stayed at home. In 1929 he died.

In the early 1930s Evgenia and Haim sold their father's house and moved to Simferopol. Haim was a tradesman and Evgenia became a dressmaker. They didn't have any children. At the beginning of the Great Patriotic War 5 the family of Shulkins - Evgenia, Haim, Haim's brother Misha, his wife Sonia, their son Lyonia and daughter Paulina failed to evacuate and stayed in the occupation. At the beginning of 1942 all Jews were ordered to come to registration. All those that went there perished: Haim, Misha, Sonia and Lyonia. Evgenia didn't go to registration process.  She ran away with her niece Paulina. Evgenia and Paulina settled down at the Tatar neighborhood in the vicinity of the town. Tatar houses had no windows and were hid behind high fences. There were narrow streets and Germans were not quite willing to show up there. In that houses Evgenia and Paulina stayed through the whole period of occupation. They only walked in the yard and their Tatar landlady brought them food. After the war Evgenia returned to her apartment. She continued to work as a dressmaker. She died in the middle of 1960s. She had adopted Paulina. Paulina lives with her family in the US.

My mother Clara Doctorovich was born in 1902. After finishing primary school she became an apprentice at the same sewing shop where Evgenia was working.  At 14 she became a member of a Marxist organization for young people. At first she assisted her older sister Evgenia, but later she became a propagandist herself. She conducted meetings at industrial enterprises and educational institutions speaking to workers and students about entering the Communist Party to struggle against capitalist suppressors and spread flyers. In this group my mother met my future father Grigory Shwartz.

My grandfather on my father's side Ilia Shwartz was born in Mikhailovskoye town of Melitopol district Tavria province in the south of Russia in 1871. I don't know anything about this town since the family moved to Evpatoria and Mikhailovskoye was just a memory. What I know about it is that it had multinational population like any other town in the south of Russia: there was Russian, Ukrainian, Tatar, Jewish population and emigrants from the Northern Caucasus. My grandfather received traditional Jewish education - he studied at cheder and then he continued his studies at a primary school after finishing which he finished a Commercial school.

My grandmother Bertha Shwartz, nee Lutrovnik, was also born to the family of a wealthy Jewish merchant Leib Lutrovnik in Mikhailovskoye in 1876. My great grandfather had 4 daughters - he gave all of them good education, so he must have been a wealthy man.

My grandmother Bertha was the oldest daughter. She finished a grammar school and got married. Liya Lutrovnik, the next sister, was born in 1882. Her sister Liya Lutrovnik sent her to continue her education in Paris. She entered medical Faulty in Sorbonne that she graduated successfully in 1912.  After she returned from France she worked as a doctor in Evpatoria and became a great specialist in osseous tuberculosis. She worked as Chief Doctor of ''Krasnaya Rosa'' ['Red Rose]' recreation center for patients with osseous tuberculosis until the beginning of the Great Patriotic War. During the war Liya was in evacuation and later she became director of a recreation center of the same profile in Balashykha. Liya was an advanced woman of her time. She didn't observe any Jewish traditions. Liya was so busy at work that she didn't have ant time left for her personal life. She was single. Liya died in Balashykha in 1965.

My grandmother's sister Sophia Lutrovnik, born in 1885 upon finishing grammar school married Mark Deitorovich, a Jewish man and a popular photographer in Odessa. Their parents insisted on their having a traditional Jewish wedding in Evpatoria with a huppah at the synagogue with a number of guests and a Jewish band. The young couple paid homage to their parents in this way. Further on they didn't observe any Jewish traditions. After the wedding Sophia and her husband moved to Odessa and in 1907 their daughter Irina was born. Sophia and Mark had many hobbies: photographs and theater and cinema that was called ''cinematograph'' in Odessa.

Later Sophia and Mark moved to Voznesensk of Nikolaev province, in about 150 km from Odessa where they opened a photo shop of their own. Sophia's younger sister Anna Lutrovnik, born in 1889, often visited them in Odessa. After finishing grammar school Anna came to see them before leaving to the University in Sorbonne. In Paris Anna entered the medical faculty of the university in Sorbonne like her sister Liya where she studied several years. At the beginning of WWI Anna returned to Russia. She stayed with her parents in Evpatoria for some time before she moved to her sister in Voznesensk. Anna liked her brother-in-law Mark a lot and never dated with young men of her age. In 1919 Sophia took a lethal dose of some medication and died of poisoning.  There were rumors that she had left a letter for Mark where she wrote that she had been in love with another man for several years and poisoned herself seeing no way out of this situation. Anna stayed with her brother-in-law and in a year they registered their marriage at a registry office. Anna didn't change her nee name of Lutrovnik to her husband's. She adopted Sophia's daughter Irina and raised her. They didn't have any more children. Shortly after their wedding Anna, Mark and Irina moved to Moscow - there were too many rumors in Voznesensk about their family. In Moscow Mark got a job at a photo shop and Anna worked as a medical nurse. During the Great patriotic War Anna and mark stayed in Moscow, but Irina evacuated. She became a chemical engineer. Mark died in late 1940s. Anna died in 1954.  Irina became a scientist and a great specialist in non-organic chemistry. She was single. She died in Moscow in 1994.

My grandmother Bertha married Ilia Shwartz, a Jewish man, in 1893. They had a big traditional Jewish wedding with a huppah, kleizmers, a number of guests and lots of presents. The newly weds lived with my grandmother's parents for some time before they rented an apartment. In 1904 they moved to Evpatoria. My grandfather was a trade agent and my grandmother was a housewife. I would say Bertha and Ilia were moderately religious. They followed the kashrut and celebrated Saturday.  However, if my grandfather had something important to do on Saturday or meet with his client he did what he had to do regardless of Saturday. On Saturday Ilia and Bertha went to synagogue. They celebrated Jewish holidays: Yom Kippur, Rosh Hashanah, Chanukah, Purim and Pesach. Their children - my father and his brothers and sisters - didn't observe any Jewish traditions. They were devoted to new communist ideals. Their parents treated them with understanding; they thought their children had to live their own life even if they didn't quite understand the new tendencies in life. 

In 1894 my father's sister Revekka was born. She finished grammar school and graduated from the medical faculty of Kharkov University. She became a rontgenologist. Her husband Mark Sokol, a Jew, was also a doctor. They lived in Kharkov. Their only son Alik drowned during military training in Odessa when he was 20. Revekka and Mark were military doctors- they worked in military hospitals through the Great Patriotic War. Revekka died in 1964 and Mark died in the late 1960s. 

My father's brother David was born in 1896. He also finished grammar school and got a higher education - I don't know where he studied. He became a chemical engineer. He lived in Moscow, worked in a Military Academy and was a member of the Party.  His wife Anna was an English teacher. She was a very nice and educated woman. They had two children. In 1937 6 David was arrested and nobody ever heard about him again. Anna went with her children to her parents in Taganrog. During the war they didn't evacuate and were exterminated along with other Jews of the town. 

Isaac, (Izia) was born around 1900. He was a sickly boy that died in infantry in 1915.

My father Grigory Shwartz, the youngest in the family, was born in 1903 and was named Gershl at birth. His schoolmates at grammar school began to call him Gennady and when he was obtaining his passport he changed his first name to Gennady. In 1904 my father's family moved to Evpatoria due to his brother Izia's illness - he had lung problems and doctors advised his parents to move to an area with warm and dry climate. My grandfather bought a one-storied brick house with four big rooms and a kitchen in one of the central streets in Evpatoria where they settled down. They bought new furniture in Simferopol: new wooden beds, wardrobes and chests of drawers. My grandparents' was a wealthy family. My father didn't tell me anything about the Jewish way of life in his family - I think that he was reluctant to recall his Jewish origin when he became a Soviet official.  I remember him telling me about Pesach when he asked traditional questions about the history of the holiday and about matsah during Seder and his father answered these questions. I know that my grandmother and grandfather went to the synagogue in one of the central streets on big holidays.  They moderately followed the kashrut rules in the house: had individual dishes for meat and dairy food and didn't mix food. My grandparents were raising their children religious. They lit candles on Saturday and celebrated Shabbat. However, when their children grew up they gave up observing Jewish traditions. However, my grandfather also had his part in this - he didn't give his children classical Jewish education. His sons didn't go to cheder or they didn't have Jewish teacher to teach them at home. My father went to a grammar school, but he didn't finish it due to the revolution of 1917. In 1916 he became a member of an underground Marxist group and after the revolution he became head of the Party unit in Evpatoria. When Komsomol was organized in 1918 7 my father became secretary of he party organization of Evpatoria. He made a prompt career being a leader by character. In 1919 my father became a member of the Communist Party. My father met my mother in 1916. They fell in love with one another and got married in 1921 when my father turned 18.

My grandfather and grandmother insisted that my parents had a traditional Jewish wedding, but my parents were against it - they rejected any ancient traditions or rules. They were supported by my father's aunt Liya Lutrovnik - chief doctor of recreation center.  She had a big influence on grandmother Bertha and grandfather Ilia and convinced them to let the young people decide for themselves. My father and mother had a civil ceremony at a registry office and a wedding party at a cultural center of the Komsomol organization.  They invited their Komsomol and Party co-members and the only treatment at the wedding was tea with bagels. Guests made passionate speeches about the future of the country: socialism, communism, struggle against enemies of the revolution and victory over them. On the following day relatives of the newly weds got together in the house of my father's parents to greet the young couple. In a month my mother and father left for Moscow to work in the Komsomol central offices.

My father finished a short-term training course and was sent to work at the Central Committee of the CPSU [Communist Party of the Soviet Union]. He became an economist at the department of employment for young people. He studied simultaneously at the evening department of the Institute of public economy named after Plekhanov.

My parents were accommodated in a big apartment building for governmental officials in the very center of Moscow - besides apartments and blocks of a hostel type there were governmental offices of members of Parliament. Say, above a small room where my parents lived there was Michael Kalinin's office 8. There was only a bed, a wardrobe and a table and chairs in my parents' room left by former tenants of the room. There was a huge common kitchen on our floor, but my mother often cooked on a kerosene stove in our room. 

Growing up

I was born on 11 August 1923.  My mother told me there was no space in our room for even a little bed and I slept in a laundry basket until I turned one year old. The first years in Moscow were very difficult. Although my father worked in the Central Committee he received a small salary: at that period the Party 'maximum compensation' principle was effective [Party 'maximum compensation' - maximum salary amount for the Party officials that was quite low to demonstrate their communist modesty and honesty]. Besides, my father didn't hold a high position.  My mother didn't go to work for some time after I was born. However, my parents had bright memories about this period of life. It was the time of hope when they were young and full of ideas about construction of a new society expecting only good things in life. Shortly after I was born my mother entered a preparatory course at the institute of Public Economy. After finishing this course she became a student of the Institute.  My parents loved each other dearly, but they never demonstrated their feelings - this wasn't decent in their circles.  My father traveled a lot and my mother always missed him, but when he returned she just kissed him on his cheek asking him whether he managed to complete his task. My father was a cheerful and hot-tempered man. He grabbed me throwing me high to the ceiling tickling and kissing me.

We spent every summer vacation with my grandparents in Evpatoria. There were no Jewish holidays in summer and we didn't see any religious demonstrations of our grandparents. We liked the food that our grandmother made without giving it a thought whether it was kosher or non-kosher food.  Our grandfather prayed in privacy and the children didn't care about what he was doing there. They didn't impose their way of life on us and we enjoyed staying with them. Once my father got a ticket to a recreation center for governmental officials in the Caucasus. There were many young people resting there - revolution was the deed of the young and they held high official posts in the government of the country. In 1927 my father received a cable from Evpatoria that said that my grandfather Ilia died - grandfather was in a recreation center in Kislovodsk and had an infarction. His body was transported to Evpatoria to be buried at the Jewish cemetery in accordance with the Jewish tradition. My father went to the funeral. My grandmother Bertha lived with her sister Liya after my grandfather died. 

In 1926 my mother became a member of the Communist Party, she always wanted to join the Party and be in the first rows of builders of communism. She prepared very thoroughly for an interview in at the district party committee studying works of classics of Marxism-Leninism. To join the Party applicants were to take an exam in front of commission of party officials that asked them questions about the history of the Party, biography of its founders, names of secretaries and other officials, etc. In this same year my father got a promotion - he began to work at the people's Commissariat (Ministry) for Labor. We received two rooms in a communal apartment in Smolenskaya Street, near Arbat in the very center of the city.  There were 12 other families residing in this apartment. There was a common kitchen where each family had a table and a kerosene stove, and there was a common sink and a tap with water and a common toilet.  Tenants stood in line to get to the toilet in the morning. I remember our neighbor Samuel Rosovskiy, my father's friends that was head of machine building sector in the state plan organization. Samuel had a wife (Rosa) and a son (Naum). Another neighbor Masunin, also a Jew, was a musician. He was a bachelor and lived with his mother. They had a grand piano in their room and he played it for hours preparing for a concert. There was another neighbor, also a Jew and a teacher of Physics - Romshtein. There was a Russian family with many children and the head of the family was a tram driver.  There was an old woman  - Ms. Lisa, she came from nobility. We got along very well and I don't remember any arguments about anything that was common for other communal apartments. 

Children played together. We played 'hide and seek' running along the corridor and dropping in our neighbors' rooms. Our neighbors offered us tea and sweets. Neighbors often looked after each other's children when their parents had to go out. In 1928 my mother graduated from the Institute of Public Economy named after Plekhanov, and went to work. I went to a kindergarten not far from Arbat. We celebrated Soviet holidays with our neighbors: 1 May, 7 November 9 and I remember the New Year of 1928. My father bought a huge Christmas tree it and my parents arranged a celebration for all children of our communal apartment in our room. There were presents under the Tree and treatments on the table: sweets and lemonade.  My father disguised as Ded Moroz [Santa Claus], greeted and danced with us.  We enjoyed ourselves a lot. This was the first and the last New Year celebration in my prewar childhood - the Soviet authorities cancelled Christmas tees calling them vestige of the past and apart of religious holiday.

My parents had many Jewish friends, - they had Jewish names and appearance  - they visited each other, had tea and discussed current subjects. My parents often had gathering at our home. My father had Jewish friends that visited us for the most part: Samuel Rosovskiy and his wife and others. They were all members of the party and held high official posts. There was no alcohol on the table - they only had a big samovar on the table and had tea talking about the revolution, directions of the Party theory and work. They never mentioned any Jewish traditions or holidays. I guess, they might have been a little ashamed of their origin. At least, my parents and their friends that had excellent conduct of Yiddish never spoke it. They only used some Jewish words when they wanted toe emphasize what they were saying or when telling a joke. My parents even demanded that my grandmother Bertha spoke only Russian when we came to see her in Evpatoria. 

In 1928 my father joined an opposition of Trotskiy/Zinoviev block 10 that had a different idea of further development of revolutionary directions and building of socialism in the country.  My father was expelled from the Party and fired from work. My parents had hot discussions at home and sometimes my father's friends came in the evening. In some time my father acknowledged his mistakes in public and was restored at work. In 1929 he was promoted again and appointed as Human resources manager for public economy. 

In 1931 my brother was born named Felix after Dzerzhyskiy 11. In 1933 the State Plan organization built the first house for their employees where we received a two-room apartment with comforts. The Rozovskiy family also got an apartment in this house.

In 1931 I went to a Russian secondary school. My mother didn't go to work for some time after Felix was born. When the boy turned two months old my mother hired a nanny, a girl from a Russian village, and went to work. She became a planner at the Cotton agency responsible for manufacture and sales of fabrics from native fibres. After work my mother and I went to walk my brother in the Arbat Street. I liked widow shopping. There was the first Torgsin store opened 12 and during our walk in the evening we stared at exotic fruit: bananas and pineapples. We didn't buy anything at this Torgsin store - my mother was strict about the so-called 'luxuries' of life. Sometimes my father walked with us, but he worked a lot, sometimes until late at night. Many higher officials had to work at night since this was the way Stalin worked and he might call anybody he needed at night.  Every now and then we dropped by a photo shop in Arbat Street - we had many family photos at that period of time.

Our happy life ended in 1934 when on 1 December Kirov 13 was murdered in Leningrad giving a start to the first wave of Stalin's repression. Shortly after the murder the situation in the country got very tense. My parents whispered in the kitchen discussing their issues and their friends often came to talk with them. On 17 December my father didn't come home from work. On the following day NKVD 14 officers came to us with a search that lasted several hours. The officers looked closely into every document or photograph they found. They looked at photos where my father was photographed with Kamenev 15, Zinoviev 16 and other outstanding Party leaders. My father was arrested at the accusation in the coalition of a counterrevolutionary group in Leningrad that was in opposition to the Party. On the next day after the search my mother was expelled from the Party and fired from work declared to be the wife of a traitor supporting her husband in his anti-Soviet activities.  NKVD authorities ordered her to leave Moscow within 3 days or else she was subject to administrative deportation. I remember those horrific days when our mother was not like herself from grief preparing to leave. She told me that my father was innocent and that he was a devoted communist and that his arrest was a mistake of the Party. My mother didn't let me go to school to keep me away from abuse.  However, my playmates in the yard called me a daughter of an enemy of the people. I burst into tears and my mother told me to stay at home.  I need to say here that none of my father's friends came to see us on these days, not even his close friend Rosovskiy.  I don't know whether they were afraid or they believed that my father was an enemy of the people. They also suffered like many other innocent members of the Party in those years. Samuel Rosovskiy was arrested and executed in 1937 and many of my father's friends and colleagues were arrested and sent in exile.

My father was lucky, so to say. During this initial stage arrested people didn't get executed, as a rule. He was expelled from the Party and sent in administrative exile in Alekminsk of Yakutsk SSR, in 3000 km from Moscow.

My mother and I went to Simferopol to my mother's sister Zhenia and her husband Haim Shulkin. My grandmother Bertha took little Felix to Evpatoria. Shortly afterward my mother was ordered to come to the NKVD office where they told her that she was not allowed to reside in a capital city while Simferopol was the capital of the Crimean Autonomous Republic. So we had to leave for Evpatoria. We moved in with my mother's older sister Sophia Grigorenko. My mother couldn't find a job in Evpatoria - as soon as administration of a company heard that she was the wife of a man that was imprisoned they refused her. I went to school and the attitude towards me was watchful.

We often received letters from my father. He was optimistic and described Alekminsk and his work: he was a planner at the local forestry agency. He rented an apartment there. My father was subject to residential restrictions (he couldn't leave Alekminsk) and had to be registered at the local militia department once a month. We sent him letters and parcels with food and warm clothes. At the beginning of 1936 my mother submitted her request to obtain a permit to visit her husband and in summer this same year after I finished the 5th form my mother, my brother and I left for Alekminsk, located on the bank of the Lena River 600 km from Yakutsk up the river. The trip took us a month. We took a train from Evpatoria to Irkutsk via Moscow, then we went from Irkutsk to Zayarsk  [Angarsk at present] by boat, and from Zayarsk to Ust-Koot we hitchhiked.  In Ust-Koot we boarded a boat and sailed up the Lena River to Alekminsk in two days.  We were struck by the beauty of this area and we enjoyed the landscape in hours and hours. 

My father met us on the pier. It's hard to describe the excitement of our seeing each other: there were tears and laughter, questions and stories of our life. My father rented a room where we came, but later his Russian landlady Nastia gave us one more room. She didn't charge us for it. Nastia felt very sorry for my father and took to liking us a lot.   I went to school in Alekminsk. There were other children whose fathers were in exile: Sergey Soloviov and Ania Babushkina - their fathers were devoted revolutionaries, and now they were forced to reside in Alekminsk. In 1937 another repression period began. My father lost his sleep and was very nervous - he listened to every sound in the street.  In 1938 Soloviov and Babushkin were arrested and executed. Their children and wives vanished from the town. I guess their mothers shared a bitter destiny of wives of 'enemies of the people' and their children were assigned to children's homes. We were happy that our father was left alone. The children whose parents were in exile in Alekminsk were still under some suspicion at school. I became a pioneer in Moscow, but here in Alekminsk I submitted a request to the Komsomol, but I was not admitted. I went to the Komsomol regional committee in Yakutsk, 600 from Alekmisk where I had a discussion with Komsomol authorities. They asked me about my attitude towards the general policy of the Party and Komsomol. I thought that what happened to my father was a misunderstanding and believed sincerely in the communist ideals. I became a Komsomol member right there - at the Komsomol committee and obtained my Komsomol membership card and a badge.

In January 1940 the five-year term of my father's exile was over. He had a permission to leave the town, but his membership in the Party wasn't restored. Besides, he had no right to visit Moscow, Leningrad or other capitals of the Union Republics. We went to Simferopol in the Crimea. My father had many acquaintances there and got a job at the fuel department of the Council of Ministers of the Crimean Autonomous Republic. We rented a small room at the gypsy neighborhood of the town. We didn't have any belongings and had to begin from the start. I went to the 10th form and finished school in 1941. We had a prom on 21 June 1941. I finished school with honors. In the morning of 22 June 1941 16 we heard on the radio about the beginning of the Great patriotic war. 

During the War

On the first days of the war my father volunteered to the front. He was 38 and was not subject to immediate recruitment at the very beginning of the war, but my father couldn't stay home. He wished to redeem his fault and join the first rows of those that defended our Motherland. Even that my mother was pregnant didn't stop him.

At the beginning of July 1941 my father went to the front as a private. My mother, Felix and I got an opportunity to evacuate since my father was a military. We went in a sleeping compartment of a passenger train with other members of the families of Soviet officials. We got food packages and were well provided during our trip. The trip lasted for about a month until we reached the farm village of Grushki in Udobnaya village at the border of Krasnodar and Stavropol regions in 1500 km to the East from the Crimea. There were 60 houses in this farm village. We were accommodated in one of them. The collective farm was responsible for supporting us. We received food from their storages that was quite sufficient for us. Chairman of the collective farm took my mother to the maternity home in a district center in his own car and came to pick her up when she gave birth to a boy, Alyosha. We didn't stay long in that village - there was less and less food provided to us and there was no place to work. There was no doctor or nurse. Since my mother had a baby she obtained permission to move to Sovietskaya village in 40 km from Grushki and 25 km from Armavir.  The population of the village was 20-25 thousand people. There were few wealthy collective farms in the village. We were taken to the collective farm named after Steingart 18 . 

My mother, Felix and Alyosha settled down at the milk farm. Alyosha was a weak boy. He couldn't even sit when he was one year old. Winters were cold and there was no wood to heat our room. Alyosha often caught cold and died at one year and two months.  My mother couldn't write my father about his death until he guessed from her silence. After the baby died my mother went to work at the farm as a milkmaid and Felix and she had enough dairy products.

I attended a course of tractor operators at the collective farm equipment yard. After finishing it I began to work at a tractor crew. We didn't get money for our work, but food products for each work day.  Actually the collective farm provided all necessary food products to us. We didn't have any lack of food, but we had no money provisions. Since we didn't have any warm clothes with us (when we were leaving home we didn't think it was for long) and didn't have any opportunity to buy clothes. We lived in barracks in the field and lived in crews. Our crew worked in 12 km from the village and my mother's crew worked in 18 km from the village. We were almost the only Jewish family in this collective farm, but there was no anti-Semitism whatsoever. People treated us nicely and we got along well with them.

In August 1942 Germans came close to the Krasnodar region. We had to go further to the East. We walked across a canyon in the mountains moving cattle of the collective farm to a new location. We walked for about a month until we came to a crossing through the Kuban River. It was already bombed by Germans. They were on the opposite side of the river and we were cut off from escape to the East. Our caravan turned back to walk to the village. We were overwhelmed with fear - we had heard rumors about the attitude of Germans towards Jews: ghettos, concentration camps and mass shootings. We were trying to hide in bushes and between trees.

When we returned there were fascists in the Sovietskaya village. My mother and I went to the location where our crews had worked. The collective farm went on with its work. It was August - the harvesting time and all grain was shipped to Germany. Germans stayed at the gendarmerie in the village - they were afraid to go to the outskirts of the area fearing partisans. The headman of the area Butz, a former accountant of the collective farm, (he came from a family of Kuban kazaks) did a lot for us. He came to the crew where my mother and I were working and told my mother to destroy all documents that witnessed about our Jewish origin and calmed us down saying that we didn't quite look like Jews  - we were fair-haired and had fair eyes - and had nothing to fear about. He also assured us that other farmers wouldn't report on us to fascists since they respected us much. He promised to notify us on German plans if they decided to visit the crews.

Fortunately, occupation lasted only 6 months. They were the most horrific months in our life. Within 6 months Germans shot 7 thousand Jews and Party activists in the outskirts of Armavir. Varvara Burdova, a young woman, a former chairman of the collective farm, was also shot at that time. Once somebody told my mother that a number of Jewish people moved across our village to be shot and that I was among them. My mother ran all the way to my crew and when she saw that I was there she fell on the ground exhausted. Few times in those 6 months Butz sent a messenger - usually a boy riding a horse to notify me that Germans were coming and I escaped to the steppe. He was a very wise man trying to save people's lives by all means. He followed all instructions or directions he got from Germans: he gave them food products and everything they demanded to pay off for their loyalty to the people. On 23 February 1943 Red Army units liberated the village. People were very happy - they greeted, hugged and kissed one another. It's hard to tell what it is like to feel free after a nightmare of the war. The headman was arrested for supporting Germans. My mother and I wrote a letter to NKVD office telling them that Butz actually saved our family and many other people who he helped also wrote such letters. Butz was released though it happened after we left the village.  

In summer 1943 institutes were opened in Krasnoyarsk. I saw in a newspaper that the Krasnodar Institute of food industry published an announcement about admission to the institute. My fellow tractor operators told me to go there. They said I had to study rather than drive a tractor.  The collective farm gave me some grain that my mother and I sold to buy tickets and I left for Krasnodar.  I had to have the documents that were destroyed during occupation reissued. I obtained a certificate from the collective farm to get a passport, but there was no way to get back my school certificate.  Nevertheless, I passed exams for the school program with the highest grades and was admitted to the Institute. 

My mother and Felix stayed in the village. My mother became a planner at the village office. I rented a dwelling in a private house - there was no hostel at the Institute. What a surprise was my father's arrival in spring 1944. Once a 10-year-old girl came to my classroom at the institute and shouted 'Nelia, you father is here!'  and my father came in wearing a uniform with lieutenant' straps.  My lecturer let me go home and my father and I left the room.  It turned out that my father's military unit was deployed in 80 km from Krasnodar. My father got a leave and found me. All women came to the yard oh the house where I lived. My father was standing in the middle of the yard bent over a bowl and my landlady was pouring water for him to wash and the women standing around were crying. Each one had a son or husband at the front and many of them were notified that their dear ones had perished.   

In summer 1944 my father's military unit was in Nezhyn near Kiev and there my father demobilized from the army. My mother and Felix joined him in Nezhyn and I came there shortly afterward - in August 1944. I decided to continue education at the Institute of food industry in Kiev, but it was still closed. I cane to Kiev Polytechnic Institute where I met a man that began to convince me to come to study at the Polytechnic Institute in Lvov. He promised that I would get accommodation and I agreed standing in a half-ruined building of the Institute. I came to Lvov in October 1944 and have lived my life here ever since. My family was in Kiev: my father worked at the military headquarters and Felix went to school. 

I've had a good life. I was admitted to chemical technological faculty of the Lvov Polytechnic institute. Why that man was trying to convince me - it was a general policy of the country to have more people from eastern areas of the country to come to these regions that had joined the USSR recently [Lvov was one of such towns]. There were Russian, Polish and Jewish students at the Institute. There were few local Ukrainians, though. It was difficult for them to enter an Institute - they didn't study in Soviet schools or they didn't have any privileges of veterans of the war since they didn't quite struggle against Germans. There were 3 young men from Lvov among my fellow students. Therefore, at the Institute we didn't feel that 'hostile' environment existing in Western parts of Ukraine after the war.  We lived in a hostel: 10 tenants in a room, but we enjoyed ourselves a lot. Besides, we were very happy that the war was over in the territory of our country. There was no national segregation. Lecturers at the Institute lectured in 3 languages: Ukrainian, Russian and Polish based on what their mother tongue was. Students understood and communicated in these 3 languages. We were all looking forward to the end of the war. I remember Victory Day of 9 May 1945  - we had a celebration at the institute and how happy we were! 

After the War

There was a number of students at the Institute that were veterans of the war. One of them - Ivan Cherevko - was especially courteous: he brought me books and flowers.  He told me of his love and I realized that I loved him, too. At the end of 1945 we got married. We had a small party at the hostel of the institute. My parents were not able to come to our wedding - my father had to work, and, besides, it was hard to get on a train.  They greeted us with a letter and wished us happiness.  

My husband was born to a Ukrainian working family in a village in Vinnitsa region in 1916. After finishing school he worked at a plant. Ivan was recruited to the army in 1943. He was severely wounded at the front and stayed in hospital for a long time. He lost his leg and became an invalid.  After we got married Ivan got a small room at a communal apartment in a communal apartment - the previous tenant of this room that was Polish had moved to Warsaw. We bought our first furniture from her: a beautiful ancient wardrobe, escritoire, beds and sideboards of mahogany tree that I still have.

In 1946 after my father demobilized from the army my father, mother and grandmother Bertha, Felix and my younger sister Tania, she was born in 1945, came to live with us. All 7 of us lived in a small room during the first year until my father received a two-room apartment. My family accepted my husband cordially. My grandmother Bertha didn't live long with my parents. She was used to observe Jewish traditions and celebrate holidays and follow the kashrut. My father didn't show his disapproval, but she may have seen that he wasn't quite happy about it. She went to visit her older daughter Revekka in Kharkov and stayed there.  She died in the early 1950s. 

My father got a job at the fuel agency and later became a deputy manager of Lvov coal agency. Shortly after the war he submitted a request and his membership in the Party was restored. My mother never tried to restore her membership in the Party - she couldn't care less about it. Her family filled her life.

In 1951 when Jews were persecuted all over the country 19, and anti-Semitism on the state level was very strong my father was removed to a lower position of engineer at Construction department. My father didn't give up. He wrote letters to the town and regional Party Committees and went to the Central Committee of the Communist Party in Kiev. He wrote in his letters that the only reason for his persecutions at work was his national origin. I don't know whether my father's letters or Stalin's death helped my father to hold back his position in May 1953. My father was a devoted communist until the end of his life; he was sure that what happened to him and to us was just a misunderstanding and that mistakes were inevitable in the process of building a new society. He was grieving after Stalin and took denunciation of the cult of Stalin at 20 Congress of the CPSU 20 as a personal blow - he was sure that Stalin was innocent. My mother, however, was rather skeptical about the ideas she was fond of when she was young at the end of her life. Tania died of diphtheria in 1949 and my mother developed severe depression after the loss of her daughter. She died in 1965. My father worked until the last day of his life. He died of infarction in 1969. They were buried at the town cemetery in Lvov.

My brother Felix graduated from the faculty of geophysics of Lvov Polytechnic Institute and went on job assignment to the town of Perm in 1200 km from Lvov. He married a Russian girl - Aida and lives there. They have two sons: Pavel and Grigory that live there, too. We correspond and call each other on birthdays and at New Year. 

My husband and I graduated the Institute in and stayed to work there. My husband got a profession of economist. He entered a post-graduate course in Leningrad and defended his thesis of Candidate of Sciences in 1951 and thesis of Doctor of Sciences - in 1969. Then he worked at the Department of the Institute of Economy of the Academy of Sciences of the USSR in Lvov. He never cared about politics - all he cared about was science, but he had to join the Party to make a career. 

I became involved in a new science - technical microbiology. In 1968 I defended my thesis of Candidate of Sciences. That same year I became a member of the Communist Party. I had to join the Party since I was lecturer at the Institute and also taught at the Higher School of the Party.  Besides, I was a convinced supporter of the communist ideas. I believed that the Communist party would build a fair, just and prosperous society in the USSR. I worked at the Institute 50 years (1948 - 1998) and there were many scientists, candidates of sciences, doctors of sciences and professors among that chose the subject I taught to be their speciality. Every year we traditionally meet at the Institute.

My husband and I had three sons: Alexandr, born in 1946, Sergey, born in 1951 and Victor, born in 1954. My sons took my husband's nationality to avoid any national problems. They've always known that their mother is a Jew, but they didn't give it much thought. Alexandr and Sergey graduated from the Lvov Polytechnic institute. Alexandr became an automation engineer and Sergey became a production engineer. Victor graduated from the Institute of Public economy in Lvov.

We had a nice family: our sons' friends, our colleagues and pupils: Jewish, Ukrainian, Russian and Polish, we enjoyed spending time together, getting together for a cup of tea and for a chat. On birthdays and on holidays we used to have over 20 friends at home. We read a lot of Russian and foreign classic and fiction books. My husband and I often went to the Opera and Drama theaters. Children spent their summer vacations in pioneer camps. We always spent one summer month at the seashore in Crimea or Caucasus.

We are atheists. I never faced any anti-Semitism. We've never celebrated any Jewish or Christian holidays and never discussed national issues. My husband and I were glad that Israel became a separate state, but we've never considered emigration. We were surprised when Alexandr became fond of Judaism and changed his nationality to Jewish in 1996. He went to registry office with my birth certificate. He explained what he wanted and obtained permission to change his nationality.

In 1999 after my husband died Alexandr and his family moved to Israel.  He married aJewish girl, his co-student.   He's got a job there. In summer 2002 Alexandr fell ill with blood cancer. Victor, his younger brother, flew to Israel, to give his marrow for transplantation for his brother, but it didn't help.  At the beginning of November 2002 Alexandr passed away. It's hard to believe that Alexandr is gone. I didn't see him dying and he lives in my heart.

Sergey lives in Lvov. He often comes to see me. His wife is Ukrainian and they have a very nice family.  His daughter Ninel, named after me, finished a choreographic school. She went to the US on tour and stayed there. She is a dancer in Los Angeles. My granddaughter Lena, Victor's daughter, lives in Lvov. She is 19. Lena is a student of Lvov University.

As of late I feel interested in my roots and the history of my people. I often look at photographs of the ones I love. I am interested in the history and culture of the Jewish people. I attend Hesed in Lvov, read Jewish newspapers and celebrate Pesach. I am interested in Jewish traditions and including Jewish traditional food. Sometimes I feel sorry for staying away from the traditions of my people in the course of life. I wish I knew Yiddish and Hebrew. But anyway, I can say that I've lived a happy life. 

Glossary

1. Komsomol -Communist youth organization created by the Communist Party to make sure that the state would be in control of the ideological upbringing and spiritual development of the youth almost until the age of 30.

2. White - military units fighting for monarchic regime in Russia and for the Tsar.

3. NEP - The so-called New Economic Policy of the Soviet authorities was launched  by Lenin. It meant that private business was allowed on a small scale in order to save the country ruined by wars and revolution. After the October Revolution and the Civil War, the economy of the USSR was destroyed, so the government decided to launch a New Economic Policy (NEP). They allowed priority development of private capital and entrepreneurship. But at the end of  the1920s, after a certain stabilization of these entrepreneurs, they died out due to heavy taxes.
4. The majority of wealthy farmers that refused to join collective farms and give their grain and property to the Soviet power were declared enemies of the people and exterminated in the 1930s.

5. The German blitzkrieg, known as Operation Barbarossa, nearly succeeded in breaking the Soviet Union in the months that followed. Caught unprepared, the Soviet forces lost whole armies and vast quantities of equipment to the German onslaught in the first weeks of the war. By November the German army had seized the Ukrainian Republic, besieged Leningrad, the Soviet Union's second largest city, and threatened Moscow itself. The Great Patriotic War, as the Soviet Union and then Russia have called that phase of World War II, thus began inauspiciously for the Soviet Union.

6. In the mid-1930s Stalin launched a major campaign of political terror. The purges, arrests, and deportations to labor camps touched virtually every family. Untold numbers of party, industrial, and military leaders disappeared during the 'Great Terror'. Indeed, between 1934 and 1938 two-thirds of the members of the 1934 Central Committee were sentenced and executed.

7. Komsomol -Communist youth organization created by the Communist Party to make sure that the state would be in control of the ideological upbringing and spiritual development of the youth almost until the age of 30.

8. Mikhail Kalinin (1875-1946), political activist, in 1919 Chairman of the All-Russian Central Executive Committee of Soviets of the RSFSR, in 1922 Chairman of the Supreme Soviet of the RSFSR, in 1938 Chairman of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR. Was among the closest political surrounding of J. Stalin; sanctioned mass repressions of 1930-40s.

9. October Revolution Day: October 25 (according to the old calendar), 1917 went down in history as victory day for the Great October Socialist Revolution in Russia. This day is the most significant date in the history of the USSR. Today the anniversary is celebrated as "Day of Accord and Reconciliation" on November 7.

10. On Lenin's death (1924), Zinoviev, Kamenev, and Joseph Stalin formed a ruling triumvirate. Zinoviev led the triumvirate's attack on Leon Trotsky, calling for his expulsion from the party. After an initial victory over Trotsky (1924), Stalin, in an effort to consolidate his own power, turned against Zinoviev and Kamenev, defeating them and their so-called left opposition in 1925. Zinoviev and Kamenev then allied themselves with Trotsky (1926), but to no avail. Zinoviev was removed from his party posts in 1926 and expelled from the party in 1927. He recanted and was readmitted in 1928 but wielded little influence. Many features of the Zinoviev-Kamenev program, emphasizing rapid industrialization and collectivization, were incorporated (1928) in Stalin's first Five-Year Plan. In 1935, Zinoviev was sentenced to 10 years' imprisonment purportedly for giving his encouragement to the assassins of Sergei Kirov. Accused (1936) of conspiring to overthrow the government, he was the chief defendant in the first of the trials held by Stalin, which resulted in Zinoviev's execution along with Kamenev and 13 other old Bolsheviks.

11. Felix Dzerzhinskiy (1876 - 1926) was a Polish Communist and head of the Bolshevik secret police the Cheka, later the KGB. He was appointed by Lenin to organize a force to combat internal political threats and on December 20 the establishment of the Vecheka (All Russian Extraordinary Commission for Combating Counter-revolution and Sabotage) was passed by the Council of Peoples Commissars. Dzerzhinsky also began organizing the internal security troops to enforce the Cheka's authority. Lenin gave the organization huge powers to combat the opposition during the Civil War. At the end of the Civil War in 1922, the Cheka was changed into the GPU (State Political Directorate) a section of the NKVD, but this did not diminish Dzerzhinskiy's power: from 1921-24 he was Minister of Interior, head of the Cheka/GPU/OGPU, Minister for Communications and head of the Russian Council of National Economy. Dzerzhinskiy died a natural death in July 1926.

12. Such shops were created in the 1920s to support commerce with foreigners. One could buy good quality food products and clothing in exchange for gold and antiquities in such shops.

13. Sergey Kirov (real name Kostrikov) (1886-1934), A Soviet political and party leader, dedicated to the idea of communism, gained popularity with Soviet people. In 1921 he became 1st secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist party. In 1926 became 1st secretary of the Party town and regional part committee, Northwestern bureau of central Committee of All-Union Party of Bolsheviks; 1934 - secretary of All-Union Party of Bolsheviks. Member of central Committee of the Party since 1923. Member of Political Bureau of the Central Committee. Assassinated in 1930 at Stalin's direction.

14. NKVD: People's Committee of Internal Affairs; it took over from the GPU, the state security agency, in 1934.

15. Lev KAMENEV (real name Rozenfeld), Jew,  (1883-1936), political activist, revolutionary and devoted fighter for communism, state leader. In 1935 imprisoned for espionage, executed in 1936; rehabilitated posthumously.

16. Grigoriy ZINOVIEV (real name Radomyslskiy) (1883-1936), political leader, activist, Member of the Central Committee of the Party in 1907-27; member of the Political Bureau of the Communist party of the USSR. In 1934 sentenced to 10 years of imprisonment for anti-Soviet activities and propaganda; in 1936 sentenced to death and executed, rehabilitated posthumously.

17. On 22 June 1941 at 5 o'clock in the morning Nazi Germany attacked the Soviet Union without declaring a war. This was the beginning of the so-called Great Patriotic War.

18. Alexandr Steingart (1887, Odessa - 1934, Moscow), party activist, Bolshevik. 1921-25 Head of organization department of Political Headquarters, Revolutionary Committee of the Red Army. 1933 deputy chief of Political Department of  People's Committee for Agriculture, USSR. One of the leading conductors of Stalin's policy in villages. Involved in mass repression of peasants during collectivization. Buried by the Kremlin wall.

19. Anti-Semitic campaign initiated by J. Stalin against intellectuals: teachers, doctors and scientists.

20. 20th Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union in 1956. Khrushchev publicly debunked the cult of Stalin and lifted the veil of secrecy from what was happening in the USSR during Stalin's  leadership.

Bronislava Chepur
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Yulia Smilianskaya
Date of Interview: April 2002

My family background

Growing up

During the War

After the War

Glossary 

My family background

My name is Natalia Chepur. My mother Buzia Aloets was born in Mankovka village, Cherkassy region in 1909. She was born in the family of a mill worker Mendel Aloets. From time to time Mendel went to Great Britain to earn some money when there was no work in his village. He had his sister and her family and some other relatives living in London. When it came to the hard times at home he went there to earn some money and came back home. The name of Aloets probably comes from the German Alois. This is a frequently heard name in the Austrian lands and Bavaria (nearer to Austria). There were 4 children in Mendel's family. He had two boys from his first marriage and (his 1st wife must have died - I don't know anything about it), and two girls from his second marriage. My grandmother's name was Inga. Their family was well to do. My mother told me that her mother put on a wig, a very beautiful black velvet mantel and a heavy gold chain to go to the synagogue. She was a woman of a striking beauty. And this was the only memory of their peaceful pre-revolution life that my mother had. In 1919 a gang on horses rode across Mankovka. I don't know exactly whether they were a cavalry or just bandits. Their neighbors managed to grab Inga and the girls and hide them (the boys were older and were apprentices in the neighboring villages) and hide them in the shed. Inga was watching what was going on in their yard through a chink in the wall of this shed. She saw her husband killed - he was my grandfather Mendel. Inga went  crazy. She was sent to a mental hospital where she got better. She was living in Birobidjan 1 when I was born and visited us in Kiev. There happened to be some argument at home - perhaps, my father said something to her, but she left and never came back. She never wrote a letter to my mother. That's all we know about her.

The year of 1919. The house was robbed and Mendel murdered. Inga went crazy. The compassionate neighbors took my mother and the girl to the road, turned them in the direction of Uman and told them to go straight on and to make no turns until they reached Uman. They were to find the town's Komsomol committee to seek help there. My 10-year-old mother took Fania, her 7-year-old sister's hand and they headed to Uman. They got to the town committee. They could provide shelter during the day only and they told them to find a place to stay at night by themselves. The girls were living with a drunkard woman in some basement with brick floors. It was cold and damp. They lived so for some time until they were sent to different Jewish children's homes. Children's homes often moved and children were sent from one home to another and the sisters lost each other. They met 29 years later, in 1949. My mother didn't say anything about her life in the children's home. She only mentioned once that the children had music classes. When we got a piano at home she recalled a piece and played it. Her fingers recalled it. When she grew old she recalled that they had had knitting classes and she took to knitting. Her fingers remembered. I have no information about their everyday life or system of education, just one terrible detail. After the war two other former inmates of the children's home visited my mother. They were Shura Lieber and his wife Mania.  Mania always wore a shawl. I asked her why. It turned out that the inmates had been told that it was possible to get rid of fleas by irradiation with X-ray equipment. As a result, all girls lost their hair that never grew back. They were actually bald. My mother had gorgeous curly hair. She was lucky to have been at the medical ward with some disease during this campaign.

Gitia Wurgart was my mother's instructor and mentor in children's homes in Uman. She moved to Kiev and in 1925 sent my mother a special invitation request (such official paper served as a permit to come to Kiev). My mother was 16 years old, when she has arrived to Kiev. She was helping my mother to find a place to stay overnight. My mother had to wash the floors or take care of a baby, etc. to pay these people back for letting stay with them. Gitia was one of the provincial young people inspired by the revolution of 1917. They were full of energy and ready to work day and night, giving no thought to how things would work out. Gitia found my mother a job as a courier at the Stalin District party Committee. It was big luck for my mother. At this time it was next to impossible to find a job. Unemployment rates were high, the economy was paralyzed and everything was very difficult. My mother told me that there was a canteen for cabmen at Bessarabka (Kiev's central market) where one could get a meal (1st and 2nd course: some cereal and meat with gravy) for 2 kopecks… But one couldn't always get even 2 kopecks and the job of a courier was a real happy deal. This wasn't an easy job. She was a young girl and she had to run across the city all day long (she couldn't afford public transportation). She was paid 14 rubles per month. This was a lot of money. She could afford to buy some clothes gradually - the most needed clothes at first and then warm clothes for a cold season. Later the District Party Committee gave my mother a recommendation to study at the trade school for working young people 2. The majority of the students there were young people from provinces. Again, this was good luck for my mother. She met my father at this school. In this time she was not yet a communist party member, but believed in ideals communist revolutions.

My father Dmitriy Yurievich Chepur was a Ukrainian. He came from Dimitrovka village Znamenka district, Kirovograd region. His mother Theodosia Tikhonovna Chepur was a cook for the priest. The family legend says that either the priest himself or his son became the father of her children. My grandmother had 3 sons. They all had her last name and were illegitimate. Their father (the priest) lived in the village and saw how difficult it was for her to manage but he didn't support or marry her. I don't know where the truth was, as I got to know the details from other sources. My grandmother never told any stories in this regard. My father Dmitriy Chepur, born in 1906 was a shoemaker's apprentice at first and then, when he turned 14, he went to Alexandria to work at the coal mines. Later he moved to Kiev and went to the trade school. We had a photograph: my grandmother sitting with her wide hands crushed by hard work on her knees and 3 young men standing behind her. They were wearing high boots and shirts with high collars in the fashion of that time. One of them was my father - I recognized him. My grandmother told me that another one was her son Fedia that died from galloping consumption in the late 1920s and the third man was just a neighbor. But my aunt told me later that it was her  third son that disappeared during the civil war. People said he went away with a gang. My grandmother was keeping it such a big secret that I never knew that I had another uncle. He joined either the Mahno gang or the whites, or any of a number of gangs.

My grandmother got married in the long run. In the 1920s-30s many intelligent people were moving to villages. Anton Ivanovich Bakaliar, a very nice man, happened to be one of them. He rented a room at my grandmother's house and worked as chief accountant at the collective farm named after Stalin. He was a very good specialist and a nice and educated man. He moved to the province to hide from proletariat anger. He noticed that my grandmother was a nice woman (she was an ordinary peasant woman, but very honest and decent) and he married her. Therefore, my grandmother entered the category of "respectful" women and her "not quite decent" past in the opinion of the villagers was forgotten. During the war collective farms kept functioning and my grandfather continued working as an accountant. At night partisans came from the woods on sleighs and my grandfather secretly gave out food to them, making notes in his accounting books. Somebody reported on him and the Gestapo captured him. They beat him unmercifully, but they probably had no evidence against him. My grandfather was a very highly qualified accountant and all his records were very accurate. They had to let him go. He died in 1947 as a result postwar hunger and poverty in the country. My father took my grandmother to Kiev. Grandmother has raised my father by orthodox Christian, he did not go to church and was not religious. My mother-Jewish she has taken much well, grandmother considered that for the God all people alike and always much liked our family. She died in 1964.

My parents got married in Kiev, but I was born in Uman on 25.09.1931. They had no wedding party, just a civil registration ceremony. My mother was an orphan. There was nobody to support the young couple. My mother's stepbrother Shlyoma, his wife Hanne and their children lived in Uman. His wife Hanna didn't work. She was raising 6 children. Shlyoma was a shoemaker. My mother wrote him a letter and went to Uman to give birth to her baby. Uncle Shlyoma visited us before the war. I remember his hands. He had one finger deformed, probably, by a hammer. His hands always smelled of leather. He liked me very much and often played with me putting me on his lap. Later my mother showed me the house where I was born. It was a two-storied lopsided building on the corner of Lenin Street and a lane. I would know it if I saw it today. It is probably not there any more…  After my mother learned to handle the baby (me) she returned to Kiev.

My father was very capable and always wanted to learn. He has finished in the village 7 classes of the secondary school, and when him was 14 years old has arrived in the Kiev.  First it has entered on rabfak (there took all, who wanted to learn, formation was free), has got room in dormitory, afterwards has entered to the Department of Physics and Mathematics, Kiev State University.

A year latter was sent on a business trip to the famous Ioffe Chemical Institute in Leningrad. They were beginning to work with semi-conductors then. My father got poisoned with mercury vapors (they hardly had any safety equ ipment to do their tests) and was sent to restore his strength in Ukraine. He terminated his post-graduate studies. He had to earn money to support his family. He worked as Deputy Director at Russian secondary school for some time. In 1939 when Bukovina and Western Ukraine united with the Soviet Union he was sent to Chernovitz to become director of the biggest secondary school in town. My father worked there until the Great Patriotic War [the section of WWII between 1941-1945 called like this in the Soviet Union]. By the late 1920s my mother finished her trade school and then studied and finished the Institute of Social Sciences. She got a diploma as  German and Mathematics teacher in [secondary] school. In the 1930s she worked in a Kiev secondary school . She was Komsomol leader of the school - there were three such in Kiev. She conducted komsomol meeting, published school newspaper, organized a celebration of communist holidays in the school, in general have charge of communist upbringing of the pupils. They reported directly to the Komsomol district committee. She worked at the school until 1940. Actually all her schoolboys went to the front. Gitia Wurgoft worked in a library in Kiev. They were continuously receiving checklists with the names of the authors that were already considered to be enemies of the people. Their books were to be extracted from the libraries. Aunt Gitia missed some lousy booklet about the development of agriculture written by Bukharin, the ardent revolutionary that had been charged of espionage and shot by that time. The authorities found this booklet and aunt Gitia was sent to prison in Kolyma for 15 years. She returned after the war, gray haired and with swollen legs. She had poor sight and was wearing glasses that made her eyes seem so small. She went to Berdichev where she had a niece. She got a small room there with the water and toilet in the yard. But she often wrote letters to my mother and her letters were always optimistic.  

Growing up

We lived in Kruglouniversitetsksaya Street in a shared apartment . This was the house where lawyers and doctors had lived before the war. We had 4 rooms in our apartment and there was a room for servants near the kitchen. Each room was occupied by a different family. They were all very interesting people. One was Alexandr Ivanovich Wangeigeim, Deputy Minister of Farming. He was of German or Dutch origin. He was a beautiful man with nibble manners. He was very patient and polite. During the war he was in evacuation in Alma-Ata. His sister lived there. She was a geologist and worked in Middle Asia her whole life. Another room was occupied by a Polish family. I believe their name was Nemirovskiye. Their grandmother Maria Lvovna was a comely lady. They had portraits in oval frames in their room and very nice old things from their earlier life. Maria had 2 children. She called her son George and often spoke French to him.  If I have any good manners I learned them from Maria Lvovna. I learned from her that one mustn't eat in the street or that pointing one's finger is not good.  However, I asked her the question "Maria Lvovna, you have various cards on the table. One of them shows Lenin on the armored car pointing his finger ahead of him. Does this mean that Lenin had bad manners?" I didn't get an answer to this question. During the war they moved to Moscow (they had some relatives there). Another room was occupied by Dennis Slobodinyuk (Dynia). He was Ukrainian. He expressly didn't want to work for the Soviet power and obtained a certificate that he was sick. Perhaps, he was out of his mind. He received a miserable pension with his son Igor. His wife left him for some red commander and left their son in his care. They were literally starving. They boy looked very thin. My mother gave him some food every now and then. When the Germans came to Kiev Dynia put on high boots (like a merchant), grew a beard, opened a store and marauded. He cooperated with the occupiers. Igor was in the Komsomol underground unit. His father informed on him. The Germans captured and executed him. When the Germans left Kiev Dynia went with them. But he didn't go far. We were told that he was hung in the central square in Malyn as traitor of his people. We were living in the fourth room. I don't have many memories of my childhood. The most important events in the house were when we bought a new checkered sofa and when my father brought an iron. My father was fond of doing technical things. He made a detector radio and then a valve receiver following the drawings from the "Technical Youth" magazine. Once he brought his detector radio to the Dimitrovka village, where father was born, put it on the window sill and turned it on. All neighbors came to listen to the sounds of it - it was like a miracle for them. They had never heard anything like that before. I was raised by housemaids and yard janitors. The housemaids were young girls that managed to escape from their villages during the famine and move to Kiev. They came and went. There was a "club of atheists" in the Lutheran church. I remember well that my nannies used to get together at this spot, taking the children they were taking care of with them. I remember a gypsy choir performance in the club and that their bright silk costumes did not quite match with the plain walls and highback chairs. At home my father played the "flying caps" game with me. There was a box with round holes with numbers in them and one gained points when the cap got into a hole). In this way I was learning my numbers. Once my father brought me a puzzle alphabet. I couldn't read but I cut out and put the letters together. Once my father made a cigarette using one of my paper letters that resulted in my bursting into tears.  I felt so sorry to have lost one of my letters. Perhaps, I had a feeling then that I would have to deal with letters for the rest of my life. My mother and father tried to bring good books into the house. We had a whole bookcase full of good books. I red books by Gorkiy when I was a child. We had classical and modern Soviet literature books. I loved books. Not litter was beside us then making the Jewish writers, expect that were. Certainly I knew that my ma and I a Jewish, but then did not yet realize this, then for me all people were alike, and in general before the war nobody did not speak of the anti-Semitism, its simply was not.

I can't say that my parents and I had particularly close relationships. But my obedience was implicit. My parents didn't grow up in families. And they didn't know much about raising children although they were working in a school. They got along well with other children. My mother was the children's favorite. But my parents did not get involved with my reading, my studies or my time. You know, I come from a common family. And in a common family children are some sort of a burden. Children grow up by themselves. Their parents give them food and provide for them and then they think their task is done. Besides, you need to keep in mind that those were Soviet families. They were all busy with social activities: meetings, sittings, emergency training, subbotniks, voskresniks 3 etc. An individual could not stay in the family.  And family life was a burden rather than a joy. They had meals at the factory canteen, they washed themselves in the saunas and did their laundry at Laundromats. That was why I loved to spend time at my neighbors' family. It was cozy there. Maria Lvovna was sitting in an old chair, wearing her glasses and reading to Dizia. She was explaining to us what he didn't understand.  I just loved it. It was a totally different story. We celebrated 7 November, 1 May and birthdays, of course. 

My parents sometimes visited their own friend Klara and Yasha Segal. Yasha Segal was Director of Kiev telephone network. He looked like a typical Jew. They had a record player. They adults used to have dancing parties. In 1941 Yakov stayed for underground party work in Kiev. -Some people saw him walking barefooted, exhausted and undressed in the  first days of the occupation. This was even before the Babiy Yar 4… Aunt Klara evacuated to the Urals where she met Sasha (I don't remember his last name). He was a Jew living in South America. He had his business there and was a prosperous man. Later he was influenced by the Soviet propaganda and he returned to the Soviet Union. He went to fight in the war as a common soldier, got married after the war and lived in Kislovodsk with Aunt Klara.   

During the War

1941, war. Posters everywhere in Kiev "We won't give up Kiev", or "Kiev has been and will be a Soviet town". My father was in Chernovitz at this time and went to the front as a volunteer. Their first battle was in the vicinity of the town of Bar. After the battle they were ordered to board the trains. My father was sitting at the door, taking off his boots. At this moment somebody called him, he raised his head and this saved his life. The loose bullet wounded his leg above his knee and exploded in his arm. His arm was hanging on the skin. In the hospital the doctors suggested to amputate his arm and his leg but my father yelled at them with all his temper (he was a hot-tempered man). Somehow they rescued his arm and leg. He was sent to hospital.

Misha Aloets, my cousin and the son of Shlyoma, my mother's stepbrother, came to say "farewell to us". Uncle Shlyoma was not young any more but he was mobilized nevertheless. I heard that he perished somewhere in Donbass. Misha was a miserable student and was sent to a school at the factory. He came there before the evacuation of the school and the class. It was end of June. Misha said they were to be sent to the Urals. It was a hot day, but he was wearing a uniform. He was a thin boy and looked a typical Jew.  My mother wanted to give something to him. The only thing we knew about the Urals was that it was very cold there.  My mother gave him a white furry hat with long narrow ribbons, starting from the ears. This hat rescued Misha. Their equipment was in the open air and later on they installed some roof and walls but it was unbearably cold. Misha always wore this hat under his regular hat.  He told me this story when I came to study in Moscow and he was living there. He became a highly qualified locksmith and worked in Moscow, Tushyno, at the aircraft factory and was a worker of the 8th 5 grade - they were "kings" and the elite of the workers. He lived all right from the material standpoint, too. He had 2 children and was well-off. His mother Hanna and 4 other children went to the Uman Babiy Yar - there, either as in many cities of Soviet Union, was place of mass destruction of Jews, there perished family of my uncle Shlyoma. There were many Jews living there, majority from they perished. Misha was the one of our family, that survived all other have killed fascists. 

In 1941 my mother worked in the Palace of Pioneers. They were involved in many activities there. There were pavilions with rabbits in the park (young lovers of nature were working there). There was a shooting gallery there (a young handsome Jew Garik Krichevskiy was chief of this facility). There also was a studio where they staged children's operas. Elena Nikolaevna Blagodelskaya was Director of the Palace of Pioneers. There were mainly Jewish women working there. I remember this well. We were all in the evacuation later. Employees of the Palace of Pioneers from Lvov came to Kiev on the  first days -of the war. They left Lvov literally in their nightgowns when the town was occupied by the Germans. They were accommodated in other people's apartments and told us what was happening in Lvov. Women knew that they had to leave Kiev, too. The authorities had no plans for the evacuation of the people. They were busy with the evacuation of factories, archives, etc. Nobody thought about taking care of the people. My mother had a plan to reach Kremenchug and then Dimitrovka. My father's mother lived there. My mother wanted to leave me to my grandmother and returned to Kiev that was supposed to belong to the Soviets still and remain such until the victory over the Germans. There was such an aura about those that were leaving it that they were cowards and traitors and didn't want to contribute to the defense of the city. Elena Nikolaevna took a brave decision to move to the Trukhanov Island (this in Kiev on the Dnepr River). We were staying in the wooden huts that belonged to the Palace of Pioneers. There was a horrific bombing of the city. We couldn't sleep. We got up early in the morning and boarded two big boats. I believe there were 25 - 30 of us. Elena Nikolaevna was a very smart woman and she managed to pay salaries and vacation money to the employees. It helped us to survive later.  We left at dawn and later hid in some bushes. We could keep moving in the dark. During the daytime there were planes flying bombing the areas. We reached Kremenchug. My mother said "Good bye" to the colleagues, took her suitcase with my clothes for the summer and we went to the railway station. There we heard that Dimitrovka was already occupied by the Germans. We ran back to the pier. The boats were still there and we sailed to Dnepropetrovsk. Again a horrific bombing began in the vicinity of the Kiev. We got into a pit. I remember the earth shaking and the fear. Later we kept moving. I remember sailing under the bridge. A bomb hit it but it didn't explode. We reached the railway station at the dusk. We boarded some platform for coal transportation. The crowd of people was in panic. I remember somebody calling "Dovid! Dovid! Somebody must have lost his child in this crowd. The train left at night. We were crossing the Salskiye steppe, moving across the fields with wheat and elevators in the fields.  The heat was oppressive.  We got off the train when it stopped to get some water. We were black from the coal dust. We finally reached Stalingrad. We were all taken to the stadium. Women and children from Kiev got settled on and under the benches. The sun burnt us during the day and the nights were very cold. There was no toilet. The women were smart. They went to the town party committee to request accommodation in the town. They said they were teachers and asked to send their families to the country. We were all sent to the country, Pogromnoye village of Sredneaktyubinsk district. This was a distant village and they probably never heard even such a word: Jew. We were cordially welcome. We were all accommodated in the villagers' homes. The people gave us some kerosene for lamps, bread and some heating fuel. They had lack of fuel for heating the houses. They dried sheep manure to heat their houses. The house we stayed in was clean. The icons were shining. They were very beautifully decorated. The family of our landlord lived in the sheds to preserve the floors [This particularity national consciousness. These people grew accustomed to live bad and much poorly. Painted floors was considered By the big luxury and they were afraid its spoil. They always lives in sheds, and only in holidays came to house. Us they have let in, therefore that obliged were afford us on laws of wartime a home, and other places for us beside them was not]. But still it was impossible to live in the house because of the fleas. Later we learned from the local people to pick  absinthe (plants with bitter taste) and scatter it everywhere in the house. Such was our everyday life among the unknown people and with an unknown language.  The local people watched us with great interest. Our landlady told my mother (she could, either as majority of inhabitants to village, speak in Russian, between itself they spoke on Tatar language) to stop paying so much attention to her child. She said she had 18 of them herself and she never watched them as closely as my mother watched hers.  My mother asked her how many of them survived and she answered "four". My mother told her then that she only had one child and she wanted her daughter to be all right.  They didn't have any toilets and when I asked the landlady where their toilet was she told me that I could sit at any place.  I couldn't handle it. I found some bushes to go to the toilet there, but I felt so awkward! There were boys living in the neighboring houses and I was so afraid that Alik Geller would see me - this would have been disastrous! But the local people didn't even give it a thought. My mother worked in the school in the village. She wrote a letter to our acquaintances asking them to check her mailbox and send us Mitia's letter if there was one. And we received a letter from our father that he had written when he was on the way.  Their train was heading for Artyomovsk. My mother wrote the party secretary of this town asking to find her husband. And they did! My mother received their response telling her that her husband was on the way to Stalingrad and that she would see him soon. It was such a big event for the whole village. The chairman of the collective farm got all people together and made a speech. He said "You, women, are all crying and look at Markovna - her man has been found!" Then we received a card from Stalingrad. My father gave us his address and we went to visit him. The whole village came to see us off. The chairman gave us cream, cottage cheese, honey from the village food store and our landlady made some rolls to take with us. And so we left. (The rest of people working in the Palace of Pioneers stayed in the village and I never saw them).  We went on our landlord's horse-driven cart. It was cold and he gave me a coat. But it was full of fleas. We came to the Volga River where we had to cross it. But we finally reached the hospital where my father was (he was wounded). The gate was still closed - it was too early. Finally it opened and we were shown in by the commissar of the hospital, a very handsome man. He was either Armenian or Georgian. He instructed my mother to be calm and reserved. We entered the ward. It was all white. There were 8 beds in it. My father's body was all in plaster cast. Next to him was a blind young man. There were also people with suspended arms and legs. It was all terrible to look at. We came back to the village. The hospital was to be evacuated to Astrakhan. My father got permission from the commissar to take us in the evacuation along with them. We got a letter from him and my mother started getting things together. My mother realized that we didn't have winter clothes and winter was close. They were growing sheep in the village and made boots and coats from sheepskin. They also made gloves with unfinished finger parts for the soldiers to be able to pull the trigger. My mother ordered winter boots and a blanket and huge head shawls - we could wrap ourselves 3 times in them. The chairman gave us coats from his storage facilities. We received a ration of half a loaf of bread each day. My mother dried it up in the sun. These crackers saved us during the cold winter of 1941/42 in Astrakhan when there was nothing to eat at all. We left on a sledge. We came to the Volga in the evening. It was covered with ice that was broken - they needed the Volga for transportation. We spent the night on the bank of the Volga. There were many other people. It was brutally cold and we got into a stack of hay during the night like many other people. We crossed the river in the morning. We reached the hospital and stayed in its director's office several days. During these days we were helping the wounded to write letters, giving them some water, reading their letters to them or calling the doctor if they needed one. We were kept busy on these days. The hospital boarded the train at night. I don't remember how long we traveled. There were bombings, explosions, it was cold and frightening. I was together with my father, but my mother spent this entire trip sitting on some suitcases between the beds with the wounded military. Ice-breakers were breaking ice all the time, as the Volga was the only remaining route. 

We arrived at Astrakhan and the wounded were taken to a school. Again a different life began. My mother rented a bed from a local landlady. Her name was Manka. She was a small exhausted woman. She invited the military from a neighboring hospital. They were drinking beer and singing. My mother always tried to leave the place during such parties. She went to the neighbors' houses.  The landlady had a miserable son Adolf. His father was of German origin from the Volga whereabouts. The boy was afraid to go out into the street due to his name. People almost threw stones onto him. One can easily understand what this name meant during the war. Only one that had lost his mind could live with such name. We shared the same room with him. This house had served as an inn in the past. There were some storage facilities on the 1st floor and the 2nd floor was for people to live.  There was a steel ladder leading to the 2nd floor. There was no sewerage and toilet pits were shallow, as there was water from the depth of one meter below ground. It was all so anti-sanitary. In winter people threw their excrements from buckets out into the streets. Such haps accumulated up to the height of the 2nd floor. Its melting with the coming of the spring resulted in the epidemic of cholera in the town. There was some cleaning up but it wasn't quite effective. I remember myself going around looking for a toilet, but janitors chased outsiders away unmercifully.

My father was still in hospital in the winter of 1941/42. Once they showed the film "Great waltz" in this hospital. This was the first time we saw a movie since we left Kiev. I can never forget this. It was shown on a sheet in the gym. There were beds and crutches all around. The patients were smoking and the smoke was everywhere. And beautiful Melitsa Korvius on the screen and the sound of the Viennese forest fairy tales music - what a miracle!  Another film that we watched was "Chasing Germans away from Moscow". The whole town came to see it! The tickets were distributed by the party town committee. We went to see it once and then the 2nd time when my father received tickets from the party activists. People were so happy to see the victory of our army. This film gave us hope and belief in our victory.

My mother was the party unit leader in a shoemaker's shop. They were making foot wear for military units and hospitals. The employees were handicapped people. It was so good for us to get this job! My mother received a food ration card. Besides, they brought extra food products to the store like sauerkraut and marinated carrots - such delicacies!  Sometimes they got draught beer. It was possible to get some food for it at the market. Alcohol stood for gold currency.  They also received cheap tobacco at the shop. It was possible to get a piece of soap (precious!) in exchange for it.  I was responsible for getting rationed food for the cards. I carried them in my glove to be on the safe side. Loosing a card could mean death from starvation. They woke me up at 7am and I went to stand in line. The store opened at 8am. It was freezing cold. I received bread in this store and then went to the canteen to get some soup (made of water with some flour). I ate one plate of soup and brought the other two servings home for my mother and father. This soup made my parents' dinner.  I was 10 years old then. There was no school to go to, but we had some textbooks. After I came back from the stores I went down to the basement, took some wood and a bucket of coal. There was no gas, and the wood was strictly rationed. I learned to make a fire, got warm and opened my textbooks.  I studied history, mathematics and Russian. Nobody watched me. I learned much until the spring arrived. I suffered much from the lack of books. I was looking for every opportunity to get a book. Children in the yard sometimes teased me calling me "zhydovka" [little Jew]. I even had fights with them. But I excused any rudeness if they approached me with a book. Later we managed to rent a separate room in an inn in the same neighborhood.  People were starving. Our neighbors, an old man and a woman, were swollen from starvation. They were complaining that their daughter didn't share any food with them.  But their daughter had two sons and she was trying to rescue them and let them survive. A Polish woman lived in one of the rooms. She was a beautiful woman. Once she brought two potatoes from the kitchen in the hospital and forced me to eat them right in her room. These were the only potatoes that I saw during the entire period of our life in Astrakhan. In the spring people went fishing. My mother bought a piece of sturgeon and boiled it. We ate this clear soup and almost died from it because our stomach was not quite used to it. We were so sick. The local people were giving us some herbs to help us survive. They were blaming my parents for being so unreasonable. But they cured us. Later I went fishing with the neighbors' children. We dried the fish on a rope hanging between the window frames. The whole town smelled of this fish oil.

My parents sent me to a pioneer camp in the Tatar village of Bashmakovka. The village was located on the bank of the Volga. There were no trees, only bushes in this village. We were hiding from the sun in the bushes and our tutors were reading something to us. Later in the evenings, during the camp lines, every unit had to march and sing a song. We sang the famous artillery march "Artillery, you've got an order from Stalin". I got sick with malaria there. I had fever and felt very ill, but I didn't tell anybody about it.  When our term was over we went to the town by car. My parents and I (my father could walk with crutches then) went for a walk along the Volga River. I could hardly walk. My mother touched my forehead and said "My God, she has a fever!" They gave me medication that evening. I stopped having fever every night. But I still knew when the next attack of fever was to come. I felt cold before the attack of malaria and this lasted for several years. In August bombings came to Astrakhan. My parents decided to leave. My father found out that the Department of Physics and Mathematics of the Kiev University was in Kzyl-Orda [Northern Kazakhstan, it is called Baikonur now]. He wanted to finish his post-graduate studies that he hadn't finished in Leningrad.  The only way to leave was across the Caspian Sea. We boarded some terrible boat. I got on the boat and my parents were loading our luggage. I was so scared that they wouldn't be able to get on this boat.  This fear was with me throughout the war. I was always afraid of either being left behind or missing my parents. It was all so horrible. One man fell in convulsions. Somebody said it was cholera...

Sailing along the river was quiet. We crossed the Caspian Sea, and then went up the Ural River until we reached the town of Guriev. From there we went to Kandagach station by train. There was a checkpoint there - they were checking our documents and tickets. We also got washed, and our clothes were boiled in some containers. Measures were to be taken to control spotted fever. Kandagach is in the steppe, on the salt lands. There was no village or anything there. We stayed outside overnight. We received our ration of bread for the trip and I was carrying 4 loaves. At night we boarded the train. Again there were screams, cursing, all confusion and disorder. My parents pushed me through the window and were giving our luggage to me.  Somebody wanted to take me out of the compartment and my father shouted to him that he would kill him when he got in there. Terrible scenes.  This was a railcar for transportation of prisoners. I spent my time on the 4th berth. When the 3rd and 2nd berths were down there was no space left between them, and if somebody was standing he had to bend down. 

We got to Kzyl-Orda. We rented a room from a Ukrainian woman that was in exile there. There was the museum of the famous Ukrainian poet Taras Shevchenko across the street from her house. It was cool there and I spent all my time in the museum. It was a small museum (Taras Shevchenko was in exile in Kos-Aral, 70 km from Kzyl-Orda). 

Later we got some accommodation in the center of the town. I saw duvals for the  first time in my life. They were high clay fences with pieces of glass on top. Such duvals were hiding the houses from outsiders. There were channels along the fences. When there was no water supply, grass with big leaves grew in those channels. The local people called this grass "frog leaves". There were snakes, scorpions, tarantulas and frogs living underneath. I went to school. I passed all tests and went to the 4th form at school. Khasia Yakovlevna, our teacher, was evacuated from Kharkov. She rather liked me and I never let her down. I was an excellent pupil. My father becamedirector of the biggest school - secondary or primary? . My father was teacher of mathematics in the same school. We rented a room from Vasia and Natasha Funaev. They had been deported from the Northern regions, probably, Pskov region. An old woman Fekla also lived there. She was handicapped - she was lame since her childhood. She had lived as a nun in a nunnery.  After the monastery was destroyed she moved in with Natasha. They lived in a two-storied house that they had bought from a local family. They didn't want to have other tenants, but it was the wartime and who was asking them anyway. They agreed to give us accommodation. Their only condition was that they didn't want a Jewish family. When they asked who we were my father stepped on my mother's foot and answered that he was Ukrainian and my mother's mother was Moldavian and her father was a soldier. Somehow this explanation was enough for them. Later, when they took our passports to the registration office they found out the truth, but it was already too late. They got to like us very much and when we were leaving we were saying good-bye to one another like close people would.  I wrote them letters for a long time afterwards.

Natasha and Vasia had a son Vania. He was a member of a tank crew in Stalingrad and his daughter Shurochka was in service on the Far East. Once the postman gave me a letter addressed to this family. Natasha had been looking forward to receiving a letter and I ran happily to the house screaming "Natasha, there's a letter for you from Vanechka". I set on the threshold and heard a scream all of a sudden. Natasha fainted. This turned out to be death notification. Vanechka was burnt in his tank. Vasia couldn't stop crying for several days and nights. And Natasha kept fainting all the time.

Later Fekla asked me to accompany her to the church at the cemetery. Fekla put on her old Russian outfit (a coat with bright glass buttons, suede on the outside with fur lining). And she had a beautiful old shawl, all hand painted).  Fekla got ready for her mourning trip. She boiled some rice and was giving it to beggars saying prayers. Fekla and I were friends. She gave me thick big books to read. They were books with solid bindings with beautiful copper locks. They were her only treasure. I loved to look them through. We read Old Testament and psalms with her. We had discussions with her. Once she said something against Jews. I said to her that Jesus Christ was a Jew and this was written in her books. And she tried to think it over.  In the summer of 1943 I went to the pioneer camp located  7 km-s from the town. We, kids, were spending all our time in the Chulak stream (it was 40 degrees above zero in the shadow). The sides and the bottom of this stream were of clay and we made small steps to sit on them or swam in the stream. It was difficult to climb onto the bank - a few children drowned. There was one single well and a bucket in the camp. We drank water from it. It was dirty and had pieces of clay in it. We also gave water to our nice donkey. He was used for transportation of food from the town. We slept in the tarpaulin tents that got so hot. Two of us slept on each bed. Before going to bed we had to check it for the ugly yellow spiders with a yellow stomach. They were disgusting and could jump and bite. Later an epidemic of typhoid began. I would have not survived there. The girl that I was sharing the bed with died from typhoid. I was rescued by the visit of Samuil Marshak [a famous Soviet children's writer]. He was to be met in a most festive manner. We marched to Kzyl-Orda with flags, a drum to beat the march. We were walking barefooted. Those few that had shoes were carrying them. We came to the station and Marshak arrived. The meeting with the orchestra and speeches lasted 40 minutes or maybe about an hour. My mother was working in a pioneer camp in town. She found me in the crowd and I begged her to take me home. It saved my life. I had fever, and I in the night has lost consciousness. As for the camp, over 50% children died from typhoid due to the antisanitary conditions. The parents of the girl (the one I slept in one bed with) never returned to Kharkov, their town. They wanted to be close to the daughter's grave . The sirector of the camp was sentenced by the court. The authorities came to take me to hospital. They were escorted by militia. But my father told them he wasn't going to allow them take me away even if he had to kill them. My mother was taking care of me. She treated me with sulfidin. This was new medication and one could only buy it at the black market and it cost a lot of money. My food was water from boiled rice. But Fekla and my landlords were giving me some extra food secretly. This was either sauerkraut soup or goat milk. I didn't mention it to my parents. I was starved and ate what they gave me. 

After the War

In 1943 Ukraine was gradually being liberated. My father received an invitation to go back home, but my mother didn't. They were trying to obtain some information but there was nothing to find out. Then my mother said openly that Ukrainians received invitations to go back but the Jews didn't. My parents talked about it and my father went to the party district committee. He was insistent especially after he had been wounded. Some time passed and my mother received an invitation, too.  We left on the eve of 7 November 1943. And then we heard that Kiev was liberated. How happy we were! We had books as luggage and our neighbors gave us their donkey to take our luggage to the station. I gave this donkey a hug. Our landlords were also seeing us off and stayed there until the train left. 

It was a long trip through Northern Kazakhstan and Southern Urals in a dirty train. It was cold and we were passing just the ruins of towns.  We arrived in Kharkov. I remember black and gray colors - burnt ruins of the town. We stayed at the hotel with no heating, water or light, although there were lots of fleas. It was impossible to stay there and we moved to a school. There was a lot of snow and before my parents returned home I melted some snow and made some tea for them. Ad then finally I heard "Let us get ready". We got on the train at night and went to Kiev. I remember the bombing in Kiev. Military trains were on 24 rail tracks and they were continuously bombed. Everything around was burning and exploding. 

We arrived at the station and rented a cart for our luggage. We went to Saksaganskogo Street where Vera Pavlovna Podlesnaya, my father's cousin, had lived before the war. There was no house. But our house was there. We went to the third floor and opened the door with our key. A woman with 2 children was living in our apartment. I don't know how they got there. The room was so dirty and stinking that my parents refused to enter it.  We stayed in our neighbors' room. The town was empty. Everything was closed. I went out to get water to make some tea or wash ourselves. I took it from a leaking valve in the manhole in front of the Ukrainian Drama Theater. My father got a job as Deputy Chairman of the Pechersk District Committee. We moved to  Kirov street. There was no water or electric power or any other utilities. I studied alone from my textbooks and brought books from out former apartment on the sledge. I brought our and our neighbors' books. I saved many excellent books.  I wanted our neighbors to have their books after they were back in Kiev. We celebrated the New Year of 1944 in our new apartment. We felt so lucky when we got water and power in the house! There were always guests in the house. People were looking for their families and stayed at our place meanwhile. Many people had to obtain certificates from the authorities about where they had worked before the war. Such certificates were issued by the court. To confirm their place of work an individual had to bring two witnesses to the court that could confirm that this or that person had worked here or there. People had to wait for some time. There were many such cases in court. Communication was democratic. A military could knock on the door and ask to stay overnight. We didn't have any furniture and they slept on the floor. They were strangers but they could talk with my parents all night through. People seeking for their relatives left notes on the walls of buildings. There were many of those. Vera Pavlovna, my father's sister, was found in this way. 

I went to school and was a very hardworking student. Every Saturday all schoolchildren went to clear out heaps of ruins in Kreschatik. Once we were taken to watch the execution of Germans. There was a huge crowd of people there. When they brought the German captives on the truck I turned away my head. I couldn't leave but I couldn't watch it either! They shouldn't have brought in children to watch this execution. They had had enough of sorrow in their lives. Cruel times.

There were many Jewish girls in our school. My friend was Rosa Yakovlevna. We didn't keep in touch after we finished school. But I met  my classmate Larissa and Rosa  and they told me bitterly how difficult it was for them - Jewish to enter the any. Larissa Kotovskaya tried several times but failed. Rosa entered Kiev Polytechnic Institutes after several tries. She was an extramural student. She studied in the evenings and went to work during the daytime. My friends felt themselves 2nd rate people. Things were difficult for Jewish children. I had a schoolmate Alla Levengard. She came from a very intelligent family. She was smart and intelligent herself. She finished school with a gold medal and she was a very gifted girl. Her family had good connections, but still she gave several tries to enter the Kiev Polytechnic Institute. 1949 was a difficult year. Even the word "Jew" was never pronounced at that time. No discussions on this subject. The subjects of Jews or Babiy Yar were forbidden.

In 1949 Stalin turned 70. It was such a fuss! They opened museums with presents to comrade Stalin from everywhere in the Soviet Union. There was also much fuss about the construction of Moscow University. I said to my parents "I finished school with a gold medal, I study at the university - when shall we go to Moscow at last?"  Moscow, our Motherland, was like a pilgrimage place then.  In the summer of 1950 we went to Moscow. My mother saw her sister Fania for the first time in 29 years. (I can't remember how exactly they found each other after the war. Probably via their common acquaintances or friends, but I remember that my mother wrote letters to Fania since 1949). My mother's brother Naum and his family lived in the same neighborhood. Naum was very religious. He put on his thales, went to the synagogue and strictly observed all traditions. I watched a religious Jew praying for the first time in Moscow. We were welcomed cordially. They all lived in the workers' barracks in Tushino. Fania's husband was working at the Tushino aircraft plant. Her nephew Misha Aloets worked there, too (Fania arranged for Misha to stay in Moscow after the war).  Fania and her husband had 2 children: Misha and Vera. Verochka finished the technical school for communications and Misha Kogan was a laborer. He moved to Israel later.  

My mother kept in touch with a former inmate from the children's home. He was a wonderful man. His name was Shura Lieber. He was a truck driver during the war. He was a terrific person. He had a very specific Semitic appearance and was smart and considerate. During the war he got a month's vacation and went to the Urals to look for his acquaintances. He found Mania and went back to the front. Mania got pregnant from him and had a son. After the war Shura and his family returned to Kiev and asked my father to help him find an apartment. My father did help him and Shura received a 6 meter room on the top floor of a building in Kiev. Only their bed, Grisha's bed and a side chest of drawers fit in there. But they were all so happy! We were all friends and people often came to visit us. Once in 1948 or 49 we had guests: Shura and Mania, Vera, my father's cousin with her husband Grigoriy Pavlovich Rudkovskiy, Klara Sigal and Sasha and Gitia Woodgorft. My father drank a lot and all of a sudden he said that Jews attacked Tashkent. I remember this moment. They didn't leave immediately only because they were sorry for my mother. It became quiet in the room. Vera was saying something to smooth down this awkwardness. But then nobody ever visited us until my father was living in this apartment. My father worked in the Soviet offices after the war and he must have got this anti-Semitic mood there. Other members of the family didn't understand this. Perhaps, this was one of the reasons leading to the breakdown. My father left his job at the executive committee for work at the Ministry for Higher Educational Institutions. But he wasn't very happy with his work. It was bureaucratic work requiring a lot of patience. He went to teach Physics at the Kiev military engineering college. In 1953 he fell in love with somebody and left his family. My father died in 1985 in the hospital for the invalids of the Great Patriotic War. He got there after he got sclerotic. I was told about it when I was looking for my grandmother's grave. My mother suffered a lot - so many years together and my father always came first in our family. This was a tragedy for her. Besides, my mother had been ill for some time and she had had an operation. She wasn't working. And in 1953 it was difficult for her to find a job, being a Jew. Nobody spoke openly of the reasons but she couldn't get a job nevertheless. [This was the period of struggle against cosmopolitism, many Jews were loosing their jobs or arrested]. She was desperate about having no opportunity to provide for her family and went to the party committee. She explained the situation to them and said that she didn't have anything to live on. And they sent her to work at the school for young technicians. 

In 1955 I graduated from the university and then finished my post-graduate studies. I worked as editor in academic publications. I also did translations from Russian to Ukrainian. My husband is a Jew. His name is Lev Yakovlevich Kuperman. I met him through my mother's friend Klara. She sent him to our house with a parcel. Lyova was born in Uman in 1932. Lyova's mother Sarah Markovna Eigel was a teacher in Uman. She came from a rabbi's family. She was a Soviet person. She did not think that Soviet power good, but lives on this laws and was afraid punishments from this authorities for her faith. She was very unhappy about her mother Lisa (Leys) giving a part of her pension to the Jewish community. (I guess it was an underground community). Sarah Markovna couldn't celebrate Jewish holidays as a Soviet teacher, but she went to shochet to slaughter a chicken for the communist holiday - 1st of May. Their life was an intricate mixture of t Jewish traditions and Soviet laws.

Lyova's father moved to Kiev before the war. He worked as an engineer at the power substation. He lived on the ground floor in the center of Kiev. From there he went to the front. Sarah Markovna, her mother and 3 sisters were in the evacuation in the Urals. Lyova studied at the Institute of Irrigation and Drainage in Rovno that was a real good place for young Jews to go to, therefore that then in Kiev of Jews in institutes nearly did not take - this was state policy. Others went to higher educational institutions in Leningrad, Moscow or on the Volga. After finishing the Institute Lyova went to work at draining swamps in Western Siberia. From there he went to serve in the army for two years, returned to Kiev afterwards and found a job.  We got married in 1957. We had a wedding in Kiev in 1957 and many of Lyova's relatives were there at the wedding. It was an ordinary wedding. After the wedding I plunged into the Jewish everyday life that was described in the works of Sholem Aleichem  6. We visited my mother-in-law each holiday. I was taken to different homes and introduced to their relatives and acquaintances. They commented "You are so thin" and then behind my back "She's so thin that she has no looks whatsoever!"

Early in the morning we would go to the market. Sarah Markovna is wearing a silk dress. I, stupid girl, say to her "Sarah Markovna, there's your undergown looking out of your dress". "So what! It's beautiful" she would reply. People would recognize and bow to her "Sarah Markovna, you have visitors?" "Yes, they do not forget me". Now we are at the market. Sarah Markovna picks up a chicken with 2 fingers and the scene begins. "How much is this chicken?" "Chicken!? This hen has laid eggs for two years already!"  Sarah Markovna takes the chicken and blows into its butt "What an old chicken!" "It cannot be a chicken if you are trying to tell me that it is as old as you think it is". We were standing behind and almost fainting. She was buying the chicken in the long run. Lyova is carrying it holding it by its legs. Every passer-by can't help commenting "Madam Eigel, you've bought the best chicken at the market!" She "Of course I did. It cannot be otherwise!" We head to the ravine where a shochet is living. He has to slaughter the chicken. We stand in the line of colorful Jewish women. The Jewish conversation is on. It's a pity we didn't put down the conversations then. The cutter was a short Jew with a small beard and thick hair. His hair covers him all. Sabbath and the 1st of May. He can hardly cope. The hens are hanging with their heads down. Some of them are running around already. The cutter calls Tsylia. Tsylia is a girl in a nightgown and something on top of it. Her gorgeous black hair is full of feathers and down. The shochet asks her to help. The girl plucks the chicken; the feathers are flying around making everybody sneeze.  This was the 1st time when I saw a shochet. We go back. The chicken is big, yellow and fat. The people who we meet ask "Madam Wigel, did you pay much for this chicken?" Soon all Uman knows that Sarah Markovna will be cooking chicken clear soup today…

Lyova took me to the ravine to show me the "Babiy Yar" in Uman. The family of my mother's brother Shlyoma perished there. My husband is rendered Jew accidentally, we simply have liked each other. I never distinguished people upon their national accessories, for me person can be either good, or bad. I never felt an anti-Semitism with respect to itself, to me always everywhere well pertained. Family of husband me much well has taken and I with the pleasure beginning to participate in their Jewish life's, me was of interest learn of Jewish traditions that, what I was poured the whole life.

In 1958 our daughter Alyona was born. Her full name was Elena Lvovna Chepur. Her nationality in the passport is written "Ukrainian".  She faced some anti-Semitism in her childhood. She always communicated with many Jews. She finished the department of Physics and Mathematics at the Pedagogical University. She is a teacher of Mathematics at school #77. This is the same school where my mother worked as a leader of the Komsomol unit.  In 1971 Lyova and I got divorced. My family is not religious, but I have always felt that I belonged to the Jewish environment. If I were among Ukrainians they always began to ask questions about who I was. I have felt very comfortable among the Jews. My daughter identifies herself as a Jew. Her husband A. Karpovskiy is a Jew. He is a teacher of Mathematics in a Jewish school. He sometimes introduces some traditions to us like celebration Pesach, and Purim.

Presently I work at the magazine "Economy of Ukraine". I am editor-translator. I also help my granddaughter Anna Sergeevna Grischenko (born in 1980) to write her thesis for the university. She is finishing the Department of Roman and German languages at Kiev University.

I haven't been in Israel, but I would like to go there. As for emigration, I am the follower of Konrad and Stevenson ideas. I do not deserve to be supported by this country. I can earn money here and I can find a job. I won't be able to find a job there. I do not visit Hesed. I shall work as long as I can. But my heart goes out for Israel, of course.

Glossary
1 In 1930s Stalin's government established a Jewish autonomous region in Birobidjan, , in the desert with terrible climate in the Far East of Russia. Conditionswere unlivable  there. There was no water, power supply, houses or transportation. The Soviet government hoped that educated people would populate this area and make it a civilized republic. People were in no hurry to leave their jobs and homes and the comforts of living in towns and move to the middle of nowhere. The Soviet government set the term of forced deportation of all Jews to Birobidjan in the middle of the 1950s. But in 1953 Stalin died and the deportation was cancelled.

Dora Feiman

Tallinn

Estonia

Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya

Date of interview: June 2005

Dora Feiman lives in a shared one-room apartment [see Communal apartment] 1 in the center of Tallinn. She has a tidy room with potted plants all around. She has many books. There are pictures on the walls. Dora looks young for her age. Her dark hair is nicely done and she has a friendly smile. Dora is an easy-going person and she likes joking and laughing. Her hard life has had no impact on her vivacity and optimism. She always looks at the brighter side of things. Maybe that’s why many of Dora’s friends are younger than her. When talking to her I wasn’t conscious of the age difference. Dora is a very hospitable hostess. Though she has problems with walking having an artificial hip limb, Dora made a delicious cake which she offered me wholeheartedly. She loves having guests. She has no family, but she isn’t lonely. A lot of people are fond of her and find her an interesting person.

My family background

Growing up

Soviet invasion of the Baltics

During the war

After the war

The perestroika

Glossary

My family background

Unfortunately, I hardly have any information about my parents’ families. My father’s parents lived in Estonia, but I don’t know where they lived. My grandfather died before I was born and my father’s mother died when my father was just a child. My grandfather remarried. My father told me that my grandfather was a rigorous and austere man. He had a few children in both his marriages, but I didn’t know any of my uncles or aunts. My father, Isaac-Azriel Feiman, was born in 1888. He didn’t enjoy his childhood. He was sent to study a vocation at an early age and started working at the age of 13. My father tanned skins for tanners. Later, he went to work as a supplier for a factory in Tartu [180km from Tallinn]. My father had a religious education. He studied in cheder and could read in Hebrew. His mother tongue was Yiddish.

My mother’s family lived in Zagare [250 km from Vilnius], Lithuania. That was where my mother’s parents came from. Their family name was Sonik, but I don’t know their first names. My grandfather died before I was born and my grandmother died when I was still a child. My grandmother visited us occasionally, but I have vague memories of her. All I remember is that she was short, wore a dark dress and had kind eyes. My grandparents had five children. My grandmother gave birth to more children, but they died in their childhood. I didn’t know two of my mother’s older brothers. They moved to America in the 1900s. My mother corresponded with them until before 1940. They must have been rather well-off. My uncles sent my mother money and supported us. When we returned from evacuation in 1945, they sent us several parcels. I still sleep under the blanket which they had sent in one of their parcels. After my mother’s death this correspondence stopped. We lived in Soviet Estonia, and I was afraid of corresponding with relatives abroad [see Keep in touch with relatives abroad] 2. In the USSR such contacts weren’t safe. One of my mother’s sisters and her family also lived in America. My mother, Ethe, was born in 1893. I don’t know anything about her childhood. She didn’t like to talk about it. My mother’s younger sister stayed in Zagare. 

My parents got married in 1913. Their marriage was prearranged as they lived quite a distance from one another. They got married in Zagare and the Zagare rabbi registered their marriage. After they got married my mother moved in with her husband in Tartu. She became a housewife, which was quite common with married women at that time. 

My older brother David, the oldest among all children, was born in 1914. In 1916 Abram was born. I was born in 1918, and my Jewish name is Dvora. Later I was addressed as Dora. My younger brother Iosif was born in 1920. 

Growing up

At first my parents rented a one-bedroom apartment in the center of the town. When I was born, this lodging became too small for the family, and we moved to a three-bedroom apartment in the same neighborhood. We lived there until the evacuation in 1941. Our family wasn’t very wealthy. We had no property and my father worked for a living. However, my father provided well for the family. My mother could afford to have a housemaid to help her. Also, when the children were small, we had a nanny. I remember my nanny, an old German lady who had a small dog. I remember her taking my older brothers and me for a walk in the suburbs where there were no houses, but fields. Those were memorable adventures for us. After we started going to school, our nanny went to work for another family. The housemaid helped my mother with cleaning the house and washing dishes, while my mother did the cooking. There were no fridges and my mother bought food products at the market and cooked fresh meals every day. She observed the Jewish traditions. She followed the kashrut and cooked traditional Jewish food. 

Tartu is the second biggest town in Estonia. It was famous for its university both during the tsarist and Soviet regimes. Young people came from all over Estonia and other countries to study there. There was no Jewish quota in Tartu University. Therefore, during the tsarist regime many Jewish folks from tsarist Russia went to study there due to the existing Jewish quota in the higher educational institutions in their country [see Five percent quota] 3. In 1875 the Jewish Students’ Fund, the first Jewish organization in Estonia, was established. Wealthy Jews could afford to pay for their children’s studies, while the fund supported poor students. That same year the first Jewish elementary school was opened in Estonia. Before 1907, Jewish students worked as volunteer teachers in this school. During the First Estonian Republic 4 the Jewish Cultural Autonomy 5, which granted Jews more rights, was established. There was no anti-Semitism in Estonia. Jews were treated as equal residents. 

There was a big Jewish community in Tartu. There were many wealthy Jews who were manufacturers and owners of jewelry, shoe, clothes and food stores. There were many Jewish lawyers, doctors and teachers. They made charity contributions. The community built a home for the elderly and poor people where they were provided with all they needed. There were still many poor people and the community helped them. Poor Jews could get free matzah at the synagogue before a holiday and there were food deliveries so that they could enjoy and celebrate the holidays according to the rites. Anyway, most of the Tartu residents were neither rich, nor poor. They could earn their living and provide for their families, and my father belonged to this very group. 

My parents were moderately religious. There were many Jews in Tartu, who went to pray at the synagogue twice a day: morning and evening. We observed Jewish traditions at home. There was a shochet in Tartu. He slaughtered the live chickens which housewives bought at the market. There was kosher meat sold at the Jewish butcher’s. We definitely never had pork at home. We had separate utensils for meat and milk products and my mother watched strictly that nobody mixed one for the other. We also had Pesach dishes stored separately. We only used them on Pesach. On Sabbath my mother lit candles and prayed over them. Then we had a festive family dinner. On the following day my father did no work, but spent his day reading the Torah. He often told Jewish historical tales to me and my younger brother. My mother also tried to do no housework on Saturday. She did the cooking the day before. Our Estonian neighbor came to turn on the light or start the stove on Saturday. However, my parents didn’t go to the synagogue on Saturday. They dressed up and went to the synagogue on Jewish holidays. 

I remember Pesach of all holidays. There was a Jewish bakery in Tartu. It baked matzah for Pesach. We always bought sufficient matzah to last through the holiday since we didn’t eat bread on those days. There were sweet desserts made from matzah flour. My parents made wine for Pesach from raisins. My mother made a big bottle of wine each year. When the wine was ready she poured it in smaller bottles and kept them separately from the other food products. It was delicious wine. My mother also made some hop plant drink. She boiled it in a big casserole, had it infused and poured it into bottles. This drink was effervescent like champagne. Of course, my mother made gefilte fish, chicken broth and tsimes 6: traditional Jewish food. She also cooked radish in honey, ground them and topped them with crumbled walnuts. I’m not sure about the details since I’ve never cooked this. All I remember is that while the radish was boiling, it smelled awful, but the dish was very delicious. My mother also made kharoyshes, ground apples with honey and cinnamon. 

There were fancy wine glasses placed on the table, and the biggest glass for Elijah the Prophet, filled with wine, was in the center of the table. There was also a set of ten traditional Pesach food products: a piece of bone meat, a hard-boiled egg, bitter greens, a saucer with salty water, etc., according to the rites. There were two seder ceremonies conducted on the first and second Pesach nights. My father wore white clothes and conducted the seder while reclining on cushions. We sat at the table and my father recited the Haggadah. He cut a piece of matzah into three and put one piece under a cushion. One of the children was to find this piece, the afikoman, and put it away to give it back to my father for a ransom. Of course, we also celebrated other holidays: Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Chanukkah and Purim. On Yom Kippur all the adults fasted for 24 hours. We spent a whole day at the synagogue and had dinner after we went back home in the evening. There was a big and beautiful synagogue in Tartu. Women were on the upper tier and men were downstairs. Many young people visited the synagogue. I also went to the synagogue with my parents. 

We spoke Yiddish at home and with other Jews. We spoke Estonian to Estonians. Before our evacuation I didn’t know a single Russian word. 

All Jewish children went to the Jewish school. At the time when David and Abram were at school, this was a Jewish gymnasium. After finishing the gymnasium they entered Tartu University. David studied at the Pharmaceutical Faculty, and Abram was a student at the Chemical Faculty. There was a students’ organization in Tartu, and it was called the Jewish Students’ Organization. Other students called its members yiddishists 7. Members of other associations didn’t approve of yiddishists. They believed that Jews were to adapt to the country they lived in rather than move to Israel. Of course, Zionists protested against it. 

I also went to the gymnasium. Later, it became a six-year Jewish school. After finishing the sixth grade, I went to the seventh grade in the Estonian gymnasium for girls, who mostly came from wealthy families. This was the best gymnasium in Tartu. The daughter of our landlord taught English over there. She convinced my parents to send me there. I was to study in the gymnasium for six years. My father had to pay for my education there twice a year and also, he bought my school uniform for me. He also had to pay for my younger brother’s studies. 

There were two Jewish organizations for young people: Hashomer Hatzair 8 and Betar 9. I was a member of Betar. The Trumpeldor [Betar] members were prepared for their future life in Israel. We were trained to be patriots of Israel. We had frequent gatherings. We were trained in vocations required for future settlers in Israel. We had lectures on Jewish history and were told about the life of Jews in Palestine. It was always interesting in Betar and we gladly attended it. There were also sport sections. I did swimming, gymnastics and skiing. There was Maccabi [see Maccabi World Union] 10, another Jewish organization for young people, and David was a member of this organization. He occasionally joined other students to take a day trip to Tallinn. There were good sporting activities, a gym and trainers, in Maccabi. 

There were many Jewish students in the Estonian gymnasium. After the Jewish gymnasium was closed many Jewish girls went to study at the Estonian gymnasium. The teachers and students had a friendly attitude toward us. I never once faced a single demonstration of anti-Semitism in all the years of my studies. 

By the time I was to finish the gymnasium my father was severely ill. My older brothers were still in university and the family had to pay for their education, while I had to work to support the family. Before my father fell ill he worked at the tannery, owned by a Jew called Uzhvanskiy. I went to work as an apprentice accountant at the factory and later became an accountant. After finishing the gymnasium my younger brother also went to work. My brother and I were hoping that when our older brothers graduated from university and went to work we would be able to continue our education, but we were disappointed. 

We knew that the fascists came to power in Germany in 1933. We knew that Hitler initiated the persecution of Jews. They were persecuted and dispossessed of their property. However, it was only after World War II, when we got to know that there were concentration camps where Jews were exterminated. 

In 1939, after Hitler’s effort to invade Poland [see Invasion of Poland] 11 failed, the USSR and Germany signed the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact 12. According to this pact, Estonia was to be under the influence of the USSR, referring to the complicated international situation which started the establishment of military bases in Estonia [see Estonia in 1939-1940] 13. Tartu was turned into a military settlers’ town. The military lived separately and hardly ever socialized with the locals. I was surprised that there were many Jewish soldiers and particularly, Jewish officers. A military career was closed for Jews in Estonia. Though there were no limitations for Jews in higher educational institutions, no Jews were admitted to military institutions. I remember that when the Soviet military settled down in Tartu, they started buying everything in the stores. We couldn’t even imagine how limited the assortment of goods in the USSR was, and that there were cards [see Card system] 14 for food products. We couldn’t understand this. I remember that Swiss watches were popular with the Soviet military, and they were buying numbers of them. It was hard to understand why one person needed so many watches. 

Soviet invasion of the Baltics

In 1940 rallies of workers began. They demanded work. They were organized by the Communist Party of Estonia. It was underground before 1939. The marchers went in columns and were accompanied by Soviet tanks. The government resigned after another wave of rallies. The new government dismissed the parliament and announced pre-term elections. Immediately after elections the new parliament addressed the USSR with the request to annex Estonia to the USSR. On 6thAugust 1940 Estonia became a Soviet Republic. 

The factory where I worked was nationalized. The owner was dismissed. At first they appointed a commissar [see Political officer] 15 to supervise the work until a new director was appointed. I remember the day when the Soviet forces entered the town. The director told us to leave work and go to the main square in Tartu. I also joined the rest. Soviet tank forces were entering the town. There were no protests or resistance. People knew that what was happening was inevitable, since the USSR was far too powerful. I didn’t care about policy and accepted the on-going events as a matter of fact. We hardly had any information about the USSR. Whatever little we knew was from the Soviet mass media calling the USSR the country of full democracy and equal rights for all people. We believed that there was no anti-Semitism, unemployment or political repressions in the Soviet Union and that all people enjoyed equal rights. 

Our family had no property and therefore, we didn’t loose anything. Of course, those whose property was nationalized by the new regime weren’t happy about it, but they didn’t dare to illustrate their unhappiness. Newcomers from the USSR were by no means shy and felt quite at home. 

Gradually food products and other commodities were disappearing from the stores. Estonia had never known lines in stores before. There were lines for butter, fish, sausages, socks and handkerchiefs. The Soviet currency was introduced. It became next to impossible to buy any imported or even local goods.

Some of the girls I knew started seeing Soviet military men and even married them. Our family had no contact with the Soviet newcomers. At work I mostly socialized with Jews and Estonians and our family acquaintances were mostly Jewish. 

14thJune 1941 was a terrible day in the history of Estonia. On this day, Soviet authorities deported Estonian residents [see Soviet Deportation of Estonian Civilians] 16. Our family avoided this horror. We weren’t wealthy and had no property or business of our own. However, we knew many people who were forced to leave their homes. An NKVD 17 truck arrived at their homes; they were given little time to pack their belongings and were taken to the railway station where trains were waiting to take them away. This action was well-organized. Many families were deported from Tartu. There were Jewish and Estonian deportees. It wasn’t their nationality that mattered, but their state of wealth and political views. This was a scary situation. I remember going to work one morning, when I heard that a few employees of the factory had been sent to exile. Everything was done in secret to prevent people from hiding away. 

During the war

On Sunday 22ndJune 1941, one week after the deportation, we heard that Hitler’s armies had attacked the Soviet Union without declaring war [see Great Patriotic War] 18. Molotov 19 announced on the radio that the war with Germany had begun, and that the Soviet Union would win. There were battles somewhere not too far away, and the following day we could already hear the artillery cannonade. 

Evacuation was prompt in Estonia. My parents didn’t consider evacuating. My father kept saying that we did no harm to anyone and that the Germans weren’t going to do anything evil. Most people thought Hitler wasn’t as bad as the Soviet propaganda had described him. Also, the deportation played a major role in people’s unwillingness to evacuate. They feared the Soviets more than the fascists and even more so, they waited for the Germans as their rescuers. 

Iosif was recruited to the army in the first days of the war. My other brothers stayed at home. On the morning of 5thJuly 1941, a boy brought us a note from my parents’ friends. They wrote that they were at the railway station and were on the last train to the rear of Russia, and that if we wanted to escape death we had to pack immediately and go to the station. We didn’t have time to pack or consider. We packed whatever was at hand. We hoped that the war wasn’t going to last long. We were sure that we would be home before winter and took no warm clothes with us. The railway station was crowded. There was a cattle freight train and we squeezed into a carriage. It was awful there. There were small windows high by the ceiling, and there were two-tier plank beds along the walls. The carriage was packed with people who were sitting on their bags and suitcases. Many of our acquaintances stayed in Tartu. They were hoping that by knowing German they would manage somehow. None of them survived the German occupation. 

All we knew about our point of destination was that it was in Russia. The train was continuously bombed on the way. During the raids by German planes the train stopped. People jumped off and scattered around trying to hide away. I stayed in the train during such air raids. I thought if I was to die it didn’t matter where I was, in the train or in a trench. And, as a matter of fact, no bomb or splinter hit our carriage. 

We arrived in Chuvashia [today Russia] and were taken to a kolkhoz 20. We were lodged in a room. Our landlady was a poor farmer. The room was dirty and smelly, and there were bugs. There was no food and we had to trade whatever belongings we had for food. The German forces were in the vicinity of Moscow [today Russia]. They were advancing promptly. We feared that they would soon reach where we were. Life was very hard, particularly because we didn’t know any Russian. 

Our acquaintances from Tartu decided to go to Almaty [today Kazakhstan]. They suggested that I go with them. I thought that after I found a job in Almaty I would be able to have the rest of my family join me. In the beginning I had to look for a job where my lack of knowledge of the Russian language was of no importance. I got jobs on farms or worked on road repairs. Gradually I learned to read and write in Russian. My neighbor was the railway station logistics manager, and his wife, a very kind woman, often helped me in a neighborly way. When I learned enough to talk with her she promised to talk to her husband and ask him whether he would find a job for me. I went to the HR department and the manager interviewed me. She said I had to improve my Russian language skills, but she trusted I might manage as I was. She offered me a position as a file controller in the railway office. I was to enter the information on movements of trains and materials assigned to the department. Of course, this work was difficult for me in the beginning. I had a German-Russian dictionary with me, and it helped me at first. 

My co-worker, who had evacuated from Russia, helped me. We shared a room which we rented from a landlady. I’m very grateful to this lady. She taught me how to generate the files and corrected my mistakes. I worked in the logistic department till the end of the war. Of course, I didn’t earn much. We received employee cards for 400 grams of bread per day. My salary was just enough to pay for this ration of bread. There was saw dust in this bread and it was under baked, which made it heavy. It looked more like a piece of clay. My food was bread and water. However strange it may seem I wasn’t slim. I was rather plump. I walked three kilometers to work. It was all right in summer, but in winter each day was painful. I had no winter clothes. My acquaintance gave me an old coat. It wasn’t warm, but it was better than nothing. As for shoes, it was a nightmare. I left home wearing sandals and I wore them all through the first winter. I walked on snow and ice in them. Perhaps, that’s why I have ill legs. The climate in Kazakhstan is better than in Estonia. The air is dry, and the summer heat or winter cold isn’t as unbearable as in Estonia. However, winter temperatures dropped to -30 or -40°C, and I was always freezing. 

The following winter I was given a coupon to get felt boots, and my feet were warm in them. When my sandals fell apart, I made cloth shoes with carton soles. Of course, there were clothes and shoes sold at the market, but I couldn’t afford them. What I earned was sufficient enough to pay for this rationed bread, but even this wasn’t always available. Sometimes it was replaced with little flour. Also, we gathered burdock leaves, cut them with a knife, mixed them with flour and baked flat breads on the red hot stove. We had no salt. Occasionally, we traded whatever we had or bread for salt at the market, and at times we just managed without salt. I never had one single bar of soap during the evacuation. It was too expensive at the market. We made a solution with stove char to wash ourselves, clothes and underwear. Of course, not all those in evacuation were as needy as we were. There were families of various bosses in Almaty. They had everything. They were well off even in the evacuation. I met one such family. They were a mother and daughter. They sympathized with me and invited me over for some food. They introduced me to two Estonians living in Almaty. Since then I didn’t feel so awfully lonely. 

I corresponded with my mother and brothers. There was no writing paper or envelopes. We wrote letters between the lines on newspaper pieces. Then we folded these sheets in triangles and wrote the address. There were no stamps required. The post office stamped the enveloped with ‘free’ stamps, and these letters reached their addresses. My mother wrote that both my brothers had been recruited to the army. They were in the Estonian Rifle Corps 21 to which my younger brother had already been recruited at the very beginning of the war. My father was severely ill even before the war. The hardships of evacuation were too much for him. He died in 1943. My mother was there all alone. She couldn’t move in with me. It was too complicated and so we lived apart throughout the wartime. My brothers also wrote to me from the front line. It was amazing that despite all this mess in the country the mailing system worked without fail. 

In late 1944 we heard that Estonia had been liberated from the fascists. Our spirits changed. We knew that the end of the war was close. On 9thMay 1945 Germany capitulated. This was a holiday for all. People rejoiced in the streets dancing and singing. I was eager to go back home, but to return to Tartu I needed a letter of invitation. My mother returned home, and my management wanted me to stay at work. They said that they had no replacement and tried to convince me to settle down in Almaty. My brother David sent me an invitation letter, but it was only after a few months that I managed to leave for home. 

After the war

When my mother returned to Tartu, she found other tenants in the apartment where we had lived before the war. Our belongings were gone. My mother lived in a smaller apartment in the same building where we had lived before the war. This was the very apartment she had lived in after her marriage. I lived with her. David married Sheina, a Jewish girl. After the wedding they moved to Tallinn. David worked as a pharmacist in a drugstore. After some time he was promoted as the drugstore manager. They had two daughters: Lea, the older one, born in 1950, and Rachel who was born in 1955. After the war my second brother stayed to serve in Germany. He returned in 1949. Abram married David’s wife’s cousin Sheina. Their only son Hari was born in 1958. Abram worked as a chemical engineer in the laboratory of the Tartu shoe factory. After finishing his service in the army Iosif entered a militia school. Upon graduation he was sent to work in Saaremaa. Iosif married twice. Both his wives were Estonian. His son Victor was from his first wife Ruth and was born in 1950. His second wife Aina gave him two children: daughter Liya, born in 1958, and son Ivar, born in 1960. 

All of my mother’s relatives living in Lithuania were killed by the Germans. Only my mother’s sister’s daughter Ida, if my memory doesn’t fail me, survived. She was married and had three children. Her family was in the Vilnius Ghetto 22. The Germans killed her husband and children. Ida was taken to a concentration camp. I don’t know how she managed to survive. When the camp was liberated, she didn’t want to go back to Lithuania where her family had been killed. She went to the USA. On the boat to the USA she met a man. He had lost his wife and children, too. They got married after they arrived in the USA. They corresponded with my mother, but after my mother’s death I didn’t keep in touch with my cousin. During the Soviet regime correspondence with relatives abroad wasn’t safe. Though I was no bigger than a common citizen, I was still afraid of having problems in this regard. I lost contact with my cousin. In the late 1980s my brother wrote to her, but his letter returned with the stamp ‘Undeliverable.’ She might have passed away, being ten years older than me. 

We knew that during the occupation, Estonians had helped the Germans identify and exterminate Jews. This was true, but we also knew that this wasn’t just hatred towards Jews that made them do this. If it hadn’t been for the deportation in 1941, and if people hadn’t been so afraid of the Soviet regime, they wouldn’t have waited for the Germans as their rescuers. Many of them were hoping that the Soviet regime would never be reestablished. At least, when we returned to Tartu, Estonians were very sympathetic towards us and tried to help as much as they could. 

When I was back in Tartu, I worked at the shoe factory, in the logistics department. I was an accountant and was later promoted as the logistics manager. My Russian language skills helped me with my work. I could also handle Russian documentation. There were few Jews in our department. 

In 1948 the campaign against ‘cosmopolitans’23 began in the USSR. Every day newspapers published articles blaming the rootless cosmopolites: scientists, writers and artists. They were full of Jewish surnames. If an artist or a writer had a pseudonym, they were sure to mention his or her original Jewish name. Those convicted of cosmopolitism lost their jobs and were sent to the Gulag 24. Many of them were sentenced to death and executed. The Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee 25 that made a great contribution into the victory over fascism during the war was eliminated. Solomon Mikhoels 26, a famous Jewish actor, perished. The official version stated that he died in a truck accident, but people were saying that it wasn’t an accidental death. These progressions were feeding anti-Semitism. In Estonia, anti-Semitism came about in 1940 after it was annexed to the USSR. In the beginning it existed on a common everyday level and was initiated by newcomers from the USSR, while in 1948 it acquired the state level ascendancy. I didn’t believe that those articles were published with the official authorities being unaware. I didn’t face any anti-Semitism at work. Most of my co-workers were Jewish and Estonian, and they had no friendly feelings toward the Soviet power. However, at the enterprises with Russian management employees faced anti-Semitism and were afraid of losing their jobs. 

In 1949 the second deportation of Estonian residents occurred. However, while the first deportation in 1941 involved Estonian residents despite their nationality, the second deportation was focused on Jews. Some people returned to Estonia from exile after the war. The Jews among them were deported again, including women and children. My niece’s mother-in-law Lia, who is living in the USA now, was deported twice, and she was just a child when this happened the first time. Of course, there are few of them living now, only those who were children at that time. This was terrible and one wouldn’t argue with that, but I do think that those who were deported had a chance to survive. Of course, the exile was hard, and the deportees were involved in wood cutting or other hard physical work and they were starving, but at least they weren’t shot at. Many died, but there were survivors as well while Hitler was killing all Jews, and the survivors were few, if any. That made a difference.

Of course, there was much discontent with the Soviet regime, but there were no open protests. The fear of the Soviet regime was very strong. After the Doctors’ Plot 27 initiated in January 1953 the anti-Semitism developed an official nature. There were many Jewish doctors in Estonia, and they were severely affected. I remember people talking at a polyclinic whether they should visit a Jewish doctor or not. It needs to be mentioned here that mostly such talks were heard from newcomers from the USSR, while the locals were quite neutral about it. 

After the Twentieth Party Congress 28, where Khrushchev 29 denounced Stalin’s crimes we had big hopes that our lives would change. Of course, there were no mass repressions or exiles, but everything else remained the same. We weren’t allowed to have contact with relatives abroad or observe Jewish traditions and celebrate Jewish holidays openly. Anti-Semitism didn’t disappear from our lives either. We faced it in everyday life and on the official level. 

At home we continued to observe Jewish traditions. Of course, we did it quietly and at home. There was no synagogue in Tartu after the war. It burned down during the war, and the local authorities made no effort to restore it afterwards. Abram, who was in Tartu, also observed Jewish traditions. Of course, it was difficult to follow the kashrut. Not only kosher, any other food products were hard to get. I think the card system in the country lasted till the late 1940s. We couldn’t celebrate Sabbath since Saturday was a working day in the USSR. Sunday was the day off. When my mother was alive, Abram and his family joined us on holidays. There were no places selling matzah and so we made it at home. Of course, we followed the rules of making matzah, there was to be a maximum of 18 minutes between making the dough and the actual baking. 

We made matzah long before Pesach. Abram’s wife Sheina joined us to make matzah. We had to make sufficient matzah for two families. There was no bread at home during the holiday. We only ate matzah. On the holiday my mother removed all chametz from the house, sweeping away all bread crumbs. Since we had no kosher dishes for a long time, my mother koshered our everyday utensils and dishes till we bought special utensils and dishes for Pesach. It was hard to buy food products for a fancy meal on Pesach in the first postwar years, but my mother managed somehow to buy chicken, fish and all the ingredients to make strudels. We enjoyed these holidays. My brother, his wife and son joined us. Abram conducted the seder according to the rites. On Yom Kippur we fasted and we also celebrated other Jewish holidays. Occasionally, my two other brothers, their wives and children visited us on holidays and this made the holiday twice as enjoyable. 

My mother died in 1961. We buried her in the Jewish cemetery in Tartu following the Jewish traditions. The Jewish cemetery wasn’t destroyed during the occupation. Not one grave was touched or a gravestone ruined. It existed through the duration of the Soviet regime, and it’s still there. After my mother’s death we celebrated all the holidays at my brother’s place. 

We also celebrated Soviet holidays: 1stMay, 7thNovember [October Revolution Day] 30, and Victory Day 31. Soviet holidays were days off. On the eve of a holiday we had a celebration at work. Soviet parades on Soviet holidays were traditional, so we went to parades, and in the evening we had a party at my home or at one of my colleagues place. We were young and grabbed any occasion to have fun. We didn’t care so much about the subject of the holiday, but just enjoyed getting together to make some nice food, dance and laugh. However, Victory Day was a really great holiday. On that day we celebrated having survived this horrible war which took so many lives, remembered our relatives and dear ones, who had fallen victims to this war. This holiday combined joy and grief. 

Another family shared the apartment with us. They were Jews from Tartu: a man, his wife and their son. They had returned from evacuation. Their house had burned down, and they had no place to live. Before I returned, my mother had invited them to stay with her till they found a place to live. I don’t know whether they failed to find a place or they never looked for one, but when I returned to Tartu, they were still living in our apartment. After my mother arrived she received a one-bedroom apartment, but considering the new lodgers, we happened to live in a shared apartment: my mother and I lived in one room, and this other family had another room to themselves. I felt very uncomfortable about it. I couldn’t invite friends or do whatever household chores I chose on my weekends. 19 years passed like this: 1945 through to 1964, when I finally received a one-room apartment in the center of the town, from my workplace. 

I went on business trips to Tallinn where I met with my older brother. I always listened to his advice and accepted his support. David died in Tallinn in 1976. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn. He had a traditional Jewish funeral. After his death I continued having a good relationship with his family. Iosif died at the age of 52 in 1972. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery, and his wife Aina was buried near him. Abram died in 1992 and was buried near my mother in the Jewish cemetery in Tartu. 

In the 1970s mass Jewish emigration to Israel began. Many of my friends and relatives moved and I sympathized with them though I was happy to hear that their life was improving in the new location, but I never considered departure. I was alone and had no husband or children. Why would I depart? I had relatives and friends here. If I had a family I would have considered relocation, having close people with me. Of course, I had acquaintances in Israel, but I wouldn’t necessarily live where they lived. Besides, they had their families and their own lives. So why go to another country? I earned my living here: I had a job, and an apartment. So, I decided against departure. 

David’s wife tried to convince me to move to Tallinn. I had many friends who had moved there for various reasons. They also told me to move to Tallinn, and finally in 1978 I decided to move here. I traded my apartment in Tartu for one in Tallinn. When I was moving into my apartment in Tartu I promised myself that I would never live in a shared apartment again, but I didn’t keep my word. I traded my apartment in Tartu for one room in a two-room apartment in Tallinn. I share this apartment with an elderly lady. She is also single, and we don’t disturb one another. This is where I live now. 

After I moved to Tallinn I went to work at the Tallinn shoe factory. They knew me at the factory since I’d visited the factory before on my business trips. I worked there till I turned 72 years of age. My colleagues were very good to me. Despite my age they kept me at work and were convincing me to keep working as long as I could manage. I liked my work, but after the breakup of the USSR [1991] this factory was closed like many other enterprises. So I retired after this factory was liquidated.

In the 1980s David’s daughters and their families moved to the USA. I correspond with them, and they call me every now and then. Hari, Abram’s son, lives in Tallinn. Iosif’s children left Saaremaa. Lia lives in Foru village and Ivar lives in Talevere near Tartu. They live in villages. We also keep in touch. Hari often comes to see me, and Ivar and Lia frequently visit me. Ivar calls me every week. I spend my summers in Talevere village. My nephews and nieces like me a lot. Every year they drive me to the cemetery in Tartu. We leave on Saturday, spend a night in Tartu and then go to the cemetery in the morning. We clean up the graves and remember our dear ones.

When I was younger I liked traveling. I went on vacations and visited all distant parts of the USSR. I even took trips abroad. I bought these holiday packages from the trade unions at work. I visited Poland, Germany and Bulgaria. I received a small salary, but food and utility services were inexpensive in the USSR, so I didn’t spend much. 

The perestroika

When perestroika 32 began in the USSR, I had a lot of trust in Gorbachev 33. Life was changing rapidly. The ban on religion was lifted, there were many new books published, and newspapers published a lot of new information. There were interesting TV programs. It was allowed to travel abroad and invite friends and relatives from abroad. I went to visit my nieces in the USA. The Jewish community of Estonia 34 was established during perestroika. This was the first officially registered Jewish community in the USSR. This was a new development for us at the time, but now I wouldn’t imagine my life without our community. 

It’s hard to describe my feelings about the breakup of the USSR. On the one hand, after Estonia declared independence [see Reestablishment of the Estonian Republic] 35, and particularly, when it joined the EU, life became more expensive. There is everything in the stores, but pensioners can’t afford to buy these products. On the other hand, I remember that life wasn’t bad during the period of the First Estonian Republic. Our country can build up its own life without any directions. Besides, we, pensioners, know that despite all hardships, our government cares about us. I understand that there will be no immediate improvement. My eyes will not witness these changes, but maybe my nieces and nephews and their children will enjoy these improvements. I’m still happy this happened. This new era gives possibilities to the younger generation. What might I want considering my age? Health, but it’s gone, unfortunately. Recently our government issued the law, according to which all those who had been evacuated would have their pensions increased, and one year of work in the evacuation would be equal to three years of work experience. So I have nine years plus my job experience, and next time I will receive a significantly higher pension. Regretfully, there are very few of us left. 

The Jewish community helps me a lot. Of course, my life would be much harder, if it wasn’t for them. I used to have lunches in our community diner, but now it’s hard for me to walk. I have an artificial hip limb plus a number of diseases, but I don’t feel like talking about it. I rarely leave home. I go to the nearest store or bank to pay for utility services, and I spend the rest of my time at home. Now I have dinners delivered here every other day, and all I have to do is heat the food. The food is delicious and the choice is good. A cleaning lady visits me three times a month. Of course, I try to keep my home clean, but it’s difficult for me to do the general cleanup. The community helps me pay for heating in winter and they also pay for my medications whenever there is a possibility. I’m very grateful for what they do for me. I know there are other needy people. The community cares about me. They often call me asking whether I need something. They don’t only do everything to give us sufficient food, but also, help us not to feel lonely. Loneliness is terrible, much worse than material or health problems. 

Our community opened a synagogue on the second floor of their building, and we have a rabbi now. It also started the construction of a new synagogue. It’s so very unfortunate that I can’t attend community events: they celebrate all birthdays once each month. They have parties and give birthday presents. This is so very moving since some people have nobody even to congratulate them. I’m fortunate to have friends. They are the few friends left. My current friends are much younger than me, but we always have things to talk about. Thank God, my mind is still all right. I watch TV, read newspapers and books and listen to the radio. I like laughing. I was teased a lot in my childhood for laughing when it was unsuitable or quite out of place. I don’t know why God has granted me such a long life. My dear ones died when they were relatively young. My mother died at 68, David at 62, Abram at 76, and Iosif at 52. Maybe I live whatever years were meant for them. Or, perhaps, laughter makes life longer, who knows!

Glossary:

Maria Sorkina
Tallinn
Estonia
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: June 2005

When the Estonian community suggested that I interview Maria Sorkina and mentioned that she was 104 years old, my first response was to refuse. I just couldn’t believe that a person of this age could speak logically. Even on my way to her house I was still thinking that this whole thing was a bad idea. However, when I saw Maria, I was surprised. The only sign of her age is that Maria has a problem walking. She has to move around in a wheel-chair. Maria is a short and slender lady. Her hair is nicely done, and she puts on lipstick. She wore a black skirt and a snow white blouse with lace and an ancient brooch on the collar. Maria lives alone. A visiting nurse attends to her in the morning and evening, the rest of the time Maria does things about the house. She told me that even in her childhood she tried to be independent. It’s amazing how she can manage alone. She spends a lot of time reading. There are Russian and Estonian newspapers, magazines and books on her table. She’s interested in everything that’s going on in the world. Maria’s memory and conversance are amazing. Roni, her niece, her older sister’s daughter, often visits her. From what I saw, she loves her auntie dearly. One could tell that she wasn’t visiting her merely out of a sense of duty. Maria is an interesting conversant and a terrific personality.

My family background

Growing up

The Soviet Invasion of the Baltics

During the war

After the war

Glossary

My family background

I have hardly any information about my father. My father came from a small Jewish town in Lithuania. His parents also lived in Lithuania. We never met them. I know that my father, Efrayim Kaplan, was born in 1862, but I don’t remember the place. My paternal grandfather was a kohen. It goes without saying that the family was religious. My father received Jewish education. He studied in a cheder and knew Hebrew. He could read and write Hebrew well. I don’t know whether my father had any secular education. When he grew up, he moved to Latvia. He moved to a small town near Aluksne [today Latvia] [about 200km from Riga]. My father took to commerce, but I know no details.

My mother’s family lived in a small town in Latvia. I didn’t know my maternal grandfather, but I can remember my grandmother. My mother told me that my grandmother was very beautiful when she was young. She came from a poor family, and wasn’t quite the match for my grandfather, whose family was wealthier. My grandfather was working and had his own house at that time. His family was hoping that he would marry a girl from a wealthy family. However, my grandfather fell in love with the beautiful girl he met once and married her despite his family’s protests. My grandparents’ last name was Gelbart. There were five sons and five daughters in the family. They inherited their mother’s beauty. I knew almost all of my aunts and uncles, but I can’t remember all their names. The oldest one was Isaac. Then came Abram, then another brother, whom I only know from what my mother told me. Next was Leopold. Then my mother was born in 1867. Everybody addressed her by the Russian name of Ida [see Common name] 1. Her Jewish name was Ite-Bashe. I only remember Aunt Mariasha of all my mother’s sisters. My grandmother was a housewife. The family was close and nice. The children helped their parents and were raised to be hard-working and kind. They were strong, beautiful and big.

My maternal grandparents were a traditional Jewish family. All the children were given Jewish education, and this was mandatory. They also received secular education. The family was wealthy, and all the children finished a gymnasium. My mother studied at a German gymnasium for girls. Latvians spoke fluent German, and my mother also knew the language. She didn’t know Latvian that well, but she could explain herself well. At home my mother’s family only spoke Yiddish. They celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays. My mother and her siblings grew up religious people.

My uncles took to commerce, when they grew up. They were married and had children. My mother’s younger brother went to Switzerland to continue his studies after finishing the gymnasium. His older brothers and parents supported him financially. After finishing his studies he moved to Poland. He corresponded with his family, but in 1939 this correspondence was terminated. This is all I know about him.

Some of my mother’s brothers had their own businesses, and the others worked for their employers. They were quite wealthy. My mother’s sisters were married. I don’t remember the names of any of my uncles’ or aunts’ spouses. The husbands worked, and the wives were housewives. Only Mariasha, the youngest sister, wasn’t married. She died young. The others were well-off. They had children, and big families, were religious and observed Jewish traditions. In the late 1910s my three cousin sisters, Uncle Isaac’s children, moved to Palestine. They were active Zionists [see Revisionist Zionism] 2, and were the first ones to leave Latvia. They wanted to restore the Jewish state. My uncle was reluctant to let them go, but they were determined and managed to convince him to agree. They corresponded with their family. I also corresponded with one of them until a while ago. In Israel she got married and had two children. She had grandchildren and great grandchildren. A few years ago our correspondence stopped. I don’t know what happened to her or if she is still alive. Anyway, it’s been difficult for me to write letters lately.

My father wanted to get married. My mother told me that somebody introduced my father to her, but I don’t know whether these were matchmakers or their acquaintances. My mother was a beautiful girl, and my father liked her at once. My mother’s parents approved of her choice, and they got married soon. They had a traditional Jewish wedding. There was a rabbi and a chuppah. Everything was according to the rules. The wedding party was arranged in the town where my mother’s parents lived. My mother was the oldest daughter. Everybody loved her so much. My grandfather did his best to organize a beautiful wedding party for my mother. She showed me her wedding photographs when I was a child, and I remember the beautiful wedding gown she had worn. There were flounces, and there was a long tail which two girls carried.

After the wedding my parents settled down in Aluksne, Latvia. Latvia belonged to Russia then. There was a Jewish Pale of Settlement 3, according to which Jews were required to obtain special permits to live in bigger towns. Aluksne was beyond the Pale of Settlement. My parents rented an apartment. The tsarist laws didn’t allow Jewish residents to build or own houses or any real estate property. Wealthier Jews evaded the law, though. They built houses and made their Russian or Latvian acquaintances their official owners. Initially my father was thinking of building a house for his family, but later he changed his mind. If he couldn’t be its official owner, then it wasn’t worth it, particularly if something went wrong. If he died, for example, then his family might become homeless since nobody would pay them the cost of the house. Anyway, our family was doing well, and we could afford to rent four or five-room apartments.

In Aluksne my father went to work for the leather/fur factory. The factory was in another town, and my father was to supply raw materials there. There was a forest which started at the boundary of the town, and there were foxes, squirrels and hares in the woods. Hunters didn’t require special permits. My father bought skin from hunters. He was well-respected for his decency. He never tried to get down the price. The hunters trusted him and willingly worked with him. When there was a sufficient amount of skin, my father transported them to the factory by train. My father was doing well. My mother was a housewife. We had a good childhood. My father provided well for us. Aluksne was a beautiful town. There was a nice park and a big lake in the town. In summer we bathed in the lake and lay in the sun. My childhood was a wonderful and careless one.

Growing up

There were five of us in the family. The oldest was my brother Sahne, born in 1898. He was called by the Russian name of Sasha at home, and he was the only son. My older sister Rosa, Jewish name Reizl, was born in 1900. I was born in 1901. Aunt Mariasha died shortly before I was born, and I was named after her. Perhaps, besides having her name, I also gained the years which she had never lived. Later, I was called Maria and Masha. Revekka was born in 1903, and Raya, the youngest one, was born in 1905. If my memory doesn’t fail me, Raya’s Jewish name was Rachel. My mother spent most of her time with us, and a housemaid did the housework. My mother also cooked. I had a wonderful childhood. My loving father and caring mother were always there. We had a quiet and sweet life together. There were no conflicts, and the atmosphere was very agreeable. How good it was!

When our family moved to Aluksne, there were 20-25 Jewish families living in the town. There were no synagogues or prayer houses. Jews didn’t get together for prayers. They prayed in their homes. When my father’s business improved, he rented a house to make a prayer house in it. Since then Jews came for a minyan to pray in the house. My father also bought a handwritten Torah and gave it to the community. It was kept in the prayer house. My father was a kohen, head of the Jewish community. My father took on the rabbi’s responsibilities. He organized a cheder for boys. He contributed a lot to the community and was well-respected for it. People said that they had finally started living like Jews, thanks to my father. Jews in Aluksne still remember my father and say many good words about him. Latvian residents respected him a lot as well. He was very honest and never used receipts or acquittance in his business. His word was enough, people said, when giving him money. He always followed the terms of payment, and there were no delays. If somebody had a problem, he asked my father to mediate for him, and my father managed this mission well. He was very kind, and he never refused to help people, when they needed it. People never said anything but good things about him.

My father dressed like any other religious Jew. He wore black suits and a black hat. He had beautiful thick black hair and a neatly cut moustache. I remember asking him once why he always wore a hat and he replied that he wanted his children to know that he was a Jew and that they were Jews too. My mother was very beautiful and liked to dress up. She wore dark brown or chestnut color dresses. They suited her well. Her clothes were cut to fashion. She didn’t wear a wig. She had beautiful thick dark chestnut hair which was always nicely done. She backcombed it above her forehead and wore it in a knot at the back of her head. When going out, my mother wore a normal or fur hat, according to the season. She had lovely hats. She wore a nice heavy silk shawl to go to the prayer house.

My mother spoke German and Latvian, and my father could speak fluent Russian. However, at home we only spoke Yiddish. At times my mother announced a day of the German language. She did it to improve our language skills.

My older brother Sahne studied in a cheder. At the age of 13 he had his bar mitzvah. My father organized a big celebration on this day. There were many guests. My father gave him a tallit and tefillin. There was no cheder for girls 4 in Aluksne. During summer vacations our father invited a Jewish teacher for us. My sister and I studied in Yiddish. I remember how I cheated on our teacher once. I started reading a prayer, when I realized that I knew this prayer by heart. When our family sat at the table for meals, my father used to recite a prayer over the bread and I knew these prayers by heart. So I continued reciting the prayer, and my teacher called for my father to hear how good at reading I was. Later, I confessed to him, but I remember this moment.

We observed all Jewish traditions at home. My mother followed the kashrut strictly. Perhaps, for this reason she cooked herself. Our Latvian servant washed and peeled the vegetables, and my mother took care of the cooking. She was a brilliant housewife. I’ve never tried anything close to her gefilte fish, or teyglakh, my favorite, which was little balls of tight dough made with eggs, with a bit of lemon juice and citron. All of us liked teyglakh, and my mother often made it. It was always served, when we had guests, boiled in honey with spices. My mother observed the kosher rules [kashrut] strictly. We had specific utensils for meat and dairy products. If there was meat on the table, nobody would even think of putting butter there. We even had separate dish washing sponges.

Every Thursday there was a big market in Aluksne. We bought eggs, butter, sour cream and cottage cheese at the market. The same farmer delivered the dairy products to our home. There was a jar for sour cream and the money was left in the kitchen in the morning. He picked the empty jar and left another jar of sour cream, butter and cottage cheese. Farmers brought chicken and fish to the market knowing that Jews needed these products for their festive dinner on Friday. The chickens were taken to the shochet, and he also sold kosher meat. He bought calves from farmers, cut the meat and sold it to Jews. My mother used to bake bread before a Jewish bakery opened in Aluksne. She then bought bread and bagels from there. We liked warm and fresh bagels for breakfast. This bakery also sold very delicious challah for Sabbath.

We celebrated Sabbath on Saturday evening. My mother cooked food for two days. She left the pot with cholent in the oven. When the time came, she lit candles and said a prayer over them. I remember the high silver candle stands that we had. When my father came home, the family sat down for dinner. My father recited the first prayer over the bread, and blessed the food before we started eating. We were sure to have gefilte fish. I still like it. My father didn’t work on Saturday, and my mother did no housework on this day.

We celebrated all Jewish holidays. Before Pesach we did a general clean-up, and the children also helped. Matzah was delivered from Vilnius [today Lithuania] and other places. Usually, we bought matzah. I remember one Pesach, when for some reason no matzah had been supplied. My mother made arrangements with our neighbors, and they baked matzah together. Someone made and rolled the dough, and someone else watched the stove. At other times we had a few big baskets full of matzah delivered to our place. There was sufficient matzah to last through the holidays. There was no bread to be eaten on this holiday. There was always some matzah left after the holiday, and we liked having one bite or another of it. My mother made sure that all of her utensils and dishes were kosher. We had two sets: one for meat products, and another for dairies. We also had special utensils and dishes for Pesach. After the holiday it was stored in a cupboard, and my mother didn’t allow us to open it. My father believed that it was better to have silver tableware. My father liked silver and spent a lot of money on it. We had silver tableware, cups and tea accessories, for Pesach stored in a box. Pesach silverware was also very beautiful. We had silver cups for wine, nice plates and dishes.

My parents were sure to go to the synagogue on Pesach, and they took the children with them. My father and brother went to the men’s quarters, and my mother and I went to a special room for women. My father conducted the seder on Pesach. Our home was so beautiful on Pesach! I’ve never seen anything like our home, or such a beautiful seder. The family got together in the living room where we usually received guests. My mother covered the table with our most beautiful tablecloth. All the lamps were on, and the light reflected in the silverware. It was bright and very beautiful. This is one of the brightest memories of my childhood. My father wore white clothes and reclined on cushions. My brother posed the four traditional questions. We followed all the rituals, including the afikoman and singing Pesach songs. There was the biggest and most beautiful silver cup with wine for Elijah the Prophet. We had smaller cups. The door was kept open for the Prophet. Children commonly played with walnuts. Each of us had many walnuts on Pesach, I remember.

On Yom Kippur we had the Kapores ritual. However, we used money for the ritual. It was then given away for charity. My parents fasted for 24 hours on Yom Kippur. They didn’t eat or drink anything. The children didn’t eat till lunch, but we could have something to drink, of course. When we turned eleven or twelve years old, we were to fast like the adults. On Yom Kippur our parents stayed at the synagogue praying, and the children could visit them there, and when they grew tired, they could go back home. We laid the table before our parents came back home. Our parents had coffee and took some rest before the family sat down for dinner. We also celebrated Rosh Hashanah, Sukkot, Chanukkah, Purim and Simchat Torah. It’s a pleasure to recall them. We had a good Jewish home. There was never a rude word said. Never! Once I heard somebody saying ‘Damn it!’ in the street. I liked it and once it slipped off my tongue in my mother’s presence. I remember how it upset her, and she took quite some time to explain to me that such things were never to be spoken out, and it never happened again.

At the age of seven I visited my mother’s home town. I don’t remember the town. My grandmother notified my mother that my grandfather was dying and wanted to see his children. She took us with her so that my grandfather could see his grandchildren. All I remember is that we had to cross a river on a boat, and Revekka was scared and she cried. I was very proud of not being afraid. I don’t remember my grandfather, but I remember my grandmother. She looked stunning: young and beautiful. She was a tall, slender and beautiful lady. Her dark hair with streaks of gray was nicely done. Later, she used to visit us and look after the children, when my mother needed to go to a resort where she received treatment for her legs which she had problems with.

My father wanted us to get a good education. All of us went to the German gymnasium. My father paid our education fees willingly. I wouldn’t say we were ever spoiled in our childhood. We had sufficient food and clothes, but nothing extra. At some point in time my father’s business went bad. Hunters had to obtain licenses for ground game hunting from the forestry office. The license was rather expensive. There wasn’t a lot of skin available. The family income decreased, but we continued our studies in the German gymnasium. My older brother worked with my father after finishing the gymnasium.

In 1914 World War I began. My parents decided to send Rosa and me to my mother’s relatives in Yaroslavl [today Russia]. My mother’s older brothers had moved there from Lithuania and her younger brother from Poland had also moved there. My parents didn’t want us to miss the start of the year in the gymnasium, and therefore, we were the first to go there. My parents and younger sisters were to join us later. My brother was recruited to the army after finishing the gymnasium. Rosa and I stayed with my uncles. My sister and I could speak a little Russian, and our Russian improved soon after. Children have no problem with languages. My sister and I went to a Russian gymnasium. We had studied German and Latvian previously, but in this gymnasium the second language was French. Wealthier families also spoke French at home. I was good at French as well. I wish I had finished learning it. The situation changed, and my parents didn’t have to leave Latvia. Besides, they didn’t quite like traveling. One year later we returned home. We studied another year in Aluksne, and then Rosa and I went to the school with a medical class in Riga [today Latvia]. The children studied Latin and Greek in this school. After finishing her studies Rosa went to the Dental Faculty of Tartu University. I was going to follow into her footsteps after finishing my studies.

I always wanted to be independent, even though I came from a wealthy family. My parents provided well for me, but I never felt comfortable asking them for pocket money. When I studied in the gymnasium, I helped junior pupils with their studies and was paid for these classes. I also started a diary where I put down my plans and considerations. I wrote in capital letters on page 1: ‘Become independent and never depend on anyone!’ and underlined the phrase. This was my goal in life. The ordinary Jewish girl’s life of getting married and becoming a housewife wasn’t for me. They were dependent on their husbands and even if they wanted to change their life, they couldn’t do it without an education or vocation. This kind of life definitely wasn’t for me. I always wanted to be independent, and I still follow this principle. I’ve always earned my living and could do whatever I wanted with my money.

I remember 1917, when the revolution [see Russian Revolution of 1917] 5 in Russia took place. There was constant fear. When we heard somebody coming in through the front door, our hearts skipped a beat. One day three Bolsheviks 6 came into our house. The children were already in their beds. They declared that they were going to search our apartment. They found nothing, and went to search the basement and the shed in the yard. My sisters and I grabbed something to wear and went outside. We were standing there crying watching these people. One of them felt sorry for us. He told us that we weren’t supposed to stand on the cold ground with bare feet, and then they left. There were no more such visits. Then Latvia became independent [see Latvian Independence] 7.

Most of my friends were Jewish. My parents had many acquaintances. Jewish families were big and we had many friends. My Russian and Latvian schoolmates were also my friends. My parents never told me not to have Russian or Latvian friends. My best friend was also Jewish. She died young. She fell severely ill one day and I spent a whole evening by her bed. In the morning, when I got up and saw the pitiful eyes of my family, I knew she had passed away. She had died at night. This was my first loss of a close person. There was no Jewish cemetery in Aluksne. My friend’s parents buried her in the Jewish cemetery in another town 20 kilometers from Aluksne.

After finishing the gymnasium I entered the Dental Faculty of Tartu University. It took me no time to pick up Estonian. At first, my knowledge of German and Russian was good, before I started speaking Estonian quite fluently.

Sahne started his own business and got married. He had a traditional Jewish wedding. Sahne and his family lived in Aluksne. His wife’s name was Natasha. She also had a Jewish name, which I can’t remember. They had two children: a son, Menahem, and a daughter. I don’t remember the daughter’s name.

When I was a student at Tartu University, my father had to quit his job due to his health condition. I also earned to pay for my studies by helping my co-students and giving classes to them. Rosa, who had graduated and worked as a dentist, sent me some pocket money. Rosa got married in 1925. Her husband, Efrayim Shein, lived in the Estonian town of Valga, near the Latvian border [150km from Riga]. They met in a train, and Efrayim proposed to Rosa shortly after. His family was religious. Efrayim’s great-grandfather and his great-grandfather’s father were rabbis. His family observed all Jewish traditions. Rosa had a traditional Jewish wedding. After the wedding she moved to Valga, where she worked as a dentist. Efrayim dealt in forestry. Rosa, her husband and I were very close.

My father died in 1927. We didn’t want to bury him in a common cemetery in Aluksne. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Valga, where Rosa and her husband lived. It was a traditional Jewish funeral. There was a gravestone installed on his grave. After the funeral my older brother tried to convince my mother to live with him and his family, but she didn’t want to stay in Aluksne. She moved from her daughters in Riga, to Rosa in Valga. She also visited me, when I went to work.

I graduated from university in 1925. After university I worked as a dentist in Tartu for some time before I received a job offer in Sigulda [today Latvia], a resort town where I worked before getting married. I met my future husband, David Sorkin, at Tartu University. David’s family lived in Tartu. He had two brothers: Shulim and another brother, who was called Mulia in the family. I don’t remember his full name. David also had a younger sister. Her name was Inna. David was born in Tartu in 1903. He studied at the Medical Faculty of Tartu University. We met at a lecture. These lectures were given in German at David’s Faculty, and in Russian at ours. Some students, whose German wasn’t good enough, attended Russian lectures at our faculty. Later, he told me that he had noticed me and had asked someone about me. I liked him a lot. We used to see each other at student balls, but these were just instances of meetings.

He found me in Sigulda. I was receiving my patients, when I noticed that one man in the queue was sitting there letting everybody else go before him. When he came into my office he said he was happy to find me. He came to see me over weekends. Then he proposed to me. David lived in Tyrve where he went on a job assignment upon his graduation from university. I didn’t think about getting married. I had a job and earned my own living and I liked it. I had an apartment and money. My relatives often visited me. My mother also stayed on longer visits with me. I was in no hurry to get married. However, David didn’t give up. He kept visiting and convincing me to become his wife until I finally gave him my consent. Rosa and Efrayim arranged my wedding. They had a house in Valga and Rosa convinced me to have my wedding party there. I didn’t want a large wedding ceremony, but Rosa insisted that we did. She arranged a big wedding for us in summer 1933. A rabbi conducted the ceremony. There was a chuppah at my sister’s home. I didn’t know all the guests. The wedding party was very good. After the wedding I went to live with my husband in Tyrve. David was a general practitioner, and I opened a dental clinic. We were doing well. My husband was a very kind and intelligent man. We got along well, and were very much in love.

I was the last one to get married. My younger sisters were already married. Revekka worked as a dental technician after finishing a training course. She married a doctor from Riga in 1927 and moved in with him. Everybody called him Doctor Rivlin, and that is how I remember him. Revekka and her husband had two children. Our youngest sister Raya married Kolia Gorosh, a trader from Riga, in the early 1930s. I don’t remember his Jewish name. Their daughter, Efros, was born in 1936. My older sister Rosa’s only daughter Roni was born in 1936. I was very attached to my nieces and nephews.

In 1931 I went on a trip to Paris. I heard that my acquaintances were going to spend their summer in Paris and I joined them. I still remember this trip. It was like a fairy-tale. I always worked very hard, but during the Soviet times a trip like this would have never happened. In hard times I told myself that I had managed to take a trip to Paris and have wonderful memories of it. I spent a lot of time in the Louvre. Some pictures and sculptures in the Louvre are engraved in my memory. I’m still in awe when I think about them. How grand the human being is and how much one can do! What sculptures and pictures have been created! I often recall one picture with a sitting man blessing his son. I can see the hands of the old man, labored and with seemingly varicose veins. I often see these hands and the old man before me, as if it was yesterday. I’m so happy I had an opportunity to see this, and that I have my memories. I think that traveling to see pieces of art is the only thing that makes life worthwhile. One must travel and see these things, and one must work for his soul besides working for the stomach. I’ve traveled to Dresden, Berlin and Italy. It isn’t worth working hard to earn money and spend it all on food. It’s necessary to feed the soul and mind besides one’s own body. I thank God for having had this opportunity to travel around. The memory of what I saw is in my heart.

I like Estonia and its quiet and friendly people. There was no anti-Semitism, though my patients never cared whether their doctor was Jewish or not, as long as he or she could help them to get rid of their problems. I never faced any anti-Semitic demonstrations beyond my office either. People value each other for their merits rather than nationality.

My husband and I grew up in religious families and observed Jewish traditions. If my husband had no patients in the evening, he went to the synagogue. I waited for him having dinner ready. We also celebrated Sabbath. I lit candles like my mother did. We tried to skip work on Saturday, though it happened that my husband or I had to go to work on emergency calls. We celebrated Jewish holidays. I learned to cook traditional Jewish food from my mother, and I enjoyed cooking these dishes. On holidays my husband and I went to the synagogue. We kept doing what we were used to since childhood. It was important for us to have a Jewish home.

The Soviet Invasion of the Baltics

When the fascists led by Hitler came to power in 1933, I didn’t pay much attention to it. Germany was far away, and we had our own lives. I remember my mother visiting me at this time. She read newspapers and liked telling me the news. I didn’t like reading newspapers. I was busy at work, and I didn’t care about politics. I preferred fiction, if I had spare time. I remember how my mother was worried saying, ‘This crazy Hitler! He persecutes Jews!’ It never occurred to me that he would expand his ambitions beyond Germany. When in 1939 Hitler’s forces attacked Poland [see Invasion of Poland] 8, I realized that the threat was getting closer to our borders. Fortunately, it ended promptly then, when Germany and the Soviet Union signed the Cooperation and Non-Aggression Pact [see Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact] 9. The Soviet military bases established in Estonia in 1939 [see Estonia in 1939-1940] 10 didn’t bother me. I worked and had a home and a husband, and didn’t care about politics. The establishment of the Soviet regime in Estonia in 1940 [Occupation of the Baltic Republics] 11 didn’t affect me either. My husband and I continued to work. We rented an apartment as we did before.

Shortly before the Soviet regime was established, my husband was thinking of buying an apartment, but fortunately, we didn’t do it. Anyway, if we had an apartment, the Soviets would have nationalized it. So, hardly anything changed in our lives, but it was different with my beloved Rosa and her family. Rosa’s family was wealthy. They owned a house. Rosa converted one room into her dentist office where she received her patients. The Soviets nationalized Rosa and her husband’s property, and also, Rosa’s equipment from her office. It was given to the budget clinic. However, Rosa got a job in this same clinic. Efrayim lost his job. The wealthier people, whose property the state had nationalized, were called ‘hostile elements’ and ‘enemies of people’ [see Enemy of the people] 12. My husband and I had no property or real estate and we escaped repression. Later fear came into our lives. Fear was everywhere. People were afraid of arrests and searches. Everybody knew the procedure. If the NKVD 13 wanted to eliminate someone, they often waited for the person near their home. They captured people on their way home. His family often didn’t even know what had happened. Just somebody never came home from work. That was it. Of course, later it became clear what was happening, but at that stage arrests weren’t so numerous.

The 14th of June 1941 is a horrific day in the history of Estonia. This was the day of deportation [see Deportations from the Baltics (1940-1953)] 14. One week before the war began Soviet authorities started the deportation of ‘hostile elements’ from Estonia. That day 10,000 people were deported to camps and were sent into exile. I think, this was just the beginning, and if it hadn’t been for the war, there would be many more victims of this act. Rosa’s family was also deported from Valga. Her husband Efrayim was taken to the Gulag 15, and Rosa and her five-year-old daughter Roni, were sent into exile to Siberia. This was done secretly and happened early in the morning. I heard about the deportation, when I got to work in the morning.

When I returned home in the evening, my mother told me about my sister. She somehow knew about it. We were shocked. I don’t remember how I got the information about the trains taking those people to Siberia. I took all the money we had at home, some clothes and food and went to the station where these trains were to stop. I was lucky. The train stopped. There were many other people from different parts of Estonia. They had come to see their dear ones. I was running around asking whether somebody knew where the Shein family was. Somebody showed me their carriage. I saw Rosa and gave her the package. Efrayim’s younger brother Herz Shein’s wife and their daughter Irene were also on this train. Men were taken by different trains. Their wives didn’t know that the train routes were different. My sister was hoping that her husband was being taken to the same destination where they could reunite. Rosa and I exchanged a few words before the train started taking my sister to the new and horrible life, full of hardships, losses and humiliation.

During the war

One week later, on Sunday 22nd June 1941 Hitler’s Germany, having violated the Non-Aggression Treaty crossed the border of the USSR without declaring war. The Great Patriotic War 16 began.

Shortly afterward the evacuation began. In Tyrve we were the only Jewish family. We couldn’t make up our minds about whether we should stay or go. My husband was in an inner conflict, because his relatives in Tartu couldn’t make up their minds about whether they should go or stay either. My husband’s parents, two brothers and their families and his sister lived in Tartu. He telephoned them every day, and every day they expressed a different opinion. My mother insisted that we depart as soon as possible. What she had read about the Crystal Night 17 in Germany and the extermination of Jews in Poland had a morbid effect on her, and she never expected anything good from the Germans. Finally my husband and I went to my husband’s relatives in Tartu to have a final discussion with them. We found that their front door was locked. My husband had a key. He opened the door and saw that they must have packed their belongings in haste. He realized his relatives had evacuated. He finally made up his mind about us. We left the following day. My brother and younger sisters refused to join us, however hard I tried to convince them to go with us. They perished during the occupation. There were no survivors in the three families. My brother and his family were killed in Aluksne, and my sisters and their families perished in the Riga ghetto 18. However, we didn’t know about that before we returned to Estonia from evacuation.

Our trip was long. The train was bombed on the way, but fortunately, it wasn’t destroyed. There were wounded people, and we were scared. We didn’t know where the train was going. All we knew was that it was headed towards Russia. At last we arrived at Ust-Kanash station. We didn’t stay there long. We were sent to the town of Kamyshlov [3,500 km north-east of Moscow] in Tomsk region [today Russia]. We were accommodated in a small room in a local house. There was one good thing about the room. One wall adjoined to the stove in the kitchen. A few days later my husband went to the military office for registration. He was allowed one day to pack and go back to the military office. From there he was sent to the regiment formation site near Moscow [today Russia]. My husband was assigned to a front-line hospital. Later, in 1942, he was assigned to the Estonian Rifle Corps 19 front-line hospital where he served throughout the war.

There was just my mother and I in this little room, with my mother’s bed by one wall, a narrow plank bed where I slept, and a little table in the corner. There was no extra space in the room, and if somebody came into the room, my mother had to lie down on her bed, because there was no space otherwise. There was no extra space for a chair. I went to work at the rear hospital in Kamyshlov. I worked as a medical nurse for some time before I could continue my work there as a dentist. I had an employee card [see Card system] 20 with which I got 400 grams of bread per day, and my mother had a dependant’s card for 200 grams of bread. This bread was made with bolting and dried grass. It was sticky and heavy. Our 600 grams of bread were around four to five slices. I wanted to eat less and give my mother more. I had a bowl of hot water with some cabbage or cereal grains in it at the hospital in the morning and afternoon, while my mother had no other place to eat. I never had sufficient food, but this water suppressed the feeling of hunger for some time. My salary was enough to buy some potatoes. When I brought potatoes home, my mother and I counted the potatoes to know how many a day we could have to last till my next salary. We lived on bread and potatoes.

I’m still surprised how I managed to survive, when I think about it. In the morning I left for work without even having hot water. In the morning and afternoon I had a bowl of what was supposed to be soup at the hospital, and in the evening I had a glass of hot water with a slice of bread. I was so starved that often I had to just sit on my chair and didn’t have the strength to hold my instruments. When visiting my patients on call, I had to carry my case with instruments with me. It was too much of an effort for me, and I had to stop after every few steps. If somebody offered his assistance I refused. It often happened that such ‘assistants’ ran away with your things. One had no trust in human decency during this time. I managed to survive, being young. If it had lasted, I would have died. Older people were dying. My mother died in 1944. She used to wake up every morning watching me leave for work, but one morning she didn’t wake up. I approached her to feel her pulse, and there was no pulse. She had starved to death, poor thing, how horrible to even think about it. My mother would have lived a long life, if it hadn’t been for the war. She had no chronic diseases.

I corresponded with my husband through the wartime. We wrote to each other almost every day. No stamps or envelopes were needed. We folded a letter in a triangle and wrote the field mail number on it. David was very concerned about me, though he faced a bigger danger. He was a military doctor in a field hospital where the wounded were received directly from battlefields. The hospital was near the front line. David’s colleague was killed at work. David was a skilled doctor. He saved many lives and had awards for his efforts.

I looked forward to the liberation of Estonia from fascism until finally this day came. It was clear that the war was coming to its end. I arrived in Tallinn in fall 1944. I went to the Ministry of Health where they offered me a job. They also accommodated me in a house where the Ministry was located. It was a little room, but there was a bed and a table in it. There was also a shared kitchen and a bathroom. However, whatever the discomforts, they weren’t so important. I was happy to have a place to live and a job. After the evacuation I felt like it was a fairy-tale. There were many little cozy cafes in the town. In the beginning I couldn’t believe that all the hardships were in the past. I went from one cafe to another having coffee, the taste of which I had forgotten during evacuation. I enjoyed a peaceful life. I felt very sorry that I couldn’t share the pleasures of life with my mother, and I was concerned about my husband, who was still at the front. I looked forward to receiving his next letter.

At first I worked as a dentist in a children’s clinic, and later I got a job in the clinic for adults. The clinic was far from my home. There was no transport, and I had to walk to work. This took a huge effort. When I got to work, I had to take a rest. However, I was young and it didn’t take me long to restore my energy. My husband arrived in 1946. He demobilized from the army and went to work in a hospital and then in a polyclinic. When he arrived I had no utensils at home, and we had lunches in the canteen at the Ministry. Life was gradually improving. A few years later we received an apartment.

I corresponded with my sister Rosa. Her husband was in Sosva [today Russia] in the Gulag. Rosa and her daughter Roni were in exile in the village of Vavilovka, Bakhchar district, Tomsk region [3300 km from Moscow]. Rosa and some other women from Estonia worked in the field. It was hard work. Besides, they had no warm clothes with them. Also, the authorities promised that the families would reunite, when they arrived at their points of destination. Therefore, the men had heavy suitcases of clothes with them, and these women had no warm clothes for themselves or their children. My sister didn’t mention it in her letters, but I knew that the letters were censored, and if there was truth described in these letters, the censors didn’t let them reach their addressees. Reading between the lines I knew that they were having a hard life. My husband and I did our best to support them. I sent them parcels with clothes, and occasionally, I managed to send money. Fortunately, my sister was lucky. Rosa was offered a dentist’s job at the local polyclinic. There was no difference in the remuneration, but at least, she didn’t have to work in the field. Their exile wasn’t limited in time. Even if Efrayim, who had been convicted to five years in the camp, returned home, Rosa and Roni would have had to stay in exile. Anyway, this wasn’t to happen.

In 1943 Rosa received a death certificate, which indicated that her husband had died from dystrophy i.e. Efrayim actually died from malnutrition, and none of us could help him. The inmates in high security penitentiaries weren’t allowed to receive parcels. All I could do was help Rosa and Roni. When Roni went to school, I sent them some fabric to make a school uniform. Roni did well at school. In 1954 she entered the Tomsk Engineering and Construction College. After finishing it my niece went to work in construction. When Roni was in her last year in college, she got married. When she and her husband received an apartment, Rosa left Bakhchar and moved in with them. After working in construction for some time, Roni became a lecturer at the Engineering and Construction College. In 1968 her daughter Margarita was born. They visited us on vacations. Rosa died in 1981. Roni and her husband arranged a Jewish funeral for her. In 1997 Roni and her husband moved to Tallinn. Roni was a pensioner already. Their daughter Margarita and her family live in Germany. I’m very happy that my niece lives in Tallinn. She is the closest person I have and she helps me a lot.

After the war

After the war anti-Semitism started to develop in Estonia. There was no anti-Semitism, when Estonia was independent [see First Estonian Republic] 21, before it was annexed to the USSR. At least, there was no state-level anti-Semitism, which was there during the Soviet regime. However, it was only demonstrated by newcomers from the USSR. It was evident at that time. For example, Jews were employed by the companies with Estonian management, while when it came to Soviet directors they actually didn’t employ Jews. I didn’t face any anti-Semitism. I worked hard, and got along well at work. In general, things weren’t as hard in Estonia, as they were in the USSR. The Doctors’ Plot 22 in 1953 didn’t actually affect Estonia. Fortunately, there was nothing like what had happened in Russia or Ukraine where Jewish doctors were fired and patients refused to see them.

My husband and I were happy about the establishment of Israel, a Jewish state. It was like a miracle that Jews had regained their own land after 2000 years of wandering. It’s a pity that their Arabic neighbors think differently. I wish my father had lived longer to know that Jews have regained their motherland.

In 1953 Stalin died and it was disastrous for me. It was disastrous for many people, though for the most part they were those who had moved to Estonia during the Soviet regime. Stalin was an idol for them, and for us he was a ruler, who had issued an order to deport our dear ones to Siberia just for one reason, and that was that they had developed their own businesses and built houses for their own families. There was no reason to cry for him whatsoever. Those who were innocent, but had been away to Siberia from their homeland, and those who were in the Siberian land forever, were to be cried for. After Stalin’s death I hoped that those who had been deported would be allowed to come back home, but it wasn’t to be. Only after the Twentieth Party Congress 23, where Khrushchev 24 denounced the cult of Stalin, the official commission for rehabilitation 25, was established, and only then people started to come back. A few men had survived. Even those, who had survived in exile, were also victims of the regime. They had lost 15 years of their life, when they suffered from the cold, hunger, poverty, humiliation and lost their health.

My husband and I led a Jewish life even during the Soviet regime. Saturday was just another working day, and we couldn’t celebrate Sabbath, but on Saturday evening, when he wasn’t busy at work, my husband went to the synagogue to pray. He worked as a doctor in the higher party school 26. They knew about it, of course, but they pretended that they didn’t. I had dinner ready by the time my husband came from work, and we sat down to eat together. David was a very religious man. He was well-respected in the town. He had the reputation of a decent Jewish man. On Jewish holidays we went to the synagogue together. We were sure to celebrate Jewish holidays at home. I did my best to follow the kashrut, however difficult it was in those years. We always had matzah on Pesach. When it wasn’t sold, I baked it myself. I also cooked traditional Jewish food: gefilte fish, chicken, strudels and puddings. I covered the table with a white tablecloth and laid it with festive tableware to create the feeling of holiday. We didn’t celebrate Soviet holidays at home. We liked to have another day off, but that was all. Neither my husband nor I were members of the Party.

In the 1970s many Jews immigrated to Israel. Quite a few of our acquaintances and colleagues left. We supported them and corresponded with them afterwards. Many of them had a good life in the new country. We didn’t consider departure. Of course, if we had children, we wouldn’t have hesitated to move there, but we had no children, and there was no particular reason for us to leave our home. We had an apartment and had jobs that we liked. Besides, David had heart problems, and the climate in Israel would have hardly been good for him. However, we’ve always been interested in the life in Israel. We watched the events during the Six-Day-War 27 and the Judgment Day war [see Yom Kippur War] 28, hoping for the better. We were proud of the victories of the Israeli army. Unfortunately, we’ve never been to Israel. It was out of the question before perestroika 29. It was next to impossible to travel abroad or invite friends or relatives from abroad to visit us. The USSR was behind the Iron curtain 30, and there was no hope that it would collapse one day.

In 1973 I was struck by a major loss. My husband died. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn. There was a Jewish funeral. It was only natural since David lived the life of a Jew and he was to be buried like a Jew. There is a place for me near his grave.

When perestroika began in the late 1980s, I didn’t have faith in this promise of a better life. I’ve always been far from politics. I’ve taken interest in books, museums and theaters rather than newspapers and news programs on television. However, life was changing. Many things became more transparent, and there was freedom of press and speech. There were books published that hadn’t been allowed before. We were allowed to travel abroad and invite friends from abroad. I wish this had happened earlier. In my age I didn’t feel like traveling somewhere far away, but younger people could enjoy this opportunity. I remember how much I liked traveling, when I was young. I felt sorry for young people in the Soviet country. They didn’t have these opportunities to see the world. However, perestroika didn’t progress as it should have. Life became more and more costly. Perestroika ended up in the breakup of the Soviet Union [1991]. I wouldn’t say I feel sorry for it. I think that every country or former republic is entitled to have independence and do the best for their people. I want all the people to have a good life. May there be peace everywhere. Peace is very important. It’s good that Estonia became independent [see Reestablishment of the Estonian Republic] 31. I know that it takes time to improve things in the country that had lived a long period under a different rule without having the right to make its own decisions. It will take years to regain everything we were deprived of in 1940. However, our government does a lot, and its efforts are evident. I hope everybody understands that they have to make their contribution for the good of the country rather than criticize and watch from aside.

During perestroika a Jewish community 32 was officially established in Estonia. Regretfully, I can’t take an active part in the community life, but I know what is going on and watch the Jewish life in our country. Of course, not everything is smooth. When something goes wrong with the policy, they need to distract people’s attention from their failures, and then there are anti-Jewish demonstrations in mass media and on the radio. I don’t like this. It’s good that the community responds to this adequately. In some cases, the community has sued people for anti-Semitic demonstrations, and won. I like Zilia Laud, the chairman of our community. She is a very nice lady and a wonderful manager. She ensures that the older Jews have sufficient food, medications, care and assistance. The community also pays much attention to children and teenagers, and this is a very important aspect. They ensure that they know they are Jews, Jewish culture, religion and traditions. There is also a singing and dance studio, a computer class and a language studio where children can study English, Yiddish and Hebrew. Jews have always wanted to study, and our community helps them.

On the 2nd floor of the former Jewish gymnasium [see Tallinn Jewish Gymnasium] 33, which is now our community building, there is a synagogue. It has the first rabbi in Tallinn since the war. A new synagogue is being built near this community building. The community always arranges the holidays. My niece tells me about them since I can’t attend them. I always read Jewish papers. Our community publishes its own newspaper: Hashahar, which means sunrise. I always read it with interest. Reading is one of the few joys I still have in life. I read books and magazines. I also read a lot about the Jewish life. I want peace for Israel and wish they didn’t waste their effort on this terrible war imposed on them by their neighbors. I wish Jews could have a quiet life wherever they reside. Of course, Jews are different like any other people. The deputy chief of the Estonian NKVD was a Jewish man, and he was to blame for all the arrests. His last name was Yacobson. Yankelevich, an NKVD officer in Valga, beat his prisoners who were taken to his office for interrogation. They were tied for him to be able to beat them. He was a small puny man. There were Jews like this, but fortunately, there was only a bunch of them, while Jews as a nation deserve recognition and respect.

Glossary:

Michaela Vidlakova
Prague
Czech Republic
Interviewer: Pavla Neuner
Date of interview: June 2005

Michaela Vidlakova is from Prague, where she was born in 1937. She grew up in a family that actively maintained Jewish traditions. Both of her parents had actively participated in the Czech Zionist movement 1 from the time they were young; Mrs. Vidlakova’s father, Jiri Lauscher, even helped found the Sarid kibbutz in Israel. He wanted to get married and move to Israel with his family. His plans were hatched however, by the arrival of Hitler. Mrs. Vidlakova tells of how her entire extended family was gradually deported, and finally she and her parents as well. Her description of her involuntary stay in Terezin 2, where as a child she was forced to endure over two years, gives a lifelike picture of life in the ghetto with all its happenstances that influence a person’s very survival. The activities of Mrs. Vidlakova’s parents bear valuable witness of the life of Czech Jews before the war, in Terezin, as well as during the postwar period. Her mother, Irma Lauscherova, was already a popular teacher before the war, and to this day many of Mrs. Vidlakova’s contemporaries remember her from when she was at the Jewish school in Jachymova Street in Prague. Irma Lauscherova didn’t stop teaching in Terezin either, despite it being strictly forbidden. Thanks to her work and courage, the children that survived Terezin were able after the war to continue in school and take material that was appropriate to their age; apparently many times their knowledge was even broader than that of children that didn’t have to interrupt their attendance of school due to their background. After the war, both of Mrs. Vidlakova’s parents worked for the new Israeli embassy in Prague. Her father was even the one left to close the embassy at the end of the 1960s, after Czechoslovakia severed diplomatic relations with Israel 3, and the embassy staff had to leave the country within the space of a few days 4. For long years, Jiri Lauscher also illegally supplied documentary material to the Beit Terezin Museum in Givat Chaym Ichud, Israel. Both of Mrs. Vidlakova’s parents were also among the first Czech Jews who were willing to travel to Germany and lecture on Jewry, Terezin and the Holocaust. In Bohemia they for a long time stood in for today’s Terezin Initiative 5, and acted as guides for individuals or groups traveling to Terezin, where at which time no museum yet existed. Michaela Vidlakova continued in this activity after them; from 1970 she also led a group of Jewish children with Mr. Artur Radvansky. They organized activities for the children, summer and winter camps, and spent weekends with them. As she herself said, they tried to provide a Scouting-Jewish education for them. Michaela Vidlakova remains to this day a very vivacious and active woman; she works in various bodies of the Jewish community, is on the board of the Terezin Initiative, and lectures at Czech and German schools. Mrs. Vidlakova is not just your ordinary senior citizen, and thus this interview with her was also an extraordinarily interesting one.

My family background

Growing up

During the war

After the war

Glossary

My family background

My paternal grandfather was named Siegfried Lauscher. He was born in 1865 in the town of Revnicov. He died in Terezin before World War II, in 1911 or 1912, so I didn’t have a chance to know him. All I know of him is that he worked in an office. A year or two before he turned 50, he suddenly fell ill and within a very short time died, most likely of an acute kidney infection. Back then doctors didn’t have antibiotics at their disposal. He was buried in the Jewish section of the town cemetery in Litomerice. After the war, this Jewish section of the cemetery was completely destroyed. My grandfather’s father was named Moritz Lauscher. My grandfather also had a sister, Anna, and a brother Karel, about whom I however don’t know any more than that.

My paternal grandmother was named Anna Schwarzova, married name Lauscherova and later Katzova. She was born in 1876 in Pribram. Her mother tongue was German. I don’t think that she had any sort of higher education; she was a housewife. Her two sons, Frantisek and Jiri, were still small when their father died. Grandma then moved to Liberec to live with her brother, who supported her for several years. Later she then moved to Prague; by then my father was already working, and was basically supporting the family. Frantisek was studying in Austria.

Grandma later remarried. She married Julius Katz, a Jew, nevertheless I’m not sure if they had a Jewish wedding. For a long time I didn’t even know that my grandpa was actually my step-grandfather. He loved me dearly, and I him too. It wasn’t until after the war that I realized that his name was different from ours. Grandma and Grandpa lived in Prague. They already spoke Czech at home. I don’t think that Grandpa had any education more advanced than high school. He likely worked as the sales director of a chocolate factory, Velimka, I think. Grandpa would have heaped chocolate on me, but even as a child I wasn’t that fond of sweets.

Grandma and Grandpa weren’t exceptionally religious in any way, they simply just upheld Jewish traditions. They used to go to synagogue for the High Holidays. They didn’t keep a kosher 6 household.

I remember Grandpa Katz as a smaller and somewhat round man. But by then he was actually almost 60. Back then I had the impression that he and Grandma were terribly old. Today, a 60-year-old is a young person to me. Grandpa was a merry and sociable person. Grandma held the reins of the household firmly in her hand.

My maternal grandfather was named Jaroslav Kohn. He was born in 1871 in Stare Hrady. Grandpa still observed certain Kohanite commandments, like for example he wouldn’t enter a cemetery [Editor’s note: the laws forbid Kohanim from coming into contact with the dead, or participating in funeral services by the grave, visiting a cemetery, etc.], but they didn’t keep a kosher household any longer. Perhaps they just avoided pork. The Kohn family was somewhat more religious than the Lauscher family. In the very least, they fasted for Yom Kippur. Grandpa was originally a shoemaker, but because he died in 1930, I didn’t know him at all. He died in Kamenice, and is buried at a Jewish cemetery in Prague.

My grandmother’s name was Ruzena Müllerova, and she was born in Chocen in 1881. I don’t think that she had any higher education. She was originally a housewife, but after Grandpa died, she supported herself by arranging or offering goods. She moved to Prague, and I remember that we used to see her a lot. We often went on walks together. I remember that she was quite strict. I didn’t want to eat very much, and she was willing to sit with me for over an hour with food that had gone absolutely cold, insisting that I finish it. I apparently had problems with insufficient saliva, but I wasn’t allowed to drink with my food, so I remember that food being quite a hardship for me. But Grandma was convinced that if I were to drink, I’d have a full stomach and would eat even less.

I think Grandma used to visit us during the holidays, and we used to visit her as well. My father was an incredibly tolerant person. Their relationship probably wasn’t particularly close, but they definitely respected one another and behaved decently towards each other. Grandma evidently wasn’t capable of expressing her feelings much, because I felt that warmth and kindness more from Grandma and Grandpa Katz. But on the other hand, she used to selflessly come and take care of me.

My father’s name was Jiri Lauscher. He was born during the time of Austria-Hungary in 1901 in Terezin, so actually as Georg, but all his life he then used the name Jiri. He was from a German environment, and his mother tongue was German. My father graduated from a German council school 7 and then took a two-year business course. Something like less advanced high school, but without a leaving exam. More advanced high school was four years with a leaving exam. I don’t know the official name of the school. Even though my father was from a German-speaking environment, he also spoke Czech.

My father was very Zionist-oriented. Already during World War I, when he was about 15, he led a group of younger boys, Tchelet Lavan. For some time he also organized hakhsharahs 8. His youth was composed of two directions. On the one hand, he supported his widowed mother and his older by two years brother in his studies, and on the other hand he worked very intensively for the Zionist movement.

My father had a brother, Frantisek, who was two years older than he. He graduated from university in chemistry, but I don’t know exactly when and where. He worked as a chemist in yeast production. He lived in Prague, but often traveled abroad on business. I remember him as a very pleasant person; I liked him very much and we were close also due to the fact that he didn’t have a family of his own.

Frantisek was no loner. He had a serious relationship, but in the end she married someone else. She was a big prewar Communist, and she married a person of the same convictions. They ran away from the Germans to Russia, where they however sent them to the Gulag 9 in Siberia. In the Gulag they were supposed to fell trees or something similarly physically demanding, but because they were both chemists, they were able to distil alcohol from the small sugar rations and some herbs. That was excellent for the guards, so they exempted them from hard labor. So they had a relatively decent position in the Gulag.

Another of Frantisek’s girlfriends died in a car accident. Then he had another girlfriend that he used to see, but he never started a family. I remember that he spoke Czech. I think that over the course of the First Republic 10 the entire family switched to Czech.

My father was 17 at the end of World War I, so he didn’t have to join the army. In 1920 he left for the United States of America. He wanted to study the establishing of orange groves in California, so he could later transfer this experience to Israel. But he couldn’t stand the climate there, so after a year he returned home.

Then in 1925 he moved to what was then Palestine, and became one of the founders of the Sarid kibbutz, which today is a medium-sized kibbutz close to Nazareth. There were other Czechs living there as well back then. They were starting from scratch in the swamps, living in tents, and the first thing they built was a calf barn, the second was a house for the children, and only then did they start building the rest.

To this day, it’s this second home of mine. When I arrive, they greet me like a daughter of the kibbutz, even though I wasn’t born there and I didn’t get over there for the first time until after 1989. At that time my father was 88 and wasn’t in good health, and so sent me in his place. We traveled there with a group of anti-Fascist fighters. At the kibbutz they told us stories of how in the beginning they ate only from tin bowls, and on top of that in two shifts, because there weren’t enough for everyone. And so I brought back with me as a souvenir this little bowl with the Sarid logo on it.

After five years of building the kibbutz, my father returned to Prague for my mother, whom he knew from Tchelet Lavan. He was planning a wedding and then for them to return together to Palestine. My parents had a Jewish wedding; they were married by Rabbi Sicher, back then the head rabbi of Prague. But for various family reasons the return to Israel kept begin postponed. Once it was the death of my mother’s father, then my mother was pregnant, but alas lost the child. When my mother got pregnant again, my parents finally decided that the conditions here for the birth of a child from a high-risk pregnancy were after all better. But before my parents had the chance to nurse me somewhat into shape, Hitler arrived and the jig was up.

My mother’s name was Irma, her maiden name was Kohnova, and was born in 1904 in Hermanuv Mestec in the Chrudim region. It was a Czech region, even her parents were already purely Czech-speaking Jews. My mother attended Czech schools and graduated from the Faculty of Philosophy at Charles University in Prague. She actually didn’t have a PhD, just state exams, and then went to work as a teacher right away. She became a teacher at a Jewish school on Jachymova Street in Prague. She began teaching Grade 1 while she was still at university.

My mother had a brother, Jiri, born in 1909. He graduated from electrical engineering, and worked with radios. At first he repaired them, then he set up a workshop and in England he had a store that sold and repaired radios. He married a Czech woman that had two children, Mirek and Zdenka. Her name was Marie, and she was the niece of Antonin Zapotocky 11. They had another two children together, Petr and Pavel. Right after the occupation of Czechoslovakia in March of 1939, Jiri emigrated to England. Marie still managed to join him with the children. After her death in 1960, he remarried in England, to an English woman named Susan, and had one more son, Simon.

Due to his departure, I barely know Jiri. Really, I only got to know him for the first time when he came to Prague after the war for the first postwar All-Sokol Slet [Meet] 12. Then he didn’t return here until 1968 13. I’m in regular written and occasionally even personal contact with Jiri’s children. Except for Mirek, that is, who died about two years ago. Uncle Jiri died in England in 1984.

My parents observed Jewish traditions at home. We went to synagogue for the High Holidays, and at home we celebrated all the Jewish holidays. My father wore a kippah only in the synagogue, or for Passover or when he was lighting candles. For Chanukkah we lit a candelabra at home, and sang Chanukkah songs. My mother also fasted on the 9th of Av [in Hebrew, Tisha B'av: fasting, is observed as a memory of the destruction of both the first and second Temple] and for Yom Kippur, but my father didn’t and they didn’t force me to. In our household Sabbath took place without prayer; we just made a fancier supper, had a white tablecloth and lit two candles.

Growing up

We didn’t observe Christmas or other non-Jewish holidays at all. My father was of the opinion that a Jew shouldn’t enter a Catholic church, not even as a tourist for example. He wouldn’t have forbidden Catholics to enter a synagogue, but he just thought that everyone should keep to his own.

We belonged to the middle class. My mother taught at a school and my father worked in a small furriery. It was managed by its Jewish owner, and my father was in charge of sales and production. There was an accountant, then just a master tradesman and some workers. My father used to take the train out of Prague to go to the factory. We didn’t have a car.

We lived in Prague in the neighborhood of Letna in a modern apartment on Hermanova Street. The apartment had central heating and hot water. We probably had parquet floors, but in one room there was this soft rubber with blue stripes. I liked it a lot back then, and loved playing there, because it was soft and wasn’t slippery. It wasn’t my room; I didn’t have a room of my own, but I played there the most, and I remember the rubber on that floor to this day. The apartment had this smaller kitchen and then a bedroom, a living room, and some sort of den of my father’s with bookcases.

All the appliances in the kitchen ran on electricity, and behind the kitchen there was a room for a maid, who lived with us. She was a young Czech girl named Terezie Hronickova. My mother used to go to school to teach, and this ‘Rezinka’ of ours took care of me. She loved me very much, and I her too. I remember that after the war I invited her to my graduation. It took me a while to find her. During the time of the Protectorate 14 Jews were forbidden to employ non-Jews 15. Rezinka got married and we lost contact with each other.

My parents had very nice furniture at home, designed by a friend of theirs from the Zionist movement, who left for Israel before the war started. It was in the modern and elegant style of the 1930s. The Germans later of course confiscated our furniture, and after the war my father found it in some warehouse of Jewish furniture. And although he had witnesses that testified that it was our furniture, even designed by an architect, while they did return it to him, he had to pay for it.

We didn’t have any pets at home. All I remember is that when I was completely little, I got a baby chick. There used to be a delicatessen on Jungmann Square in Prague, and before Easter they had little yellow chicks in the store window. I really liked them, so my parents bought me one little chick like that. That probably wasn’t the best thing to have in our apartment, so I most likely didn’t have it for too long. But I remember one photo where I’m playing with the chick. Later Jews weren’t even allowed to have animals.

While we were still living on Letna, Rezinka would take care of me during the day, who besides me also took care of the household and cooking. We didn’t cook kosher at home. The only Jewish food that we liked a lot were two side dishes. One was roasted semolina, and then gratings, in Yiddish ferverlach. Ferverlach isn’t grated bread, but dense noodle dough that’s grated on a rough grater, then left to dry, is roasted and then has either soup stock or just hot water poured over it. It’s also a side dish, and is very good.

On Saturday afternoon and on Sunday my father would go on walks with me, which is what I liked best. I’ve got one old, old memory of my father pushing me in a sports carriage, and that he switched the handle so I could see in front. When I grew up a little, we’d always take the tram to the last stop and go on an outing. My parents were enthusiastic hikers. When the Germans occupied us, I was two years old, so before I got old enough for my parents to be able to do more things with me, everything had already been forbidden.

I don’t know exactly when it was, but I think that sometime during 1941 the Germans forced us out of our apartment. We moved to Zizkov [a Prague neighborhood] into an apartment with Grandma and Grandpa Katz, who lived in a zone where they weren’t evicting Jews. It was an unattractive quarter and an old, uninteresting building. But because they had a large apartment, we had to move in with them. While we were still living there together as a family, it wasn’t all that tragic. My father, mother and I had the use of one room. I think the other grandmother or someone else from the family was also living there.

When we then lived in Zizkov, Grandma and I would at least walk along U Rajske Zahrady Street, which led along Rieger Gardens; I was no longer allowed into the park itself anymore either. There was this open area there, now it’s been built on, where boys used to play soccer. But it wasn’t an official park. It was one of the few places where Jewish children could go. Then we also used to go to the Jewish cemetery in Zizkov, and used to play amongst the graves; there was even some sort of Jewish musical event there, the audience would sit on the edges of the graves.

I didn’t start attending school until after the war. Before the war my mother didn’t teach me, I was completely self-taught. I learned to read from signs that I saw around Prague. I think that at the age of five I was already normally reading books.

I didn’t classify my friends according to origin or religion. The fact that I used to get gifts for Chanukkah and others for Christmas I just took as that everyone’s got their own thing. From the pre-Terezin period I remember my Jewish friend Pavel Fuchs, who was the son of Mr. Fuchs, and engineer who was later the chairman of the Council of Jewish Communities in Prague. I’ve known Pavel since I was little. He now lives in Seattle.

Both my parents voted for the Social Democrats, but they weren’t members of the party, just sympathizers. For some time my mother was a bit leftist, and was involved in the so-called Red Help, which was something like assistance for people who were escaping Germany, running away from Hitler. It was probably some sort of leftist-oriented organization, because a lot of Communists and Social Democrats were escaping from Germany. What exactly she did for them, I have no idea.

My father and mother were of course both members of the Jewish community. My mother was an exercise instructor in Maccabi 16. After the occupation, groups were being prepared in the community for emigration to Palestine. So both my parents led so-called retraining courses, where young people practiced various skills necessary for life in Palestine. My mother taught childcare and my father handicrafts. When even the Jewish school was then closed, my mother organized a school group right in our apartment.

Prior to the war, I never encountered expressly aggressive personal anti-Semitism. But I was of course aware that they’d moved us out of our apartment, and was very much aware of not being allowed to go to any parks.

I recall that when we were still living on Letna, there where today there is that horse merry-go-round by the Technical Museum, there used to be this old man who had a real live horse, Asenka, with a carriage, and he’d make money by driving children around in the park. As a Jewish child this was forbidden to me, but I remember that I did go for a ride like this with him once. I later asked my mother how it was possible, and she told me that this man, when he would be going home in the evening, would give a ride down the street to Jewish children that would occasionally be waiting there for him. I must’ve been around four back then. He was this old, small, and terribly kind man.

After the war, no one went so far as to call me names either. I know that there were some guys in school who had anti-Semitic attitudes, but they never actually came out and said anything to me, we simply weren’t friends. And it was only later that I found out from someone else that it was because of me being Jewish.

Before the war broke out, my parents were of course thinking about whether we shouldn’t leave for Palestine. But they didn’t want to leave my grandparents alone, when everything was becoming so gloomy and black.

Grandma and Grandpa Katz, Uncle Frantisek and Grandma Kohnova were the first to be transported to Terezin. My grandparents were soon after that transported eastward, and I never saw them again. Grandma Kohnova perished in Treblinka 17 in 1942. My mother told me that I fell ill after every transport. I don’t remember crying or anything, but whenever someone from the family was transported, the next day I apparently had a temperature of almost 40 ºC, which then immediately came down again.

During the war

I bore our own summons to the transport considerably better. I remember that at that time my parents allowed me to do something that I’d never been allowed before, nor since. And that was to draw on the walls in the apartment. Earlier, when I’d tried to do it with a pencil behind my bed, a huge to-do ensued. I remember that I was so preoccupied by this drawing on the walls that I completely forgot that the next morning we were going to the transport. As well, life in Prague under the Nuremberg Laws was very circumscribed, I’d never liked it that much in Zizkov, and so I also somewhat perceived our transport as an interesting change. I wasn’t capable of imagining that things could get even worse.

My parents hid a lot of our things with the family of my father’s cousin, Viktor Lauscher. Viktor’s father was the brother of my father’s father, Siegfried Lauscher. Viktor’s mother was probably from Hungary, her name was Terezie, and we called her Aunt Terci. Viktor married Marie, a German woman who’d worked as their servant, so at that time he wasn’t in danger of being deported. His wife was a very good and kind person. She had lots of our things, like family photographs and valuables. After the war she also returned everything properly. Viktor and Marie had two daughters, Zuzana and Lida.

Other things we and mainly Grandma Kohnova stored with the mother and sister of Marie, the non-Jewish wife of Uncle Jiri. Grandma even transferred the title to her house in the Prague quarter of Zahradni Mesto [Garden City]. But there we never got our things back after the war. They even claimed that during the war they themselves hadn’t had anything to eat, and that they’d had to sell them.

I don’t remember anymore how we got to the assembly point at the Veletzni palac [Trade Fair Palace], all I know is that I had a little rucksack on my back, and that I was supposed to take care of it and not take it off. This took place in the winter of 1942. We didn’t spend more than three days there. We slept on straw mattresses amongst the luggage; we had our own blankets, and I remember it being terribly cold, and there being long queues for the latrines. But at the same time, the fact that there was a group of children there was very interesting for me, and I was finally among children again.

I got to Terezin for my sixth birthday. I remember one thing from the train trip, from the town of Sedlec by Prague, where there once used to be a restaurant inside a big concrete elephant. My mother called me to the window to have a look at the elephant. I didn’t know what one looked like, because we were forbidden from going to the zoo. So she wanted to show it to me, and said that on the way back we’d take another look at it.

Uncle Frantisek, who worked in the bakery in Terezin, swapped shifts with someone so that he could come and greet us. He risked his life, and already during the trip from the train station he contacted my father and gave him some advice on how to act when entering Terezin. We managed to crawl under some rope somewhere, so we did pass through the shloiska [quarantine], but not the luggage inspection. And so everything that we had with us, we got in like this. My father had his tools with him, and samples from the toy workshop where he worked as a laborer after he was fired from his job for being a Jew.

Plus I think that Mr. Freiberg was there, an engineer whom my father knew from prewar times. He told my father that the Germans wanted to utilize wood remnants in some way, and that he could get a ‘Kommandaturauftrag,’ meaning a job from the command. Back in Prague I had seen some child at the Jewish cemetery with a wooden dog that had strings running through it that you could use to manipulate it, make it wag its head and tail. I liked that very much, and my father traced it and during his lunch break he made that Disney dog Pluto for me on a lathe in the workshop. I took Pluto, my favorite toy, with me to Terezin.

While still in the shloiska, my father showed them this toy and demonstrated with it how to utilize wood remnants. That saved my father as well as us from immediately being sent further on, because part of our transport didn’t even leave the shloiska, and was transported away. That took place towards the end of December 1942. The dog was saved and became a family relic, and today sits on my bookshelf. That’s how my father got to the Bauhof [Editor’s note: Bauhof: a construction yard; in Terezin a place where there were various workshops].

My father wanted to get to work right away, but they told him, ‘Lauscher, don’t be crazy, you have to go slow. If you’ve got ‘Kommandaturauftrag,’ it’s got to last you. So first order some lathe tools.’ He said, ‘But I’ve got some.’ ‘That doesn’t matter, hide those away. First order them. Then when you get them, order some gouges.’ That’s what they advised him to do, that you had to delay it as much as possible, so that it would last as long as possible.

In the end he never got to the toys, because they transferred him to the carpenters, which at that time was also relatively good work to have. He had access to materials, both raw materials as well as remnants, which could be used for heating fuel. As for the raw material, you could always save up a bit, for when someone needed something made, like a shelf for example. And of course if it was the cook that needed it, in exchange you’d get a dumpling or the opportunity to scrape out the kettle. Even when the kettle was completely empty, you could still scrape out a mess tin’s worth of coffee cream, and the family had a treat.

My mother was known for her teaching work, so they immediately summoned her to ‘Jugendfürsorge’ [caring for the young]; she first worked in the girls’ ‘Heim’ [home] and later became the head of the ‘Tagesheim’ [daycare for children whose parents were out working]. That was a facility for small children who for some reason didn’t live in a ‘Kinderheim’ [children’s homes] and needed to be watched during the day. The ‘Tagesheim’ was in Street L, No. 200. Although teaching was forbidden, she basically ran this one-room schoolhouse there, so after the war all the children that survived were able to not only enter a class appropriate for their age, but many times a grade or two higher than where they would have belonged.

My mother was possessed by teaching her entire life, and I think that in Terezin even more so than otherwise. The ‘Jugendfürsorge,’ or care for the young, was located relatively near the ‘Ältestenrat’ [Council of Elders]. My parents knew that the transports were being dispatched eastward, and that they were going towards something worse. But that the transports were headed for extermination camps, that I don’t think they knew.

When we arrived in Terezin, I spent the first while in a ‘Kinderheim’ beside the town hall. Back then my mother was living somewhere in the women’s barracks and my father was living at the Sudeten barracks. After not quite two months I fell ill. First I got the standard ‘Terezinka,’ or dysentery. There wasn’t anyplace to isolate sick children, so I remained in the ‘Heim’ amongst the children. To this day I remember spending nights sitting on the toilet, lit by a blue light, because it wasn’t even any point in getting off it. Not to mention the fact that I didn’t even have a bed. There were so many children there that I slept on two benches butted up against each other.

Then I got three infectious diseases at once: typhus, scarlet fever and measles. So one starlit night two gentlemen carried me to the hospital, a hospital run by Dr. Schaffy, across from the Magdeburg barracks. When my parents were looking for me at the ‘Kinderheim’ the next day and they told them that someone had carried me off in the night, they were in shock. It took them a while to find me. Then my mother went to ask Schaffy what was the matter with me, and he asked her, ‘Ist sie ein Brustkind?’ My mother said, ‘Ja, neun Monate.’ ‘Dann hält sie es wahrscheinlich aus.’ [‘Was she breastfed?’ – ‘Yes, nine months.’ – ‘So she’ll most likely survive.’]

My mother used to say that Dr. Schaffy was a distant and curt person. But we children loved him. He was a wonderful man. His visits were holidays, he’d have fun and play with every child, and at the same time would manage to do his checkup. I don’t know what he used, he’d scarcely have had much medicine at his disposal. I spent 13 months with Schaffy, while there I also had hepatitis and some sort of heart infection, probably as a result of the fevers, and if I’m to be truthful, I was very happy there.

For some time I shared a room with some older boys, who were around 15 or 17. One was named Pepik and the other was Jirka Foltyn, and they knew an endless number of songs. Then there was a boy the same age as me from Berlin, by the name of Horst, I don’t remember his surname exactly anymore, from whom I learned to speak German perfectly, I don’t even know how. I even had quite a close relative there. When they brought me to the hospital that time, in the morning the door opened and one nurse asked, ‘Is there a Mischa Lauscherova here somewhere?’ When I raised my hand, she said, ‘I’m your Aunt Hanka.’ Hana Schiffova, nee Müllerova, was my mother’s cousin, who happened to be working for Dr. Schaffy as a nurse.

Hanka survived Auschwitz and other camps, but not her husband. After the war Hanka married Karel Bruml and moved to the USA. Karel Bruml also passed through the Nazi camps, including Auschwitz. In Terezin he worked in the technical workshop along with other artists like Fritta or Haas. In the USA he also made a living as an artist. Hanka took psychology in America at the university in Washington, D.C. She became a psychologist and later the head of the psychiatric ward at a hospital in Falls Church.

We kept in touch until her death a few years ago in the USA; she was more like my older sister. She supported us after the war, but even later she used to send packages with good quality clothing, canned food and other things that were needed back then and were allowed to be sent. But mainly she gave us the feeling that there was someone who was interested in us, who was family.

In the afternoon, when the ‘Tagesheim’ would end, my mother would then go and teach the children in the hospital. As it was the infections disease pavilion, she didn’t go in the rooms, but Dr. Schaffy allowed her to teach children that were recuperating, outside in the courtyard.

When they discharged me from the hospital in March 1944, I went to live with my parents. My father and two of his colleagues from the ‘Bauhof’ had built a mansard up in the city hall building. The three of them were living together up in the attic there. My father made my mother this little nook beside the mansard; he’d built this wooden platform with a straw mattress on which my mother slept. It had a wardrobe on one side, and on the other a blanket as a curtain. It had no window, just a hole in the roof. But my mother would just sleep there. When the men would go to the ‘Bauhof,’ which was very early in the morning, she’d go to that little room, which could at least be heated a bit.

So that’s where I lived after being discharged from the hospital. The problem was that the mansard was on the third floor, and for me, who’d been discharged from the hospital with a heart defect after those infections, it was too many steps. I always had to whistle and wait downstairs until one of my parents arrived to carry me at least most of the way up. During the day I attended the ‘Tagesheim.’

A child’s experiences from Terezin are of course completely different from those I’d have had there as an adult. I had a child’s problems, which from the viewpoint of an adult seem to be trifles, but for a small child they were important things. I was quite solitary for some time, and I remember my mother asking me why I didn’t play with other children. Apparently I proclaimed, ‘I don’t want to be friends with anyone. Every time I make friends with someone, they take him away to the transport.’

My responsibility was to make the rounds to fetch food at lunch. My father made me a wooden ‘traga’ for the mess tins. A ‘traga’ was this low wooden box with a handle, it’s also called a tool tray, similar to what tradesmen have. Lunch was given out in three places, always in the courtyard of the barracks, so I had to make the rounds to the children’s kitchen, the normal one for my mother, and for my father to the one for those doing heavy labor. It was a relatively demanding task for a child of seven to run around Terezin, stand in a queue each time, and bring it all home.

In the meantime there would often be air raid warnings, when you weren’t allowed to walk out in the street. In that case I’d always run into a nearby doorway and would zigzag my way though Terezin across courtyards and along all sorts of pathways with the food. To this day I remember the sad, stooped figures, of old Jews, mostly from Germany, that would stand by the queue and quietly addressed those waiting, me as well, ‘Bitte, nehmen Sie die Suppe?’ Sie! A seven-year old child! I felt very sorry for them. [In German: ‘Please, are you taking the soup?’ The form of the pronoun ‘you’ used, ‘Sie,’ is a formal, polite version that an adult would not normally use to address a child].

I always thought of my grandmothers and grandfather, how they must be faring somewhere there in Poland, whether they also have to beg for food. I didn’t know that they were long since dead. I think that this is one of the reasons why today I work for the social committee at the Jewish community.

Then I discovered a man there who spoke German and was also named Lauscher. So I adopted him as my substitute grandfather. For some time he actually did come and visit us; he and my parents discovered that he belonged to some branch of the family. But fairly soon they transported him away. I missed having a grandfather very much.

I also remember standing in the food queue and that some of us children were shoving each other back and forth, and some older girl yelled at me, ‘Why are you fighting here, isn’t your father in the transport?’ I remember being very ashamed that my father wasn’t in the transport. But my father did end up in the transport. He was even already in the departure barracks. At night a gale blew and tore some roofs from some buildings. An SS soldier came to the foreman of the ‘Bauhof,’ that they had to immediately repair them. But the foreman objected, ‘How am I supposed to immediately fix them, when my last carpenters are in the transport?’ To this the SS soldier replied, ‘The transport isn’t leaving yet, so have them go to work.’

They were then looking for volunteers in the departure barracks. Three of them volunteered, including my father. In the morning they went to work, and in the evening the returned to the marshaling area. The second day they again went to work on the repairs and in the evening they returned. The third morning they again left for work, and when they returned in the evening, the transport was gone. And that was the last transport to leave Terezin. People had said to my father, ‘Lauscher, you’re stupid, you’re in the transport and you’re still going to work!’ As you can see, it saved his life.

At that time my mother wanted to volunteer for the transport, because we’d said to each other that we’d always be together. But my father refused that. ‘Nothing doing,’ he said. ‘Here you after all do have a certain chance of surviving. Who knows what will be there, and with a child, rather not.’ If my mother would have volunteered back then, I’d have gone and my father would have stayed. We got lucky, one time out of many. They kept my mother in Terezin thanks to the ‘Jugendfürsorge,’ and then she got a letter of praise for her work from Leo Baeck, who she respected very much. Leo Baeck was a renowned and very respected rabbi from Berlin. In Terezin he was in charge of the ‘Jugendfürsorge.’

Another bit of luck came about because I was in the hospital, because back then there were regulations according to which entire families were being sent, and so my stay in the hospital protected us. However, shortly after my discharge the regulations changed and then on the contrary the entire hospital left on the transport, doctors, nurses and all.

I remember how in 1945 transports from other concentration camps began arriving in Terezin. One evening my mother told my father to go have a look if he couldn’t find Uncle Frantisek there. Whereupon I began crying and said that I didn’t want my uncle to be there. My mother asked me, ‘Why don’t you want that? After all, that would be great if your uncle returned.’ I said, ‘But did you see what those people look like? I don’t want my uncle to look like that!’ That was my child’s view of the world. My uncle never returned to us. He didn’t survive Auschwitz. He perished in 1943.

One day the town hall had to be vacated for the Germans, and we were forced to relocate. We moved a ways over, to a corner house in Q Street, No. 609; the town hall was No. 619. There we again lived in the attic, but we didn’t have a mansard, just this sort of alcove. The interesting thing about this place was that Karl Bernman’s choir used to practice nearby. So every night I would go to sleep to the sounds of ‘Blodkovo,’ ‘In The Well,’ or ‘The Brandenburgers in Bohemia.’ Those are my childhood lullabies.

In the spring of 1945 we moved to L 227, on Bahnhofstrasse. There we got one small room for all of us. As a child I was well trained, so whenever I’d be walking in Terezin and would find a small piece of coal, wood or anything else combustible on the ground, it would immediately disappear into my pants pocket. Once I even managed to find a potato. I brought it home, overjoyed, but my father scolded me emphatically, that one didn’t steal food, that maybe because of that someone won’t get their ration. I remember that we had a small stove in the room, on which we then cooked the potato, cut into very thin slices. My mother was basically a miraculous cook. When I for example brought some barley from the kitchen, I have no idea how, but she made excellent ‘meatballs’ from them on rationed margarine.

When my uncle was still in Terezin, he once took a yeast dumpling in the bakery, they used to call them ‘blbouny,’ and baked it into a bun, wrapped it in a handkerchief and brought it to me while it was still warm. Another unforgettable memory is a mouth harmonica that I got for my sixth birthday. My uncle had traded a piece of bread for it, because as a worker in the bakery he had the ability to get to extra bread. And for this bread he got me a Hohner harmonica that I have to this day, and which I had with me in the hospital at Dr. Schaffer’s. I guess they had to disinfect it afterwards. I remember that when I wrote letters in the hospital, Hanka the nurse would always iron them so that they could leave the hospital. That was disinfection.

After the war

One day a rumor began circulating that the war was over. So we wanted to go to the end of the street, where the ghetto actually ended, but my mother didn’t want to let me go there. In the end we found out that the Russians hadn’t arrived yet, but that on the contrary it was the Germans as they were departing. They threw a hand grenade there, and it injured someone quite seriously. But then the Russians really did arrive, and Terezin really was liberated. But we remained in Terezin until the end of May, in quarantine.

I and my friend Stepka Sommer, the now already deceased cellist Rafael Sommer, and a handful of other children used to go to the garden, where our task was to air out the hothouse, water the plants and take care of refilling this big storage tank with water. It was a lot of fun for us, because we used to bathe in that large barrel, and after work we played excellent games in the garden. For that we’d get a head of lettuce, a kohlrabi or even a cucumber every day. After years of not seeing the smallest piece of fresh vegetable!

Back then my father took his coveralls and a toolbox with some tools and secretly smuggled himself out of Terezin. He was born there, so he knew the area very well. He left for Prague, where he arranged an apartment for us in the building we’d originally lived in, and other things. It wasn’t our original apartment, because that had been given to Dr. Fischl, who’d also returned from the concentration camps, where he’d lost his wife and child, and wanted to open a clinic in our apartment. He and my father came to an agreement that he’d keep the larger apartment, which enabled him to have a waiting room as well as an examination room, and we lived in the two-room apartment next door.

My first feeling of freedom is connected with a young soldier from the Russian army, who passed by the garden on a horse. We children were joyfully waving at him, and he came over to us, and pulled us up into the saddle with him, one after the other, and took us for rides. For me that was a truly fantastic feeling of liberation, when I was sitting with that young man on that horse and we were riding around in the Bohusovice basin. Our trip back to Prague was once again by train. I remember it, because my mother showed me Rip [a hill visible from far away, whose peak is at 465 m ASL], and that elephant in Sedlec again.

But we didn’t stay in Prague for long, because at that time Premysl Pitter already began organizing the ‘Chateaux’ drive for children that had returned from concentration camps. As an educator our mother couldn’t not participate, so she became one of the employees at the Kamenice chateau. We were among the first there. My mother began to mainly organize classes, because there were children of all age categories.

Back then my mother was tutoring children over a wide age range, because they needed to catch up on material from their relevant school grades over the summer. There weren’t classes all day. They were actually these little study groups, each one about two to three hours a day. But for my mother that meant at least five times two or three hours a day. In the meantime we played and went on walks, bathed and relaxed in all sorts of ways. I remember that swimming was the main attraction, because there were very nice ponds in the area, and up until then we’d never experienced real bathing. All we knew from Terezin was a battered enamel washbasin and once in a while, when it rained in the summer, we’d splashed about joyfully under the rainspout.

In September 1945 I had to go to school, so at the end of August we returned home to Prague. I was eight and a half at that time, so I actually already belonged in Grade 3. We went to the elementary school under Letna, where I belonged according to my address. But there they said that if I knew how to read and write, the most they could do was put me in Grade 3. But I’d already known how to read and write even before Terezin.

My mother felt sorry for me, she knew that I’d be extremely bored in Grade 3. Then she heard about a language school in Charvatova Street, which was supported by the British Council, and where they taught English. Because it was a selective school, you had to pass an entrance exam. Right when my mother and I arrived, they were doing entrance exams for Grade 5, and the examiner offered that I could try it with them, that what I’d manage, I’d manage. The exam was composed of dictation, composition and some math, and I easily passed it with straight A’s. The teacher began apologizing to my mother, that they couldn’t let a child of eight-and-a-half into Grade 5, that I couldn’t be among children that much older than I. And so they accepted me into Grade 4.

I attended English school for about a half or three quarters of a year, when one of Winton’s children 18 returned to Czechoslovakia. It was Eva Schulmannova, who was two years older than I. Her father had served in the army in England during the war, and her mother had died in Auschwitz. Doctor Schulmann remarried in England, I think he married a girl from the family that had been taking care of Eva. They returned to Czechoslovakia and Eva, who’d left here as a little girl, didn’t know a word of Czech. My mother was preparing her for entrance into a Czech school. As I already knew a few words of English, they put us together, so I could teach her Czech. But Eva had liked it in England a lot, was unhappy here, and so refused to learn Czech, thanks to which I on the other hand learned English quite well. Later Eva of course managed to learn Czech, and we also became friends.

After the war I attended religion classes 19 at the Jewish community for a few years, until about 1949. There were about three or four of us children there. At the beginning there were probably even more of us, but because the instruction wasn’t very good, only a few of us remained. The cantor and rabbi taught us Hebrew, but not the modern version, which for me was in conflict with how my father spoke. The manner of instruction didn’t correspond to modern methods either. Although we didn’t know Hebrew, we had to learn, completely by rote, the beginnings of the individual weekly paragraphs of the Torah. I very much disliked going there, and that’s also a reason why many children also refused it at a time after the war when it was still possible. Later of course, attending religion classes meant showing ‘lack of perspective’ and not having the chance to keep attending school. [Editor’s note: religious inclinations of any sort were highly frowned upon by the Communist regime.]

I attended the English school until 1948 20, when the school was closed due to its patronage by the British Council. Then I transferred to the socialist middle school of Frantiska Plaminkova, which was a nine-year school. There we took a so-called small leaving exam, which were final exams, and then you had to do entrance exams for gymnazium [academic high school]. I passed the final exams with straight A’s, as well as the entrance exams for the French high school. Nevertheless, I then received a notification that I couldn’t be accepted because of there being too many applicants. However, children with C’s on the entrance and final exams were being accepted. So we appealed and appealed, until we finally succeeded and I really did finally get into that French high school.

After the war my mother didn’t return to school as a teacher, but taught at home, privately, mainly languages. At that time there was a great shortage of language teachers, and my mother knew English, German, French and Latin. Upon our return my father made a living as a business broker. After the war, lots of military material remained here, and some sort of use had to be found for it, to sell it, offer it or manufacture something from it. I remember parachutes from beautiful silk. But what to do with so many parachutes? I know that my father found some company that colored them and sewed fantastic winter jackets from them.

My father basically looked around for who was offering what and how it could be utilized and sold. That’s how he made a living until 1948, when the Israeli embassy opened in Prague. The first one to start working there was actually my mother, who taught the first ambassador Czech and also worked there as a translator. But after some time she left, because it was too much for her. Work at the embassy, caring for me and the household. And I also think that she missed teaching. My father knew English, German and mainly Hebrew well. About two months after my mother, he also started at the embassy and began working there as a phone operator.

My parents were planning to leave for Israel. But right after the war my father was still recuperating from tuberculosis, and the doctors were saying that if he arrived into that heat, the illness could return. On top of that my mother had kidney problems, so my parents wanted to get well first. Then they wanted to leave when they started working at the Israeli embassy, but back then the embassy asked them to wait a while, that they needed them here.

Right then a massive wave of aliyah was taking place. A final date was set after which emigration would no longer be possible, but my parents were promised that the Czech employees of the embassy would be allowed to leave even after this date. But it was a promise from Communists, and when my parents began to pack, saying that they’d like to leave now, they weren’t issued passports.

When the Slansky trial 21 began, my father said that it seemed to him that things were getting bad, and that it would be good to get out at any cost. So my parents decided that we’d try to leave illegally. Our departure back then was organized by the Israeli embassy. Other people left with us, Helena Bejkovska, and Mrs. Pavla Ehrmannova, the mother-in-law of Zeev Scheck. I don’t know if the mistake was on the part of Mossad [Israeli intelligence service], which was allegedly organizing our departure out of Vienna, or if someone here made a mistake. The fact remains that in April 1953 they caught us at the border. Later they got Helena Bejkovska out through Germany and Sweden, but one person can get across the border more easily than an entire family. Mrs. Ehrmannova was officially a citizen of Austria, so they got her out later in an official manner. But we had to stay here.

We had a trial, but luckily in the meantime President Gottwald 22 died, so when President Zapotocky took office there was an amnesty. I was 16, so I was still a minor, but even so the Communists tried to make a big political trial out of it. The Israeli embassy, espionage and so on. This bubble luckily burst, and all that remained was an attempt to leave the republic. I spent a half year in remand custody in Bartolomejska Street and then in jail in Pankrac. I got a half-year suspended sentence, which was very mild for the times. My mother got one and a half years hard time, but they subtracted a year due to the amnesty and she’d spent a half year in remand custody, so she also went straight home after the trial. My father was sentenced to two years, so after the trial they put him in jail in Valdice for another half year.

Probably the worst thing was that they confiscated our apartment, even though they didn’t have the right, as there was nothing like that in the sentence. When my mother and I were leaving the courthouse, we thought that we were going home, but we found out that some Mr. Liska was living there, apparently an employee of the StB 23. Our things were piled up in the cellar and we had no place to go.

So a couple of good friends moved us both into their not overly large apartments. One was Greta Bieglova, who lived on Veverkova Street. She had a room and a kitchen, where she lived with her son and where she had a home workshop, and despite that she took us in as well. Her son was a friend of mine from back during the Terezin days.

Then we lived with the Webers; Mr. Weber was a friend of my father’s from Terezin from prewar times. His wife, Ilse Weberova, a children’s nurse and a Terezin poet, perished in Auschwitz along with little eight-year-old Tomik. We also lived for some time with the family of my classmate from English school, Jaroslav Svab. For some time I was also with Jindra Lion, a journalist with Svobodne slovo, and his wife Hanka.

It took about three months before we found some at least halfway decent accommodation. At first they wanted to assign us one horrible apartment with no bathroom, toilet or kitchen. We succeeded in refusing it and finally they gave us a bachelor apartment in Strasnice, without central heating, but clean and dry. They said that if we didn’t take it, we’d have to leave Prague, so in the end we took it. After my father’s return we managed to exchange this apartment for another one in the Vinohrady district.

After being released from jail, my father was able to return to the embassy, because they declared that they hadn’t terminated his employment contract and that he was still their employee. My mother continued to teach privately. Even though back then employment was mandatory, my mother received a certificate from the Freedom Fighters’ Association that due to having been imprisoned she wasn’t able to work in a regular job. The National Committee allowed her to teach at home, she paid taxes, but was insured and it went towards her pension. Relatively few people were allowed to work like this back then.

Before our attempt at emigration I’d been attending the French high school. Back then the principal was Vanda Mouckova-Zavodska, whom I liked and I think that she liked me as well. But when I came to see her, saying that I’d been given amnesty and that I had to be looked upon as someone without a record, she said that she didn’t care, that such elements had no business being at her school. During the war she’d been jailed for being a Communist, perhaps even sentenced to death, so I thought that she’d have a certain amount of understanding for people from jail, but evidently her Communist ideals were stronger. So I remained without a high school diploma and entered the work force.

I began working for Potravinoprojekt as a technical draftswoman, or more precisely as someone that had studied technical drawing. I basically drew projects with Indian ink, and my starting salary was 450 crowns. [Editor’s note: with Act No. 41/1953 on Monetary Reform, the gold content of the crown was set (unrealistically and out of context) at 0.123426 g of gold, which remained in place until the end of the 1980s.] The manager of our office was Ing. Fanta, a prewar capitalist, whom they were also persecuting and threw him out of everywhere they could. When he heard my story, he willingly took me on and was very nice and decent to me. My other co-workers were excellent too, they took care of me and understood my life’s trials. I even met Mrs. Eliska Schrackerova there, a lady my mother’s age, who’d also survived Terezin. I have very fond memories of that year and a half.

At that time I finished my high school degree at night school, and in 1955 I finally graduated. My previous report card as well as the one from the school-leaving exam had straight A’s, so according to the rules I was supposed to have been admitted to university without having to take entrance exams. Back then I didn’t know that, nevertheless I once again had straight A’s on the exams for the Faculty of Science at Charles University, where I’d applied. But I received a notification where it once again said: ‘You passed the exams, but due to the high number of applicants, we were unable to accept you.’

They recommended that I apply to agricultural college or economics, because they had a shortage of students. But I said that I wanted to study biology, so I kept appealing and appealing. Finally it went all the way up to the Office of the President and back to the rector’s office and dean’s office, and then they finally accepted me, after the summer holidays. Then two years later they tried to expel me, but once again it somehow worked out, so in the end I graduated. My thesis was on the metabolism of sugar in insects. I graduated in 1960.

After school Docent Kleinzeller took me under his wing upon the recommendation of his mother, who’d also been in Terezin and knew my parents. He brought me to the Institute of Biology at the Academy of Sciences to do a residency with him. Docent Kleinzeller had originally been a very fervent Communist; though he’d been in England during the war, he was a member of the [Communist] Party 24. It must be said that he wasn’t a fanatic, and apparently the Slansky Trials had opened his eyes a bit. He then recommended me to his former student, Pavel Fabry, who worked at the Nutrition Research Institute in the Krc area of Prague. Pavel was involved in the ROH 25 and so he succeeded in pushing me through to the lab at the institute.

So although my father worked at the Israeli embassy and a criminal record, there were enough decent and courageous people who helped me and did things for the benefit of an unpopular a creature as at that time was I.

I then remained in Krc until 1994, when I retired. I worked in a research lab there as a regular researcher. Quite a few Jewish physicians worked there, such as Dr. Brod, Dr. Fabry, Dr. Braun, and Dr. Bergmann. They were mostly very well liked, so I’ve got to say that I didn’t feel any anti-Semitism there. On the contrary, people expressed their sympathies. It could also have been as a result of the Prague Spring, when Pavel Kohout wrote an article entitled ‘Once there was a small country, surrounded...’ and people clearly understood the parallel between Czechoslovakia during the time of occupation and Israel during the time of Arab siege. [Kohout, Pavel (b. 1928): a Czech poet, writer, playwright,  translator and important samizdat and exile author. He was also present at the birth of Charta 77.]

In jail I developed an infection of the sciatic nerve, which went untreated for a half year back then, and gave me a lot of trouble later. So the doctor gave me a voucher for a spa, where I met Milos Vidlak, my future husband. I was 17, he was 15 years older, and very educated and cultured, which was something I missed in guys my age. Milos was from Prague, and we went out for the entire time of my university studies, and after school in 1960 we got married. I didn’t know any Jewish guy that suited me.

My husband was a graduate of the Faculty of Philosophy at Charles University. For a long time he worked for the Invalids’ Association, in the area of work, wages and care for invalids in general. Due to the Communists he didn’t finish his PhD until 1968, and then worked for the Ministry of Social Affairs.

We lived with my husband’s parents in a house on Na Vetrniku Street in Prague. Milos may not have been a Jew, but in the beginning he gave the impression of a big Semitophile. But after the wedding that began to gradually change, until he began to behave practically like an anti-Semite. My husband was very much an anti-Communist, and would for example throw in my face that it was actually the Jews that began with Communism. In the end the Jews were even responsible for scorched soup.

I don't know whence it came in him and why. Before we were married, he’d even attend synagogue with me. But I think that it wasn’t so much an expression of anti-Semitism as of compensation for certain complexes. Back then he wasn’t a university graduate yet, and I was already working at a research institute. I think that he simply didn’t feel good, and compensated for that by attacking me in an area that he knew was the most sensitive for me. Thanks to that we became estranged, of course. We didn’t get divorced, because in the meantime, in 1963 our son Daniel was born. Back then I had practically no place to go, I wouldn’t have been granted an apartment anyways.

Daniel also had excellent and loving grandparents. I liked my father-in-law, Filip Vidlak, as well as my mother-in-law, Marie Vidlakova, and they loved Daniel. I’m sure that my mother-in-law realized how unstable her son was, and was glad that it was at least the way it was. After she died, I kept taking care of my father-in-law for quite a bit longer; he lived with us, and at the age of 90 would still cut the grass out in the yard.

My husband was as a father kind to our son, so I said to myself that I wouldn’t wreck our son’s family. And so when I felt that things had gone too far, which was after about six years, we stopped functioning as husband and wife, but we managed to keep the family going. We lived beside each other, each doing his own thing. Each one of us had his own room, but we usually ate together. Otherwise we basically lived together like two roommates with their own lives. We both faithfully put the money we made into a common pot and each then took what he really needed. When we needed to buy something bigger, we came to an agreement and bought it from our joint funds.

From December to April I spent all Saturdays and Sundays with my son in the mountains. On weekends my son and I would go to my parents’ cottage. Until my son was born, my parents and I would often go on trips, as we were ardent hikers. Sometimes my husband would come along as well. After Daniel was born, it was clear that we wouldn’t be able to go hiking for some time, so we decided to buy a cottage somewhere near Prague. We basically bought the cheapest thing available at the time; we said to ourselves that it would be for about five or six years, and then we’d sell it and start hiking again.

But in the meantime my father had a serious heart attack, and so we ended up keeping the cottage. My father liked it there, the cottage is in the forest, a little above Kytín by Mnisek pod Brdy. My father could go on walks, and liked working on his woodworking hobby there, painting, making and fixing furniture. We’ve still got the cottage to this day; it may not have electricity, the water is from a well and the toilet is in an outhouse, but it’s nice there. In 1967 some friends of my parents emigrated to Israel, and sold us their car, a Fiat 600. Otherwise back then you had to wait a terribly long time for a car. So then we used to drive to the cottage.

While I was still living with my parents, we’d observe Jewish holidays, like before the war. After my wedding we’d go to my parents’ for holidays, in which my husband participated at first. But later he stopped associating with my parents, and so I’d take our son to my parents’ for holidays, as we’d all go to the Jewish community. After the February putsch, Chanukkah and Purim were celebrated at the Jewish community. When my father began working at the embassy, we began to celebrate holidays there. We had limited contacts with the community, so that our family wouldn’t harm the community, that they associated with Zionists. By then the times were very anti-Zionist. At Christmas we’d go to the mountains as well as at Easter.

Though raised in Jewish traditions, my son is a convinced atheist, and doesn’t distinguish between Jewish and non-Jewish friends. But his 16-year-old daughter, my granddaughter, is interested in things related to Judaism and the Holocaust. Daniel graduated from Czech Technical University; he works in his field and devotes himself exclusively to technology.

August 1968 26 was a huge shock for me. Prior to that there had been this relaxed atmosphere, and one had all sorts of hopes. I remember that we were at home, and at around 3am my husband’s friend called. I said to him on the phone, ‘Are you crazy?! Why are you calling at this hour?’ And he answered, ‘Open your window and listen!’ From the nearby airport you could hear the roar of planes landing. ‘That’s the Russians landing, and they’re occupying us!’

Right at that time we had some distant relatives from America visiting, so we were trying to figure out how to get them away. And my parents were living in Vinohrady, just a little up from the Czech Radio building 27, where there was shooting going on at that time. Luckily the phones worked, so we told my parents to come to our place. Back then my husband didn’t even protest, and my parents stayed with us for about three days, until things in the city calmed down.

I remember an anecdote from that time with my son, who was attending a kindergarten that was right next to our yard on Na Vetrniku Street. In September, after the Soviet occupation, he came home from kindergarten and my mother-in-law, his grandmother, said, ‘I noticed when those helicopters were flying around here, you and your friends were looking at them; boys like machines, don’t they?’ To which Daniel said, ‘But Grandma, we weren’t looking at them, we were spitting at them!’ He was just five at the time, and already knew very well what was going on.

Before the armed invasion, we’d had my Uncle Jiri from England over for a visit, and after the August occupation he invited us to come visit him. We really did take it as just an invitation, and so left Daniel with my parents and went there. My uncle was surprised that we hadn’t all come, because he’d meant his invitation as for emigration. But they’d only let us go because we’d left our child here anyways. I also couldn’t imagine leaving my parents. Plus my husband was after all older, didn’t know languages too much, and wasn’t capable of starting over somewhere else. And as far as emigration goes, I always thought only of Israel, and that wouldn’t have been something for him.

In 1967 Czechoslovakia severed diplomatic relations with Israel. The embassy staff had to leave the country within several days. So back then my father actually ended up responsible for the entire embassy, which back then was on Vorsilska Street, and was given the task of packing everything up and sending it off via the Swedish embassy. Whatever they didn’t want, he was to sell and then give them the money. My father took care of this for another several months, until the end of 1967. Then he went into retirement, and 14 days later he had a major heart attack.

When my mother died in 1985, I moved to my father’s place in Vinohrady for some time, to help him to start fending for himself. My father then began having problems with his heart, and at night had breathlessness, and was afraid to be at home alone. So I stayed with him. My son was already grown up, and so I’d return home only for a few days at a time, to cook some food and put the household in order. My husband died in 1992 at the age of 70, in Prague.

Right after the war, along with Rutka Bondyova and Zeev Scheck, my father got involved in a documentary effort, which I think was financed by the American Joint 28. After the war, the [Jewish] community was a go-between for humanitarian relief from Joint. We were getting things like clothes, blankets and similar things. We had come from the camps with basically no clothes, and the help of the Joint was very important. When there was an anniversary of the Joint a few years ago, I put on a sweater that I’d been issued immediately after the war, and it got a big response. They’d for example found a part of the notorious documentary film on Terezin, where they showed how Hitler had given the Jews a town. They got a lot of documents from the former Office for the Expulsion of Jews.

My father had concerned himself with these things for years, but when he retired in 1967, he began to be very active in this direction, and utilized various methods of smuggling these materials out during Communist times to Beit Terezin at Givat Chaym in Israel. He and Zeev Scheck were the main suppliers of material for this museum, and my father actually illegally delivered hundreds of documents, photographs and individual objects to Givat Chaym. Beit Terezin published an informational bulletin, and it was arranged that in it they’d always confirm the receipt of the documents. So for example a message would appear in it ‘From an unknown donor, we received documents No. 120 – 175.’

In 1958, an organization named ‘Aktion Sühnezeichen’ was created in Germany, which was composed mainly of young people from Protestant circles, who knew that what had been committed couldn’t be undone, but they tried to at least help and once again revive post-war Jewish life. So they’d travel to summer camps in Israel, in Poland, and in various other countries to visit Holocaust survivors, to help them. They also repaired cemeteries and synagogues. My parents would go visit them in Germany at their summer work camps, and would give lectures on the Holocaust, Jewry and Terezin.

My parents were actually among the first Czech Jews who were willing to communicate with Germans like this. Another person who was similarly involved was Dr. Josef Bor. And when people would come to visit, my parents took the place of today’s Terezin Initiative and would go with individuals or groups to Terezin, perhaps ten or twenty times a month. There was no museum there yet, so they themselves would guide them around. Back then Terezin was basically just the Small Fortress 29 with its Communist resistance, and on the subject of Jews in Terezin, there was silence. After my parents died, I automatically inherited this activity.

Various Jewish holidays were observed in Terezin during the war in order to maintain Jewish traditions. And in 1943, for Tu bi-Shevat, the holiday of trees, the children from the ‘Jugendheim’ planted a little tree, and my mother was there for it. When after the war she’d be showing people around in Terezin, she’d always stop at that tree and tell the story of how her little pupils had planted it there, and that none of those children had survived.

One day my mother was showing Mark Talisman around Terezin. He’d come to Czechoslovakia with his children, and his daughter, who at that time was shortly before her bat mitzvah, was very captivated by the stories. A half year later, on the occasion of the bat mitzvah in America, she made a speech in which she focused on this tree, ‘etz chayim’ [tree of life]. It was a very nice and mature speech; the American, formerly German Jewish composer Hermann Berlinski wrote a cantata entitled ‘The Irma Lauscher Tree.’ [Berlinski, Herman (1910 – 2001): American composer of Jewish origin. Among his large-scale works is Etz Chayim (The Tree of Life), commissioned by Project Judaica for performance at the Smithsonian Institution.]

At the beginning of the 1990s, I participated in an event named ‘Brotherhood Week’ in Dresden. It took place in a Catholic church, and in the program I suddenly saw written: ‘The Irma Lauscher Tree, cantata.’ Surprised, I asked the local priest where it had come from, and he told me that there was nothing simpler, that I could speak with the author himself. He took me over to the composer, and I told him that I was the daughter of Irma Lauscher. Everyone embraced me fervently, and then the cantata played.

Once I was showing a group from the Canadian Joint around Terezin, and in the spirit of family tradition I stopped by the tree and said that I’d really like it if there was a descendant of the tree growing somewhere by the children’s home at Yad Vashem 30. They took a great liking to that idea, and right away they sent to Terezin a gardener from Israel specializing in dendrology. He grew some seedlings and one really was planted at Yad Vashem, and another was planted in Givat Chayim.

On the occasion of Terezin anniversary days in Givat Chayim, I spoke on the subject of how it had never stopped tormenting my mother that none of ‘her’ children had survived, and that I thought that my mother had been the last witness and contemporary of that planting. Suddenly Michal Beer spoke up: ‘I was there, I was one of the children who planted that tree, and after the war I was one of the children who replanted it by the crematorium.’ The tree had originally stood inside the ghetto, and after the war was replanted. At that time a small plaque had also been installed there, saying that the tree had been planted by Terezin children and that now it was under the patronage of the Prague Jewish community. The plaque is still there to this day.

I didn’t begin to involve myself more intensively in the Prague Jewish community until after 1969, when we as a family no longer presented a danger to it. Daniel was a small boy, and at the community they began to develop various activities, mainly for students – these were taken care of by Oto Heitlinger, but also for children – this was under the aegis of Artur Radvansky, who put together a group of children who at the time were of elementary school age, thus from 6 to 16. He began involving them in sports, taking them to the mountains and camps.

There were about 20 children in the group, and because some of them were still little, he wasn’t able to manage it alone. So he was looking for reinforcements, female if possible. He knew my mother, because his daughter was taking English lessons from her. He asked my mother if she didn’t know of anyone, and she suggested me. I liked this idea very much, and so I took it on, and from the winter of 1970 I was in charge of this group along with Mr. Radvansky.

On winter weekends we’d go to the mountains; in Spindleruv Mlyn in the Krkonose Mountains we had two small rooms rented out in one cottage. There we also spent all winter and spring vacations, and Easter. Then during the summer we’d set up a tent camp in a meadow a little ways away from Pacov. We always celebrated Jewish holidays, Purim, Chanukkah, Simchat Torah [Simchat Torah] and spoke to the children about Jewish traditions and history. We tried to provide the children with this combination of Scout and Jewish education. The community partially subsidized these activities.

Sometime in 1975, some authority at the state ecclesiastical office declared that the Jewish community was a religious organization, and that only a real rabbi or cantor was allowed to teach religion, so they forbade us from performing any educational activities. Then it was also said that we weren’t any sort of sports organization, se we weren’t allowed to put on any camps and sports events. So from the originally only Jewish children we expanded, added other children, and kept on going, now however under the auspices of the ROH.

The cultural commission, which I chaired, was also cancelled, the reason given was that we were a religious community and had no business concerning ourselves with culture. So the organization of the celebration of holidays, which had originally been taken care of by the cultural commission, was moved into the cult department, which for long years was under Mr. Feuerlicht. And we kept on going...

At home we regularly listened to the Voice of America 31. I didn’t have much access to samizdat texts 32, until Charta 77 33. I didn’t sign it, but I did have its text, and lent it out to good friends. My husband was a big anti-Communist, but more of an internal one, he had participated in the struggle against Communists back as a student, and then no longer. In the fall of 1989 he of course also went to jingle keys [during the Velvet Revolution people symbolically expressed their dissatisfaction with the Communist regime by jingling their keys during demonstrations], those were great times, but for me very demanding.

On the one hand, I was experiencing great joy, but on the other great grief, from the loss of my father. My father died in Prague on 16th November 1989, thus the day before the revolution 34. He was already very ill, and if he’d lived to see the revolution, perhaps it would have injected some energy into his veins; as it was, you could see that he was very tired of the existing situation. On Tuesday he was going to the hospital for some sort of checkup, and as we were waiting for the ambulance, I asked him, ‘Listen, everywhere else around us, there are things happening. What do you think about here?’ He says, ‘It’ll still take a long time here, they’re these fossils here.’ That was on Tuesday. On Thursday he died, and on Friday, the 17th of November, the revolution started.

My mother and father visited Israel during the 1960s on business as employees of the embassy. I visited Israel for the first time in April 1989. The first time I went there for about 14 days with a small group from the Union of Anti-Fascist Fighters. The opportunity to travel freely, to see friends in the West, that was for me, personally, the greatest change that the revolution brought. Today I can say that all the hopes that we’d had back then hadn’t been fulfilled, that we’d imagined it a little differently. What I’m thinking of is that on a political level, Communism hadn’t been abolished. That great tolerance of ours opened the doors of the economy for former cadres, who held the reins and simply privatized it. Then these careerists in the former Communist Party simply just turned their coats and joined new parties. That disappoints me.

To this day, Artur Radvansky and I travel together to schools and speak to children about the Holocaust. I base myself on the experiences of a Terezin child, and he’s got the worst prison camps behind him. So together we provide the children with a relatively comprehensive impression of the Holocaust. It’s very interesting to listen to their opinions, and actually to guide them a bit. I think that it’s important for them to see us and find out for themselves that we’re completely normal and the same as they are. Sometimes we’d make some fun and we’d say: ‘Well, look at Hitler. Dark eyes, dark hair, not too tall. And now look at Artur. Light brown hair, blue eyes.’

We showed children how that racial theory was complete nonsense. Children react to us and to what we tell them very well. Once we were doing some tolerance project at one elementary school, and we were saying, ‘Look, you wouldn’t recognize on us that we’re Jews. Why should someone be intolerant of us just because we’ve got different ancestors than you?!’ And one girl from Grade 4 said in response, ‘Well, I don’t understand it either, after all, we’ve got the same God, we just worship him a little differently.’ So even small children basically understand what it’s about, but you’ve got to explain it to them, talk to them.

I remember that sometime at the beginning of the 1990s we were at a teacher’s seminar in Salzburg. One lady from Carinthia [a province of Austria], a history teacher, was there and was telling us how a student of hers had once come to see her, and had asked her whether she wouldn’t give her one hour of class time, without intervening in what would go on. It was bold, but the teacher knew she was a very sensible girl, and so gave her permission. And so the 14-year-old girl took charge, and first took a quick survey, in which she asked how the children would rate Hitler. Almost 100 percent of them replied negatively.

The girl then began telling them how Hitler had given people work, she spoke of a humiliated Germany and that thanks to it, Austria had once again become strong within the Reich. She then cited politicians and various important personages of the time, and all the good things they’d allegedly said about Hitler. And when she ended, she did the survey again, which now resulted in a shift to 60:40. At that moment she said, ‘See, you dodoes? Everything I’ve just been telling you, I thought up last night. You swallowed it whole, so just remember that you should think a bit before you get taken in by what someone tells you.’ Back then the teacher told us that it was a big lesson, even for her.

I’ve been retired since 1994, nevertheless I’ve still got many activities. I’m still involved with the Jewish community, I’m a member of the community’s leadership and since 1989 I’ve been working for the social commission of the Prague Jewish community. Earlier there was no social department as it exists today, we had one staff member who made the rounds of the necessary people, and otherwise all activities were performed by the commission. Today there’s an entire social department that functions on a highly professional level. I also had a lot of activities around the Charles Jordan senior citizens’ home.

I’m also on the board of the Terezin Initiative, where I’m responsible for the education commission. I often travel to Germany to give lectures, here some journalist contacts me, there I go to some school somewhere, or to Terezin, so I definitely can’t complain of boredom. But at least I’ve got the feeling that what I’m doing has a certain purpose.

Glossary

Körner Józsefné, szül. Halász Katalin

Született: 1910, Moson

Meghalt: 1991, Budapest

Szülei: Halász (eredetileg Haasz) Ottó (1878, Zólyom–1940, Budapest) és Berger Edit (1887, Moson–1969, New York)

Anyai nagyszülei: Berger Bernát (1838, Rendek–1926, Moson) és Baruch Teréz (1851, Győrsziget–1938, Budapest)

Az interjúkat készítette: Körner András (1940, Budapest–)

Az interjúk ideje: 1983-1990

Moson. A két Berger család közös háza és üzlete

Én Mosonban születtem és 1916-ig, hat éves koromig ott laktam. Apukáék ugyan 1911-ben Pestre költöztek, de én még 5 évig Mosonban maradtam a nagyszüleimnél. Később is mindig lementem nyaralni a nyári vakációra és a nagyünnepekre.

Emlékszem, hogy eleinte még petróleumlámpa volt a mosoni házunkban. Valamikor 1916 előtt vezették be a villanyt. Az biztos, hogy amikor anyukáék felhoztak engem Mosonból Pestre, akkor már villanyvilágítás volt a nagymamáéknál.

A házunkban a kapualj egyik oldalán laktak a nagyszüleim: a Bernát és a Riza néni, akit valójában Teréznek hívtak. A ház másik oldalán laktak a Frida néni [Doros Józsefné, Berger Frida, 1882–1963] szülei: a Sándor bácsi [Berger Sándor, 1845–1927], a nagyapám testvére és a Lujza néni [Baruch Lujza, 1848–1927], a nagyanyám testvére. Egyszóval, két testvér elvett két testvért és egy közös házban laktak. Közösen vezették a családi biztosító és gabonaüzletet. A közös családi üzletet „Alexander Berger und Bruder”-nek nevezték és ebben a Bruder a nagypapám volt.

Szóval volt a közös gabonaüzlet és biztosítóüzlet. Az utóbbi volt a Generali, az Assicurazione Generali. Ez egy olasz tulajdonban levő nagy biztosító intézet volt, amelyet Moson környékén mi képviseltünk. Jártunk Csornára, Szigetszentmikósra, mindenfelé biztosítani. Házbiztosítás, gabonabiztosítás, tűzbiztosítás, meg ilyesmi. A Frigyes bácsi, a nagypapa legidősebb fia [Berger Frigyes, 1878–1932] gyakran járt biciklivel, lovaskocsival vagy vonaton vidékre üzletet kötni. Ő intézte a biztosítási üzletet, de amikor a nagypapa öreg lett és egy kicsit szenilis, akkor már a gabonaüzletet is a Frigyes bácsi intézte.

Hetente kétszer volt piac Mosonban: csütörtökön és szombaton. Csütörtökön a nagymama is bent volt az irodában a kifizetésnél. Máskülönben nem segített. Ki kellett fizetni a parasztoknak a gabonát, amit hoztak. A parasztok a hetipiacra jöttek és egyúttal bejöttek a biztosítást is elintézni. Időnként mi gyerekek is segítettünk az irodában írni, de arra már nem emlékszem, hogy mit.

A parasztok által behozott gabonát a házunkban levő hat gabonakamrában tároltuk. Úgy emlékszem, hogy a gabona nem volt a miénk, a fizetés a fekbérért és a biztosításért volt. De néha sutyiban az öregek is vettek gabonát. Nem mindegyik gabonakamra padlására volt külön feljárat. Az első kamrában egy falépcső vezetett fel a padlásra, ott fent körbemehettél a többi kamra padlásán és az utolsó kamránál, a hatodiknál lejöhettél.

Amikor kezdték feltölteni gabonával a padlást, a gabonát mindig lapátolni kellett, hogy levegőt kapjon. Szép nagy kupac gabona volt. Mi gyerekek lecsúsztunk a lépcsőkorláton és félúton beleugrottunk a gabonába. Mondanom sem kell neked, mi történt: a gabona elindult világgá...

A közös ház nem zajlott mindig hangtalanul. Néha azon veszett össze a két nővér, hogy „te több körtét vittél el a kertből, mint én.” Hát ilyesmi körül volt a vihar. Meg a közös padlás körül. Örökké vihar volt, hogy ki akaszt fel, ki nem akaszt fel...

Este vacsora után a kapualj alól kivitték a padot a ház elé, a kapu mi felénk eső oldalára. Ott ült a padon a ház előtt a két testvér: a nagymama és a Lujza néni. A kapu másik oldalán két széken ült a két háztartási alkalmazott: a Paula és az Ilka.

A dagadt Paula már ősidők óta szolgált nálunk. Egész fiatalon került hozzánk, azt hiszem anyukával volt egykorú. Csak 1926-ban vagy 27-ben ment el tőlünk, abban biztos vagyok, hogy már a Frigyes bácsi esküvője után volt ez. Akkor ment el és ment férjhez a Paula. Pasasa korábban is volt. Időnként egy kicsit félrelépett. Egy tündéri aranyos teremtés volt, mi nagyon szerettük. Jobban tudta a Paula a zsidó szokásokat, mint sok zsidó.

A Paula mellett ült a ház előtt az Ilka, a Lujza néniék alkalmazottja. Ő is régen volt a Lujza néniéknél, de nem olyan régen, mint nálunk a Paula. A két alkalmazott hun veszekedett, hun jóban volt. Együtt mentek naponta háromszor libát és kacsát tömni a hátsó udvarra. Ott ültek egymás mellett és pletykáltak a libatömés közben.

Mosoni vakációk

Személyvonattal mentünk Pestről Mosonba, potom hét órát vagy mennyit tartott az út, mert a vonat minden fánál megállt. Amig kicsik voltunk addig valaki lekísért bennünket a vonaton. Volt úgy, hogy a Guszti [Brettschneider Augusta, a német nevelőnő], volt úgy hogy anyuka jött le velünk. Amikor már nagyobbak voltunk, akkor Pesten beültettek a vonatba és lent Mosonban a Frigyes bácsi várt a fiákerrel. Volt ugyan egy lovas omnibusz is Mosonban, de mi nem azzal mentünk. Autóbuszjárat csak akkor kezdődött, amikor én már nagyon nagylány voltam, már állásban voltam Pesten. Minket mindig fiákerrel várt az állomásnál a Frigyes bácsi, a pakkokat is a fiákerre rakták fel.

Egyszer engem küldtek le Pestről Mosonba a szegény Ferivel [Doros Ferenc, 1912–1945, anyám másodunokatestvére, aki munkaszolgálatban pusztult el], a Frida néni kisebbik fiával. Miután a Frida néni elég fukar volt, azt mondta a Ferinek: „Nehogy elmondd, hogy már elmúltál 6 éves!” Azt hiszem 6 éves korig nem kellett jegy vagy csak sokkal olcsóbb jegy kellett. Nem is volt a Feri túl nagy és olyan lányos pofája volt. Jött a kalauz. Olyan viccesen megkérdezte: „Na és te?” „Én nem vagyok ám olyan kicsi, csak azt mondták, hogy mondjam azt, hogy ennyi idős vagyok!” – felelte a Feri. Amikor leszálltunk, a Frigyes bácsinak kellett kifizetni a büntetést.

Mosonban mindenkit ismertünk. A szomszédok unokái is, ha nem laktak Mosonban, nyáron lejöttek a nagyszülőkhöz. Lányok csak egy ikerpár volt, a Kohn lányok, a Kohn Irén és az Olci. Velünk egyidős fiú viszont annál több volt.

A nagymamáéknál volt macskánk és egy ekkora, ronda, de nagyon aranyos kutyánk: a Bizsú kutya. Valami korcs volt. A kövér, rövid lábú Bizsú úgy nézett ki, mintha egy dakszli és egy tehén keveréke lett volna. A Bizsú napközben felkergette a macskát a fára. De amikor esténként a Bizsú a kiselőszobában az ebédlő ajtó előtti lépcsőn feküdt, hagyta, hogy a macska ráfeküdjön és úgy aludjon. A Bizsú olyan hűséges volt, hogy na! Esténként, amikor a kapu elé kitett padon ültünk, ő is oda feküdt a pad elé. De mindig csak a kapu mifelénk eső oldalán feküdt, soha nem ment át a Lujza néniék oldalára. Az utcára pláne nem ment ki; oda nem létezett, hogy ki tudtad volna vonszolni, mert attól rémesen félt, és mint a fene ugatott a félelemtől. Ha vakáció végén készültünk haza utazni és a pakkokat kihordtuk a kapu elé, hogy a fiákerre felrakjuk, a Bizsú úgy sírt, hogy az csoda.

Mind a négyen nyaraltunk Mosonban a nagymamáéknál, de legtöbbet a Lilivel [Rosenfeld Juliusné, Halász Lili, 1909–1984, anyám nővére] nyaraltam. A Lili és köztem pontosan egy év különbség volt, az nem számított semmit. A Klári [Erős Istvánné, Halász Klára, 1916–2001, anyám húga] is gyakran volt ott. Legkevésbé a Palira [Halász Pál, 1914–1984, anyám öccse] emlékszem; ő volt közülünk a legritkábban Mosonban.

Egy napunk Mosonban

Reggel

A felnőttek korábban keltek fel, mint a gyerekek. A nagymama már reggel 7-kor felkelt, ő mindig korán kelt. Ment kiadni a reggelit a nagypapának és a Frigyes bácsinak. Mihelyt felkelt a nagypapa, első dolga az volt, hogy odament a hálószoba ablakához imádkozni. Ezt még reggeli előtt csinálta. Annak az udvar felé néző ablaknak nagyon mély belső párkánya volt. A nagypapa odaállt az ablak elé, és rakta a tefillint, azt a bőr imaszíjat. Az egy olyan szíj, amit rátekernek ide a kézre, meg ide a csuklóra, ahogy most mutatom. Oda rátekerte az imaszíj hosszú csíkjait és közben imádkozott. Bevallom neked, hogy nem tudom pontosan, hogy miért rakják a tefillint.

Ha piacra kellett menni, akkor pláne korán felkelt a nagymama, akkor mesüge [bolond] volt az egész ház. Mindegyikünk a szobájában mosakodott, mert minden szobában volt mosdó. A házunkban nem volt folyóvíz, de még fürdőszoba sem volt. Be kellett hordani a vizet a szobákban levő szekreter-szerű mosdókba, és mosakodás után ki kellett vinni a piszkos vizet. A fürdőkád a konyhában volt, de abban csak hetente egyszer, valamikor a hét közepén fürödtünk. Máskor a kád tetejét egy deszka takarta, így napközben nem lehetett látni, hogy az egy kád.

A nagymama, nagypapa és a Frigyes bácsi korábban kapott reggelit, mint mi gyerekek. A Frigyes bácsi már korán ment az irodába dolgozni. Nem reggeliztünk együtt, mert ki hogy kelt fel úgy reggelizett. Mi gyerekek csak körülbelül 8-kor keltünk fel. Mi abban a szobában mosakodtunk, ahol a gyerekszoba volt. Próbáltuk amilyen gyorsan csak lehet befejezni a mosdást, ezért a nagymama időnként úgy odaállt mellénk a mosdást ellenőrizni vagy bennünket csutakolni. A mosdót mindig mint egy disznóólt úgy hagytuk ott, azt később, reggeli után, nekünk kellett rendbe rakni és kitörülni. Mire mi reggel felkeltünk, amire végig lettünk csutakolva, már nem volt olyan korán.

Reggelire tejeskávé volt, sohasem tea. De néha volt kakaó és egyszer-egyszer kuglóf is volt hozzá. Vaj, lekvár és méz mindig volt. Miután megreggeliztünk segítenünk kellett kivinni a cuccot a konyhába.

Reggel el kellett menni tejért a Rabl tejeshez. A Rabl nem volt zsidó, de annál úgy volt, hogy hát ezeknek is, azoknak is. A Klári úgy emlékszik, hogy a Horváth tanthoz is mentünk tejért, de én oda sohasem mentem. A Horváthéknak nem volt tehenük, ők a tejet kannákban kapták valahonnan máshonnan.

Délelőtt

Reggeli után kenyérkosárban el kellett vinni a pékhez a megkelt kenyértésztát. Ott számokat nyaltak rá, és azt így rányomták a kenyérre, hogy tudják melyik kenyér kié. Az ellenkező számot odaadták nekem. Nem minden nap vittük a kenyeret, mert a kenyér olyan nagy volt, hogy elég volt két-három napra. Jaj de jó volt az a nagy, gömbölyű köménymagos kenyér! Délben elmentünk a frissen sült kenyérért. Mire hazaértünk vele egy kicsit letördeltük és megeszegettük a jó lisztes, ropogós héját.

Délelőttönként néha segítenünk kellett otthon a takarításnál. A söprést a Paula csinálta, de kellett egy kicsit segítenünk törülgetni. Annyit törtem össze, mint ami belefért, úgy hogy a törülgetést nálam nem nagyon forszírozták. Kellett hátravinni a szemetet és beönteni abba a tartályba a kert sarkánál. Segítettünk egy kicsit a gabonát lapátolni vagy gyümölcsöt pucolni. Sokat nem segítettünk.

Néha segíteni kellett gyümölcsöt szedni meg a gyümölcsöt az előszobába behozni. Ha egrest kellett szedni, olyankor igyekeztünk meglógni, mert az szúrt. Ribizlit vagy málnát sem szerettünk szedni. Enni igen, de szedni nem. Zöldbabot sem szerettünk szedni, mert az úgy olyan laposan lent volt a fák tövében alul. Minket nem lehetett azzal büntetni, hogy nem kapunk enni, mert kimentünk a kertbe gyümölcsöt enni.

Egyszer egy héten kimentünk a nagymamával a piacra, és segítettünk neki a szatyrot vinni. A piacon megvett élő, összekötözött lábú libát haza kellett hozni. A libákat aztán otthon hizlaltuk. A libákat naponta háromszor tömték kukoricával, amit egy nagy vaslábosban főztek sóval. Azt imádtuk enni, de nem minden nap főzték ezt. Amikor ez friss, meleg és puha volt, akkor nagyon szerettük ezt enni.

Nem minden héten öltek libát. Azt, ha jól emlékszem, három vagy négy hétig kell tömni mielőtt leölik és kettőnél több libát sohasem tömtek nálunk egyszerre. Egy liba elég volt két hétig, mert hát közben volt csirke, kacsa, pulyka, galamb meg más hús is. Ha csirke volt ebédre, akkor azt el kellett vinni a sakterhez és aztán hazahozni. Nem mi pucoltuk a szárnyast, hanem a Paula, ezt ő irtó gyorsan ott hátul a szemétnél csinálta. Ha libát pucolt, a pehelyrészt külön tette, mert azt gyűjtötték. Az akkor is drága volt, és most is az.

Húst a kóser mészárszékben vettek vagy külön vágattak. A Steiner Oszkár kóser mészáros üzlete ott volt a Fő utca másik oldalán, a kápolna után. Nem minden nap vettek friss húst, csak úgy kb. kétszer egy héten. A hideg pincénkben a hús elállt egy-két napig.

Most már nem emlékszem, hogy hol vették a halat, azt hiszem a halat házhoz hozták. Sajtot a Frigyes bácsi hozott Óvárról. Túrót pedig mi magunk csináltunk otthon.

A meleg ebédet a Paula főzte, de a nagymama megmondta neki, hogy mit főzzön. A nagymama nemigen főzött, de a Paulát ő tanította meg főzni. Viszont a süteményeket mindig a nagymama csinálta. Ezen kívül a nagymama diót tört és befőzött. A rengeteg befőttet általában a nagymama csinálta a Paulával, olyankor a nagymama mindig ott volt.

A nagymama segített a takarításban, de vásárnapokon néha az irodában is. Meg foltozott és a kertben is mindig volt csinálnivaló. Ott ugyan volt valaki, aki segített. A Paula nem szeretett a kertben dolgozni, hát volt neki elég más dolga. Aminél a nagymama általában kint volt, az a libamáj sütés meg a töpörtyű sütés volt, de hát a Paula már azt is olyan jól tudta, hogy na.

Ha a Paula metéltet vagy nudlit csinált ebédre, azt az udvarra kitett és fehér abrosszal letakart asztalon a napon szárította. Csak hát azt folyton figyelni kellett, mert a csirkék nagyon szívesen felmentek arra. Délelőtt mi gyerekek gyakran ott lábatlankodtunk a konyhában. Segítettünk egy kicsit keverni a Paulának.

Néha kunyeráltunk tízórait is. Nem mintha éhesek lettünk volna, hiszen nem volt olyan sok idő reggeli és ebéd között. Inkább azért kunyeráltunk, hogy ne kelljen közben valamit csinálni. Tízóraira gyümölcs volt és néha pirítós kenyér vagy lángos. Lángost olyan napokon csináltak, amikor kenyeret sütöttek. Olyankor egy darab kenyértésztát körülbelül egy ujjnyi vastagon egy tepsibe terítettek. Ezt egy villával megmintázták, és jó vastagon meghintették sóval és köménymaggal. Berádlizták kockákra és otthon sütötték meg, nem a péknél, mint a kenyeret. Miután melegen kivették a sparherdből, libatollal megkenték libazsírral és kockákra törték. Nálunk a lángost tepsiben sütötték, nem pedig forró zsírban.

Ebéd

Mindig pontosan délben 12-kor, harangszóra volt ebéd, ahol felnőttek és gyerekek együtt ebédeltek. Bár a Frigyes bácsi egy felnőtt ember volt, és már mindent ő vezetett az üzletben, de mégis az nem létezett, hogy ő, ha nem volt éppen üzleti úton, ne legyen harangszóra délben otthon az ebédre és este 7-kor vacsorára.

A konyha melletti szobában ettünk. Az a szoba eredetileg [amikor Riza néni gyerekei kicsik voltak] gyerekszoba volt, de a mi időnkben már ott ettünk és a nagymama meg a nagypapa napközben abban a szobában tartózkodott. Ott volt egy nagy négyszögletes asztal, annál ettünk. Az utcára néző ebédlőben csak nagy ünnepnapokon ettünk vagy ha látogatók jöttek. Nyáron, jó időben kint ebédeltünk a kertbeli fedett, fából épült szaletliben; az ott volt a konyhához közel. Ha a konyhából a kiselőszobán át kimentél a kertbe, a szaletli ott volt rögtön balra az ajtó mellett. Az első világháború után eladták a kertnek ezt az elülső részét és lebontották a szaletlit. Azután nyaranta az udvaron ebédeltünk a vadgesztenyefa alatti asztalnál.

Minden nap valami más volt ebédre. Mosonban egy hónapig nem etted ugyanazt, mert ráértek főzni. Nem úgy, mint az ma szokás, amikor mindig ugyanazt a négy-öt féle ételt adják. Érdekes, de én nem emlékszem, hogy annyi pörköltöt zabáltunk volna Mosonban, mint most. Már ránézni sem tudok egy pörköltre.

Majdnem mindig volt ebédre leves; hát valamivel meg kellett tömni azt a sok embert. Például volt húsleves, benne rengeteg aprólékkal és kifőtt tésztával. A leves után nem volt minden nap húsétel; gyakran meleg tésztát adtak második fogásként. Sütemény vagy torta többnyire csak pénteken és szombaton volt. Nem a spórolás miatt, hanem azért, mert ez így volt szokás.

A leves után nagyon sokszor volt lekváros derelye, barátfüle. A derelye nem mindig volt krumplis tésztából. Volt kelt tészta, főtt tészta, diós metélt, nudli, krumplis nudli. Grízes metéltet is gyakran csináltak, azt nagyon szerettem. Csináltak néha prószát, amit imádtunk. Az egy kukoricalisztből készült kukoricamálé. Jó libazsírral csinálták és mazsola is volt benne. Isteni könnyűre csinálta azt a Paula, az nagyszerű volt. Néha volt káposztás rétes és nagy ritkán krumplis rétes is.

Csirkén és a másfajta szárnyasokon kívül gyakran volt galamb is. Tudod, hogy az milyen jó? Olyan, mint a legfehérebb csirkehús. A galambokat mi tenyésztettük; a galambdúc ott volt a kisudvarnál, az eresz alatt. A galambot is el kellett vinni a sakterhez, mert semmi olyan húst nem ettünk, amit nem a sakter vágott le.

Hal is gyakran volt. Csináltak diós halat, paprikás halat, rántott halat, halkocsonyát. A sárgarépás diós halat többnyire valami hegyes orrú halból csinálták; azt hiszem az csuka volt. Érdekes, hogy gefilte fis sosem volt nálunk, még szombaton sem.

Ezen kívül csináltak borjú tüdőt, töltött paprikát, töltött karalábét. Újévkor, de néha máskor is volt libaaprólék gesztenyemártással. Céklából csak salátát csináltak, cékla levest nem. Volt sokféle főzelék: spenót, zöldbab, zöldborsó stb.

Hetente néhányszor, de többnyire péntek délben tejes ebéd volt. Nem volt megszabva, hogy a hét melyik napján legyen tejes étel, csak az, hogy mennyi idő kell, hogy elteljen tejes és húsos étel evése között. Ilyenkor volt például meleg tejleves, amit apád úgy szeretett, mi viszont már sokkal kevésbé. Vagy valami más tejes leves volt, például tejes krumplileves vagy tejes bableves. Azt mind lehetett tejfellel és vajjal csinálni, szóval nem kellett libazsírral behabarni. A leves után olyankor gyakran volt túrós metélt. A főtt tésztát mindig otthon gyúrták, azt a konyhában a márványasztalon csinálta a Paula. Nyáron tejes napon néha hideg ebéd volt, például túró tejfellel vagy hideg tökfőzelék.

Valamikor nyáron, azt hiszem júliusban, van két nap, amikor a Szántó Magda böjtöl és a böjt előtti nem tudom hány nap csak tejeset eszik, zsírosat vagy bort nem. Sose tudtam, hogy akkor böjtölni kell.

Délután

Mi gyerekek vártuk, hogy az ebéd lemenjen, és délután lemehessünk a Dunára úszni. Korcsolyázni egyikünk sem szeretett, úszni viszont mindannyian nagyon szerettünk. Ha jól emlékszem a Lili fel mert ülni a Frigyes bácsi biciklijére is. A biciklit sohasem szerettem, és sosem tanultam meg biciklizni. Szóval, fürdőszezonban már alig vártuk, hogy meglóghassunk úszni. Ebéd után rögtön szedtük a cuccunkat és mentünk. Néha vittünk magunkkal almát vagy körtét uzsonnára. A Frigyes bácsi is jött néha velünk, habár ő többnyire ebéd után lefeküdt egy kicsit aludni.

Eleinte a strandra jártunk abba a fakalibába, aminek csak oldala volt, de teteje nem. Vanicsek néninek hívták a fürdős nénit. A nők kalibája mellett volt a férfiak vetkőzője. Mindig kukucskáltunk. Nagyon hamar meguntuk a strandot és miután jól tudtunk úszni és a Frigyes bácsi megengedte, kimentünk a szabad Dunára úszni. Eleinte a Frigyes bácsi felügyelete alatt mentünk, később egyedül is. Nagyon kevesen voltak ott, de mi voltunk.

Később majdnem mindenki a szabad Dunára járt úszni és nem a strandra. Először is, a strandon fizetni kellett. Ezen kívül oda vissza kellett menni. Nekünk sokkal egyszerűbb volt fentről leúszni a strandig és akkor vizesen gyalog visszamenni. Sokszor felmentünk félig Óvárig és onnan úsztunk le. Mondanom sem kell, hogy iksszer elúsztunk a vízimalmok mellett. A strand felett ugyanis volt két malom. Mindig balhé volt ebből, ha megtudták otthon. Később azért már megengedték. Leúsztunk a hivatalos strandig. Mi mind jól úsztunk, de a Lili tudott gyorsúszni és fejest ugrani is. Azt én sohasem csináltam.

A Dunára menetkor többnyire egy pokróc alatt vettük föl a fürdőruhát vagy már eleve fürdőruhában mentünk le. Nagyritkán a Horváthék Duna utcai házában vetkőztünk le, akkor is inkább az Ilka néni szobájában, ami a házukban hátul a konyha mellett volt. A Horváth Teréz tant nem nagyon imádta ha mi ott nyüzsögtünk, mert mindig csináltunk valami balhét. A Teréz tant nyilvános gőzfürdőjében pláne ritkán vetkőztünk le, mert ha a gőzfürdő üzemben volt, akkor oda be sem volt szabad mennünk, mert ott a férfiak voltak.

Nem siettünk haza a Dunáról, többnyire az egész délutánt ott töltöttük és csak este 6 körül mentünk haza. A fürdőruhánkat az úszásból visszafelé jövet is a pokróc alatt vettük le, ritkán mentünk már vissza a Horváthékhoz, mert a Teréz tantéknál már korán volt vacsora. Még világosban, de mindenképpen még ½7 előtt otthon kellett lennünk, mert különben állt a bál. Amikor hazaértünk el kellett mesélni, hogy mi volt, hogy volt délután, és segíteni kellett teríteni a vacsorához, ami mindig pontosan 7-kor volt.

Ebéd után a nagymama egy kicsit lepihent, esetleg foltozott, kézimunkázott vagy valami hasonlót csinált úgy körülbelül 4-ig. Akkkor mind Zack und Frack felöltöztek és várták, hogy jön-e vendég.

Ha nem volt fürdőszezon, akkor délután 4-kor meg kellett mosakodnunk. Délelőtt fülig koszosak voltunk, de délután meg kellett mosakodni és fel kellett öltözni, mert akkor kezdődött a vizitelési idő. Ugyanis délután jöttek az ismerősök látogatóba hozzánk. Ha vendéget vártak, néha még fürdőszezonban is már délután 4-re haza kellett jönnünk az úszásból. Ezt nagyon rühelltük.

Ha rossz idő volt vagy nem volt fürdőszezon, olyankor délután otthon vacakoltunk. Meg kellett tanulnunk varrni; ehhez a nagymama ragaszkodott. A Lili is megtanult Mosonban géppel varrni, én is megtanultam. Megtanultam kötni és horgolni is. Kézimunkázni meg hímezni is kellett volna, de ezeket nagyon utáltam és nem csináltam.

Szóval délután néha varrtunk, babát csináltunk vagy más hasonló dologgal szórakoztunk. Én rengeteg mindent varrtam és csináltam. Babákat csináltam, magam csináltam a snitteket is hozzá. Az úgynevezett Seppie baba volt a specialitásom, az egy olyan tiroli baba volt. Pénzt kerestem vele, mert egy csomó ilyen babát eladtam. Nyári táskákat is csináltam, kalapot is csináltam. Egyszer, amikor a Klári is lent volt nyaralni, kivasaltam a fején egy kalapot.

Szőnyeget is csináltam rámán. Be is törtem a rámával az ablakot, méghozzá azt az utcára nyíló ebédlőablakot, amely a dobogón álló biedermeier szék mellett volt. Hadonásztam a rámával, mert akkor éppen nem akartam szőnyeget csinálni, és betörtem az ablakot.

Én mindenből szerettem egy példányt csinálni, bár babát azt többet is. Akkoriban divatosak voltak az ilyen gömbölyű párnák. Cikkelyekből voltak kötve és egy bojt lógott a közepükről. Amíg az elsőt csináltam, addig nagyon tetszett, a harmadik már nem.

Időnként járt hozzánk egy házivarrónő is, úgy hívták, hogy Fräulein Nellie. Egy vénkisasszony volt magas ingnyakkal, nyakkendővel és egy olyan tipikus angol hosszú, vékony izés rúddal. Rém jópofa volt a Nellie kisasszony. A gyerekszobában dolgozott, mert ott volt a varrógép.

Amikor még Mosonban laktam, a nagymama tanított engem zongorázni. Négykezesezni kellett vele. A nagymama jól zongorázott és szép hangja volt. Amikor anyukáék felvittek magukhoz Pestre, akkor abbamaradt a zongoratanulás, de néhány évvel később elkezdtek hegedülni taníttatni. A nyári szünidők alatt a mosoni Geiger hegedűművészhez küldtek gyakorolni, hogy ne felejtsem el az év közben tanultakat.

Egyszer egy évben a Frigyes bácsi felvitt bennünket Óvárra a Selmeczi cukrászdába. Mosonban nem volt cukrászda, de az óvári kitűnő volt. Volt úgy, hogy délután kimentünk a szaletliba és ott társasjátékoztunk. Bábszínházat is csináltam, meg színházasdit is játszottunk.

Amikor egyszer volt valami árvíz, vagy mi a jó csoda, és az egyik gabonakamra éppen üres volt, egy délután ott tartottunk jótékony célú színielőadást az árvízkárosultak javára. Talán azért tettük az előadást délutánra, mert a gabonakamrában nem volt villany. Vagy ha volt is, nem volt ott elég lámpafény egy esti előadáshoz. A kamrákat magasan levő szellőző ablakok világították; mindegyik kamrában volt néhány ilyen ablak. Az nem tetőablak volt, csak magasan levő szellőző ablak. Pokrócból csináltunk függönyt. Talán még 14 éves sem voltam akkor. Fiúruhába öltöztünk, de azért volt férfi szereplőnk is. A Herz Imre udvarolt akkoriban nekem, az ő gatyája volt rajtam. A Herz Imre nem szerepelt, csak a nadrágja, ami rajtam volt. Később az Imre kivándorolt, azt hiszem Amerikába.

Valódi színházba nem jártam Mosonban. Hát kisgyerek voltam. Hova vittek volna egy kis gyereket színházba? Anyuka viszont nagyon sokszor volt Bécsben és Győrött. Győrött nagy hangverseny és színházi élet volt. Néha jött Mosonba is valami. Voltak bálok a Weisses Rössl, a Fehér Ló szálloda báltermében. Én soha nem voltam ott bálon, mert az én időmben a Fehér Ló már nem volt olyan, mint régen. A bálokról csak anyukától hallottam. Nem voltak komoly koncertek Mosonban, legfeljebb a tűzoltók rendeztek valamit, néha meg a [zsidó] nőegylet rendezett valamit.

Mi gyerekek nagyon szerettünk felmenni a nagymamáék zárt padlására. Az volt nekünk a szentély. A padláson tartották a diót. Volt ott fönt egy nádból fonott próbababa., úgy nézett ki, mint egy ronda madárkalitka. A zárt padláson tartották a nagymamáék egy ládában a pészahkor használt tálakat és edényeket. Sok régi levél és levelezőlap is volt ott. Emlékszem a „szépreményű Baruch Teréz kisasszonynak” címzett levelezőlapokra, azzal a hegyes, gótikus, tipikusan régi írással és gyönyörű régi bélyegekkel. Először röhögtünk a szövegeken, aztán leszedtük a bélyegeket. Volt egy nagyon szép Schaubeck bélyegalbumom, azt sajnos később ellopták. Régi ruhák és régi könyvek is voltak fent a padláson, azokat nem volt szabad lehozni, nem is tudom, hogy miért.

Egyszer, amikor már nagyobb gyerekek voltunk, találtunk fent valami régi virágokból csinált koszorút, s azt levittük. A nagymama akkor mesélte nekünk, hogy az a koszorú egy hosszú báli ruhájának sleppjén volt még abból az időből, amikor a nagypapa udvarolt neki. Mindent elraktak! A Frida néni később ugyanilyen volt: elrakta a madzagokat és dunsztosüvegeket is, de Mosonban több hely volt. Sok kotillon is volt a padláson, azok egy dobozban voltak. Tudod, hogy mi volt a kotillon? Azzal igérték oda a bálon a férfiaknak a táncot. Préselt kép, például virágot ábrázoló, volt a közepén és tüll vagy szalag körülötte. Olyan volt mint egy karácsonyfadísz. Szóval ebbe beleírták, hogy melyik tánc kié. Nekem még van a nagymamától egy-két ilyen kotillon.

És az a rengeteg kalap egy ládában! Annyi strucctollas kalap és mennyi külön strucctoll is volt ott! Meg egy ilyen kitömött kakadúu. Annyit röhögtünk a kalapokon meg a padláson levő többi vackon amikor már nagyobbak voltunk, hogy az nem is igaz. Jó világ volt az nekünk! Nekünk az isteni volt!

Vacsora

Mindig pontosan 7 órakor vacsoráztunk. Vacsorára meleg étel volt, mindig valami más, mint amit délben ettünk. Mindannyian együtt vacsoráztunk. Először mindig a Frigyes bácsinak adtak. Eleinte még ugyan a nagypapa vett elsőként, de később ugye a nagypapa már egy kicsit szenilis volt. Általában a nagymama osztott, de legelőször hagyták, hogy a Frigyes bácsi vegyen magának.

Ha tejes vacsora volt, akkor csináltak például tejberizst kakaóval vagy túrót tejfellel és metélttel. Ha zsírosat csináltak vacsorára, olyankor sokszor volt pénecl, mi így hívtuk a pirítóst. Pénec jiddisül szeletet jelent. Zsírral és fokhagymával megkentük, azt nagyon szerettük. Volt néha vacsorára libatöpörtyű törtkrumplival. Késő ősszel vagy tél elején néha adtak vacsorára inarszt. Az egy fajta libaszalonna volt. Azért hívták inarsznak, mert „von innen”. Ezt úgy csinálták, hogy a levágott tömött liba melléről leszedték a hájat. A bőr alól levették a hájat, ami ilyen vastag volt, és azt jól befokhagymázták, majd pirospaprikával bedörzsölték. Teljesen olyan volt, mint az abált szalonna, a paprikás szalonna. Csakhogy ez a libaszalonna nincs kifőzve, hanem csak ki van fagyasztva. Amikor az inarsz már jó hideg volt, akkor nagyon vékonyan vágták, nem azért, hogy spóroljanak, hanem a gyomor miatt.

Este

Körülbelül 8-ra lezajlott a vacsora. Addigra a Paula elmosogatott és megágyazott. Nyolc óra tájt a nagymamáék kivitték a padot a kapu alól az iroda elé a járdára, és ott beszélgettek egymással és a szomszédokkal. Ha rossz idő volt, akkor bent hagyták a padot a kapualjban a padlásfeljáró mellett. Az egy olyan jó jelenet volt amikor a nagymamáék ott ültek a ház előtt a padon. Ha több szomszéd is átjött és a padon nem volt már hely, hoztak még ki bentről székeket. A kapu másik oldalán ült két széken a Paula és az Ilka. Kicsit dumálgattak a nagymamáék is, a cselédek is. Megtárgyalták a világ sorsát. Este 10-kor ment mindenki lefeküdni, de előfordult, hogy a nagypapa már egy kicsit korábban bement, mint a többiek.

A Lili meg én vacsora után többnyire elmentünk a korzóra a fiúkkal haverkodni. A korzóra nem öltöztünk olyan nagyon ki, nem volt az olyan elegáns. Mindegyikünknek megvolt a saját udvarlója. A Lili is külön ment a lovagjával, én is külön mentem az enyémmel. A korzón főleg hozzánk hasonló taknyos srácok sétáltak. A Neumann Ottó is ott sétált, a két Goldberger fiú is. Azok még Bécsben is udvaroltak a Lilinek. A velem nagyjából egykorú Friedmann Pali nekem udvarolt, az haverom volt. A Friedmann Maxi is udvarolt nekem egy kicsit. Ő a Pali Paula nevű mamájának volt a legfiatalabb testvére, nálam valamivel idősebb, de azért fiatal. Szóval, főleg fiúkkal voltunk körülvéve, haverok voltunk. Ott sétáltunk fel és le a Fő utca másik oldalán, a kápolna és a Fehér Ló szálloda között. Nem mentünk be a kávéházba, mert azt nem engedték volna meg nekünk, de ez nem is jutott az eszünkbe, mert hát ki a fene akart leülni. Pontosan 10-re vissza kellett, hogy legyünk a korzóról, mert kellett lefeküdni menni.

Egész kis koromban, amikor még állandóan Mosonban laktam, akkor néha a nagymama és a nagypapa között aludtam az ágyban. Hát már olyan öreg volt a nagypapa, hogy ez nem zavart. Máskor a gyerekszobában raktak le. Ott rendesen a Frigyes bácsi aludt, de hát ugye ő 1914-ben bevonult, és akkor én aludtam ott.

Ha mind a négyen ott nyaraltunk, akkor néha a nagymamáék hálószobájában aludtunk a dupla ágyban. Az olyan széles volt, hogy mind elfértünk benne. Ilyenkor a nagymama és a nagypapa a konyha melletti szobában aludt. Akkor a nagypapa már nagyon öreg volt és ezért jól jött, hogy a gyerekszoba fűthető volt, mert az ő hálószobájukat nem lehetett fűteni. De mind a négyen elég ritkán voltunk ott nyaralni. Ha csak a Lili és én voltam ott, akkor a gyerekszobában aludtunk. Amikor a Klári még kislány volt, ő is a nagymama és a nagypapa között aludt.

Vallás és ünnepek a nagymamáéknál és anyukánál

A nagyszüleim vallásosak voltak. Megünnepelték a sábeszt, tartották az ünnepeket. A nagymama nagyjából kóser háztartást tartott. De azért nem tartottak be minden szabályt olyan hű de pontosan.

A dédnagymamának, a Baruch Katinak [Baruch Edéné, Kauders Katalin, 1818–1912] nem volt parókája, csak olyan hajrolnija. Jól emlékszem arra, amikor ezt megtudtuk. A mosoni hálószoba egyik sarkában állt egy nagyon édes kis öltöző asztalka, amelyen egy olyan billenő tükör volt. Egyszer, amikor gyerekek voltunk találtunk abban az asztalkában olyan hajrolnikat. Persze mindegyikünk a fejére rakta. Megkérdeztük, hogy ez mi. „Ez a dédnagymama sejtlije volt” hangzott a válasz. „Hát mi az a sejtli?” – kérdeztük. Akkor a nagymama elmagyarázta, hogy a dédnagymama a haját így előre rakta és a sejtlit így a haja közé tette, hogy mégis legyen benne műhaj. A nagymama elmondta, hogy egy ideig ő is csinálta ezt, amikor még fiatal asszony volt, de később már nem. A mi családunkban nem volt kopaszra nyírt nő.

A Frigyes bácsi már alig-alig tartott valamit, nemigen tartotta az ünnepeket vagy a kóser szabályokat. De azért a nagypapa kedvéért tartotta a nagyünnepeket, és széder este is ott volt, habár végig hülyéskedte az egészet. Egy keresztény nő, az Ilka néni volt a barátnője. A Frigyes bácsi gyakran vásárolt kolbászt a keresztény hentestől, az Ördöghtől. A kolbászt és a szalonnát ő az egyik kamrában vagy az udvaron ette, a lakásba nem vitték be, mert tekintettel voltak a nagypapára. Ha apuka Mosonban volt, ő is evett a kolbászból, mert szerette az ilyesmit. A Frigyes bácsi szombatonként eljárt a barátaival biliárdozni a Mocca kávéházba. Hát persze, hogy szombaton nem lett volna szabad ilyesmit csinálni. A Frigyes bácsi fütyült az egészre. Hát egy ember, aki végigcsinálta a háborút, az nem fog egy nagy gezereszt csinálni az ilyesmiből. [gezereszt csinálni: nagy ügyet csinálni. A héber gezerotból származik.] És ilyesmiben a nagymama abszolút modern volt, habár ő maga nagyon becsületesen tartotta az ünnepeket.

Anyuka Pesten a húszas évek elején még eljárt szombatonként a Csáky utcai zsinagógába, de ezt csak egy pár évig csinálta, aztán ez elmaradt. A nagyünnepi böjtölésen kívül más ünnepet nem tartottunk. Pesten például már nem tartottuk a hagyományos széder estét. Apuka egyáltalán nem volt vallásos. Nem böjtölt, szerette a disznóhúst és a felvágottat. Nagyünnepeken anyuka nem főzött, mert ő olyankor reggeltől estig böjtölt. Ezért apuka olyankor nem evett otthon. Néha egy vendéglőbe ment, de többnyire meg volt híva a Bodor Gézáékhoz, akik szintén nem böjtöltek. Anyuka ugyan böjtölt, de különben nem főzött kóserül. Nálunk már volt néha disznóhús, és a tejest sem tartották külön a zsírostól.

Amikor a nagymama 1932-ben felköltözött hozzánk Pestre, tudta, hogy mi nem tartunk kóser háztartást. Azt mondta, hogy nem muszáj megmondanotok, hogy mit eszem: „Was du mir gibst, das ist koscher. Ich frage nicht und du sag es nicht,” azaz amit adtok nekem, az kóser. Akkoriban a nagymama már csak délig böjtölt, mert valami gyógyszert kellett szednie és azt nem lehetett éhgyomorra bevenni. De akkor is csak egy pohár kávét vagy tejet ivott. Szóval nem sonkát izével...

A mindennapi főzés a nagymamáéknál nagyjából kóser volt. Nem keverték a tejest és a zsírosat. A konyhában volt egy külön kis kredenc a tejes edény részére és egy másik szekrény a zsírosaknak. Volt egy vastag vörösmárvány-lapos konyhaasztalunk, egy olyan négyszögletes asztal. Az körülbelül akkora volt, mint az itteni asztalom. Arra azt mondták, hogy ha ezt lemosod, akkor tejes, ha újra lemosod, akkor zsíros. Ez már nem volt olyan szigorúan szabályos. Az ételeket úgy kellett főzni, hogy ne kelljen a sparherdre egyszerre tejes és zsíros ételt rátenni, mert azt nem volt szabad.

Főzéshez libazsírt használtak. A libát és a többi szárnyast elvitték a sakterhez, aki a zsinagóga udvarán vágta a baromfit. Ott volt valami sufnija. A sakter leölte a libát és röpítette, odadobta. A liba még felugrott egy darabig; ronda egy dolog volt. Volt ott az udvaron egy lefolyó a vérnek, a sakter ott csorgatta le a baromfi vérét. Volt kóser mészárszék is Mosonban, az a Fő utca másik oldalán a Kápolna téren túl volt. Vettek borjúhúst és marhahúst, mert egy jó húsleves marhahúsból van.

A saktertől hazahozott húst a konyhában egy vájdlingban kóserolták. Azt egy óráig vagy meddig kellett áztatni, hogy a vér kiázzon belőle. Aztán besózták és azt hiszem újra leöblítették. Már nem emlékszem erre pontosan.

Ha egy kést eltréfliztek, az volt a szokás, hogy azt be kell dugni a földbe. Bedugták egy pár napig vagy meddig, és azt mondták, hogy akkor magához tér a kés. Nem tudom, hogy ez miért van így. Ez nemcsak nálunk volt szokás, hanem ez általános zsidó szokás volt.

Sábeszre minden második csütörtökön vagy péntek reggel öltek egy libát. Abból csinálták a pénteki és szombati vacsorát és persze a szombati ünnepi ebédet. A szombati ebédre már pénteken megfőzték a libahúslevest, megcsinálták a libasültet és a sóletet. Szombaton csak fel kellett ezt melegíteni. A sólet egy vasfazékban sült, amit betettek a sparherd sütőjébe. Szombaton többnyire sólet volt, és a sóletben gyakran volt liba. Belefőzték a paprikás grízzel töltött libanyakat, a halslit is. Én imádtam ezt. Néha a libanyakat hússal töltötték meg, de a legjobb akkor volt, ha liszttel, paprikával, grízzel és jó sok libazsírral volt töltve. A sóletbe néha belefőztek keménytojást is héjastul, ami szép barna lett, vagy egész hagymát, ami szintén elszínesedett.

A barchesz az ünnepre előre készen kellett, hogy legyen. Ezt otthon sütötték a sparherd sütőjében. Minden péntekre és szombatra kellett barchesz, azt hiszem négy barchesz kellett sábeszre. Ez péntek délután már ott kellett, hogy legyen, mert pénteken mire a nap lemegy, már mindenkinek „frakkban” készen kellett lenni.

A péntek esti gyertyagyújtás nagyon jó volt. Azt vacsora előtt a nagymama csinálta. Be volt kötve a feje kendővel. Meggyújtotta a gyertyákat, és akkor odaálltunk a nagymama elé. Péntek este a nagypapa templomba ment, a Frigyes bácsi azonban már nem mindig ment vele. Miután hazajöttek, a nagypapa imazsinórral és egy olyan kis talesszel imádkozott. Péntek este és szombat délben a nagypapa levágta a barchesz végét, és abból ilyen kis katonákat tördelt és akkor „hamotzi lechem min haretz” (...aki a földből a kenyeret neveli...), egy áldást mondott a barcheszra, és az volt az ünnep. Pénteken sokszor a húsleves után libaaprólék volt tört krumplival vacsorára. Volt sütemény és kompót is.

Úgy emlékszem, hogy szombat reggel is a hétköznapihoz hasonló reggeli volt: kávé kenyérrel vagy kaláccsal. Szombaton nemcsak a férfiak mentek templomba, de a nagymama is ment. Mi csak rajcsúrozni mentünk a templomudvarra, azt sem minden szombaton. A nagypapa halála után a nagymama már nem járt minden szombaton templomba. Habár a szombati ennivaló már pénteken meg lett főzve, de azért a Paula minden szombat reggel befűtött a sparherdbe. Reggel meg kellett melegíteni a tejet, mert azt télen nem itták hidegen, és a szombati ebédet is meg kellett melegíteni.

Szombaton a nagymama nem engedte meg, hogy fára másszunk, mert a szombatot ő ünnepnek tartotta. Azon viszont sokat röhögtem, hogy mindig szombaton volt a nagytakarítás. A Paula csinálta a takarítást, de a nagymama is segített. Valahogy úgy gondolták, hogy az nem számít munkának. Szombaton takarítottak azon a címen, hogy az praktikus, mert olyankor nem kell vásárolni menni, nem kell főzni, csak melegíteni, és ezért van idő a nagytakarításra. Ilyenkor kihordták a szalonból és az ebédlőből az összes bútort az udvar felöli nyitott folyosóra, tornácra. Ezt a két szobát hetente csak egyszer takarították, a többi szobát viszont minden nap ki kellett takarítani.

Szombat este meggyújtottak egy ilyen széles, négy viasz szálból fonott hosszú gyertyát. Az asztalon egy pohárban volt bor és mellette egy nagyon szép ezüst doboz. A dobozban volt szegfűszeg vagy valami hasonló szagos vacak. Igen jó szaga volt, azt kellett szagolgatni. Áldást mondtak, és a borral kioltották a gyertyát. Ez volt a sábesz kimenetele, vége. Szombat vacsorára általában valami könnyebbet ettünk, mert a nagy ünnepi ebéd után mindenki tele volt. Ilyenkor például töpörtyű volt tört krumplival vagy libamáj.

A purimot, a farsangot is megünnepeltük Mosonban. Kisgyerekkoromban, amikor még a nagymamáéknál laktam, purimkor beöltöztem a padláson tartott göncökből jelmezbe. A spájzban levő sublód is tele volt mindenféle antik régi dolgokkal. Mindent magunkra raktunk! Csipkeszoknyát, alsószoknyát, kalapot, mindent. Én vettem a hegedűmet és mentünk házról házra kabarézni. Látogatók is jöttek purimkor hozzánk. Purimra nem mentünk le külön Pestről, ezt a maskarásdit még mint kisebb gyerekek csináltuk. Purimra sütött a nagymama isteni flódnit és kindlit. A diós és mákos kindli szélét így az ujjával megnyomkodta, hogy hullámos legyen. Később csomagban küldött nekünk Pestre kindlit purimra.

Pészahkor viszont mindig lent voltunk Mosonban. Arra gyakran lejött a Dezső bácsi is [Riza néni második fia: Bodor Dezső, 1881–1944, Auschwitz], anyukáék is, szóval szép számmal voltunk. Már egy-két nappal pészah előtt kezdődtek az előkészületek. Kirámolták a szekrényekből az évközbeni edényeket és kisikálták a szekrényt. Kihordták az évközbeni élelmiszert, a rendes lisztet, cukrot, mindent a spájzból és áttették az egyik gabonakamrába. Kirámolták a kiselőszobában levő handspájzot is. A padláson levő óriási nagy ládából lehozták a húsvéti edényeket. Az a láda akkora volt, mint ez az asztal itt nálam. Abban a ládában tartották évközben a húsvéti szervízt, edényeket és evőeszközt. Húsvéti különleges lisztet, cukrot és más élelmiszert vettek, és azok kerültek a spájzba. Megrendelték a húsvéti bort és maceszt is. A handspájztól kezdve az egész házban olyankor csak húsvéti dolog lehetett. A nagymamáék csak maceszt ettek pészahkor, de nekünk gyerekeknek külön süttettek kenyeret, amit az első kamrában egy asztalra tettek, mert a lakásba nem volt szabad bevinni. Hát ott volt a négy unoka, Fräulein, anyuka, apuka esetleg a Dezső bácsi is, na meg a Frigyes bácsi és a Paula. Ki tud ennyi embert macesszal megetetni? A kamrában azon az asztalon volt minden egyéb is: felvágott és más ilyesmi.

A szédert mindig az ebédlőben tartották. Széder este megterítették ott a nagy kerek asztalt. Kitették a széder tálat. Az egy ilyen kerek, többszintes tál volt, aminek felül volt egy füle, és alul volt talán három lába. Az alsó részben egy olyan függöny mögött egy hímzett zacskóban három lap macesz volt. A macesz tasakra a széder asztal képe volt hímezve és az asztal köré arameusul a Hagadah-ból vett idézet: „Ez a szenvedés kenyere...”. Anyuka 1946-ban magával vitte ezt a tasakot Amerikába és anyuka halála után pedig a Lili a New York-i Zsidó Múzeumnak ajándékozta. A szédertál felső részén öt kinyúló karon egy-egy kis tál volt. Azokban a tálkákban volt keménytojás, torma, meg valami kis sült darab. Lejjebb kis tálakban volt zeller és hrajszesz. Külön volt reszelt torma és sós víz. Egy salátalevélben volt összekevert darált dió, citrom és cukor. Hát az isteni jó volt, abból mindig lopkodtunk. A mosoni szédertál később a Paliéknál volt, mert anyuka odaadta. Nem volt ezüst, csak be volt futtatva. Egy ideig a Paliék pincéjében volt, aztán kidobták. Az asztalon mindenki részére volt egy-egy borospohár és egy külön pohár a prófétának, mert az volt a szokás, hogy várták az Illés prófétát.

A férfiak este először templomba mentek. A nagymama már nem tudom, hogy mindig ment-e templomba. Úgy emlékszem, hogy széder este a nagymama otthon maradt, és csak másnap délelőtt ment templomba. Mi gyerekek sem mentünk este a zsinagógába, csak a férfiak: a nagypapa és a Frigyes bácsi.

Szóval hazajöttek a férfiak a templomból azzal, hogy éhesek vagyunk. Kezet mostunk és leültünk imádkozni. Azt mondták, hogy cövám, cö izé, cö nemtudoménmicsoda és akkor bedugták az ujjukat a borospohárba és ippeg hogy lenyalták. Akkor vettünk a szédertál tálacskáiból, azokból a jelképes ennivalókból.

A széder a kivonulás vagy bevonulás emlékére rendezett ünnep, de hazudnék, ha azt mondanám, hogy tudom mi volt, hogy volt. Megjegyzem, érdekes elolvasni, nem kár, ha tudja ezt valaki, mert ez tulajdonképpen történelem.

El kellett mondani a Ma nistanah-t. Belenéztünk a könyvbe, hát teljesen kívülről nagyon ritkán sikeredett. A szédereste elején a legfiatalabb gyerek kérdésére a nagypapa elmondta, hogy „Ma nishtana halaila hazeh mikol laleilot”, azaz „miben különbözik ez az éjszaka a többitől”. Akkor volt a góde (haggada), ami az egyik oldalon héberül volt, a másik oldalon pedig németül, a könyv meg volt így felezve. Naná, hogy nem a hébert olvastuk, hanem a németet. De azért a hébert is kellett olvasni. Ha láttuk, hogy valaki lapoz, akkor mi is lapoztunk egyet. Hazudnék, ha azt mondanám, hogy öt szót tudtam belőle. Később a gimnáziumban ugyan tanultunk valamit héberül, de addigra kinőttük már azt, ami nekünk a széderből olyan nagyon szép volt. Apropó, a nagymama gódéja ma is megvan.

A nagypapa a szédereste elején még csinálta pontosan a dolgokat, de aztán minél jobban rendetlenkedtünk mi gyerekek, annál jobban sietett. Amikor már nagyon zajlott a felolvasás, akkor mi már kanállal csörömpöltünk. Hát tudod, milyenek a gyerekek. Amikor a nagymama már látta, hogy a szédereste első része a vége felé közeledik, akkor kiszólt a Paulának: „Paula, man kann die Knedel einkochen!” Akkor voltunk a legboldogabbak. Hát addigra már néha főtt is a gombóc, mert a Paula úgy tudott már mindent, mintha született zsidó lett volna. A vacsoránál elsőnek maceszgombócos libaleves volt, utána jött a becsináltnak nevezett libaaprólék szafttal, tormaszaftban vagy almaszószban. Süteménynek volt csokoládés-kakaós macesztorta vagy rakott macesz, amit tojással, darált dióval és cukorral csináltak. Nagyon jók voltak ezek a húsvéti torták.

A vacsora végén kinyitották a kiselőszoba felöli ajtót. Ez volt az élja óve, hogy jön a vendég, mert várták az Illés prófétát. Na, de jött a Paula lerakodni, mert mindenki tudta, hogy nem fog ott bejönni senkisem.

Tulajdonképpen a vacsora után újra le kellett volna ülni felolvasni. Talán egyszer vagy kétszer a nagypapa ilyenkor még egyszer leült, de azt már tíz perc alatt elvégezte. Az az olvasás már gyorsjárat volt, mert látta, hogy a gyerekek már türelmetlenek és a felnőttek is örültek, hogy megyünk aludni. Hát egy gyerek sem marad meg neked ennyi ideig tisztességesen, és már a felnőtteknek is elegük volt. Ugye a Frigyes bácsi meg a Dezső bácsi folyton hülyéskedtek: „Tévedsz, nem itt tartunk, hanem már két lappal előrébb tartunk!” – hát mentek a szövegek.

Akkor, a szédereste végén volt a maceszlopás is. Előzőleg a nagypapa széke mögé odatettek egy szalvétában mit tudom én hány darab maceszt. Nem volt sok. Hát annak van egy rendje, hogy amikor itt és itt tartasz a könyvben, akkor most az egyik gyerek ellopja a nagypapa háta mögül a maceszt. A nagypapa úgy tett, mintha nem vette volna észre, és amelyikünk megmutatta a nagypapának az ellopott maceszt, az ajándékot kapott érte. Hát ha nem is jött a próféta, de addigra már gyakran jött valami vendég és akkor persze már ment a traccs.

Húsvét reggelire maceszos kávé volt. Beletörték a maceszt a bögrébe, azt jól megnyomkodták, majd ráforrázták a tejet és a kávét. A tej vastag fölére még külön egy maceszt tettek. A macesz persze rögtön elázik a kávéban és úgy laktat, hogy az csuda. Az nagyon jó volt.

Nagyünnepkor egy hét iskolaszünetet kaptunk, és olyankor mindig lementünk Mosonba. Először volt a bűnbánati ünnep. Az Isten akkor, újévkor vizsgálja meg minden egyes ember tettét és nyolc nappal később jom kippurkor hoz ítéletet, akkor dönt élet és halál fölött. Újévkor a nagymama valamikor délelőtt, még mielőtt templomba ment volna, az udvaron egy élő, összekötözött lábú tyúkot forgatott meg háromszor a feje fölött. Ezt azért csinálta, hogy az előző évben elkövetett bűneit levezekelje. Mi csak azt néztük, hogy mikor csinál a tyúk a nagymamára. A férfiak a templomban verték le a bűneiket, mondták, hogy cö dám, meg nem tudom én micsoda.

Újévkor mindenféle édeset ettünk, hogy édes legyen az új év. Volt almakompót, sárgarépa, különleges kerek mazsolás barchesz. Ilyenkor gyakran volt gesztenyemártásos libaaprólék, ezt anyuka még később a Visegrádi utcában is csinálta. Újévkor nem volt szabad paradicsomosat csinálni, mert az savanyú. Úgy volt, hogy ha a szombat beleesik az újévbe, akkor az a szombatok szombatja, az a lehető legnagyobb ünnep.

Na most nyolc nappal újév után volt a nagyböjt, a hosszú nap. A böjt előtti este csak könnyű vacsora volt, mert a böjt már este kezdődött. Már a böjt előtt meg lett főzve, és előre megsütötték a kuglófot, amit aztán a böjt lejártával vágtak fel. A nagymamáék böjtöltek, a nagyünnepet még a Frigyes bácsi is tartotta. Elmentek a templomba és várták, hogy kimenjen a böjt. Nagyböjtkor a nagymama is ment a zsinagógába, akkor a nők is mentek. Mi gyerekek ilyenkor mindig mentünk a nagymamát meglátogatni a templomban, és vittünk neki virágot. Én ezt nem tudom megérteni, mert a nagymama nem volt ortodox. Azt sem értem, hogy volt szabad nekünk virágot vinni. Mert a Szántóéknál egy zsebkendőt ide kötöttek a gyerekeknek, amikor kicsik voltak. Se retikült nem szabad vinni, se pénztárcát, se semmit. Hát virágot hogy szabad vinni? Hát az is csomag. De mi bizony vittünk virágot a nagymamának.

Az ott a templomban egy külön műsor volt. Mi odaültünk a karzatra a nők közé. A templomban a nők egy olyan elég ritka rács mögött ültek a karzaton. Ott ültek az előkelő nagyságák is meg az öregasszonyok. Innentől eddig volt rajtuk ezüst meg arany, fel voltak díszítve. Én annyi pletykálást még soha a büdös életben nem hallottam, mint ott. Amikor már nagyobb lány voltam, a Fenákel kántor udvarolt nekem. A templomban a Fenákel felnézett, én lenéztem, nagyon jó kabaré volt. A Fenákel később a Csáky utcai zsinagógában volt kántor, gyönyörű hangja volt. Azt hiszem a háború alatt elhurcolták és kivégezték.

Képzelheted, hogy nem ültünk egész nap csak úgy szépen bent a templomban, kimentünk a zsinagóga nagy udvarára hülyéskedni és traccsolni. A gyerekek is időnként kint rajcsúroztak. Akkor kijött a nagypapa és mondta nekünk, hogy: „Menjetek haza és nézzétek meg, hogy jött-e posta. Ha valami nagyon fontos jött, akkor a Paula nyissa ki és szóljon!” Nekünk persze nem volt szabad az ünnepen kinyitni a levelet, de a nagypapát izgatta, hogy mi jött, és ezért kérte, hogy a Paula, aki persze keresztény volt, nyissa ki és szóljon. Ezen mindig röhögtünk.

Sátoros ünnepkor mindig a házunk udvarán, a Lujza néni része előtti két diófa között állították fel a sátrat. Én nem is emlékszem, hogy nálunk külön sátor lett volna. A Lujza néniék soha nem aludtak a sátorban, csak ott ettek. Mi sohasem ettünk a Lujza néniék sátrában.

A szimhát Tóra, a Tóra ünnepe a szukkot, a sátoros ünnep utolsó napja. Akkor a templomban a rabbi körbement a Tórával, és mi gyerekek kis zászlókat tartva mentünk utána és persze rendetlenkedtünk. Ez egy nagyon szép szokás volt, ezt nagyon szerettük.

A hanukkát is megünnepeltük Mosonban. A karácsonyt ott nem tartottuk, azt csak Pestre költözésünk után kezdtük tartani. Hanukkakor az ebédlő utcai ablakába kitették a szép, előkelő nyolcágú menorát és minden nap eggyel több gyertyát gyújtottak meg rajta. A gyerekszoba ablak nagyon mély belső párkányára pedig egy kis fatuskót tettek. Az a belső párkány-szerű ablakdeszka a vastag fal miatt olyan mély volt, mint ez az asztal. Arra a fatuskóra nyolc kis színes gyertyát állítottak és még egyet külön. Az a külön gyertya volt a samesz, a szolga. Azzal gyújtották meg egyenként a tuskón levő kis karácsonyfa gyertyákat.

A mosoni házunk

A nagymamáék háza Mosonnak Óvár felé eső végén volt. Egy 1786-ban épült, olyan parasztkúria típusú ház volt, az építési év rá volt faragva a Fő utcai íves kapunk zárókövére. A Sándor bácsi és a nagypapa 1875 körül vette meg az épületet. A Sándor bácsi már 1874-ben Mosonban lakott, de azt nem tudom, hogy már korábban megvette-e ezt a Fő utcai házat vagy másutt lakott. A ház hátsó traktusa a gabonakamrákkal nem volt olyan régi, mint az utcai rész; a kamrákat a családi gabonaüzlet részére építették.

A ház boltíves, széles kapubehajtójában állt az a pad, amit este kivittek a ház elé, az irodaablak alá. A házunk egy bődületes nagy udvar körül épült. Az utcai kaputól balra volt a nagymamáék lakása, jobbra pedig a Sándor bácsiék lakása. A hátsó traktus fele lejtő udvar utca felöli oldalán, na meg a Sándor bácsiék oldalán egy olyan oszlopos, íves tornác, egy fedett folyosó volt. A széles kapun át lovaskocsival be lehetett hajtani az udvarra és az utcai kapuval szemben egy másik nagy kapun keresztül ki lehetett hajtani a ház mögötti kertbe. Ha kocsival trágyát hoztak, a kocsi ott ki tudott hajtani a kertbe.

A Lujza néniék oldala részben alá volt pincézve, a hálószobájuk és szalonjuk alatt volt a pince. A kapu őfeléjük eső oldalán volt a pincelejárat. Tíz vagy hány lépcső vezetett le a nagy pincébe, amely olyan hideg volt, mint egy frizsider: az volt a jégszekrényünk. Tüzelőt is tartottak a pincében.

A kapu ugyanazon az oldalán volt a padlásfeljárat. Közös volt a feljárat, de fent a két családnak külön-külön lezárható padlása volt a ház hozzá tartozó része felett. Ezen kívül volt még egy közös padlás is.

A Lujza néniék oldalán, a pincelejárat és a konyhaajtójuk között volt egy kis toldaléképület, abban volt a mosókonyha. Nagy üst volt ott, amit nyáron kihoztak az udvarra, télen pedig ott bent a helyiségben mostak. A személyzet ott fürdött, mert ott is lehetett vizet melegíteni. Nyáron az üstben főztük a szilvalekvárt is.

Ugyancsak az udvar Lujza néniék felé eső oldalán volt a kút, ami nem kerekes, hanem pumpás kút volt. Előtte egy nagy padkán állt egy rózsaszínű kő medence, olyan volt, mint egy kő váza. Ma ez a kő váza van a Frigyes bácsi sírján, valahol van is egy fényképem róla. Azon a kő vázán volt egy deszka, arra tették rá a vizesvödröt. A márvány tartányon alul volt egy lyuk, azon át a felesleges víz lefolyt, végigfolyt a lejtős udvaron és átfolyt az udvar másik oldalán a vécé alatt a kertbe. Ott belekötődött valami pocsolyába vagy emésztőbe.

Csak a kútból lehetett vizet venni, mert a konyhában és a szobákban nem volt folyóvíz. Fürdőszoba egyáltalán nem volt az egész házban. A fürdőkád a mi lakásunkban a konyhában, a Lujza néniék lakásában pedig a gyerekszobában állt. A szobákban olyan mosdó szekrények voltak. Be kellett hordani a kútról a vizet a fürdőkádba és a mosdókba. Mosdás, fürdés után ki kellett merni a vizet a kádból és kivinni kiönteni. A vécé mind nálunk, mind a Lujza néniéknél olyan likas vécé volt, amelyekbe csak kintről, az udvarról volt bejárat. Időnként jött a latrinás kocsi és kipucolta a pöcegödröket.

Az iroda a házunk bejárati kapuja mellett a mi oldalunkon volt. Az irodának volt egy utcára néző ablaka, a bejárata pedig egy lezárható dupla ajtó volt a fedett folyosóról. Az irodában volt egy nagy kassza, két íróasztal és egy olyan rács. A rács mellett volt egy olyan pult, mint egy könyvelői pult. Az egyik fiókban mindig volt cukorka, abból gyakran csórtunk. Volt az irodában egy kis mosdó állvány, de az nem volt olyan hochelegant, mint a szalonban meg az ebédlőben. Volt ott egy bőrkanapé is, azon aludt a Frigyes bácsi, amikor anyukáék Mosonban voltak.

Amikor a Frigyes bácsi 1926-ban elvette a Frankl Erzsit [Frankl Erzsébet, ??–1944, Auschwitz], a régi szalonunkból csináltak maguknak hálószobát. Akkor egy új ajtót törettek a volt szalonból az irodába, hogy ne kelljen mindig kimenniük a folyosóra, de azért megtartották az iroda eredeti, udvar felöli ajtaját is.

A Frigyes bácsi halála után a Frankl Erzsi egy kézimunkaüzletet nyitott a volt irodában. Az üzlet részére egy új ajtót törtek az utca felöl.

A nagyszüleim lakása az iroda mellett volt. Az utcai fronton volt a szalon és az ebédlő, a többi helyiség pedig az utcára merőleges épületszárnyban volt és az udvarra nézett. A lakásban a kiselőszobán keresztül volt a bejárat. Az udvarról a fedett boltíves folyosóról bementél a kiselőszobába, és onnan mehettél balra az ebédlőn át a lakás utcai szárnyába és jobbra a konyhán át az udvari szárnyba. Mindkét szárnyban a szobák egymásba nyíltak, és csak egymáson keresztül voltak megközelíthetők. A kiselőszobán át lehetett az udvarról és a lakásunkból a kertbe kimenni.

Az ebédlő ajtó mellett a kiselőszobában volt egy kis fülke, abban volt a szobavécé. Ha valaki beteg volt, ezt használta a rendes vécé helyett, mert oda csak az udvaron át lehetett menni. Az öregek is a szobavécét használták, mert az a lakáson belül volt. Később a hálószobájukban is volt egy szobavécé. A szobavécé olyan volt, mint egy mély beépített szekrény. Ajtaja volt és bent a fülkében volt egy padba süllyesztett porcelán bili.

Ha éjszaka valakinek vécére kellett menni, az a bilire ment. Minden nachtkasztliban volt bili. A szalonban, az ebédlőben, a hálószobában és a gyerekszobában is volt egy-egy mosdószekrény. A mosdók gyönyörűek voltak, olyanok, mint egy bútor. Márvány lapjuk volt. Minden mosdóhoz tartozott egy szerviz. Amilyen minta volt a kancsón és az ivó- és szájmosó poháron, olyan minta volt a bilin is. Minden darabnak ugyanolyan virágos mintája volt. Gyönyörű Zsolnai bilik voltak.

A kiselőszobában egy lépcsőn kellett fellépni az ebédlő dupla ajtajához. Azért volt dupla, mert egymás mögött két ajtó volt. Ha rosszak voltunk, büntetésből oda zártak be bennünket a két ajtó közé.

Az ebédlőben csak ünnepekkor vagy olyankor ettünk, ha vendégek voltak, különben mi mindig a gyerekszobában ettünk. Ha mi gyerekek Mosonban voltunk, akkor a Frigyes bácsi az ebédlőben aludt, de ha anyuka és apuka is lejött Mosonba, akkor ők aludtak az ebédlőben az ágyon és a kanapén. Olyankor a Frigyes bácsi az irodában aludt.

Az ebédlő bútor és a szalon bútor teljesen egyforma volt a nagymama és a Lujza néniék lakásában, mert a bútort teljesen egyformán kapták. Minden egyforma volt, még a bútorhuzat is.

Az ebédlőben volt egy nagyon szép kredenc, egy szép régi kredenc, az volt az ajtó egyik oldalán. Mellette állt egy szép régi ágy. Az ebédlőben is volt egy lecsukható fedelű mosdószekrény, de abban egy szép majolika mosdó volt, nem egy pléh lavór, mint a gyerekszobában. A mosdóban az alsó szekrényrészben volt egy majolika kancsó, a mosdó mögötti polcon pedig pohár. A mosdó felhajtható fedelén ezüst állt. Gyönyörű dolgaik voltak. A mosdó másik oldalán állt egy szép kanapé. Ezután következett az ablak előtt álló dobogó, amin egy biedermeier szék állt. Mellette, a két ablak között volt a zongora. A zongora után, már majdnem a falnál, volt egy szép, lábakon álló tükör. A tükör mögött volt a kottatartó láda. Akkor jött a szalonba vezető ajtó. A szalonajtó és a folyosófal között két szék állt. A sarokban volt egy cserépkályha, amelyet kívülről, a kiselőszobából lehetett fűteni. Az ebédlő közepén volt egy kerek asztal néhány szép székkel.

A szalonba, amit csak akkor használtak, ha vendég volt, csak az ebédlőn át lehetett bemenni. Nem volt fűthető, mert nem volt kályha benne. A szalon garnitúránk ugyanolyan volt, mint ami később a Frida néniéknél volt az Érmelléki utcában, mert a Frida néni felhozatta a mamája, a Lujza néni garnitúráját Pestre. Ez az oszlopos komód itt nálam a Frida néni szalon garnitúrájából van. A Frida néni a Klárinak adta, és a Kláritól került aztán hozzám. A szalonban volt egy nagy tükör és előtte egy olyan félkör alakú, foncsoros kis asztalka. A szekrény és a vitrin között két fotel vett körül egy hatszögletű asztalt, amelyen egy fémkupakos fajansz sereskrigli készlet állt. A kriglik kb. 20-25 cm magasak voltak. A Riza néni oszlopos szekrénye először anyukához került a Visegrádi utcába és most az Áginál van. A mosoni vitrin a Visegrádi utcából került hozzám a Kresz Géza utcába.

A handspájz a kiselőszobában a konyhaajtó mellett nyílt. Az volt nekünk gyerekeknek a titok kamra. Abban tartották az értékesebb élelmiszert. Abban volt csokoládé, kakaó, mazsola, süvegcukor meg más ilyesmi. A handspájz olyan volt, mint egy beépített szekrény.

A konyhába a kiselőszobából volt a bejárat. A konyha nagyon nagy volt, akkora, mint most ez a két szoba itt nálam. Ugyan a handspájz közel volt a konyhához, de a nagy, rendes spájzhoz ki kellett menni az udvarra, mert az az udvarról nyílt. A konyhában nem volt se folyóvíz, se lefolyó. A konyhában volt egy, a mostani ebédlőasztalomnál nem is szélesebb négyszögletes, vörösmárvány tetejű asztal. A fürdőkád a konyhában volt. A kád mellett volt valami kályhaszerűség a fürdővíz melegítésére. Nem tudom hogy fűtötték, de nagyon jól fűtötte a fürdővizet. Hetente egyszer fürödtünk, olyankor a kúttól be kellett hordani a vizet a kádba, és a fürdő után ki kellett trógerolni a piszkos vizet.

A Paula a konyhában aludt, ott volt egy kinyitható ágya és egy szekrénye. Az ágy egy olyan fedett kocka volt, amit este kinyitottak. Az ágynemű is abban volt. Volt neki a konyhában egy mosdója is, de az csak egy iksz lábú izé volt, fölül lavórral és akörül egy kis peremmel, ahova a fogmosó cuccot lehetett lerakni.

A gyerekszobába csak a konyhán át lehetett bemenni. A gyerekszoba eredetileg az Arthur, az Ilona, az anyuka és a nagymama többi gyerekének volt a szobája. Akkoriban biztos volt benne gyerekágy, de amikor mi Mosonba kerültünk, akkor már csak egy nagy antik ágy és egy kanapé volt benne. Nyilván azért volt az valamikor a gyerekszoba, mert ott volt a nagymamáék hálószobája mellett. A mi időnkben ez a szoba tulajdonképpen a Frigyes bácsi szobája volt. Napközben a nagymamáék ebben a szobában tartózkodtak. Ott ebédeltünk és vacsoráztunk is, szóval az olyan volt, mint egy nappali. Ha Mosonban vakációztunk, vagy mi aludtunk a gyerekszobában vagy a nagymamáék mentek át oda aludni és mi az ő hálószobájukban feküdtünk le.

A gyerekszoba ablaka az udvarra nézett. Egy henger alakú, magas vaskályha remekül átfűtötte ezt a szobát. A kályhát alul a Paula szedte ki, az nem volt egy olyan egyszerű dolog. Az ágyon és a kanapén kívül egy gyönyörű antik szekrény is volt ebben a szobában. Továbbá volt ott egy mosdó is, amin egy olyan felhajtható fedél takarta a pléh lavórt. Úgy nézett ki, mint egy olyan kis íróasztal. Alul volt egy kis szekrény része a vödörnek, mert a lavórba be kellett hozni a vizet. Ezen kívül volt benne hely a kannának is, amiben a meleg vizet hozták, meg egy ilyen kispolc a fogmosó poharaknak.

A hálóba csak a gyerekszobából volt bejárat. Általában a legtöbb szobába csak egy másik szobán keresztül lehetett bemenni. A háló ablaka is az udvarra nézett. Ez a szoba nem volt fűthető, mert kémény híján nem lehetett oda kályhát tenni. Ha mind a négyen Mosonban nyaraltunk, olyankor néha mi aludtunk a nagymamáék két nagy ágyában.

A hálószoba bútor olyan szép paraszt-biedermeier stílusú volt. A diófa bútorokat néhány szép faragott rózsa díszítette. Az ágyak, amelyeknek nagyon magas diófa hátuk volt, szintén így voltak díszítve. A két ágy előtt volt két szalon-fotel, olyan, mint ami a Frida néninél is volt. Egy asztal, négy szék és két ilyen kis szekrény is volt ott, melyeken szintén olyan faragott rózsák voltak. A hálóban is volt egy olyan sublód-szerű nyitott mosdószekrény. A felső részén hátul volt egy tükör és az előtt pedig egy márványlap. Azon volt rajta a nagy lavór és a mögött, a szekrény hátsó falán, volt egy kis polc a fogmosó holminak. Alul volt egy szekrény rész. Egy ilyen mosdó volt később anyukáék hálószobájában a Visegrádi utca 6-ban.

A hálónak olyan szép bútora volt, hogy amikor a Frigyes bácsi elvette a Frankl Erzsit, akkor nem azt a szép fehér, zománcozott vas csőágyat használták, amit az Erzsi hozott, hanem a nagymamáék antik ágyát vitték át a maguk részére a korábbi szalonba, s a csőágyat pedig oda adták a nagymamának. A szalon elég nagy volt ahhoz, hogy a Frigyes bácsi és az Erzsi ott éljen, belefért a két nagy ágy és előtte pedig a szalongarnitúra.

A spájzba, ami az udvari szárnyban a háló után következett, csak kintről, az udvarról volt bejárat. Jó messze volt a konyhától, mert ha a spájzba akartál menni, akkor a kiselőszobán át ki kellett menni az udvarra és ott egy kis kibetonozott fedetlen járdán a ház udvari szárnya mellett hátramenni a spájzig. A baromi nagy spájznak egy kis ablaka volt az udvar felé és egy másik a kert felé.

A spájzban ekkora nagy árpával, zabbal, meg a jó ég tudja mivel teli vájdlingok voltak és azokba, az árpa közé volt betéve a tojás. Állítólag abban jól eláll a tojás. A spájzban az élelmiszer mellett néhány más vacakot is tartottak. Ott lógtak egy naftalinos szekrényben azok a nagy pelerines kocsis-kabátok, amiket az üzletünkhöz tartozó kocsisok viseltek régebben, amikor még a Frigyes bácsi kocsival járta a falukat üzletet csinálni. A mi időnkben azonban már nem csinálták ezt, de a kabátokat azért megtartották. Ez a most nálam levő biedermeier szekrény akkoriban olajfestékkel bemázolva a mosoni spájzban állt. Volt ott egy sublód is, benne kalapokkal. Mindent elraktak Mosonban, semmit sem dobtak ki!

A spájzba csak akkor mehettem be, amikor már nagyobb voltam. De még akkor is oda csak rendetlenkedni mentünk. Kihúztuk a sublódot, kivettük a kalapokat. Turkáltunk a zabban a tojások között. Amibe csak lehetett, belenyúltunk.

Ha az udvaron azon a fedetlen tyúkjárdán tovább mentél a spájz után következett az első gabonakamra, utána pedig a vécé. Télen-nyáron ha vécére mentünk, akkor ki kellett mennünk a szabadba, az udvarra. A vécé a szabadból nyílt egy egész közönséges faajtóval.

A gabonakamrák és a fedett udvar

Összesen hat kamra volt a házban, a kamrák az udvar hátsó felét vették körül. Az első kamrában indult fel a lépcső és az utolsó kamrában, a hatodikban, már a Lujza néniék oldalán jött le. A kamrákba magasan levő, nem túl nagy szellőző ablakokon keresztül jött be valami fény. Arról már meséltem, hogy mi gyerekek gyakran a kamrákban játszottunk, és hogy a Frigyes bácsi meg az apuka az első kamrában tartották a kolbászt és a többi nem kóser dolgot.

Télen ritkán volt a kamrákban gabona, ezt csak nyáron tárolták ott. Ez azért volt így, mert a paraszt behozta a gabonát és ott szárította nálunk. A gabonát akkor vitte el, amikor el tudta adni. Szóval, a gabona fekbéres alapon volt nálunk, nem a mienk volt.

A második kamra után fordult az egész épület, és ott az udvar hátsó falánál, a harmadik kamra előtt voltak a kinti baromfi ólak. Nagyobb zárt ketrecekben volt ott a liba és a kacsa. A kotlóstyúkok fonott fakosarakban voltak a ketrecek felett. Mindig én mentem kiszedni a tojást a kotlós alól, mert az ráült a rendes tojásra is. Az hogy csípett! Nem akarta engedni, hogy kivegyem a tojást alóla.

A fedett udvar a hármas kamra bejárata után következett. Néha a fedett udvart kisudvarnak is hívták. A fedett udvar a nagy udvar tengelyében, az utcai kapuval egyvonalban volt, a hármas és négyes kamra között. Ugyanolyan mély volt, mint a kamrák. Nagy volt, nagyobb, mint a mostani szobám. A kisudvarban is voltak tyúkólak, a szenet is a fedett udvaron tartották. Ezen az udvaron tömték a cselédek naponta háromszor a libát és a kacsát. A fedett udvar a nagy udvar felé nyitott volt, a kert felöli hátsó falában viszont egy nagy kapu volt. Az utcáról az udvaron át behajtó kocsi ezen a kapun keresztül tudott kijutni a kertbe.

Ott a nagy udvar hátsó falánál, a kisudvar eresze alatt lógott a galambdúc. A negyedik kamra után megint fordult az udvar, és a hatos kamra után pedig már a Lujza néniék része jött.

A Lujza néniék lakása

A lakásuk az utcai kapu velünk ellentétes oldalán volt. Az ő lakásuk utcai frontja hosszabb volt, mint a mienk, mert náluk három szoba nézett a Fő utcára. A pincelejárat mellett lehetett az udvarról bemenni a halójukba, amelynek egy ablaka volt az utca felé. Ez a szoba többnyire ki volt adva.

A szalonjukba csak ezen a hálón keresztül lehetett menni, vagy pedig a másik oldalról, a konyhán és az ebédlőn keresztül. A szalon és a mellette levő ebédlő is az utcára nézett. Az ebédlő- és a szalonbútoruk ugyanolyan volt, mint minálunk. Ha jól emlékszem, a Lujza néniéknél a zongora a szalonban állt. Az ebédlőnek sem volt külön ajtaja az udvarról: vagy a szalonon át lehetett oda menni vagy pedig a konyhából lehetett három lépcsőn felmenni az ebédlőbe.

A konyhájuknak nem volt ablaka, hanem csak ajtaja, ami az udvar felöl egy fedett tornácról nyílt. A konyhában volt egy szekrény-szerű handspájz, kézi spájz, olyan, mint ami nálunk a kiselőszobában volt, egy olyan beépített szekrény. Tulajdonképpen a Lujza néniék lakásába a konyhán keresztül volt a bejárat. Onnan lehetett jobbra menni az utcai front három szobájába és balra a gyerekszobába.

Az udvarról néhány lépcső vezetett a fedett tornácukra. Jó időben ők ott ettek ezen a fedett, boltíves tornácon, ahova a konyha és a gyerekszoba is nyílt.

A gyerekszobájuk nagyon sötét volt, mert az ablakai a fedett, alacsony tornácra nyíltak és tetejébe még a tornác elég mély is volt. A gyerekszobában fehér vaságyak voltak és ott állt a fürdőkádjuk is.

A spájzuk a fedett tornácról nyílt a gyerekszoba mellett. A spájz nagyon sötét volt, mert ugyanolyan mély volt, mint a gyerekszoba és tetejébe nem is volt ablaka, csak egy olyan kis ráccsal fedett lyuk a szomszéd ház felé. A Lujza néniéknél a vécé a tornácuk végén volt, így ők a fedett tornácon át tudtak vécére menni, míg nálunk az embernek ki kellett menni a fedetlen udvarra, ha vécére ment.

A Lujza néniék tulajdonképpen csak a mi lakásunkon keresztül tudtak kimenni a kertbe, ugyanis a fedett udvarbeli hátsó kertkapu mindig be volt zárva. Az egy nagy, nehéz kétszárnyas kapu volt, s ezért azt nem használták gyakori ki- és bemenésre. A Lujza néniék kimehettek volna a kertbe a mi részünkön át, mert nálunk a kiselőszobában a kertajtó nappal sohasem volt lezárva. Az igaz, hogy éjjelre lezárták azt az ajtót, de este úgyse nagyon mentek ki a kertbe. Mégis, kényelmetlen volt nekik átjárni rajtunk, ha a kertbe akartak menni, és mindig ebből adódott a veszekedés.

A kert

A kertbe soha senki nem ült ki, legfeljebb néha mi ültünk ki a szaletliba vagy a birsalmafa alá enni vagy beszélgetni. A Lujza néniék csak a gyümölcsért jöttek, mert nekik csak az volt érdekes. Mindig azon volt a vita, hogy egyszerre kell leszedni a gyümölcsöt, mert azt szét kell osztani.

A szaletli, egy olyan kerti pavilon, a kert utcai végében állt, a lakásunk kiselőszobájából a kertbe vezető ajtótól balra. Közel volt az utcai kerítéshez, de nem volt egészen az utca vonalán. El tudtál még menni a szaletli és a kerítés között, ott még volt egy kis távolság. A szaletli egy olyan fából épített fedett, de oldalról nyitott pavilon volt, ahol az ember ehetett meg ülhetett. Nem nevezheted háznak, mert nincs oldala, inkább egy olyan nyitott pavilon szerűség volt. A padlója is fa volt, három lépcső vezetett fel rá, hogy ne legyen nedves vagy sáros.

Nagyon szép volt a szaletli a faragott oszlopaival és a díszes tetőszerkezetével. Az oldala olyan bábos, lyukasztott részekből volt összerakva. A széle mentén volt egy lóca, középen pedig egy nagy hosszúkás asztal állt. Mi gyakran ettünk ott nyáron, mert nekünk közel esett a konyhához, a Lujza néniéknek viszont a francban volt.

A Lilivel gyakran felmásztam a szaletli tetőjébe, mert onnan remekül kiláthattunk a kerítés felett az utcára és láthattuk, hogy ki jön és ki megy. Nem volt nehéz felmászni, mert felléptünk a szaletli padjára, onnan az asztalra és onnan felmásztunk a tetőbe. A tetőből átláthattunk a kerítés felett, mert az csak egy nem túl magas fakerítés volt.

Ha a kertajtótól a szaletlivel ellentétes irányban indultál el a kertben, még mielőtt a spájzablakig jutottál volna, ott állt egy hatalmas birsalmafa. Az egyik ágán, amelyik egész alacsonyra lelógott, lógott mindig a hinta. Később aztán már magán az ágon is hintáztunk... A fa törzse körül volt egy kerek asztal és a körül pedig egy ugyanolyan lóca, mint amilyen a szaletliben volt. Néha ennél az asztalnál reggeliztünk a birsalmafa alatt.

A kert elején, a kertajtóhoz közel rózsák voltak meg mindenféle más virág. A ház falára, ami tulajdonképpen a spájzfal volt, szőlőt futtattak fel, habár sohasem volt nálunk rendes szőlő. Itt végig egres és ribizli bokrok voltak, amit mi nagyon utáltunk, mert azt nekünk kellett szedni.

Mielőtt befordultál az L alakú kert ház mögötti hátsó részébe, ott már kezdődött a gyümölcsös. Ott a ház sarkához közel volt egy olyan pumpálós kút. Az udvaron levő kút is pumpás volt, de a pumpája inkább olyan volt, mint egy vécé húzó. A kerti kút mellett két hordó állt, azokban gyűjtötték az esővizet. A kis kút mellett már kezdődött a körtefa, almafa, szederfa, barackfa.

Egészen a ház sarkánál volt egy magas fallal körülvett tároló, ahová a szemetet dobták. Egy körülbelül másfél méter magas fal vette körül ezt a másfélszer másfél méteres tárolót. Időnként elvitték az összegyűlt szemetet a tárolóból.

A kert hátsó, ház mögötti részében, már a ház sarka után volt krumpli, hagyma, rengeteg sárgabarack, aprókörte, nagy körte, alma és dió. Gyönyörű papírdió volt. Ezen kívül volt még szeder, egy pár szál kukorica, petrezselyem, sárgarépa stb. Szóval, ez volt a tulajdonképpeni zöldséges rész.

A hátsó kert legvégén, már a Miska bácsi féle ház kerítésfalánál volt a Lusthaus. Az egy drótra futtatott lugas volt, ami szőlővel volt befuttatva. Volt ugyan benne egy asztal és egy lóca, de mi sose mentünk oda. Nagy néha nyáron ott is fogadtak vendégeket kávéra vagy kakaóra. Valahol kell hogy legyen egy fénykép a dédnagymamáról, a Kauders Katiról, ami ott, a Lusthausban készült.

A házunk későbbi története

Valamikor az első világháború vége felé vagy nem sokkal azután a nagymamáék eladták a kertünk Fő utca felöli elülső részét a szomszédunknak, a tőlünk két háznyira Óvár fele lakó Fürdős nevű koporsókészítőnek. Az évre nem emlékszem, de azt tudom, hogy már iskolába jártam akkor, az biztos, hogy legalább 7-8 éves voltam, de az is lehet, hogy még 1-2 évvel idősebb. De még jól emlékszem a kertünknek abban a részében álló szaletlire, amit később eladtunk. Már nagyobb gyerekek voltuk, amikor a szaletlit lebontották, mert azt már úgy valahogy érzékeltük. A Fürdős annak a helyére épített egy kis házikót a Zsák utca és a Fő utca sarkán. Ebben volt a műhelye és egy, a korábbi műhelyénél nagyobb kirakata a Fő utcai fronton. A Zsák utcai frontra építtette az új lakását, a lakás rész ablakai a kertre néztek. Néhány évvel később a Fürdős megvette a házunk mögötti maradék kert részt is, így akkor már nem volt kertünk és a hátsó kertkaput sem használhattuk. A nagymama azért adta el a kertet, mert nem volt, aki művelje. Ugye a nagymamáék már öregek voltak, a fiúk pedig először katonák voltak, aztán meg már csak a Frigyes bácsi maradt ott.

Amikor a nagymama 1932-ben, a Frigyes bácsi halála után felköltözött Pestre, akkor már csak a Frankl Erzsi, a Frigyes bácsi özvegye maradt ott a házban. A mi részünk az övé volt, mert arról mindenki lemondott a Frigyes bácsi javára, hiszen a Frigyes bácsi tartotta el a nagyszüleimet.

A Lujza néni és a Sándor bácsi akkor már régen nem élt. A Frida néni eladta az ő részüket, de arra már nem emlékszem, hogy még 1932 előtt vagy azután adta-e el. Úgy hallottam, hogy akkor a Lujza néniék volt hálójából csináltak valami üzletet, aminek az utcáról törtek bejárati ajtót. Van is erről egy, még a háború előtt készült fénykép, amin jól lehet látni az üzletbejáratot és a bejárat feletti cégtáblát.

A Frigyes bácsi halála és a nagymama Pestre költözése után az Erzsi továbbra is a mi részünk utcai szárnyában, a szalonban lakott, egy konyhaszerűséget alakítva ki a tornácunk egy részéből. A volt irodában berendezett egy kézimunka üzletet, és annak törtek egy ajtót az utca felöl. Az ebédlőt és a ház hátsó udvari részét pedig eladta az Erzsi. Akkoriban én már nem voltam Mosonban, már a kézimunka üzletet sem láttam az újonnan tört ajtóval, erről csak hallomásból tudok.

A felszabadulás előtt utoljára akkor voltam Mosonban, amikor a nagymama még ott élt. Ez valamikor 1931 körül lehetett, amikor én már az Ehrlich Pistánál voltam állásban és a Lili már harmadik éve Bécsben tanult az egyetemen. Egy nemzetközi vásárra mentem Bécsbe, és útközben kiszálltam Mosonban a nagymamát meglátogatni. Sose fogom azt elfelejteni, ahogy akkor a nagymama a szoknyája alól kihúzott pénzt, hogy adjon nekem ajándékba. Egy nagy zacskóban hordta a szoknyája alatt a pénzét, úgy is utazott. Szóval akkor adott nekem valami húsz vagy harminc pengőt, hogy Bécsben legyen pénzem. Hát ami igaz, az igaz, jól is jött az ajándék, mert nem sok pénzzel mentem.

A háború alatt a Volksbund vonult be a házunkba. Akkor az udvar végén építettek egy iskolát, valami német iskolát, de ezt is csak hírből tudom. Teljesen átépítették a hátsó traktust. Később a háborúban lebombázták a ház oldalsó szárnyát, ahol a gyerekszoba és a hálószoba volt, de ha jól tudom, a konyhából még maradt valami.

A háború után voltam egy párszor Mosonban, de az már más volt. Emlékszem, amikor először voltam ott a háború után, akkor belógtam a házba és megnéztem, de rögtön kimentem, mert még azon a részen is ami megmaradt, össze-vissza csináltak kisebb-nagyobb ablakokat. Egyszóval elrondították.

Moson és a mosoni szomszédjaink

Amikor én Mosonban gyerek voltam, Moson és Óvár, németül Wieselburg és Altenburg, még nem épült össze. Moson vásárváros volt, csütörtökön és szombaton volt ott a piac. Mosonban és a környező falvakban az emberek többsége legszívesebben németül beszélt, habár mindenki tudott magyarul is.

Moson a Duna-ágtól nem messze levő Fő utca köré épült. Mi a város Óvár felé eső végén laktunk. Utánunk még volt öt ház és akkor jött a kiserdő. A kiserdő után is volt még néhány ház, de aztán jött a nagy semmi Óvárig. Hát ott ma minden be van építve, a kiserdőben pedig iskola van.

Tőlünk lefele, ott ahol az Ostermayer utca elágazott a Fő utcából, a Fő utca közepén egy olyan háromszögű kis parkban állt a kápolna. A Fő utca másik oldalán, a kápolnától a templomig terjedő részen volt hetente kétszer a piac. A zsinagóga az Ostermayer utca egy mellékutcájában volt. Az Ostermayer utca elején egy rakás zsidó lakott, a másik végén inkább gojok laktak. A Fő utcán lefele tőlünk főleg zsidók laktak, de aztán a Fő utcán még tovább menve többnyire keresztények voltak. Nagyon sok zsidó lakott Mosonban. De azért a zsidók és a keresztények nem különültek el olyan mereven. Az igaz, hogy a mi szomszédaink főleg zsidók voltak, de például a Fürdős nevű koporsókészítő, vagy velünk szemben a Tóth kocsmárosék és még egy csomó egyéb szomszéd is keresztény volt, Óvár kevésbé volt zsidós mint Moson, az inkább keresztény volt. Anyuka gyerekkorában létezett Mosonban egy zsidó elemi iskola is, de az később megszűnt, illetőleg beolvadt az államiba. A múlt század végén alapított polgári iskola már Mosonon kívül, kb. 1-2 kilométernyire Óvár fele volt. Anyuka eleinte a zsidó elemi iskolába járt, de az iskola megszűnése után az elemi felső tagozatát a nem sokkal azelőtt megnyílt polgári iskolában végezte. Gimnázium nem működött Mosonban, csak Óvárott. Moson Győr fele eső végén volt a Kühne gyár, a legnagyobb mezőgazdasági gépgyár Magyarországon. Apuka ott volt tisztviselő.

Mi a Fő utca 110-ben laktunk. Az Óvár felöli oldalunkon a szomszéd házban elöl keresztények laktak. Ott a ház hátsó szárnyában volt a nagyapám bátyjának, a Miska bácsinak a szobája, ott béreltünk számára egy szobát. Ő, Berger Mihály [1837–1916], a nagypapa legidősebb bátyja, hát hogy is mondjam neked, egy kicsit kilógott a családból. Nem lehet mondani, hogy nem volt normális. Nem volt nős és azt hiszem hozzánk járt enni vagy átvitték neki a kosztot. Pipázott, emlékszem, hogy volt egy pipákat tartó polc a falon nála. 1899-ben, a Hattie-nek Amerikába küldött lapra ő is ráírta, hogy „Grüsse, Miska”. 1916-ban halt meg, én még emlékszem rá. Ugyanabban a házban egész hátul az udvari szárnyban lakott egy zsidó vénasszony, a Pepi néni. Tökéletesen úgy nézett ki, mint az Ilonka, a mostani varrónőm, éppen olyan kicsi és sovány volt. Egész rendes, amolyan szalon-szerű bútora volt. Az volt a mániája, hogy az összes képeslapot, amit kapott, felragasztotta egy kartonra. Ezek a kartonok ki voltak akasztva nála. Ott lehetett minden lap, amit gyerekkora óta kapott. A tróger gyerekek, a Bandi is [anyám másodunokatestvére: Deutsch Endre, 1905, Budapest – 1943, Ukrajna, munkaszolgálatban], de mi sem maradtunk nagyon le, legyeket fogdostak a kartonokon meg leköpdösték a képeslapokat. Esténként a Pepi néni is kiült egy székre a kapuja elé.

Ha tovább mentél Óvár felé, ott volt a Fürdős koporsóboltja. Az első világháború után a Fürdős megvette a kertünket és ott csinált a Fő utca felé kirakatot meg műhelyt, mögöttük pedig egy házat magának. Az Óvár felöli oldalán laktak a zsidó Ostreicherék és azután az ugyancsak zsidó nagyon rendes Breinerék. A Breiner Jakab hitközségi választmányi tag volt, két fiúk és egy lányuk volt. Utánuk jött a Réti nevű sírköves, de utána már nem volt több ház, csak a kiserdő.

A mi oldalunkon, nem sokkal a kiserdő után állt a Sziráky villa. Egy szép ház volt egy kis toronnyal. Ott a földek, minden, a híres kutatóorvos Manninger professzor családjáé volt. A Sziráky villa után már lassan aus volt, még talán volt ott egy-két ház, de aztán már csak gabonaföldek voltak föl egészen a templomig, a kistemplomig, ami körülbelül a polgári iskolával szemben volt. A Löwin Miklós ma ott lakik egy újabb házban a Sziráky villa után, a mi oldalunkon. Voltunk nála veled és a Tomival 1987-ben.

A házunk másik oldalán, a Zsák utca után volt egy emeletes sarokház. Abban volt lent a Scheiber féle fűszerkereskedés. A Scheiberék zsidók voltak. Az egyik emeleti lakásban, az üzlet felett lakott a keresztény Kraft doktor, egy antipatikus általános orvos. A Kraft legfiatalabb fia, aki kissé idióta volt, vette el a Decker Gusztit. Ugyanott az emeleten a másik lakásban laktak a zsidó Kissék. Az öreg Kiss tanár volt. A legfiatalabb fia, a Kiss Józsi, a Lili lovagja volt. A Kissék négy fia közül talán egy maradt meg, a többi elpusztult a háborúban.

A Scheiber üzlet mellett volt a Kumpf Antal fényképész háza, az is goj volt. Annak Óvárott volt jólmenő fotóműterme. A Kumpf házánál már kezdett a járda elkanyarodni a kápolna mögött az Ostermayer utca felé. A fényképész után laktak az ugyancsak keresztény Zeitlerék. A pasas egy rohadt katonatiszt volt. Mellettük, egy emeletes házban laktak a zsidó Sternék. Az öreg Stern fuvarral és gabonával foglalkozott. A velünk nagyjából egykorú unokáik, a Goldberger Ottó és Hans, a Sternék lányának a fiai voltak. Ott volt még egy leánytestvér is. A Goldbergerék Bécsben laktak, de a gyerekek Mosonba jártak nyaralni a nagyszülőkhöz.

Utánuk következett a Sommerék földszintes háza, az már a kápolna elejével egyvonalban állt. Velük is nagyon jóban voltunk. A Sommer körorvos volt a családi doktorunk. Minden nap beköszönt hozzánk: „Was ist neues Bernát? Was gibt’s?” Persze tegeződtek. A Sommer néni, a Sommer Frida, anyuka jó barátnője volt, még itt Pesten is összejöttek. Amikor deportáltak, a menetelés közben, Hédervár mellett vagy hol, találkoztam a Sommer Frida nénivel, akit szintén elhurcoltak. Próbált rábeszélni, hogy lógjunk meg együtt, de nem mertem. Ő kétszer meglógott, de mindkétszer elkapták. Szegény Frida néni végül nem jött vissza, elpusztult a deportálásban. A Sommer bácsi egyik lánya itt Ráckeve környékén vagy hol volt férjnél. A fia, a velünk kb. egykorú Silzer Feri szintén lejárt a nagyszülőkhöz nyaralni Mosonba. A Sommerék csak sokkal később költöztek el abból a kertes házból egy, már a Baschék felé levő Fő utcai ház emeletére.

A Sommerék mellett volt az Ördögh hentes szép kis boltja. Nagyon jó paprikás szalonnája volt az Ördöghnek. A háború után a bolt a Fő utca másik oldalára költözött, a Vilmos Rév utca utánra. Az Ördögh utáni házban hetente háromszor mozi volt, persze akkor még némafilmeket játszottak. Azután jött a Hoffner ügyvéd emeletes háza, majd tovább menve a Teutsch patika. A Teutschék keresztények voltak. Az egyik fiúk, a Reinhold, akit mindenki Holdinak hívott, volt a Frigyes bácsi legjobb barátja. A bátyja, az Ottokar viszont egy rohadt antiszemita alak volt.

A zsinagóga az Ostermayer utca másik oldaláról nyíló Fürdő utcában volt. Az Ostermayer utca környékén sok zsidó lakott, azt az utcát régebben Zsidó utcának is nevezték. A zsinagóga belső tere egész tűrhetően nagy volt. Hát valamivel talán kisebb volt, mint a Csáky utcai templom, de nem olyan jaj de sokkal. Mondjuk hosszában volt kevesebb. Biztos, hogy bele kellett férjen egy pár száz ember, mert Mosonban körülbelül 700 zsidó élt. A kereskedők és az értelmiségiek nagy része zsidó volt. A templomban itt volt a tóraszekrény, így, ahogy most lerajzolom. Most itt lent volt az, ahova kihozták és letették a Tórát az olvasáshoz. Na, most itt ültek a férfiak. Talán 10 sor volt, vagy hány, a fene emlékszik rá pontosan. Itt volt valahol a följárat a karzatra. Ott fönt volt egy olyan elég ritka rács, a mögött ültek a nők. Amikor még kislány voltam, a Strausz Herman volt a rabbi, később pedig a Klein dr. Az igen szép hangú Fenákel volt a kántor, az nekem udvarolt. A Fenákel hétközben a Weisz órás és ékszerésznél dolgozott. Később Pesten a Csáky utcai templom kántora lett. Elvitték és elpusztult. A zsinagógának volt egy nagy udvara. Ünnepeken, kadis alatt a fiatalság az udvaron szórakozott. Az udvarban volt a sakter és a kántor lakása. A sakternek ott az udvaron volt valami sufnija, ahol leölte a baromfit. A háború után olyan kevés zsidó maradt Mosonban, hogy az ötvenes években már senki sem használta a zsinagógát. Végül valamikor a hetvenes években vagy mikor bontották le az egyre elhanyagoltabb, részben romossá vált épületet. De erről már csak hallomásból tudok.

A Bécsből származó zsidó Geiger hegedűművész gyönyörű villája valahol a zsidó templom környékén volt. A háztulaj az apósa, a Knapp ócskavasas volt. A Geiger elvette a jómódú zsidó Knapp ócskavasas lányát. Nyaranta oda jártam a Geigerhez gyakorolni, persze nem ingyen. Azért járattak oda, hogy a nyaralás alatt ne jöjjek ki a gyakorlatból.

A Neumannék szintén arrafelé, a zsinagóga közelében laktak. A Neumann Margit anyuka legjobb leánykori barátnője volt. Bécsbe ment férjhez. Szegényt aztán deportálták és elpusztult. Az egyetlen lánya azt hiszem megmaradt. A Neumann Margit fia, az Ottó, velünk volt egykorú.

Nem tudom mi volt a Politzer Rózsi lánykori neve. Azt sem tudom, hogy hol laktak, talán ők is valahol az Ostermayer utca környékén. Nagyon szegények voltak. Anyuka Mosonban nem volt közeli barátságban a vele kb. egykorú Politzer Rózsival, hanem csak New Yorkban lettek jóba. A Rózsi a férjével Ausztriában élt, a férje ott járási orvos volt. A Rózsi Ausztriából Pestre ment és a háború után onnan még anyuka előtt kiment New Yorkba. New Yorkban a Rózsi együtt dolgozott egy kifőzdében a mosoni barát Stadler Dórával. Mind a Rózsi egyetlen fia, mind a menye a Rózsi előtt haltak meg. A Rózsi utolsó éveit egy szeretetotthonban töltötte.

Tőlünk már egy kicsit Óvár fele, a Fő utca másik oldaláról vezetett egy utca a zsidó temetőhöz. Rézsút szemben velünk állt a Rabl tejes emeletes háza. Mellettük laktak a zsidó Stadlerék. Esténként gyakran átjöttek hozzánk beszélgetni, odaültek a házunk elé kivitt padra. A Stadlerné Flesch lány volt, a világhírű Flesch Károly hegedűművész volt a fivére. A Flesch Károly is Mosonban született. Az apjuk, aki az én időmben már nem élt, orvos volt Mosonban. A mosoni temetőben van egy szép síremléke. A Flesch Károlyt már egész kis korában elküldték a szülei Bécsbe hegedűt tanulni. A rokonai ott éltek Mosonban, de nem hiszem, nem emlékszem, hogy játszott volna ott. A Stadlerné férje, a Stadler Jakab gabonakereskedő volt. Eredetileg festőnek készült és a müncheni festőakadémián tanult. A lányaik, a Stadler Dóra és Annus anyuka jó barátnői voltak. Az Annus Berlinbe ment férjhez, az onnan menekült Bostonba. A Stadler Dóra is Amerikába, New Yorkba menekült a német férjével. Gyakran összejött ott anyukával, főleg a férje halála után. A Dóra eleinte egy kifőzdében dolgozott, később, a férje halála után pedig házvezetőnő volt. Az élete utolsó 6-7 évét Bostonban töltötte az Annussal. A Stadler Ilona Jugoszláviában élt, azt onnan vitték el. A Richardot is onnét vitték el. Az Ottó pedig a háború után elvette a Knapp ócskavasas özvegyét és kimentek Kanadába. Ott halt meg a nyolcvanas években.

A Stadlerék utáni második házban lakott a keresztény Tóth bácsi, a kocsmáros. Őt te is ismerted. Amikor egyszer anyuka és a Liliék hazalátogattak, lementünk Mosonba, és akkor a Julie [Julius Rosenfeld, Halász Lili amerikai férje] csinált néhány jó fotót a Tóth bácsiról. Az öreget Antalnak hívták. Az egyetlen fiúk, egy késői gyerek, is Anti volt. Ő Óvárott lett patikus. Engem nagyon szerettek az öreg Tóthék, mindig átjártam hozzájuk. Még a Tóth nagymamát is ismertem.

Két házzal arrébb állt az emeletes Wertheimer ház. Naná, hogy a Wertheimerék is zsidók voltak, de arisztokrata zsidók. A pesti „Wertheimer és Frankl” cég az ő családjuké volt. A Wertheimer Irén egy nagyon előkelő hölgy volt, olyan mint egy főhercegasszony. Két fia volt, az egyik elpusztult a háborúban. A Wertheimerné unokahúgát, a Frankl Erzsit vette el a Frigyes bácsi. A háború alatt a nagyon előkelő Wertheimerné férjhez ment a Neumann Margit papájához, aki egy abszolút primitív gabonakereskedő volt. Az egy olyan mezaliansz [rangon aluli házasság] volt, hogy mindenki röhögött rajta. De hát mit csináljon a Wertheimerné? Özvegy volt, az egyik fia elpusztult, a másik pedig otthagyta őt. A második házasságából a Neumannal már nem volt gyerek.

A Wertheimer ház mellett nyílott a Duna utca. A Duna utcán menve balodalt volt a Horváth Teréz fatelepe. A fatelep után jött, szintén az utca baloldalán, a Decker Ilka néni olyan kicsit villa-szerű háza. Az a ház ki volt adva, de az Ilka néni bútora volt benne. Annál a háznál a Duna utca úgy ketté ágazott és egy kis tér volt az elágazásnál. Erre a térre nézett az Ilka néni háza és az elágazással szemben, a Duna felöli oldalon állt a Horváth ház. A Horváth ház mögött volt egy gyümölcsös, egyszóval a ház nem a Duna partján állt, hanem beljebb. Ott, a Horváth Teréz házában lakott a fiatalon megözvegyült Ilka néni a két lányával, a Fricivel és a Gusztival. A Horváth tant és az Ilka néni keresztények voltak. A Frigyes bácsi évekig udvarolt a Decker Ilka néniek, aki egy rém rendes, tüneményesen helyes nő volt. Bár lett volna az Ilka néni zsidó, akkor biztos elvette volna a Frigyes bácsi! Mennyivel jobban járt volna vele, mint az Erzsivel, akit végül feleségül vett! De sajnos a nagyszüleimre való tekintettel az szóba sem jött, hogy az Ilka nénit elvegye. A Horváth Teréz magához vette az özvegyen maradt Ilka nénit és dolgoztatta, mint egy barmot. A házban elöl volt a Horváth néni két szobája nagyon szép holmival. A háznak volt nekiépítve a gőzfürdő, ami szintén jövedelem volt a Horváth néninek. Nem voltak szegény emberek a Horváthék, de úgy dolgoztak, mint az állatok, még a gyerekek is. A gőzfürdőben volt kádfürdő, meg egy nagy gőzkamra, aminek olyan lépcsős padjai voltak. A gőzfürdőbe férfiak jártak, a Frigyes bácsi is odajárt a barátaival. Na most a gőzfürdő másik oldalán volt hátul a konyha és egy szoba, ahol az Ilka néni aludt a két lányával. Ha úszni mentünk a Dunára, néha ott, az Ilka néni szobájában öltöztünk át fürdőruhába. A Horváthék gyümölcsöse nagyjából a Dunával párhuzamosan húzódott, mert ott a Duna utca elkanyarodott. De a gyümölcsös sem ért le a Dunáig, csak parallel ment azzal. A Horváth néni nagyon vigyázott a bődületesen nagy kertjére. Mennyi kárt csináltunk mi abban! Lecsipkedtük az érett szőlőt. Az Ilka néni gyerekei mindig féltek, hogy mi lesz, ha a Horváth tant, a Teréz tant meglátja.

A Fő utca és a Duna utca sarkán állt a Friedmannék szép egyemeletes háza. Az ortodox zsidó Friedmannék jómódú gabonakereskedők voltak. Érdekes, hogy a kisváros Mosonban hány gabonakereskedő volt: a Friedmannék, a Stadlerék, a Neumann, a Löwin Károly, mi és még mások is. A Friedmann Lipót volt a Chevra Kadisa meg a Talmud társaság elnöke. A Friedmann Paula anyuka nagyon jó barátnője volt. A Paula legfiatalabb testvére a Friedmann Maxi is jött velünk néha a Dunára. Később a Maxi elvette a már nem tudom milyen nevű győri cipőkenőcs-gyáros Daisy nevű lányát. Mind a ketten meghaltak a háborúban. A Paula egyetlen fia, a velünk körülbelül egykorú Friedmann Pali nekem udvarolt. Ő aztán vegyészmérnök lett a mosoni Timföldgyárban és a bécsi bombázáskor halt meg.

A Friedmann-ház mellett állt az egyemeletes apácazárda, középen, a bejárat felett egy szép toronnyal. A zárda épületében volt az Ostermayer óvoda. Anyuka oda, az apácákhoz járt óvodába és nagyon szeretett oda járni. Ő volt az egyik első növendék az 1890-ben megnyílt óvodában. Egy gazdag katolikus agglegény hagyományozta a rendre az épületet és hozzá a kisdedóvó alapításához szükséges pénzt, azzal a megkötéssel, hogy bármely vallású gyereket be kell fogadniuk. A zárda után két földszintes ház következett, majd a Weisz ügyvéd emeletes háza. Körülbelül ott volt a piac felső vége. A piacot a Fő utca ezen az oldalán, a járdaszélen tartották minden csütörtökön és szombaton. Az árusok a járdaszélen voltak, a kocsik pedig libával és malaccal az úttesten. Nagy volt a piac, leért egészen a templomig.

A korzó ott volt minden este a Fő utca ugyanazon az oldalán, ahol a piacot tartották. A mosoni fiatalok esténként a korzón sétáltak és beszélgettek. A korzó rövidebb volt a piacnál, mert arra lejjebb, ahol az a nagy gabonasiló volt, már kevesebben sétáltak. Szóval a korzó a Fehér Ló szálloda oldalán volt, de nem ért le egészen odáig. Az biztos, hogy annál tovább sohasem sétáltunk.

A Weisz ügyvéd utáni második házban volt egy olyan suszterkellék üzlet, ahol bőrt, pertlit meg ilyesmiket árultak. Azt hiszem Gerstmannak hívták a tulajt, de a névben most már nem vagyok biztos. Azután következett a Weiss órás és ékszerész háza. Néhány házzal lejjebb állt a Löwin Károly háza, ő is gabonakereskedő volt. Két fia volt; a Miklóst te is ismered. Löwinek az egész községben találhatók voltak, volt köztük szegény is, gazdag is. Kicsit odább volt a Nemzeti Bank emeletes épülete, és mellette egy másik emeletes épület, amelyben a Posta volt. Ezt Szente háznak hívták, mert valamikor a Szente volt a postaigazgató, de az én koromban már a zsidó Hirschfeld volt a postamester. A Posta után, a Vilmos Rév utca sarkán állt az emeletes Basch-ház. Az üzletük néhány házzal arrébb volt a Fő utca ugyanazon az oldalán. A Baschék is persze zsidók voltak. A Basch textilüzlet egy nagy, kirakatos üzlet volt. A Basch Rafael posztókereskedő lánya, a Basch Lili feljött Pestre és férjhez ment a nála sokkal idősebb Herczeg professzorhoz. Egy lányuk volt. Az öreg cselédjük jött hozzánk is takarítani a Kresz Géza utcába, talán még emlékszel rá. A Basch posztósnak volt egy fia is. Az nős volt, itt élt Pesten, de aztán öngyilkos lett.

A Basch ház melletti Vilmos Rév utca vezetett a keresztény temető felé. A temető mögött, a Duna utca és a Rév utca között húzódott a strand. Eleinte nem volt szabad elúsznunk a strand feletti vízimalmok mellett, de aztán megengedték azt. A Basch üzlet felénk eső oldalán volt a kóser mészárszék. A Fő utca azon az oldalán továbbmenve, de már jóval a Vasút utca vonalán túl volt a Weisses Rössl, a Fehér Ló szálloda. Hosszú, emeletes ház volt nagy, boltíves kapuval. Az étterem és a szállodai szobák a földszinten voltak, az előkelő rész a bálteremmel pedig az emeleten. Néha abban az emeleti bálteremben tartották az Izraelita Nőegylet által szervezett purimi bált.

Ha a Fő utca másik oldalán mentél, akkor a kápolnával szemben, ott ahol az Ostermayer utca elágazott, volt a Flesch-pékség. Oda vittük a kenyértésztát sütni. Néhány házzal arrébb volt a földszintes zöldséges bolt. A mellette levő Neuberger ház után következett a Mocca kávéház. Elég szép, olyan kis, finom kávéház volt. A kávéházban újságok lógtak a falon, középen pedig néhány biliárdasztal állt, pontosan úgy, ahogy az szokásos. Meleg ételt azt hiszem nem árultak, csak kávét, sört, meg más ilyesmit. A mosoni zsidók többnyire ebbe a kávéházba jártak, de a tulaj, a Koppi Pál községi bíró, keresztény volt. A főúr, a Hoosz Károly, mint azt később hallottam, a háborúban is rendes volt a zsidókkal. A Frigyes bácsi és a barátai a Moccába jártak biliárdozni. Mindenki traccsolt. Egy ilyen kisváros, mint Moson, az tisztára egy traccs hely volt. Mi nem jártunk kávéházba, nők általában nem jártak oda.

A Mocca melletti emeletes nagy épület volt a Kühne-ház. Abban a házban született a Flesch Károly. Ott volt a Sauerék boltja is, ahol lisztet, őrölt kukoricát meg ilyesmit árultak. Volt két fiúk, de mi nem jöttünk össze velük. A Kühne-ház emeletén lakott a Hirschfeld postamester is. Az egyetlen fiúk, a Karcsi a háború alatt odahozta a kislányát a nagyszülőkhöz. Az öreg Hirschfeldék és a kislány elpusztult a deportálásban. A Karcsi túlélte a háborút és a háború után kereste a kislányát.

Kicsit odébb nyílt egy sikátor és még néhány házzal lejjebb állt a Kohnék háza, a földszinten volt a férfikonfekció üzletük. Ők az emeleten, az üzlet felett laktak. Volt ott vagy hat gyerek. A két legfiatalabb, az Irén és az Olci, ikrek voltak, azokkal nagyon jóba voltunk. A mosoni ismerősök közül egyedül ők voltak korunkbeli lányok, rajtuk kívül csak fiúk voltak. A Fő utcán továbbmenve volt még egy másik kávéház is; ott ettünk veled és a Tomival [öcsém, Körner Tamás] amikor 1987-ben Mosonban voltunk. Ezután volt egy vaskereskedés és amellett az emeletes városháza az anyakönyvi hivatallal. Ott voltak a polgári esküvők.

A katolikus templom a Fő utca és a Vasút utca sarkán állt. A templom bejárata a Vasút utca felöl volt, de nem egészen a Vasút utcáról, mert ott még volt valami kis tér a templom előtt. A templom előtt vezetett a Bahnhof Strasse, a Vasút utca jobbra az állomásig. A fiákerek ott álltak az állomás előtt és várták az érkező utasokat.

A Vasút utcánál tovább már nemigen jártunk. Arrafele, még egy kicsit lejjebb a másik oldalon volt a Fehér Ló szálló és még tovább menve egy nagy gabonaraktár, egy olyan siló. Az említett üzleteken kívül volt meg egy edényüzlet is Mosonban, meg egy trafik. Virágüzlet nem volt, mert virág a kertekben nőtt, meg rendelni is lehetett a termelőknél. Takarék úgy tudom csak Óvárott volt.

A sok mosoni zsidóból ma már alig néhány maradt Mosonban. Nagyon sokan elpusztultak a háborúban. A zsidó temetőben a zsidóüldözésben elpusztultak négy márvány emléktábláján több mint 450 név van. A többiek eljöttek vagy elmenekültek Mosonból. Ott maradt még a Löwin Miklós: szabadidejében ő gondozza a sírokat a zsidó temetőben.

Miriam Patova

Tallinn

Estonia

Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya 

Date of interview: June 2005

Miriam Patova and her husband Henrich Kurizkes live in a two-room apartment in a nine-storied building, which was built in the 1970s. It’s situated in a new neighborhood in Tallinn. Miriam charmed me at once. She is a petite lady with short curly gray hair and amazingly bright eyes. She is very emotional and sociable. Her eyes shine brightly, when she talks about things which she finds interesting, and she looks quite like she does in her childhood pictures. Miriam’s apartment looks like a green conservatory. There are blooming and boosting pot plants everywhere. She is very fond of ceramics. There are pictures on the walls. For the most part they are her older grandchildren’s paintings. Miriam is a terrific housewife. She is a wonderful cook and also arranges her dishes finely. Her sandwiches are like pieces of art. Miriam’s favorite pastime is reading. She has books on medicine, her profession, philosophy and fiction, on her desk. Miriam spends all her free time reading. It’s interesting to converse with her. Her opinions are very different, and she sees common things from a very different perspective. Miriam and her husband make a beautiful couple. They’ve been together for almost 55 years. They are very sincere, kind and intelligent.

My family background

Growing up

Soviet invasion of the Baltics

During the war

After the war

Post-communism

Glossary 

My family background

Unfortunately, I know very little about my dad’s family. All I know about my father’s parents is what he told me about them. My father came from Ukraine. Of course, his parents had no opportunity to keep in touch with us as they lived in the USSR, while we lived in Estonia, a capitalist country. The Soviet regime didn’t approve of any contact with relatives living abroad 1. Regretfully, I failed to ask my father about all I would have liked to know. Now I know that parents must always tell their children about their origin and roots so that their children know who they are. Some people may be ashamed of their parents who were common people or craftsmen. This is wrong. Everything about the family is of interest and needs to be known. I wish I had come to this understanding earlier. 

So, here’s this bit of information that I know about my father’s parents. My grandfather’s name was Isaac Patov, and my grandmother’s first name was Miriam. They had a big family. My father, Beniamin Patov, was born in 1894. I only knew two members of the whole family. I know that in the early 1920s my father visited his family. Everybody knew about how poor people were in the USSR and when my father was preparing for the trip, our acquaintances brought us clothes, gifts and shoes to take to my father’s family. I met my relativesin the 1940s, when Estonia had been annexed to the USSR [see Estonia in 1939-1940] 2. I met my father’s brother, Boris Patov, during evacuation. He also visited us in Tallinn after the war. I also heard something about my father’s two other brothers. One lived in Leningrad [today Russia]. We wanted to visit him after we had been evacuated, but nobody was allowed to visit Leningrad. He died during the siege of Leningrad [see Blockade of Leningrad] 3. The other brother died in evacuation. My father also had a sister. Her name was Sophia. After evacuation we met her son Boris and daughter Raisa. My father’s parents may have lived in Kiev [today Ukraine] for some time before World War II. When Kiev was occupied they were killed by fascists in Babi Yar 4 on 29thSeptember 1941. 

Remembering my father, I think that his family was religious and observed Jewish traditions. At least, my father was religious and knew the Jewish history and traditions well. I think he was well-educated in this respect when he was a child. 

During World War I my father served in the tsarist army at the front. He was involved in combat action and was shell-shocked at the front. Regretfully, I have no idea how my father happened to move to Estonia after the war. All I know is that many of those involved in World War I stayed in Estonia and started their families here. 

I know more about my mother’s family. The history of my mother’s family starts with my grandfather. His name was Moshe Hazan. He was short and had red hair. I know that my grandfather lived in a small town. Somehow I remember that it must have been in Ukraine. His parents sent him for training with a Jewish hat maker called Birbauer. The training course lasted two years and after finishing it my grandfather became this hat maker’s apprentice. He stayed with his trainer’s family. He was also provided meals, but wasn’t paid for his work. The hat maker had no extra money to pay my grandfather. Birbauer had a wife and eight daughters. His was a big family. One day my grandfather lost his temper and informed his master of his strong intention to leave him for not being paid for his work, but he also demanded that his master paid him whatever he owed. The master said he still had no money to pay him, but that he could give him one of his daughters to marry. My grandfather chose the youngest, Hava, who had gray eyes. She must have not turned 16 at that time. I only knew my grandmother’s older sister Ida of my grandmother’s family. She lived in Riga [today Latvia] making men’s clothes. Ida was single.

My maternal grandparents had a traditional Jewish wedding. After the wedding they moved to Riga. My grandfather earned his living by making hats, while my grandmother gave birth to their children. She had ten, but five died in infancy. One of those who survived was my mother’s sister Dora, born in 1894. My mother Sheina was the next child. She was called Zhenny in the family. She was born in 1896. After my mother, her brother Rachmil was born, and the next one was Naum. The youngest in the family was Alexandr, born in 1907. My mother told me that though all the children in the family were different, they were hardworking, cheerful and could sing very well. My aunts and uncles could make their own clothes and cook. Actually, there was hardly anything they couldn’t do. They were very handy and smart. In the early 20thcentury, the family left Riga for Viljandi [150 km east of Tallinn], a small beautiful town in Estonia. A long time ago Viljandi was called ‘little Switzerland’ because of the hills, woods and a beautiful hanging bridge. 

Everybody in my mother’s family spoke Yiddish. I don’t think my grandparents were very religious, but they observed Jewish traditions, went to the synagogue and celebrated Jewish holidays at home. They also raised their children Jewish. 

My grandfather was the breadwinner, and the family was big. My mother told me that they were very poor. To have something for the family to eat in winter, my grandmother cooked red bilberries. She couldn’t afford to buy sugar to make bilberry jam, so she just cooked it plain. In winter they spread it on bread. In winter my mother wore galoshes. However poor the family was they managed to raise their children. [My mother’s sister] Dora was very smart. She did well at elementary school, and Viljandi town authorities granted her a scholarship to continue her studies. Dora finished a gymnasium. My mother did badly at school, but she was also eager to study. Unfortunately, she had no such opportunity. At the age of ten, she had to help my grandmother about the house. She also made hat linings and attended to the younger children. My grandfather had no money to pay for my mother’s education. My grandfather said to my mother, ‘Sheina, you can sign your name, read and count. This is when you have to stop your studies. You’re very handy and will assist me with my work.’ 

My mother sewed hat linings while standing at the table, being too short to sit, and holding little Alexandr [her youngest brother]. She was clever with everything she did. She also taught us that nothing in life is easy. It can never be. She used to say, ‘If you want to accomplish things in life, you have to be quick-witted. You have to pinwheel to have your rear ahead of you.’ I often recall my mother’s witty and wise expressions behind her joking manner. She only finished two years in elementary school, and this was all the education she managed to get. However, she did her best in learning things by herself. She spoke Estonian, German, Russian and Yiddish. She wrote in Russian with mistakes, but she could write well in Estonian. My mother wanted to go to Paris [today France] before she got married. It was quite common for girls from poorer families to go to Paris to learn dressmaking. When the training was over they returned home and opened their own businesses. Local ladies willingly ordered their dresses from dressmakers trained in Paris. This was quite a profitable business. My mother tried to convince my grandfather to send her to Paris, but he said he had no money. Therefore, my mother’s dream to study never came true, and the only thing she had left in this regard was to dream for her children to get a good education. 

Aunt Dora got fond of revolutionary ideas and became one of the first revolutionaries in Estonia. She had the gift of conviction and involved Uncle Naum in revolutionary activities. After finishing the gymnasium Dora left Viljandi for Riga where she took to revolutionary activities. My mother told me about an incident. Dora returned to Viljandi escaping from the Riga police. Shortly afterwards, gendarmes came to search my grandfather’s house. They were looking for leaflets, but found nothing. Later, we found out that Dora had managed to put them in the pocket of my grandfather’s jacket which he was wearing. Of course, it never occurred to the gendarmes to search for the leaflets in the old man’s pockets. However, some time later, Dora was arrested and put in prison in the tower in Tallinn. It houses a museum now. The [Russian] Revolution of 1917 5 liberated Dora and other revolutionaries from prison. Dora and Naum moved to Moscow [today Russia] and lived there ever since. After the war for independence [see Estonian War of Liberation] 6 Estonia gained independence [see First Estonian Republic 7. We lived in different countries and couldn’t keep in touch with our relatives. It was dangerous for residents of the USSR, who could be blamed of espionage or persecuted for keeping such contacts. It’s amazing that we managed to survive the repression [see Great Terror] 8 period which started in the USSR in the mid-1930s. However, we lost contact with them for a long time and had no information about them. 

[My mother’s brother] Rachmil received training in tailoring and in due time he started to work on his own. Alexandr, the youngest brother, learned to make hats and worked in my grandfather’s shop. My mother also assisted my grandfather before she got married. 

I don’t know how my parents met. I think they got married in 1919. Since their families were religious, I think my parents had a traditional Jewish wedding. I don’t think it could have been otherwise at that time. After the wedding my parents resided in Viljandi for some time before moving to Rakvere [100 km from Tallinn]. I don’t know what made them move. Unfortunately, I shall never get answers to these questions. 

Rakvere was a small beautiful town. It was an old town with a ruined castle. Its old name was Vezenberg. It was a clean and tiny town. Its residents led a quiet life. They didn’t even lock their houses as there was no theft. Owners of houses cleaned the pavements in front of their houses and everything was very clean. 

The Jewish community was established in Rakvere at the end of the 19thcentury. There was a synagogue in Rakvere and also a shochet. There was a cheder for boys. There was a Jewish cemetery with beautiful gravestones and tombs. Cantonists 9 were the first people buried in the cemetery. However, there was no Jewish general education school there. Children studied in a German gymnasium and an Estonian school with advanced studies of German. All Jewish families in Rakvere were religious, observed Jewish traditions and raised their children religiously. My parents settled down in a small house with a garden. My father made hats and my mother assisted him. She also took care of the house and children. My sister Rachil [see Common name] 10, Rokhle-Leya in her documents, was the oldest. She was born in 1920. Then came my brother Beines, born in 1923, and I was born in 1929. I was named Miriam after my paternal grandmother. 

Growing up

My father made nice hats and had his customers, but he was slow. My mother did her best in assisting him. She was the center of our lives. She was very quick and did several things at a time. Despite her hard life my mother was cheerful and never drooped. She was good at sewing, knitting and embroidery. She could even make fur clothing. I loved her dearly and never missed a chance to be with her. When sewing with her knitting machine my mother used to sing Jewish songs, and she did it well. I used to sit or stand besides her listening to her singing. I can’t remember the songs, but when I hear them on the radio, I recall my childhood. 

My parents spoke Yiddish to one another and German to the children. We all spoke fluent Estonian, living among Estonians and communicating with them. My parents also knew Russian, but we didn’t speak it at home. 

My mother brought us up to be hardworking. She often repeated that she would be happy if I didn’t have to work hard in my life, had nicely groomed hands, different from her worked out hands. However, she wanted me to know everything and to be able to do things. I wasn’t so good in handicrafts, and was jealous about my older sister who could do everything including sewing, knitting, embroidering and cooking. There was hardly anything which she couldn’t do. She was very pretty. She was slim and had thick black wavy hair and beautiful features. Rachil was very smart and was as quick as my mother in doing things. I admired her, but Beines and I were closer. I loved him dearly, and he spent a lot of time with me. I was often ill as a child, and I was tiny and weak, and my older brother wanted me to grow stronger. He did sports and involved me in various sporting activities. 

In winter we went skiing, and he taught me to ski down the hill. Before we went home, Beines undressed me to rub snow onto my body, and then at home put me in hot water. My mother didn’t object to this, and his efforts had their results. I stopped catching a cold so frequently. In summer we rode bicycles, and my brother taught me to climb trees. I didn’t fear anything when my brother was with me. Beines taught me to love nature. We had a jar with a wide neck, and there were frog eggs in drift weed at its bottom. Beines and I used to watch tadpoles emerge from their eggs. When they grew a little bigger, we used to let them go into the river. We had dogs and cats at home. My brother and I loved animals. I was the youngest and everybody spoiled me, but I remained a cheerful and easy-going child. I was loved and loved everybody in return. 

My parents observed Jewish traditions at home. On Saturdays and Jewish holidays they went to the synagogue and the children always went with them. My mother always asked me whether I wanted to go to the synagogue with them, and I always accepted. I found these Jewish gatherings interesting, and children also talked with other children. My mother and I went to the upper tier where other women were praying. My brother stayed with my father on the ground floor. My father was a member of the Jewish community of Rakvere. On Saturdays they had meetings to discuss their issues. We also celebrated Jewish holidays at home according to the traditions. My mother had special dishes for Pesach. My father bought matzah for Pesach at the synagogue. We only ate matzah through the whole duration of the holiday. There was no bread at home. My father conducted the Pesach seder. Everything was in accordance with the Jewish traditions. On Yom Kippur my parents fasted. I always looked forward to Chanukkah. 

Uncle Rachmil and his wife also lived in Rakvere. My uncle was a tailor, and owned a clothes store. He was very business-oriented and was doing quite well. He and his wife had no children of their own, and they cared about me. They were much better off than our family, and on Chanukkah my uncle always gave me a whole crone for [Channukkah] gelt. My brother taught me to read at my early age, and I liked it a lot. However, books were expensive, and my parents couldn’t afford such expenses. I used to buy a book after receiving a crone from my uncle. This was a lot of money at that time, considering that a pair of shoes cost two crones. My mother told me that Uncle Rachmil and his wife wanted to adopt me, but she didn’t agree to that. Uncle Rachmil owned a house and even a car, which was a luxury at that time. They always invited me over on Saturdays and we went for a ride out of town. 

Rakvere was a small town, and there was no Jewish school. My sister and brother studied in a German school. Rachil finished twelve years of the gymnasium. She knew Russian and English. They also got vocational education. Rachil could do typing, file keeping, sewing and knitting. After finishing the gymnasium my sister moved to Tallinn. She wanted to live in a bigger town, and believed she would have more opportunities in Tallinn. However, there was an economic recession during this period, and it took her a while to find a job. She finally found a job as a shop assistant. 

My brother was very talented. Everything came easy to him. He had a beautiful baritone and he was very musical. He took singing classes. He was strong, tall and handsome. He was growing fast and couldn’t wait till he could start working. He liked dealing with technical things. He always fixed bicycles, though nobody taught him to do it. After finishing the seventh grade, Beines left school. My mother was very disappointed. She had always wanted her children to get a good education, particularly considering that she never had a chance. However, my brother insisted on having his own way. At 17 he went to Tallinn where he became an apprentice car mechanic. My mother went with him to find him a place to stay. When my brother started working he went to an evening school. 

Beines had his bar mitzvah at the age of 13. There was a big celebration in the family. He was given a tallit for his bar mitzvah. It was different from the tallit of an adult man: woolen and white and black. His was a silk one with tassels and blue edges. His tallit was in a little silk bag with a hexagonal star embroidered in gold. There was also a scroll on thin parchment, an extract from the Torah. My mother had this bag with her during the evacuation. It lived through all the hardships of our lives and even its owner. I kept it for a long time not knowing what to do with it. Later, I gave it to our granddaughter Rosa. She lives in Israel and keeps this family sanctity. 

I went to the Estonian school. We studied all the subjects in Estonian. We also had German classes every day. The school was accommodated in a small wooden house. There was one teacher for two classes. I was the only Jewish student in my class, but in all those years I can’t remember one single incident of unkind attitude towards me or any emphasis on my origin. When the rest of the class had a religious class, my teacher didn’t force me to study the Orthodox religion. She gave me a Bible, a thick book with pictures, and I looked at the pictures. Every morning there was a prayer before our classes started, but I was allowed to go to school after the prayer. On the eve of Jewish holidays my teacher told me that I could stay at home. This respectful attitude to a different religion during the period of the first Estonian independence 11 was absolutely natural for us. Our uniform was a dark blue dress with a little white collar and an apron. On holidays we wore a bigger white collar, which we tied in a bow, and no apron. We were raised in strictness. I liked running along the streets, and when I saw a policeman, I slowed down and greeted him making a curtsy before him. This was the rule considering that he guarded the nation. If a boy and a girl walked together, the boy was to let her pass before he went through the door. We were taught this in our childhood: this was the way things should have been. Later, after the Soviet occupation [see Occupation of the Baltic Republics]12, when Estonia was annexed to the Soviet Union in 1940, our school was closed, and all the schoolchildren were sent to the Municipal Estonian school. I never faced any anti-Semitism in my old or new school. This subject was never discussed at home either. I had Jewish and Estonian friends. They visited me at home, and my mother always treated them nicely. 

My mother wanted me to study music. I had classes with a music teacher, and was successful. My mother hoped that I would go to the conservatory in Tallinn after finishing school. 

We often saw my mother’s parents. My grandfather opened his own hat shop after some time. Alexandr worked with him. He had a difficult life. He was a student of the Medical Faculty of Tartu University. Then he fell in love with a girl. His fiancée was from Riga. Alexandr was going to marry her, but being a student, he couldn’t provide for her, and Alexandr had no intention to wait till he finished his studies. He left university and went to my mother in Rakvere. She raised him and was like a mother to him. Alexandr got married and started his own business. However, he didn’t have a business-oriented mind and went bankrupt. At that time he already had a son. His wife left him and went to Riga with their son. Alexandr returned to his parents in Viljadi. He went back to work with my grandfather, and his life improved. He remarried. In late 1940 Alexandr’s son Adir was born. When the war started, he was seven months old. 

I remember my grandparent’s house well. There was a small store on the ground floor, a small room. The front door led to this small room, and there were shelves with hats on them starting right from the entrance. There was another door which led to the living quarters. There was a big dining room, my grandparents’ bedroom, a staircase to the second floor where Alexandr and his family lived. 

I loved my grandmother and she was my role model. One wouldn’t have said she was beautiful, but she radiated dignity and nobility. My grandmother was always nicely dressed. She wore dark blue or gray gowns with snow-white collars. Her hair turned gray when she was young, but it was always nicely done. My grandmother had no education, and signed papers with three crosses. However, she was good at discussing various subjects. She went to concerts and listened to the radio. She was very tolerant, smart, and never imposed her own opinion. Even when I asked for her advice, she always told me to do what I believed was right, but only after thorough consideration. She said she could give me no advice since another person can just listen to me, but the decision was to be mine. I remembered this through my whole life. And when I happen to get angry with my dear ones for not doing right in my opinion, I always tell myself to stop and recall my granny. And then my irritation disappears.

Soviet invasion of the Baltics

I couldn’t give thorough consideration to the annexation of Estonia to the Soviet Union considering my age. All I remember about it is that Rachmil lost his store. He went to work as a tailor in a state owned shop. Our lives didn’t change as much. However, there was also a great joy in our life. My grandparents could finally see their daughter Dora and son Naum who lived in Moscow. Dora invited her parents to visit them. She was the director of a textile factory. She was also a deputy and was awarded an order for her work. When Dora turned 40 she went to study in the textile college. She was a strong-willed person. The factory employees respected her a lot, though she was strict and demanding. Dora dedicated her life to her work at the factory. She took great care of the employees. They were women, and there were many single women after the war. Many had children, and my aunt opened kindergartens and nurseries at the factory. Dora and Naum were altruistic and idealistic people. They believed in communist ideas and wanted everybody to have a good life. 

Uncle Naum was very talented. He wrote poems, liked and understood music, and had artistic talents. His friend was Solomon Mikhoels 13, a famous Jewish actor, who tried to convince him to act in a theater. However, the [Communist] party sent uncle Naum to study in Germany, which he did. He believed it was the duty of a communist to do what his country told him to. When he returned from Germany, he was appointed as the director of Mosgorenergo, a huge power company, where he worked in this position till the Great Patriotic War 14began. 

During the war

On 22ndJune 1941 we heard that Germany had attacked the Soviet Union. Molotov 15 spoke on the radio. He finished his speech with the words, ‘We will win since our cause is right.’ We believed that the war wasn’t going to last long. However, the Germans were advancing fast, and my parents decided to evacuate. Uncle Rachmil and his wife wanted to stay in Rakvere, but my mother insisted that they went with us. She did so as if she had some kind of premonition. Finally they joined us. Uncle Alexandr and his family also joined us. My grandparents were visiting Aunt Dora at that time. I think this trip saved their lives. They stayed with my aunt in Moscow after the war. 

Beines went to Leningrad [today Russia] on business before the war. He was to deliver a vehicle there. My mother was very worried, but she hoped Beines would take care of himself, and we couldn’t stay any longer in Rakvere waiting for him. We packed a few things and went to the railway station. The trains were leaving, filled with people. The station was overcrowded. The crowd separated our family. My father and I failed to board the train whereas my mother and sister managed to get on. My father decided to go to Leningrad where his brother lived, but the train went past Leningrad. We stopped at a station in the suburb for a long while. There we met with my brother, who was on his way back to Tallinn. We told him to join us, but Beines said he had his orders and had to go back to Tallinn to report the completion of his task. This was the last time I saw my brother alive. 

When he returned to town, German forces were close to the town. Beines was captured by Estonians. They executed him in the Tallinn jail. In 1962 I obtained a certificate of his death from the archives. It’s strange that all the archives were kept, but this was only because of the Estonian love for order. According to this certificate and the documents of the central state archive, Beines Patov, a car mechanic, was arrested in Tallinn during the German occupation on 1stSeptember 1941 for being Jewish. Based on this charge Patov was to be executed before 6thOctober 1941. When my husband and I were in Israel, we visited the Yad Vashem 16. I was given documents to fill out. I filled them out in Ashdod, Israel, and sent them to Yad Vashem. About a month after that, Yad Vashem sent me a letter saying that they had my brother’s data. 

My father and I were sent to Yaroslavl [today Russia] where most of the Estonian citizens were sent. Somehow my father managed to find out that my mother, sister and Rachmil and his wife were in Mariyskaya SSR [about 600 km from Moscow]. My father got in touch with them, and we went to Mariyskaya SSR where we reunited with the family. We didn’t stay long there. Dora managed to arrange for us to go to Cheliabinsk [about 1,500 km from Moscow] where we were accommodated in a small house. Uncle Alexandr and his family joined us. Our family shared one room, Uncle Rachmil and his wife stayed in another room, and Alexandr, his wife and their son lived in the third room. Alexandr went to work at the military plant, which released him from military duty in the army. Alexandr worked from early morning till late at night. When he returned home, he often fell asleep at the dinner table. My father and Rachmil were tailors in a shop. One year later, my father was mobilized to the army. My father was assigned to the Estonian Rifle Corps 17.

Uncle Rachmil had lost one eye, which released him from service in the army. My father served in the army for one year. He fell seriously ill at the front and also, he was overage. He was demobilized and returned to Cheliabinsk. 

We didn’t starve in evacuation thanks to my mother and her abilities. She traded clothes for food at the market. We always had some extra bread besides the ration we received for cards [see Card system] 18 and potatoes. My mother made soup with peeled potatoes. As for the peels, she washed and ground them to make pancakes. She worked about the house all day, but we had sufficient food thanks to her skills. 

I went to school even though I didn’t know any Russian. I had no choice. There were only Russian schools in Cheliabinsk. I was admitted to the sixth grade instead of the seventh grade where I belonged. Because of not knowing Russian, I had to go to a lower grade. I got along well in my class. My classmates sympathized with me and provided assistance. I remember my first day at school. I wore a vinous pleated skirt and a knitted cardigan. I had ribbons in my plaits. The children, who had never seen any beautiful clothes before, crowded around me touching my clothes and even the ribbons. I didn’t know what to do. Of course, I felt like a stranger in my class at first, but soon I made friends with my classmates. However, there were no anti-Semitic demonstrations. I never heard abusive words addressed to me. I remember my first accomplishment in my studies. We were studying the history of ancient Rome. I learned these pages from my textbook by heart. My teacher asked me to tell it, and I told the whole story in Russian. My classmates applauded me. Another time I wrote my name on the blackboard in Russian. These were my first steps, and later things gradually improved. 

In summer schoolchildren went to work at the sovkhoz19. I also worked there. My mother taught me that one had to do any work without waiting to be told. She said, ‘Dirty floors? Don’t wait till someone asks you or till someone else does it. Do it yourself.’ I was raised in this way, and this upbringing helped me in my life. Perhaps, that’s why my life is easier than anyone else’s. 

I remember my 16thbirthday in evacuation. When I turned twelve in Rakvere, before the war, Uncle Rachmil gave me a present and said that for my 16thbirthday he would give me a car. Of course, I forgot this promise. On my 16thbirthday Uncle Rachmil knocked on our door and gave me a big box. I opened it, and there was a smaller box in it, and another smaller box. When I finally opened the last box, I saw a toy car. This was very touching.

I met Uncle Naum in evacuation. We became very close and he influenced me a lot. Naum had forgotten Estonian, and we spoke Estonian with him [so he would learn it again]. He had high blood pressure and was released from military service. He evacuated to Sverdlovsk [Yekaterinburg at present, about 1,600 km from Moscow] with a military plant. He was appointed the director of this plant. Naum’s family life was rather unfortunate. He divorced his wife, and their two sons stayed with their mother. He kept in touch with his sons. Uncle Naum, like my mother’s other brothers, was a success with women. I wouldn’t call them handsome in the common sense of this word. Uncle Naum was bald and had a potato-like nose. However, they all had some charisma. They radiated charm, love of life, tenderness. They were elegant, polite, could dance and sing well, and they were courteous, which was valued much more than physical attraction. 

We followed up the military advancements. In 1944 the liberation of Estonia began. We listened to the radio with great interest. The day when we heard that Tallinn had been liberated from the fascists, it became a holiday for us. And of course, the end of the war was a great event for us. People were dancing, singing, hugging and greeting each other. We could finally go home. Naum and Dora told us to stay in Moscow, but we couldn’t even imagine life anywhere else but Estonia. However, we didn’t return to Rakvere. Rakvere was a small provincial town, and there were no higher educational institutions there as I had to continue my studies. We moved to Tallinn. My father was the first to go there to find accommodation. He managed to find three small rooms in a shared five-room apartment [see Communal apartment] 20. We had a front door leading to our rooms, and another family sharing two rooms had the entrance from the backdoor. We shared a kitchen and a bathroom. We were happy with this lodging. My mother’s brothers also lived in Tallinn after evacuation. Rachmil was a tailor, and his wife worked in an accounting office. Alexandr, his wife and son also lived in Tallinn. 

After the war

When we returned to Tallinn we got to know about the horrific happenings during the war. Estonia was the first European country to report its territory Judenfrei 21, or Jew-free to Hitler. Thinking about it now, I’m trying to remember whether we were scared of living here after the war, what our neighbors thought about us and what we thought about them knowing about what was happening, but these issues never came up at that time. We got along well with our neighbors. We had good neighborly relations. You can say, ‘What kind of people were you? How could you forgive this?’ Then I would ask, ‘And what kind of people are those who move to Germany nowadays? How can they walk the streets that had been flooded with blood? Why don’t they move to Israel instead?’ As for what I think about Estonians, I know these people aren’t to blame for what had happened. Perhaps, a big part of the blame is on the Soviet regime. 

After the deportations in 1941 [see Soviet Deportation of Estonian Civilians]22 many Estonian residents believed the German forces to be their liberators and rescuers from the Soviet threat, so they readily fulfilled orders of the occupants, accepting their rules and hoping for a better life. However, not only the Estonians but also the Jews were looking for ways of escape from the Soviet regime. Many Jews refused evacuation for this very reason. They thought there was nothing to be afraid of regarding the Germans. My parents had a nice friend in Rakvere where we lived before the war. He was a chemical engineer and a Jew. I liked him a lot. He was single and often visited us. He used to read to me while holding me on his lap. My mother had tried to convince him to evacuate, but he said that when the Germans were in Rakvere he would wear a yellow star and life would go on. He was more afraid of having to evacuate to the USSR. Many Jews thought in this way and paid for this with their lives right after the German armies occupied our land.

My grandmother’s older sister Ida stayed in Riga during the war. She was a very beautiful woman. Ida spoke fluent German. However, somebody reported to the Germans that Ida was a Jew and she was sent to the ghetto. Ida survived. When the Soviet army advanced to Latvia, the Germans forced the remaining inmates of the ghetto to march to Germany. The Germans killed those who couldn’t walk. When in Germany, Ida fell from exhaustion and a German soldier shot at her. The bullet was slightly grazing her head, but didn’t affect any vital parts. When the rest of the column left, Ida got to her feet and started on her way back. She stayed with a local German family, who gave her food and sent her to the hospital. A German medical officer treated her in the hospital. He managed to keep Ida there for a week before he released and showed her in which direction she had to go. She managed to get to the Soviet units where she mentioned her niece Dora’s name. Dora was found and she helped Ida. What was amazing was that Ida had diabetes and lived on insulin injections, but she managed without any insulin during the war and she survived. Ida died in Tallinn at the age of 80. 

In Tallinn our family also followed Jewish traditions. We celebrated Jewish holidays and followed the kashrut to the extent that we could, considering the lack of food during the postwar years. The beautiful synagogue in Tallinn [see Tallinn synagogue] 23 was gone. It was ruined by the Soviet air force during their attack on 8thMarch 1944. The Soviet regime struggled against religion [see Struggle against religion] 24, but the Soviet authorities gave the Jewish community in Tallinn a small and shabby wooden house for the synagogue. However miserable it was, people came there to pray and celebrate the holidays. On Pesach they could buy matzah at the synagogue. There was no rabbi in Tallinn, but those who knew the Jewish religion and Jewish traditions performed this ritual. There was also a shochet in Tallinn. My father was a member of the Jewish community and took part in its activities. Members of the community got together every week. There was no Chevra Kaddishain Tallinn after the war. When Jewish people died, they were to be buried in accordance with the rituals. Somebody who knew Jewish traditions usually performed this ritual, and sometimes my father conducted Jewish funeral services. There was a Jewish cemetery in Tallinn. It was amazing that the Germans never ruined one single gravestone in the cemetery. After the war Jews continued to be buried in the Jewish cemetery.

Though my father was a deeply religious person, he must have been shocked with what was happening in Estonia during the German occupation. My father expressed rebellious ideas saying, ‘What kind of God do we have? Is he deaf and blind allowing such horrors and crimes to be committed?’

We were very poor after the war. My mother did her best to feed us, but it was impossible to get shoes or clothes. Everybody wore white tennis shoes cleaning them with toothpaste. Also, if we could buy calico, we made calico dresses. 

Of course, the Soviet regime affected our lives radically. Many things seemed strange and weird to us. However, I don’t think we gave much thought to them at that time. We just lived our lives. Perhaps, this was the only right thing to do. We also adjusted to the ideology since there was no other alternative. Perhaps, things were easier with our family. We never wanted extra riches. We were used to doing things with our own hands and making do with what we had. 

Shortly after the war, my older sister Rachil married Boris Kulman, a violinist of the Tallinn symphonic orchestra. In 1946 their first son Armir was born, and in 1951 Rafail, the second son was born. My sister was a housewife. 

In Tallinn I went to the ninth grade of the Russian school for girls. Children in Estonia studied in school for eleven years. We had more subjects than the rest of the USSR schools. We studied logic, mineralogy, history of arts and other subjects which weren’t taught at schools in the USSR. There weren’t many children at school. In 1944 many people were still in evacuation. There were many children of the military serving in Tallinn. There were also children of the former prisoners returning from Siberia and the Volga [today Russia] areas.

I didn’t join the Komsomol 25 until finally my school friend convinced me to do so. She told me that I had no future after finishing school if I didn’t join the Komsomol. So I did. I have to say I was very serious about it. I had to learn the statute and answer questions about the international situation. I was questioned at the district Komsomol committee [Editor’s note: Komsomol units existed at all educational and industrial enterprises. They were headed by Komsomol committees involved in organizational activities]. I answered all questions and was awarded my Komsomol membership certificate. All new members and I went to a cafe to celebrate this joyful occasion. We had cakes, but no alcoholic drinks. 

In 1948 the struggle against cosmopolitism [see Campaign against ‘cosmopolitans’] 26 began in the USSR. I knew something was going on. My parents discussed something lowering their voices, but they didn’t have any such discussions in my presence. Our family wasn’t involved in anything like this. My sister got married and had a son. We had to take care of our everyday routines and had no time for political issues.

I continued my music classes. I was doing well and was going to enter the conservatory in Tallinn. I had great plans of becoming an art critic. I knew that the career of a performer wasn’t for me. I like peace and solitude and it’s in my character, though I also love people. I got very confused having to perform in front of an audience and there was nothing I could do about it. Uncle Naum helped me make up my mind about my future profession. He said it was all right to know and practice music, but as for the profession, it was better to do something that was in demand anywhere life sent me. He said that considering my character, the best profession for me was medicine. I decided to follow his advice. There was a Medical Faculty at Tartu University, but I wanted to study in a bigger town. I visited Leningrad during my school vacations and I liked the city. In 1948 I finished school and entered the Medical Faculty of Leningrad Medical College. We had outstanding professors and lecturers. Life and study in Leningrad was a never ending festivity for me.

My parents rented a little room for me. There was a narrow sofa and a little desk in the room. The stipend I received was very insufficient. However, students managed to spend it on food and also, visit museums, theaters and concerts. This was a different time. We used to stand in lines for hours to get tickets to a concert in the Philarmonic. Of course, we only bought the cheapest tickets. We didn’t care where we sat. All we wanted was to listen to the music. There were beautiful performers and conductors. Though many people lived from hand to mouth, the concerts were always sold out. The Philarmonic goers knew each other as they attended concerts regularly. I shall never forget postwar Leningrad. I saw all these wonderful places: the suburbs where emperors and nobility resided, the luxurious palaces and fountains, galleries and parks, which were all ruined. They were in the process of reconstruction and restoration. How dedicated those people involved in restoration of these historical monuments working for peanuts, or even driven by their spiritual calls, were. They even weaved upholstery for chairs following the pattern of a little patch which had been miraculously preserved. Restoration of these miraculous palaces, interiors and statutes lasted from 1948 to 1954. This was a miracle and hats off to those people. 

I was an active Komsomol member in my college. I was appointed to the cultural division. Every week I read lectures about outstanding activists of art and also told others about interesting things I had read in newspapers and magazines. I remember my lecture about Tchaikovsky 27. I tried to do my best. 

I had some Jewish group mates and there were also Jewish professors in the college. In January 1953 the Doctors’ Plot 28 began. It was very scary. People were afraid of speaking aloud. They whispered things. Our Jewish professors disappeared, but everything was done quietly and there were no meetings held on this subject. Jewish students weren’t involved, though. 

During my student years, my best friend was Nastia [affectionate for Nadia] from Leningrad. She was half-Estonian and half-Russian. She survived the siege of Leningrad. She had a common family. Her father was a worker, and her mother was a medical nurse. They were nice people. Nadia and I walked in the city and went to theaters and concerts together. We never discussed any nationality related issues. 

I got married when I was a second-year student. I met Henrich Kurizkes in Tallinn, when I was at school. My friend introduced him to me during an interval at a concert in the Tallinn Philarmonic. During the war he served in the Estonian Corps. After the war he continued his service in the Estonian Corps in Tallinn. Henrich was born in Tallinn in 1924. His father, Lazar Kurizkes, was born in Narva. He later moved to Tallinn. Henrich’s mother, Rebekka, came from Tallinn. Henrich’s parents were working. They raised him hardworking. He studied in a private Russian gymnasium and then in an Estonian English college. Henrich went home from school, heated and served dinner to his mother when she came home from work. Henrich studied well, and was offered to give private classes to weaker children. He earned money to buy his first suit by teaching. 

Henrich and I saw each other while I was in Tallinn. When I went to Leningrad, we corresponded and only saw each other when I went on vacation to see my parents. We got married when I went on vacation in 1950. We just registered our marriage and I went back to Leningrad.I gave my mother my word that I would finish my studies and become a doctor. Henrich was transferred to the military recruitment office in Tikhvin [today Russia] near Leningrad, and he visited me on weekends. Our daughter Tatiana was born before my winter exams, when I was in my forth year in college. I had to study and take care of the baby. It wasn’t easy. I passed my exams. When the baby turned three months, I took her to my mother in Tallinn. Thanks to my mother, who cared about my daughter, I managed to finish college. I obtained a degree of a children’s doctor. Henrich was transferred to Boksitogorsk [a small town 200 km east of St. Petersburg], where he received a two-room apartment in a new apartment building. I finished college in 1954. I requested for a job in Boksitogorsk for my graduate assignment [see mandatory job assignment in the USSR] 29. Members of the board were rather surprised that I wanted to go to such a distant town, and I explained that I just wanted to go where my husband was working. I went to work as a children’s doctor in the municipal hospital in Boksitogorsk. I got along well with my colleagues. I also became a member of the Komsomol committee and was involved in their activities. I took my daughter with me, and we’ve always been together ever since. 

In March 1953 Stalin died. He wasn’t my idol. I had no idols. Many people grieved after him, as if he was their dearest person. I felt no grief. I can’t say I was sure about certain things, but my intuition told me that he knew about all these horrors in the USSR and he must have given his orders. At the Twentieth Party Congress 30 Nikita Khrushchev 31 exposed Stalin’s crimes, and I was horrified. It’s one thing to assume, and a totally different thing when you hear the proof. We were hoping for improvement, but nothing of this kind happened. Anti-Semitism didn’t disappear, and we were still separated from the rest of the world. The USSR was still surrounded by the Iron Curtain 32. 

In 1955 the army re-organization began, and Henrich was offered another job. He decided to have it in Tallinn, though his management told him we would have no apartment in Tallinn. We moved into my parents’ apartment. Henrich’s mother lived in one room in a shared apartment while my parents had three rooms. In 1956 our son Alexandr was born. We named him after my mother’s brother. I worked as a children’s doctor in a hospital. Henrich entered the extramural Military Faculty of Moscow Financial College. It was a hard time for our family, when Henrich spent all of his time working and studying, but we managed all right. Henrich finished his studies and obtained a diploma. 

We observed Jewish traditions in our family. My husband and I were never ashamed of our Jewish identity. We believed our children had to know the traditions and follow them. Our people brought them through many centuries of oppression and persecutions, preserved them and we were to convey them to our children. Religion was forbidden in the USSR, but we believed we could do what we thought was right at home. We celebrated Jewish holidays and received guests. On Pesach we always had matzah and conducted the seder. Our children joined in our celebrations. My husband and I told them about each holiday and how it should be celebrated. They knew the history of the Jewish people and their traditions. We also celebrated Soviet holidays: 1stMay, 7thNovember [October Revolution Day] 33, and Victory Day 34. Victory Day was the greatest holiday. It was the holiday for those who had survived this hell. Other holidays were also good since we didn’t have to go to work and could enjoy our free time with the family. We liked this opportunity to spend more time with our children. We spoke Russian to our children. They learned Estonian while playing with the other children in the yard. 

When our children went to school, Henrich’s mother helped us a lot. She picked up the children from school, gave them lunch and helped them with their homework. My mother-in-law was an excellent cook. She made delicious traditional Jewish food. After Henrich’s father died in 1963, my mother-in-law moved in with us. I’m grateful to this wonderful lady for what she had done for us. She died in 1973. We buried her near her husband’s grave in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn. 

Our apartment was very cold. We lived on the ground floor of a wooden house with thin walls. In winter the house froze through, it was impossible to stand on the floor with bare feet. We had a stove which heated the house, and my household called me a ‘stoker on duty.’ I got up before everybody else to heat the house. When I came home from work, the first thing I did was stoke the stove. We also cooked on wood or on coal bricks. There was no hot water supply. We had a wood stoked water heater in the bathroom. I dreamed about an apartment of our own with central heating and hot water. When I mentioned this to my husband, he replied that so many people were poor and lived in basement apartments while we were so cozy at our home. What could I say? Many of my acquaintances had moved around several times when we still lived in a shared apartment. My husband was the financial and pension fund manager at the military office and also, chairman of the military housing commission, but he couldn’t take advantage of his official authority to improve our own situation. We received a new apartment 30 years ago [in 1975] before the 30thanniversary of our victory. I remember I was taking a rest after my night-shift at the hospital. Henrich came home, shook a key ring with new keys before my nose and told me to get dressed. I told him to leave me alone. He waited till I got up, and we went to take a look at our new apartment. The first thing I did was taking a hot shower. I was so happy! We’ve lived here since then. However, I never had angina or a stuffed nose, when we lived in the wooden house. The air was different, I guess. 

We had limited possibilities like most of the citizens in the Soviet Union. We lived on two relatively small salaries. Everything was limited. It was next to impossible to buy books or anything else. Only public and trade union activists were allowed to travel abroad. However, we made do with what we had and weren’t unhappy. My work granted plots of land to their employees. I always liked dealing with plants. We also decided to get a plot. We constructed a little house. It was hard to get any construction materials. We had no car and had to use public transportation. Then we had to walk five kilometers. Our son was four, but we always took the children with us. We usually spent weekends at the dacha 35. We enjoyed spending time in the open air, and so did our children. 

My mother died in 1964. We buried her in the Jewish cemetery in accordance with the Jewish traditions. My father died in 1981. He had done a lot for the Jewish community and was buried near the central row of the section where the most respectable members of the community were buried. Aunt Dora also died in Moscow that same year. She was buried in the municipal cemetery in Moscow. 

In the 1950s we met my father’s sister Sophia and her family. My cousin Raisa graduated from the Medical University in Kiev. She was offered a job in a few towns, including Tallinn. She decided for Tallinn knowing that we were there. Raisa went to work and got married after she moved to Tallinn. Sophia and Boris visited her in Tallinn. Raisa has two daughters: Regina and Patz. Her husband works with repatriates in Sochnut 36. Raisa’s second daughter also graduated from the Medical University. She works as a sanitary doctor. She is married and has a daughter. Raisa died, and we rarely talk to her daughters. We only occasionally call them, and rarely see them. 

Tatiana finished school and entered the Faculty of Russian Philology at Tartu University. She married Rimantas Duda, a Lithuanian man, when she was a student. Their older son Matas was born in 1976. Unfortunately, I was working, and couldn’t help Tatiana, like my mother helped me, with her children. Tatiana switched to the extramural department of the university. She worked at the library of the Polytechnic College. Her second son Simas was born in 1978. He had red hair like Grandfather Moshe. Later, Tatiana and her family moved to Vilnius [today Lithuania]. She has a very good family. Our grandsons did his M.A. at the Academy of Arts in Vilnius. The younger one is taking his Doctor’s course. We also have great-grandchildren. Matas has two children: daughter Ione, born in 2000, and son Povilas, born in 2003. Simas has a daughter Leya, born in 2001. 

Tatiana celebrates all Jewish holidays at home. Her sons, their wives and children get together and celebrate holidays in accordance with all Jewish traditions. They also celebrate Catholic holidays. There are no conflicts in the family in this regard. I used to think that children from mixed marriages have problems. Are my grandchildren Jewish or Lithuanian? Now I know I was wrong. This depends on how they are raised. My grandchildren know the Jewish traditions and Jewish history, and their children will also know these. They also have Catholic knowledge. These two religions may only enrich them. We are very close. Our daughter calls us every week. They visit us in summer. My husband and I enjoy having our children here and have the house full of children’s voices. We also visit them every year. 

Our son Alexandr graduated from the Teachers’ Training College in Tallinn. His specialty is Physics and vocational education. He got his job assignment to a secondary school in Tallinn, but when a new vocational school opened, he was offered the position of a teacher of physics and vocation. Alexandr was well loved by his students and their parents. He married Margarita Rubinstein, a Jewish girl from Tallinn. Margarita graduated from the Sanitary Engineering Faculty of the Tallinn Polytechnic College. She was an engineer in a design institute. In 1983 their daughter Rosa was born. In 1990 my son and his family moved to Israel. They settled down in Ashdod. In 1993 their second daughter Esther was born. They are doing well. My son and his wife knew that those who move to a different country have to forget their old self. Nobody owes them anything, and they have to do things by themselves, though they can be supported at the beginning. They have to learn the language. One has to know the language of the new country, because if one doesn’t know it, one doesn’t respect the country. One also has to accept any job. Even if you have to sweep streets or work as a dustman, it’s all right. There are no shameful professions. My son’s family agrees with that, and they’ve adjusted to life in Israel very well. 

Rosa has been independent and hardworking since childhood. At the age of four she helped her mother with cooking and baking, and she could knit sweaters for her dolls. It’s very important to teach children to work. I’ve seen many children that grew up in the USSR. We had guests from Moscow and Leningrad, they came with their children, and I was surprised that their mothers wanted to do the simplest things for their children. They even made their beds after them in the morning. Their children were spoiled and didn’t know much about things when they grew up. I believe that there are no bad children. There are bad parents that do this harm. This is true, and one can’t look for reasons outside. Everything is in the hands of the family. There is a father and mother, and when children grow up in the family where they helped one another and work together, the child grows into a good person. It’s not necessary to tell the child all the time what to do and treat him like a minor. It’s good to tell them about things every now and then, but they need to know themselves what they have to do. I saw how our acquaintances from the USSR didn’t allow their children to do things, and left them sandwiches, when they had to go out. Can’t a seven or eight year old boy make a sandwich or wash a dish? I even felt sorry for these helpless children. I’m not calling to exhaust children with hard work, but children are members of the family, and it must be natural for them to take some family responsibilities. We raised our children in this manner, and they raised our grandchildren in this way as well. 

My older granddaughter Rosa knows Hebrew. She even studied poetic Hebrew. Her parents were at work, and Rosa attended a poetry studio. Their teacher was a poet from Israel. Rosa finished the gymnasium with good grades, and went to the army. In Israel it’s common for a young man or woman to work at a gas station, nurse in a hospital or janitor in a hotel for six months after their army service. The Ministry of defense transfers their pay to a special account. This amount is sufficient for them to enter a university or pay the first installment for an apartment. Rosa worked at a gas station for six months and then entered a university. She passed the entrance exams so well that she was released from payment for her studies. My granddaughter finished her first year. She studies and works. Esther, studies in a gymnasium. Our son often calls us. In summer they sometimes visit us. They visited us last summer. Henrich turned 80, and the children decided to come for his jubilee. It was difficult. They work, and Rosa was still in the army, but they decided to visit us at the end of July. There were 15 of them. It was then that I showed my older granddaughter photos and said, ‘Here are your roots. This is your great-grandfather and great-grandmother, your aunts and uncles. You can take what you want.’ Rosa took many pictures which are the memories of our family. I also gave Rosa our family relics: the scroll of the Torah and the tallit which my deceased brother Beines received for his bar mitzvah. These possessions are more precious than any jewelry for us. 

In the 1970s many Jewish people were moving to Israel. My husband and I were very happy that people had this opportunity. We supported them as much as we could, but we didn’t consider departure. Besides everything else, my husband was a professional military, and had no right to move abroad. There was also another reason. Henrich and I are rather conservative. We like stability. Our home is the best shelter in the world for us. When we travel to Moscow or Leningrad, we enjoy seeing new places and meeting new people, but a week later Henrich and I buy tickets to go home. When we visit our daughter, we enjoy staying with our grandchildren and great grandchildren for a week or two, but then after that we know it’s time to go home. Our home means so much to us, and it’s not only our apartment. My husband and I know that there are more beautiful places on earth. We fret about the nasty cold weather, but we love our country: where we were born and grew up, where our parents and grandparents were buried. We look after many graves in the cemetery. They are of our relatives and acquaintances who no longer live in Tallinn. This is all that we call our home. 

Post-communism

We didn’t travel much. When our children were small, we spent our vacations in Estonia. We never went to the south. I believe that our own climate is better for people. Our woods with mushrooms and berries are very good to go to. We’ve never traveled to Ukraine, my father’s motherland. I have no regrets about it. I admire people who travel all over the world and want to see everything, but it’s too much trouble for us. There is only one exception. My husband and I wanted to go to Israel. We visited it in 1995 and 1997. Israel is a miracle for me. We wanted to visit all the places there. We went to Eilat, the border with Lebanon and a kibbutz. It’s a beautiful country. It’s a country where people can live their full life. We weren’t afraid of walking at night. At home we don’t walk in the evening, fearing hooligans. We had no fears in Israel, but at some point we felt like it was time to go home. I’ve always been proud of being a Jew, but in Israel I even felt stronger about it. I felt togetherness with the people. I admire the people of Israel, and I straighten up thinking about them. I felt that they were my kin in Israel, even if we didn’t know each other. I was proud to tell my neighbors that my granddaughter was serving in the army, and they were surprised and even jealous about it. The girl is in the army and is proud of having this chance to defend her country! However, moving to Israel and changing the way of life would be like relocating an old tree. It will not strike roots in the new place.

I’ve read the Torah to have a clear understanding of what our God is like. I also have a Bible. I found something important in these books. One shouldn’t be religious and only recognize his own religion. This would do no good. One can have no religion, but it’s important for one to know who he is and who is behind him, one’s own origin and his people’s traditions. You know, even if a Jew is baptized or has a different origin indicated in his passport, he remains a Jew. They will anyway call him ‘zhid’ or ‘this damn Jew.’ There are many such examples in life and one shouldn’t pretend that since they’ve eliminated the item ‘national origin’ in our passports, and only indicate our nationality, we have stopped being Jews for the surrounding people or ourselves. If somebody says ‘this Jewish woman’ speaking about me, I don’t take is as an insult. Yes, I’m a Jew, and it’s my identity. I’m not ashamed of it. 

I’m very grateful to Mikhail Gorbachev 37 for initiating a new course in the Soviet Union called perestroika 38. Perestroika granted the Soviet people many rights and freedoms. It gave us an opportunity to travel to other countries and correspond with people living abroad. My husband and I visited Israel thanks to perestroika. The Jewish community of Estonia 39 was established. This was the first Jewish community in the USSR. Estonian authorities supported this idea. The community regained its former building which used to house the [Tallinn] Jewish gymnasium 40. I think this establishment of the Jewish community is very important for all Estonian Jews. It supports people, takes care of those who are ill, and old and helpless people, young people and involves younger people in the Jewish life. My husband was chairman of the community audit commission for eight years. He dedicated a lot of time to this work. 

The Iron Curtain limited our freedom of traveling. It also limited our access to information, and many other things weren’t allowed. I had a good medical education and was a good doctor, but I still believe I missed out on a lot, having had no opportunity to get the necessary education due to these Soviet bans. We had no lectures on genetics when I was a doctor. There was a ban on it in the Soviet Union. The science of genetics was called the ‘venal wench of imperialism,’ and those scientists who dared to study it, were sent to the Gulag 41 or executed. We studied human genitals, while sexual issues weren’t considered, as if they simply didn’t exist. Such things made doctor’s activities very difficult. The thing is, if the genetics specialist identifies inherited diseases and what may jeopardize a patient’s health in the future, it will be much easier to treat or prevent such diseases. It’s very important for a doctor to know his patient. 

I remember the words of an outstanding English cardiologist that if a doctor establishes no contact with his patient during the first hour, it’s better that he doesn’t start his treatment at all. Of course, I did many things based on my intuition in my practice, but it would have been much better if I was absolutely certain about what I was doing. I’m a hesitant person since one can’t know everything in the medical field, while I felt the lack of knowledge in many regards. Nowadays, these books and knowledge are available. One can read and think about it. I continuously discover new things and I like to talk with young people. They are free in their thoughts and deeds, they have knowledge, and it’s always interesting to talk to them. I’m happy that I’ve lived to the days when I can read what I want.

In 1991 the Soviet Union broke up, which was a historical event. There had been hard times before this happened, when perestroika declined resulting in the putsch [see 1991 Moscow coup d’etat]42, arranged by the forces that were no longer the leadership of the country. They were communists and the KGB 43. I think that the breakup of the USSR was an appropriate and right thing. The announcement of Estonian Independence was the right step[see Reestablishment of the Estonian Republic] 44. Of course, some people believe life was better in the USSR. One can understand this position. Freedom is a hard thing to maintain. It’s hard to be free and have to make one’s own decision, choose one’s ways and take responsibilities. It’s easier to have no freedom. One doesn’t have any cares and only needs to be led. 

This wish to have the USSR back is nothing but this longing for non-freedom. We are given and we accept it. We didn’t earn our salaries, we just received them. We were given some things paying for them with our freedom. Freedom is the most important right. I want to be free. It can’t be that one can’t have his own mind. I want to live my life following my rules rather than some forced ideology. Nobody gives me or Henrich anything. We receive our pensions which we earned. I have 44 and Henrich has 43 years of work experience. We earned the money which we are paid and try to manage with it. We handle it appropriately. We can’t afford long telephone discussions of leaking taps, this is too costly. We also had to get used to the new order of things after the Soviet times, when things were cheap and uncontrollable. I think now things are right.

Of course there were good things in the USSR, one has to admit. Somehow, they don’t mention what was good in the USSR these days. Of course, it was a paradox of the country. During the war everyone who could hold weapons stood up to defend it, but during the peaceful times they forgot about it. Good things also happen in peaceful times.

I often listen to the radio. Every now and then they start anti-Semitic campaigns and publish articles in newspapers and then things calm down again. This happens in Estonia and other Baltic republics. I’m sure it has to do with politics. Somebody benefits from it. These politicians don’t hate Jews. The reason is, if something goes wrong with industry or agriculture or policy, anti-Semitic articles serve as a distracting maneuver. Otherwise they would have to talk about their mistakes. If the government fails in some area and they discover corruption, or when something goes wrong, they initiate hostile nationalistic articles blaming Jews or Russians for their problems. However, this has to do with policy while people have a friendly attitude toward Jews. We are friends with our Estonian neighbors. We respect their traditions and rituals, and their holidays are our holidays. We speak the language of the country we live in. Jews and Estonians live on this land together, loving it. 

Our home, our nature, the seashore that I love, even our disgusting climate give us our strength. We feel well in Estonia, and this is what matters. Of course, we wish our children lived nearer. Sometimes we grow very sad missing them. The older one gets, the more he wants to be surrounded with young people, but Henrich and I are happy. We raised good children. They are decent, intelligent, they have moral values and nice families. They have their traditions. We are happy that our children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren stay together, need each other and that we are truly one big family. 

Glossary:

Isaac Serman
Tallinn
Estonia
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of Interview: June 2005

I met Isaac Serman in the office of the Jewish community of Estonia 1. Isaac is a rather tall, slim man with a good posture. He is gray-haired, with refined features and a charming smile. It was hard for Isaac to speak Russian as his native tongue is Yiddish and he used to speak Estonian and to study in German, French and Estonian schools. Anyway, he gladly told me about himself and his family and recollected a lot of things. He did not say much about his wife and daughter as he thought that it was their life and he did not think he had the right to talk about them in details. I did not insist as it is his right to determine what he wants to tell and what not.

My family background

Growing up

The Soviet Invasion of the Baltics

During the war

After the war

Glossary

My family background

My father’s family lived in a small Estonian town, Rakvere, located 100 kilometers away from Tallinn. Rakvere had a very advantageous geographic position. The roads to Tallinn and Petersburg were through the town. In 1866 two Jews came to Rakvere, which was called Viesenberg at that time. My parental grandfather, Tsvi-Girsh Sorkin, was one of them and the other one was his companion, Aaron-Eadle Friedman. At that time Jews were banned to live in Rakvere as there was a Jewish Pale of Settlement 2 in tsarist Russia, but both of the arrivals were good tinsmiths, having five years of experience. Besides, tinsmiths were in demand in Rakvere and not only in the town. There were large estates in the whereabouts of the town and experienced tinsmiths were needed there, so they were permitted to settle in the town. I also heard that apart from them there were other Jews in Rakvere, Cantonists 3, who served in the tsarist army, but I do not know if that was true.

Actually my grandfather and his friend started the Jewish settlement in Rakvere. In the late 1880s there were 100 Jewish families in Rakvere. It is known that in 1870 the Jews of Rakvere were permitted to open a Jewish town cemetery. The reason for that was the death of two Jews – Cantonists. They were buried in the Jewish cemetery in Rakvere. My grandfather Tsvi-Girsh Sorkin was buried there next. He died rather young, in 1894. Grandmother died in Rakvere in 1903. She was buried next to Grandfather in the Jewish cemetery of Rakvere in accordance with the Jewish rite.

I do not know exactly how my grandmother Tsive-Feiga came to Rakvere. I supposed she got married to Grandfather and went there with him. I do not remember where they lived before their arrival in Rakvere. It was a small town on the border of Russia, Belarus and Poland.

Their first-born, my father, came into the world in 1872 in Rakvere. His Jewish name was Shmuel, and he was called Samuel in accordance with the documents 4. Three more children were born after Father. I do not remember the years of their birth. The second son was Jacob, the third was Biniumin. Father’s younger sister was called Tsipe.

The family lived in their own house. It was a spacious one-storied wooden house. The synagogue was in front of the house. It was a large, two-storied synagogue. Men prayed on the first floor and women – on the second.

When Father was born Grandfather put the surname Sherman, not Sorkin. He did it on purpose, for Father to avoid being drafted into the tsarist army. Thus, Father became Sherman.

Grandfather died rather young. The eldest son had to take care of the family. He did not study much, just finished cheder and two or three years of compulsory school. Father was very inquisitive and witty. He was well-read and self-taught. He knew a lot of things.

Father and his younger brother Biniumin learned tinsmith skills from Grandfather. Both of them worked. Father’s brother Jacob left for Moscow before the revolution 5, when Estonia was part of the Russian empire. He was taught tailoring there. Jacob became one of the best tailors in Moscow. With time, he had his own salon, located at Kuznetsk most, in the center of Moscow. By the way, that atelier is still there. After the Revolution of 1917 Estonia commenced its struggle for independence 6 and as a result the First Estonian Republic 7 was declared, so Jacob turned out to be abroad and could not return to Estonia.

First, Father helped him, sent parcels with food as people in Russia were starving at that time. Then Jacob stopped keeping in touch with his relatives residing in Estonia because for citizens of the USSR it was dangerous to correspond with relatives abroad 8. Of course, after the revolution Jacob’s atelier was sequestrated and nationalized, but he still kept on working there and did not change his work place.

We knew that Jacob was married, had two daughters. I did not know any of them. We managed to find them and they came to their house after the Great Patriotic War 9, but they did not want to see us as it was the time when people were afraid to meet foreigners. We were foreigners for them, though Estonia was already Soviet [see Occupation of the Baltic Republics] 10, but they could not overcome that fear.

Father’s brother Biniumin stayed in Rakvere. He worked as a tinsmith. His wife Leya was a housewife and raised children. Biniumin and Leya had four daughters: Tsilya, Blume, Gerta and Braine.

Father’s younger sister Tsipe left for the USA when she was an adolescent. There she married a Jew named Wulf and gave birth to two sons. First the Wulf family lived in New York, then they moved to Washington and finally they settled down in Detroit.

Unfortunately, I know much less about my mother’s family. She did not like to talk about herself. The family was large and the children were scattered all over the vast territory of the Russian empire. Our relatives lived in Dvinsk [now Daugavpils, Latvia], in Kaunas [today Lithuania], Pskov and other Russian cities.

Mother’s family settled in Vilnius, which was a Polish town at that time. The Jewish population of Vilnius was large; it was even called small Jerusalem. There were about 100 rabbis in Vilnius. Three relatives of my mother, I think uncles, were rabbis in Vilnius. One of them was Itshok. I was named after him. The only thing I know about my maternal grandparents is their last name – Shubich. I do not know for sure how many siblings my mother had, all I know is that the family was large. My mother Ite, or Ida was the youngest. She was born in Vilnius in 1878.

Mother’s family was religious. They observed Jewish traditions, went to the synagogue on Sabbath and on Jewish holidays. Sabbath and all Jewish holidays were marked at home with all traditions being followed. Kashrut was observed as well. My mom’s mother tongue was Yiddish.

There were no Jewish schools for girls at that time, but my mother was educated. She was fluent in Ivrit and Yiddish, of course. She could read and write in both of those languages. She also knew Russian, German, Estonian and Polish. Mother studied on her own and read a lot.

There were few eligible brides in Rakvere and many guys went to the cities with large Jewish communities to look for wives. So, Father left for Vilnius in order to find a spouse. Mother was very gorgeous and when Father saw her he said that he would not leave without her. They got married in 1897. Father was 25 and Mother was 19. Certainly, they had a traditional Jewish wedding as it could not be different at that time. All weddings in Rakvere were according to the Jewish rite.

After getting married, my parents moved to the house of Father’s parents. When my elder brother Dovid was born in 1898 they rented an apartment. It was a rather large maisonette and Grandmother Tsive-Feiga moved in there with us. The second son, Shleime, was born in 1900. It was written Solomon in his documents, but at home my brothers and I were called only by our Jewish names. In 1901 Meishe – Moses in his documents – and his twin were born, but the twin-brother lived for only three weeks and died. The deceased infant was buried in the Jewish cemetery of Rakvere next to Grandfather. In 1903 Ekhonon was born and in 1906 my sister Agness came into the world. I do not know her Jewish name. She was called Agi at home.

Growing up

I was born after a big gap, in 1918. My parents were not young any more and did not think that they would have any more children. I was named Itshok, but Isaac was written in my documents. The birthday of my mother and I are close: she was born on the 5th candle of Chanukkah and I was born the following day, after the 8th candle.

Father had his own workshop, where he manufactured different tin things. Father usually worked by himself in his shop, but he always had an apprentice. When the apprentice had enough skills to work independently he left, and Father took another apprentice. Uncle Biniumin usually worked on his own. When there were large orders from the estates – making fencing, roofing – Father and Uncle worked jointly. They left to the neighboring estate and worked there on the spot.

I remember once they worked on an estate, located 6 kilometers away from Rakvere and stayed there for three months. Every week Mother, I and Biniumin’s wife went there and brought them food. They came home on Friday evening in order to mark Sabbath at home and go to the synagogue the next day. It was sacred to them.

First Father sold his things on the market. Later he could afford to have his own store. Then he hired an assistant, a young guy from Rakvere. His father was killed in action during World War I and his mother died, so Father took the orphaned boy as an apprentice. I do not remember why his leg was amputated. He helped Father both in the workshop and in the store.

Of course, Mother always helped. She supplied for him at the counter, when he had to leave the store. If Father was selling his things on the market, Mother was sitting in the store. She coped with the chores and raising children. She was a wonderful mother. Even now, when I am eating tasty Jewish dishes, I always think that my mother cooked them better. No matter how busy she was, she always found time for us, children. We shared our anxieties and joy with her. She was a good listener and gave us good advice.

Our family was religious. My parents strictly observed all Jewish traditions. My father was the warden of the synagogue [gabbai] in Rakvere. Like any gabbai he was a member of the board of the Jewish community of Estonia. Father was a convinced Zionist 11. Only Yiddish was spoken at home. It is my mother tongue and I often speak Yiddish with my wife.

Only kosher food was cooked at home. Mother had separate dishes for meat and milk. There was a shochet in Rakvere. He butchered cattle in accordance with the kashrut. There was a store where meat was brought from the abattoir with a special Jewish department, where only kosher meat was sold. Mother never laid the table with meat and milk dishes. Even now there are families where milk and meat dishes are served at the same time, but I do not mix those products. I have been used to it since childhood and I do not want to give up that tradition.

All Jewish holidays were marked in the family the way they were supposed to. On Pesach matzah was baked for the whole community. There was a family of bakers – the Sorkins. They were our distant relatives. Before Pesach all Rakvere Jews got together in their place and baked enough matzah for each Jewish family of the town. I also was given work: I made holes in the matzah with the help of some small gadget. I still remember the taste of that matzah. It was not baked the way it is now. Eggs were added and it tasted much better than matzah does nowadays.

There was a special Paschal set of dishes in every Jewish family of Rakvere. It was used only on Pesach. It was stored separately and taken out only for that holiday. On Pesach father held the seder – the first and the second. The whole family took part in that.

For every holiday Mother cooked traditional Jewish dishes as well as the dishes meant for the holiday. On Pesach there was matzah in the house and on Purim – hamantashen. For Purim Father always made rattlers for us. We were supposed to scare off the villain Haman with the help of those rattlers. On Chanukkah Father always gave us whipping tops. Of course, we always fasted on Yom Kippur.

We had a large library at home. It was collected by Father. Though my father did not study that much, he read a lot to fill in the gaps in his education. He taught us very many things. The sons, including me, went to cheder. There was no cheder for the girls in Rakvere. I do not know where my sister got Jewish education, but she knew everything, a Jewish girl, future mother, was supposed to.

There was no state anti-Semitism in the period of the First Estonian Republic, but still there were restrictions for Jews. Jewish people were not admitted to the state service, had no position in the government. Jews were not admitted to military schools for officers. Many guys, who finished compulsory school, entered schools for officers, and none of them was a Jew. Other than that, there were no restrictions, but still Jews in Rakvere preferred to stick together. When I was a child, there were 35 Jewish families in Rakvere. All of them came to each other for all family ceremonies: weddings, bar mitzvah etc. I do not remember non-Jews attending such celebrations, though the attitude to them towards Jews was quite good.

There was a very strong Jewish community in Rakvere. We had a rabbi, chazzan, shochet. There was an Ivrit teacher in cheder, who had finished a yeshivah in Riga. There were several rich Jews in Rakvere. They donated large amounts of money to the community, for the maintenance of the synagogue and cheder. My father regularly made contributions to the community. Apart from that all Jews of Rakvere collected money for Palestine. We had a Jewish club, attended by Zionists. Our father was a Zionist and all of us were his followers. We attended Zionist meetings in the Jewish club.

All children, but the eldest brother, Dovid, went to school. When he was a toddler, he fell down and hit his head. Then he was getting sick and started losing his memory. I remember him very well: I was 20 years younger than him. I walked around in short pants, and Dovid, dressed like an adult man, seemed to me a higher creature. He died in 1922. My second brother, Shleime, died from a cold in 1918. He hardly managed to finish compulsory school. Both of them were buried in the Jewish cemetery in Rakvere.

My brother Meishe finished a Russian lyceum, Ekhonon and my sister Agness studied at a German lyceum. Having finished lyceum Meishe entered Tartu University, the Medical Department. When he was entering the university, the subjects there were taught in Russian, but when he was studying, Estonia became independent and teaching was in Estonian. My brother was specialized in psychiatry. Upon graduation he worked as assistant to a famous Estonian professor of psychiatry. Then Meishe came back to Rakvere and started practicing medicine.

He got married in Rakvere. Meishe had known his wife-to-be since childhood and they cared for each other since then. This girl’s father was a millionaire. He had a large tannery factory, where 60 or 70 people worked. He asked my father to lend him some money. Father signed bills of exchange for him and soon he went bust. Father had to pay money for the bills of exchange so he did not want Meishe to marry that man’s daughter. But they loved each other so much, that Father did not want to be in the way of their happiness.

Father helped Meishe finish university and paid his tuition. When Meishe returned to Rakvere, Father gave him money to equip his office, where he received patients. Meishe and his wife had a traditional Jewish wedding. They lived separately from us, but their happiness did not last long. They lived together until their daughter was born. Meishe’s wife died in parturition. My brother mourned over his dear wife. He took good care of his little daughter.

My brother Ekhonon was a wonderful guy and I loved him a lot. Ekhonon finished Russian lyceum in Rakvere. He strove to help the family the best way he could. He started out rather early, at the age of 16. There was a large fur enterprise with a large warehouse in Rakvere. Ekhonon went to work there. He became knowledgeable about the furs and worked with furs all life long. Ekhonon worked in Rakvere for a while but with the outbreak of unemployment in 1926, he left for Buenos Aires, Argentina, with his friend. Ekhonon became a rather renowned expert in furs.

In two years sister Agness came to join him. A friend of brother Ekhonon, who left with him, married my sister. They would have stayed in Buenos Aires longer, but the climate was too sultry for the Northerners and the three of them moved to Paris, France. My sister was pregnant, when she came to France. Her son was born in 1929. My brother Ekhonon was an expert in furs and fur articles in a large French company. Besides, the three of them acquired a leather manufacturing enterprise in the 1930s and lived large.

I was the only one from our large family, who stayed with the parents. Before going to compulsory school, I went to cheder. When I was to start school, Father decided that I should go to a German lyceum. There were quite a few Germans in Rakvere and most students in the lyceum came from German families. But still, there were Estonians and Jews too. All subjects were taught in German. I did well.

In 1931 I went through my bar mitzvah. My brother and sister, who lived in France, decided to give me a present on the occasion. They invited me to France. They paid for my trip. In 1932 Mother and I went to France for the first time. Father stayed in Rakvere as he did not want to lose his job. We stayed with siblings for a while and came back to Rakvere. When we were in France, Ekhonon was hired by a large company producing fashionable clothes and he went to Canada to purchase 20,000 white foxes in Canada. He was considered to be a great expert.

In 1933 Hitler came to power in Germany 12. We knew a lot about fascism: oppression, sequestration, imprisonment. Estonia disapproved of fascism and refused all German things. In that period of time Father changed the spelling of our surname: Sherman sounded German and he changed it into Serman, as it more resembled Estonian.

In 1933 Father decided that it would be better for us to move to France, to be close to his son and daughter. Father sold his shop and store and we left for Paris. I learned French pretty quickly. I entered French school and studied there for two years. My parents liked life in France and they wanted to settle down there. In 1935 the King of Yugoslavia came to France. The Minister of Foreign Affairs of France met him in Marcel. A terrorist opened fire and both of them died. After that incident all foreigners who had lived in France for less than two years, were exiled from the country. We had to come back to Estonia.

The only thing we had was our house. Neither the shop nor the store were there. We practically had nothing to live on. My brother Meishe had become a famous doctor by that time and made pretty good money. He helped us with money and bought a small store for Father. There were large stores in Rakvere, where the same goods were sold as my father offered.

Under such condition Father could not regain his footing. The firms, which supplied the stores with the goods, were not interested in such petty vendor as my dad. Large stores purchased a lot of goods, but Father did not have money for that. The trade was very passive and there was not enough money to get by. If Meishe had not helped, we would have starved. Upon our return to Rakvere my brother Meishe and his daughter moved in with us.

I was not admitted in the German lyceum. My brother went to the director and asked him to admit me, but he said that the lyceum was now only for German children and they were not permitted to admit Jews. I entered the Estonian lyceum. I spoke good Estonian and studied pretty well. People treated me pretty well in the lyceum. I was a member of the boy scouts organization. I was conferred the title of scout master. I was the leader of a large group. There were only three Jews in it. In general, the Jews of Estonia were closely connected with the Estonian population and Estonians treated them well.

Upon graduation I hunkered for leaving for Palestine. But right after finishing lyceum I was drafted into the compulsory Estonian army. My army service went pretty smoothly. By fellow soldiers as well as commanders treated me pretty well.

In 1939 when German troops were crushed in Poland, the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact 13 was signed between the USSR and Germany. Shortly after that, Soviet troops entered Estonia 14. They said that Soviet military bases would be established on the territory of Estonia. I remember the day, when the armored troop-carriers regiment, where I was serving, was sent towards the border. We were totally confident that we would have to fight. On our way we were stopped and told to come back to our unit.

On 30th April 1940 I was demobilized and came back home. Things were evolving so that Estonia would be with the Soviets. Of course, there was no way I could go to Palestine. There was no work for me in Rakvere. I could work in Jewish enterprises, but there were no enterprises like that since the tannery factory went bankrupt. The only opportunity I had was to move to Tallinn.

The Soviet Invasion of the Baltics

In June 1940 Soviet troops came to Estonia. The parliament was dissolved and new elections were announced. I took part in them. I was for the Soviets. Of course, at that time I knew hardly anything about the Soviet Union. I thought that it was the country, where everybody was equal, and not oppressed. If I would have known what the Soviet Union really was…

My former classmate, who knew that I was a scout master and worked with children, suggested that I should work with school children and form a pioneer organization 15 in Rakvere. I happily accepted the offer. None of us knew what kind of pioneer organizations were in the USSR and we made that organization as per sample of a scout organization. I was captured by work. I decided to enter the Komsomol 16. My form was sent to the Central Komsomol committee. They refused me on the ground that my father owned a store. Then nationalization commenced and my father’s store was taken. We were lucky that it was a small store bearing scarce income. Owing to that our family escaped deportation 17.

I lived with my parents. I had a rather good salary – 600 rubles. It used to be big money at that time. I gave my salary to Mother and left pocket allowance for myself.

In May 1941 I became a candidate to the party. I craved for studying and I submitted my documents to Tartu University. In September my classes were to start.

During the war

There was a park with a dancing hall in Rakvere. Young people like to get together there and dance. On Saturday, 21st June 1941, I went dancing. The next morning, I wanted to sleep longer in the morning, but there was a knock at our door early in the morning. I was called to work. There I found out that the war was unleashed. In the afternoon I was told to leave for the town of Jōhvi, which was between Rakvere and Narva. There mobilization was underway. I was sent there as a translator. Soviet military units were to conduct mobilization and many Estonians did not speak Russian.

My brother Meishe was assigned the doctor of the train, which took people to evacuation. The train left on 4th July. My parents left with my brother. They stayed in the village Bolshoye Nagayevo, Perm oblast [1200 km east of Moscow], for the entire period of the war. My brother was deputy chief physician of the military hospital, which was located in the village. I sent them my military certificate and it made their lives a little easier.

Only six Jewish families were staying in Rakvere, when I came back there. On 6th August, at 18:00 we left Rakvere and in two hours the Germans were in the town. On that day I called on every remaining family in the morning. These were the richest families in Rakvere. They didn’t want to get evacuated and tried to persuade me that Germans wouldn’t kill anybody. They thought Germans to be the same as Russians who exiled people in Siberia.

I still talked them into evacuation. There was only one family left. I was banging on their door, but nobody was in or they did not want to open the door. On 18th August 1941 all members of that family were killed. Some people say that they were shot by Germans, but one of my good friends in Rakvere told me that it was done by local people. Before the Germans came to Estonia, there were Estonian armed groups in the forests, which took the German side right away. When we were leaving Rakvere, we were shot at by Estonian groups from the NKVD 18 premises, which they captured. We reached Narva via skirmishes. There the Narva regiment was being formed and on 17th August I entered that infantry regiment as a private. When the regiment had been formed, I was sent to Leningrad.

When our regiment was in Narva, I went to the post office and asked whether there was mail from Rakvere. The old lady on duty said that there were unpacked bales with mail and permitted me to look through them. Strange as it may be, but I found a letter from my brother Meishe and my parents. I found out that they left Rakvere without problems. I got their address. Thanks to that lucky chance I corresponded with them during the entire period of the war.

Leningrad was besieged by German troops [see Blockade of Leningrad] 19. The only connection with the city, Kronstadt, a suburb, was via sea. We knew that Estonia was captured by Germans. Then we found out that many Estonian soldiers and officers took the Germans’ side. After that all Estonians were called off from the front as per Stalin’s order. There were only 26 people in the Narva regiment. There were very many wounded and killed. It is painful to recollect how many people I lost!

I was lucky: I was contused and left in the hospital in the regiment medical battalion. After a while I came back in the lines. I was awarded with the Medal «For Leningrad Defense» 20. Our regiment was positioned by the suburb of Leningrad Petergof. The city was besieged. All militaries were evacuated to keep on struggling. Besides, there was nothing to feed them with. When we got together, we were taken to Kronstadt in a submarine and from there we got to Leningrad. The only way to Leningrad was via Lake Ladoga, the so-called Road of Life 21. We were sent in the harbor, called New Ladoga to cross the lake. We stayed there for ten days without food. We did not even have a piece of bread to eat.

Then we crossed Lake Ladoga with the workers of Leningrad plant. It was late fall and the lake was covered with ice. We were incessantly fired at by the Germans during our crossing. Then we, about 100 Estonian guys, took a train to Chelyabinsk [1600 km north-east of Moscow], where the Estonian government was in evacuation 22. I asked for permission to leave the train and see my parents, but I was refused.

We kept on moving and when we reached the town of Babayevo, not far from Tikhvin station, our train was bombed by German planes. It is hard to describe how terrible it looked: our crushed train, distorted rails, cadavers and wounded all over. Those, who survived by miracle, were given another train and we went on. It took us three weeks to get to Chelyabinsk. When we finally arrived there, only four of us, who had families in Chelyabinsk, were permitted to stay. The rest of us went farther, to Omsk [2500 km north-east of Moscow].

It was 35 degrees below zero when we got off the train in Omsk. All of us were lightly dressed. When I left the house in Rakvere, it was summer and I did not even take a jacket, nothing to speak of a coat. We, befuddled by propaganda, gullibly used to think that we would be back home in two or three months. We even appointed meetings with those who would survive in Rakvere at 6 o’clock after the war was over – but we were to wait till four years later… We were not given uniforms by the army. Then we started looking for warm clothes.

The former secretary of Tartu regional party committee met us at the station and said that I was to go to the kolkhoz 23. We went to the station of Kolonia, 130 kilometers from Omsk, There were 36 kolkhozes, where only Estonians lived and worked. These were Estonians, who in the 19th century went to Siberia, the Crimea and Georgia to look for fortune, and founded a colony here. We stopped by a kolkhoz named after Karl Marx. It was a large and rich kolkhoz. People lived comfortably there. There were only Estonians, very hardworking people.

On the second day we went to work. We cleaned cow pens. We worked diligently and people from the kolkhoz gave us valenki [warm Russian felt boots], gloves and hats. We stayed with different families. People treated us very well. I remember I marked my birthday there and the locals brought me two cooked geese, white bread and all kind of food. We celebrated New Year’s of 1942 there as well and on 10th January we were told to go to Omsk for the formation of the Estonian corps 24.

Before departure we were even given wages in the kolkhoz – trudodni 25. I got six sacks of grain. I left them with the family, were I lived. Women baked bread, rolls for me to take and gave me half of the piglet. So, we did not starve in the train on our way to Omsk. We were on the road for a week as we had to let military trains go first. We were sent to the division from Omsk. When I was in compulsory army service, I was in artillery, so I was assigned deputy commander of squad #354 of the rifle regiment. Of course, another reason for that was my being candidate to the party.

Divisions were still formed. They started the formation of the 2nd division and reserve regiment for the replenishment after battles. There were 32,000 people. At that time the Estonian corps had not been formed yet, there was only a division. Thousands of Estonian guys were coming from everywhere. At the beginning of the war they were mobilized in the army and then called off the front as per order of Stalin and sent to the labor army 26.

They worked under severe conditions in the North, starved and died from emaciation and overwork. More than a third of the Estonians who were there, died in the first winter. Those who came to us were exhausted and sick. We had very good doctors, and thanks to their care and good food those guys got well. The Siberian climate was very auspicious for us – dry and clean air, aroma of pine forest. Doctors made sure that we had the infusion from pine sprouts. That is why we did not have scurvy and beriberi. Of course, there were severe frosts, which was hard on us.

I was to conduct military training for the guys and teach them army discipline. Of course, it was very hard to do – as those who came back from the labor army, had a difficulty walking, even slowly. It was way too hard for them to march, go hiking. I understood that and did not force them. Things gradually got better. I started to take the guys from Rakvere.

So, the day came, when we had to get on the train and move towards the West, to the front. Only when we passed the Ural, we were told that we were heading to Stalingrad. We were stopped on our way and told to head towards Moscow. Our division stayed in Egoryevsk and the second division – in Kostroma. Only there, on 25th September 1942, our Estonian corps was formed. We stayed in the vicinity of Moscow for two months, wherefrom we were sent to the front. First, we were on Kalinin front, Toropetsk district. It was the first snow. We made huts and stayed there for a while.

In early December we marched towards Velikiye Luki. On 12th December 1942 our Estonian corps had the first battle. The battles were fierce, with a lot of bloodshed. I and the lieutenant, who was sent to us from the former Estonian corps, were the only ones, who were battle-seasoned in our squad, where I was the commander. The rest did not have any experience in battle. The casualties were big – it was a mêlée. Only 3800 survived out of 10,000 people in our division. Though, there were a lot of wounded who came back to the squad. I also was wounded in those battles and came back in the lines after having been treated.

We lost a lot of good lads there. One of them was Kulman, the husband of my cousin Gerta, the daughter of Uncle Biniumin. He came there in replenishment troops. I met him before the battle and asked him to come to me after the battle. He was killed in action and was dead by evening. My friend from Rakvere, Blekhman, also perished. He was a tall and handsome guy, a good sportsman. There were 50 Jews in our regiment only 12 people survived the battle at Velikiye Luki.

We did not have experience in battle tactics, there was no proper reconnaissance. We had big causalities, but we managed to take the town anyway. It was the first military operation of the Soviet army, when our troops besieged the town and the battles were in the town and on the streets. It was like that in Stalingrad, but the Battle of Stalingrad 27 was after Velikiye Luki. It means, that our battle was the first to come and we had the battles in town before the Stalingrad army.

There were skirmishes and close fighting. We talked to the Germans. They suggested us surrendering and we suggested that they should surrender. I was an interpreter. When I was wounded in the arm, my good fellow, a Jewish guy from Tartu named Leo Grossman, supplied for me. He is still alive. Leo was interpreting; when the town was captured all German commanders came out for negotiations with our corps commander. My wound was not severe. The bone was not touched, and after staying in the medical battalion of the regiment for a short time, I came back in the lines. I was awarded the Red Star Order 28 for the battle in Velikiye Luki.

We were very well armed. In 1942 we had a set of uniforms and good weapons. I should say that in 1941, when we were in the vicinity of Leningrad, we had obsolete bayoneted rifles from the Estonian army. They were used towards the end of war. We were on bayonet attacks in 1944 and in 1945. Though, at that time those rifles were remade for modern bullets. Not all military units had such ammunition. I was in the artillery regiment, and I was certain that we had good and modern cannons. In 1943 five-bullet machine-guns, antitank and anti-cannon guns appeared. I can only speak about our Estonian corps. Maybe it was different in other units. At any rate our artillery was better armed than the Germans’.

I think that Estonians were lucky to have the Estonian corps. There was good order and good relations between people. General-lieutenant Lembit Pārn was the commander of our Estonian corps division. He had served in the army for over 20 years. He had been army headquarters commander by the time when Estonian corps was formed. Then he was division commander, i.e. he was considerably reduced in rank, but still he reckoned it to be a great honor for him. We were among ours in the Estonian corps. We spoke Estonian. We could organize amateur performances and go in for sports. It was luck to serve in the Estonian corps, but only for those who survived the war. Many people died. We will always keep them in our hearts.

Since the period of formation in Siberia, the soldiers of our corps did not starve. In spite of all adversities of military life, we got a daily ration of bread of 800 grams. We received such a ration throughout the entire period of war. Every day we were given soup. Of course it was not like in the restaurant, but it was fresh and warm soldiers’ soup. It was hard after Velikiye Luki. We were positioned in such a place where communication was not advantageous and there were not enough products. For three months we were fed millet, but still we were fed and nobody was hungry. My kin in evacuation was starving, getting only 200 grams per day…

After Velikiye Luki our Estonian corps took part in many large battles: in the vicinity of Nevel, Novo-Sokolniki, Kingisepp. During the battles out of Kingisepp I met my cousin Tsilya’s husband. He was wounded in battle. I took him from the battle field. He was crippled and died shortly after war. In January 1944 we were repositioned to the Leningrad front. Our train was to take off in Oranienbaum, the same place where we were in 1941 [Oranienbaum was the name of the town of Lomonosov before 1948. It is located in Leningrad district with a dock on the southern coast of the Gulf of Finland. Oranienbaum bridgehead was built in September 1941 during defense actions of the Leningrad front].

Of course, all that was different. We were not retreating, but, on the contrary, were victoriously attacking. So, here we came to the Narva River with Leningrad troops, wherefrom we went to Estonian land. Soviet troops were positioned on a small spot by the river. Our artillery was reinforced there. In February 1944 we started crossing the Narva River. There were fierce battles. The ice on the river was red with blood. The Soviet army, having severe casualties, had to retreat. Only in July 1944 we managed to cross the river and get to the opposite bank. The artillery of the Estonian corps took part in those battles.

At that time I was deputy commander of the artillery group of our infantry regiment. 250 people from the Estonian corps were awarded for the Narva battles. There were four Jews among them. I was not awarded for those battles. I was not awarded for any battle on the territory of Estonia, though I was the one who was at the lead, calling upon regiment troops.

During the crossing of the bridge across the Mustajōgi River I was in the first boat. Fact is that the deputy political officer of the regiment, was a good person, but he didn’t like me. When the political officer of the regiment, my good friend, told him that Serman should be awarded, he said that Serman should include himself in the list. Yes, I made the list of the people to be awarded, but how could I have included myself! Thus, I remained without awards for the liberation of Estonia.

Only when that man was transferred to another place, I was awarded. Our commanders included me in the list for awards. The division commander or corps commander made the final decision with regards to awards, but the highest awards were approved in the headquarters of the army. I can say that the soldiers of Estonian corps were condoned when it came to awards. There were cases when people were included in the list for high awards, but a lower-class award was given, but still it was given. I remember that after the battle in the vicinity of Narva I included a leader of our artillery group in the list of people to be awarded the Red Banner Order 29, which was a high award, but a Jewish guy Abram Faiman was included in the list of Red Star Order and got that award.

There was active political struggle in our corps, it was more active than in other units of the army as Estonia became Soviet only in 1940 and we did not know many things. I should say that most of the people who were in the Estonian corps, were true patriots of the USSR. We went to the battles with the words ‘For the motherland, for Stalin!, the same way Russians did.

There were SMERSH 30 representatives in our corps as well as in other units of the Soviet army. Their representatives in the squad were Estonians and we did not have any trouble with them. They were good guys, but their commander, a representative of SMERSH in the regiment, was Russian and, of course, he wanted to do things his way. Though, later our combat commanders did not let him gain control over the regiment. Our senior officers were Estonians. They had wonderful training, having finished English and French military schools.

There were people, who suffered from that Russian SMERSH officer. I personally knew one of them. There was an officer, Estonian, a commander of a squad, who was a wonderful artist and carver. When he had spare time he was making a wooden vase, where episodes of Estonian history were depicted around the vase in the form of coats-of-arms and flags of countries, who occupied Estonia in different times. Among others there were the Soviet coat of arms and flag, then German, as Germans had occupied Estonia by that time. The last part was empty and the artist explained that he deliberately left it empty as it was not known who would be at power in Estonia after the war. Some stooge told on him because of that and he was sentenced to ten years in the Gulag 31. Later I met with that man. He said that he was lucky to have survived the camp.

I became a party member during the war. I did not believe in the Party, but I believed in the Soviet regime. Though, at that time my opinion was ambiguous. I was appalled by things I saw in Russia. I remember I felt so horrible when I saw a Soviet kolkhoz in Leningrad oblast for the first time. They looked so poor and miserable. I was perplexed with the Soviet order, but at that time we did not know things, revealed after the Twentieth Party Congress 32 and later. I knew for sure that I was keeping abreast with the Soviet army on the way to Estonia, to liberate my Estonia from German occupants, and not merely liberate, but to build a new true life. I believed that the Soviet regime could do things like that.

There was no anti-Semitism during the war. It was during the first years of the First Estonian Republic and during the Soviet time. It was an exception in military time. There were about 500 Jews in our corps, but I never came across anti-Semitism towards me. There were a lot of Jewish officers. I finished the war with the rank of major. There were Jewish doctors in our corps. Two of them were from Rakvere, Doctor Zaltsman and Doctor Faiman. My brother Meishe, who was commander of the rear hospital, had the rank of captain of medical service.

I have a Red Star Order for the battle in Velikiye Luki. The medal for the Defense of Leningrad is also dear to me as well as an Order of the Great Patriotic War of the 2nd class 33 for battles in Latvia. After the war I was given an Order of the Great Patriotic War of the 1st class.

After the war

In spring 1945 we were sent to Latvia, Kurland. We were to take the position of Latvian divisions. The Latvian corps was not as lucky as we were. It was totally crushed. There were no more than ten people in their squad, when we took them over. I met some of them after the war. The Latvian corps had dreadful casualties, was practically wiped out.

Battles in Kurland were severe and fierce. Germans were desperately fighting as they understood that the war was drawing to a close. We lost about a third of the corps in those battles. It was dreadful that Estonia had been liberated by then and many of our soldiers had already seen their parents, wives and were to die after that.

On 8th May 1945 our corps entered a new frontier in order to fight the Germans. In the evening, the corps commander ordered us to stop and have a rest. We were not supposed to take any actions without his new order. It was the last order the commander of the corps gave us during wartime. At night it was announced that Germany had capitulated. It was the end of the war.

Unfortunately, I was not in the division at that time. I was wounded in the head a couple of days before that. My wound was serious. I stayed in the tent of the medical battalion for three days and then came back to the unit. When we were to move to a new territory, I was sent to the hospital. My wound was not cleaned very well and I had complications. Thus, I marked Victory Day 34 in a front-line hospital. I was operated there as well. Then there was Stalin’s order not to discharge the wounded from the hospital until their ultimate recovery. I was sent to Riga for treatment. My wound was cleansed every day, the rest of the time was mine. I was allowed to leave the hospital for some period of time. I even went dancing. Then I was discharged from hospital and went to Tallinn.

I was lucky I was in Tallinn that very day, when the Estonian corps was entering the town. It was an unforgettable day! In Tallinn the column of soldiers of the Estonian corps, which was 8 kilometers long, marched along the road, strewn with flowers. The soldiers were welcomed in Riga the same way. I was in the hospital, when our corps was walking across Riga. Then in Tallinn they marched on the road strewn with flowers, covering a distance of 500 kilometer. There were tables laid with food set up along the road. We were given food and drinks. All of us were rejoicing! Now they call us occupants…

I knew that my kin came back from evacuation and settled in Tallinn. The house, where we lived in Rakvere, was destroyed during bombing. My brother Meishe was sent to Tallinn. He was assigned deputy chief of the Healthcare Department of Areman province, the administrative center of which was Tallinn. My parents went with him. They were given a one-room apartment.

When I went to see them and found out that Mother was on the brink of death. She had cancer. She kept to bed for eight and a half months. Mother went through a terrible ordeal: she had beautiful nice teeth and before her death, they fell out. She was grinding her teeth so hard when she had pangs that her teeth triturated. Meishe gave her analgetic injections, but they did not relieve the pain all the time. When I was demobilized, Mother was not alive any longer. She died in 1946. She was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn. Strange, but the Germans did not demolish that cemetery. It remained untouched.

The war took many lives of our close people. When the war was unleashed, my quarter [quarter is a close family friend, who takes a child to the rite brit (milah) and is present there during the process of the rite] was killed even before the Germans entered Tallinn. He and his wife were very close to our family. They did not have children of their own and I was like a son to them. I came to Tallinn for school holidays twice a year and stayed with them. I remember I went to the dancing parties of the Maccabi club 35. I had friends in Tallinn. They were my age. I was close with my family. The wife of my quarter managed to get evacuated to Russia and died in evacuation.

The son of Father’s brother Biniumin also perished. The husband of my sister Agness joined the resistance troops in the south-east of France. He was captured by Germans. When he was arrested, my sister was pregnant with her second son. My sister’s husband was sent to a concentration camp. That was it. At that time we did not manage to find out more about him, and now we cannot do that either. My brother Ekhonon, who lived in France, was also captured by the Germans. He was sent to Dachau. My brother was among those eight people, who escaped from Dachau 36. Only two of them survived. My brother reached home and his wife sheltered him on the garret of their house by the end of war. Ekhonon and his wife did not have children and they helped my sister raise her sons.

I stayed in the Estonian corps. Officers got assignments via the Bureau of the Central Committee of the Party. I was sent to Tartu. I served in the headquarters of the 7th division. There was a time when the commander came and I was asked to hold the speech. They liked my report and I was told that I would be sent to Moscow to study. I did not have military education. I only finished compulsory school. I was waiting for the assignment for studies, but it was not coming. Then the deputy political officer of the regiment, Gorohover, was a Jew. He talked to me and said that I had to be demobilized as there was no place for Jews in the Soviet army. I understood that I was right and in 1947 I was demobilized.

I was willing to get education. I did not have any certificate from school. When I left Rakvere, I did not take anything with me, but I was incredibly lucky. In 1941 I submitted the documents to Tartu University and there was a copy of my school certificate and a photograph in the archive of the university. It was very important for me as this way I was able to enter Tartu University. I wanted to enter the History Department.

By that time I had found a job in Tartu, in the editing department of the paper ‘Edasi’, ‘Go ahead.’ It was the first paper issued in Estonia. There was no journalism department at the university and the history department was the closest to my work. One of my entrance exams was Russian language. It was hard for me as I did not know it. Russian was not taught in the Estonian school. All of us spoke Estonian in the Estonian corps. I started studying Russian in order to prepare for the exam. When I wrote my first dictation, there were seven or eight mistakes in each line, but still I studied and passed the exams successfully. I worked and studied at the same time. The work was difficult in itself, and I had to combine it with studies and family, but I was young and ambitious.

I got married on 31st December 1948. I met my wife Riva in Tartu. I am not going to say much about my wife and her family: this is her private life and I do not think I have the right to touch it. She was born in Riga in 1926. When she was a little girl, her family moved to Tartu. Riva has a sister, a couple of years old than she. Riva’s parents were very religious and the daughters were taught Jewish traditions and religion. Riva and her sister studied in a Jewish school in Tartu.

During the war, their family was in evacuation in Kirghizia. There Riva finished а compulsory school. After the war her family came back to Tartu. When I met Riva, she worked in the municipal Ispolkom 37. We fell in love with each other and got married soon. We had an ordinary wedding for those times. We registered our marriage in the marriage registration office and had a modest party with close people. There was no opportunity to arrange for a Jewish wedding and there was no place for it. The Tallinn synagogue 38 was burned down in 1944. Besides, I was not willing to be wed under a chuppah. I was an atheist and a party member. It was not acceptable for me.

In 1948 the state of Israel was founded 39. It was a big joy for me. Once, when I spoke with my colleagues I mentioned that our Jewish state had been established. It did not go through that imperceptibly. It did not go that easy. I was in the trade union of the committee of our paper. Shortly after that talk there were elections in the trade union committee of our paper and I was not elected. Then my good comrade told me that the editor of our paper had come to the municipal committee and said I spoke well of Israel. It was the reason why I was not elected. After that incident in the municipal committee of the party I asked our editor if he knew that the representative of the Soviet Union was the first to bring up the issue on the foundation of the state of Israel. Of course, he did not know that.

After the war almost all leading positions in Estonia were occupied by militaries, soldiers and officers of the Estonian corps. All first secretaries of regional committees of the party as well as local authorities were in the Estonian corps. All of us knew and supported that, but it did not mean that our relations were corrupt. We honestly were working for our country, which we had been defending with weapons in our hands. We did everything for its flourishing. It could not have been different.

When in 1948 a new wave of repressions started in the USSR, the campaign against cosmopolitans 40, we did not hear much about that. How could we have known what was happening in Moscow? We learned from the papers about such events as the death of Mikhoels 41, cosmopolitan processes, the liquidation of the Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee 42 and we felt pretty indifferent and aloof as we had never heard about those people before.

I think there was no cosmopolitan campaign in Estonia as there were very few Jews there. The majority of the indigenous Jews of Estonia perished during the war. Of course, we believed things written in the papers. The articles were not written by unknown people, but by such famous people as Ilia Erenburg 43 and other famous Jewish writers and journalists. We had no grounds to question their articles.

Then, during the Doctors’ Plot’ 44, we started unofficial talks about the eviction of Jews. Of course, those talks were not official. My brother Meishe asked me if I was drying rusks. [Editor’s note: there is a phrase in the Russian language that roughly translates as ‘dry rusks,’ meaning to get ready for repressions from the government. The phrase implies that rusks would be handy in prison.]. I did not get his hint and he said that Jews would be exiled soon. I said that I could not believe that it would happen in Estonia. Until now it is not clear whether there was such an order or not. I read a lot of literature on that issue and found no certain answer. They say that the trains were ready to deport the Jewish population, but I do not know if that was true. 

Before finishing university I was transferred to Tallinn to work as an editor with the radio. I was transferred to extramural studies. We lived in Tallinn with my father. It was hard for me to study back in that time. The paper was to be released in the morning, but we had to work on the issue all day long. It was easier for me to work with the radio. There were three chief editors and each of us was on duty for a week. When I was on duty, I was through with work at around 1am.

I remember the day of Stalin’s death in 1953. Before that there were regular rounds-up on his state of health. The Estonian telegraph agency in Tallinn received those rounds-up from Moscow and sent it to all papers and radio stations. In the wee hours of the morning we got the message on his death. We did not leave the office until dawn, and in the morning the message came out in the papers. I do not think we were grieving over that event. We took it as mere fact.

After the Twentieth Party Congress, where Nikita Khrushchev 45 held the speech revealing Stalin’s cult, my belief in the Party was considerably shattered. I did not take Khrushchev serious. When he mentioned in his speech, that for 20 years we would outrun the USA in production of food products, well such a statement made me laugh. Then I crossed out those words in the articles which I was to edit and I was twice reprimanded for that by the chief editor of the radio programs. I thought that if he wanted those words to be the in the text he should insert them and sign after that. Such a statement made by Khrushchev sounded like a sneer.

In general I understood what was going on in the country and preferred to keep my thoughts to myself. There was a large group of Jewish writers and scientists in Tartu and Tallinn, who came from the USSR, mostly from Leningrad. They studied in Tartu and then became famous scientists, for example Lotman 46. When I was working for the paper in Tartu, I started publishing articles right away. I could speak my mind in their presence, as for the rest I bewared of sharing my opinion.

In 1951 our daughter was born in Tartu. My wife and I called her Ita after my dear mother. Unfortunately I was too tied up at work and practically had no time to see my daughter. Nevertheless, I managed to take part in her upbringing. When she was a little girl, she made up her mind to become a journalist. Her little desk was by my desk at home. When I was working, my daughter was next to me. She also had a case with materials. I was an avid reader, so we had a rich library at home. Ita also became a book-worm. She made notes on every book she had read.

My daughter went to a school with profound English studies. She is fluent in English, German and Finnish. My wife and I spoke Yiddish at home. Unfortunately our daughter does not know Yiddish, her mother tongue is Estonian. But still Ita was raised Jewish. She knew all Jewish traditions and the history of the Jewish people. Even in Soviet times we marked Jewish holidays at home. Both grandfathers of Ita, maternal and paternal, lived with us and we followed Jewish traditions.

Of course, in Soviet times we could not observe kashrut. There was no shochet then, but we did our best. We did not have pork at home and my wife cooked traditional Jewish dishes. Men got together for a minyan and prayed. It was unofficial, in somebody’s house. We marked Jewish holidays at home. There was no place to buy matzah for Pesach in Soviet times, so we baked it at home, observing all rules. We also marked Soviet holidays –1st May, 7th November 47, and Victory Day. The latter was the biggest holiday for those who survived and came back home. It was the greatest holiday for us.

Ita finished university, works as a journalist, travels all around the world. She is single and lives with us. I can say that my daughter does well; she is a good person and a good journalist.

My father died in 1958. He was buried next to my mother in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn in accordance with the Jewish rite.

My brother Meishe got married for the second time after the war. His second wife’s husband was killed in action and she raised a daughter, whom Meishe adopted. They had another daughter, born in the 1950s. Meishe was a very famous doctor in Estonia. His working experience was 53 years. He was a chief psychiatrist, the chairman of the Tallinn psychiatry board. His daughter takes that position now. Meishe died in Tallinn in 1981. He was buried next to my parents in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn. There is a place for me next to them. It is very important for me.

I know that there was state anti-Semitism during the Soviet regime. I practically did not feel it directed toward me. Probably there were cases when my nationality stood in the way of my career, but nobody said it openly. They found other reasons. There was social anti-Semitism. Probably if a Russian calls a Jew a Yid [offensive derogatory term for a Jew], it does not mean, that he thinks badly about that Jew. Estonians have a saying if they speak of mess, they say ‘as messy as in Jewish store.’ One of my best friends said it in my presence and then he finally bethought, ‘Oh God. Isaac, you understand that I slipped.’ I understand that he was not anti-Semitic and said it by accident... I can definitely say that anti-Semitism in Estonia was not as blatant as in the rest of the USSR, especially when Stalin was alive.

By the middle of the 1960s I was offered the position of deputy chairman in the cinematography committee, i.e., deputy minister. At that time that committee was being formed. My comrades, who were subordinated to me in the army, were also offered a job there. That offer showed how they treated Jews in Estonia. Frankly speaking, I was not willing to accept that offer. We had a wonderful team at the radio. I was a journalist, and liked what I was doing.

Finally I was called by the first secretary of the communist party of Estonia, a very pleasant and interesting person. If somebody had told me before 1940 that I, a Jew, would be offered a position like that I would not have believed it. I said that I did not want to leave my job. In reply he said that I had the right to refuse, but I would never be offered anything again. I had to agree. Did I have any other way out? I worked in the cinematography committee for 17 years and retired in 1982.

In 1968 my wife and I went to Paris to visit my siblings. We had not seen each other for ages and our reunion was joyful. We stayed with them for a while. They gave us leather coats, manufactured in their factory and leather suites for Meishe’s daughters. When Father was alive, Ekhonon and Agness sent parcels for them. Ekhonon died in Paris in 1976, Agness – in 2004.

In the 1970s Jews started immigrating to Israel. Many of my friends from Tallinn and Tartu left. We tried to do what we could for them, celebrated their immigration. We were happy to know that their new life was a success and that they did well. The very idea to immigrate was not bat, but in my circumstances it was impossible. At any rate, I thought like that then. So, I stayed, but even now I would like to visit that splendid country.

I do not consider myself to be religious. I have always been an atheist. Many people think Judaism to be a religion, but in my opinion it is ethics. As for me, it means that I identify myself as a Jew and take pride in it, knowing Jewish history, Jewish life, my mother tongue and literature. I have always marked Jewish holidays at home. It means that I am a Jew. How can I refuse the history of my people? I think that Jewish religion is 90 percent of Jewish history, and I know the history of the Jewish people.

When I started studying in Soviet times, there were no books in Russian or Estonian. So, first I read them in English and French. Now I have a lot of books in Russian and Yiddish. I cannot believe that someone in heaven controls our lives. In that case, I would have to give up science. I tell my friends, Estonians, that all of them are Jewish as their God is a Jew. I do not say Jesus Christ, I say Jeshua ben Eyser. I cannot believe in miracles he made. I think that everyone has a right to believe or not to believe in God and no one should make anyone change his mind.

When Mikhail Gorbachev 48 declared a new course of the Party, I took it skeptically. It seemed to me that nothing would happen. In the end, perestroika 49 lead to the breakup of the USSR [in 1991]. I think that event was natural and it should happen. I live in the small state of Estonia. My peoples live in the small state of Israel. How could I feel calm when Estonia, which used to be independent and happy, was no longer a state in the Soviet Union, but became just a part of the Soviet Union? It was written in our passports that we – the citizens of the Estonian Soviet Republic became true citizens of Estonia only after independence was gained in 1991 50.

The Jewish community of Estonia was founded before perestroika. When Estonia became independent it became the center, uniting all Jews of our country. The community means a lot for all of us. It has become a part of our life. The community was given the building of the former Jewish lyceum 51. I often go there. There is the Council of War Veterans in our community. We get together two or three times per month. There is a good library in community. I take books there to read. I am a passionate reader.

I take part in all holidays, celebrated at the community – Holocaust Day, Day of Israel, Day of the Perished etc. We always celebrate Victory Day. This year, when the 60th anniversary of the victory was celebrated, we had a feast. If the USSR had not won that horrible war, there would have been no Jews left in Europe. In spite of hard life in evacuation and starvation, Jews survived and escaped concentration camps. I am grateful to the Soviet Union for that. Actors, children made performances for us, veterans. There was a great table laid for us. Those, who were in the lines, were given flowers and presents. It was very ceremonious and touching.

Of course, I take part in Jewish holidays. On Pesach I like to hear children ask the traditional four questions, I used to ask my father. I still remember them. Other holidays are celebrated in our community in an interesting way as well. At home we have celebrations as well. It has always been like that. We have monthly birthday celebrations of those, who were born in that month. It is a real pleasure that someone remembers you and takes care.

The community takes a lot of actions on collecting data on Holocaust victims in Estonia. I think in the 1960s there were two trials of those who were involved in the extermination of Jews during the war. Actually, those issues were more raised after Estonia gained independence. There was even an acting commission of the government of Estonia. In accordance with the data of that commission, headed by a Finnish Jew, journalist Max Jacobson, 10,000 Jews perished on the territory of Estonia. There were 20,000 in accordance with the data of our community. The matter is not in the number, the problem was that they were murdered for merely being Jews. Estonia was the first to tell Hitler that its territory was free of the Jewish population. All of us should do our best for it not to happen ever again.

Our community built monuments in five places of mass execution of Jews. Annually I hold a speech at school on Victory Day. If not for the German army, where Estonians served, six millions of European Jews would have stayed alive. If not for the Soviet Army, where Estonians served too, there would be no Jews left in Europe at all. We should remember that.

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