Travel

Alexander Gajdoš
Karlovy Vary 
Česká republika
Rozhovor pořídil: Martin Korčok
Období vzniku rozhovoru: srpen 2005

Pán Alexander Gajdoš v súčasnosti pôsobí ako predseda Židovskej obce Karlovy Vary. Naše spoločné interview prebiehalo na obci v priestoroch jeho pracovne.

Rodina
Dětství
Za války
Po válce
Glosář

Rodina

Starí rodičia z otcovej strany žili v čase otcovej mladosti v Nitre. Starý otec sa volal Bernát Goldberger a jeho manželka sa volala Terézia Goldbergerová. Žial už si nepamätám ako sa volala babička za slobodna a neviem ani to, odkiaľ pochádzali starí rodičia. Starí otec zomrel približne v roku 1936 alebo 1937 a babička pár rokov pred ním. Obaja sú pochovaní na židovskom cintoríne v Nitre. Zúčastnil som sa aj ich pohrebov. Pretože zomreli, keď som bol ešte mladý, pamätám sa na nich len veľmi matne. Starý otec bol zamlklí. Vždy sedel pred domom na lavičke s fajkou a len dumal. Mal svojho psa a ten sedel stále vedľa neho.

V Nitre bývali v štvrti pod hradom. V tom čase sa tam nachádzali malé prízemné rodinné domčeky. Nebola to však židovská štvrť. Židovskou štvrťou v Nitre boli Párovce. Starí rodičia bývali tiež v takom prízemnom rodinnom dome. Z dvora sa vchádzalo priamo do kuchyne. Okrem kuchyne mali ďalši tri izby. V jednej mali spálňu, potom bola ešte jedna malá izbička a napokon obývačka. Do tej obývačky sa chodilo asi tak, ako sa povie: „Raz za rok“. Elektrina a voda už boli v dome zavedené. V podstate tam viedli normálny život.

Žiadny z najbližších členov otcovej rodiny nepatril k pobožným Židom. Jeden z otcových [otec sa volal Heinrich Galik (changed from Goldberger)] bratov, Gyula [Gál (changed from Goldberger)] vlastnil obchod a dieľňu s rádiami. Otec mal štyroch súrodencov. Troch bratov a jednu sestru. Bratia sa volali Gyula, Rudi a Jožko, sestra Cecília. Cecília sa vydala za holiča, pána Horna. On však zomrel ešte na začiatku tridsiatych rokov [20. stor.]. Ja si na neho ani nepamätám.

Otcových rodičov som navštevoval každé leto. V podstate leto som trávil v Nitre. Väčšinou som býval u otcovej sestry Cecílie. Takže spával som u otcovej sestry a na obec som chodil vždy k niektorému z rodinných príslušníkov. Podľa toho, kedy ma kto pozval. Inak som väčšinu času trávil so svojim bratrancom, Alexandrom. Volali sme ho Sanyi, bol Cecilkiným synom. Chodievali sme sa spolu kúpať a tak. Do Nitry som prestal chodiť, až ked začala vojna.

Neviem aký bol materinský jazyk mojich starých rodičov ale so mnou sa rozprávali vždy slovensky. Okrem toho samozrejme ovládali aj maďarký a nemecký jazyk. Neboli pobožní ani neviedli kóšer domácnosť, ale sviatky sa v rodine držali. Starký mal obchod so zmiešaným tovarom. Mal jednu miestnosť a tam bolo všetko možné. Do obchodu sa vchádzalo hneď z kuchyne. Na dverách sa nachádzal zvonček, ktorý zazvonil, keď niekto vošiel. Niekto k nim potom vybehol z kuchyne a obslúžil. Inak si zvlášť na nejaké príbehy so starými rodičmi nespomínam. Mal som k nim ako dieťa určitý odstup. Ba dokonca ani neviem, kto bol susedom starých rodičov. Otec mi o nih neskôr tiež nezvykol rozprávať.

Mamičkiny rodičia pochádzali z Trstenej na Orave. Starý otec sa volal Markus Lubovič. Babičku sipamätať nemôžem, lebo zomrela ešte pred mojim narodením. Starý otec sa potom opäť oženil, ale ani meno jeho druhej manželky si už nepamätám. V Trstenej mal starký pekáreň. Nevedel by som však už o jeho pekárni nič bližšie povedať. Starý otec mal v čase mojej mladosti silnú cukrovku. Vtom čase ešte nebol inzulín, tak sa choroba nedala liečiť. Starý otec z nej takmer úplne oslepol. Nebol úplne slepý, ale takmer nič nevidel. Chodieval o paličke. Potom mu naši zohnali vo Vrútkach byt, kde sa presťahval spolu s druhou manželkou. Starali sa o nich mama spolu so sestrou Ruženou. Keďže vtedy starí ľudia nedostávai dôchodok, podporovali ich moji rodičia. Na meno druhej manželky starého otca sa už vôbec nepamätám. Rozprávala však maďarsky, pričom na Orave sa rozprávalo hlavne slovensky, aj medzi židovským obyvateľstvom. Starý otec ešte ovládal nemčinu a myslím, že aj maďarčinu. Obaja boli počas vojny deportovaní a zahynuli.

Starý otec mal so svojou prvou manželkou tri dievčatá. Moju matku, Sidy. Jej sestry sa volali Lina a Ružena. Z jeho druhého manželstva sa narodil syn Zoli. Lina sa vydala do Poľska za holiča do mesta Nowy Targ. Myslím, že sa volal Löwenberg. Ružena sa nikdy nevydala. Ostala stará dievka.

So starým otcom vo Vrútkach som trávil viacej času, ako s tým druhým zo Žiliny. Ale žiadny zvláštny vzťah sme si nevybudovali. Býval v byte jedna plus jedna, torý bol zariadený starým nábytkom. Z môjho vtedajšieho pohľadu nič moc. Vodu už mal samozrejme zavedenú. To, že koľko Židov žilo vo Vrútkach, neviem. Bola tam však celkom slušná komunita, s peknou synagógou. V tomto meste som mal dokonca aj bar micva. Starí rodičia z oboch strán boli neologickí Židia 1, to znamená, že veľké sviatky sa v rodine držali, šábes už pomenej a kóšer vôbec nie.

Otec sa volal Heinrich Goldberger. Narodil sa 17. júla 1898 v Nitre. Po vojne sa premenoval na Galík. To bola vtedy taká móda. Zomrel v roku 1978, mal presne osemdesiat rokov. Otec získal základné vzdelanie. Pracoval ako obchodný cestujúci. Týmto zamestnaním sa živil dovtedy, kým sa neosamostatnil. Neskôr si založil vlastný obchod v Žiline. Neviem kedy presne sa sťahoval otec do Žiliny, ale učinil tak kvôli práci a mojej matke. Pracovala totiž pre tú istú firmu ako môj otec. Bol to veľkoobchod Mendl a syn. Tam sa rodičia spoznali a neskôr sa vzali, lebo čakali mňa. Matka sa narodila v roku 1900 v Trstenej na Orave. To, že kedy zomrela neviem. Bola deportovaná a už sme sa o nej nič nedozvedeli.

Finančné zabezpečenie našej rodiny by som zaradil, medzi chudobu a strednú vrstvu. Keď boli zamestnaní u toho Mendla, mali celkom slušný plat. Keď sa otec osamostatnil, založil obchod so zmiešaným tovarom. Vzal si hromadu pôžičiek a potom prišiel krach na burze Wall Street a nastala kríza 2. Nebolo práce, prišiel exekútor a bol koniec. Ak sa dobre pamätám, otec mal ako prvý na okolí elektrický krájač na šunku a údeniny. Žiaľ, už po krachu burzy to nemal z čoho splácať. Okrem otca pracovala v obchode moja matka a ďalší zamestnanec, ktorý vykonával hrubé práce. Napríklad jazdil pre múku a pracoval v sklade.

Čo sa otcových politických názorov týka, ťažko povedať. Viete on sa so mnou ako s dieťaťom o takých veciach nerozprával. Predpokladám však, že bol sociálnym demokratom. Neviem to s určitosťou, len som to tak vydedukoval. Neviem o tom, že by bol otec členom nejakých spolkov a niečoho podobného. Tiež si spomínam, že za mlada slúžil ako vojak v 1. svetovej vojne ale nič bližšie k tomu neviem povedať. Vždy spomínal, že bol na vojne ale k nejakým konkrétnym historkám sa nedostal. Ak by sme sa mali rozprávať o otcových záľubách, tak on sa hlavne venoval obchodu. Okrem toho bol viac-menej sukničkár, to bol jeho koníček.

Rodičia sa medzi sebou zhovárali maďarským jazykom. S nami deťmi rozprávali slovensky. No o otcovi by som povedal, že bol sukničkár. To viete, mamu si bral preto, lebo ma už spolu čakali. Mama bola miernej povahy, dalo by sa povedať až uzavretej. Sama sa dokonca neukázala ani na ulici.

V Žiline sme bývali na viacerých miestach, podľa toho ako upadala naša finančná situácia. Vždy sme menili byt za lacnejší. Najprv sme bývali v centre nedaleko námestia, tam som sa narodil. Potom sme bývali smerom na celulózku. Neskôr sme sa presťahovali do časti mesta, kde bola budova vtedajšej elektrárne. Napokon sme museli prejsť do časti s mestskými činžiakmi, kde bolo najlacnejšie bývanie. Odtiaľ sme sa sťahovali do Vrútok. Z prvého bytu si už veľa nepamätám. Viem, že tam bola jedna veľká izba a ja som po nej jazdil dookola na trojkolke. Na ostatné miestnosti si už nespomeniem. Zo začiatku sme mali aj slúžky, ktoré varili a upratovali. Bývali spolu s nami približne do roku 1937. Vystriedalo sa ich viacero, takže si ich ani veľmi nepamätám. Ale keď som sa narodil, mal som dokonca aj kojnú. K žiadnej som si nevybudoval bližší vzťah. Že či sme mali za susedov Židov? My sme mali zakaždým niekoho iného. Veď stále sme sa len sťahovali. Ale boli to väčšinou nežidia. Rodičia nemali veľa blízkych priateľov. No tak otec mal nejaké známe, ženské, vdovy a ja neviem, niečo také. Tam sme občas chodili a inak nejak extra kamarát, tak to nemali. Tak to si nepamätám.

Sviatky sa v našej rodine nedržali veľmi prísne. V piatok mamička zapálila svičky a potom sa podávalo hlavne pečené kura. Neskôr, keď už otec nemal obchod a stal sa z neho obchodný cestujúci, v pondelok odišiel ale na piatok sa vždy vrátil domov. Jazdil po celom Slovensku. Predával múku pre rôzne mlyny. Do synagógy však veľmi nechodieval, to len na veľké sviatky. My sme navštevovali veľkú neologickú synagógu v Žiline. V Žiline žilo pred vojnou veľa Židov. Na sviatky bola veľká synagóga plná, napriek tomu, že za miesto sa muselo platiť a nie málo. Každý si tam platil svoje miesto.

Dodržiavali sme napríklad Roš hašana [židovský Nový rok – pozn. red.]. V tento deň sme sa doma navečerali a potom sa išlo modliť do synagógy. Inak si z toho večera nič zláštne nepamätám. Na Jom kipur [Deň zmierenia. Najslávnostnejšia udalosš v židovskom kalendáry – pozn. red.] sme sa potom postili, ale keď som niečo našiel, tak som si z toho uštipol. Jom kipur som však mal najradšej zo všetkých sviatkov. Všetko bolo biela a pôsobilo to tak slávnostne. No ale hlavne to, že sme sa na dvore synagógy zišli so všetkými kamarátmi. Vzadu vedľa synagógy bola židovská škola s veľkým dvorom a tam sme vyvádzali. Rodičia zatiaľ sedeli v synagóge. Občas sme sa tam aj my objavili a potom sme opäť zmizli. Chanuku [Chanuka: sviatok svetiel, tiež pripomína povstanie Makabejcov a opätovné vysvätenie chrámu v Jeruzaleme – pozn. red.] sme tiež ešte ako tak držali, hlavne sme v tom čase šli aj do synagógy ale napríklad Sukot [Sviatok stanov. Po celý týždeň, kedy sviatok prebieha, panuje jedinečná sviatočná atmosféra, pričom najpodstatnejšie je prebývať v suke – pozn. red.] a Purim [Purim: sviatok radosti. Ako hovorí kniha Ester, sviatok ustanovil Mordechaj na pamiatku toho, ako Božia prozreteľnosť zachránila Židov v perzskej ríši pred úplným vyhladením – pozn. red.] už vôbec nie. Dodržiavali sme ešte aj Pesach [Pesach: pripomína odchod izraelcov z egyptského zajatia a vyznačuje sa mnohými predpismy a zvykmi. Hlavný je zákaz konzumácie všetkého kvaseného – pozn. red.]. Večer sa čítalo z Hagady [Hagada: kniha zaznamenávajúca postupnosť domácej bohoslužby pri sédery. Hagada je v podstate prerozprávaním príbehu o východe Židov z Egypta podľa biblického podania – pozn. red.] a bol prestretý sviatočný stôl. Ale to ostatné, že by sme nejedli chlieb, tak to nie. Macesy boli, to je pravda ale jedli sme aj chlieb.

V meste boli aj ortodoxní Židia 3, síce ich bolo oveľa menej, no a oni držali všetko. S ortodoxnými Židmi som sa stretával aj ja. Dokonca ma otec poslal do ješívy v Žiline. Vyučoval nás taký malý zlostný chlapík. Dlho som sa však v tejto škole nevzdelával. Totiž moja mama už na tradície veľa nedala a doma sme nejedli kóšer 4. Preto bolo pre ňu normálne, že mi na olovrant zabalila žemľu so šunkou. Ten malý chlapík to uvidel, priskočil ku mne, vyviedol na dvor na „nakopal mi na zadok“. Povedal, aby som sa tam už viac neukazoval. To bol koniec môjmu náboženskému vzdelávaniu. Inak mne to vtedy ani nenapadlo, že čo som s tou šunkou spáchal.

Ako som už spomínal. Otec pochádzal z Nitry. Mal štyroch súrodencov, Július, každý ho volal Gyula. Ďalším bol Rudolf, nazývaný Rudi, Jozef a sestra Cecília. Najstarším otcovým bratom bol Jozef, on viedol obchod po starom otcovi. S rodinou žili v dome starého otca. Jeho manželka sa volala Malvína. Mali syna Tibora a dcéru Magdu. Obe deti prežili vojnu. Tibor sa vysťahoval do Ekvádora a Magda do Švédska.

Gyula bol približne o dva roky starší ako otec, to znamená, že sa mohol narodiť v roku 1896. Býval v Nitre spolu so svojou rodinou. Vlastnil obchod s rádiami, kde tie rádiá aj opravovali. Mal dvoch synov, Michala a Pistu [Pista, prezývka od mena Štefan – pozn. red.]. Vychádzali sme spolu celkom dobre. Keď som bol na prázdninách v Nitre, často som ich navštevoval. Chodili sme sa spolu kúpať alebo sme robili túry na vrch Zobor [Zobor: vrch pri meste Nitra (nadmorská výška 588 m), v pohorí Tríbeč – pozn. red.]. V Nitre bolo v tom čase kúpalisko pod hradom. Neviem, či to tam ešte stále je. Možno to už zastavali. Gyulova manželka sa volala Vilma, rodená Braunová. Bola to veľká dáma. Pochádzala z lepších kruhov. Bývali spolu na takzvanej Špitálskej ulici. V dome kde bývali mal Gyula aj obchod a dieľňu.

Tretí otcov brat sa volal Rudolf, čiže Rudi. On je o nejakých päť rokov starší ako otec. Vyštudoval stavebnú školu a pracoval ako architekt, v tom čase pán architekt. Rudi mal dvoch synov, Walter a Babi. Okrem nich mal ešte dcéru. Jej meno si už nepamätám. Bola trošku telesne postihnutá, mala menší hrb. Napokon však vyštudovala medicínu a stala sa lekárkou. Meno jeho manželky si už nepamätám. Počas vojny sa dostali do Terezína. Celá rodina prežila holokaust a po vojne utiekli do terajšieho Izraela.

Jediná otcova sestra sa volala Cecília. Vydala sa za pána Horna, ktorý mal v Nitre na Hlavnej ulici holičský salón. Obývali byt nad tým salónom s prístavbou smerom na dvor. Mali to zariadené celkom slušne. Jej manžel žiaľ veľmi skoro umrel. Mali jedného syna, volal sa Alexander, čiže Sanyi.

Druhú svetoú vojnu prežil len jeden z otcových súrodencov, Rudi. Ten sa potom spolu s rodinou vysťahoval v roku 1946 alebo 1947 do Palestíny. Po niekoľkých rokoch sa vrátili, znášali dobre tie klimatické podmienky. Ostatní otcovi súrodenci počas vojny zahynuli.

Mamička mala troch súrodencov. Dve sestry a jedného nevlastného brata. Najstaršia mamina sestra sa volala Lina. Vydala sa do poľského mesta Nowy Targ za holiča menom Löwenberg. Ja som toho pána ani nepoznal. Viem, že sa im narodili dve deti, ktoré s Linou počas vojny zahynuli. Prežil len ich otec, zachránil sa kdesi v Rusku.

Ďalšia mamina sestra Ružena tiež umrela počas vojny. Pred vojnou žila istý čas s nami v Žiline a potom i vo Vrútkach, kam sme sa presťahovali. S tetou Ruženou sme celkom dobre vychádzali. Znamená to asi toľko, že žiadne srdečné vzťahy to neboli ale ani napriek sme si nikdy nerobili. O mamičkinom najmladšom bratovi, volal sa Zoli, veľa povedať neviem. Bol o dosť starší ako ja, tak sme sa veľmi nekamarátili. Zomrel spolu s ostatnými počas holokaustu.

Dětství

Ja, Alexander Gajdos [rodený Goldberger], som sa narodil 8. apríla 1924 v Žiline. Meno som si nechal zmeniť začiatkom päťdesiatych rokov. Že prečo som si vybral práve priezvisko Gajdoš? To ani tak nezáležalo na mne. Volal som sa tak ešte v nemeckom zajatí, k čomu sa ešte dostaneme. No a pri zmene som musel uviesť tri mená. Nadiktoval som Gajdoš, Gordon a to tretie si ani nepamätám a úrad mi vybral Gajdoš.

Ako malé dieťa som chodil do škôlky. U nás sa to volalo óvoda. Mal som celkom dobrú pani učiteľku. Dokonca do tej óvody som chodil rád. Nejaké extra spomienky na tú škôlku nemám. Pamätám sa len to, ako sme sa hrávli na dvore. Potom som prešiel na obecnú židovskú školu v Žiline. Bolo tam päť ročníkov – od prvej triedy po piatu. Chodili sme tam spolu chlapci a dievčatá. Chodilo tam pomerne dosť kresťanských detí, pretože to bola lepšia škola ako ostatné. Vyslovene som nemal rád matematiku a nemčinu. V škole som mal najradšej telocvik. Mali sme jedného vynikajúceho učiteľa, ktorý to s nami vedel. Toho sme mali naozaj veľmi radi. Samozrejme veľa sme cvičili a hrali hlavne hádzanú. Tá bola jednoduchá a na dvore stačili dve bránky. Dobité ruky i nohy samozrejme patrili k hre. Náš telocvikár sa volal Braun. Chodievali sme spolu aj na krátke výlety po okolí mesta. Hlavne na Dubeň a na okolité hrady. V židovskej škole sa samozrejme museli navštevovať aj hodiny judaizmu. To neexistovalo, aby sa na ne nechodilo. Náš vzťah k náboženskej výchove bol asi taký, že sme sa stále s rabínom hrali. Na jeho meno sa už nepamätám. Bol to starý pán a my sme mu vyvádzali strašné veci. Napríklad si pamätám, že sme mali zvonček a v polovici hodiny sme zazvonili, niekto vykríkol „zvonilo“. On na to „keď zvonilo, tak zvonilo“ a bol koniec hodiny. Na chodbe nás stretol riaditeľ, bol to obrovský chlap s trstenicou, ešte sa nás pýtal kam ideme. My sme mu povedali, že rabín povedal, že zvonilo. On povedal: „Veď ešte nemohlo zvoniť.“

Riaditeľ používal aj telesné tresty. Napríklad s nami chodil aj jeden zaostalejší chlapec a ten vždy niečo vyviedol dievčatám. Napríklad kým cvičili, tak im zobral šaty zo šatne a tak. Mimo školy sme boli partia židovských chlapcov, všade sme spolu chodili a trávili spolu veľa času. Boli sme tak piati. Okrem nás bola ešte jedna partia židovských chlapcov a tak sme proti sebe bojovali, hádzali kamene a tak. Mali sme asi desať, jedenásť rokov.

Vo Vrútkach som sa pripravoval aj na obrad bar micva [Bar micva: „syn prikázania“, židovský chlapec, ktorý dosiahol trinásť rokov. Obrad, pri ktorom je chlapec prehlásený bar micvou, od tejto chvíle musí plniť všetky prikázania predpísané Tórou – pozn. red.]. Otec mi zjednal vyučovanie u istého rabína. Bol to mladý človek nižšej postavy. Pochádzal z Čiech a patril k neológom. Ten ma učil. Išlo hlavne o to, aby som sa naučil text, ktorý mám prečítať počas obradu. Iné sa tam po mne ani nechcelo. No a do bar micva som sa to nejako naučil. Samotná bar micva prebiahala v synagóge vo Vrútkach. Predvolali ma k Tóre, prečítal som text a to bolo všetko. Na nejakú oslavu doma si ani nespomínam, a nespomínam si ani na to, čo som pri tejto príležitosti dostal nejaké darčeky.

Vo veku mojich štrnástich som začal pociťovať protižidovské nálady. Vychodil som päť tried obecnej židovskej školy a potom som sa dostal do gymnázia 5. Z gymnázia ma vylúčili v tretej triede, potom som už nesmel chodiť v Žiline do školy. Ale inak sa nič zvláštne nedialo, len že som nemohol chodiť do školy. Že by nás nejak inak diskriminovali, tak to nebolo. Akurát tí sopľoši na ulici vykrikovali: „Žid, smrad, kolovrat!“, ale tie nadávky sme poznali aj predtým.

Práve v tom období sme sa sťahovali zo Žiliny do Vrútok, kde som nastúpil do štvrtej meštianky. Tde priamo vo Vrútkach ma na školu nevzali. Musel som každý deň dochádzať vlakom do neďalekej obce Varín. Židom som tam bol iba ja. V podstate si ma nikto nevšímal. Všetci učitelia boli v Hlinkovej garde 6, dokonca aj riaditeľ, pre nich som ako keby ani neexistoval. Sedával so v prvej lavici, ale ani raz ma nevyvolali, napriek tomu som dostal na vysvedčenie samé trojky. Bolo to v roku 1939. So spolužiakmi som vychádzal dobre, tam nebol žiadny problém. Bolo medi nimi aj pár Čechov, ktorých nevyhnali 7 zo Slovenska. Priatelil som sa najmä s tými, ktorí spolu so mnou dochádzali. Boli sme štyria, ktorí sme jazli vlakom z Vrútok do Varína a večer naspäť.

Za války

Okrem mňa sa rodičom narodila moja sestra Viera. Narodila sa v Žiline v roku 1927.  Vychádzali sme spolu dobre, ale nie až natoľko aby sme chodili spolu von. Každý z nás mal svojich kamarátov. Sestra žiaľ vojnu neprežila. Do lágru išla spolu s mamou, ale vôbec nevieme, kde zmizli. Napriek tomu, že sme po nich pátrali, stopa sa stratila. V priebehu vojny nás celú rodinu internovali v zbernom tábore v Žiline v roku 1942 a boli sme tam do vypuknutia Slovenského národného povstania v roku 1944 8. V tom období, medzi rokom 1942 a 1944, keď nešli žiadne deportácie 9, pracovali sme v tom žilinskom tábore.

V tábore bol v tom období celkom dobrý život. Chodili sme pracovať na výstavbu športového štadióna v Žiline. Aj môj otec tam pracoval. Štadión sa nachádzal neďaleko rieky Váh. Nebola to až taká ťažká práca. Dozorcovia, gardisti, z tábora nás tam doviedli. Oni potom niekde zaliezli, alebo sa rozišli na pivo. Bol tam jeden človek, ktorý nás navygoval a to bol slušný chlap. Mama pracovala v tábore v kuchyni a sestra nerobila nič.

Život bol v tom čase naozaj znesiteľný. Dokonca som chodieval aj do mesta. Ani hviezdu som nenosil 10, v živote som ju nemal. Nikdy som sa ani nedopočul o prípade, že by bol za to niekto niekoho udal. My, ktorí sme boli zo žilinského lágra, sme hviezdu nenosili. V tábre som býval s ďalšími piatimi chlapmi. Sem tam niekto utiekol, ale veľmi sa neutekalo. O tom, čo sa deje v Poľsku sme sa dozvedali od železničiarov, ktorí sprevádzali transporty po hranice s Poľskom. Železničiari nám priniesli správu o krematóriách v Osvienčime. Myslím, že od nich sa to rozšírilo.

Počas povstania 8 sa otec, matka a sestra ukryli v lesoch v okolí Rajeckých Teplíc. Tam ich potom všetkých chytili. Otca previezli niekam inam, kde mamu a sestru a tak sa mu podarilo prežiť. Otec sa dostal do Sachsenhausenu a potom do Buchenwaldu. No a matku so sestrou vzali do ženského tábora v Ravensbrücku a tam sa ich stopa stratila. Ja som sa počas povstania pridal k armáde. V Žiline bola vojenská posádka, no a celá táto posádka sa stiahla k Martinu, do Strečna. Pred vojnou som bol členom mládežnického hnutia Hašomer Hacair 11, ale nie preto som sa pridal k armáde. Človek sa pridával tam, kde bola nádej na prežitie.

Na Strečne sme boli v nejakej obrane. Kopali sme zákopy a mali za úlohu podržať záložnú líniu. Samozrejme neboli sme len pasívnymi pozorovateľmi. Raz sme dostali rozkaz zaútočiť na železničnú trať s tunelom. Ako sme sa tam približovali, zrazu sa objavil Tiger [Tiger: nemecký tank, sériovo vyrábaný od roku 1942 – pozn. red.] a začal po nás páliť. Stiahli sme sa do zákopov. Boli tam s nami francúzski partizáni, ktorí boli na Slovensku v zajatí a počas povstania sa im podarilo utiecť. Viac o ich osude neviem, veľmi som sa s nimi nestretával. V našom odiely sme boli len dvaja Židia, ja a môj vzdialený bratranec Elemér Diamant. Žial neviem, či prežil vojnu, lebo potom sa naše cesty rozišli.

Časom sme útočili na nejakých Nemcov ukrytých v lesíku. Tam po mne začal nejaký Nemec strieľať. Žiaľ aj ma trafil. Prestrelil mi rameno, guľka našťastie vyšla druhou stranou. Zranenie bolo pomerne ťažké, ale dostali ma z neho. Najprv ma z miesta, kde ma zasiahla guľka odtiahli. Ťahali ma po zemi a na bezpečnom mieste so mnou vybehli na cestu. Po čase pre mňa prišla sanitka a vzala ma do nemocnice v Martine. Tam som bol jeden deň, pretože Nemci prerazili frontu a granáty dopadali až na nemocnicu. Rýchlo nás evakuovali do mesta Sliač.

Povstalecké územie bolo už úplne malé. V podstate len miesta v okolí obcí Banská Bystrica, Sliač a Brezno. Všetko ostatné už bolo buť obsadené alebo obkľúčené. V Sliači sa ma opýtali, či môžem chodiť. Keďže chodiť som vedel, prepustli ma z nemocnice. Ešte som sa tam stretol s Elemérom, pretože on bol tiež v nemocnici. Počas bojov pri meste Vrútky sa dostal do nejakej mely a utrpel z toho šok. Oboch nás prepustili takmer súčasne. Ja som si to namieril na hlavný stan partizánov a on povedal, že už tam nepôjde, radšej vymyslí niečo iné. Tak sme sa rozišli a od tej doby sme sa nestretli. Z nemocnice som odišiel do Banskej Bystrice, na hlavný štáb. Tam ma vzali k strážnemu oddielu. Držal som stráž pred hlavným štábom v Banskej Bystrici na hlavnom námestí.

Nemci sa tlačili aj do Banskej Bystrice. Evakuovalo sa do hôr, Staré Hory [Staré Hory: horská obec v Starohorskej doline, okres Banská Bystrica – pozn. red.], Donovaly [Donovaly: horská obec situovaná medzi pohoriami Veľká Fatra a Starohorské Vrchy, okres Banská Bystrica – pozn. red.], Kozí Chrbát [Kozí Chrbát: v súčasnosti lesná rezervácia ležiaca na severnej strane Nízkych Tatier – pozn. red.] a tak ďalej až cez Chabenec [Chabenec (1955 m): je mohutný horský masív v Nízkych Tatrách – pozn. red.]. Na tom Chabenci napríklad zmrzol Šverma 12. Mnoho z nás tam vtedy dostalo dyzentériu [dyzentéria: vážna infekčná črevná choroba. Prejavuje sa ťažkou hnačkou s prímesou krvi a horúčkou, ktorú sprevádzajú bolesti brucha – pozn. red.]. Všetkých, ktorí sme ju dostali nás ubytovali zvlášť v jednej zemľanke [zemľanka: podzemný úkryt, obyčajne vojenský – pozn. red.]. Odtiaľ nás však poslal preč jeden miestny občan so slovami: „Tu nemôžete byť, my vás nemôžeme živiť, sami nemáme čo žrať!“ Oznámili nám, že nás vezmú na kraj lesa, kde sú dediny a sami si budeme musieť niečo zohnať od miestnych ľudí. V tom čase som sa zoznámil s jedným Čechom z Ostravy. Na jeho meno sa už žiaľ nepamätám. S ním sme to odvtedy spolu „ťahali“. Odviedli nás na kraj lesa a povedali rozchod. Tam nám oznámili, že sme stále vedení ako partizáni z odielu, ktorého meno si už tiež nepamätám. Povedali nám aj, že  keď niečo prezradíme, tak si nás nájdu.

Celé sa to udialo na prelome novembra a decembra 1944. S mojim českým kamarátom sme si našli celkom slušné miesto a jedným kopcom a vykopali si buker. Najbližšia dedina bola z toho miesta vzdialená na tri hodiny chôdze. Tak sme si povedali, že tu ostaneme a každý večer sa vyberieme do dediny, vyžobrať si nejaké jedlo a zásoby. Pretože, ak by napadlo veľa snehu, aby sme neumreli hladom. Našťastie v tom období ešte nemol sneh, pretože sme sa nachádzali kdesi v Nízkych Tatrách [Nízke Tatry: 80 km dlhé pohorie nachádzajúce sa na Slovensku – pozn. red.]. Takto sme denne chodili do dediny. Vždy sme sanajedli. Niekde nám dali fazuľu, inde zemiaky a tak. Pokiaľ to bolo možné, vzali sme si aj zásoby. Keď sme už mali dostatok zásob, povedali sme si: „No, teraz sa pôjdeme najesť naposledy!“

Tak sme sa išli naposledy najesť. Zabúchali sme u jedných na dvere a otvorila veľmi slušná selka. Povedala: „Ó vy chudáci!“ Hneď nám dala večeru. Potom si všimla naše oblečenie a so slovami: „Veď vás žerú vši, ja vám to vyperem“, nás nechala vyzliecť a uložila do postele, do perín! My sme jej povedali nech nás zobudí akonáhle sa začne rozodnievať. Na čo odvetila: „Samozrejme, samozrejme“. No a naraz buchoty v dedine. Nemci hulákali. Veci sme už mali vyprané, suché a rýchlo sme sa obliekli. Ešte sme jej hovorili „Prečo ste nás nevzbudila?“ „Mne vás bolo tak ľúto, vy ste tak krásne spali.“ Vylietli sme z baráku a hneď na námestí jedna hliadka s guľometom, na druhom konci ďalšia hliadka s guľometom. Nemci už chodili z baráku do baráku. Tak sme vyleteli zadom. Obišli sme námestie a dostali sa do úhozu. Už sme boli vonku z dediny. Naraz sa oproti nám objavili dvaja Nemci. Debili tam museli ísť práve tým úhozom a my dvaja dotrhaní civili im rovno naproti. Už sme sa minuli, už sme boli asi desať krokov od seba a naraz nás zastavili. Niečo sa im nezdalo a jeden z nich zakričal: „Hej partizán!“ Tak nás zobrali. Zhromaždili nás na námestí v strede dediny. Aby sme nešli len tak naprázdno, každému naložili s nábojmi. Takže sme mali čo niesť cez ten sneh, ktorý medzičasom napadal.

Napokon nás posadili do vlaku a odviezli do väzenia v Banskej Bystrici. Tam sme boli od začiatku decembra do konca februára. No a tam v tej väznici sme vegetovali tie dva, tri mesiace. Občas niekedy kravál, niekoho vyhnali na Kremničku 13. Vyháňali ich psami, gulometmi. Potom bolo týždeň ticho. Potom ich zase nahromaždili a zase ich potom išli vystrielať. No a my sme tam stále vegetovali v tej izbe. Bol tam jeden Ukrajinec, ja a ešte dvaja Židia. Nevedeli s určitosťou, že sme Židia ale mysleli si to. Naraz nás koncom februára vyviedli a prišiel nejaký Slovák, s vysokou šaržou. To boli Slováci. Strážila nás slovenská väzenská stráž. Krútil hlavou, že ako je možné, že sme stále tam. Oznámili nám: „Tí, čo tu boli pred vami, tak tých všetkých už pozabíjali v Kremničke!“ Na našu izbu akosi zabudli. Tak otvorili dvere a pýtali sa „čo tu robíte? Už tu nemáte byť!“ No my sme hovorili: „Nemáme tu byť?“ Podľa papierov malo byť celé väzenie prázdne. Kartotéky sa už ničili, lebo oslobodzovacia armáda už dobíjala blízke Brezno a oni už chceli evakuovať aj Banskú Bystricu.

Nás si teda zapísali a odišli, proste týždeň pokoj. Potom prišiel znovu iný a zase si nás zapísal. No a potom za tri, alebo štyri dni prišiel esesák s tým, že ideme na výsluch. Cez ulicu bol banskobystrický súd a tam mali sídlo. Tak tam nás odviedli na chodbu. Potom prišiel ďalší, pýtal si meno. Nadiktoval som Gajdoš, narodený v Žiline. Zapísal si to a odišiel.

Zachvíľku prišiel nejaký vysoký dôstojník, sudeťák 14, rozprával česky a hovorí: „Ja vám teraz dám prepúšťacie papiere. Bežte domov. Nie aby ste bežali na východ! Lebo, keď vás tam uvidia naši vojaci takto otrhane, tak vás postrielajú.“ Tak sme dostali papier a išli sme. S tým kamarátom z Čiech sme si povedali: „Čo budeme robiť? Samozrejme vybali sme sa na východ. Hneď v prvej dedine za Banskou Bystricou nás pristavil jeden chlap. My sme mu ukázali papiere, že nás práve prepustili a že sa potrebujeme dostať k partizánskej jednotke. Tak dobre, povedal. Tu máte večeru, vyspíte sa a skoro ráno vás prevediem k hlavnej ceste a ukážem vám, kadiaľ máte ísť.

Či sa tým ľuďom dalo dôverovať? Čo iného nám zostávalo? On vyzeral skutočne tak seriózne. Ráno nás previedol na cestu a ukázal smer. Mali sme sa dostať do obce Priechod, kde sa nachádzali maďarské jednotky, ktoré sa odtrhli od Nemcov. My sme teda šli tým smerom. Po čase sa kamarát potreboval vysrať. Tak si vyliezol na pole, poobzeral sa dookola a uvidel nejakú postavu v bielom ako tam stojí a pozerá sa na nás. Dali sme sa na útek. Bežali sme otvoreným poľom. Keď sme sa zastavili, že už sme dosť ďaleko, pred nami sme zbadali zástup nemeckých vojakov. Zbadali nás! Nemohli sme robiť nič iné, len im kráčať naproti. Samozrejme nás zajali a odiedli do nejakej dediny. Predviedli nás pred veliteľa so slovami, že nás chytili a buď budeme partizáni alebo banditi a treba nás zlikvidovať. Veliteľ sa nás pýtal, či rozprávame nemecky. Keďže som si niečo pamätal zo školy, tak som mu povedal, že nás práve pustili. Ukázali sme mu papiere. Potom sa začal hádať s ďalším vojakom, či nás zlikvidujú alebo nie. Vojak bol za likvidáciu, veliteľ proti. Napokon veliteľ rozkázal, že nasledujúcu noc budeme spať s ním v jednej izbe. Keď sme ostali sami, nám po nemecky hovorí: „Musíte spať so mnou, lebo on je nacista a ja za neho neručím.“

Na druhý deň nás poslal s vojakom späť do Banskej Bystrice, aby sa presvedčil, či nás skutočne pustili. Te človek, sudetský Nemec, ktorý nám vypísal papiere nás zbadal. Podišiel k nám a začal rozprávať česky, aby mu nás sprievodca nerozumel. „Vy dvaja, čo som vám povedal, že máte ísť rovno na západ a že sa nemáte motať!“ Nemecký vojak samozrejme ničomu nerozumel a hlásil, že sme banditi a máme falošné papiere. On mu hovorí „Vy hovoríte o mojom podpise, že je falošný?!“ On mu tak vynadal, že až! Ešte aj nám sa ušlo, že: „Čo čumíte, okamžite sa strate, ak vás ešte raz privezú, potom bude koniec!“ Tak sme zase vybehli von. Za nami vybehol ten nemecký vojak, sadol na voz a „utekal“ rýchlo preč.

My sme sa opäť vybrali tou istou cestou ako včera, napokon už sme ju ako tak poznali. Na druhý krát sa nám podarilo dostať do deniny Priechod. Hneď nás tam zadržala stráž. Pýtali sa, čo tu chceme. Povedali sme, že ideme za partizánmi. Tam sa nás ujal nejaký chlap v civile. Rozprával slovensky aj maďarsky. Povedali sme mu, že by sme sa radi pridali k nejakej partizánskej jednotke. No tak dobre ale najprv sa navečerajte. Tí Maďari sa ešte mali dobre, mali buchty s makom. Tak sme sa tam nažrali!

Územie, na ktorom sme sa ocitli bolo slobodné a to tým, že maďarská vojenská jednotka sa odtrhla od Nemcov. Nakoniec sa dostala reč k tomu, kde budeme spať. Oznámili nám, že nad dedinou je hájovňa s partizánskym oddielom. Bolo tam pár partizánov a Maďarov. Presunuli sme sa do tej hájovne. Tam sme dostali ďalšiu večeru, zase nejaké buchty a dobroty. Vyfasovali sme zelenú československú uniformu a flintu. Napokon sme sa pobrali spať. Mohlo nás tam byť asi päťdesiat, šesťdesiat ľudí. Ráno, mohlo byť tak päť hodín, nás zobudili výkriky a streľba. Dedinu Priechod ráno obkľúčili Nemci. Použili lesť. Keďže tam boli maďarskí vojaci, Nemci poslali napred iných maďarských vojakov, ktorí boli na ich strane. Tým sa podarilo dostať k strážam, pretože na ich výzvu odpoveali maďarským jazykom. Takto stráže odzbrojili a vošli do dediny. Ako ľudia vybiehali z domov, Nemci ich rovno strieľali, ako zajace. Časť mužov pozbierali a vyniesli na koniec dediny pod strmý kopec. Kázali im utekať. Ako utekali, všetkých postrieľali. Ujsť sa podarilo len jednému nemeckému chlapcovi, mohol mať tak šesťnásť, sedemnásť rokov. Tento chlapec sa ešte predtým pridal k partizánom. Bol jediným z mužov, komu sa podarilo prežiť. Nemci napokon dedinu vypálili. Niektorým ženám sa to podarilo prežiť a oni potom zostali žiť v tej vyplienenej dedine.

Odstupom času sme sa dozvedeli, že zradcom bol chlap, ktorý sa nás ujal po príchode do dediny a nakŕmil buchtami. Ak by nás večer nebol poslal hore do hájovne k partizánom, už by som tu nebol. Nás defakto zachránil. Jeho úlohou bolo zháňať zásoby a zároveň pracoval aj pre Nemcov ako agent. Nakoniec aj jeho chytli Rusi a popravili ho. My sme ostali istý čas v hájovni. Odtiaľ sme chodievali na hliadky k okolitým dedinám, napríklad k dedine Podkonice a tak. Všade už boli Nemci. Len sme počuli ako pri nás vŕzga sneh. Pretože ich hliadky prišli až na kraj dedín, k lesu a potom sa opäť stiahli. Napriek tomu, že od nás boli len na niekoľko krokov, nemohli sme s nimi ísť do boja. Bolo by to pre nás beznádejné. Vedeli sme, že by to bolo beznádejné. Cez Podkonice viedla aj hlavná ústupová cesta Nemcov smerom na Ružomberok. My sme sa z hájovne postupne presunuli do bunkrov v lese, kde sme držali hliadky. Odtiaľ sme koncom februára, začiatkom marca, pokračovali cez Chabenec a Nízke Tatry, do Brezna. Brezno už bolo oslobodené. Zdržiavali sa tam rumunskí vojaci. Tam nás rozdelili. Maďarskí vojaci, ktorí boli s nami, šli dole na juh. Česi a Slováci pochodovali smerom na Poprad. Pešo z Brezna do Popradu [priama cestná vzdialenosť medzi mestami Brezno a Poprad je približne  90 km – pozn. red.]!

Po príchode do Popradu som sa hlásil do Prvého československého armádneho zboru. Tam som bol ovedený do poddôsojníckej školy. Dostal som peknú uniformu, zbraň a tam som slúžil do júna 1945. Poddôstojníckuškolu v armádnom zbore som absolvoval s hodnosťou slobodník. Odvtedy som sa ešte prepracoval na podplukovníka československej armády. Po škole som odišiel s ostatnými vojakmi, v rámci výcviku, pešo z Popradu do Martina [priama cestná vzdialenosť medzi mestami Brezno a Poprad je približne 130 km – pozn. red.]. Kráčali sme tri, alebo štyri dni. V Martine sme sa stretli s prezidentom Benešom 15, ktorý prišiel z Košíc 16. Tam sme nastúpili na autá a poslali nás ako zálohu na Moravu, kde sa ešte bojovalo. Vojakom pred nami sa však vždy darilo frontu preraziť a tak sme sa my priamo bojov nezúčastnili. Takto sme šli za frontou, až do Prahy.

V Prahe sme ako vojaci chodili na „cvičák“. Nacvičovali sme napríkld boj v uliciach mesta. Bolo to na Bílej hore. Tam vybehovali babičky s maskami a pokrikovali: „Ježiš Mária, Nemci sa opäť vrátili.“ Oni nevedeli, že je to výcvik, a že používame len slepé náboje. V uliciach bol rachot a babičky sa preto chceli dostať do úkrytu. My sme im hovorili: „Babi, to je len tak, to nie je skutočné.“ Koncom júna nás poslali späť na Slovensko, do vojenského útvaru v Nitre, odkiaľ ma potom prepustili do civilu.

Počas môjho pôsobenia v Prahe som kontaktoval bývalého starostu Vrútok. Zároveň bol zástupcom veliteľa Hlinkovej gardy v meste, ale aj náš ochráca a rodinný priateľ. On mi povedal, že otec sa vrátil a žije v Žiline. Tak to som vedel. Počas môjho pobytu v Nitre som sa ubytoval u otcovho brata, Rudiho. Prežil vojnu v Terezíne 17. Spal som u neho na žehliacej doske. Po niekoľkých dňoch som sa vybral v nákladnom vagóne z Nitry do Žiliny.

V Žiline sme sa stretli s otcom, ktorý am už mal vlastný podnájom. Na obedy sme chodievali k jeho kamarátkam. Raz k jednej a potom zase k druhej... Z nášho majetku sa ná nepodarilo zachrániť absolútne nič. Aby som sa uživil, začal som pracovať ako inštalatér. Síce som nemal výučný list, no napriek tomu ma zamestnala jedna firma v Žiline. Majiteľom bol tiež Žid.

Po válce

V povojnovom období sa obnovil aj chod židovskej obce v meste. Počet členov židovskej komunity však neustále klesal. Otec sa odsťahoval ešte v roku 1945 do Karlových Varov 18. Rozhodol sa tak kvôli svojej kamarátke, pani Katzovej. Ona mala v Karlových Varoch známych, rodinu Kleinman. Otec sem prišiel v domnení, že si tu vezme do prenájmu penzión. V podstate všetci odchádzali do Karlových Varov v domnení, že sa uchytia. Ja som za nimi prišiel začiatkom jari v roku 1946. Býval som s otcom. Napokon vychádzali sme spolu dobre.
Otec sa zamestnal v kúpeľoch. No najprv bol v kyslikárni, kde sa plnili kyslíkové fľaše. Potom sa stal na riaditeľstve ubytovacím referentom. Odtiaľ odišiel aj do dôchodku. Ako dôchodca robil inšpektora na kolonáde. V podstate sa tam prechádzal celý deň od rána do večera a dohliadal na poriadok.

V tom období som sa zoznámil so svojou prvou, dnes už nebohou, manželkou. Za slobodna sa volala Irena Rothová. Narodila sa v roku 1926 v meste Kajdanove na Podkarpatskej Rusi. Kajdanove patrilo do okresu Mukačevo. Pochádzala z pobožnej rodiny, ale ona už nebola po vojne tak pobožná. Po vojne sa vrátila na Podkarpatskú Rus. Zistila, že všetky jej kamarátky, ktoré prežili vojnu, sa rozutekali po svete. Jeden z bratov jej mamičky žil v Karlových Varoch. Zhodou okolností to bol pán Kleinman, ku ktorému moja budúca manželka prišla. Zoznámil som sa s ňou u otcovej kamarátky, pani Katzovej. Prišiel som k nej na večeru a moja budúca manželka tam bola tiež. Pani Katzová a Kleinmanová boli kamarátky. Tak sme sa teda „náhodou“ spoznali. Svadbu sme mali židovskú, pod chupou [Chupa: baldachýn, pod ktorým stojí pár pri svadobnom obrade – pozn. red.], v Karlových Varoch, v roku 1946. To však vtedajšie úrady nepočítali za oficiálny sobáš. Civilný sobáš sme mali na jeseň v roku 1948. Svadbu, židovskú, sme oslavovali u Kleinmanových. Zišlo sa tam približne dvadsať ľudí.

Manželka prežila vojnu v Osvienčime, odtiaľ sa dostala do nejakej továrne a nakoniec vyviazla v Terezíne. Jej rodičia zahynuli v Osvienčime. Okrem rodičov mala ešte dvoch bratov. Obaja vojnu prežili a vysťahovali sa do Izraela. Volali sa Imre Roth a Béla Roth. S Imrem som sa stretol neskôr v Karlových Varoch. Bol tu dva alebo tri krát. Jeho brata som nvidel. Manželka sa s ním stretla niekde v Budapešti. Po smrti mojej manželky som s nimi stratil kontakt. Ale myslím, že už tiež nežijú. Manželka rozprávala maďarsky a jidiš, no a samozrejme česky. Ja hovorím česky a slovensky a dohovorím sa aj maďarsky a nemecky. V našej rodine sa držali po vojne väčšie sviatky. Šábes samotný sme veľmi nedržali, len manželka zo začiatku zapaľovala sviečky, neskôr už ani to nie. Taktiež sa oslavoval pésach. Manželka pripravila pésachovú večeru, polievku s macesovými knedlíčkami.

V Karlových Varoch sa po 2. svetovej vojne obnovil aj chod židovskej obce. Napokon, bolo tu dosť Židov. Časom sa však veľa z nich vysťahovalo. Odišli hlavne do Izraela a Ameriky. Tí, čo tu ostali, sa medzi sebou vždy „hrýzli“. Napokon, ako vo všetkých obciach. Samozrejme, bola tu aj modlitebňa, ktorá už dnes nestojí. Obec mala aj rabína a šamesa. Rabín však emigroval. My sme sa na židovskom živote v meste veľmi nepodieľali. Pár krát do roka sme šli so ženou do modlitebne. Hlavne na Roš hašana a Jom kipur. Chlapci s nami nechodili.

Osobne som vnímal vznik štátu Izrael pozitívne. Dokonca by som nenamietal, keby sme sa tam s manželkou boli vysťahovali. Ona tam bola za totality navštíviť svojich bratov. Myslím, že prvý krát v roku 1965. Hovoril som jej: „Vysťahujme sa.“ Jej odpoveď znela: „Ani za nič. Ja som to tam videla a viem, o čo ide. Ja tam nejdem!“ Jej mladšiemu bratovi, Bélovi, ktorý žil v Ber Sheve, sa celkom darilo. Mal firmu, ktorá vozila piesok na stavby. Starší brat, Imre, žil v Nathanyi. Prevádzkoval obchod s nábytkom. Občas skrachoval, potom sa postavil na nohy a zase dookola. Obaja jej bratia si založili vlastné rodiny. Čo sa náboženstva týka, ani jeden z nich nebol pobožný.

Irenka pracovala ako krajčírka. Dlhé roky šlila uniformy a medzitým aj doma známym. Proste šila stále. Po príchode do Karlových Varov som istý čas pracoval ako údržbár pre podnik Československé hotely. Chodil som po hoteloch spravovať batérie a podobné veci. No a potom som sa dostal,  do funkcie tajomníka okresu pre kultúru KSČ 19. Členom strany som bol od roku 1945. Napriek tomu, že som tam vstúpil s otcom, vravieval mi: „Ty nebudeš nikdy komunista.“ Hovoril mi to preto, lebo ja som komunistom nikdy neveril. Postupne začali Slánskeho procesy 20. Mňa sa však v podstate vôbec nedotkli.

Udalosti v roku 1968 21 som vnímal pozitívne. Pracoval som vtedy v národnom podniku a bol som predsedom odborovej závodnej rady. V podstate v roku 1968 sa v Karlových Varoch konala konferencia a smerovaní strany. Na tej konferenii vystúpili niektorí členovia okresu s novým spôsobom zmýšlania a sprdli okresného tajomníka komunistickej strany. Ja som bol vtedy vo volebnej komusii a na už sme stihli zvoliť nových ľudí do funkcií v strane, čo mi neskôr samozrejme priťažilo. Ja som však veril, že konám správne. Napokon mi vytkli, moju účasť na danej konferencii. Dospelo to až k tomu, že v roku 1970 ma vykopli zo strany 22. Predtým ma navštívili páni z ŠtB. Povedali mi, že nič odomňa nechcú, len aby som... Ja som im povedal, že nebudem nikoho udávať. Ako predseda závodnej ady som sa vždy snažil, aby bolo všetko spravodlivé a toho som sa aj držal. Neskôr som sa zamestnal ako technik u pozemných stavieb. Jazdil som po stavbách v okolí, napríklad Praha, Chomutov, Cheb, Aš, proste celý región. Veľa voľného času nebolo.

V Karlových Varoch sme zo začiatku bývali v malom studenom, vlhkom, prízemnom byte. Bolo to začiatkom 50. rokov 20. storočia. Napokon sa nám narodili dvaja synovia. Milan v roku 1953 a Roman v roku 1956. Synov sme sa snažili vychovať, ako slušných ľudí. Obriezku nemali, žena to po skúsenostiach z minulost nedovolila. Odvolávala sa na to, že im nechce pokaziť život... Samozrejme, že sme pred nimi ich pôvod netajili a vedeli o všetkom.

Časom sme dostali aj nový, krásny slnečný byt na Víťaznej ulici. Chodievali sme spolu aj na dovolenky. Na západ sa vtedy nedalo. Človek na to nedostal povolenie. Chodievali sme ako rodina do Bulharska. Manželka mala veľa kamarátok a ja som mal tiež jedného kolegu z práce, s ktorým som si rozumel. Trávili sme spolu veľa času aj mimo práce. Stretávali sme sa u nás, alebo u nich. Žiaľ, aj on už zomrel. Tiež sme s manželkou a deťmi jazdili na rôzne dovolenky pod stan. Irenka chodievala aj do kúpeľov. Hlavne do Františkových Lázní a do okolia Písku. Ja som ju tam samozrejme vždy odniesol a potom prišiel pre ňu, takže to som z tých kúpeľov akurát tak mal.

Môj otec sa po vojne ešte tiež oženil. Za manželku si vzal ženu menom Eda Kleinová. Pochádzala z Podkarpatskej Rusi. Edina sestra s manželom bývali v Prahe. Rozhodli sa, že v štvorici si kúpia v Prahe dom. Otec s manželkou obývali poschodie a jeho švagor s manželkou bývali dole. Samozrejme, zvykli sme ich navštevovať, tak dva-trikrát do roka. Otec zomrel v Prahe v roku 1978. Jeho druhá manželka tiež, približne desať rokov po otcovej smrti.

Irenka dostala začiatkom 90. rokov 20. storočia mŕtvicu. Ostala ochrnutá na pol tela. K tomu všetkému sa prieplietol zápaľ pľúc. Chorobe podľahla v roku 1994. Pochovali sme ju na židovskom cintoríne v Karlových Varoch. Medzitým dospeli aj naši synovia. Milan žije v obci Tachov. Je to približne šesťdesiat kilometrov od Karlových Varov. Vyučil sa ako elektromontér. V Tachove sa však v začiatkoch zamestnal ako krmič dobytka, pretože mu pridelili byt, za podmienok, že sa tam zamestná. Roman vyštudoval vysokú školu stavebnú v Prahe. Po štúdiách ostal žiť v Karlových Varoch. Kanceláriu má hneď vedľa židovskej obce. Projektuje stavby a vodí sa mu celkom dobre. Nikdy sa však neoženil. V kancelárii trávi celé týždne, aj víkendy a domov chodí večer o desiatej. Milan si vzal za manželku nežidovské dievča a vyženil si aj syna. Spolu sa im narodil ďalší chlapec. Obe ich deti sú už však dospelé.

Približne päť rokov dozadu som bol navštíviť Izrael. Bol som na poznávacom zájazde. Život tam bol taký, ako som si predstavoval. Ruch na uliciach, kaviarničky. Cesty sú tam prvotriedne. Mimo mesta boli všetky osvetlené, čo tu asi nenájdete. Hovoril som si, že je to celkom fajn. Čo sa životnej úrovne týka, to neviem. Nebol som tam až tak dlho, aby som to vedel posúdiť. Čo ma prekvapilo? Na šábes som bol akurát v Nathanyi. Čakal som, že v sobotu bude všade kľud. Ráno som vstal, vyšiel na okno a všade zástupy áut. Jazdilo ich toľko, ako vo všedný deň. Plné boli aj pláže a na uliciach neustal ruch.

Na prelome tisícročí som sa spoznal so svojou druhou manželkou, Miluškou. Pracovala v potravinách, kam som chodil nakupovať. Tak sme sa stále na seba usmievali, kým raz za mnou nevybehla, že má dva lístky do divadla. Pýtala sa ma, či by som s ňou nešiel. V tej chvíly som ostal v šoku. Musím povedať, že viac-menej sa mi samozrejme páčila. Odvetil som, že hneď neviem odpovedať, ale zistím, či na ten termín nemám program a ozvem sa. V tom čase som už pôsobil ako predseda židovskej obce v Karlových Varoch. Samozrejme, okamžite som si utekal kúpiť oblek a potom som sa vrátil do obchodu a povedal: „Áno, pôjdem do divadla.“ Dopadlo to tak, že sme sa vzali. Miluška nie je Židovka. Svadbu sme mali civilnú. S mojim synom Romanom sa hneď skamarátia. Milan bol zo začiatku trochu odmeraný, ale potom sa dalo všetko do poriadku. Miluška má z prvého manželstva troch synov a sedem vnúčat. Takže teraz sme celkom veľká rodina. Čo sa sviatkov týka, teraz doma nedržíme nič, pretože ona zrušila aj vianočný stromček, ktorý sme my s predošlou manželkou doma mali. Spočiatku sme spolu zvykli chodievať na kúpalisko, no a teraz väčšinou na záhradu.

Niekoľko rokov som pôsobil v predstavenstve židovskej obce v Karlových Varoch. Istý čas som bol miestopredsedom. Vtedajší predseda obce nespĺňal predstavy ostatných členov. Bol podľa nich arogantný. Napríklad niekomu nechcel dať macesy na Pésach, pretože sa neobjavil na obci dosť často a podobne. Zatvoril cintorín a pre kľúč sa muselo chodiť k nemu. Kľúč však nechcel každému požičať. Proste nebol obľúbený. Napokon na jednej výročnej schôdzi vystúpil pán Gubič, že by sa mala oddeliť náboženská funkcia vedúceho obce a funkcia predsedu obce. Napokon sa odhlasovalo, že bývalý predseda ostane ako duchovný vodca obce a mňa zvolili za predsedu. Bolo to približne pred siedmymi rokmi. Mojou úlohou je starať sa o majetok obce. Náboženské záležitosti majú na starosti rabín Kočí a šames Rubin. Tí majú na starosti náboženskú oblasť. Obec má čím ďalej, tým menej aktívnych členov. Môže ich byť asi tak desať. V predstavenstve je nás sedem, na tých sa dá povedať, že sú ako tak aktívny. Všetkých členov je približne 98. Nie všetci sú priamo z Karlových Varov. Máme členov aj v okolitých obciach a mestách, ako napríklad Sokolov a Jáchymov. Židovská obec má svoju modlitebňu, kde sa každý piatok a v sobotu schádzajú na modlenie. Niekedy nemajú minjan [minjan: modlitebné minimum desiatich mužov vo veku nad trinásť rokov – pozn. red.], sú len piati – šiesti. Ale Karlovy Vary sú lázenským mestom, s množstvom hostí, aj židovskými. Preto nie je ničím výnimočným, že sa tu zíde aj dvadsať chlapov. Niektorí z kúpeľných hostí, ktorí tu už boli viac-krát, automaticky prídu aj do modlitebne. Rovnako držíme aj väčšie sviatky. Na sukot sa na dvore budovy obce stavia aj suka.

Glosář:
1 Neolog Jewry: Following a Congress in 1868/69 in Budapest, where the Jewish community was supposed to discuss several issues on which the opinion of the traditionalists and the modernizers differed and which aimed at uniting Hungarian Jews, Hungarian Jewry was officially split into to (later three) communities, which all built up their own national community network. The Neologs were the modernizers, who opposed the Orthodox on various questions. The third group, the sop-called Status Quo Ante advocated that the Jewish community was maintained the same as before the 1868/69 Congress.

Tili Solomon
Iasi
Romania
Interviewer: Francisca Solomon
Date of interview: June 2005

Mrs. Tili Solomon is a 74-year-old woman who takes care of her appearance and is very sociable. She used to live in Iasi in a three-room apartment, located in the vicinity of the railroad station. After the death of her husband in 2004, she chose the aliyah and joined her daughter's family in Beer-Sheva, Israel. At the time of this interview she was embarrassed and, at the same time, upset because her apartment wasn't in perfect order anymore: there were boxes everywhere, as she was preparing to sell the place and move to Israel for good. What one could still notice was the comprehensive bookshelf in the living room, with many titles. She was also preoccupied with finishing the work on her husband's tomb in time. Yet her face radiated with joy because she was soon to be reunited with her children and settle in Israel, thus fulfilling her lifelong dream.

I don't really know any details about my great-grandparents because they died long before I was born. Instead, I have quite a few childhood memories involving my grandparents: both maternal and paternal ones. They were all born before 1900, around 1870-1875. My father was born in 1900, so his parents must have been born in the 1870s. I don't know how many generations of ancestors had lived in Iasi before them. But I know that my grandparents were born in Iasi and died here. They were all buried in the Pacurari Cemetery [Editor's note: Pacurari is the Jewish cemetery in Iasi.].

My maternal grandfather, Volf Shaim, was a bricklayer. I don't think he had any siblings, at least, I can't remember any; we were little children back then. Here's a detail that I recalled yesterday. After World War I, immediately after 1918, he left for America on his own, planning to work as a bricklayer: people probably thought that America was the land of milk and honey. So he left his wife and six or seven children at home and went straight there. Of course, he came back after a short while. I think the reason why he went alone was that he wanted to see for himself what the situation was like: whether he could take his children there and somehow earn his living. I don't know how long it took him to figure out there was no future for him there and return to his children. His absence may have had an influence on his wife, who died right away. As for him, he remarried.

His second wife was called Clara, who I actually met. She lived with him for many years, including the war period: World War II. She didn't have children of her own and raised his very nicely and made sure they all married well. They applied for emigration with their children. But it was a time when most applications were rejected. Because they were pretty old, they got the approval but their children didn't. In 1950 or 1951 they emigrated [see Mass emigration from Romania after World War II] 1 to Israel. My grandfather, who had worked as a bricklayer in Romania once, believed that he could do this in Israel too and be somebody, despite his age. Since his children were denied the right to emigrate, my grandfather and his wife were all alone and signed up for an old age home. When they left for the station, they rode in a carriage and Clara had a bouquet in her hand. And all the daughters, sons-in-law and their children accompanied them in other carriages, as if it were a wedding procession. We kept in touch with them by mail. Back then we didn't have a telephone.

My maternal grandmother, Sifra Shaim, was a housewife. In those days, it was unusual for women to have jobs. They lived in Iasi on Aron Voda Street, in a large house with an entrance lobby, bedroom, elegant dining room, bathroom, another room, kitchen, large basement filled with goodies, and a summer kitchen. They later bought a gas stove. I never saw a gas stove in my parents' home, but the old folks bought themselves one right after 1944: my grandfather just brought it home one day. The house had a nice courtyard with a lot of ivy on the side; it was paved, and had a table with two benches on one side and also on the opposite. I remember that my grandfather's second wife, Clara, who was, in fact, our grandmother too, used to go to the synagogue on Sabbath and holidays, observed the kashrut, kept separate dishes for milk and meat products, and sometimes went with her daughters to the mikveh.

My mother, Clara Herscu [nee Shaim], Jewish name Haia Hinda, was born in Iasi, in the house on Aron Voda Street, around 1902. She had three younger sisters. The first one who was born after her was Toni Smilovici [nee Shaim], of course, the last name is her husband's; she was born in 1904, was a housewife and died in 1974 in Iasi. Her husband's name was Leon; he was born in 1901 in Iasi, and was a tailor. They had a son, Nelu, who was born in 1929 and died in 1994. Nelu was an economist. Paulina Scheinfeld [nee Shaim], my mother's second sister, was born in 1907 in Iasi. She was a housewife. Her husband's name was Strul; he was a hakham and did ritual slaughters, especially with poultry. They had a son, Avram, born in Iasi in 1932, who currently lives in Germany, and is a light industry engineer. He's married and has a son who's a surgeon. Paulina died in 1993 in Rehovot, Israel. Ceanca Siriteanu [nee Shaim], my mother's third sister, was born in 1920. Her husband's name was Sergiu and he was an accountant. They had a daughter, Sorana, who was born in 1944 in Iasi and currently lives in Israel. She's a chemical engineer. Ceanca left for Israel and was buried in Rehovot too. She died in 1997.

My mother was a housewife. She was a very beautiful woman. Someone once told me, many years after, 'I liked to passing by your window only to see your mother.' Her hair was always done and she was always fixed up. She wouldn't leave the house unless she looked perfect; she'd say, 'How can I go out if my hair isn't combed and done?' A truly beautiful woman: I say it with no hesitation. And so were her sisters. They were all beautiful and elegant girls.

My paternal grandmother, Debora Herscu, was a woman with little education. We, the children, all lived helter-skelter, so to speak, on Socola Street. The old man, Moisa Herscu, adored us. He was a grain merchant; he traded grain and there was even a time when he owned a grain store. I mean, it wasn't a grocery, he sold food and forage. This was around 1925, after he completed his military service. He also had the nickname of Moisa Stramola because he always wore a kopola [kippah]. I remember my father and grandfather once worked for an employer who did business with walnuts. He bought them from peasants, his employees cracked them and dried the kernels, and he then exported them to I don't know where. It was a seasonal job, in fall usually. The employer's name was Herman Schneer. He died during the pogrom [in Iasi] 2 with one of his sons, and one of his sons- in-law. In our house, Schneer was thought to be a very clever man. He used to pay his employees on Saturday evenings. On one of those evenings my grandfather wasn't satisfied with what he got and refused the money, claiming he deserved more. The employer told him, 'Let me tell you something. You may not be satisfied, but take the money first, then negotiate.' These words were remembered in my family for a long time.

My father had a brother whose name was Pincu [Avram]. He was a grain merchant too. My grandparents' house on Socola Street was rather modest. They used firewood for heating in winter. The stoves were ordinary, not made of terracotta, and there were no gas stoves back then. All they had was the so-called Primus stove. Later, some lamps were introduced, but they were worse than the Primus because they smoked heavily. During the war [World War II] we all gathered there; each family occupied a room. It was very difficult, but we did it to be together.

I only know that both my grandfathers wore kippahs, but I don't recall them having beards; they were religious, but not extremely devout. This was also true for the grandmothers: they didn't wear wigs and only put on a kerchief when going to the synagogue or cemetery. Both my maternal and paternal grandparents used to go to the synagogue on Friday evenings and especially on Saturdays, and they observed the kashrut. I remember that on holidays, especially on Purim, the whole family and some friends would gather at my maternal grandparents' place on Aron Voda Street. They had a rather good material situation and could afford to serve abundant meals, with cookies, chocolate cakes, traditional hamantashen: small cakes whose shape was reminiscent of Haman's hat. All the guests chatted, ate and had fun. My mother sometimes went to the mikveh, but we used to go to our maternal grandparents' because they had a bathroom; back then, few people had the chance to take a bath at home. They also went to Zisu Herman's, a communal bath. When my paternal grandfather died, the women sat shivah, i.e. they sat on the floor for seven days in his memory. My family used to say that his former employer, Herman Schneer, for whom my grandfather had worked in the walnut business, had personally come to express his sympathy, and this was a great honor for us.

My father had two brothers and a sister. Avram Herscu was born after my father, in 1903 in Iasi. In the beginning he worked as a grain merchant, just like my father. I was very fond of him. He was a great adventurer. During the war he served in the Red Army. Then he came back to Romania, stayed for a short while and left for Israel via Hungary, Austria and Germany. He stayed for a while in Germany, got to Israel, then returned to Germany, where he got married. His wife's name was Toni. He owned a restaurant there. Eventually he went to Israel again and died there in 1981 or 1982. The next brother was Ilie Herscu, born in 1906, a grain merchant too; he married a woman named Reghina who was from Campulung la Tisa [Northwestern Bukovina] 3 and spoke German fluently. I can tell you that she, her sister and mother stayed in Campulung and were deported to Transnistria 4; her mother died there and her sister returned. My father's sister was called Nety Herscu. She was born in 1912, was a housewife and married a man named Iosif; he had some roots from Bukovina too, but his family had moved here when he was a child. I'm not sure whether he spoke German like my aunt. He was a watchmaker. They had a daughter, Dori, who's currently living in Israel.

My father, Burah Herscu, was born in May 1900, in the house on Socola Street in Iasi. He was a grain merchant: he traded grain and there was even a time when he owned a small store where he sold hay, oat, grains, rye, bran, salt lumps, animal supplies, i.e. for cattle.

My parents got married in 1927 in the beautiful temple in Unirii Square. Since they lived in different neighborhoods, my mother in the Targu Cucu area and my father on Socola Street, they must have met through a common circle of friends; young people who went together to various shows and films. On Friday and Saturday evenings, they organized parties with dancing and snacks, at their places. This is how they met; they liked each other and got married. The wedding party took place in a very fancy hall where such events were organized. I think its name was 'Sport si muzica' [Sports and Music]. Many Jews used to go there, maybe Christians too, but it was very expensive and Jews usually had a better material situation. My mother used to tell us that balls were organized in this hall on Saturdays; young men and women would meet there to dance and snacks were served. In 1928 my sister, Silvi, was born. My mother was a very pedantic woman and dressed us in beautiful and neat clothes, but nothing fancy. My mother didn't have a job. In that period women didn't work. I had a rather hard time living with my parents.

My father was very talkative and read a lot. He enjoyed reading Sholem Aleichem's 5 books. I remember how he used to sit in bed in winter and read; at a certain point, he would start laughing and we didn't know why: he had come across something funny. So he would read us a fragment from Sholem Aleichem's book to amuse us. We didn't have an actual bookshelf, but he borrowed many books and newspapers. My mother read too. My father particularly liked the Jewish authors, he was happy whenever he came across someone like Aleichem. There was a bookstore on I. C. Bratianu Street, and they also lent books. My sister borrowed from there too. My parents probably borrowed from family and friends as well.

I was very fond of my father. My sister was my mother's favorite and I was my father's. I used to go with him to the marketplace and enjoyed accompanying him to the synagogue on Friday evenings. There were a few other children there, little girls and boys, and he often took me with him. My father was a big fan of amusement in general: he took me to the cinema and theater. I also went to several performances at the Jewish Theater [in Iasi]. Here's a little detail: it's nothing, but I'll say it, since we're telling stories now. It was my birthday and I woke up next to a huge bouquet of lilacs. My father had brought them for me because it was the lilac season. I think this happened right before the war, and I was probably very young. But, as you can see, I can remember this. I can still visualize the scene of me waking up with a huge lilac bouquet in my bed. It's amazing how such small things can touch your heart.

My father did his military service around 1925. He was assigned to the firemen. He had many stories from his army days. I remember my family used to say that if my father woke up at the sound of a fire engine's siren, he would jump through the window in his underwear or his pajamas and run after them to see where the fire was and give a hand.

I was born in Iasi in May 1931. My sister, Silvi, is two years and a few months older than me. She currently lives in Israel. I remember my sister had a friend, Coca Pomeranz, who had two brothers: Dedi and Sandu. I was the youngest and always insisted on going with her to her friends, but they would often leave me at home. They would send me inside to ask for my parents' permission, or so they claimed. I would ask for some sort of guarantee, to make sure they wouldn't leave in the meantime. To make fun of me, because I was so naive, they would give me a hairpin or button, something unimportant. This way they could leave without me, and it would make me upset and I would cry.

I've just remembered a game they used to play. I was desperate because I had no idea how it worked. They took two small pieces of paper and stuck them on their forefingers. And this is what they sang, 'Two swallows are picking up woodchips; one of them is Lina, the other is Paulina; when Lina flies, Paulina flies too; when Lina comes back, Paulina comes back too...' The paper stayed stuck on the forefinger and they changed it using the middle finger. And when they got to the part where Paulina and Lina come back, they brought those fingers back. I was little and couldn't understand how this flying away and coming back worked. So I kept nagging my parents to tell me how that was possible. This is a story I remember many times and laugh on my own every time I do.

We were a Jewish family, but weren't very religious. We observed all the holidays though. When a holiday, like Purim, was near, my father would try to tell us something about its traditions. On New Year's Eve, Rosh Hashanah, he told us why the Jews had started counting the years long before Christ was born, and many other things. They wanted us to know the basics about the holidays.

The eight days of Passover were observed rather strictly. We ate latkes; they were made of matzah flour to which they added an egg, salt and pepper, and they were roasted in oil. We occasionally ate potato salad with eggs. There was no question about having bread at home in that period. Wheat flour and rice were forbidden. On the seder evening my father went to the synagogue. We had to wait for him to come back before we could eat. My sister and I were already half asleep by then. My father read the Haggadah and my sister or I asked the mah nishtanah. During the war we baked a sort of unleavened bread: simple or with eggs. It was round and I can still see it before my eyes. We kept it in a special cupboard which was cleaned before Passover. The hakham would slaughter poultry, but this didn't only happen on Passover, poultry was always slaughtered by the hakham, to observe the ritual.

Purim was a happy holiday; every year we went to our maternal grandparents' where there was a large meal. Both my grandmother and mother made cakes, especially hamantashen. We dressed up and visited our relatives. The streets were full of fiddlers, usually Gypsies, who made a buck thanks to Purim. Passover, Rosh Hashanah, and other high holidays were very pleasant times. I remember that, on the first day of Rosh Hashanah, we used to go near a stream and shake our pockets. This custom was called 'ba da tashlehs' [Yiddish for 'at the pockets']. The entire Socola neighborhood used to go shake their pockets by the Bahlui River, which ran nearby. This meant that you shook off your sins and entered the New Year a renewed person. Others went to Zisu Herman's bath to shake their pockets. My parents went to the synagogue and took us with them; we would find a place to play there. I remember the children dug a hole in the ground and, as it was chestnut season, we played with chestnuts by that hole. These are my childhood memories which I cherish so much.

On the eve of Yom Kippur there was the 'shlogn kapores.' For this custom, they had to use a cock for a boy and hen for a girl. The chicken had to be donated to the poor afterwards. We usually went to our grandparents' as they were the ones who performed the ritual. A prayer was said and the chicken was swung around the child's head. This was supposed to erase the child's sins. Other times this was done with money which was later donated. On Yom Kippur there was a big fast. Everyone fasted; we, the children, fasted less strictly, for only half a day. But when we grew older, we began to fast the entire day. In the evening we would all sit at the table and, in the end, it became a pleasant holiday, because we all sat together and ate the traditional soup.

On Sukkot, those who could afford it built a sukkah. I can't remember having one at our place when I was a child. I think the men in the family went to the synagogue, where a sukkah was erected. I think people used corn stalks to make the walls of the sukkah, which was a sort of hut where you were supposed to stay. I saw it at our neighbors' houses and in the courtyards of the synagogues. Others improvised a table inside and sat at it.

My favorite holiday was Channukah. We would light candles: first my father, then my sister and I. They say only boys should do it, but there were only girls in the house. During the eight days of Channukah we made red beat borscht at least once; it had varnishkes, a sort of bow-tie pasta made of potatoes. Our maternal grandparents always gave us money, not gifts. They called it Channukah gelt. When we got a bit older, my sister and I tried to avoid going to our grandparents' on the very days of Channukah because we were ashamed to receive money. I had two cousins, one of them was older than me, and the other younger, who weren't embarrassed at all and had no problem with going to pick up their share. If we went the following week, the two of them laughed at us, 'Who didn't go on Channukah doesn't get the Channukah gelt!' Eventually, our grandparents gave us the money: it didn't matter that we hadn't visited them when we were supposed to. Of course, it was a small incentive for us, but it was something to remember over the years. Our parents sometimes gave us Channukah gelt too.

Most of the city's population was Jewish. There were a few neighborhoods inhabited exclusively by Jews. On Sarariei Street, Christians were predominant, but certain quarters had only Jews. Very few of us were devout: a few women wore wigs and few men wore caftans and payes. But my family, like most of the Jewish population, observed the Mosaic religion to a great extent. As far as I remember, Iasi had many synagogues and prayer houses. Counting from Podul Ros to the Marzescu School, no, I don't even go as far as the Marzescu School, to Tesatura [factory], there were at least ten synagogues, well, prayer houses, where my parents used to go. There were four of them only in a small corner. Further away, after Targul Cucului [Editor's note: quarter of Iasi, where the Jewish population was predominant until World War II], there were others: two or three on Halei Street, and just as many on Independentei Boulevard, which was called I. C. Bratianu back then. The one at Kantarski survived for a long time. Not to mention the Cahane synagogue on Stefan cel Mare Boulevard: this was only demolished in the communist period, in the process of urban systematization [see Systematic demolitions] 6. Today there are only two synagogues left in Iasi, both of them Orthodox 7. One of them is the Great Synagogue in Targul Cucului, where a service is held only on Saturdays. I think there is also a Friday evening service in the other synagogue, on Palat Street, where the few Jews from Podul Ros gather.

Before and during the war the city had a number of paved streets and it had streetcars between Socola and Copou, and between Nicolina and Pacurari. There weren't many cars, but there were a lot of carriages. We had neighbors who owned a few horses and carriages; they hired cabmen who drove the carriages and made money for them. In the evening they retired and others replaced them. A cousin of mine, Nelu, particularly enjoyed coming to Socola Street. They lived downtown, six or seven streetcar stops away. He remembered that, when they had to leave, my father went to where the carriages were on duty in the evening, and asked whether there was anyone going downtown to give them a ride from Socola Street to Alecsandri Street, where they lived. These last years, my cousin remembered this and told me: 'I really liked to come by your place!' 'Why is that, Nelu?' 'Uncle Buca [Mrs. Solomon's father] used to go next door to Iancu Fonea's and ask whether there was a carriage going downtown to take us home.' This was a great pleasure for him.

Our neighbors were Jewish. There weren't more than four or five Christian families in the entire neighborhood, from Podul Ros, Bahlui River, to the Marzescu School. It would have been inconceivable otherwise. Ninety-five percent of the inhabitants on Socola Street were Jews. The entire neighborhood was like that. Further away, towards Targul Cucului, on Aron Voda Street, where my maternal grandparents lived, it was the same thing. In fact, these were the two neighborhoods inhabited only by Jews.

As I lived on Socola Street, I went to a Romanian school, the Marzescu School; I studied there for two years, until 1940. Then several Jewish schools were founded because all the Jewish children were kicked out from the public schools [as a result of the anti-Jewish laws in Romania] 8. So, whether we wanted it or not, we had to go on. I attended the third and fourth grades at the Stern School on Palat Street. There was a shortage of teachers. For instance, one of my teachers in the third elementary grade was a chemist, Miss Blumenfeld. I started the fifth grade at the ORT 9 school on Sfantul Lazar Street. Half of the day was for learning a trade and the other half was theory. All the teachers were Jewish. There I learnt a little Hebrew and a little Yiddish, both speaking and writing, but it didn't really stick with me.

Yiddish and Hebrew were taught in those schools regularly. The ORT school had a tailoring and an underwear workshop. I was with the latter. I wasn't an outstanding student and couldn't say whether there were teachers that I preferred and teachers that I disliked. I remember I once wrote a composition with my sister's help when I was in elementary school. We were supposed to describe a cat or something like that; and I slipped a certain word. Anyway, that particular word got me a ten or a 'very good': I think this is what they used. Still, it wasn't my own doing, but my sister's. Another time, in an anatomy class, we were told to draw a heart and describe it. I got a ten or a 'very good' again because I really liked that subject. [Editor's note: In the Romanian grading system, the maximum grade is 10 and the minimum passing grade is 5.]

I studied Hebrew at the ORT school. In that period my father was no longer with us, having been sent to forced labor, and my mother was sick. Taking care of two children on her own wasn't easy; she didn't supervise me enough, so I got a failing final grade in Hebrew. I was supposed to get a prize for handiwork: they gave separate prizes for each subject. Because of my failing grade in Hebrew, when they called out the prizes, they said, 'Herscu Tili, prize for handiwork', but, in fact, they didn't give me anything: neither the diploma, nor that little piece of fabric which was given to us in recognition of our merit. I cried all the way from school to our house. My eyes were swollen. 'What happened?' they asked me at home. 'My friend Molca got a prize for handiwork and I didn't!' My problem wasn't that I hadn't got the prize, but that she had gotten it and I hadn't. I had to take private lessons. There was this young lady who taught Hebrew, a very nice young woman who did pro bono work for our school. I think she emigrated to Israel right after the war. She worked without compensation to help the Jewish community. My mother went to see her with tears in her eyes; she told her about my situation and that I wanted to continue my education. The lady recommended to us a girl who was two or three years older than me and I took some lessons with her that summer. I was able to pass my exam and enter the next grade. However, the fact that I didn't get that prize is something I'll always remember.

I started a very close friendship with a girl who was my age, Malvina Fischel. She had a little brother two or three years younger than her; his name was Michel. His Jewish name was Mehola. I became very attached to them. I went to their place more often than they came to mine. Throughout the war period I kept going there. We were in the same class at the Stern school, and then in the fifth grade at the ORT school. I also went to the sixth grade and maybe started the seventh, but she stopped after the fifth. He mother was very ill and I think her father prevented her from going to school so that she could help her mother at home. Her father was a carpenter and made custom-made furniture. He had a workshop. I went there a few times with Malvina and her little brother; I think that was the first time I ever saw a carpentry workshop. Right after the war they moved to Bucharest and our friendship ended. Today I'm over 70 years old, I'm an ole- hadas [emigrant] to Israel and would be very happy to find her and meet with these people who were my childhood friends, again. The Fischels were very devout. On Saturdays, they didn't light a fire or warm up the food; I don't know, but they had a way of keeping it warm. They were very devout indeed.

Here's a memory from the war days, in the 1940s. There were private grocery stores on our street. The closest one was about one hundred steps away from our house. One day, I think it was Friday, my father sent me to buy some pies. I remember they were puffy and dipped in sugar a bit and well baked: I can still see them today, so many years later. So I probably went to buy them for breakfast. At that moment I think the air raid sirens went off. When that happened they kicked us out of the grocery store; they wanted to close the door and couldn't have foreigners on the premises. So I had to run all the way from the store to our house, lest the bombing caught me on the street. I entered through the courtyard; my mother and sister were already in the trenches, while my father was waiting for me, because he knew I was away. The house had a porch with two small cupboards. They sort of replaced the refrigerator: in summer food was kept there, because it was cooler. My father and I sat on the floor between those two cupboards and heard the sound of the air raid. The first thing one could hear was the sound of the planes which flew over the city. We stayed there for a while. Then we heard the sirens again: they probably knew when the planes withdrew. And we came out. When we came out, my mother looked very worried, 'Oh my God! Where have you been? Relax, it's over now.'

Right after the war broke out, the Russians occupied Bessarabia in June 1940 [see Annexation of Bessarabia to the Soviet Union] 10. My father decided that we should move there. It was a sort of frenzy resembling the one about the aliyah, in the 1950s. Jews would pack two or three suitcases, and rush to the station to catch the train for Bessarabia. They thought it was better for us to stay there under the Russian occupation than here, in Romania, where the persecutions against Jews had begun. We took the train. I think it was my first train ride and I thought traveling in cattle cars was normal. There was total chaos: we were very crowded and surrounded by luggage, baskets, suitcases, bundles and the like. When the train got to the border we were told the border had been closed and that we couldn't cross it anymore. We waited in the field. My father and some younger men went to inquire about our situation. It started raining heavily. We had no food, because we had probably taken very few things with us. My poor mother held my sister and me in her arms, while my father and some other people were trying to get the trains moving again, so that we could at least get back home.

It was night when we got to Iasi. Where to go? It was a long way to our street and we were probably afraid too. Aron Voda Street, where my grandparents lived, was equally far. The relative who lived closest to the station was my mother's sister, Toni Smilovici, on Alecsandri Street. But she lived opposite the prefecture. Don't ask me how my father managed to get a carriage. One of our suitcases was stolen in the process. My father gave the cabman the address and we were taken there. When our relatives saw us they went, 'Oh dear, weren't you afraid to come here at night? Look, the prefecture is right there.' We slept over. In the morning they took us to my maternal grandparents' place. I don't remember how exactly we got there. We were afraid to go back to our place. The policemen who watched the street knew that the 'jidans' [offensive word for Jew in Romanian] had gone to Bessarabia 11. Still, five or six days later, we regained our house and the neighborhood policemen kept yelling at us, 'So, you wanted to go to the Bolsheviks?' This is pretty much what the situation looked like back then. This attempted departure affected my father so much, that he never wanted to leave again.

A neighbor of ours from Socola Street, also a Jew, of course, had a radio set. After the war began, in 1940, one or two of the neighborhood people, my father included, would risk going to that man's place to listen to the news in the evening. But it didn't take long till the radio sets were confiscated: maybe a few months later, I can't remember exactly.

Before the Legionaries 12 there were the Cuzists 13, for a shorter period. But it was during that very period that my father was hospitalized for an operation. My mother, who had two little children to take care of, had a hard time. She had to divide her time between going to the hospital and looking after us at home. At that time, the Cuzists saw my mother and, probably knowing she was Jewish, told her something that made her come home very upset.

It was difficult for us during the war, as my father was sent to forced labor camps. He had an extremely hard time: he kept going to places where the work was the most difficult. There was a place on Socola Street, about three streetcar stops away, on the outskirts of the city; they called it the 'Engineers Corps.' He had to walk to get there because we couldn't afford the streetcar tickets. The work there was the most difficult and only the Jews were assigned to it. Of course, they did it under military supervision. He came back home every night, but he was always full of scratches and dried blood. He was in a pitiful state. I don't know what exactly he did there, but I suppose he had to work with steel wire. It was a convict's work. One of us had to wash and disinfect him every night. I think this is why he died so young: he hadn't even turned 60.

In the meantime, my mother got very ill because she had two children to look after and my father was always away. She could hardly support our home. Her sisters rushed to help and her father brought her physicians. She underwent treatment and began to recover. Seeing what was going on at home, my father fled from the 'Engineers Corps' and became a deserter. This happened in 1940 or 1941. He was found, tried and sentenced to one month of imprisonment for being a deserter from labor. When he was released we had a big meal at our place, with potato dumplings. My mother also made a sort of cake like they used to back then: a few layers, milk cream and something to give it color. I distinctly remember the night he came back as it was very late, 11 or 12pm, and we were already asleep.

In 1941 there was the pogrom. Anti-Semitism burst out in Iasi. All the Jewish men on Socola, Nicolina and Crucii Streets were seized and taken to the bank of the Bahlui River, where machine guns had been installed, ready to shoot them. Only one neighbor got away. I think he had a mistress who lived opposite his house, a German woman who simply kept him at her place and refused to hand him over, although she already lived with a man. I later found out that this man was assigned to Tesatura [Editor's note: weaving mill in Iasi, founded before the war. In the communist period it became a state-owned textile enterprise.]; he was actually a German spy who had been sent to Romania. All the Jewish men were lined up on the river bank, ready to be executed. There was this police sergeant, Manuta; he had been a neighborhood policeman and knew all the Jews. He wasn't really an anti-Semite. He treated the neighborhood Jews decently. He often took bribes in order to let the merchants practice their trade in peace, but didn't ask for much; it was a way of making an extra buck.

It was Sunday. In that period he was the prefect's chauffeur. He drove downtown, he must have lived in Podul Ros, and saw what was happening on the river bank; he saw them [Jews] lying on the ground awaiting the execution. He probably went back and told the prefect about it. I don't know what really happened, but the fact is that they were all released instead of being shot. My father was among them. We didn't even know what was going on in the city. [Editor's note: Mrs. Solomon can't tell precisely how the release order was issued, but she thinks it was a less official action; she suspects Manuta of having persuaded the prefect.] After the war, somewhere between 1948 and 1950, Manuta was tried in Bucharest for things he had done during the war. I don't know what else he had done, but as you know, many people who only did their job during the Antonescian period 14 were prosecuted after the communists came to power. Manuta came to my father and maybe to some other neighbors too, and asked him to appear as a witness in his trial and testify about what had happened to the Jews on Socola Street who were close to getting shot by the Bahlui River. My father went to Bucharest and testified two times. As far as I remember, thanks to the people's testimonies, the man was acquitted.

I think my husband Aurel told me that he had been at the prefecture 'that Sunday.' Jews were being shot there. Aurel and some others were forced to wash the pavement with a hose. There were so many bodies in the courtyard that Sunday that the water flowed to the gutters on the street mixed with blood. On Monday morning two of my uncles who lived there went to their workplaces together. One of them was a watchmaker and had a workshop on Stefan Cel Mare Boulevard. When he got there and saw what was going on in the street, instead of opening the store he entered the courtyard, where some horrified relatives of his asked him, 'How did you get here? There's big trouble in Iasi.' The other one went further away. He was a clerk and worked for another Jew named Kratenstein who owned a small factory. He was supposed to get to I. C. Bratianu Street. Nobody knows whether he made it or not. But his wife and my cousin, who are now in Israel, claim that he was murdered on the street that Monday morning; he didn't get to the train. On Monday, 30th June 1941, the Jews who survived the pogrom of the previous day were forced to board cattle cars and were taken to Ialomita. Most of the bodies were unloaded and buried in mass graves in Podul Iloaiei and Targu Frumos. Few of them managed to stay alive: this is why they called them the death trains. My poor uncle never came back. My cousin asked me to light two candles for him; she is sure he ended up in the mass grave.

I also remember a schoolmate from the Marzescu school, a boy; whenever he walked on Socola Street, he would call me, 'Jidauca, jidauca!' [Offensive word for female Jew in Romanian.] When I spotted him from a distance, I hid inside the house or the courtyard so that he wouldn't see me and have his way with me.

It was still during the war, but the front had moved towards the Russians. One night the planes came. I think they were English, the Russians' allies; or that's what they told us. The sirens went off. Because it was night, they used some sort of lamps, so that they could see every house in the neighborhood. One of our neighbors had Romanian or German soldiers quartered with him. The attackers saw the soldiers and fired with the machine gun or dropped a bomb; they may have hit the soldiers, but they also hit that family of seven: husband, wife, two children, husband's brother, an old woman, and another brother who was a bachelor. There are seven tombs at the cemetery: the Aba Pesah family. The following morning all these bodies were loaded in a cart and you could see their shoes and feet stacked one over the other; seven dead people.

In 1942 or 1943 they made us wear the yellow star 15; it was a little piece of black cloth as wide as the opening of a glass, with a yellow star with six corners on it. It was attached with a safety pin. One day they simply told us that, as of the following day, we couldn't leave our houses without wearing that star. I remember that a neighbor of ours, an old man with a beard, went to the toilet one Friday and forgot to wear his yellow star. They beat and insulted him in a terrible way because of that. The yellow star wasn't worn by Jews countrywide. After I went to Israel I found out that there were cities where they didn't wear it. My brother-in-law used to live in Braila and told me that they didn't have to wear the yellow star there.

We could only go shopping after 10am. Purchase gas, for instance. We could only queue for gas after 10am, while the rest of the population could buy gas throughout the entire day. This was the same for bread too.

From 1943 until the spring of 1944 my father was sent for forced labor to Ghidighici [today Moldova], in Bessarabia. Then, in spring 1944, at the time of Passover, the Russians broke through the frontline and began to advance towards Iasi. My father was sent straight to Harsova, in Constanta County, to the other end of the country. He probably dug trenches. He once managed to come home from Harsova and stay for five days. They only allowed him to do that because they thought his child had died. I was that child. [Editor's note: The Herscu family managed to obtain a false death certificate for Tili Herscu in order to get the father home to the so- called funeral of his daughter.] He was escorted by an armed Romanian soldier. He had been given five days and had to return on Saturday. He reported to the [Military] Circle, to a man named Cotaie, and was given his return pass. My father then told the soldier escorting him, 'You know what? Let's pretend we got to the station too late and missed the train and let's postpone the pass for 24 hours. Since I'm here, I'd like to spend the Saturday with my wife and children.'

On Saturday they went to the Circle to pick up the pass for that day, which was the last day of his leave of absence; they intended to leave the following day, on Sunday. If someone asked them why, they would simply say that they had missed the Saturday train. So they didn't even go to the station on Saturday, only to the Circle. Instead of going to the train, they came home. This happened on Saturday at noon. On Sunday the frontline gave in and the Russians entered Iasi. Had he left on Saturday, this event would have caught him on his way back to Harsova and who knows how long it would have taken him to find a train to get back home. This was the only time he got lucky during the war: he happened to get his five-day leave of absence at the right time. Because of the Russians' arrival, he was able to stay in Iasi with his family.

Here's another story from the war days. It was a Friday morning. We didn't have tap water, so I had to carry two buckets of water because it was bath time for us children. I was always the one who carried the water. I used to have a neighbor who claimed her arms had stretched because she had carried too many buckets of water. I think I can say the same now. This happened in 1944, when the frontline was very close: it had reached Stanca Roznovanu located 10-15 kilometers from the city. So I went to another courtyard to get water. I was returning with the buckets full. Because the frontline had gotten so close, there was no time to sound the alarm when there was an air raid. We just heard planes and falling bombs. Our very neighborhood was hit that day. I was carrying the buckets, my mother was standing at the door waiting for me to return, and the few people who were in the street were trying to take cover. My mother waved at me urging me to abandon the buckets and come home running, as we didn't have time to get shelter. But I just couldn't make myself leave those buckets, for which I had worked so hard. Eventually, I carried them all the way home, but we didn't make it to the shelter.

I didn't have any brothers. I only have a sister who currently lives in Israel and is two years and a few months older than me. She was born in Iasi too. She finished the first four elementary grades in a Romanian school: the Marzescu school. Then she went for two years to the Commerce High School, until the war began and we were kicked out from the public schools. She didn't continue her education. After the war she was an activist in a Zionist youth organization, Hashomer Hatzair 16 [Mrs. Solomon was active in Hanoar Hatzioni 17, a branch of the Zionist organization for children and teenagers.]. This is how she met her husband. They met in 1947 or 1948 at the 'ahsara' [Editor's note: Hebrew for preparation for emigration to Israel under the guidance and with the financial help of the Zionist associations]. These Zionist organizations were dissolved in 1948 or 1949. Her boyfriend went home to Braila, where he founded an agricultural snif [Editor's note: Hebrew for branch; used here in the sense of agricultural settlement], which didn't work out. Because they weren't getting the results they expected, they moved to Piatra Neamt or Targu Neamt. The boys got jobs and provided the money, while the girls stayed at home and cooked, cleaned, did the laundry, and ironed. It wasn't enough, but they still got help from certain organizations like the Joint 18 who must have sent them many aids. My sister invited her boyfriend to Iasi; then he invited her to Braila, his native town. While she was there, they had a quick civil marriage. So she was still Miss Herscu when she left and returned as Mrs. Gottesman.

After a short while they had an actual wedding. Two or three years later, in the 1950s, my sister gave birth in Braila. In that period people had started to apply for emigration to Israel. My sister did that too, but, as she had had a second child in the meantime, she got a negative answer. Her father-in-law left, while she stayed in Braila with her two children and only one salary [her husband's]: a very difficult situation. They had to wait for two years before their application was approved. Living in Israel wasn't easy in the beginning. They only had one room; it was winter and raining, and the water infiltrated inside, so they had to place pots and basins here and there to collect the drops. Their little boy was about eight years old by then and the girl was still little. When they were preparing to leave and were packing the things in Braila, the boy asked, 'Mother, why are we leaving?' She replied, 'You'll see, Marius. It will be better for us there.' When the kid saw the pots and the rain drops falling inside the house and how they stayed there, he said, 'Mother, remember how you told me it would be better for us? What's so good about this?' She said, 'Patience, the good will come.' Today my sister has five grandsons. Her two children have very good material situations. The boy worked for many years in Africa, in Johannesburg.

I remember summer 1948 or 1949, when I went to a moshav in Vatra Dornei. I was still a member of the Hanoar Hatzioni. It was pretty nice. There were girls and boys, we had a campfire every evening and made a mamaliga as big as a cart's wheel. Everyone grabbed a piece of mamaliga and had a ladleful of milk and that was our dinner. Some recited poems, others sang something; it was nice. We went to the Hanoar about two times a week, and also on Friday and Saturday evenings. They usually organized something every day: singing, games, etc. We were divided into several groups and each group had a menahel [director, manager] who spoke about certain issues in Israel. When the State of Israel was proclaimed in 1948, the Zionist organizations were still legal in Romania and their representatives organized rallies of celebration. Girls in white blouses and navy-blue skirts and boys in white shirts and navy-blue pants marched on the streets.

After the war we didn't get involved in politics. We sort of supported communism though. Because anti-Semitism had given us such a hard time during the war, many Jews began to support Communism. Maybe some of them did it for material profit too. But neither my husband nor I were party members. And we also had relatives abroad. If you were an ordinary party member, having relatives abroad wasn't a big problem. Usually, only people in higher offices had this sort of problem.

In 1946 there was inflation [see Financial reforms in post-war Romania] 19. Before that there was a drought which lasted for one or two years or maybe more, and we had a food shortage. One kilogram of wheat flour cost millions. It was a very hard time. I, for instance, worked as a tailor for an employer; we settled for a certain sum but, by the end of the week, when payday came, the money couldn't buy me anything anymore. Inflation was booming. Money wasn't worth anything. You couldn't buy anything. Then they made the stabilization. A decree announced that people could exchange a fixed amount of money. No matter how much money you had, the State only exchanged a minimum amount. This happened in 1946 or 1947. I think the monetary reform was in 1951. Things were totally different then. My father worked for a food store. The evening news announced there would be a change with the money. My father didn't know anything. A neighbor came and told him, 'Look, Mr. Herscu, they just said on the radio that they are changing the money; something is about to happen tomorrow and I have some money. Couldn't you help me? Sell me some merchandise and I'll return it later.' My father told him, 'All right, but it's closing time now. Come here tomorrow and we'll do it.' The following morning he found a financial inspector at the door of the store; he inventoried the merchandise and any scheme became impossible. This is how I went through the stabilization process and monetary reform.

I met my husband in a common circle of friends. We sort of liked each other from the beginning. We dated for a while and, at a certain point, he proposed. We had a small engagement ceremony at home, only with the family. Almost one year later we got married: in 1957. We had a religious ceremony before the rabbi; I would have never considered marrying someone who wasn't Jewish. We had a beautiful wedding with guests: my sister, brother-in-law from Braila and his parents, my husband's relatives from Bucharest, a sister of my mother-in-law, and a brother of my father-in-law. We had a civil ceremony several months before the actual wedding. Today the custom is to have them both on the same day or one day apart. We got married on Purim, on a Sunday; we agreed with our parents and in-laws to have the wedding on Purim. The religious ceremony took place at the Cahane synagogue, and the meal for the family was organized in a synagogue in our neighborhood. The only shortcoming was the cold: it was winter and, although we installed a stove, we couldn't heat the large synagogue well enough. But I couldn't say that the wedding was a failure. After we got married we used to meet up with some friends every week, usually on Saturdays, and go to the cinema, theater, pool, or Ciric Forest for a picnic. It was nothing fancy, but we enjoyed spending time with them.

Three years later, in 1960, I gave birth to a little girl, Beatrice. May God help her! She's a grown-up woman now and has a boy who's almost 14. My husband was very happy when he learnt we had a girl. After I had the baby, he told me something very interesting. When I was pregnant he dreamt of a park with many children in it; a little girl came towards him, so he considered this a sign that I would give birth to a girl. But he didn't tell me about it at the time. After the baby was born he told me the story, 'You know, it would have been a surprise for me if you had given birth to a boy, because, you see, I had this dream...' We often make connections between dreams and reality and really pay attention to the dreams.

My husband, Aurel Solomon, was born on 4th August 1929 in Iasi. He was an electrician. When he was a teenager his father sent him to be the apprentice of a neighbor who was a sort of mechanic. But he always came home dirty and his father didn't like it, so, after a while, he sent him to the streetcar company. This was in 1950 or so; he worked for about two years there. They called it training at the workplace, because he hadn't gone to a vocational school. Then he was drafted into the army, where he spent three years and three months. It was bad luck. When the normal three- year period was over, instead of discharging him, they called him up for an extra three months. He had many stories to tell from his army days. He was very picky with food; there were many things which he had never tasted and didn't plan to taste either. While he was in the army his parents were forced to send him parcels so that he wouldn't starve. When he returned, the streetcar company hired him again and he worked there until his retirement. His work record counts 40 years spent in the same place.

After the war I let my parents know that I wasn't planning to continue my education. I wanted to get a job. There were two sisters in our neighborhood, young girls, who worked as tailors. My father knew their father very well. They were Jewish, of course. So he talked to him, 'Look, David, why don't you ask your girls if they need an apprentice?' One or two days later the reply came, 'Sure, tell your girl to come; my girls do want a new apprentice.' I went to their place, met them and stayed there. It wasn't easy at first because I adapt myself to change very slowly. I cried a lot in the beginning. But, eventually, I didn't want to leave anymore. I worked there from 1944 until 1950: six years. In 1950 the employer told us she didn't need the girls, working at her place, anymore; she had a boyfriend and they wanted the house all to themselves. So I went to a famous tailor on Nicolina Street, Madame Ilie: this is how they called her. I worked there for only a few weeks, but I couldn't say why I didn't like it.

It was the time when people were preparing to go [In the 1950s there was the first large wave of emigrations to Israel.]. Those who had filed their applications couldn't know for sure whether it would take a week or a month to get an answer, so they started ordering clothes. But they didn't just want a dress; they kept coming with a lot of fabric. So I thought that instead of working for Madame Ilie, I could stay at home and work there. The problem was that I didn't have a sewing machine back then. But we had a neighbor who told me, 'That's not a problem; whenever you need to, you can come to my place and use my sewing machine.' It was something temporary, of course. So I stayed at home and worked from 1950 until around 1954, when working at home became more and more difficult: there were inspections and I was starting to be afraid of getting caught. Times had become more difficult. I got a job at Tesatura, at the section for recycling waste [remnants of fabric less than one meter long], where I learnt to make shirts, women's blouses, and underwear. I worked there for about three and a half years.

In the meantime I got married. Then my section was closed and they wanted me to do something completely different. I didn't like that, so I resigned. I worked for two years or so for a tailor on Stefan Cel Mare Boulevard. He was the neighbor of one of my uncles and had a workshop where they made shirts. After 1960 there came a time when all the small craftsmen had to join the cooperative associations. Of course, he was forced to join as a foreman with his sewing machine and all. He asked me whether I wanted to work for the cooperative too. What was I supposed to do? I had a small child and a mother whom I was supposed to support. So I joined the cooperative. However, because I had a small child, they let me work at home. When my kid grew up a little and my mother got used to her, I told them, 'I want to come to work every day and make as much money as everybody else.' I think I started going to the cooperative on a daily basis in 1962 or 1963. My co-workers were very good people. In the beginning, there were several Jewish girls and the foremen were all Jewish. As time went by, some retired and some left for Israel, so I ended up being the only Jew. I couldn't say I didn't feel all right though. However, I was happy to retire in 1986. Times were getting difficult again. When winter came serious power savings were made.

I remember one of my co-workers was a lady named Bela Davidovici; she was Jewish and a party member. She organized this ritual: every morning at 10am, when people had breakfast or a snack, a young girl would read the editorial from a local newspaper or a party organ, be it 'Scanteia' [The Spark], or 'Flacara Iasului' [The Flame of Iasi]. There was a time when someone from a gym took us outside to exercise for five minutes; he had us carry weights. But this didn't last for long. We went there to earn money, not to exercise. When the communist holidays came they made us go to parades: on 1st May, 23rd August [1944] 20. We had to be there because otherwise we could have been in trouble. For instance, if you missed a parade, the head of personnel had you stand in front of the entire staff the following day and asked, 'And why didn't you come to the parade?' Then there was the patriotic labor. In fall they sent us to harvest corn.

In the communist period I went on vacation from time to time. I once went to the mountains, to Predeal, on a 'Mother and child' ticket. These tickets were sold through the cooperative and they were only for the mother and child. The husband could come too, but had to pay the full price. The ticket had a big discount: it included accommodation, and transportation at a very small price. We took the train from Iasi to Mangalia. There were many such programs: individual or family tickets were sold by the trade unions or the cooperatives. I also went to the seaside on my own, but I had to save a lot of money to afford that. I only went abroad twice, and both times to Israel, where I visited my sister. I first went in 1973 or 1974, and then I went with my husband in 1987 or so. I can't say we had difficulties in getting the necessary papers. And plane tickets weren't as expensive as they are now. I kept in touch with my relatives by mail. After I had a phone installed, I called them.

Until 1960 I lived on Socola Street with my parents. Then the systematization began and our house was demolished to make room for apartment houses. My father died on 5th or 6th April 1960, a few months before the house was demolished. But by then, we already knew we had to move out. My father died of a heart condition. We got a new place on Cuza Voda Street. I was pregnant already. We got two rooms, a kitchen, and bathroom in a basement. We were actually three people, not four, because one could hardly notice that I was pregnant. We had tap water, plumbing, water closet, but there were many downsides too. For instance, whenever it rained heavily, the apartment got flooded. At that time most of the Jews got new apartments either in the basement or on the last floor, so there was a sort of discrimination. I lived there for 24 years. In 1984, when the date for my daughter's wedding had already been settled, my husband received a three-room apartment on Garii Street. After they got married my daughter and her husband lived with us until my son-in-law received a studio apartment. My mother died in January 1986. She lived with us until she passed away. After the Romanian Revolution of 1989 21, a law was passed in 1990 or 1991, allowing the tenants to buy the apartments in which they were living. With tremendous efforts we managed to buy this apartment. This year I sold it in order to leave for Israel to be with my daughter.

My daughter is a chemical engineer. She went to college in Iasi. She has been living with my son-in-law and grandson in Beer Sheva, Israel, for nine years. She works for a large pharmaceutical factory. She's a very sociable person and likes to have many friends. She always had a very nice circle of friends when she lived in Iasi. They were girls and boys who threw parties, anniversaries, and hung out together. Most of her friends were Jewish, but they gradually left. In time, she made new friends at her workplace. They were Christians, but were very good kids; they were special, educated, and never showed the slightest sign of anti-Semitism. The Jewish Community used to have a youth choir composed mainly of students. The choirmaster was Izu Gott. Many friendships began through this choir. They sometimes went to the seaside [the Black Sea], in Eforie Nord, and the choir members got a place at 'Mira' Villa.

When my children got married, the [Jewish] Community offered them a ten day stay at this villa. This was their honeymoon. My daughter had to do her internship in Gheorghe Gheorgiu-Dej [the name of the town of Onesti during the communist period]. She spent three years there. It was very difficult at first. Her husband worked in Iasi, so she came home pretty often. This way, I didn't miss her too much. When she returned to Iasi she was unemployed for a long time. Then the Revolution came. This made them go to Israel. They now have their own house and everything they need, but they have to work very hard. I encouraged them to choose the aliyah. I was very happy when they decided to. I told them that, even if they had a hard time in the beginning, things would gradually improve. They come to Romania pretty often. They still have relatives here and hope they will be able to maintain the ties with them. They miss their country sometimes.

I remember how the Revolution [of December 1989] started. It was Friday, at about 1pm. My husband had already retired. I looked outside from the balcony and saw a kind of fuss that seemed to foretell something. A cousin of mine had already told us that on Thursday there had been open fire on the revolutionaries in Timisoara. But we didn't imagine things could get so serious. We turned on the radio and heard something rather confusing. Then we turned on the television and saw what was going on in the country; we began to follow the unfolding events. We didn't know what would follow. We thought things could get messy for us, considering that we were Jewish and all that chaos. But things were quiet in Iasi compared to the other cities.

I can't say that the change of the regime had any influence on how we asserted our Jewish identity. We observed the same traditions in the communist period and after. I went with my family to the synagogue and cemetery before the holidays and told my daughter what had happened to us during the war. We didn't build the obstacles on our own, it was the communists: we just kept on observing our Judaic traditions. For instance, in the communist period, I always celebrated Pesach: I cleaned the house, prepared the special dishes, had the hakham slaughter the poultry and went to seder evenings organized by the Community. We didn't wear the tallit in the street, but people did come to seder. Matzah was distributed through the Community: it was brought from Israel. And we had a waiting list for beef. When a beast was slaughtered in a kosher way we bought meat from the Community. At that time our chief rabbi was Moses Rosen 22, a very clever man who knew how to negotiate with the authorities on our behalf: that's why we didn't feel any restrictions.

When my father-in-law died in the 1980s my husband was still working, but he went to the synagogue every day for a whole year, in the mornings and evenings, to recite the Kaddish. He did that for his mother too. Once a year we organized a Yahrzeit, the commemoration of a departed member of the family. I would prepare a pound cake and bottle of wine and took them to the synagogue. We used to go to the cemetery before the holidays, especially before the high holidays. This is how we understood to observe the tradition and pay respect to the dead.

Before my husband died, we received a very substantial and timely help from the Federation [of the Jewish Communities in Romania] for one year. We got food and money for the heating in winter. When my husband's condition worsened, they sent us a woman once a week to help us around the house. I also received a compensation for the suffering endured during the Holocaust: there was a certain amount from Germany, Austria, Switzerland, from the Claims Conference.

I really wanted to emigrate, but my husband never agreed. We went to Israel as tourists; he liked it, but didn't want to stay. He wasn't a sociable man at all and maybe this is why he didn't want to leave for good. Yet, a few years ago, we had made up our minds and were determined to leave. We prepared a lot of papers and were planning to go to the Sohnut 23 to apply for emigration. But my husband got sick and never recovered. He died last year. And now I'll go to my children in Israel on my own.

Glossary:

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

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

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

My family background

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Growing up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My school years

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beginning of the war

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Post-war

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

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

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

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

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

The Doctors's plot

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

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

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

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

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

Retirement

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Glossary

Rachel Randvee
Tallinn
Estonia
Interviewer: Emma Gofman
Date of interview: March 2003

Rachel Randvee is not tall; she is an elegantly dressed lady with a lovely, open face. She is very friendly and hospitable and likes talking to people. She lives in a big apartment with her son's family and her daughter. Although she is not in perfect health, Rachel assumes all the domestic responsibilities - she goes grocery shopping, cooks for the entire family, and cleans the apartment. She is ever so optimistic and that makes it very pleasant to talk to her.

My father, Hirsh-Leib Tsivian, was born in the town of Kreizburg in Latvia. It was a small town on the bank of Daugava River; many Jews lived there at that time. My father's father, Yakov Tsivian, went around Latvian villages purchasing cattle and selling it to butchers. He died early so neither my elder sister, Riva, nor I ever met him. My father's mother, Grandma Haya- Sore, was left alone with a whole flock of children after her husband died. In order to maintain her family she started baking. She baked and sold challah for Sabbath, strudel and other delicious pies for Jewish holidays, and she also took orders for wedding cakes. This kind of business wasn't very profitable; her family was very poor and the children were often sick.

My grandmother had twelve children, but some of them died in infancy and some died later. In the 1930s only four of my grandmother's children were still alive - my father and his three sisters: Sofia, Dina, and Asne. At that time, Grandma Haya-Sore lived in Riga [Latvia] with the family of her youngest daughter Asne Fain, nee Tsvivian. My sister and I went there for our summer holidays on several occasions. Aunt Asne rented a room for us in a Jewish summer hotel at a Riga seaside resort so we would only eat kosher food. For Sabbath we always went to Riga to our grandma's and attended the synagogue on Saturday mornings. Our grandmother was very old, she could only walk with great difficulty. She told us that attending synagogue gave her strength.

Grandma Haya-Sore, her family, her children, and their families were very religious. They strictly observed the kashrut, kept Sabbath and celebrated all the Jewish holidays according to Jewish traditions. In our living room there was a portrait of Grandma Haya-Sore at a young age - she was wearing a wig in it. She didn't wear a wig in her old age, but I never saw her with her head uncovered. Even at home she always had a little lace cap on her head. In my grandma's house everyone only spoke Yiddish. I never heard her speak Russian or Latvian, although, I believe she knew those languages. Grandma Haya-Sore was pretty even in her old age, and she was an unapproachable beauty in her youth. She told us how long it had taken her to choose a husband and her father had been very annoyed by this. Every one of my grandma's sisters had families of their own at the age of 14 or 15, but she didn't marry until she was 18.

My aunt Asne Fain was also very beautiful. She had big blue eyes and gorgeous light golden hair. Her husband, Herman Fain, was a co-proprietor of a timber-trading company so their family was quite wealthy. Their only son, Yakov Fain, was a vocal student at Riga Conservatory in the late 1930s. He had a wonderful tenor and a future as an opera singer was predicted for him. In 1940 the Soviet regime was established in Latvia, and the property of the Fain family was nationalized. Yakov was taken off his last year at the conservatory and was sent to serve in a military performing group. Although the group was stationed in Riga and Yakov lived at home, he was outraged that instead of opera arias in Italian he was forced to sing military and sailor's songs in Russian. In the summer of 1941, when the German army instantly occupied Latvia, the entire Fain family and Grandma Haya-Sore remained in Riga and died in the Holocaust. The whole family of my father's second sister, Dina, also remained in Riga and died. She had three children - her daughters, Rachel and Golda, and her son, Maks. Both her daughters were married, Rachel had a young daughter, Aviva, and Golda was expecting a baby in 1941. The families of my father's cousins were also killed. A total of 47 of my father's relatives died in the Holocaust in Latvia. Unfortunately, the exact circumstances of their death are unknown to us.

Only my father's eldest sister, Sofia Israelson, nee Tsivian, survived the war. She and her husband moved from Latvia to St. Petersburg before the Revolution of 1917 1 and lived there - in Soviet Leningrad - until 1941. They had one son, Yakov, who graduated from a technical institute in Leningrad and worked there as an engineer. In 1941 he was drafted to the army and died in combat action in the first months of the war. Sofia and her husband remained in the blockade of Leningrad. 2. Sofia's husband died of starvation during the first winter of the blockade - the winter of 1941/42 - and Sofia, barely alive, was carried out of Leningrad across Ladoga Lake [see Road of Life] 3. She survived and returned to Leningrad after the war where she had no more relatives or friends. In the summer of 1949 I went to visit Aunt Sofia in Leningrad and saw how poor and lonely her existence was. I suggested that she moved to live with us in Tallinn because she had no more relatives except my father, my sister, and me. She agreed and spent the last years of her life near us in Tallinn. Sofia died in 1962.

My father was born in 1895. He finished cheder in Kreizburg; his mother tongue was Yiddish. He wasn't very proficient in other languages - Russian, Latvian, German and then Estonian. To help his mother he started working at a young age. At first, he was a salesman's apprentice in a shop in Kreizburg, and later he worked as a salesman in a fabric shop in Riga for several years. At the end of 1916 my father went to St. Petersburg [called Petrograd between 1917 and 1924], where his elder sister Sofia and her family lived. He intended to look for a job there. Petrograd was on the eve of revolution - there were mass-meetings, strikes, and plundering. My father didn't like this at all - he liked order in all things - and after a few months he decided to return to Latvia. On his way to Riga he stopped in the small Estonian city of Tartu. He liked the city - it was a quiet, neat place with a Jewish community and, which was essential for my father, it had a synagogue. One Saturday, while visiting the synagogue, a beautiful young lady attracted his attention. They were soon introduced to each other. That's how my father met his future wife, my mother, Hesse Heiman.

I don't know if my mother's parents were born in Estonia or if they moved here. At the end of the 19th century they were already living in the city of Tartu. My grandfather's name was Tevye Heiman, and my grandmother's name was Rohel-Leah Heiman, nee Klas. I never met them - they died before I was born. Grandfather Tevye traded in cattle just like grandfather Yakov did. The only difference was he went around Estonian not Latvian villages. During one of these trips, my grandfather was attacked by robbers and killed. This happened in the middle of the 1900s. All of my grandparents' children except my mother were adults by that time. Grandmother Rohel-Leah was taken ill with gangrene after this tragic incident; one of her legs had to be surgically removed. The doctors said it was the result of the nervous breakdown. From what my mother told me I know that my grandmother walked on crutches during the last years of her life.

My grandmother had twelve children, eight of whom survived. Yiddish was the language spoken within the family, but every one of the children could speak Russian, Estonian and German. The family closely observed Jewish religious traditions. This was carried on into our own family and into the families of my mother's brothers and sisters. Grandmother Rohel-Leah was very hard-working. Her hands were remarkably skilful - whatever household work she took up was done perfectly. This trait of hers was passed on to all her children and to many grandchildren. Every one of my grandmother's daughters could sew and embroider well; they could cook delicious meals and create a general feeling of coziness in the house. There was a saying in my mother's family - 'Heimans' hands'. Whenever one of the daughters or granddaughters succeeded in making a nice dress, a fashionable hat, or just mended something, it was said, 'No wonder! She's got Heimans' hands!' That was a top commendation. My mother's family was a united one; her sisters and brothers supported each other during their whole lives. Grandmother Rohel-Leah died in Tartu in the middle of the 1920s.

My mother's older sister, Berta Feiman, nee Heiman, born in the 1870s, died early; I never met her. Her husband, Haim-Shimon Feiman, owned a tannery in Tartu. Their only son, Tevye Feiman, born in 1905, graduated from university in Vienna in the middle of the 1920s with a physician's qualification; both before and after World War II he worked as a doctor in the town of Rakvere in Estonia. During the war Tevye and his family were evacuated to Russia; Tevye worked as a doctor in a military hospital. Before she was married, his wife, Gita, worked in a large jewelry store in Tallinn. Once married, she studied to be a medical assistant and then worked alongside her husband. Their daughter, Aviva, married a marine officer and went to live with him in Leningrad. Tevye Feiman died in the middle of the 1980s in Tallinn. Since his death Gita has been living in St. Petersburg with her daughter's family.

Rasse Fumanskaya, nee Heiman, born in the 1870s, was my mother's second sister. She married Meishe Furmanski, a very wealthy Tartu Jew. They had a big house and a clothing store in Tartu. Rasse's two sons were educated abroad. Her older son, Tevye, studied at Prague University. When he came back he brought a chemical engineer's degree and a Jewish wife along with him. In the late 1930s Tevye Furmanski lived in Tartu with his family and managed his own saw-mill. Rasse's second son, Isaac Furmanski, lived in Tallinn with his family and also had a business of his own. Rasse's daughter, Sofia Furmanski, graduated from Tartu University's department of law. She lived in Tallinn and worked as a lawyer.

In 1940 Meishe Furmanski died, and a year later the Soviet authorities nationalized the entire property of the Furmanski family. Sofia was prohibited from working as a lawyer. In 1941 the whole family with the exception of Sofia was deported [see Soviet Deportation of Estonian Civilians] 4. Isaac ended up in a camp in the Northern Urals, and everyone else in exile. In the camp, where Isaac felled trees, prisoners were issued their daily allowances of clay-like bread in the evenings after work. This bread had to be eaten slowly in small bits, otherwise the stomach could fail. One day Isaac forgot about this rule and ate his entire portion at once. A few hours later he had severe stomachache and my father, who was in the same camp, watched him die in his arms.

Tevye Furmanski and his family lived in evacuation in Tomsk region [approx. 3,000 km east of Moscow]. They remained there to live. The rest of the Furmanski family returned to Estonia after evacuation. At present, Isaac's children, Joseph and Miya, live in Israel, and Sofia's daughter, Bina, lives in Tallinn.

Haya-Fanny Smolenski, nee Heiman, born in the 1880s, was my mother's third sister. Before the war, she, her husband, Simon Smolenski, and their five sons lived in Tartu where they had a sewing workshop. Aunt Fanny could sew very well. After the war she lived in Tallinn with her youngest son, Boris, and worked as a cutter at a clothes factory. During the war three of the Smolenski sons were killed. Two of them, Meishe and Ammi, served in a fighter battalion 5 and died in the summer of 1941. Ruven Smolenski was a lieutenant in the Estonian Rifle Corps 6 and died in combat action on the Estonian island of Saaremaa in 1944. He was buried there in a common grave. Immediately after the war, as soon as Aunt Fanny returned from evacuation with her youngest son, Boris - her husband Simon died in evacuation - she started her attempts to obtain permission to bring Ruven's body to Tallinn in order to have him buried in a Jewish cemetery according to Jewish tradition. She reached the top military authorities and obtained the permit. Among hundreds of dead people Aunt Fanny recognized her son by his special feature - a tooth, broken when he was still a child.

Another one of aunt Fanny's sons, Tevye Smolenski, abandoned his studies at Tartu Univesity and went to Israel in the late 1930s. He became a naval captain. His wife, Miryam, was a German Jew; her parents lived in a kibbutz in Israel. Tevye and Miryam had three children and several grandchildren. After the war Tevye visited Tallinn on a number of occasions. In the late 1950s he brought his mother on board his ship to go for a cruise around Europe. In 1963 Tevye celebrated his 50th birthday in Tallinn. It was an unforgettable party, at which all the relatives who lived in Estonia then came together. The last time Tevye visited Tallinn was in 1991. He died in Tel Aviv four years later. Fanny's youngest son, Boris, now lives in the USA and works as an engineer. Aunt Fanny died in Tallinn in the late 1960s.

The fourth sister, who my mother was very close to, was Basya Mayofis, nee Heiman, born in the 1880s. She, her husband Leib Mayofis, and their children lived in Tallinn. Basya had a small millinery where she made hats. There were three children in her family - two sons, Mordukh and Tevye, and a daughter, Sima. During the 1930s Tevye Mayofis was one of the leaders of the Betar 7 youth Zionist movement in Estonia. In 1940 he was sentenced by Soviet authorities to serve ten years in camps [see Gulag] 8 for promoting Zionism. Out of all the Betar activists sentenced at that time he was the only one to survive the camps. After ten years of camps Tevye spent several further years in exile in Siberia. His girlfriend moved from Tallinn to live with him, they got married and had a daughter, Rosie.

In the late 1950s Tevye's family was allowed to return to Estonia. He had golden 'Heimans' hands'. A small car with 'Tallinn' painted across it, which he had made all by himself out of old spare parts, could be spotted in the streets of Tallinn by surprised pedestrians. In the 1970s, as soon as he had an opportunity, Tevye Mayofis and his family went to live in Israel. He is an honorary citizen of that country; his name is in the golden book for his contribution to establishing the state of Israel. His granddaughters are now adults. Tevye's entire family lives in Haifa.

In the summer of 1941, when fascists were approaching Tallinn, Basya and Leib Mayofis and their elder son, Mordukh, decided to stay although they still had a chance to escape and go east. Perhaps, they thought that there was nobody worse than the communists who had arrested their son. Fascists killed them in the fall of 1941. Leib and Mordukh Mayofis were executed in Tallinn prison. Today, one of its walls carries a memorial plate in honor of the Jews who died there. I don't know anything about the way Aunt Basya died. Their daughter, Sima, and her husband were evacuated to Russia and their family broke up there. At present, Sima and her second husband live in Israel with their children and grandchildren. They never returned to Estonia after the war.

My mother also had three brothers. One of them, Hirsh Heiman, born in the 1890s, died in the Estonian War of Liberation 9 in 1919. The name of the second brother was Samuel Heiman. He was born in the 1880s. When he was young he was a good mechanic; later he opened a shop in Tallinn where he sold kosher food. During the war he and his wife Gita were evacuated to Russia. While there, Uncle Samuel once again worked as a mechanic so his family wouldn't starve. After the war they returned to Tallinn, where Uncle Samuel worked as a manager in a small grocery store. Samuel and Gita Heiman died in Tallinn in the 1950s. Their daughter, Rasse Paturskaya, nee Heiman, went to live in Israel with her husband, Abram, and her son, Yakov.

Rasse and Abram lived and died in Natanya; their son, Yakov, is presently working there as a doctor. He was educated back in Estonia, at Tartu University. He occasionally visits Tallinn where many of his friends live. Uncle Samuel's second daughter, Leah Bolonov, and her husband, Israel Bolonov, lived and died in Tallinn after the war. Rina, their daughter, is living here at present.

My mother's favorite brother was Leib-Zelik Heiman, born in the 1880s. He and his family lived in Tartu. Leib-Zelik had some kind of chronic disease - he was unable to work for extended periods of time - so his family lived in poverty. My mother used to help them a lot. Leib-Zelik's elder daughter, Sarah, was an activist in the Betar movement. In the middle of the 1930s she was among a group of young Jewish people that went to Palestine to build up Israel. All of Sarah's relatives helped to equip her for the journey; Sofia Furmanski was of the most assistance buying her clothes and everything else necessary. At the train station, just before her departure my father, who disliked listening to words of gratitude, shoved a large pack of British Pounds down Sarah's pocket.

In June 1941 Leib-Zelik's two sons, Bentzion and Hone, volunteered for the militia and fought alongside the Red Army troops holding back the German forces at the Tartu frontline for almost a month. Both of them were killed in battle in the summer of 1941. Their names are inscribed on the monument commemorating Jews who were killed in Tartu while fighting the fascists. Because of his sickness Leib-Zelik couldn't follow his wife and daughter into evacuation. He remained in Tartu and died in the fall of 1941. Just like all the other Tartu Jews he was shot in a tank ditch on the city's outskirts. Later on, his wife, Gita Heiman, and his daughter, Leah Eidus, went to live in Israel. Gita has already died there, but Leah still lives in Tel Aviv.

My mother, Hesse Heiman, was born in Tartu in 1895. She was the youngest child and the favorite in the family. When Grandfather Tevye died my mother was 12 or 13 years old, and the elder siblings helped my grandmother to bring her up. For a few years my mother studied in some school in Tartu, I believe it was a cheder. When she was 15 she went to Warsaw to study sewing. [Editor's note: Before WWI Warsaw and much of Poland as well as Estonia were part of the Russian Empire.] My mother studied there for two years in a school that trained tailors of top qualification. She had a certificate confirming her graduation from that school; it was later posted on a wall in my mother's workshop.

In 1912 my mother returned to Tartu and worked there for several years in a privately-owned sewing workshop. In March 1917, when she came to the synagogue on a Saturday, she saw a strange young man who looked at her with curiosity. My mother was very pretty and, besides, she was tastefully and fashionably dressed. They started to see each other. My parents' wedding took place on 1st May 1917, in the same synagogue where they had first seen each other. A year later they had a daughter - my elder sister, Riva.

My parents were young and full of energy and they really wanted to start a business of their own. In the small provincial university town of Tartu the conditions weren't very favorable. After the [First] Estonian Republic 10 was established in 1918, Tallinn started developing rapidly - there were factories, a port, and state institutions. My parents decided that their future clients lived in the capital and moved to Tallinn in 1919. They rented a small flat there and opened a corset workshop. At first my mother worked there alone, but later, as orders flowed in, she hired several workers.

My mother was an excellent expert, she always followed the European fashion. Moreover, she was an extremely charming and friendly woman. She was proficient in Yiddish, Estonian, and Russian, and could speak some German, too. Her business was thriving. After I was born in 1929 my parents rented a larger apartment in the center of the city. I recall that the largest room contained six sewing machines, mannequins with finished products on them, and lots of fashion magazines lying around. For celebrations all this was pushed against the wall and the room turned into a living room.

In 1935 my parents rented yet larger premises in which they opened a corset shop. It was called 'Madame Tsivian.' Apart from my mother, it employed eight more workers. They produced corsets, brassieres, abdominal supports for pregnant women and for women after childbirth. At that time it was the most fashionable corset shop in Tallinn. Among the shop's numerous clients were wives of the highest Estonian state officials including the president's wife. In the 1930s our family was quite wealthy and the basis for our prosperity was earned by my mother's hands. Certainly, my father worked as well. He helped my mother by setting up the workshops, purchasing equipment and fabrics, maintained financial affairs, and then, in the middle of the 1930s, he opened a furniture shop of his own. They both built and sold furniture there.

After the corset shop moved to its new premises the apartment where we lived became much more comfortable. It was a well-equipped five-bedroom apartment - it had electricity, running water, and a central heating system. I remember very well the way it was furnished. There was mahogany furniture and blue silk tapestries on the walls. My father said our living room was 'Napoleon style.' My mother loved china and crystal, and there were delicate cut-glass figures and porcelain statuettes in a pretty little glass showcase. There was a separate row of busts of famous musicians - I knew them all by heart. We had black oak furniture in our dining room. There was a large round table, two cupboards, and leather chairs. In my parents' bedroom there was antique furniture: a king-size bed, a wardrobe, and a dressing table. In my nursery there were two beds - one of them belonged to me and the other one belonged to my governess - a writing desk and a corner full of dolls. My sister's room had stylish modern furniture from my father's shop. An expensive German piano was in there, too.

Our family was very religious. For his whole life, even in the hardest times, my father was a true believer. He started his morning by washing his hands and putting on his tefillin. He prayed at home several times a day, often went to the synagogue for evening prayers, kept the Yom Kippur fast, and attended the synagogue every Saturday and on holidays. We always had strictly kosher food at home. We only bought kosher food sold in special shops. There were three kosher food shops in Tallinn. In our kitchen there were two cupboards: one of them contained cooking ware, dishes, and cutlery for meat, and the other the same for dairy products. There was one stove.

My mother, supported by an Estonian servant, cooked the food. My mother knew many Jewish dishes and could cook them well. Unquestionably, we always observed Sabbath in our house. On Friday night the whole family gathered at the table, my mother lit Sabbath candles, and my father recited Kiddush. Our shops were closed on Saturdays.

There were always careful preparations for Pesach celebrations. My sister and I, my mother, and the servant cleaned and scrubbed. Pesach tableware was stored for the entire year in a locked box. Glassware that had been in use throughout the year was soaked in large wooden barrels for two weeks to make it kosher. My mother's sister, Basya, and her family would always visit for seder. And we always invited some single people to come. An Ivrit teacher, Gronimov, joined our seder celebrations for many years in a row until he got married.

For Rosh Hashanah my mother would make a round bun with a braid on top, and for Yom Kippur she made a ladder-shaped bun. On the morning of Yom Kippur my father used to swing a live white chicken over my head. It was supposed to drive all the troubles away from me. I was very scared of that chicken so my father changed the ritual - he used a handkerchief with some coins tied into it instead of a chicken. We baked hamantashen and gave presents to our relatives and friends for Purim. For Sukkot celebrations a shed was constructed in the synagogue yard and our whole family went there. When I was little I liked Simchat Torah. The synagogue was beautifully decorated and people danced and had fun. Children were given presents - large bags full of sweets and biscuits. My mother, my sister, and I went to the synagogue on every Jewish holiday.

Within the family we always celebrated my birthday to which my relatives and other children would come. We didn't usually celebrate birthdays of adults. Our house was always full of young men and girls who came to visit my sister. Riva was a very independent child. She never went to kindergarten because there were no Jewish kindergartens then. Our parents couldn't afford to have a nurse or a governess at the time. They were busy doing their work, and little Riva would wander around the building and visit the neighbors. Later, our parents often recalled the episode that happened when she was five. She went to the apartment next door, which was a privately-owned sewing workshop. There Riva found a beautiful brand-new beaded wedding dress. She cut the beads off the dress and, back at home, cut off a piece of a new curtain and started making a dress of her own. She was a lively girl, a tomboy even - all of her childhood friends were boys and she was their leader. She would gather all the boys from our street and lead them to a different street to fight. Later on, of course, she grew up and became more serious and quiet. In 1926 Riva went to the Jewish Gymnasium 11. Younger pupils studied Ivrit but all the other subjects were taught in Russian, whereas older pupils studied everything in Ivrit.

Riva started learning the piano when she was little, she had a talent for music, and she was taught by Tallinn's best music teachers. They thought that Riva could grow up to become an excellent pianist. In order to do that Riva had to spend hours practicing, but she was an outgoing, cheerful, expressive person. She wanted to do sports and spend time with her friends. However, we had a strict and asserting father, at times he simply forced Riva to the instrument. And when her friends came to visit her she played the piano and all of them sang wonderful songs in Yiddish and Ivrit. I can still remember some of those beautiful songs.

While Riva was still in high school she started studying at a conservatory. She graduated from high school in 1936. That was the tenth graduating class of the Tallinn Jewish School. The graduation ceremony was held in the school gym, which was decorated in an unusual way. Tablecloths, window curtains, and everything else were white and blue just like the flag of Israel. Many of my sister's classmates were leaving right after graduation and going to Palestine to build up Israel. Riva really wanted to go, too, but my father didn't let her. He believed that she had to finish her conservatory studies first and then decide whether she wanted to go to Palestine. Our family always donated money to every Jewish foundation intended for settlers in Palestine. A sign of this was the golden heart posted on our door.

I was born in 1929. I was named Rachel in honor of my grandmother Rohel- Leah who wasn't alive any more then. In my education my parents tried to correct their former mistakes. When I was two a governess was employed for me. Her name was Karoline Kins; she was from a Germanized Estonian family. She spoke German with me, and my parents also tried to address me in German. In those days many Estonian and Jewish families would send their children to be educated in Germany, and my parents wanted me to be able to speak German freely. They spoke Yiddish to my sister and to each other, and Estonian to the servant. Russian wasn't used in our family.

When I was four I was enrolled in a Jewish kindergarten. From my first day there I heard Ivrit being spoken. The songs we sang there were also in Ivrit. When I was six and went to the Jewish school I could speak and understand Ivrit quite well. In the school there were two first grades. One of them had Yiddish as the language of instruction, and the other one Ivrit. It was up to the parents to make a choice. I learned in Ivrit. Our class was very united. There were three sets of twins in it: two pairs of girls and a pair of boys. Those boys remained here during the war and were killed just like many of my other classmates.

In school I loved music lessons. Our music teacher, Gurevich, often complimented me for my musical talent. However, when my parents offered to sign me up for special music lessons I said no. Then my father told me, 'If you don't want to learn music then study something else.' I decided to study English. For several years I learnt English from a very remarkable teacher. She didn't teach lessons and we didn't read or write. We just talked - in the kitchen while she was cooking dinner, walking outside or visiting her friends. Her friends were a Russian countess, Sofya Volkonskaya, and the wife of the English ambassador, Lady Kingford. They walked with us through the park and engaged me in genteel conversations in English. As a result I mastered spoken English quite well.

When I was little I often fell sick, my lungs weren't strong enough and doctors were concerned about me getting tuberculosis. That's why almost every summer my parents rented a summer house in a community of Hiiu [island] near Tallinn. The houses were located in the middle of a pine wood - forest air was supposed to restore bad lungs. I stayed there with my governess. Occasionally Riva stayed with us, too, but our parents visited only for Sabbath and worked the rest of the time. Karoline, my governess, knew all the regulations of a kosher cuisine because back at home she always helped my mother around the house. Our parents brought or sent us kosher groceries and Karoline cooked food following the kashrut laws. That year, when Riva entered the conservatory, she and I spent the summer at the seaside in Haapsalu. To avoid any interruption of her music lessons a summer house with a piano in it was rented, and Riva's music teacher stayed there with us.

In 1937 my mother fell seriously ill. She got very nervous and some mental deviations were recognized. She reacted particularly inadequately to the news of spreading fascism and anti-Semitism in Germany. The doctors diagnosed her with schizophrenia, placed her in a hospital in Tartu and proposed an experimental course of treatment. My father gave his written consent for this. My mother spent eleven months in the hospital and was finally cured. Later they examined her, searching for the cause of her illness and found some alterations in her thyroid gland. In July 1938 my mother went in for surgery. Our family wasn't poor and my father insisted that my mother should have surgery in Switzerland where doctors had better experience. She refused because she didn't want to be away from her home and family. Although the surgery was performed by the best surgeons in Tallinn it was unsuccessful. My mother died right on the operating table.

It's difficult to imagine how we outlived her death. My mother was so kind and so sensitive. I remember how our parents came to visit us in the summer house that very last Saturday before the surgery. We went for a walk in the woods; my father was very nervous but my mother tried to appear cheerful. She held our hands and told us that everything would be fine because she had the best husband and the most wonderful children in the world. My parents loved each other very much.

Our life changed after my mother's death. My father couldn't live in the old apartment where everything reminded him of our mother. We moved to a different building. We rented a large apartment in a house owned by a Jewish family named Yaskovich. My sister gave up the conservatory although she had finished the complete course and only had to prepare for her graduation concert. She took my mother's place in the shop and became the manager. Surprisingly my father didn't object. With my mother's death my childhood was over. I began to think and reason the way adults do. I was the one lighting Sabbath candles. Our household was managed by Karoline and the servants.

In June 1940 the Soviet regime was established in Estonia and nationalization began. Someone suggested a resourceful idea to my father. In order to display his loyalty to the Soviet authorities my father gave both of our shops to 'spetstorg', that is to the trade network belonging to the NKVD 12. He continued working there - he just wasn't the proprietor any more. Our Jewish school was renamed into a secondary school with a number [see School #] 13 that I don't recall. In the USSR Ivrit was banned so it was subsequently banned in Estonia as well, but we could still use Yiddish. The house we had moved into was taken over by the Soviet authorities for some reason and all its inhabitants were ordered to leave within 24 hours. My father's friend, our gabbai Rakovski, came to our help. He let us have three rooms in his seven-bedroom apartment. We were cramped in there because we had a lot of furniture. But we were thankful to gabbai Rakovski for giving us shelter. A few months later we managed to move into a five-bedroom apartment close to the city center. The former owner of the apartment, an Estonian ship captain, somehow succeeded in moving his family to Sweden after the Soviet regime took over. We let one of our rooms to a Soviet pilot because it wasn't good to own such a large apartment.

My sister married in December 1940. Her husband, Yakov Kozlovski, also graduated from the Jewish school albeit four years earlier than Riva. Their wedding was quite modest with only close friends and relatives present. Some arrests and nationalization of property had already taken place in Tallinn by that time so it wasn't really a very joyful time. Meishe Furmanski, Aunt Rasse's husband, died just before the wedding, the funeral was held on the wedding day, and many of the relatives were attending that event. The wedding ceremony took place in the synagogue's registry office and was conducted by Aba Gomer 14, the chief rabbi of Estonia.

Yakov Kozlovski and some of his companions had a small necktie workshop. They wove necktie fabrics and made ties all by themselves. They had no hired laborers so they weren't considered exploiters and weren't repressed by Soviet authorities.

At night, on 14th June 1941, we were visited by several NKVD employees and presented the decree of our deportation. My father, my sister, and I were all on the list. We started gathering our things. The pilot, our lodger, wasn't at home at that time, but his wife, who had just come from Leningrad the day before, was there. She heard the noise and realized what was happening. She peeked out of her door, beckoned Yakov Kozlovski to come closer, and whispered her advice. She said that Riva couldn't be deported because she was married, considered a member of a different family and had a different last name. 'Don't be afraid, stand up for your wife!', the woman told Yakov. Yakov stepped up gingerly to an NKVD official and, stammering, told him all that he had just been advised. The official made several phone calls and my sister was released.

My father and I were sent to the station. When we were standing next to a train car holding our things, a person wearing a military uniform came up to us. He asked my father who I was going with and where my mother was. After my father replied that my mother was dead the man left. A little later he returned and asked if I had any relatives remaining in Tallinn. When he heard that my elder sister remained there he ordered to have me sent home. I believe that man saved my life because my father was sent to a camp and I would have gone to an orphanage and probably died there. When I was brought back home my sister and I realized in terror that our father had left carrying nothing and certainly without any food. All of our things and food were in one basket, which my father had passed on to me. My sister immediately called Aunt Basya who lived close to the train station. Aunt Basya's son, Mordechai, ran to the station to give a package of food to my father. The train was still there but Mordechai wasn't allowed through. My father left wearing a summer coat, light walking shoes, and without a morsel of bread. Since then I cannot rest if there is no bread in my house.

Early next morning Aunt Asne called from Riga and asked Riva one question, 'Is your father well?' Riva replied, 'He is sick.' Aunt Asne understood everything because deportation was under way in Latvia as well. We thought that our father's arrest influenced his sisters' decision not to go to the Soviet rear. The war started a week later. My sister and I instantly decided to evacuate because our father was somewhere in Russia and we hoped to find him. We packed our things and actually sent our luggage to Kuibyshev [presently Samara, Russia] because everyone around was saying that Germans wouldn't get as far as the Volga. Just like all men of call-up age Yakov Kozlovski wasn't permitted to evacuate. They were all called up to the labor army 15. Yakov managed to leave Estonia later. He and his brother escorted the Red Cross lorries that carried medical supplies and equipment out of Estonia.

My sister and I left on 5th July 1941, traveling east in a sleeping car. When we crossed Narva River - formerly the border between Estonia and the USSR - it turned out that our permit was missing some kind of stamp. We were ordered to get out of the train and sent back to Estonia. We walked carrying our things across a bridge that was being bombed by German aircrafts; it was very frightening. We obtained the stamp and were allowed to continue our journey. When we got to Leningrad, we stopped at Aunt Sofia's for several days. Our clothes made us look different from the local people, whose clothes were plainer and poorer, and Aunt Sofia was anxious that Riva could be taken for a German spy and arrested.

Then we traveled in a freight car for a long time with several transfers and during one of those transfers two of our suitcases were stolen. A certain Polish Jew did this. He had been traveling in the same car with us, spoke Yiddish and kept asking me what was in our suitcases. I told him everything. He offered to help us and made off with our things. At length we arrived in some town on the bank of the Volga with lots of churches; we were transferred to a boat and went down the river. At one landing stage someone called from another boat nearby. It was our uncle, Samuel Heiman, and his family. He wanted us to come to his boat so we could all travel together. Riva said no because she and her husband arranged to meet each other either in Ulyanovsk or Kuibyshev. Afterwards we regretted very much that we refused to go with Uncle Samuel because his 'Heimans' hands' could have provided not only for his own family but also for us. My father knew a Jewish saying which stated that whenever a person had something to do he was king.

Riva and I finally reached Ulyanovsk where we met the Kozlovski family. Yakov's parents and his two sisters were there. Yakov arrived after some time. With great difficulty we found and recovered our luggage. We stayed in Ulyanovsk for about a year, and, when the front line approached the Volga, we went on to Kazakhstan. It was winter time and I fell ill during the journey; I had pneumonia and a very high fever. At some station, where we had to change trains, we weren't allowed into the station building - people were concerned that I had typhus. I lay resting on our suitcases out on the platform. Then my sister and her husband took me to a first-aid post. The doctor looked at me and said that I wouldn't make it through another day. My sister started crying but her husband told the doctor, 'We will pay you good money if you can just save the girl.' When he heard this the doctor found a medicine called sulfidin; we had to pay 10,000 rubles for ten tablets. That was a lot of money. My sister went to the station and sold her and our mother's golden rings to buy the medicine. Those ten tablets saved my life.

In Kazakhstan we settled in a small place called Talgar, near Alma-Ata. Now it is a town. I went to school there. Before the war started I had finished six years of school in Tallinn but I spoke very little Russian so I had to do year six again.

Riva's husband, Yakov, was in the labor army. He worked at a tungsten mine in the mountains of Tian Shan. Yakov was a foreman and sometimes went to Alma-Ata on business. Soon after we arrived Riva gave birth to a boy who died a few days later. At the end of 1943, another boy was born and named Hessi in memory of our mother. We lived half-starving; the things that we had brought with us helped us survive. We would sell them or exchange them for food. Soon we had nothing left to sell. Because of malnutrition my sister was very weak and fell ill for a long time after her delivery. I rarely went to school as I had to nurse my sister and her baby; then I was placed to work in a clock repair shop. Yakov Kozlovski's father was the repairman, and my job was to receive and dispatch the orders; I was the cashier, too, and even fitted watch crystals.

Yakov Kozlovski's father was out of luck in evacuation. A person bearing the same surname had disappeared in Ukraine at the beginning of the war after lifting a jewelry shop. Both in Ulyanovsk and in Talgar the apartments where the Kozlovski family and we lived were searched. Everything was turned upside down, the old Kozlovski was arrested and questioned, and only after it became clear that he was the wrong man he was released. Several months later the whole thing repeated itself. Yakov Kozlovski fell very ill while in the labor army. He had typhoid fever with severe complications, and he was dismissed from the labor army. This happened at the end of the war.

Throughout this time my sister and I tried to get news about our father, but it was all in vain. It was only in 1945 that my former classmate, Brazhinski, sent me a letter, in which he told me that his father was in the Northern Urals in the same camp with my father. We wrote a letter there and the reply said that Hirsh-Leib Tsivian was sent off from the camp to settle in Omsk region [Western Siberia, 2,200 kilometers east of Moscow]. Soon we received his first letter.

In the summer of 1945 we returned to Tallinn after evacuation. I arrived barefoot since my only pair of shoes fell apart on the way, and I had a nightgown with a waistband on instead of a dress. I had no other clothes. We had no place to live in Tallinn so my sister and her child lived with her husband's family, and I was accommodated by my aunt, Haya-Fanny Smolenski. Later I lived with my uncle, Samuel Heiman. Although I had only finished seven years of school I found employment as a manager's secretary at a large factory. I entered the eighth year of a school for adults and had my classes in the evenings after work.

At that time Yakov Kozlovski's relatives resolved to have me married. My fiancé was a Jew and an old bachelor; he was 38 and I was 17. He was very fond of me; as for me I was tired of wandering about my relatives' apartments - I wanted to have a place of my own to live in, and my fiancé had a room. There was neither a synagogue nor a rabbi in Tallinn at that time but we did observe some of the Jewish wedding traditions. The wedding took place in Uncle Samuel's apartment. A chuppah was set up there; an old friend of my father's who was a very religious Jew recited the blessing, then the wine glass was broken. So I was married off in November 1946.

Yakov Gershanovich, my husband, had a small workshop. He was supposed to work there making half-stock for the shoe factory. But that was just show. In fact Yakov's business was speculation: he purchased and re-sold commodities that were in short supply. This was considered a grave criminal offence in the USSR. Yakov even tried to engage me in his affairs. He would send me to a bank to buy state bond certificates as he thought them more reliable than Soviet money. I went to the bank a few times but then I realized that this could get me in trouble and refused. That was our first great quarrel.

In the summer Yakov managed to get us two places in a health center in the resort town of Parnu. Everything was wonderful there but my husband kept disappearing from my sight for some reason. He turned out to be a reckless card player; he lost a fortune through gambling. We lived together for nearly two years; fortunately, we didn't have any children. Yakov Gershanovich was arrested in 1948, right in our room, and sentenced for speculation to eight years in jail. This marriage hadn't brought me happiness, but I still waited for my husband's return for three years. While visiting my friends in 1951 I met a young man from Riga. We liked each other, dated, and corresponded, but eventually drew apart due to some circumstances. However, I decided never to return to my first husband and obtained a divorce in the spring of 1952.

My father returned from deportation in 1946, just a few weeks before my wedding. He was present at the wedding. He didn't talk much about the camp. He said that it was horrifying and that human life was worth nothing there. My father believed that he managed to survive only due to his faith in God and to the prayers he directed to God. While in the camp my father and other Jewish believers calculated the dates of Jewish holidays and observed the traditions as best they could. On Pesach my father didn't eat bread even though there was nothing else to eat.

After his return our father worked as a manager in a sewing workshop. He had no place to live as he didn't want to trouble me or my sister and he couldn't afford to rent an apartment. For several years, until he was given an apartment, he lived in his workshop sleeping on the table where they cut the fabrics. Every day after work he went to repair the city ruins. He was actually awarded an honorary badge for his active work in restoring the city. Later he worked as a manager of a large department store.

In the summer of 1952 I went to stay at a holiday home in the resort place of Vosu, near Tallinn. The staff of Tallinn Polytechnic Institute was staying there at the same time. One of them, a tall athletic Estonian of about 40, started to pay his addresses to me. His name was Tarmo Randvee. He took me to the cinema, picked no one but me as his dancing partner, and accompanied me to the beach. He was constantly next to me and I didn't really like it. I had just been free after my divorce and now I was annoyed again. Besides, he was much older than me and not a Jew. However, one of Tarmo Randvee's colleagues, who stayed in Vosu at that time, turned out to be a former classmate of mine. He counseled me to take a closer look at Tarmo since he was an interesting and honest person. I followed his advice and realized that my classmate was right.

Tarmo and I dated in Tallinn for two and a half years. After that my father had got used to the idea of his daughter marrying an Estonian. We got married in 1955. I never met Tarmo's parents - they had died earlier. His father was a construction worker, and his mother was a housewife. They lived in Tallinn; their family was poor and they couldn't afford their son's education. That's why he worked at a building site and studied at the same time. Before the war Tarmo Randvee graduated from Tallinn Technical College and had a construction engineer's diploma. He married in 1939; in 1941 he was enlisted in a Soviet labor army and went to Russia. Later Tarmo fought against fascist forces in the Estonian Rifle Corps.

Hilda Randvee, his first wife, was a nurse. During the war she took a five- year-old Finnish girl out of a concentration camp and adopted her. The girl's parents had been shot by fascists in her presence. In 1949 Hilda died at childbirth; the baby died as well. Tarmo Randvee only had his adopted daughter, whom he had brought up and educated. When we got married Tarmo was working at Tallinn Polytechnic Institute; he had the academic status of a professor and was the head of the construction technology department. He was a man of versatile interests and had a sociable, open- hearted character. Among his friends were writers, actors, scientists, and athletes. We had a very exciting life. We went to theatres, concerts, exhibitions, and often received guests. We had a harmonious relationship.

Our daughter, Ene, was born in 1955, and our son, Riho, was born in 1958. I didn't work while the children were small. I decided not to waste time and went to university to study foreign languages. For an entire year I applied myself to serious studies at a university preparatory course, then successfully passed my entrance examinations. However, my application was refused. I was told that the foreign language department wasn't intended for children of public enemies [see enemy of the people] 16. It was extremely vexing.

When our son started school I went to work at the large book-store in the department of foreign literature. Before that, I was tested for my command of the German language. It was an interesting job, but a few years later my sister's relative, who managed a manufactured goods warehouse, persuaded me to change my work place. He was looking for an honest person to supervise a jewelry stockroom. I assented. The job was a very important one; in the stockroom there were great valuables that were later dispatched to all the jewelry stores in Estonia. I was in a constant state of nervous strain. After 16 years of this work the doctors advised that I should do a more tranquil type of job. For the last ten years before I retired I worked as an inspector at a knitting mill.

We have always lived in the apartment where I live now. During the 1950s and 1960s it was a communal apartment 17 accommodating three families - a total of 13 people. In the mornings, when everyone was in a hurry to get to work or school, we had to wait our turn to use the toilet or the bathroom. Gradually our living conditions got better; our family was the only one left in the apartment.

My father had a separate room in a building not far-off. He never remarried although he did have relationships with women. He was a religious and a secular man at the same time. On Saturday nights my father would sometimes go to a restaurant, order a glass of wine and a piece of cake, and sit there listening to music. He prayed three times a day; he had a tallit and tefillin. The floor paint on the spot where he used to pray in his room was rubbed away.

There was no rabbi in Tallinn at the time, but a synagogue was operating in a small old building. The visitors were mostly old religious Jews. My father often went to this synagogue. While my father was alive we celebrated every Jewish holiday - Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Chanukkah, Purim, and Pesach. My sister and I took turns hosting the celebrations. My family, my father, and I visited Riva for one holiday, and Riva, her family and my father visited me for the next one. After Riva's husband died all celebrations were held at my place. My husband and children knew all about these holidays. Before they sat down to eat my husband and my son put on their kippot. Everyone listened to the prayers that my father recited. My father often had lunch with us on weekends. On days like those I tried to observe the basic laws of the kashrut. The rest of the time my father had his meals at a dietary restaurant. Naturally, kosher food wasn't served there, but there was no pork.

My husband was on very good terms with my father; both of them were intelligent, kind and honest people and had respect for each other. The only matter they disagreed in was the Soviet regime and its policies. My husband, who grew up in poverty in bourgeois Estonia, could see many positive things in the Soviet policy, but my father, who had suffered by wrongly being in a camp, didn't support his view. They had frequent disputes. Despite all his sufferings in the camp, my father took Riva and me to a cafe every 14th June to celebrate the day of our deliverance. He said that unless he had been deported on 14th June 1941 our family would have remained in Tallinn with rabbi Aba Gomer and all of us would have died. My father died in Tallinn in 1984. Some time after his death I was issued an official document affirming that he had been subject to unlawful repression. [see Rehabilitation in the Soviet Union] 18

My husband wasn't religious so we never celebrated Christian holidays at home. But we did have a Christmas tree and Christmas presents for our children to enjoy. My children always knew that their mother, grandfather, and aunt were Jews; it was never kept a secret. They knew our holidays and our food because my sister and I often cooked it. But their father was Estonian, their first language was Estonian, they went to Estonian schools, and lived in the Estonian environment. That's why they never had second thoughts when they recorded their Estonian nationality in their Soviet passports. This was the choice suggested to them by life. They don't feel Jewish.

My daughter, Ene, graduated from the economics department of the Polytechnic Institute, then worked as a chief accountant for a large company for many years, and is now working as a manager at the same place. She isn't married. My son, Riho, graduated from a construction college, worked for construction companies, and then set up a company of his own. He is married and has two daughters - his first wife's daughter, Merilin, and his second wife's daughter, Jaanika. Merilin is a journalist; she speaks several foreign languages, and is married. Jaanika goes to school. Riho is now having serious health problems, and this makes me very anxious. All of us live together in our old apartment - Riho, his wife and daughter, Ene, and I. My children go to work, my granddaughter goes to school, and I do the housework. Tarmo, my husband, died in 1992.

My sister Riva's life took a different course. Our mother's death, the war, children and disease had all prevented her from becoming a piano player. After the war Yakov, Riva's husband, was the manager of a knitting mill, and Riva worked there as a seamstress. Later Yakov changed his job and worked at a theatrical society's industrial plant; Riva followed him. The department she worked in produced something from silk. Yakov was a handsome man and sometimes permitted himself to fall for women, but Riva was wise enough to disregard her husband's weaknesses. She maintained peace and harmony in her family. Yakov suffered from heart disease; he died at 62.

They raised three sons. Hesse, the eldest son, now owns a large business in Tallinn; he is a trustee of the Jewish Community of Estonia. He has a Jewish family; his daughter married a Jew and they live in the USA. Gabriel, his second son, has a mixed marriage, but his children are now interested in Jewish life. Pesach, Riva's youngest son, is a very sensitive and kind person. He always cared for his mother and helped her with everything. Pesach has always been near his mother, and, perhaps, that's why he is still single. Riva died in 2000.

When the Jewish Community of Estonia was re-established in 1988 I got involved immediately and became a member of WIZO women's organization. 19. We visited the elderly and sick members of the community, talked to them, brought them presents, and celebrated Jewish holidays with them. I was younger then and never refused any kind of work. For Purim celebrations other women and I baked enormous amounts of hamantashen, enough for everyone visiting the celebration. For Pesach we served potato pancakes [latkes] to everyone. Even now, as my health permits, I'm trying to participate in all community events. I love attending class reunions of the pre-war Tallinn Jewish School. Beginning from 1994, we've been getting together every month in the Jewish community center. About 15 to 20 people are able to come every time. We drink coffee, chat in Yiddish, recall our school years, and exchange news. Unfortunately, our news aren't always happy, and after these meetings I have both warm and sad feelings.

I am happy that Estonian independence was re-established in 1991 and that the country's citizens are able to travel abroad freely. During the last ten years, I've taken three trips to Israel, got acquainted with this beautiful land, and met relatives and friends of mine who live there. That gave me great moments of joy.

In January 2004 I will be celebrating my 75th birthday. I hope to see many of my relatives - not only the ones living in Estonia, but also those who will come from Israel, USA, and Russia. This will be a great joy to me.

Glossary

Lea Beraha
Sofia
Bulgaria
Interviewer: Maiya Nikolova
Date of interview: August 2002

Mrs. Lea Beraha lives in an apartment of an apartment block situated in a nice quarter of Sofia. Her home is very well kept, clean and tidy. Mrs. Beraha is an extremely energetic person and very active both physically and mentally. She shows  natural inclination for dominating the conversation, as well as for a concrete statement of her ideas. In spite of her age, she continues to keep her body and mind fit. She is full of life, well informed and interested in everything happening around her.

Family background
Growing up
During the war
Post-war
Glossary

Family background

My ancestors, both on my mother's and my father's side, are Sephardi Jews. After the persecutions of the Jews in Spain, they spread all over Europe [see Expulsion of the Jews from Spain] 1. I didn't know my grandparents as they died early. I only have vague memories of my paternal grandfather, Betzalel Delareya, and of my maternal one, Benjamin Mamon. I don't remember anything specific about their looks or their surroundings.

My father, Yako Delareya, born in 1885, was orphaned very young. My grandfather's second wife, Rashel Delareya, chased away all his children from his first marriage. She gave birth to three kids. My father told us that he used to clean the ships in Ruse for which he got a salary. One of his brothers was a peddler and the other one was a cutter-tailor in an underwear studio. One of his sisters was a worker and the other one a seller. I don't remember anything particular about them. They all left for Israel. We had hardly any contact with them. Now they are all gone. My father's kin is from Lom and Vidin, whereas my mother's is from Sofia.

I don't remember anything about my maternal grandparents. My mother, Rebecca Delareya, nee Mamon, was born in 1904. She had four sisters and four brothers. They all took care of each other. One of my mother's brothers owned a café and the other one was a clothes' seller. I only remember that one of them was called Solomon, but I don't know which one. Her sisters were housewives. They spoke mostly Ladino and Bulgarian. My mother's kin had a house on Slivnitsa Blvd. My mother's eldest brother inherited the property from his father and compensated his siblings financially.

Unfortunately I don't know how my father and my mother actually met. After the events of 1923 2, in which my father took part, he returned to Lom - I don't know where from - with my mother, whom he was already married to. They settled in the village of Vodniantsi. With his little savings my father bought a small shop - a grocery-haberdashery. My mother told me that they were quite well off at that time. Because of his active participation in the events of 1923, my father was arrested. Then some villagers robbed both the household and the grocery. All that my mother could save was an apron, which I inherited after she and my sister, Eliza Eshkenazi, nee Delareya, moved to Israel. This apron became a real treasure for our family.

When my father was arrested, my mother was eight months pregnant and my brother, Betzalel Delareya, born in 1921, was two years old. My father was sent from Vodniantsi to Lom, Belogradchik and Mihailovgrad. There the prisoners were forced to dig their own graves. The witnesses said that after the execution the grave 'boiled' like a dunghill piled up with half- dead bodies. Luckily my father was late for the execution. Some of the Vodniantsi villagers helped my mother with some food and alcohol. My mother took my brother and accompanied her husband, shackled in chains, and the two horsemen convoying him. They stopped quite often on the road using my mother's pregnancy as an excuse, though, actually, while having a rest, the two guards ate the food and drank the alcohol. Thus my mother helped them to be delayed and instead of arriving in Mihailovgrad in the evening - the grave was dug the whole night and the prisoners were shot and buried in the morning - they only arrived around 11am the next morning.

The policemen swore at my father and sent him to Vidin to put him on trial there. I have no idea how many years he was given but because of different amnesties he was released after two years from Baba Vida Fortress 3. When my mother went to visit him there, she passed my brother over the fence. The other prisoners held him and took from his clothes letters especially hidden there for them. At that time, while my father was in prison, my mother had a stillborn child. Then she began working as a servant cleaning other people's houses. She survived thanks to food charity and the little money she was given for the housework. Thus she was able to provide for my brother and bring food to my father in prison.

When my father was freed, the family first tried to stay at my grandfather's, as he had some kind of property and could shelter them, but my father's stepmother chased them away. Then they came to Sofia and settled on the grounds of the Arat tobacco factory. My father started working there as a courier, while my mother worked as a cleaner. By destiny's whim I later worked as a doctor in the very same tobacco factory for 14-15 years. While my mother was pregnant with me, she once fell down when carrying buckets full of coals. Therefore I was born with a trauma, moreover we both had a scar on the hip.

Growing up

Before the internment we used to live in Odrin Street where we had two rooms with a small kitchen. The conditions were still extremely miserable. Because of the constant arrests my father's status got worse and worse, and therefore every house we used to rent was poorer than the previous one. I have lived in places full of sweat and mould. We never had our own property. My father's income was very insufficient and every time we had to change our lodging to a poorer one at a lower rent. All these living estates were in the third region - the Jewish quarter in Slivnitsa Blvd., Odrin Street, Tri ushi Street, Morava Street. [What is called the third region today was the poorest quarter in Sofia when Lea was a child.]

My mother's family was more bound up with Jewish traditions than my father's. My mother and her elder brother valued the traditions very much. They were religious. My mother wasn't a fanatic, yet we observed Rosh Hashanah, Pesach and other holidays and traditions. When we had to keep the fast [on Yom Kippur], my mother did it for real, while my father only pretended to. We accompanied my mother to the synagogue and then my father brought us back telling us, 'Let's eat cakes now before your mother returns.' At that time we used to sell ice cream, which was prepared with egg-whites. My mother used to make the cakes from the yolks.

It was a tradition for the Mamons, my mother's family, to gather every Saturday evening at their eldest brother's place. There were only two rooms. Every Saturday evening they used to take the beds out, arranged the tables next to each other and gathered the whole kin. My uncle, as far as I remember that was Solomon, was the wealthiest of them. He was good-hearted and generous, though his wife controlled and restricted him. Once on Fruitas 4 he lied to his wife saying that he had had a dream in which God told him to give everyone 20 leva. So he lined us, the children, up in a queue. Each family had two to three children, so we were around 25 kids. We opened our bags and he gave each of us fruits and a 20 leva silver coin. It was such great joy for us, as we were very poor. I still have that coin, while my sister spent hers immediately. I was very angry with her for doing so.

The children of our family were on friendly terms with each other. We never quarreled. It's a pity that these traditions are gradually falling into oblivion in the Jewish community nowadays. Every Friday came Topuz Bozadjiata, the quarter's boza carrier, who was Armenian, and poured boza 5 into large vessels. He used to give the adults shots of mastika 6 as a bonus.

After the internment, when we came back impoverished and hungry, my mother's brother Solomon sheltered us in a building, next to the house he had inherited from our grandfather. A Bulgarian woman, a prostitute, lived next-door at that time. Only a small corridor separated us from the room where she used to accept men. We were just kids and that was my mother's worst nightmare.

There were five of us inhabiting one room. We slept in a plank-bed. There was a soldier's stretcher, in which my father was bedridden, lying sick after the labor camp, and where he actually died. The rest of us slept on the plank-bed. The toilet and the running water were in the yard. Our room was two meters long and three meters wide. We had a case, which served both as a kitchen cupboard and a wardrobe. I found a small table in the yard, left by some other family, and I fixed it so that I could study there.

I have a very embarrassing memory of that house. I attended evening classes at the time and my parents' work was extremely exhausting. Once I was studying mathematics by the light of a bedside lamp as I was going to have my term exams. My father warned me several times that no one could go asleep because of me. Finally he got so angry that he broke the lamp. I sheltered myself in the corridor, continuing my work by candlelight. Anyway, I managed. I was very ambitious.

My brother was six years older than me, whereas my sister Eliza was four years younger. They were both very clever, good-hearted and intelligent, yet they didn't show any particular desire to continue their education. My father practically beat my brother to make him study. My sister wasn't very inspired with the idea of a further education either. After our father's death in 1947 I begged her to stay in Bulgaria and take a degree. I was already working and I could provide for her. She didn't want to. She got married and went to Israel.

I was a lousy student till the 4th grade of elementary school. I almost failed. It was thanks to the birth of Simeon II [see Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, Simeon] 7 that I was able to pass from the 3rd to the 4th grade. [Editor's note: On the occasion of the birth of Simeon II, son of the tsar, heir to the crown, all students in Bulgaria got excellent marks at the end of the school year.] I studied in the Jewish junior high school till the 3rd grade. We studied the usual subjects plus Jewish history. We studied everything in Bulgarian. Only the Torah did we read and write in Hebrew, and we also had Hebrew as a separate school subject.

All teachers loved us very much. There was only one teacher, who hated the poor children. She used to call us 'lousy kids'. Her daughter was in our class. That teacher used to tell us, 'My daughter will become somebody, whereas you will always be nothing but servants.' Years passed, I had already become a doctor, when I met her daughter in Israel and she complained that she was very badly off.

The education in this school was excellent; I took a turn for the better and became an advanced student very quickly. I didn't have any special talents, yet I achieved everything through enormous efforts, constant visits to the library and sleepless nights. I don't remember anything special about my classmates. I was quite ambitious and the informal leader of the class, so to speak.

When I finished the 3rd grade, I cried a lot that I couldn't go any further. In order to calm me, my brother, who was already working as an apprentice in a shoe shop, bought me a watch on the occasion of my successful graduation. I still remember the trademark - 'Novolis'. I held it in my hand and stared at it all night long. On the third day of my vacation my mother took me to the atelier of the tailor Zvancharova. She and Pelagia Vidinska were popular tailors in Sofia with big private studios. Zvancharova hired me as an apprentice at a very low wage. I was begging to be allowed to deliver clothes to houses because of the tips. I decided that I would be able to provide for myself and enrolled in the Maria Louisa secondary school for tailors. It was right opposite the Law Courts. I was expelled already in the second week, as I couldn't pay my tuition. I remained a simple tailor.

In the 1st grade of the Jewish junior high school I became a member of Hashomer Hatzair 8. Hashomer Hatzair aimed at the establishment of socialism in Israel. It was a 'progressive' organization with a strong national aspect. I organized a very big company there. We often visited the Aura community center on Opalchenska and Klementina Streets, which was regularly attended by Jews and 'progressive' Bulgarians. [Lea tends to call people with left-wing political convictions progressive. This expression was quite common in socialist times.] Mois Autiel noticed us there. We didn't know then that he was the UYW 9 responsible for our sector. Mois was making propaganda for this organization, which was different from Hashomer Hatzair but which had the same goal, the establishment of the socialist order. Our class was divided into two groups, 15 people each, both supporters of the UYW. Anyway, only two or three people - including me - were selected to become UYW members. Mois was the person in charge of our group. I became a member of the UYW on 5th May 1942, right after I finished the 3rd grade of the Jewish junior high school.

During the war

My future husband, Leon Beraha, was redirected to our group as a more experienced UYW member. At the age of 15 I carried out my first action with him, and at 16 we decided to be a couple. For three or four years we were only holding hands. In Iuchbunar 10 there was a conspiracy, a traitor within our organization and a lot of members were imprisoned. My future husband was also arrested. He simulated that he was an imbecile, he was released as an underdeveloped person and was acquitted for lack of evidence.

His second arrest was a more serious one. In fascist times [in the late 1930s - early 1940s] he worked as an electrician. At that time the newspapers wrote about the Totleben conspiracy. The gang of Totleben bandits was raging, etc. My husband and his brother electrified a hospital. In an outhouse behind that hospital they hid two outlaws. Actually the conspiracy was called this way because the hospital was on Totleben Street in Sofia. During a police action a shooting started. Anyway, the authorities never proved that it was my husband who had shot. Yet, all this resulted in his internment to the forced labor camp 11 in Dupnitsa. They dug trenches there. By a 'happy' coincidence my family was also interned to Dupnitsa.

I took part in the protest on 24th May 1943 12 against the internment of Jews. Now they don't admit that the protest was under the leadership of the Communist Party, but we took part in it and we did and do know who led us. Heading the group were the communist leaders of Hashomer Hatzair - Vulka Goranova, Beti Danon - and our rabbi who wasn't a communist but he was a 'progressive' and conscientious man. The smallest children were also walking in front. We, the older ones, were carrying posters and chanting slogans. We had almost reached the Geshev pharmacy between Strandja and Father Paissiy Streets, where horsemen and legionaries [see Bulgarian Legions] 13 were waiting for us, when a big fight started.

They beat us up badly. We hid in the yards like ants. I lost my father and my little sister. I hid in the yard of an aunt of mine, though I held my peace because I didn't want her to be harmed in case of an eventual arrest. My father and my sister went home. When my father saw that I hadn't come home, he went out to search for me. I was two crossings away from home and I saw how they arrested him. I didn't dare to shout out because if they had arrested me too, there wouldn't have been anyone left to take care of my mother and the family. From the police station they took him straight to Somovit labor camp. They interned him without clothes, without food...

When he came back, he told us horrible things. Their daily food ration was 50 grams of bread only. A compatriot of ours, a Zionist and very hostile to 'progressive' people, slandered my father on being a communist. As a result the portions of my father and some other people were shortened to the minimum. My father used to dig in the garbage for scraps of food. He ate potato peels. He was set free at the time of the Bagrianov government. [This government was in office between 1 June - 2 September 1944.] He looked like death warmed up. He didn't even have enough energy to climb the stairs and was shouting from below. My mother and I carried him to the first floor. That was already in Sofia, after the internment.

When I was interned to Dupnitsa with my mother and sister, my brother was already in a labor camp. We had no contact with him whatsoever. We only knew that he was somewhere around Simitli. We didn't receive any letters. We were worried because he had a duodenal ulcer. He told us later that trains carrying Jews from Aegean Thrace and Macedonia to the concentration camps passed by them. Once they heard from a horse wagon people begging for water. My brother and some others jumped up with their cups, but the warders beat them up badly. Finally they poured cold water on him, in order to bring him back to consciousness. Nevertheless, they made him work after that. He was set free on 9th September 1944 14, like all the others.

Although the state policy was pro-fascist, generally there wasn't an anti- Semitic mood among the Bulgarian people. On the contrary, I have a very positive memory. When the internment announcement came, we immediately took out everything for sale because we didn't have any money. My father was in Somovit, my brother was in a labor camp. I was alone, only with my mother and my sister. At that time I had already started working. With my first salary I had bought a wallet as a present for my brother and a beautiful water pitcher for the whole family. We sold those as well. People gathered. A man liked the pitcher and bought it. When I handed it to him, I began to cry. When he realized that it had been bought with my first salary, he told me to keep both the money and the pitcher. Naturally I gave it to him, as we couldn't take it with us during the internment. Yet his gesture moved me deeply. The money we succeeded to collect only lasted us a very short time.

In Dupnitsa they took us in a convoy from the railway station to the school gym. We were more than a hundred people, and they separated us in families. I found a job in the candy factory. I stole sweets for my friends in the labor camps. Then we moved to some rich Jews, who accepted us under the condition that I worked as a maid for them. They had three boys aged one to two, three to four, and five to six years. I used to work there so much that my child-like hands became completely rough. My mother was already advanced in years, she was constantly ill and wasn't able to work. I was the breadwinner.

My sister was crying for food all the time. The landlords were well-to-do traders in Dupnitsa. They imported curds, butter, etc. as black marketers. My sister cried because she also wanted such things. My mother and I used to 'gag' her and hid her in the little square behind the door, which the rich Jewess had given to us. In this one square meter space we put the sack, the blankets and the clothes that we had brought from Sofia. We used to lie down crosswise like in a sty. The mattress was too short and our bare feet touched the floor.

Post-war

We returned from Dupnitsa to Sofia after the fall of fascism [after the communist takeover on 9th September 1944]. From 9th September 1944 till 1945-46 we lived in the house my mother's brother had on Slivnitsa Blvd.

After 9th September 1944 everything changed. First, there was a great tragedy - my father was ill. The misery was beyond description. Yet, the Jewish community established a tailor's cooperative named Liberation. I began to work there. I attached sleeves using a sewing machine. I also attended high school evening classes. I studied from 6 to 10 in the evening. From 10pm to 7am I worked - I only took night shifts. The cooperative was in the bazaar opposite the Law Courts and I used to walk to Odrin and Positano Streets, where we lived. We often changed our address and everywhere we lived under terrible conditions; the whole family in one room.

By 1947 I was alone. My future husband was a student in the USSR. My father died in my arms. My sister Eliza got married and left for Israel. In the beginning their family was quite badly off. Her husband used to work in a garage. Later the owner, who was childless, adopted him. Now my nephew, their son, owns the garage. My sister was a housewife all her life. My brother Betzalel and his family followed my sister at my mother's request. She wanted him to go there and help my sister. He was a stevedore in Jaffa. His work was physically very hard - he pulled boats to the riverside. As a result of this he fell seriously ill and died in 1966.

In 1949 my mother also left for Israel. It was very hard for me. In order to escape from loneliness, I took part in two consecutive brigades 15. There I fell and broke my hand. I was falsely diagnosed with bone tuberculosis. Later it turned out that I had simple sciatica. From one sanatorium to another I finally reached the Workers' Academy 16 in Varna, where I finished my high school education. There I was put into a plaster cast and during the whole year they took me to exams on a stretcher. I gained a lot of weight and weighed some 90 kilos as a result of total immobilization. I was lucky that my husband visited me. I told him that I didn't intend to marry him because of my illness. Upon his return to Moscow my husband took my tests to the Institute for Bone and Joint Tuberculosis. The professor there concluded that I have no tuberculosis whatsoever. According to him it was more likely to be rheumatism or something of that kind. And above all he recommended that I should start moving. I stood up and fell immediately.

My wonderful, loving mother-in-law realized that I was suffering and came to see me. I lived with her for two years, before marring my husband. We lived in one room - my father-in-law, my mother-in-law, my husband's brother and his wife. We lived very well. My mother-in-law was an extraordinary woman. She still wouldn't believe that I had tuberculosis. She used to hide good food from the others. She took me out into the yard behind the house and made a huge effort to persuade me that I had to eat for the sake of my husband, who was so good-hearted and whom I loved. I loved her very much and later took care of her. She also died in my arms.

I graduated in medicine and worked for five years in the hospital in Pernik. I became a chief of the professional diseases' sector. I traveled around the mines. In 1964 I came to Sofia with my husband. First I worked in the hospital at the Ministry of the Interior. Then I applied for a job in the 4th city hospital. Out of 35 requests, only mine was accepted. I worked under the hardest system. I was in charge of seven beds in the hospital till 11am, then I was in the polyclinics until 1pm, in the tobacco factory until 2pm and finally I had house-calls. In addition I was working on my specialty degree and meanwhile I had already given birth to a child, my daughter Irina [Santurdjiyan, nee Beraha, born in 1966]. In Pernik and in Sofia we lived in lodgings. In Sofia we first lived in a small room in Lozenets quarter. Later we moved to our current apartment.

My husband came back from the USSR in 1952, after graduating in mine engineering. We married on a Sunday. On Monday he 'disappeared' - he was appointed at the mine in Pernik and got very busy. My husband was extremely modest, industrious and honest. He climbed the career ladder all by himself, without any intercessions. The newspapers wrote about him. I have a large file of press clippings. First he worked as a mining engineer in Pernik, then he was advanced to the post of mine director. Then he was in charge of the industry in Pernik - the Crystal Plant, the mines, the Lenin State Metallurgy Plant, the Cement Plant, etc. As a next step, he was promoted to a job at the Council of Ministers because they needed someone who was simultaneously a mining engineer and an economist.

In 1966 Stanko Todorov 17 decided to send him to Italy because meanwhile my husband had graduated from the diplomats' school in the USSR. He also worked for the Council for Mutual Economical Support [the economic organization of the former socialist countries] as well as for UNESCO. He was regularly sent to its head office in Geneva. My husband was the ideal example that in communist times there wasn't any anti-Semitism in Bulgaria. As he was a diplomat for 28 years and traveled a lot, I used to accompany him. In Italy he was the Bulgarian embassy's first secretary. In Angola he was a minister plenipotentiary, and in Cambodia ambassador. Finally, when he got very ill, he was sent to Geneva to defend Bulgaria with regard to the Revival Process 18.

At that time Bulgaria still wasn't a UNO member. It was only a candidate. In Geneva there were moods for excluding the country from the group of the UNO candidates for membership because of the forced name change of the Bulgarian Turks, which was carried out at that time. My husband gave a speech on this topic that was loudly applauded and Bulgaria wasn't excluded from the group. When my husband came home, he told me that he had held a very strong trump in his hands - his passport, where it was written that he was a Jew. He was ready to take it out of his pocket at any moment and ask them how could the non-Bulgarians possibly be oppressed, if there was written proof in the official documents of a Bulgarian diplomat that his nationality was Jewish. Principally my husband didn't approve with the name change of the Bulgarian Turks, but in that case he had to defend Bulgaria before the whole world. The nation wasn't supposed to suffer because of the mistakes of a few people. My husband died of cancer shortly after the Geneva conference.

I have visited my relatives in Israel more than ten times. It was only difficult in the first years because then even letters weren't allowed. [Editor's note: Visiting Israel was not a problem for Lea's family, as they were quite high-standing in the hierarchy of the Bulgarian society of the time.] I was among the first people who visited Israel. I wasn't able to 'warn' my relatives about my arrival. They were at the cinema when it was announced that Jews from Bulgaria had arrived at the airport. They heard my name and immediately rushed to meet me. My mother hadn't seen me for seven years and she fainted at the airport.

Regarding the Israeli wars, I am definitely on Israel's side. At first I was more inclined to understand the Arabs, but it is no longer like that. I think they are intolerant in terms of politics and reaching of agreements. Maybe it's simply that a new leader should come and replace Arafat. It's a pity that young people from both sides die or become disabled for life.

My daughter Lora graduated from the College for Dental Mechanics. She is married to an Armenian and has a little daughter, Lora Edmond. She doesn't identify herself as a Jew and doesn't observe the traditions. She isn't affiliated with the Jewish community. I myself am a complete atheist, yet I buy matzah for Pesach and prepare burlikus 19. I visit the synagogue on Yom Kippur, but just to join our community. I don't pray there, I'm just very sensitive when it comes to the Jewish community.

I was the person in charge of the Health club at the Jewish community in the 1990s. I receive a monthly financial support of 20 leva. In winter they also give us some money for heating. If it wasn't for Joint 20, I would have become a beggar-doctor.

Glossary

Zoya Lerman
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Bronia Borodianskaya

My name is Zoya Naumovna Lerman. I was born in Kiev in 1934. My mother's
name is Maria Arkadievna Lerman (maiden name - Gilik) and my father's name
is Naum Borisovich Lerman. My mother was born in 1913. I have no
information about her place of birth. My father was born in 1910. I have no
information about his place of birth.

My family history 
Growing up 
During the War 
After the War 

My family history

I will begin my story from my father's family. My father lost his parents
at an early age. There were two sisters and five brothers in the family and
my father was the youngest child. Boris Lerman, my father's father, died
and my father's mother disappeared. Yes, she just disappeared. She left and
never came back. Nobody knew what happened to her. David, born in 1902, was
the oldest. Their second son was Michael, born in 1904. Then came Semyon,
born in 1906, and Jacob, born in 1908. My father Naum, born in 1910, was
the youngest. I don't remember their sisters' dates of birth. I never met
my father's sisters and know them only from what my father told me. One of
them was called Rachil and another was Bertha. My father told me that Aunt
Rachil was so beautiful that people couldn't help but stare at her in the
street. On September 29, 1941 Rachil and her 4-year old daughter Zinochka
(also a beauty like her mother) perished in the Babi Yar. Aunt Bertha was
also killed there, but her son Boris, a teenaged boy, escaped execution.
When Germans shot his family he rolled down the slopes of the ravine. They
kept shooting but miraculously the bullets didn't hit him. Later, he
crawled out of this pit clutching at some roots and vegetation. Then he got
out of Babi Yar and left Kiev. In the 1950s my mother and father
corresponded with him. He lived in Kuibyshev then. Once he even sent us a
picture of himself and his two children. But then they somehow lost touch
with my family.

When my father was 13 or 14 years old, the children lost their parents. At
that time David, the older brother, lived in Baku. He had a job as a tailor
and he took my father to live with him. Later, my father went to some trade
school (I don't know exactly what kind of school). All five brothers were
educated, but I can't give you a more detailed description. In the late
1920s all five brothers were living in Kiev and I know more about their
life at this period. They all had families, except Uncle Semyon who lived
his life as a single man.

Uncle David was a tailor. He had a wife (I don't remember her name) and a
daughter named Bronia. Uncle Syoma was in charge of an automatic telephone
station which still exists. Uncle Yasha worked at the radio sound recording
office for many years, for almost his whole life. I can't remember what
Uncle Misha did for a living, but I have wonderful memories of his wife
Margarita Evgenievna and his son Dusik.

During WWII my father and his brothers, except for Uncle David who was
beyond recruitment age, went to the front. I will first tell you about my
father's brothers. Misha and his son Dusik went to the front and perished
there. Dusik was killed during the first days of the war. Margarita
Yevgenievna lost her loved ones and went to work at the military college.
The cadets were about the same age as her son, and she worked there for the
rest of her life.

Uncle Semyon worked at the bridge construction team throughout the war. He
survived and returned to his previous job after he returned from the war.
He died at age 93 in 1999. I took care of him during the last years of his
life. Uncle Yasha also went throughout the war and returned. After
suffering shell-shock he was left with a hearing problem. That is all I
know about my father's family. He never told anything else about their
life.

My mother's parents lived in Ivankov. My grandmother on my mother's side,
Leia (Elizaveta) Abramovna Gilik (maiden name Ofman), lost her mother when
she was still a child. My grandmother was born in the late 1880's in
Ivankov. There were many Jews living in Ivankov. But this was not a Jewish
city. Jews and Russians and Ukrainians got along very well and helped each
other. They were good neighbors. There was a synagogue in Ivankov but I had
never been there.

Late in the first decade of the 1900s, my grandmother married Arkadiy
Gilik. I know very little about my grandfather, only what my grandmother
told me. My grandfather was born in 1886 and died in 1926, long before I
was born. I can remember his face dimly from the photo of him that I saw
once. My grandmother told me that he was great at woodcarving. His carving
decorated cupboards and pieces of furniture, etc. My grandmother described
his patterns in every detail to me. He used to carve pheasants or fruit and
climbing vines on the doors. My grandfather died quite young, when he was
about 40 years old. He may have died from cholera or some other disease.

My grandfather and grandmother were religious people. They went to
synagogue, although I don't know how often. They always celebrated the
Sabbath and traditional Jewish holidays at home.
My grandparents had six children: two sons and four daughters. After my
grandfather died my grandmother had to raise their children alone. I knew
both of the brothers, Uncle Grisha and Uncle Motl, and the sisters,
Evgenia, Faina and Raissa. My grandmother never remarried.

The family moved to Kiev around 1918 when my mother was five years old.
Here's how it happened. The gang of Struk, a leader of one of the many
White Guard gangs in Ukraine, came to Ivankov. And this Struk sent his
bandits to steal my grandmother's cow. But my grandmother had to feed her
children. So, she went to see this Struk and told him to give back her cow.
Struk told her to go home and said that everything would be there. My
grandfather came home and told her the story to her neighbor. He was an
older and more experienced Jewish man. He said Leia, are you out of your
mind? They will come and kill you and your children. He advised the two
older boys to go hide somewhere (I don't remember where) through the woods
and brought a horse and a cart to my grandmother in which to hide her
daughters. She piled some hay and rags on top of them and their neighbor
rode them out of Ivankov. He was a nice man. It's a pity that I don't know
his name. He rescued the whole family. He took them to the station and told
them to try and get to Kiev. And my grandmother took her children to Kiev.
I don't know how she managed. She settled down at 12, Mikhailovskaya
Street, Kiev in an apartment on the ground floor. It was very low and the
windows were not higher than one meter above the ground. We lived our whole
life in that apartment. There was one big room facing the street. There was
another room with no windows and a smaller room with one window facing the
yard. Uncle Motl lived in this room for some time after the war. There was
a long hallway in this apartment with a door to the closet in the middle of
it. The hallway led to the kitchen.

When she was a young girl my grandmother was eager to study. She had no
opportunity to study because her mother died, and as my grandmother was the
oldest of the children, she had to take care of all her brothers and
sisters. She sometimes came near the school. She looked and listened. She
learned Russian when she was 60. She learned to read and write and she
wrote her daughters in Lvov and she also wrote my father and mother. My
grandmother's dream was to provide higher education to her children. She
needed money to implement this dream. So, she began to bake rolls at home
and sold them to earn money. She opened one window, made a sort of a
counter on the windowsill and installed a partial wall in the room. She had
very little space, just a few meters long. From this window, she was sold
the rolls that she baked. Sometimes people came at night to buy her rolls.
They were very delicious. My grandmother also made hamentashen pies
(little triangle pies with poppy seeds), strudels and pies. She managed to
educate her children. I don't know exactly what kind of education their
children got, but it was higher education. My mother completed three years
at the cinematography institute and also took a course in shorthand
writing. She became one of the best and fastest stenographers in Kiev.
I don't know how or where my parents met. They married in 1932
in a civil registration ceremony. They settled in the apartment at
Mikhailovskaya Street. Soon after their wedding, my father was summoned to
serve in the army. I believe he served in Petersburg. My mother went there
on the weekends because she missed him so much. This is what my mother told
me. My father wrote poems and dedicated them to my mother. He also painted
very well when he was young.

My mother became an administrator with the Philharmonic. I don't know where
my father worked before the war. My mother's brothers and sisters all lived
in Kiev, except Raissa. Her sisters were already married. Aunt Fania
(Faina) and her husband lived in Kreschatik. She was a seamstress in a
shop. Aunt Zhenia and her family also lived nearby. Aunt Zhenia, she worked
at the Regional Association of Consumers. Aunt Raissa married a military
man and followed him to Moscow. Several years later, her husband was
promoted to the rank of general. Aunt Raya followed him everywhere, as he
had to move from one location to another. I cannot say anything about my
mother's brothers.

Growing up

I was born in 1934. My first memories are associated with
my grandmother. My parents were at work and my grandmother was bringing me
up. I remember the fairy tales that she told me when I was small. She told
me stories from the Bible, but she told them in a fairy tale manner. I
remember her telling me how people were going across a desert and could not
find shelter. A woman gave them some flour and they got some water to make
flat bread. They put these flat breads on their shoulders to dry in the
sun. This was the food of these people. My grandmother also told me that
these travelers came to a gate that was guarded by two lions. They somehow
put these two lions to sleep and managed to go through the gate. Much later
I learned that this was the story about Pesach (editor's note: we are not
sure where the lions fit into the story of Pesach). My grandmother was a
very wise and a very kind person. She resolved all problems in our family
and my mother and father always listened to her advice.

We had neighbors in our apartment. We made a separate entrance door and
walled up the door that connected our rooms and thus had an apartment of
our own. All our neighbors liked and respected my grandmother. All our
neighbors that had a common yard were like one big family. They were all of
different nationalities but they were so close that in summer they rested
on their camp beds in the yard at night. I can't remember how many Jewish
families there were; I didn't quite pay attention to the nationality.
However, I remember one family: Lidia, the mother, her children and her
grandchildren. Lidia was the same age as my grandmother. Later this family
emigrated to Israel. My grandmother always advised those who addressed her
on various matters. She also helped her neighbors to resolve their
problems. She always knew how to save money; she could give advice on
medical treatment or on the upbringing of children. She was a very wise
woman.

My grandmother always made her own clothes and the clothes for her
daughters and me. Before the war my grandmother took me to the ballet
school at the Opera House. I was in the junior group. She made me beautiful
gauze tutus. The war in 1941 put an end to it all.

I often heard Yiddish at home. When my grandmother and my mother wanted to
be secretive, they spoke Yiddish. My grandmother wore long, dark gowns. She
always wore a shawl. Her favorite was a white silk shawl. She always wore
it when she went to pray. My grandmother knew all the Jewish traditions and
holidays, but she observed them all. She was afraid that somebody would
report her to the authorities and that her family would suffer. There were
always big festive dinners on big holidays. My grandmother was a great
cook. I can't remember whether she cooked only traditional Jewish food, but
I know that her cooking was delicious. She wasn't very religious. She went
to synagogue only on holidays. I can't remember whether she prayed at
home. I don't think she had time for that. She was always busy doing
something. She worked from morning till night on weekdays and on Saturday.
I don't remember her ever taking a rest. She had to earn money to provide
for her family. In those years it was not safe to go to synagogue. Those
were the horrific 1930's in the period of struggle against religion. There
was only one synagogue left of the three hundred that existed in Kiev
before the revolution of 1917. Cult structures were removed; rabbis,
Orthodox and Roman Catholic priests disappeared behind KGB (State security
Committee) walls. My grandmother was afraid of it all. I remember one
night. I was in my lower secondary school then. My grandmother got ready to
leave the house and said that she would be back in the morning. I asked her
where she was going, but she told me that I was not supposed to know. Much
later she started telling me that she went to pray. I asked her to take me
with her, but my grandmother would not agree to take me with her. She
explained to me that I would not understand, and that there was a plain
room where people came to pray, and that there was nothing else in this
room.

My grandmother did all the housekeeping. Our family income was very small
but my grandmother managed to cook many delicacies. I remember her
delicious strudels. She always treated our neighbors to her pies. Of
course, my grandmother made apple-poppy seed pies and strudels with jam for
birthdays.

I remember that our apartment was beautiful before the war. My father liked
beautiful antiques. He decorated a very beautiful Christmas tree when I was
small. It might have been a real Christmas tree, or a pine tree, whatever
was available at the market. The Christmas tree was decorated to celebrate
New Year's Eve. I also had beautiful toys. We had a beautiful screen in our
big room. My little bed was behind it. My father and mother slept on the
sofa. I still have our table that we had before the war.

During the War

I remember the beginning of the Great Patriotic War well. It started at
night. My parents woke me up. I saw my father sitting on the sofa ready to
put on his high boots. I asked him "Papa, where are you going?" but he
smiled and didn't say a word. He only said "You will be taken to the
basement." In the next building the basements were very deep and Uncle
Syoma carried me there. My father had already left. There were many
children and older people in that basement. I also remember that there was
only one small lamp turned on when my father was getting ready. I remember
the air raids and the sound of the airplane engines. Later my grandmother
took us out of Kiev. We left on a truck. It was an open vehicle with a
tarpaulin covering it on the rear. My cousin Arkadiy, Aunt Fania's son, was
standing near the edge of the truck body. We four girls (me and my cousins
Sveta, Stella and Natochka), were sitting in the middle to keep safe. We
didn't have time to pack, so we hardly had any clothes with us. The truck
drove us to a village and then went back. My grandmother put us to bed
under a cart and wrapped us up in something to keep warm. We stayed
overnight there. Then we traveled by railroad on some kind of platforms.
They were loaded with steel slabs all covered in black oil (mazut) and we
sat on those slabs. Then again we slept on the ground somewhere and then
got back on trains. We changed trains five or six times and the trip took
us about a month. My grandmother was taking us to Perm, where her older
daughter Raissa lived. Her husband, a general, was in the service there,
and Aunt Raya sent us a message to get to her place immediately.

In Perm we settled down in the clay barracks. It was very long. I think
there were about ten doors on one side of the barracks and about the same
number on another. At the very end there was a little room and we children
stayed there.

Raya and her husband had a small apartment. Aunt Fania and her children,
Natochka and Arkadiy, lived with her. Aunt Fania made men's underwear for
the front. She was spending day and night at the sewing machine. Aunt
Fania's husband was executed in Kiev by the Germans at the very beginning
of the war.

My mother worked as a stenographer through all these years and she had
contacts with Moscow for some reason. But she told me about it many years
after the war. We rarely saw her. My grandmother did all housekeeping
chores and looked after the children.

It was 30 degrees below zero in Perm. My cousin Svetochka's hands became
frostbitten. My own hands and my feet were so frostbitten that I did not
feel any pain when my grandmother and my neighbors pricked them with pins.
We were so miserably dressed. I remember the snow was knee deep. It was
cold in the barracks, less cold than outside, but still very cold.

There was not enough food. Once a local woman gave us a carton full of
peas. But these peas were so old that my grandmother had to beat them with
a hammer and soak them in water for a long time before she could cook them.
Those peas lasted for some time. Later, when my mother went to work she
received one pound of sugar that she had to divide between all of us. My
cousins were the first to eat a lump of sugar, each sipping their boiling
water. And I put my little bit into the cup and sat there waiting. They all
pushed me, telling me to sip because it would melt! My grandmother also
got potato and beet peels, ground them up and made something like pancakes.
In spring we also picked up ashberries.

All the tenants of the barracks supported each other. They all had to share
one common kitchen, but there were no conflicts.

All of us lived in one room. Planks were put between two iron beds and my
grandmother covered them with whatever she had for us to sleep on
overnight.

There were also things to enjoy. I remember an opera theater
during the evacuation in Perm. There was a wonderful ballet group; there
were world-reknowned ballerinas Ulanova and Palladina. Our friend's mother
worked in this theater. She took us backstage from where we watched all the
ballet performances.

I also remember that our grandmother took us girls--only Stella
didn't go--to a music teacher. We were auditioned and the teacher told me
and little Alla to stay. I don't remember the teacher's name or her
nationality. My grandmother took me to music classes for quite a while. I
had classes every night. Sometimes when I had a class later at night I
felt sleepy but I still enjoyed playing music.

Now I will tell you about my father. At the beginning of the war my mother
received a notification stating that my father was missing. My mother tore
up this paper and said, He is alive! I don't believe this! He is alive! And
she was right, he returned after all.

Here is what happened. In case of war, my father had to report to a
certain office, which he did. There he received false documents bearing a
typical Russian name--Nikolai Vassilievich Svistun. He was sent to a
partisan unit. I can't remember all details. Well, at first he was in this
partisan unit. Later, he was sent to the town of Chipovichi. My father was
to support communications between two partisan units in the woods on both
sides of Chipovichi. My father had to think of a profession he could
perform when visited by the high-ranking German military, so my father
became a barber. He lived with a family of Baptists in Chipovichi. There
was a father and two sons in this family. But since they were Baptists,
they did not have to serve in the army. A local Komsomol member reported to
the Gestapo that my father was a partisan and a Jew. I don't know how he
found out. Perhaps he knew my father before the war, or maybe somebody who
worked with my father told him. This informer was a Komsomol member, so
nobody suspected that he was working for the Germans and that he was a
traitor. The Gestapo captured my father and tortured him. The members of
the Baptist family my father had been living with came to the Gestapo every
day to demand that they release my father. The mother of the family brought
food to him every day. The Gestapo military threatened to shoot her and her
sons, but she answered that they wouldn't do anything to them or to my
father. And then the Germans let my father go. But they told him that if
they caught him again they would shoot him. After the war these Baptists
often visited us.

My father was on the edge of death again when the Germans
wanted to check on whether he was a Jew. My father was circumcised
according to the tradition, and an inspection would probably have resulted
in my father's execution or his being sent to a concentration camp. But the
doctor who worked in Chipovichi took my father to the barracks for typhoid
patients, which the Germans wouldn't enter. She saved his life. Her name
was Nina but I don't know her last name. She also visited us after the war.
She was a slim middle-aged woman.

People saved my father's life many times. Once, a policeman came and told
my father that at three o'clock the Germans would come to arrest him. My
father didn't know whether this was true or just a provocation so that they
could follow him to his hiding place, and so he was afraid to go to the
partisans in the woods. Instead, he stayed put and the Germans captured him
and took him to a place of execution. They shot my father and a whole group
of other people. My father lay under the bodies of the dead. He was only
slightly wounded, but was covered in the blood of the others who were
murdered. Later, my father crawled out of the pit. Another time, he was
again captured and was about to be shot. It was afternoon. There was bright
sunshine. There were two military escorts, and four people who were to be
killed. My father and the three others were taken to a sandy spot. The
military escorts gave them spades and told them to dig their own graves.
While they were digging, the oldest of the intended victims told the others
to throw sand into their guards' eyes and run. The moment the escort sat
down for a cigarette break, they threw sand into their eyes and ran away,
all in different directions. My father told me that he didn't know if the
rest of the escapees survived. He was running and bullets were whistling
around him. He ran for a long time and then fell, exhausted, into a pit. He
woke up in the morning and didn't know where to go. He returned to the
partisans in the woods and stayed with them until November 1943, until the
end of occupation. He didn't work as a barber in that town any more.

My mother always believed that my father was alive, and she told all his
friends that he was still living. In 1943 Semyon, my father's brother who
worked in a bridge construction team, somehow learned that my father was
alive. He wrote to us in Perm about it. We received a card from him. He
wrote in small letters, but in the middle of it he wrote "Nyuma lives!" in
big letters. I was just learning to read and read these two words to my
Grandma. My grandmother clasped her hands and ran into the corridor. She
knocked on our neighbors' doors shouting "Nyuma is alive! Nyuma is alive!"
When my mother came home from work my grandmother declared, "You know,
Manechka, Nyuma is alive!" and my mother replied "Yes, I knew that he was
alive." In 1944 we received letters from my father and looked forward to
his coming back. He demobilized from the army in 1946 and returned home. My
father worked as a barber after the war. He worked at the central barber's
shop.

After the War

At the beginning of 1944 my grandmother took us all to Kiev. Aunt Raissa
and her husband stayed in Perm and later they moved to Moscow. I would like
to tell you about my cousins who were in the evacuation with me. They were
very dear to me. Stella (maiden name Feldman), the daughter of my mother's
sister Evgenia, was educated at the Institute of Literature. She married a
Russian doctor named Victor Averin. Victor worked at the maternity home.
Although it was an ordinary district hospital, all high officials brought
their wives to Victor. He worked so hard day and night, that it resulted in
the severe disease of his legs. He couldn't work any more, and he was in
despair. Stella decided to take him to America. Victor lived for two more
years and then died. He didn't reach the age of 60. Their son Peter lives
and works in the USA.

Natochka Miliavskaya (married name - Roiter), the daughter of my mother's
sister Faina, lived in Kiev almost all her life. She worked as Chief of a
shop at the knitwear factory. Her son, Boris Krasnov, a theatrical artist,
moved to Moscow. He is popular in Russia and abroad. He works for the most
famous performers. He often gets job offers from foreign companies.
Natochka and her husband moved to join their son in Moscow. She sometimes
visits us in Kiev.

Svetlana Feldman, Evgenia's daughter, studied at the mathematics and
Physics Department of Kiev University. She was married and worked as a
teacher of Physics and mathematics at school. Her son married, and his
wife's family decided to move to Israel. Svetochka didn't want to go but
she was afraid to remain here alone. So, she left, with her son's family in
the 1970's to live in Israel. Later, they moved to the USA, but we never
heard from then after that. I have no information about what they did for a
living there, or how they lived.

Allochka Lev (married name - Uhlina), Raissa's daughter, lived in Moscow.
She learned Italian, French and German languages. She works as
translator/interpreter.

I don't remember any details of our return from evacuation. We returned to
our former apartment in Mikhailovskaya Street. We were lucky that it was
not occupied. Although it was almost empty, there was only one chair left.
My father was offered another apartment but he said he preferred to live in
his old apartment. We often had our parents' acquaintances staying with us
when they returned and found their houses in ruins. They slept on the
floor, it was as simple as that. After we returned to Kiev my mother was
offered the position of stenographer at the Ministry of Culture.

In 1944 I went to school. I was admitted to the 3rd grade. It was a Russian
school for boys and girls. We had a wonderful teacher, a very intelligent
person. I studied only two years at this school. There were quite a few
Jewish children at this school. There was no anti-Semitism at school. We
didn't have a bell at school. There was a rail and they banged on it when
the lesson was over. Our teacher, Anna Romanovna, always let me go some
time before the end of the class, and I went and banged on this rail. Later
Anna Romanovna paid attention to my drawings. I was in the 4th grade when
she asked me to help senior students to make a wall newspaper. I was to
help them draw Lenin. The senior children brought me a book with a
portrait of Lenin and I made a rather big portrait of him for their
newspaper. I also paint pictures for Anna Romanovna for her classes. She
told me that I had to go to Kiev Art School. My mother and I went to this
school. Its deputy Director looked through my pictures and I was admitted
at this school.

There were up to 10 children in a class at the art school. Of course, my
favorite subject was drawing. But I was fond of other subjects too. Our
French teacher, Louise Edmond, came from France. She always had her hair
done so beautifully. My French was good and I was all right in mathematics.

I became a pioneer and then a Komsomol member at the art school. But we
were not required to be involved in any political activities; we didn't
even have a political information class. Creativity was of the utmost
significance at this school, and the main evaluation criteria were based on
talent and humanity. Therefore my pioneer and Komsomol years passed by
almost unnoticed. Children from other Ukrainian towns studied at the art
school. I can't remember whether there were Jewish children at this school.
We took no notice whatsoever of our nationality; that is why I can't
remember. I met my best friends at this school. One is Ukrainian and
another is Russian. We still see each other every now and then.

I have very dim memories of the period of persecution of the
cosmopolites in 1953. There were no discussions or any meetings at school
related to this subject. My parents didn't have any discussions of this
subject at home either, at least in my presence. But I remember the
"doctors' case." My parents talked about it at home. Of course, nobody in
our family believed that these doctors were guilty. I think Stalin's death
saved many lives. We didn't have any meetings at school when Stalin died.
The only thing I remember was a crepe flag on our building. Then I heard
that Stalin died. None of us felt any sorrow or grief in this regard.

My parents and my grandmother were happy to hear that Israel was
established in 1948. My father often told me about the people who put so
much effort into turning a desert into a blooming oasis. We admired them.
But we never considered emigration to that country.

My father could draw, and he was happy that I studied at the art school. He
began a collection of books on art. He was saving money to buy these books.
When he had a day off he always went to bookstores to get a couple of
books. We all loved to read. He would always bring me an interesting book,
and later, he would always have one for my husband as well. This collection
of books that I have is my father's. My mother always, when I was pupil,
had to tell me to go to bed in the evening, but I still waited up until
everybody else went to sleep to continue my reading.

My grandmother always helped me with my studies at art school. I had to
draw many portraits, and my grandmother never refused to pose for me.

My grandmother didn't go to synagogue after the war. She could hardly walk
so far. I don't remember her praying at home. My grandmother died in
October 1960. It was a big tragedy for me. My grandmother had been with me
since I was a baby. It was very hard for me to learn to live my life
without her.

After finishing school in 1953, I wanted to continue my studies in Riga,
but my mother convinced me to enter an art institute in Kiev. I had no
trouble passing my entrance exams. Sergei Alexeevich Grigoriev, director of
the Institute, often came by our school. He knew me and selected me and
three other pupils to become students at his institute. Then came the day
when they posted the lists of students that were admitted, but my name was
not there. About a week after that, Sergei Alexeevich called me and asked
me to come immediately. I replied that I wouldn't come, because my name
was not on the list. Sergei Alexeevich called me several times and sent
messengers to me, but I still didn't go. Then he sent two of my close
friends to drag me there if necessary. I went there and he explained that
he had to admit two students and that this was the only way for them to get
in. He also told me that he had submitted a request to Moscow authorities
to approve my admission as an additional student. Their approval was issued
in a week's time after our meeting, but I was so hurt that I didn't attend
classes for another month.

I met my husband Yuriy Lutskevich at school. He came from Kirovograd where
his family lived. I don't remember who his father was, but his mother was a
pianist at the town Philharmonic. He had an older sister named Nina. Yuriy
and I are the same age, both were born in 1934. Yuriy is not a Jew, but
this was of no significance.

In Kirovograd, Yura was acquainted with an artist who became his teacher,
and later gave him some money to go to study in Kiev. Yura came to the 10th
grade in our school. We met and got married when we were 3rd year students
at the Institute. We often went to concerts together. We both loved
symphonic music. Also, Yura was very fond of fishing. He took a boat and
sailed far away to a lake because there were few lakes in the vicinity. I used to
meet him when he was coming back home. Once, I remember, he brought back a
backpack full of big pikes. He shared them with his friends and our
neighbors.

I was a graduate when our son Alexandr was born. There was too little space
in our apartment for all of us. I was assigned to work at school and I
received a one-room apartment from this school. Yura also worked. I was
raising our son and kept working. We worked at school at first and then at
the Art Institute. But soon we quit teaching, as we both took to creative
work. The authorities provided us with an art shop and my son spent a lot
of his time there when he grew older. Of course, he took to drawing as
well. He graduated from the Art school in Kiev and then studied at the Art
Institute. He had several exhibitions. He worked in Denmark and then,
recently, in London. He painted landscapes and portraits. He often goes on
tours. Alexandr speaks fluent English and a little bit of Danish and
German.  My son is married to a Jew, and they have a son named
Zhenechka who goes to primary school. He is 8 years old. He doesn't want to
draw yet. He liked to draw when he was younger, and we have kept some of
his paintings from that time.

My parents continued working until they were very old. My father was a
barber and my mother was a stenographer. My mother had many students and
they have very warm memories of her. My father died in 1982 and my mother
died in 1983.

In 2001 my husband died. It was a tragedy for me. I haven't recovered from
it yet.

I knew about anti-Semitism in the Soviet Union, but I never faced
any. All the people I knew treated me nicely. Perhaps, because the people
in my surroundings consisted of educated and intelligent people, artists
and sculptors etc.

I am still working. I have exhibitions. Many of my pictures have been sold
abroad. Some of them I gave away as presents. I recently got an offer to
work in Germany and then organize an exhibition of my pictures there. I
lived there for over two months. I had some of my works with me, and I
painted while I lived there. The exhibition was held at the palace where
one of the Russian tsars once resided. It was beautiful. Sometimes I go to
the house of artists in the outskirts of Moscow where I work for 2 or 3
months of the year. I have many friends there. My work is very important
for me. I haven't traveled much. I've only been in Poland and France, but I
hope I will have an opportunity to visit other countries.

But now I find time to study Jewish history and religion, as well as Jewish
traditions. I get more and more interested in these studies. I visited
Israel recently. I liked it there very much. But one can live a life and be
creative only where one was born. Many things are possible now thanks to
Hesed and the Jewish Community Center. I used to go there with my friend,
but her physical condition is worse and she cannot do it any more. I attend
lectures and meetings. I have new friends and we often celebrate Jewish
holidays. I read Jewish newspapers and magazines. There are so many
interesting things around. I feel that by gaining all this knowledge I'm
getting closer to my grandmother. She was the first to open this striking
world to me.
 

Rifka Vostrel
Zagreb
Croatia
Interviewer: Silvia Heim
Date of interview: February 2003

A friendly, tiny elderly woman welcomes me in her room.

From the very first moment it is clear that Rifka Vostrel is a very open and approachable person.

We connect immediately and the interview takes place in a very pleasant atmosphere.

Rifka is very fluent in her stories, and her spirits are wide awake as she speaks and recalls her past.

I am very pleased and honored that I have had the chance to meet Rifka to learn so much about our history through her stories.

• My family background
• Growing up
• During the War
• Post-war
• Glossary

• My family background

Both my paternal and maternal grandparents are from Sarajevo, Bosnia. Unfortunately, I don't know much about my great-grandparents, but I believe they also came from Sarajevo. The families were large on both sides. My father told me that my grandmother, his mother, had sixteen children, but only six of them were still alive when World War II started, and then they too perished, were killed in the Holocaust.

My paternal grandfather's name was Avram Altarac. He was born in the 1860s and a plumber by profession. He did all kinds of installation work and also owned a little shop on Bascscarssija 1 Street, where he worked alone. It's a long street, very famous in Sarajevo and known as a market place; all kinds of craftsmen used to have shops there.

My grandfather was one of those craftsmen and sold all kinds of products made of sheet metal in his shop. It was my grandfather who passed on the trade to his family. On my father's side everybody was a craftsman. They were plumbers, traders or innkeepers, and my father was a barber. The women in the family were mostly housewives.

Jews in Sarajevo were mostly known as tradesmen and craftsmen. There were no Jewish quarters, but there was a Jewish school called Maldar. Life in Sarajevo was very active and the relations between people were very good. National minorities were friends and socialized, but marriages between them were very rare and mostly not approved by the families.

My grandfather was married to Belja Altarac, nee Atijas, born in the 1860s. They had a nice Jewish wedding. Everybody used to call my grandmother Bea. She was a housewife and took care of their six children; one of them was my father. My grandparents were around eighty years old when in 1941 they were taken along with other family members to a death camp and killed. For neither of them, I know exactly where and when they were killed.

My paternal grandparents were religious. They kept the Jewish traditions. They celebrated every holiday, and that's how my father learnt how to pray and read in Hebrew. Grandfather often attended services. They observed Sabbath and the kashrut as best they could.

We visited them very often, especially during the holidays. I'll never forget when my grandfather recited the Kiddush. I remember it so vividly because he never drank; he was an outstanding non-drinker. Between themselves my grandparents used to speak Ladino.

There were no mixed marriages in the family for a long time. It couldn't have happened that someone of their family was married to a non-Jew at the time. Later, it did happen. My father's cousin, Erna Altarac, was the first one to marry a non-Jew. He was a Russian emigrant and the family wasn't very happy about it.

There was another cousin, who married an Orthodox Serb, and she wasn't very welcome in her family home afterwards either. My sister and me struggled and fought for our right to freely choose our husbands and not be married off to someone. It wasn't an intentional revolt against our parents; it just happened that we fell in love with non-Jews.

The environment and surrounding had an impact on most of the Sephardi Jews from Bosnia. My grandfather was wearing pes [Muslim covering for the head], a little bit modified, while my grandmother was wearing tukada [covering for the head that only Sephardi women wore]. I remember that these tukadas were different for married and non-married women.

My grandparents' house was in the old part of Sarajevo city. They lived in a very modest house with a little courtyard. They didn't have much money and thus took care of the housekeeping themselves, without the help of servants or maids. After we moved to Split we didn't see them very often, only during the holidays when we visited them and when the whole family got together.

My grandparents' eldest son was Mose Altarac. He worked as an innkeeper and was married to Estera. They had two children: Jozsi and Blanka. Jozsi was the only one of them to survive the Holocaust; he later died in Israel. Blanka and her parents were killed in World War II.

My father's second- oldest brother was Izrael Altarac. He worked as a tradesman. He was married to Hana and they had two children: Avram and Moric. Moric was my uncle's child from his first marriage and was killed during World War II.

Avram, mostly called Avramcic [little Avram] is still alive. He lives in Israel, has two daughters and five grandchildren. Isidor Altarac, my father's third brother, worked as a tradesman. His wife's maiden name was Flora Finci. She died after World War II.

They had two daughters: Simha and Belja. Simha is still alive and lives in Sarajevo. She has two daughters who live in Israel. I think she has a grandchild or maybe even more than one. Unfortunately, Belja didn't survive the war; she and her father were killed.

Estera Altarac was one of my father's sisters. She was married to a certain Mr. Pardo. They had two daughters: Flora and Rena. All of them were taken away and killed somewhere during the war. My second aunt was called Regina Altarac. She was married to Mr. Gaon. They didn't have children.

Aunt Regina had more luck than the others. She was interned in Vela Luka on the Island of Korchula. She was allowed to move without a permission by the Italian authorities, and from her stories we found out that the situation wasn't too bad there. They didn't have much food, but they were never hungry.

My father used to tell me that he had two more sisters, Sara and Rikica, after whom I was named, but they died before the war and I don't know anything about them.

My maternal grandparents also came from Sarajevo. I don't remember much of my grandfather, but I do remember my 'nona' [grandmother], that's how I and my sister Lea, who was named after her, used to call her. My nona Lea Atijas, nee Abinun, was married to Avram Naftali Atijas, my grandfather, who died young of tuberculosis.

My grandmother Lea was a housewife. Hers is a sad story: she was very young when she became a widow, never remarried, and supported her children on her own. She was very poor. In order to support her children she had to work in other people's houses. Once, my sister Lea asked her, 'How come you are illiterate?', and she said, 'Every time I wanted to go to school, a holiday would approach!'

Apart from being humorous, she was very diligent and known to be very good at her job. She made all kinds of noodles and taught other women how to make them. She used to say, 'Do it like this...', as she was cutting the noodles. That's how she practically supported her family.

I remember how nona Lea saved her life by running away: From Sarajevo to Mostar she traveled under the false name of Aisha Muslich, dressed in Muslim clothes. How terrible this must have been for a 60-year-old woman! While sitting in the train, waiting for the ticket-collector to come and check the tickets, she forgot her new name. What now? Ustasha 2 men will come, look at her ticket, ask her name and she won't know it!

While she was sitting there, she felt like she knew the man right opposite her from somewhere. And yes, he indeed was a Jew, and he looked at her as if he knew her, too. Full of fear, she gave him permission to read her pass and remind her of her new name. 'Aisha Muslich, Aisha Muslich, Aisha Muslich', she repeated silently to herself in order not to forget her new name.

In Mostar, a Muslim woman waited for her and took her to her uncle who was already there. My grandmother took off her Muslim clothes and became Saveta Kojo, a Serb. Under that name she joined us in Split. Soon after her came my uncle with his family, but Italians interned them to the Island of Brac and then to the Island of Rab 3.

My nona Lea lived to the age of 96. She died in 1978, long after my mother, my father and my uncle. Unfortunately, there was nobody to take care of her after my mother's death in 1968. In the end she could hardly move, was completely blind and had to be put in a Jewish old-age home.

My grandparents had three children: Naftali Buki Atijas - he was the first- born son and it was a Sephardi custom to call all first-born sons Buki, whereas first-born daughters were called Bukica. Naftali was a tailor. He even had his own shop, in which my mother worked when she lived in Sarajevo.

During World War II he was in Mostar, Split and on the Island of Rab. Luckily, he survived. He died after the war. My mother Rosa, or Rahela in Yiddish, was born in 1908. Regina Atijas, my mother's sister, was married to Moric Moshe Albahari. He was a prisoner-of-war. She was a milliner. During the war she and her son Albert, also called Albi, were with us.

My father was called Leon Altarac; officially Juda. He worked as a barber in Sarajevo. When we moved to Split in 1934, he worked with a master in a famous barber's shop for a long time. Later he became a nonkulo [attendant in a synagogue]. His duty was to take care of the synagogue, the arrangement of the 'sfarim' [prayer books] and tefillin. When he became a nonculo, we moved to the apartment of the Jewish Community which was in the same building where the temple was.

• Growing up

My parents had two children: I was born on 12th October 1929 in Sarajevo and my sister Lea, or Lilika, was born on 10th April 1939 in Split. She is the only one in our family who wasn't born in Sarajevo. My mother was a dressmaker by profession, but she worked as a housewife. And of course she also took care of my sister and me.

Our mother raised us in a traditional way. We observed the holidays, but not in a religious way. Every holiday was celebrated: For Pesach we had the seder and ate all the traditional food. There was always fish on Friday evenings.

My parents didn't demand of us to go to the synagogue or to pray; maybe that's a pity because therefore we don't know much about the traditions. Neither my mother nor my father influenced our opinions. They gave us the opportunity to choose and decide for ourselves how much we wanted to know about Judaism.

At home we spoke Croatian, but sometimes, when our parents didn't want us to understand something, they spoke Ladino, and they did especially so with Grandmother Lea. She lived with us and was a great help to my mother.

My sister and me had no duties or obligations except school. Most of the day we spent playing with our friends. Because we lived in the building of the Jewish community, we had the opportunity to participate in and attend all the cultural, religious and sports events. 'Jarden' was a Jewish Cultural Association, where all the Jews gathered. We went there very often. We liked it very much and most of our friends were from this group.

• During the War

Before and during World War II we lived in Split. Looking back, I have to admit that Italians were relatively gentle to us, Jews, especially in comparison to the Ustashas and the Germans [see Italian occupation of Yugoslavia] 4. The Jews of Split didn't have to wear a yellow star, but they were restricted in their personal lives.

Some of the shops had a sign stating: 'E vietato gli regresso agli Ebrei' [It is forbidden for Jews to enter]. But nobody stuck to it, on the contrary, there were many good people who wanted to help us and indeed did help us. Unfortunately, I didn't go to school because it was forbidden for Jews [see anti-Jewish laws in Croatia] 5, but I finished the 2nd grade of high school [today the 6th grade of elementary school] privately, in a school that was organized by the Jewish Community of Split.

It was in June 1942 when a group of young fascists came to Split. At that time Split was under Italian occupation, but these were local fascists. I remember it like it happened yesterday. I was thirteen years old. I was swimming and playing with my friends on the beach, when I realized it was time to leave in order to be home in time for Sabbath.

On my way home, when I reached the center of the old city, I saw many people standing and staring at something. It was the place where today's synagogue is located and where the old one used to be. We lived in the same building.

All of a sudden I heard my friend Ines' voice: 'Rikica, Rikica, come quickly, something is happening!' In a shock, I looked to the windows of my apartment and saw angry and wild fascists throwing out everything they could find. Ines grabbed my hand and took me to her place. She wasn't Jewish but she lived in the same street, in a building right opposite mine.

I still remember how scared I was, and that her mother tried to calm me down. The hardest thing was when Ines' brother came home and told us that my father had been wounded and taken away by the fascists. Luckily, it turned out that wasn't the truth.

Until late into the night robbery and animal-like behavior was taking place. Everything was burnt and destroyed in front of the citizens in the center of the old city. I tried to fall asleep, but couldn't. Around 4am I looked out of my window, and what did I see: my father in a nearby apartment.

With his finger on his lips he indicated me to be quiet. Somehow, with gestures, he explained to me that my mother and Lea were in a safe place. That was when I finally calmed down and managed to fall asleep. We were left without anything, but at least our lives had been spared. Next day we met at the National Square, the same place where our possessions had been burnt and destroyed the night before.

After some time we found an apartment with the help of friends. My family stayed in Split in that modest home, and I went to Vela Luka. My aunt Regina and her son Albert were there. She lived there like all the other refugees. The Jews were interned there by the Italians and lived in the homes of the locals.

I stayed with my aunt for a few days and then returned to Split to my family. In 1942 I became a member of a Zionist cell. I was very young and angry with the world and everything that was happening so I desperately wanted to do something to stop it.

After I joined the Zionist cell, my Jewish friend, who was also a member, introduced me to Bosa. Bosa was a strong, happy and very friendly girl. She told me stories about the partisans, illegal work in order to help the partisans, Comrade Tito 6 and the Communist Party.

I was hoping to become one of them, but unfortunately she didn't accept me, but told me to become a member of the SKOJ 7 instead. At first I was sad, but later I found out what a great honor it was for a young girl like me to become a member of the SKOJ.

In 1943 after the Italian capitulation 8, my whole family and I joined the partisans. The Jews who stayed in Split and didn't want to leave were killed by the Ustashas and the Germans. Because I was in the youth organization and doing illegal work, I knew that something would happen. In the youth organization we were very well organized.

We were divided into groups of several girls each. From time to time we used to meet, but every time in a different apartment. There we read literature that was printed on unoccupied territory ['Omladinski borac' - 'Youth Fighter'], exchanged experiences about books and which books should be read - we mostly read Soviet literature - and finally addressed concrete problems.

Once, I was obligated to distribute flyers - I don't recall what they were about, but I remember, in one house that I went to, the door was open. It was rude of me to just enter, walk in and leave the flyer on a small wardrobe. Who knows if it was or wasn't a pleasant surprise for the family.

There is one more incident I remember. I had a meeting with a girl from my group in her apartment. Fifty meters before her house, a comrade, who had seen that the officials had got into her apartment, stopped me and told me that they were searching her home.

She didn't know I was going to that particular apartment, but seeing me in the neighborhood she had thought of it and prevented me of getting into a dangerous situation. If I remember correctly, the friend I was going to see was even imprisoned for a short while.

When I came home I said to my parents, 'I'm leaving. I'm going to join the partisans and that's it!' They didn't say a word; they were speechless. I collected my things and went to my friend Hana Montiljo's house, to take her with me. When I came to her home, her mother asked me, 'Where is your family?' I replied, 'They can't go.

They have my little sister Lea and nona with them, it's too hard for them.' She told me, 'Go back home and take them with you!' When I came back home, they were still speechless, so I just told them, 'Get ready, we don't have much time!' They started to pack. My dear nona took some kind of a bundle and put a few of her belongings inside. My father also took some things and packed them in a makeshift suitcase.

We went from Split to the village of Zrnovnica on foot along with a large number of people. It was a mix of people, not only Jews but also others who were afraid of the Ustashas and the Germans. There were also Italian soldiers; since Italy had capitulated, it was better for them to be with us than to be caught by the Germans.

At one point, in Dubrava, I separated from my parents and joined a partisan group. We were passing through the passage called 'Hot Stone' in order to get to Dugopolje. I remember that I even got a small gun which, of course, I didn't know how to use. We were sneaking into Dugopolje in order to find out who was there, whether it was the Ustashas or the Germans; we didn't know.

We managed to move freely in Dugopolje because nobody was there. In Dugopolje the partisans started to form new groups, and I very much wanted to be included. In the end they didn't want children to join because we were too young, and so they sent a group of us back to Dubrava. Dubrava was a reception shelter where all the refugees were gathered and organized to be sent to different places.

When I came back, my parents weren't there anymore. They had been evacuated to the village of Srinjine. I just went to visit them and held a lecture for the youth when they opened a youth house there. I told them about my illegal work in Split. Afterwards I came back to Dubrava where I carried out the duties of a political youth worker.

After some time we had to leave Dubrava because it was the time of the 6th offensive. I was evacuated to one side, my parents and Lea to the other. I, along with my group, went from Dubrava to Jesenice where the boats, which we called trabakuli, were waiting for us [trabacullo is an Italian expression for fishing boat].

They took us to the Island of Brac [one of the Italian internment camps] 9 first and after three months we were transferred to the Island of Vis [another Italian internment camp]. On Brac I was a member of the Kotar Committee for United Youth and took care of the pioneers. The Germans were following us so we had to leave Vis and were evacuated to Italy. All this time I had no idea where my family was.

In Italy many people were waiting for us; actually it was a partisan refugee camp in Bari. There I met a familiar face and she told me that my parents were in Carbonara camp, also in Italy. I wrote them a letter and told them that I was in Bari and that I didn't know where I was going to go. I was following the refugee groups.

As soon as they received the letter my parents joined me in Bari. They came with my aunt Regina and her son Albert, who had met up with my parents in Lastovo when they took a break on their way to Italy.

My sister recalls a story our father used to tell her when she was younger. It was about the communists in their boat. When they were on their way to Italy, riding in those trabakuli, in which there were many wounded people, firing started. Nobody knew why 'our people' [the partisans] would shoot at other partisans.

Later, we found out that we had the old password and that's why they thought we were enemies. The trabakuli had left the port before the password was changed. Later, our father practically saved the captain's life: He went to court and testified as a witness at the trial that nobody had known about the change of passwords.

The most interesting part is that the moment the firing started all the communists began to pray to their God. In that moment you give up everything and everybody, just to stay alive and rescue yourself. The shooting didn't last long, luckily, and everything turned out fine in the end.

When my family was finally reunited, we continued on our way to El-Shatt in Egypt. As my father had told us, El-Shatt had 27,042 refugees, out of which 0.9 percent were Jews. There were refugees from all over Croatia there. There were some from Belgrade and Sarajevo.

All the refugees who wanted to leave Italian territory went to Egypt, America or Brazil. We didn't have enough money to leave for America so we went to Egypt instead. Looking back, it was good that we couldn't afford it; if we had left, our lives would have been completely different. Life in the camp in El-Shatt was very well organized. Every camper had his/her own duty. I was responsible for taking care of the shelters. I was also very active in the youth organization.

My father worked as a barber and was a member of a religious section; he was responsible for all the Jews who were there. He made sure they were buried in the proper religious way. Unfortunately, many children died because they weren't used to the hot climate. We lived in a kind of commune. The sound of a bell announced breakfast, tea, lunch and supper time.

We were never hungry there. We had so much food that sometimes we didn't even go to eat with everybody but stayed in our tent and my mother prepared the meals for us. We received clothes from the Red Cross, but skilful hands made dresses and skirts from nightdresses.

In El-Shatt I finished my 3rd grade of high school. Every Sabbath my father held a service in one part of our tent. We celebrated every holiday there. That's how we lived in El-Shatt for 14 months.

We found out that the war was over in the night of 9th May 1945. We all came out of our tents and celebrated the end of the war. We were very excited and impatient to return to Yugoslavia. The return was organized in groups. We came back in July 1945. A new life, and lifestyle, reconstruction, hope and enthusiasm in a free homeland was about to start.

• Post-war

After the war, in 1948, we returned to Split, but I went to Zagreb to work in the Central Youth Committee. Because I was still very young, my parents felt that they should be close to me. My father moved to Zagreb in 1949 whereas my mom, Lea and my grandmother only came in 1950.

At first, my father worked in a Jewish old-age home, which was housed in today's Community Center. He was working as a caretaker and later, when the old-age home was moved from the community building to another building, he became an employee with the Jewish community.

After Dr. Gruner, who was a cantor, died, my father took over his duties. He became a 'non professional' cantor because he wasn't educated in schools. On the contrary, everything he knew he had learnt in his parents' home. In the community, every holiday was celebrated and it was my father who led the ceremonies.

Sometimes even rabbis from abroad came and celebrated holidays with us. Since we are Sephardim my father read the prayers in Ladino. He didn't only lead the holiday celebrations but did everything else that was required, such as burials and the like.

When Rabbi Menahem Romano from Sarajevo died, he used to go there and help out in the community. Unfortunately, my parents died very young. My mother died when she was only 60 years old and my father at the age of 69. They were buried in the Jewish cemetery in Zagreb.

Jewish life after the war was very active. It's not true that communism forbade us to attend services or celebrate holidays. Many people came to the community to socialize.

I got married to Eduard Vostrel in the late 1940s. I don't want to talk about my husband's life before our wedding. He isn't Jewish. He worked in politics and in diplomatic services, and because of that we lived in many places in the world: in Chicago, USA, where he was a consul for four years, in Stockholm and in Goteborg, Sweden, for another four years each.

We have two sons: Rajko and Emil. Rajko was born in Zagreb in 1950. He works as a professor, and has a daughter, Iskra. Emil was born in Belgrade in 1954. He studied law and has a son, Vjekoslav.

My sister worked as chemical technician and is retired by now. She is divorced, but has a son named Srecko, born in 1963, and also a grandson, Tomislav.

Jewish religion and religions in general don't have an impact on our daily lives. My sister and I are both atheists. We are aware of our roots and are very proud of them, but don't practice religion. Our children and grandchildren know that they have Jewish mothers and grandmothers, but how they live is their own choice. We told them the truth about their origin and they can do with that whatever they want to!

• Glossary:

Isaac Rozenfain
Kishinev
Moldova
Interviewer: Nathalia Fomina
Date of interview: September, November 2004

Isaac Rozenfain is a lean man of medium height with fine features. He has a moustache and combs his hair back, giving way to his large forehead. He wears glasses with obscure glass. When talking he looks at you intently, but at times he seems to drift off into his own world, recalling something deeply personal, and is in no hurry to share what is on his mind. Isaac and I had a meeting at the Jewish municipal library. Isaac is a very nice, intelligent man with impeccable manners and a sense of dignity. However, he is rather taciturn and reserved: there are subjects he never discusses, subjects that he determined for himself based on his sad experiences in life. Therefore, he often used phrases such as 'I don't know' or 'I don't remember', particularly when it came to politics.

My family background
Growing up
During the War
Post-war
Glossary

My family background

Unfortunately, I know nothing about my father's parents. I didn't know them and never saw photographs of them either. All I know is that my paternal grandfather's name was Moisey Rozenfain and he lived in Nevel [a district town in Vitebsk province, 980 km from Kishinev]. We lived in Bessarabia 1, and Nevel belonged to the USSR [during the Soviet regime Nevel was in Pskov region, today Russia]"and my father's relatives never traveled to Kishinev. My father may have spoken about his parents, when I was small, but I can't remember anything. I have no doubts that my grandfather and grandmother were religious since my father was given a traditional Jewish education. I don't know how many sisters or brothers my father had. I met only one of his brothers, who visited us in Nevel after the Great Patriotic War 2. I have a photo taken on this occasion, but unfortunately I cannot remember my uncle's name.

My father, Wolf Rozenfain, was born in Nevel in 1888. He must have had education in addition to cheder since he knew Hebrew. They didn't learn Hebrew properly in cheder, and my father knew Hebrew to such an extent, that he simply couldn't just have learned it in cheder. He also spoke fluent Russian. My father must have moved to Kishinev before 1918, before Bessarabia was annexed to Romania [see Annexation of Bessarabia to Romania] 3. I don't know what my father was doing then. My parents met in Kishinev, but I don't know any details in this regard. My parents got married in 1920.

My maternal grandfather, Israel Kesselman, came from some place near Kiev. I don't know my grandmother's name. My grandfather and grandmother died before I was born. I know that they had to leave their hometown near Kiev due to the resettlement of Jews within the [Jewish] Pale of Settlement 4. The family moved to the village of Eskipolos [today Glubokoye, Ukraine] near Tatarbunar in Bessarabia province [650 km from Kiev].

I remember that my mother's sister Mania Shusterman [nee Kesselman] lived in Eskipolos. Aunt Mania was the oldest of the siblings. She was a housewife. I don't remember her husband. Her son Abram, my cousin brother, was about 20 years older than me and always patronized me. Abram was a Revisionist Zionist [see Revisionist Zionism] 5, and a rather adamant one. He was one of the leaders of Betar 6 in Bessarabia, on an official basis: he was paid for his work; he was an employee of Betar. He was an engineer by vocation. He passed his tests extramurally in Paris. Abram had a hearing problem, which was the result of lightning that struck their house in Eskipolos in his childhood. It killed Abram's sister, whose name I can't remember. She had two children: Izia and Nelia, my nephew and niece.

Mama also had two brothers, whose names I don't remember. One of them lived in Galaz in Romania. He died before World War II. The second brother moved to South America at the beginning of the century. He lived in Buenos Aires. I remember that my parents corresponded with him. My uncle had a big family: a son, Izia, named after grandfather Israel Kesselman, and three daughters: Sarita, Dorita and Berthidalia, in the local manner. Their Jewish names were Sarah, Dora and Bertha. I never met them, but I remember their rather unusual names. My uncle must have been a wealthy man. I was supposed to move to America to continue my education after finishing the technical school. Later, my family decided I should continue my education in Civitavecchia near Rome [Italy] and my uncle was to pay for it. My uncle died after the war, in the late 1950s, early 1960s. I didn't correspond with my cousins. [The interviewee is referring to the fact that it was dangerous to keep in touch with relatives abroad] 7.

My mother, Fania Rozenfain, nee Kesselman, was born near Kiev in 1890. She lived in Tatarbunari before she moved to Kishinev. She must have finished a school of 'assistant doctors' there. [Editor's note: In Russian the term 'assistant doctor' (from the German 'Feldscher') is the equivalent of medical nurse. As a rule men were feldschers and women were nurses.] Mama got married at the age of almost 30, and I guess hers was a prearranged marriage.

Growing up

After the wedding my parents settled down in a one-storied house with a verandah on Alexandrovskaya Street [today Stefan cel Mare Street] in Kishinev, where I was born on 28th October 1921. I remember this house very well. My mother showed it to me when I grew older. Later we moved to 29, Kupecheskaya Street [today Negruzzi Street]. We always rented two-bedroom apartments, but I don't remember the details of this apartment. From Kupecheskaya we moved to Mikhailovskaya on the corner of Sadovaya Street.

My father was the director of the Jewish elementary school of the Society of Sale Clerks for Cooperation [founded in 1886] on Irinopolskaya Street. He taught Hebrew and mathematics at school. My father was short and wore glasses. When he returned home from work he enjoyed reading Jewish and Russian newspapers. My father subscribed to the Jewish paper 'Undzere Zeit' [Yiddish for 'Our Time']. We had a collection of books in Hebrew and Russian at home. However, the books in Hebrew were philosophical works and fiction rather than religious ones. We spoke Russian at home. Mama and Papa occasionally spoke Yiddish, but my mother's Yiddish was much poorer than my father's. Mama worked as an assistant doctor in a private clinic. She knew no Romanian and for this reason couldn't find a job in a state-run clinic. Mama was tall and stately. She had thick, long hair that she wore in plaits crowning her head. Mama's friend Manechka, a Jewish woman and a morphine- addict, who also worked in this clinic, had an affair with the chief doctor. For some reason I remember this, though I was just six or seven years old then. We occasionally had guests, but I don't remember any other of my parents' friends.

We always had meals together at the same time. Papa sat at the head of the table. Mama laid the table. She cooked gefilte fish, chicken broth with home-made noodles, and potato pancakes [latkes]. The food was delicious. Mama was really good at cooking. Our family wasn't extremely religious. I wouldn't say that we followed all rules at Sabbath, though Papa certainly didn't work on this day. Papa went to the synagogue on holidays, but he didn't have his own seat there. I went to the synagogue with him. We celebrated Jewish holidays. I remember Easter. [Editor's note: Mr. Rozenfain speaks Russian. In Russian the words 'Pesach' and 'Paskha' (Christian term) are very similar and Russian-speaking Jews often use 'Paskha' instead of 'Pesach'.] We had special fancy crockery. Papa conducted the seder according to the rules. He reclined on cushions at the head of the table. There was no bread in the house during the holiday [mitzvah of biur chametz]. When I was five or six years old I looked for the afikoman, but I don't remember any details. They say childhood events imprint on the memory, but that's not the case with me. We had Easter celebrations till the beginning of the war, but I don't remember myself during seder, when I was in my teens.

I must have been given some money on Chanukkah [the traditional Chanukkah gelt], but I don't remember. On Purim Mama made hamantashen and fluden with honey and nuts. I also remember how we took shelakhmones to our acquaintances on Purim [mishlo'ah manot, sending of gifts to one another]. We didn't make a sukkah [at Sukkot] and neither did any of our acquaintances, so I didn't see one in my childhood.

Most of my friends were Jews, but when we moved to Mikhailovskaya Street I met Shurka Kapevar, a Russian boy, who became my very close friend. His maternal grandfather was a priest. Shurka showed me records of Shaliapin [Shaliapin, Fyodor Ivanovich (1873-1938): famous Russian bass singer], with the singer's personal dedication to Shurka's mother. When I grew older I incidentally heard that she had had an affair with Shaliapin when she was young.

My parents and I often spent our summer vacations with Aunt Mania in Eskipolos on the Black Sea firth. We went by train to Arciz [180 km from Kishinev], which took a few hours, and from there we rode for some more hours on a horse-drawn wagon. There was a lovely beach there with fine yellow sand. I enjoyed lying in the sun. I learned to swim and used to swim far into the sea and sway lying on my back on the waves. I also enjoyed spending time with my cousin Abram, whom I loved dearly. He often traveled to Kishinev on Betar business.

I went to the Jewish school where my father was director. We studied most subjects in Romanian, but we also studied Hebrew and Jewish history in Hebrew. Regretfully, I don't remember any Hebrew. After successfully finishing elementary school, I entered the Aleku Russo boys' gymnasium [named after Russo, Aleku (1781-1859), Romanian writer and essayist]. This building on the corner of Pushkin and Pirogov Streets houses one of the university faculties now. This was the only gymnasium in Kishinev, which exercised the five percent quota 8 for Jewish students. [Editor's note: as the five percent quota existed in Russia before 1917 it is possible that it also existed in some schools in Romania.] However, my father decided I should only go there - that's how good it was. Our Jewish neighbors' son, who was about three years older than me, studied there and my parents decided I should try.

There were Romanian and Russian boys in my class, but only three Jewish boys: Kryuk, Balter and I. We had very good teachers. I remember Skodigora, our teacher of mathematics. His brother taught us natural sciences. Our Romanian teacher was Usatiuk, a member of the Iron Guard 9. There were fascists in Romania at that time. Usatiuk gave me a '9' - we had marks from 1 [worst] to 10 [best] - for the Romanian language in the 2nd or 3rd grade, and this was a high mark, and he hardly ever gave such a high mark to anybody else. This was quite a surprise for me.

Once I faced the hidden antipathy of my peers. I can still remember this very well. One day in spring we played 'oina,' a Romanian ball game. Two players standing in front of each other try to strike the third player running from one to the other with a ball. I stood with my back to a window of the gymnasium. The ball broke the window, but it was obviously not my doing considering that I was standing with my back to the window. Anyway, when the janitor came by, the other boys stated unanimously that I hade done it. Besides punishment, the one to blame was to pay for the broken window. I felt like crying. This actually showed they disliked Jews in my view. We weren't allowed to speak Russian in the gymnasium. [Editor's note: The reason for this was to introduce the Romanian language publicly as well as at higher educational institutions in the formerly Russian province.] Since we often spoke Russian at home I switched to it in the gymnasium. My classmate Dolumansi often threatened, 'I will show you how to speak Russian!' By the way, he was a Gagauz 10, I'd say.

I had moderate success at the gymnasium, but I was fond of sports like everybody else. I went to play ping-pong at the gym of the Jewish sports society Maccabi 11 on Harlampievskaya Street. I also played volley-ball for the team of our gymnasium. There were competitions between the town gymnasiums for boys. They were named after Romanian and Moldovan writers: Bogdan Hasdeu [Hasdeu, Bogdan Petreceicu (1838-1907): Romanian scholar, writer, historian and essayist], Alexandru Donici [Donici, Alexandru (1806- 1865): Moldovan writer, translator, the creator of the Moldovan national fable], Eminescu 12; by the way this latter gymnasium was called Jewish in the town, as many Jewish students studied there.

The Kishinev of my youth wasn't a very big town. It had a population of about 100,000 people. [According to the all-Russian census of 1897, Kishinev had 108,483 residents, 50,237 of who were Jews.] The only three- storied building was on Alexandrovskaya Street on the corner of Kupecheskaya Street: its owner was Barbalat, who also owned a big clothes store. There was a tram running along Armianskaya, Pushkin and Alexandrovskaya Streets. One of the brightest memories of this time I have is of two dead bodies on the corner of Alexandrovskaya and Pushkin Streets, guarded by a policeman. This happened in the late 1930s, when the Iron Guards killed the Prime Minister of Romania [Armand Calinescu, Premier of Romania, was murdered in September 1939.] King Carol II 13 ordered the carrying out of demonstrative executions of leaders of the Iron Guard in big towns in Romania. In our town the spot for this was across the street from the 'Children's World' store, and people passed this location hurriedly or preferred to avoid it at all.

I loved cinema and wanted to become a film director. I often went to the Orpheum on the corner of Alexandrovskaya and Pushkin Streets, the Coliseum on Podolskaya Street, and the Odeon cinema. I didn't want to miss a single movie. However, this was a problem. We weren't really wealthy and a ticket cost 16 Lei [the price of a tram ticket was 30 Ban (0,3 Leu)], which was rather sufficient for a gymnasium student. I remember movies with Gary Cooper, Marlene Dietrich and Greta Garbo. I particularly liked step dance and never missed one movie with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.

The gymnasium students liked walking along Alexandrovskaya Street, the Broadway of our town. We walked from Gogol to Sinadinovskaya Street, on the right side of the railway station. We made acquaintances, walked and talked. This love of walking played an evil trick on me. One afternoon, when I was supposed to be in class, I was noticed by a gymnasium tutor, who was to watch over the students. I was walking with a girl and I was smoking a cigarette. I was 15 or 16 years. I was immediately expelled from the gymnasium, and my father's attempts to restore me there failed.

The family council decided that I should go to a technical school. I entered the construction technical school on the corner of Zhukovskaya and Lyovskaya Streets. My sad experience changed my attitude towards my studies and I became one of the best students in the technical school. This school was owned by a priest. Architect Merz, a German, was the best teacher. The recruitment age to the Romanian army was 20 and I didn't have to go to the army before 1940. I was born the same year as the son of Karl II, Mihay [King Michael] 14. This was supposed to release me from the army service, and also, I guess the month and the date had to coincide. I also remember the rumors that Mihay wounded his father's lover and that she was a Jew. The situation for Jews got much worse then. I remember the New Year [Christian] celebration when Antonescu 15 was the ruler. There was the threat of pogroms and the celebration was very quiet. I don't know how serious this threat really was, but the feeling of fear prevailed. I don't remember whether they introduced any anti-Jewish laws in Romania 16 at that time, but there was this kind of spirit in the air.

During the War

Perhaps for this reason we welcomed the Soviet forces, entering the town on 29th June 1940 [see Annexation of Bessarabia to the USSR] 17. People were waiting for them all night long. I stood on the corner of Armianskaya and Alexandrovskaya Streets. There were crowds of people around. At 4am the first tanks entered the town. The tank men stopped their tanks and came out hugging people. When the Soviet rule was established, teaching at the technical school continued, only the priest stopped being its owner. Our teachers stayed. They knew Russian very well and started teaching us in Russian. A few other boys and I repaired two rooms in a building to house the district Komsomol 18 committee. We plastered and whitewashed the walls. I joined the Komsomol sincerely and with all my heart. I liked the meetings, discussions and Subbotniks 19, when we planted trees.

Then wealthier people began to be deported from Kishinev. The parents of one of my mates were deported, but he was allowed to stay in the town and continue his studies. The Stalin principle of children not being responsible for their fathers was in force ['A son is not responsible for his father', I.V. Stalin, 1935]. Once, this student whose Russian was poor asked me to help him write a request to Stalin to release his parents. We were sitting in the classroom writing this letter, when the secretary of the Komsomol unit came in and asked what we were doing. I explained and he left the classroom without saying a word. Some time later I was summoned to the Komsomol committee and expelled from the Komsomol at a Komsomol meeting. Then there was the town Komsomol committee meeting that I still remember at which I was expelled. I couldn't understand why they expelled me, when I was just willing to help someone. 'How could you help an enemy of the people 20?' I had tears in my eyes. I sincerely wanted to help a person and they shut the door in my face.

The Germans attacked the USSR in 1941 and Kishinev was bombed at 4am on 22nd June. One bomb hit a radio station antenna post in a yard on the corner of Pushkin and Sadovaya Streets. At first I thought it was a practice alarm. A few days later Mama said their hospital was receiving the wounded from the front line. We lived two blocks away from the hospital, and I rushed there to help carry the patients inside. Kishinev was bombed every day at about 11am.

I finished the technical school on 24th June. The school issued interim certificates instead of diplomas because of the wartime. I got an assignment [see mandatory job assignment in the USSR] 21 to Kalarash [50 km from Kishinev]. I took a train to the town and went to the house maintenance department. There was a note on the door: 'All gone to the front.' I went back to Kishinev on a horse-drawn wagon. I arrived in the early morning. A militiaman halted me on the corner of Armianskaya and Lenin Streets. He checked my documents and let me go. This was 6th July and on the following day I was summoned to the military registry office that was forming groups of young guys to be sent to the Dnestr in the east. In Tiraspol we joined a local unit and moved up the Dnestr. My former co- students and friends Lyodik [short for Leonid] Dobrowski and Ioska [short for Iosif] Muntian and I stayed together. We crossed the Dnestr south of Dubossary. German bombers were fiercely bombing the crossing. We arrived at a German colony 22 in Odessa region where we stayed a few days. Then we joined another group from Tiraspol and moved on. On our way we mainly got food from locals.

One night, we arrived at Kirovograd [350 km from Kishinev, today Ukraine] where a restaurant was opened for us and we were given enough food to eat to our hearts' content. Then we were accommodated in the cultural center. We had enough hours of sleep for the first time in many days. On Sunday young local people came to dance in the yard. A few of us joined them. I asked a pretty girl to dance, but she refused. I asked another girl, but she refused, too. When the third girl refused to dance with me, I asked her 'Why?' and she replied, 'because you are retreating.'

The next morning we got going. For two months we were retreating from the front line. At times we took a train, but mainly we went on foot. We arrived at a kolkhoz 23 in Martynnovskiy district, Rostov region. We stayed there for a month. I went to work as assistant accountant. Throughout this time I was dreaming about joining the army. Dreaming! In October, when the front line approached, we were summoned to the military registry office and then were assigned to the army. Lyodik, Ioska and I remembered that we were Bessarabians [the Soviet commandment generally didn't conscript Bessarabians, former Romanian nationals], since we came from Tiraspol, another Soviet town, we kept silent about it; we wanted to join the army!

Ioska and I were assigned to the front line forces and Lyodik joined a construction battalion. Construction battalions constructed and repaired bridges and crossings. After the war I got to know that Ioska survived and Lyodik perished. I was sent to Armavir [today Russia]. We received uniforms: shirts, breeches, caps and helmets. We also received boots with foot wrappings that were to be wrapped around the calves, but then they slid down causing much discomfort. We received rifles and were shown how to use them. After a short training period I was assigned to an infantry regiment, mine mortar battalion, where I became number six in a mortar crew consisting of the commander, gun layer, loader and three mine carriers. A mine weighed 16 kilos: so it was heavy and for this reason three carriers were required. Some time later I was promoted to the commander of a crew since I had vocational secondary education. Our battery commanding officer was Captain Sidorov, a nice Russian guy of about 30 years of age. It may seem strange, but I have rather dim memories about my service in the front line forces. It's like all memories have been erased!

In 1942 I was wounded in my arm near Temriuk [Krasnodarskiy Krai, today Russia]. I was taken to a hospital in Anapa. Six weeks later I returned to the army forces. However, I didn't return to my unit. Instead, I was sent to a training tank regiment in Armavir where I was trained to shoot and operate a tank. I could move a tank out of the battlefield if a mechanic was wounded. All crew members were supposed to know how to do this. A tank crew consists of four members: commander, loader in the tower, a mechanic on the left and a radio operator and a gunman/radio operator on the right at the bottom of the tank. The radio operator receives orders and shots. The commander of the tank fires the tower gun. I was the loader, 'the tower commander', as tank men used to call this position. Tank units sent their representatives to pick new crew members to join front line forces and replace the ones they had lost: 'sales agents' as we called them.

I was assigned to a tank regiment near Novorossiysk. The commander of my tank, Lieutenant Omelchenko, was two or three years older than me. He had finished a tank school shortly before the war. The tank and radio operators were sergeants and I was a private: we were the same age. They were experienced tank men and had taken part in a number of battles compared to me. Omelchenko was Ukrainian and the two others were Russian. At first I noticed that the others were somewhat suspicious of me, but then they understood I was no different from them. We were in the same 'box' and we got along well. I was afraid before the first combat action, but I didn't show it so that I wouldn't give them a chance to say: 'Hey, the Jew is frightened'. I didn't notice anything during the first battle since all I did was load the shells to support non-stop shooting. I was standing and placed the shells into the breech, heard the click of an empty shell and loaded the next one. All I heard was roaring, this maddening roaring. I might have got deaf if it hadn't been for the helmet. The battle ended all of a sudden, and it all went very quiet. I don't know who won, but the Germans had gone. When we were on our way back to our original position, the manhole was up and we were getting off the tank. I heard the sound of a shot and fell.

The bullet hit me in my lower belly and passed right through my hip. I was taken to the medical battalion where they wanted to give me food, but I knew that I wasn't supposed to eat being wounded in my belly - I knew from Mama, who was a medical nurse. The doctor examining me decided he knew me. He thought I had been his neighbor in Odessa. I was taken to the rear hospital in Grozny by plane. This was a 'corn plane' [agricultural plane], as people called it, and the wounded were placed in a cradle fixture underneath the plane. I remember that the hospital accommodated in the house of culture [alternative name for cultural center], was overcrowded and the patients were even lying on the floor. I was put on a bed since I was severely wounded. A few days later I got up at night and went to the toilet. I started walking and was on my way to recovery. After the hospital I was sent to a recreation center where Shulzhenko gave a concert on the second floor. [Shulzhenko, Claudia Ivanovna (1906-1984): Soviet pop singer, whose name is associated with the start of Soviet pop singing] I went to the second floor. I can still remember the stage and Shulzhenko in a long concert gown. She sang all these popular songs and one of them was 'The blue shawl' [one of the most popular wartime songs]. There was a storm of applause!

I received my first letter from Central Asia from my girlfriend whom I had met in Kishinev before the war. Her name was Neta [Anneta]. She somehow managed to get to know my field address. Neta also gave me my parents' address. She wrote in her first letter that my parents had evacuated to Central Asia and were staying in Kokand, Uzbekistan. Mama worked as an assistant doctor and Papa was a teacher of mathematics at a local school. They wrote to me once a month. The field post service was reliable. At least, the letters made it to me wherever I was. A postman was always waited for at the front line. I don't know about censorship, but I wrote what I wanted. My parents described their life in evacuation. When Kishinev was liberated in 1944, they returned to Moldova. Neta and I corresponded, and I visited her when I returned after the war, but I was already married by then.

When I recovered I was assigned to a reserve tank regiment. I stayed there a month before I was 'purchased'. We were to line up, when 'purchasers' visited us and once I heard Kusailo saying, 'this zhyd [abusive of Jew] will never join a tank unit,' but I did, and he and I were in the same SAM [mobile artillery regiment] unit where I stayed for over a year. A mobile artillery unit is very much like a tank, but it has no circulating tower on top of it. It was a 76-mobile unit with a 76-mm mortar. This was one of the first models of mobile units. Lieutenant Chemodanov was my commanding officer. I have very nice memories about this crew and our friendship. I was wounded again and followed the same chain of events: hospital, reserve unit and then front line unit again.

In summer 1943 I joined the [Communist] Party. The admission ceremony was literally under a bush: the party meeting was conducted on a clearing in the wood. I think it was at that time that I got an offer from the special department to work for SMERSH 24. I'd rather not talk about it. Actually, there is nothing to talk about. As far as I can remember, I provoked this myself. I always said I was interested in intelligence work. I was young and must have been attracted by the adventurous side of this profession. This must have been heard by the relevant people. I was given a task: two soldiers had disappeared from our unit and I was supposed to detain them, if I ever met them... This didn't last more than a year, but I must say that spies are quite common during the war. No war can do without intelligence people.

I served in the 84th separate tank regiment for the last two years of the war. I joined it in late 1943, when the Transcaucasian front was disbanded and we were assigned to the 4th Ukrainian front. We had T-34 tanks that excelled German tanks by their features. I was an experienced tank man. We were very proud of being tank men. Air Force and tanks made up the elite of the army. Tank men usually stayed in the near front areas and were accommodated in the nearby settlements. During offensives we moved to the initial positions from where we went into attacks. Sometimes tanks went into attacks with infantry, but we didn't know those infantry men. My tank was hit several times, but fortunately there was no fire. Perhaps, I'm wrong here and other tank men would disagree, but I think if there was an experienced commander of the tank, the tank had a chance to avoid being set on fire. The thing is: if a tank is set on fire, what's most important is to get out of the tank. The manhole was supposed to be closed and the latch was to be locked and this latch might get stuck. We closed the manhole, but never locked it. On the one hand it was dangerous, but on the other, it made it easier to get out of the tank, if necessary. The tank might turn into a coffin if the latch got stuck. Germans shot bullets at us and we believed that if we heard a bullet flying by, the next one was to hit our tank. Then we evacuated from the tank and crawled aside before the tank became a convenient target or hid behind the tank, if there was no time left to crawl to a hiding.

I had a friend who was a loader in another crew. I don't remember his name, but I remember him well. He was Russian. When we were fighting in Ukraine he perished in a battle, when we were approaching Moldova. Some time later his mother, who was a military correspondent, visited us to hear how he had perished. She found me since he must have mentioned my name in his letters. When she started asking me the details, I was shocked knowing that she specifically arrived to hear the details of his death. In 1944, when our regiment was fighting within the 4th Ukrainian Front, the Soviet army entered Moldova. I had very special feelings about my homeland. I knew Romanian, and when we were in the woods the others sent me to nearby villages to exchange gas oil for wine. Gas oil was our tank fuel. The villagers were happy to have it for their kerosene lamps. And we were twice as happy since Moldova was known for making good wine.

Major Trubetzkoy, chief of headquarters of our regiment, perished in Moldova. He was everybody's favorite in the regiment. He was young, 29 years old, brave and good to his subordinates. He was cultured and rather aristocratic, I'd say. I even think, he must have come from the family of Trubetskoy. [Editor's note: The Trubetskoy family, an old family of Russian princes (14th-20th century), gave birth to many outstanding statesmen and scientists.] He was killed by a German sniper when he was riding his motorcycle going to the headquarters. He had all of his awards on though he had never worn them all before. Colonel Chelhovskoy, our regiment commander, followed the tanks on the battlefield on his motorcycle. The commander of the regiment intelligence was Captain Dyomin. Our regiment was involved in the Iasi/Kishinev operation [From 20th-29th August 1944 the Soviet troops liberated Moldova and Eastern Romania. Romania came out of action and on 24th August its new government declared war to fascist Germany.] All types of forces were involved in this operation. Our tank regiment passed Kishinev and its suburbs, and we could see how ruined the town was.

After the Iasi/Kishinev operation we entered Bulgaria via Romania. People welcomed us as liberators. On 24th September 1944 we arrived in the town of Lom. It was hot and I jumped out of the tank without my shirt on. A bunch of Bulgarian girls surrounded me. One of them gave me a bunch of field flowers. Then the bravest of them, Katia, asked me to get photographed with them. Her boyfriend took a photo of us. I gave Katia the address of my parents at their evacuation spot and she sent them the photo. From Bulgaria we moved on to Hungary across Romania. In Hungary our tank regiment was involved in battles near Szekesfehervar and Dunaujvaros on the Danube River. Our crew changed within a couple of days: someone was wounded or killed, a commander or radio operator. I only remember Nikolai, the tank operator. I remember the names of our regiment commander or chief of staff, but not of those who were with me in the tank: this is strange, but that's how it happened. In 1945 we moved on to Czechoslovakia and then returned. It should be noted that we were given a warm welcome in Czechoslovakia, but they were also happy to see us leaving again. Or at least that's the impression I got.

In Hungary I was slightly wounded again and that's when I met my future wife Lidia Zherdeva in the hospital. She was a medical nurse in the army. Lidia came from Kharkov [today Ukraine]. Her mother stayed on occupied territory during the war. Her mother was mentally ill and Lidia thought she had perished, when one day, shortly before demobilization, she heard from her mother. She felt like putting an end to her life because it was extremely hard for her to live with her insane mother. She took morphine, but the doctors rescued her. We were together, though we weren't officially married. It was a common thing at the front line. Occasionally there were orders issued in the regiment and that was it about the official part.

I celebrated the victory in Nagykoros, a small town near Budapest. We actually expected it... In the morning of 9th May we were told that the war was over. What joy this was! I cannot describe it. We didn't shoot in the air since we had no guns, only carbines in tanks, but we hugged each other and sang! In the evening we drank a lot. Our regiment was accommodated in Budapest. Our radio operator, mechanic and I were accommodated in one woman's house. The Hungarians were good to us, particularly the women. The Hungarian language is difficult and we mainly used sign language. One of us had a better conduct of Hungarian than the others and translated for us.

In late 1945 demobilization began. There was an order issued to demobilize those who had vocational secondary education first. I was a construction man and had a certificate on the basis of which I was demobilized in January 1946. Lidia and I moved to Kishinev. My parents were back home and my father taught mathematics at school. They lived in a small room on Sadovaya Street. I went to the executive committee to ask them about a job and some accommodation, but they replied, 'there are thousands like you. And there are also invalids.' One of my father's former students left Kishinev, and my wife and I moved into his hut on Schusev Street. Later we obtained a permit to stay there. This former student's father was working in the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Moldova and helped me to get employed by the industrial construction trust. In February 1946 I was already working as a foreman at the construction of a shoe factory on Bolgarskaya Street. In 1949 my mother died. We buried her in the Jewish cemetery, but not according to the Jewish ritual from what I remember.

In 1944 my cousin brother Abram Shusterman returned from evacuation. He had been in Central Asia with his mother and nephews. Some time later Abram was exiled to the North: he told a joke about the government and someone reported on him to the KGB 25. Later he was allowed to settle down in Central Asia. After Stalin's death [5th March 1953], he and his wife visited us in Kishinev. They had no children. He was my only relative, who thought he had to take care of me. I have no other relatives. He died in Central Asia, but I don't remember in what year.

Post-war

I didn't live long with my first wife. I fell in love with Lubov Berezovskaya. She was an accountant in our construction department. I think she was the most beautiful woman I've ever met in my life. I was offered the position of site superintendent at the construction of a food factory in Orhei. At first I refused, but when I heard that Berezovskaya was going there to work as an accountant, I changed my mind. We moved to Orhei together and got married in 1947. Our son Sergei was born there. My second wife was Russian. She was born in Kharkov in 1925. She moved to Kishinev after the war with her mother, Olga Antonovna Chumak. Her father, Boris Berezovskiy, died before the war. Olga Antonovna was a worker at the shoe factory in Kishinev. When we met, Lubov only had secondary education, but later she graduated from the Faculty of Economics of Kishinev University. She was promoted to chief accountant of the construction department.

There was a building frame on the construction site. Our office was accommodated in a small building next to it. In August 1950 the director of the construction department organized a meeting dedicated to Kotovsky 26. I went to Kishinev at this time. We were driving on a truck and I was struck by the color of the sky over Orhei: it was unusually green. My co- traveler from a village said, 'I've never seen a sky of this color before.' When I arrived at the construction department in Kishinev the people had scared expressions on their faces. It turned out that after I left Orhei a storm broke and the frame of this building collapsed over the office. I rushed back to Orhei. When I arrived, I asked, 'Are there any victims?' 'Fifteen.' Later a commission identified that this was a natural force majeure and this was the end of it. The director of the factory, a former KGB officer, resigned and went back to work at the KGB office.

In December this same year the chairman of the Trade Union Committee of the Light Industry reported this accident at the USSR trade union council plenary meeting in Moscow. There was the question: 'Was anybody punished?' 'No.' A week later I was summoned by the prosecutor and didn't return home. I was interrogated for a day, and in the evening I was put in prison. They shaved my head before taking me to jail. I remember entering the cell: 25 inmates, two-tier plank beds. I was so exhausted that I just fell onto the bed and fell asleep. A few days later I was appointed crew leader for the repairs in prison. About two weeks later I was released. The Light Industry Minister, Mikhail Nikitich Dyomin, helped me. He knew everything about the construction of this food factory, and construction men called him a foreman. I remember going home from prison on New Year's Eve with my head shaved.

In April 1951 I was summoned to the Prosecutor's Office. I said to my wife, 'Look, I'll probably need an extra pair of underwear.' This happened to be true. There was a trial. I was convicted and sentenced to three years in jail for the violation of safety rules, and the construction chief engineer, Mikhail Weintraub, was sentenced to three years in jail as well. It turned out I wasn't supposed to allow them to conduct the meeting in this annex. Dyomin arranged for us to be assigned to the construction of the Volga-Don channel [the Volga-Don channel, named after Lenin, connecting the Volga and the Don near the town of Kalach, opened in 1952]. There were mainly prisoners working on the construction of this channel. We lived in barracks for 20-30 inmates.

Since I was a foreman and supposed to move around visiting the sites, I was released from the convoy. I could move around within an area of 80 kilometers. I could also stay overnight in a guard house on the construction site. My wife often visited me. Fortunately, the chief engineer of the district knew me from back in Moldova. He worked at the construction of the Dubossary power plant and we met in Kishinev. When Lubov came to visit me she stayed in a room in his apartment for a month. A year later I was released, the conviction was annulled and I was awarded a medal 'For outstanding performance.' When I came back home, I was sent to work at the CD-8 [construction department]. However, when I wanted to restore my membership in the party, I was told: 'You can join the party again, but you can't restore your membership.' This hurt me and I gave up. I didn't avoid the war or prison in my life...

I was arrested at the time of the campaign against 'cosmopolitans' 27, but I don't think that Mikhail or I fell victim to this campaign. The period of the Doctors' Plot 28 started in 1953, when I returned to Kishinev. I heard talks that Jews were bad and would kill, poison people etc., but there were no official actions of this kind. I can't say whether any doctors were fired at that time.

I remember Stalin's death well. I cried. I heard it either early in the morning or in the evening, because it was dark, when I was at home. Our friends felt the same. At war the infantry went into attacks shouting, 'For Stalin! For the Motherland!' I didn't believe what I heard during the Twentieth Party Congress 29 in 1956, when Khrushchev 30 reported facts that we had never known about. I don't think I believe it even today. I cannot believe it, it's hard to believe, you know. When a person has faith in something it's hard to change what he believes in. If I had seen it with my own eyes..., but I only know what I heard. It's hard to change what one believes. I still have an ambiguous attitude to it.

In 1954 our second son, Oleg, was born. When we moved back from Orhei we received a two-bedroom apartment. We bought our first TV set, 'Temp', with a built-in tape recorder and a wireless. I was offered a plot of land to build a house, but neither my wife nor I wanted it. My mother-in-law lived in a one-bedroom apartment. We exchanged her one-bedroom and our two- bedroom apartment for a three-bedroom apartment in Botanica [a district in Kishinev]. My mother-in-law lived with us, helping us about the house and with the children. We hardly observed any Jewish traditions in our family. I entered the extramural Faculty of Industrial and Civil Construction of Moscow Construction College. I defended my diploma in Moscow. By the time of finishing the college I was a construction site superintendent. A construction site included two to three sites. I was in charge of the construction of a few apartment buildings, kindergartens, a shoe factory, a leather factory, a factory in Orhei and a fur factory in Belzi. Occasionally, when walking across town I think: this is mine and this one as well.

After my mother died my father married his former student. I don't even want to bring her name back to my memory. I thought this was an abuse of my mother's memory, and I kept in touch with them just for the sake of my father. Though my father's second wife was a Jew, I don't think they observed any Jewish traditions. I don't think my father went to the synagogue after the war, not even at Yom Kippur, but we lived separately and I cannot say for sure. My father died in 1961. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery, but I cannot find his grave there.

Our family was very close. Our sons got along well. In 1954 Sergei went to the first grade. He studied in a general secondary school. Oleg was seven years younger and Sergei always patronized him. He was in the seventh grade, when Oleg started school. After school Sergei finished the Electrotechnical and Oleg the Construction Faculty of the Polytechnic College. My sons adopted my wife's surname of Berezovskiy. They are Russian and there was no pressure on my wife's side about this. I gave my consent willingly since it was easier to enter a higher educational institution with the surname of Berezovskiy rather than Rozenfain. As for me, I never faced any anti-Semitism at work. Everything was just fine at my workplace. Always!

My wife Lubov was a kind person. She was always kind to people. We lived almost 50 years together and not a single swearword passed her lips. We never had any rows and I believe I had a happy family life. We spent vacations separately. Starting in 1959 I went to recreation centers and sanatoriums and the costs were covered by trade unions at work. My wife also went to recreation centers, but not as often as I did. I traveled to Odessa, Truskavets, Zheleznovodsk. I also went to Kagul, Karalash and Kamenka recreation homes in Moldova. My wife and I went to the cinema together and never missed a new movie. I knew a lot about Soviet movies and knew the creative works of Soviet actors and producers. I liked reading Soviet and foreign classical literature. I had a collection of fiction: I still have over two thousand volumes. I liked Theodore Dreiser [1871-1945, American novelist]: 'The Financier', 'Titan', 'Stoic' and I often reread these novels. I never took any interest in samizdat [literature] 31. Once I read Solzhenitsyn 32, The Gulag Archipelago, but I didn't like it. Now I read detective stories! I like Marinina [Marinina, Alexandra (born 1957): Lvov-born, contemporary Russian detective writer], but I prefer Chaze [Chaze, Lewis Elliott (1915-1990): American writer].

We celebrated all Soviet holidays at home. We went to parades on October Revolution Day 33, and on 1st May, and we had guests at home. We celebrated 8th March [International Women's Day] at work. We gave flowers and gifts to women and had drinking parties. I congratulated my wife at home. Of course, we celebrated birthdays. We invited friends. There were gatherings of about ten of us when we were younger. The older we got, the fewer of us got together. Some died and some moved to other places. I sympathized with those who left the country in the 1970s. In 1948 when newspapers published articles about the establishment of Israel I felt very excited and really proud. I always watched the news about Israel. I admired the victory of Israel in the Six-Day-War 34. It was just incredible that such a small state defeated so many enemies. I considered moving to Israel during the mass departure, but it wasn't very serious. If I had given it more serious thought, I would have left. I had all possibilities, but I didn't move there because I had a Russian wife.

In the 1970s, when I worked at the construction of a factory of leatherette in Kishinev, I went to Leningrad [today St. Petersburg] on business twice a month. The factory was designed by the Leningrad Design Institute. By the way, Chernoswartz, our chief construction engineer, was a Jew. He moved to Israel in the 1990s with his daughter. His wife had died before. He was ten years older than me and I don't think he is still alive. I love Leningrad and always have. Not only for its beautiful architecture, but also for its residents. I think they are particularly noble and intelligent. This horrible siege [see Blockade of Leningrad] 35 that they suffered! They used to say in Leningrad: you are not a real Leningrad resident if you haven't lived through the siege. They are such good people, really! And its theaters! Once I went to the BDT [Bolshoi Drama Theater] 36, where the chief producer was Tovstonogov [Tovstonogov, Georgiy Alexandrovich (1913- 1989): outstanding Soviet artist], a Jew by origin. When I came to the theater there were no tickets left. I was eager to watch this performance; I don't even remember what it was. It didn't take me long to decide to go to see Tovstonogov himself. I explained who I was and where I came from. He gave me a complimentary ticket. I remember this.

I had a friend in Leningrad. His name was Nikolai Yablokov. He was the most handsome man I've ever seen. He was deputy chief of the Leningradstroy [construction department]. I met the Yablokov family in the 1950s when I was working at the factory construction in Orhei. Nikolai's wife worked on our site in Orhei and he joined her. I met him at the trust and we liked each other. We became friends though we didn't see each other often. He was probably my only close friend in many years. He was a good person, I think. I always met with Nikolai when I went to Leningrad. He knew many actors. One night we had dinner at a restaurant on the last day of my business trip and went for a walk to the Nevskiy [Nevskiy Prospekt, main avenue of St. Petersburg]. This was the time of the White Nights when Leningrad is particularly beautiful. I left and one day later I was notified that Nikolai had died. [White Nights normally last from 11th June to 2nd July in St. Petersburg, due to its geographical location (59' 57'' North, roughly on the same latitude as Oslo, Norway, or Seward, Alaska). At such high latitude the sun does not go under the horizon deep enough for the sky to get dark on these days.]

Some time after Nikolai's death I got a job offer from Leningrad. My application letter was signed up and we were to receive an apartment in Pushkino, but my wife and I decided to stay in Kishinev after we discussed this issue. Everything here was familiar: our apartment, the town, the people we knew, and our sons. Sergei worked at the Giprostroy design institute [State Institute of Town Planning] and Oleg worked at the Giproprom design institute [State Institute of Industry Planning]. My sons got married. My daughters-in-law are Russian: Svetlana, my older son's wife, and Tamara, the younger one's wife. In 1969 my first granddaughter, Yelena, was born, the daughter of Sergei and Svetlana. Then Galina and Tatiana were born. I have five granddaughters. Oleg had two more daughters: Yekaterina and Olga. I worked at the factory of leatherette for 43 years: I worked at its construction and then became chief of the department of capital construction and I still work there.

When perestroika 37 began in the 1980s, I took no interest in politics living my own life. I had no expectations about it. I didn't care about whether it was Gorbachev 38 or somebody else in rule. After the break up of the Soviet Union nothing changed. I kept working, but the procedure was changing. We used to receive all design documents within two to three weeks and we didn't have to pay for them, but now it takes about two years to prepare all documents for the design, longer than designing itself. It also costs a lot. One of my acquaintances, a very smart man, who had worked in the Gorstroy, wrote a very detailed report where he described what needed to be done to return to the appropriate system of document preparation. [Editor's note: Gorstroy is the Russian abbreviation for 'gorodskoye stroitelstvo,' literally 'city building/construction,' a municipal organization responsible for construction at the city level.] He was fired within a month. I receive a pension and salary. So, I'm a 'wealthy' man. However, to be honest, my older son supports me a lot. Half of my income comes from him.

My wife died in 1998. After she died, my younger son Oleg, his family and I prepared to move to Israel. We had our documents ready when he died all of a sudden [2000] and we stayed, of course. I sold my apartment and moved in with my daughter-in-law and granddaughters to support them. My granddaughters are in Israel now and are doing well. Yekaterina, the older one, lives near Tel Aviv, she's served in Zahal [Israel Defense Forces]. Olga moved there last summer [2003]; she lives in the south and studies. They are single. Another tragedy struck our family in 2002: Galina, Sergei's second oldest daughter, committed suicide. Yelena, the older daughter, is a doctor. She lives in Rybniza with her husband. She is a gastroenterologist. Tatiana, the younger daughter, is finishing the Polytechnic College. I have my older son left: he is everything I have in life. He is an electric engineer and a very skilled specialist. He has worked in the Giprostroy design institute for over 20 years. When he travels on business I cannot wait till he calls.

Unfortunately, I know little about the Jewish life in Kishinev today. However, I'm deputy chairman of the Council of Veterans of the War of the Jewish Cultural Society. We, veterans, have meetings and discussions in a warm house... We usually sit at a table, and the lady of the 'warm house' receives food products for such parties from Hesed 39. We are close with regards to character and have common interests. I enjoy these meetings. Hesed provides assistance to me like it does to all Jews. I receive food parcels once a month and this is very good for me; this assistance constitutes 20-30 percent of my family budget. Hesed also pays 50 Lei for my medications. I can also have new glasses once a year. I'm very grateful to international Jewish organizations for this.

Glossary

ISRAELIS LEMPERTAS
Vilnius
Lietuva

Sutikau Israelį Lempertą Lietuvos žydų bendruomenėje ir jis iškart sutiko duoti interviu. Jis buvo labai užsiėmęs, taigi negalėjo skirti man pakankamai dėmesio. Pasiūliau paimti interviu jo namuose, tačiau jis atsisakė, teigdamas, kad žmona serga, todėl susitarėme susitikti bendruomenės namuose kai tik jis galės. Israelis – neaukštas, sportiško sudėjimo vyras papurusiais žilais plaukais, atrodo rimtas, subtilus ir protingas. Jaučiu, kad pokalbis jam nėra lengvas. Israeliui sunku kalbėti apie savo vaikystę, žuvusius tėvą ir brolį, todėl jis daug nepasakoja apie savo šeimą ir aš nenoriu jo skaudinti papildomais klausimais.

Mano šeimos istorija
Kaip augau
Karo metai
Po karo
Žodynėlis

Mano šeimos istorija

Gimiau Lietuvos pasienio mieste Mažeikiuose, 250 kilometrų į šiaurės vakarus nuo Vilniaus, netoli Latvijos sienos. Mažeikiuose gyveno maždaug 5-7 tūkstančiai žmonių. Žydų buvo apie 700 – 800. Aš beveik nieko nežinau apie savo protėvius. Daug dauguma jaunuolių, jaunystėje visai nesidomėjau praeitimi, turėjau galvoti apie išsilavinimą, darbą ir šeimą. Dabar jau norėčiau sužinoti giminės istoriją, bet nebėra gyvųjų, kurių galėčiau paklausti. Kiek žinau, motinos giminės yra iš Mažeikių. Prisimenu senelį iš motinos pusės Faivušą Levinsoną. Manau, jis gimė 1860-siais. Senelis buvo melamedas chederyje. Nepamenu jo dėvint kipą ar kepurę. Iš nuotraukų sprendžiant, galvos jis niekad nedengė.

Nieko nežinau apie močiutę iš motinos pusės. Ji mirė gerokai prieš man gimstant. Neprisimenu jokių pasakojimų apie ją. Netgi nežinau jos vardo. Prasidėjus Pirmajam Pasauliniam karui, žydai, gyvenantys prie fronto linijos, ypač iš Kauno apskrities, įskaitant šiai apskričiai priklausiusius Mažeikius, buvo išsiųsti į tolimus Rusijos rajonus. Antisemitiškai nusiteikę caro karinės valdžios atstovai galvojo, kad jidiš ir vokiečių kalbų giminingumas, žydų išvaizdos ir gyvenimo būdo skirtumai, lyginant su kitais vietos gyventojais, paskatints žydus užsiimti šnipinėjimu. Daug žydų šeimų iš Baltijos šalių buvo ištremti. Mano mamos šeimą ištrėmė į Berdianską, šiltą Ukrainos miestą Azovo jūros pakrantėje (1000 kilometrų į pietus nuo Kijevo). Lietuvai atgavus nepriklausomybę 1, beveik visi žydai grįžo į tėvynę. Grįžo ir Faivušo Levinsono šeima. Nežinau, ar močiutė tada buvo gyva. Kiek prisimenu, senelis Faivušas gyveno vienos iš mano tetų namuose. Jis mirė 1933 metais ir palaidotas Mažeikių žydų kapinėse laikantis žydiško ritualo. Jo laidotuvėse nedalyvavau. Žydams nebuvo įprasta vestis vaikus į giminaičių laidotuves.

Faivušas turėjo daug vaikų. Mano mamos broliai išvyko į Ameriką 1920-jų pradžioje. Žinau tik jų vardus – Luji ir Beniamin ir kad jie buvo vedę ir turėjo vaikų. Nežinau jų likimo. Dar buvo penkios dukterys, įskaitant mano mamą, gimusią 1897 metais. Vyriausia sesuo, keliais metais vyresnė už mano mamą, turėjo dvigubą vardą – Roza ir Šifra. Šeimoje ją vadino Šifra. Jos vyras Aba Mets neturėjo nuolatinio darbo ir užsiiminėjo atsitiktiniais darbais. Šifra ir Aba turėjo du sūnus – Rafaelį, keturiais metais vyresnį už mane, ir mano bendraamžį Nachmaną. Prasidėjus Didžiajam Tėvynės karui 2 mes pabėgome su tetos Šifros šeima. Jos vyras Aba iš pradžių buvo darbo fronte 3. Jis dirbo karinėje gamykloje Sibire. Paskui jį pašaukė į kariuomenę ir jis tarnavo 1943 metais suformuotoje Šešioliktoje lietuviškoje divizijoje [batalionas vadinamas lietuvišku, nes buvo suformuotas daugiausiai iš buvusių Lietuvos piliečių, kurie buvo savanoriai, evakuotieji ar tarnavo darbo fronte]. Aba neilgai trukus žuvo mūšyje 1943 metais. Tuo metu jis jau nebuvo jaunuolis. Šifra su berniukais grįžo į Lietuvą ir įsikūrė Vilniuje. Maždaug po 20 metų ji ir jos vaikai išvyko į Izraelį. Šifra nugyveno ilgą gyvenimą ir mirė 1990-jų pradžioje. Jos sūnūs sėkmingai tebegyvena Izraelyje.

Dvi mamos seserys gyveno Tarybų Sąjungoje. Lija, vyresnė už mano mamą metais ar dviem, išvyko į Baku, Azerbaidžaną, kur gyveno jos vyras. Nežinau, kaip jie susipažino. Jie karštai mylėjo vienas kitą. Lijos vyras buvo rusas ir tai buvo viena iš priežasčių, kodėl ji išvažiavo iš Lietuvos. Tuo metu skirtingų tautybių žmonių vedybos nebuvo priimtinos. Ištekėjusi Lija tapo Zimnikova. Ji buvo namų šeimininkė, o jos vyras, kurio vardo neprisimenu, užėmė įvairias pareigas Azerbaidžano vyriausybėje. Jie turėjo vienintelę dukrą Viktoriją. Persikėlusi į SSSR, Lija liovėsi susirašinėjusi su giminėmis Lietuvoje, nes tai buvo laikoma pavojinga ir SSSR persekiojama veikla [palaikyti ryšius su giminėmis užsienyje] 4. Tuo labiau, kad Lijos vyras priklausė vyriausybei. Neprisimenu, kur Lija ir jos dukra Viktorija buvo per Antrąjį Pasaulinį karą. Po karo Viktorija ištekėjo už mano draugo ir jie persikėlė į Vilnių. Kai Lija ir jos vyras paseno, jie persikėlė pas dukrą Viktoriją į Vilnių ir gyveno čia iki mirties. Teta Lija mirė 1970-jų pabaigoje.

Prieš išvažiuojant į Rusiją, mano mamos antroji sesuo Anna (taip ją vadino sovietiniais laikais, o jos tikrasis žydiškas vardas nežinomas), jaunesnė už ją 2 metais, dirbo kvalifikuota aukle Mažeikių žydų vaikų darželyje. 1920-jų pradžioje Anna slapta pabėgo iš Maskvos, SSSR, kartu su savo žydu vyru Kabo. Iki Lietuvos aneksijos prie SSSR 1940 metais 5, mama nepalaikė jokių ryšių su seserimis. Vėliau ji pradėjo su jomis susirašinėti. 1941 metų rudenį, kai fašistinė kariuomenė artėjo prie Maskvos, Anna ir jos dukra Riva nusprendė evakuotis ir atvykti pas mus į Kirovo sritį. Po karo Anna ir Riva grįžo į Maskvą. Anna mirė 1980-siais, o Riva dabar gyvena Maskvoje.

Mamos jauniausios sesers, gimusios 1910 metais, likimas yra tragiškas. Rachilė ištekėjo už išlepusio dykaduonio Rygos žydo Jakobo Rier. Prasidėjus Antrajam Pasauliniam karui, Rachilės dukrai Rozai buvo treji. Rachilė ir Jakobas su dukra antrąją karo dieną atvyko į Mažeikius. Kai mūsų šeima atsidūrė Rygoje, Jakobas labai norėjo su savo šeima nuvažiuoti pas giminaičius Salaspilyje, „pailsėti“, jo žodžiais tariant. Mes jau ruošėmės išvažiuoti, tačiau Rachilės šeima liko okupacijoje. Pagal archyvinius dokumentus, kuriuos suradau po karo, Rachilės šeima žuvo vienoje iš baisiausių Salaspilio naikinimo stovyklų. 6.

Mano mama Liuba Levinson buvo mokoma namuose. Neprisimenu, kad ji sakytų ėjusi į gimnaziją. Senelis Faivušas mokė vaikus pats. Jidiš buvo mamos gimtoji kalba. Gimusi ir paauglystę praleidusi carinėje Rusijoje, ji gerai mokėjo kalbėti ir rašyti rusiškai. Lietuviškai ji kalbėjo su stipriu akcentu, kaip ir dauguma žydų. Kaip daugelis žydžių moterų, mama jaunystėje nedirbo. Ji gyveno tėvų namuose ir padėjo močiutei namų ruošoje. Nežinau, kaip mano tėvai susitiko. Gal tai buvo iš anksto sutartos žydiškos vedybos. Jie susituokė 1920-jų pradžioje.

Nedaug ką žinau apie savo tėvo šeimą. Prisimenu, kad senelis Davidas Lempertas gyveno Latvijoje, Daugpilio mieste, bet nežinau ar ten jis ir gimė. Tėvo žodžiais, Davidas gimė XIX amžiaus viduryje. Tėvas pasakojo, kad senelis Davidas turėjo medienos verslą ir buvo gana pasiturintis. Sprendžiant pagal namuose kabėjusį Davido portretą su barzda ir kipa ant galvos, iš gąsdinančių tėvo pasakojimų, galiu pasakyti, kad senelis buvo religingas žydas. Per Pirmąjį Pasaulinį karą tėvo šeima taip pat buvo ištremta. Tėvo žodžiais, senelis atsisakė gyventi Charkove (Ukraina, 440 kilometrų nuo Kijevo), kur jis dirbo keliose Sovietų Armijos kontorose. Karui pasibaigus, šeima grįžo į Lietuvą. Negaliu pasakyti, kada senelis Davidas mirė. Manau, tai įvyko dar prieš šeimai sugrįžtant prie Baltijos. Senelė iš motinos pusės, maža liesa moteriškė visad uždengta galva, gyveno su mumis. Neprisimenu netgi jos vardo. Ji buvo silpnos sveikatos ir daugiausiai gulėjo lovoje savo kambaryje. Mes ją vadinome tiesiog močiute. Pamenu, kaip ji uždegdavo žvakes Šabo išvakarėse. Ji skaitydavo savo storą apdrįskusią maldaknygę, kol dar galėjo matyti. Kai buvau penkerių, t.y. 1930 metais, močiutė mirė. Ją palaidojo pagal žydiškas tradicijas Mažeikių žydų kapinėse. Nieko nežinau apie tėvo brolius ar seseris. Manau, jis buvo vienintelis sūnus. Aš bent jau neprisimenu jokių kalbų apie brolius ar seseris.

Mano tėvas Itšokas Lempertas gimė 1887 metais. Nežinau jo gimimo vietos. Tėvas buvo labai išsilavinęs žmogus. Jis baigė gimnaziją ir, greičiausiai, dar kažkokią mokymo įstaigą. Be gimtosios jidiš kalbos, laisvai kalbėjo rusiškai. Nežinau, kaip gerai jis kalbėjo lietuviškai, bet tikrai geriau nei mama. Tėvą atleido nuo tarnavimo carinėje armijoje dėl myopia alta – aukštos trumparegystės. Mažeikiuose tėvas buvo labai gerbiamas. Jis dirbo vyriausiu buhalteriu Mažeikių žydų banke, buvo labai patyręs apskaitininkas ir netgi turėjo studentų. Jie ateidavo pas tėvą į manus ir jis duodavo jiems privačias sąskaitybos pamokas. Be buhalterijos ir mokymo, tėvas dar dalyvavo visuomeninėje veikloje.

Tėvai susituokė Mažeikiuose. Nežinau, ar vestuvės buvo žydiškos, nes jie abu, ypač tėvas, nebuvo religingi. Galbūt jie laikėsi tradicijų ir tuokėsi po chupa tiesiog iš pagarbos giminaičiams. 1923 metais gimė mano vyresnysis brolis. Jis gavo dvigubą Mikhl-Duvid vardą. Jį pavadino Duvidu senelio garbei, bet nežinau antrojo, Mikhl, vardo priežasties. Namuose brolį vadinome Duvidu. Aš gimiau 1925 metų lapkričio 17 dieną. Mane pavadino Israeliu vieno iš mano prosenelių, nežinau, iš tėvo ar motinos pusės, garbei. Mano tėvo ir senelio pavardė buvo Lempert. Gimiau nepriklausomoje Lietuvoje, taigi gimimo liudijime buvo įrašytas lietuviškas mano žydiško vardo variantas, būtent Lempertas [vardų sulietuvinimas] 7. Aš vis dar nešioju šią pavardę.

Kaip augau

Mūsų šeima neturėjo jokios nuosavybės ir tėvai visada nuomavosi būstą. Nieko ypatingo neprisimenu. Dažniausiai tai būdavo 3 kambarių butas su virtuve, be patogumų (tualetas buvo lauke). Tėvas buvo užsiėmęs darbe ir visuomeninėje veikloje ir negalėjo daug laiko praleisti su vaikais. Daugiausiai mumis rūpinosi mama. Namų atmosfera ir svečių pokalbiai, dažniausiai jidiš kalba, darė įtaką mūsų ugdymuisi. Mama buvo namų šeimininkė, tačiau ji tik prižiūrėjo namus, o ruošos darbus atlikdavo kiti. Mes visada turėjome tarnaitę – tylią ir darbščią lietuvę. Pagal mamos nurodymus ji gamino maistą, tvarkė namus ir skalbė. Tėvai nebuvo religingi. Jie bandė laikytis žydiškų tradicijų kol su mumis gyvenusi močiutė ir senelis Faivušas buvo gyvi. Bent jau, gaminant maistą, buvo laikomasi pagrindinių kašruto taisyklių. Namuose buvo atskiri indai pienui ir mėsai – nuo porceliano servizo iki puodų, keptuvių ir pjaustymo lentų. Mėsą pirkdavo specialioje žydų parduotuvėje, prekiavusioje tiktai košerine mėsa. Vienas butas, kuriame gyvenome ilgą laiką, priklausė košerinės parduotuvės savininkams. Buvo trys parduotuvės savininkai – du broliai Glikai ir jų našlė sesuo Mendelevič. Naminius paukščius pirkdavome parduotuvėje ir nešdavome pas skerdiką. Ankstyvoje vaikystėje mama mane vesdavosi pas skerdiką. Prisimenu jo mažą namelį ir pašiūrę kieme. Visada stovėdavo žydžių moterų eilė su kudakuojančiais paukščiais. Kol močiutė buvo gyva, namuose nebūdavo kiaulienos. Pentadieniais ji arba mama uždegdavo Šabo žvakes. Tik tiek ir buvo, jokių kitų pasiruošimų Šabui – neruošdavo skanėstų, nekepdavo chalų. Lyginant su kitais žydais, tokių dalykų mūsų namuose nebuvo. Šabo dieną tėvas nedirbdavo. Žydų bankas, kaip ir žydų mokyklos, šeštadieniais buvo uždarytas. Tėvas iki vėlumas skaitydavo ir rašydavo prie rašomojo stalo ir, manau, pažeisdavo Šabo tradicijas.

Mes neminėjome žydiškų švenčių. Senelis Faivušas ateidavo pas mus ir atlikdavo Pesacho sederį. Senelis sėsdavo stalo gale, apsirengęs šventiniais drabužiais, su kipa. Gabaliukas macos – afikoman‘ būdavo slepiamas po jo pagalve. Man reikėdavo jo ieškoti. Paprastai Duvidas užduodavo seneliui keturis tradicinius klausimus apie šventės kilmę. [Redaktoriaus pastaba: Paprastai klausimus užduoda jauniausias sūnus, taigi, pagal tradiciją, taip daryti turėjo Israelis.] Taip pat prisimenu Chanuką. Bulves tešloje dažniausiai kepdavo mūsų namuose.Vaikai dažniausiai žaisdavo su sukučiu. Senelis Faivušas duodavo mums Chanukos pinigų. Neprisimenu kaip švęsdavome kitas šventes. Seneliui Faivušui mirus, liovėmės švęsti netgi šias šventes. Ne todėl, kad tingėjome, bet dėl mano tėvo ateistinių principų. Būtent dėl to nei aš, nei mano brolis Duvidas nepraėjome bar-micvos.

Nei tėvas, nei motina nevaikščiojo į sinagogą. Didelė dviaukštė sinagoga buvo netoli mūsų buto. Rabinas Mamjoffe buvo labai gerbiamas žmogus. Jis gerai sutarė su mano tėvu ir lankydavo pas mus. Tėvas ir rabinas ilgai šnekėdavosi prie arbatos puodelio. Manau, tai buvo teologiniai ir filosofiniais pokalbiai. Mamjoffe pavardė buvo parašyta mano gimimo liudijime ir aš gerai prisimenu jo įmantrų parašą. Rabinas Mamjoffe buvo žiauriai Hitlerio kareivių nužudytas pirmosiomis okupacijos dienomis. Po karo, dirbdamas su istoriniais archyvais, aš dar kartą aptikau jo parašą ir vaikystės prisiminimai mane sukrėtė. Žinojau daug žmonių, kurie buvo nužudyti – gimnazijos bendraklasiai ir tėvų draugai. Tačiau tai buvo atsitiktinės pažintys ir manęs taip giliai nesujaudino. Išlikęs Mamjoffe parašas sujaudino mane iki širdies gelmių. Kai prisimenu šį žmogų, pradedu ašaroti.

Be sinagogos, buvo ir daugiau žydiškų institucijų. Netoli sinagogos buvo mikva, bet mūsų šeima ten nėjo. Buvo labdaros organizacijos, tokios kaip žydų vaikų darželis, valgykla skurstantiems. Mūsų šeima priklausė vidurinei klasei, nebuvome turtuoliai. Knygos ir laikraščiai, kuriuos tėvas prenumeravo, mūsų namuose buvo svarbiausi. Nuo pat vaikystės juos skaitydavome. 1930-siais turėjome radiją. Tais laikais jis buvo retas ir brangus dalykas. Mano broliui ir man padovanojo dviratį. Nedaug žydų vaikų turėjo dviračius ir tai buvo savotiška prabanga. Vasarą važiuodavome į vasarnamį, kurį tėvai nuomavo mažame Lietuvos kaimelyje. Mama mus vesdavosi pasivaikščioti miške, bet mes su broliu ilgėjomės namų ir draugų. Kaimelyje mes nuobodžiavome. Šeimos pragyvenimo pajamos buvo gana kuklios. Dauguma žydų buvo gerokai neturtingesni. Tarp žydų buvo ir daug turtingų žmonių. Dažniausiai tai buvo verslininkai, parduotuvių savininkai, žydų gydytojai ir teisininkai. Neprisimenu jų vardų. Žinau tiek, kad parduotuvės miesto centre priklausė daugiausiai žydams.

Vienas iš vietinių žydų, Tulia, turėjo namą. Pirmasis mūsų nuomotas butas buvo jo name. Tulia turėjo didelį kiaušinių sandėlį. Jis užsiiminėjo didmenine kiaušinių prekyba ir net eksportavo juos į Angliją. Nepatekau į gimnaziją per vieną iš jo dukterų. Mano vyresnis brolis Duvidas lankė hebrajų gimnaziją. Palaipsniui mokinių skaičius buvo sumažintas ir ji sunyko. Brolis tos gimnazijos nebaigė ir vėliau mokėsi darbo organizacijos amatų mokykloje Kaune. Mažeikiuose buvo žydų pradžios mokykla. Prasimokiau joje keletą mėnesių ir susirgau. Mane mokė tėvas, o gimnazijos egzaminams ruošė ateinantis korepetitorius. Įstojau į lietuviškos pradžios mokyklos trečią klasę. Pabaigęs, laikiau stojamuosius egzaminus į valstybinę lietuvišką gimnaziją. Vienas iš stojamųjų egzaminų buvo Biblijos išmanymas. Aš beveik susikirtau, vos gavau patenkinamą pažymį. Mokytoja, egzaminavusi iš Biblijos, buvo rabino Mamjoffe dukra. Neradusi manęs priimtų mokinių sąraše, Mamjoffe dukra atbėgo pas mano mamą atgailaudama ir kaltindama save. Ji galvojo, kad manęs nepriėmė todėl, kad ji parašė man blogą pažymį. Dvi Tulia dukros buvo priimtųjų į gimnaziją sąraše. Jų žinios nebuvo puikios ir jos taip pat gavo patenkinamus pažymius per stojamuosius egzaminus. Tulia tiesiog papirko gimnazijos direktorių, organizuodamas vakarėlius jo garbei. Mokiausi lietuviškos pradžios mokyklos 4-je klasėje ir po metų sugebėjau įstoti į antrą gimnazijos klasę. Taip aš atsidūriau vienoje klasėje su Tulia dukromis. Jos buvo geros mergaitės. Susidraugavome ir aš padėdavau joms ruošti namų darbus. Apskritai, dauguma bendraklasių, žydų, buvo mano draugai. Prisimenu Borią Mendelevičių, mėsinės savininko sūnų, Jakobą Gusevą, Meiškę Mitskievičių. Visi jie žuvo per okupaciją.

Iki 1938 metų klasėje buvo lietuvių mokinių. Mes su jais sutarėme. Bendrai paėmus, Lietuvoje buvo labai nedaug antisemitų. Manau, Lietuva buvo šalis, kur antisemitizmas menkai pasireiškė, lyginant su kitomis šalimis, ypač 1930-jų viduryje. Iki 1924 metų žydams Lietuvoje buvo „aukso amžius“. Žydai niekaip nebuvo spaudžiami. Parlamente buvo žydų 8, kai 1926 metais Lietuvoje įvyko perversmas 9 ir į valdžią atėjo tautininkai – tai buvo demokratijos pabaiga. Komunistų partiją, kurios 60% narių buvo žydai, uždraudė. Žydus išvarė iš parlamento ir iš aukščiausių valstybės postų. Bet tai dar ne viskas. Diktatorius Smetona 10 atėjo į valdžią ir manė, kad vadovais turi būti lietuviai, o visi kiti turi tylėti ir padėti lietuviams kurti laimingą valstybę. Tačiau Smetona su žydais elgėsi gana gerai ir mes praktiškai nejutome jokio antisemitizmo. Aišku, kasdieniniame gyvenime antisemitizmas pasireikšdavo įvairiais būdais. Prisimenu, kaip kartą lietuviai berniukai pradžios mokykloje bandė užtepti kiaulės taukų ant žydų berniukų lūpų. Bet tai buvo vaikiška nepiktybiška išdaiga. Vaikai tikriausiai nesuprato, ką daro. Susidūriau su tikru antisemitizmu 1930-jų pabaigoje. Tuo metu neturėjau jokių konkrečių politinių interesų. Klausydavausi tėvo ir jo draugų pokalbių ir vėliau supratau, kad tėvas nepriklausė jokiai partijai – nei komunistams, nei kitai. Jis turėjo savo pažiūras, „kairiąsias“ pažiūras. Mieste buvo sionistų organizacijos, įskaitant Betar 11 ir Makabi 12. Nesigilinau į politiką. Įstojau į „Makabi“, kur žaidžiau stalo tenisą ir susitikdavau su bendraamžiais.

1938 – 1939 metais Lietuvoje pasijautė organizuota pro-nacistinė viešoji nuomonė. Dailės mokytojas, lietuvis, propagavo fašizmą jaunimo tarpe. Nežinau, kas taip darė, bet kiekvieną rytą gimnazijos vestibiulyje atsirasdavo antisemitiniai plakatai, būtent, žydas su kumpa nosimi, peisais, susikuitęs, netvarkingais drabužiais, kuprotas. Plakatus nuimdavo, bet kitą rytą jie vėl atsirasdavo. Tikrai žinau, kad du šios grupelės vaikinai šaudė žydus, tame tarpe ir savo klasės draugus, 1941 metais, vienos Hitlerio akcijos metu. Mūsų klasėje buvo labai graži mergaitė, žydų banko direktoriaus Kock Glikmano duktė. Daug vaikinų buvo ją įsižiūrėję, įskaitant vieną iš tų vaikinų. Ji nenorėjo su juo susitikinėti ir jis pats nušovė ją per vieną akciją 1941 metais. Daug žmonių, bent jau mano šeima, suprato, kad fašizmas atneš didžiulę nelaimę mūsų šaliai ir daugelis žmonių žvalgėsi į SSSR. Nesu tikras, kad mano tėvas žinojo apie politinius procesus ir represijas, Stalino vykdomas SSSR [Didysis teroras] 13. Jis niekad su manim apie tai nekalbėjo.

Karo metai

Kai sovietų kareiviai įžengė į mūsų miestą 1940 metų birželį, daug žmonių juos sveikino, tikėdamiesi geresnio gyvenimo. [Redaktoriaus pastaba: iš tikrųjų, tik nedaugelis sveikino okupacinę Raudonąją armiją Lietuvoje. Daugiau kaip 50 metų sovietinė propaganda vadino Baltijos valstybių okupaciją „išlaisvinimu“, kaip ir jaučiasi šiame epizode.] Buvo traukinys su sovietų kariškiais ir keletas tankų. Prisimenu, kad aš su kitais berniukais nubėgome tenai, apstojome kareivius ir bandėme su jais kalbėtis rusiškai, nors nedaug ką mokėjome. Daug vaikinų gyrėsi piločių žvaigždėmis, kurias jiems davė kareiviai. Iš pradžių visi buvome euforijoje. Pirmą dieną centrinėje aikštėje įvyko mitingas. Mano tėvas pasakė kalbą. Jis pasveikino sovietų kareivius savo gimtaja jidiš kalba. Pirmą kartą per daug metų Mažeikiuose iš tribūnos skambėjo jidiš. Po to mitingai vyko beveik kiekvieną savaitę ir beveik visas miestas rinkdavosi paklausyti kalbėtojų. Euforiją keitė nusivylimas. Daugelis produktų dingo nuo prekystalių. Liko tik vienos rūšies prastos kokybės duona. Nebuvo pramoninių prekių, įskaitant muilą ir servetėles. Prasidėjo nacionalizacija. Bankas, kuriame dirbo tėvas, buvo nacionalizuotas, bet tėvas ir toliau jame dirbo. Žmonės, kurie turėjo kokią nors nuosavybę ar samdė darbininkus, buvo areštuojami ir tremiami į Sibirą [deportacijos iš Baltijos šalių] 14. Tulia ir jo šeima buvo ištremti ir daug kitų. Tulia mirė Sibiro stovykloje. Jo žmona mirė tremtyje, tačiau dukros sugebėjo grįžti atgal į gimtąjį miestą 1970-jų viduryje, jau suaugusios. Jos ilgai neužtruko Lietuvoje ir išvyko į Izraelį.

Mūsų gimnazija buvo pervadinta vidurine mokykla ir 7-ta gimnazijos klasė tapo 9-ta mokyklos klase. Visi kiti dalykai liko tokie patys. Įstojau į komjaunimo organizaciją 15. Buvau gana aktyvus – vedžiau susirinkimus, kviečiau žmones palaikyti sovietų režimą, piešiau plakatus. Vieni sovietų valdžios metais prabėgo labai greitai. 1941 metų birželio 21 dieną mokykloje buvo išleistuvių šventė. Grįžau namo vėlai ir ilgai neguliau. Anksti ryte išgirdome lėktuvų gaudesį. Miestą pradėjo bombarduoti. Prasidėjo Didysis Tėvynės karas. Žmonės paniškai bandė bėgti, palikdami namus. Kai kurie žydai galvojo, kad vokiečiai nieko blogo jiems nedarys ir nusprendė pasilikti. Mūsų šeima nesirinko – pasilikti ar nepasilikti. Sekmadienio, birželio 22 dienos vakare mes pėsčiomis išėjome iš miesto. Mūsų buvo keturi – tetos Šifros ir mamos jaunesnės sesers Rachilės šeimos. Žmonės bėgo. Kelyje buvo minios pabėgėlių su lagaminais, kuprinėmis ir ryšuliais. Kelią bombardavo ir aš pirmą kartą pamačiau mirtį. Ne visi žmonės pakildavo bombardavimui pasibaigus. Atsitraukiantys sovietų armijos būriai ėjo su mumis. Ėjome keletą dienų, kol pasiekėme Latvijos sieną ir porą dienų stovėjome kažkokioje geležinkelio stotyje Latvijoje laukdami traukinio. Trūko maisto. Nepasiėmėme daug išeidami ir greitai maistą pabaigėme. Tėvas ir dėdė Aba Metz keitė mūsų daiktus į produktus ir šeima sugebėjo išsiversti keletą dienų. Tada sugebėjome įsėsti į traukinį, važiuojantį į Rygą. Atvykusius, mus apgyvendino mokykloje, kurioje buvo organizuotas evakuacinis punktas. Miegojome didelėje salėje ant grindų. Dieną evakuotieji gaudavo sriubos arba košės su duona. Švelniai tariant, situacija buvo neįprasta. Iki 1940 metų mes gyvenome buržuazinėje Lietuvoje ir buvome pripratę prie santykinio komforto. Nusprendėme laikytis kartu, nes buvo lengviau įveikti vargus su giminės pagalba, kuri buvo tikrai vertinga tomis aplinkybėmis. Po dienos ar dviejų, Jakobas Rier, tetos Rachilės vyras, užsispyrė, kad mes sustotume Sauspilse ir pailsėtume pas jo giminaičius ir palauktume, kol šis sąmyšis baigsis. Jis nebuvo pratęs prie sunkumų, o teta Rachilė vyrui nusileisdavo. Atsisveikinome su ja ir mažąja Rozočka. Tuo metu nežinojome, kad jau niekad jų nepamatysime.

Pajudėjome toliau maždaug po dešimties dienų. Sėdome į traukinį, kuris buvo skirtas evakuoti kažkokią gamyklą. Keletas tuščių platformų būdavo prikabinamos prie traukinių, kad pabėgėliai galėtų įsitaisyti. Labai trūko vietos. Traukinys pajudėjo. Išbuvome kelyje ne mažiau kaip tris savaites. Prieš įlipant į traukinį, tėvas gavo truputį [maisto] produktų mainais už daiktus. Evakuaciniame punkte mums išdalino sausą davinį – džiūvėsius. Pradžioje alkio nejautėme. Produktams pasibaigus, ėmėme badauti. Traukiniui sustojus, tėvas ir vyresnis brolis išlipdavo ieškoti maisto. Kartais gaudavome maisto iš vietinių žmonių mainydamiesi, o kartais jie sugebėdavo gauti puodą sriubos, kurią dalindavo evakuotiesiems stotyse. Kelią nuolat bombarduodavo ir traukinys dažnai stodavo. Tada evakuotieji išsibėgiodavo skirtingomis kryptimis slėpdamiesi natūraliose priedangose. Mačiau daug mirčių, tačiau prie to neįmanoma priprasti.

Atvykome į Kirovo miestą [850 kilometrų į rytus nuo Maskvos]. Iš pradžių įsikūrėme evakuaciniame punkte. Jame mus laikė keletą dienų. Atėjo taip vadinami „pirkėjai“ – kolūkio 16 pirmininkas ir statybų meistrai. Kaip taisyklė, jie rinkosi jaunus žmones. Po kurio laiko mes ir tetos Šifros šeima buvome pasiųsti į vieną Kirovo srities kolūkį. Mane iš pradžių paskyrė prie žemės ūkio darbų, vėliau tapau dailide. Tėvas nusilpo dėl ligos ir bado ir mirė 1941 metų pabaigoje. Tuo metu iš Maskvos atvyko teta Anna ir Rina. Ji taip pat pradėjo dirbti kolūkyje. Visi gyvenome viename kambaryje vietinio kolūkiečio name. Jie su mumis elgėsi tikrai gerai, bet maisto katastrofiškai trūko, nors aš gaudavau darbadienius 17 ir maisto davinį, mama gaudavo menką išlaikytinio maisto davinį. Nepaisant karo, svajojau apie mokslą. Vis dar galvijau stoti į institutą. Kai Maskvos Mokytojų rengimo institutas buvo evakuotas į Kirovą, mane įtraukė į fizikos ir matematikos fakulteto pirmakursių sąrašą. Tai nebuvo visiškai tai, apie ką svajojau – tapti istoriku arba filosofu, bet pasirinkimo neturėjau. Gyvenau instituto bendrabutyje Kirove. Mama tikrai kentėjo tėvui mirus. Ji dažnai nesveikuodavo. Sugebėjau susitarti, kad mama gautų kambarį mano bendrabutyje. Ją pasamdė dirbti valytoja ir suteikė kambarį. Ji taip pat budėjo bendrabutyje. Mano studentiškas gyvenimas bėgo greitai. Studijuoti man buvo lengva ir aš gerai mokiausi. Gyvenome šaltame bendrabutyje kaip viena šeima ir dalinomės viskuo, ką turėjome. Kiekvieną dieną, užgniaužę kvapą, klausydavomės žinių apžvalgos iš fronto. Su manimi mokėsi įvairių tautybių jaunuoliai, bet mūsų draugystę sustiprino bendra nelaimė. Vaidų nebuvo. Mokiausi tik pusantrų metų. 1943 metų pradžioje mano brolis ir aš buvome pašaukti į frontą. Brolis visą laiką dirbo vienoje karinėje gamykloje ir daug kartų ėjo į karinio šaukimo skyrių, bet pašauktas nebuvo, ir štai atėjo laikas.

Mus pasiuntė į naujai suformuotą Šešioliktąją lietuviškąją diviziją 18, stovinčią Balakhnos mieste, Nižnij Novgorode. Mama pasiliko Kirove ir mes susitarėme, kad ji visą laiką pasiliks institute, kad mums būtų lengviau ją surasti po karo. Tuo metu situacija fronte ženkliai pasikeitė – po fašistų sutriuškinimo prie Stalingrado [Stalingrado mūšis] 19, niekas neabejojo dėl Sovietų armijos pergalės. Mano brolis ir aš atsidūrėme skirtingose vietose. Aš praleidau porą mėnesių mokymuose ir netrukus buvau išsiųstas į frontą. Deja, brolis ilgai fronte neišbuvo. Jis žuvo mūšyje netrukus po pašaukimo į priešakines linijas.

1943 metų vasarą atsidūriau mūšio lauke. Buvau pėstininkų eilinis. Tai sunkiausia ir pavojingiausia karinė profesija. Mes visada pirmieji susidurdavome su priešu akis į akį. Mūsų divizija priklausė Pirmajam Pabaltijo frontui 20. Greitai judėjome Rusijos, paskui Ukrainos teritorija ir tolyn į Vakarus. Armijoje mus gerai maitino. Pirmą kartą per visus karo metus aš buvau sotus. Aišku, gyvenimo sąlygos buvo apgailėtinos. Miegojome blindažuose. Kartais įsikurdavome namuose išlaisvintuose kaimuose, taigi galėjome išsimiegoti šilumoje ir išsimaudyti pirtyje. Tačiau taip būdavo retai. Nebuvau bailys, pirmas puldavau į ataką. Prieš vieną iš didžiausių mūšių įstojau į Komunistų partiją. Padariau tai sąmoningai ir apgalvotai. Fronte visi norintys būdavo priimami į partiją be biurokratinių formalumų. Taigi, mane priėmė į Sovietų Sąjungos Komunistų partiją. Prisimenu, kad dažnai kildavome į ataką su Stalino vardu lūpose ir darėme tai savo noru. Buvome įsitikinę, kad šis žmogus mus drąsina ir įkvepia pergalei. Taip mes buvome auklėti. Pačio sunkiausio mūšio metu atsidūriau priešakyje. Įšokau į priešo apkasus ir nušoviau ten buvusius fašistus. Kaip vėliau pasirodė, mano žygdarbis lemiamas išvaduojant kaimą, kurį atakavome. Dabar neprisimenu jo pavadinimo, jis buvo ant Rusijos ir Baltarusijos sienos. Po mūšio vadas įtraukė mane į apdovanojimų sąrašą. Keistai pasijaučiau. Buvau kuklus ir nemaniau, kad elgiuosi išskirtinai. Atėjo nutarimas apdovanoti mane Šlovės ordinu 21. Greitai mane išrinko būrio komjaunimo vadovu, tapau politruko padėjėju 22. Turėjau sekti suvestines iš frontų ir vertinti politinę situaciją. Beje, laikraščiai buvo pristatomi kiekvieną dieną, taip pat vyko politiniai užsiėmimai su kareiviais, kai nebuvo mūšių. Karas ėjo į pabaigą, frontas artėjo prie SSSR vakarinės sienos.

1944 metų vasarą mano tėvynė Lietuva buvo išlaisvinta. Visada susirašinėjau su motina. Kaip ir sutarėm, ji liko dirbti Mokytojų rengimo instituto bendrabutyje. Kartu su institutu ją evakavo į Maskvą. Mama prašė manęs saugotis, nelįsti po kulkomis, bet aš niekad nebuvau bailys. Gali pasirodyti keista, bet man fronte sunkiausia buvo be patogumų, be galimybės nusiprausti veidą, išsimaudyti, pasikeisti drabužius, o ne dėl fašistų kulkų ar dėl baimės žūti bet kurią minutę. Pelkės, purvas, uodai ir miego trūkumas labiausiai slėgė mane. Mano charakteris netiko karinei tarnybai, nors, būdamas drąsus kareivis, aš gerai kovojau. 1944 metų pabaigoje į mūsų pulką atėjo kvietimas į karininkų kursus. Buvo pasiūlyta mano kandidatūra. Nenorėjau būti karjeros kareiviu, nemėgau karinės tarnybos. Norėjau tęsti mokslus institute. Supratau, kad karas baigiasi ir vargu ar aš būsiu demobilizuotas su karininko laipsniu. Tačiau aš sutikau, net nežinau, kodėl. Tikriausiai todėl, kad buvau labai atsakingas. Išvykau į trijų mėnesių kursus. Tai buvo Pirmojo Pabaltijo fronto karininkų kursai. Jie prasidėjo kaip tik po Lietuvos išlaisvinimo. Mes įsikūrėme Rygoje. Karas ėjo į pabaigą ir kursus nuolatos prailgindavo, stengiantis išsaugoti kaip galima daugiau karininkų. Kai frontas perėjo į Rytų Prūsiją, mus išsiuntė į anksčiau Vokietijai priklausiusią Kaliningrado sritį 23, kurią išlaisvino sovietinė kariuomenė. Čia ir sutikome pergalę. Visi buvome susijaudinę. Buvome tokie laimingi, kad karas baigėsi ir atėjo laikas galvoti apie ateitį.

Po karo

Mes jau gavome karininko laipsnį ir aš tapau jaunesniuoju leitenantu. Netrukus po pergalės mus paskyrė į skirtingus karinius dalinius. Mane išsiuntė į Vilnių ir paskyrė 249 pulko, kuriame tarnavau, komjaunimo organizatoriumi. Pradžioje gyvenau kareivinėse su visais. Mūsų pulkas stovėjo Šiauriniame miestelyje, tai vienas iš Vilniaus priemiesčių. Mama dar pasiliko Maskvoje. Jai reikėjo gauti leidimą persikelti į Vilnių. Kai išrūpinau tokį leidimą, nuvykau į Maskvą parsivežti mamos. Maskvoje susitikau su teta Anna ir pussesere Rina. Tuo laiku jos jau buvo grįžusios iš Kirovo srities, kur gyveno karo metais. Iš pradžių mes su mama nuomavom būstą Vilniuje. Tai buvo mažas kambarys be patogumų. 1946 metais daug žmonių išvyko iš Vilniaus į Lenkiją ir daug butų stovėjo tušti. [1946 metais sovietų valdžia leido išvykti žmonėms, gimusiems 1939-40 metais SSSR aneksuotose teritorijose.] Man davė mažą dviejų kambarių butą su virtuve, bet be patogumų. Galiausiai mes turėjome savo namus ir įsikūrėme su mama. Rašiau prašymus demobilizuotis, bet jie grįždavo neatsakyti.

Mane demobilizavo tik 1947 metais. Buvau laimingas. Dabar reikėjo tik rasti darbą ir vėl lankyti institutą. Prasidėjo tikri mano gyvenimo sunkumai. Tuo metu Lietuvoje, kaip ir visoje SSSR, vešėjo antisemitizmas [kampanija prieš „kosmopolitus“]. Susidūriau su juo ieškodamas darbo institute. Buvau baigęs pusantrų metų kursą tokiu metu, kai daugelis žmonių net nebuvo baigę 10 klasių. To pakako rasti darbą. Be to, buvau gimęs Lietuvoje, kovojau fronte, turėjau apdovanojimų, buvau Komunistų partijos narys, o tai buvo reta. Norėjau būti lektoriumi. Įgijau tokios patirties tarnaudamas pulke ir gerai sutariau su žmonėmis. Niekas nepavyko. Pirmiausiai kreipiausi į „Žinijos“ švietimo draugiją [Znaniye – visasąjunginė draugija, viešoji švietimo agentūra, palaikanti mokslo ir politikos žinių sklaidą.]. Man buvo pasiūlytas sąskaitininko darbas, kurio patirties visai neturėjau. Tada, respublikos Centrinio komjaunimo komiteto antrasis sekretorius, mano karo draugas, rekomendavo mane dirbti Centrinio komjaunimo komiteto pirmojo sekretoriaus padėjėju. Aišku, man nepavyko. Kreipiausi į kitas organizacijas. Iš pradžių mane gerai sutikdavo, nes neatrodžiau kaip tipiškas žydas, bet perskaitę dokumentuose mano pavardę, kadrų skyriaus viršininkai rasdavo priežastį man atsakyti. Aišku, jie nesakydavo tikrosios priežasties – kad esu žydas. Galiausiai, vienas geras karo metų draugas padėjo man rasti literatūrinio darbuotojo vietą laikraštyje „Sovietskaja Litva“ [rusų kalba leidžiamas Lietuvos laikraštis. 1944-1990 išeidavo šešis kartus per savaitę 70000 egzempliorių kasdien (1975)].

Tais pačiais 1947 metais pateikiau dokumentus į Vilniaus universiteto Fizikos ir matematikos fakultetą. Už akademines studijas atsakingas prorektorius, užkietėjęs antisemitas, pasakė man: „Studijavote Mokytojų rengimo institute. Bandykite dar kartą“. Bet man padėjo iš Mažeikių kilęs universiteto partinis vadovas. Jis gerai pažinojo mano tėvą ir teigė, kad mane būtina priimti į antrą kursą, nes esu partijos narys ir kariavau fronte. Studentai tais laikas nebuvo panašūs į dabartinius studentus. Mes buvome suaugę, karą praėję žmonės. Buvau atsakingas ir už savo motiną. Ji nebegalėjo dirbti, taigi aš buvau vienintelis maitintojas. Būnant trečiame kurse, mane įdarbino dėstytojo padėjėju marksizmo- leninizmo katedroje. Lietuvoje trūko socialinių mokslų dėstytojų, gerai mokančių lietuvių ir rusų kalbas. Trečiame kurse mane paskyrė marksizmo – leninizmo dėstytojo padėjėju. Visame universitete buvo trys studentai – dėstytojai, įskaitant mane. Aš sėkmingai apsigyniau diplominį darbą ir galėjau nesijaudinti dėl privalomo darbo paskyrimo 25. Manęs net neklausė, ką norėčiau veikti. Likau dėstytojauti universitete.

Aš nesiejau valstybinio antisemitizmo, pasireiškusio žymaus žydų aktoriaus Michoelso 26 nužudymu, Žydų antifašistinio komiteto sunaikinimu 27 ir pasibaigusio absurdišku vadinamuoju „gydytojų sąmokslu“ 28, su Stalino vardu. Maniau, kad vietiniai valdžios aktyvistai stengiasi pasirodyti prieš aukščiausią sąjunginę valdžią. Sakyčiau, manęs asmeniškai antisemitinės kampanijos nepalietė. Toliau sėkmingai dėstytojavau. Sprendžiant iš to, kaip su manimi elgėsi vadovai ir studentai, buvau gerbiamas. Stalino mirtis 1953 metais man buvo smūgis. Palaipsniui, aš supratau jo tikrąjį vaidmenį ir kultą nuvainikuojančio partijos suvažiavimo 29 nutarimus priėmiau kaip logiškus ir būtinus. Tiesa buvo atskleista. Tik dabar, po perestroikos 30, mes beveik viską sužinojome apie sovietinio režimo ir Stalino nusikaltimus.

Dirbau universitete iki 1989 metų, iki perestroikos pradžios. Apgyniau kandidatinę disertaciją [sovietinis/ Rusijos mokslų daktaro laipsnis] 31. Atkūrus Lietuvos nepriklausomybę 32 pasitvirtinau mokslinį vardą. Dabar esu istorijos mokslų daktaras. Turiu pasakyti, kad perestroiką priėmiau ne iš karto. Man buvo sunku paneigti visas tas idėjas, kuriomis tikėjau – socializmo ir komunizmo idėjas. Gimęs Lietuvoje, labai gerai supratau, kad Maskva yra svetima mūsų šaliai. Dabar aš visiškai sutinku su terminu „sovietinė okupacija“, kai kalbama apie sovietinį režimą. Palaikau savo šalies nepriklausomybę, jos narystę Europos Sąjungoje. Tikiuosi, kad Lietuva įveiks laikinas kliūtis ir taps klestinčia Europos šalimi.

Mano asmeninis gyvenimas yra laimingas. Universitete sutikau puikią žydę merginą. Polina Aibinder buvo medicinos fakulteto studentė. Mus daug kas siejo. Abu gimėme mažuose Lietuvos miesteliuose. Ji gimė Kupiškyje 1930 metais. Jos tėvas Zelikas Aibinderis buvo siuvėjas, mama – namų šeimininkė. Polina turėjo seserį Rozą Aibinder. 1941 metais ji nesugebėjo išvykti į evakuaciją ir iškentė visą Vilniaus geto siaubą 33. Roza išgyveno. Netrukus po karo ji išvyko į Izraelį, kur iki šiol gyvena. 1941 metais Polina su tėvais pabėgo iš miesto ir buvo evakuota į Čiuvašiją. Grįžus, Polinos šeima įsikūrė Vilniuje. Pradėjau susitikinėti su Polina. 1951 metais mes susituokėme. Vestuvės buvo labai kuklios. Užregistravome santuoką vietiniame civilinės metrikacijos biure ir atšventėme su artimiausiais draugais tetos bute, nes mūsų bute nebuvo vietos. Apsigyvenome mano mamos bute. 1952 metais gimė mūsų vyresnysis sūnus. Pavadinome jį Davidu mano brolio garbei. Antrasis sūnus Ilja gimė 1957 metais.

Mūsų šeima gyveno kaip ir visos paprastos sovietinės šeimos – nuo algos iki algos. Neturėjome turtų, bet gyvenome visai padoriai. Mano žmona dirbo gydytoja. Vaikai ėjo į darželį, paskui į mokyklą. Mama padėjo mums kaip galėdama. 1960-jų pradžioje ji pradėjo vis labiau negaluoti. Ji gulėjo ant patalo ir 1965 metais mirė. Palaidojome ją kapinių žydiškoje dalyje 34, bet be žydiškų ritualų. Kiekvienais metais važinėjome atostogauti, kartais su vaikais. Kaip dauguma vilniečių, važiuodavome į sanatorijas [poilsio centrai SSSR] 35 Palangoje [populiarus Lietuvos kurortas prie Baltijos jūros]. Gaudavome profsąjungų kelialapius ir turėjome mokėti tik 30% kelionės kainos, taigi galėjome sau leisti atostogauti kiekvienais metais. Vaikai vyko į pionierių stovyklas Lietuvoje. 1970-jų pradžioje nusipirkome automobilį ir pradėjome keliauti po Lietuvą. Nuvažiavome į Krymą ir Karpatus Ukrainoje. Po poros metų gavau žemės plotą sodui. Tuo metu buvo plačiai paplitę kolektyviniai sodai ir žmonės gaudavo 600 kvadratinių metrų sklypus. Sklypas buvo mažas, o namelis negalėjo viršyti 32 kvadratinių metrų. Mums patiko rūpintis sodu, daržu ir gėlynu. Visi sutilpome name – mes, vaikai, anūkai. Kai namo dydžio apribojimai buvo atšaukti, namelį padidinau. Dabar mes turime padorų šildomą vasarnamį.

Davidas baigė Vilniaus universiteto matematikos fakultetą. Jis puikiai mokėsi, bet vistiek dėl darbo kilo problemų. Jis gavo privalomą darbo paskyrimą dirbti matematikos mokytoju pagrindinėje mokykloje, nors buvo antras pagal pažangumą studentas ir svajojo apie mokslinį darbą. Galiausiai, aš suradau jam darbo vietą – tiriamąjį darbą Universitete, bet Davidas buvo nusivylęs: atlyginimas buvo menkas, jokių karjeros galimybių, jokio savarankiško darbo. Jis turėjo šeimą – žmoną Lizą, žydę, ji dirbo sąskaitininke, ir dvi dukras Eleną ir Anną, gimusias pamečiui 1982 ir 1983 metais. 1990-jų pradžioje Davidas su šeima išvyko į Izraelį. Jam ten gerai sekasi. Jis matematikas/ programuotojas. Žmona dirba sąskaitininke. Mano mylimos anūkės atitarnavo privalomą tarnybos laiką Izraelio armijoje. Dabar abi studijuoja Haifos universitete. Sūnaus šeima gyvena Petakh Tikvah. Buvau pas juos keletą kartų. Džiaugiuosi, kad sūnus sugebėjo pasiekti savo tikslus.

Jaunesnysis sūnus Ilja taip pat baigė Vilniaus Universitetą. Jis istorikas. Jo žmona Larisa yra Ukrainos žydė. Sovietinės santvarkos metais ji, kaip daugelis jaunų žydų, atvyko į Vilnių stoti į aukštąją mokyklą, nes Lietuvoje tai buvo daug lengviau nei kitose respublikose. [Lietuvoje buvo santykinai mažesnė žydų diskriminacija stojant į aukštąsias mokyklas nei likusioje Sovietų Sąjungoje.] Larisa baigė universiteto rusų kalbos fakultetą, apsigynė kandidatinę disertaciją. Larisa dabar užsiiminėja judaika. Ilja turi du vaikus – vyresnioji Olga, gimusi 1986 metais, įstojo į Maskvos Universiteto Judaikos fakultetą. Ji studijuoja žydų filologiją. Mano vienintelis anūkas Aleksandras, kurį vadinu Šašenka – visus savo anūkus vadinu mažybiniais vardais: Lenočka, Anečka, Olenka [rušiski mažybiniai Elenos, Annos ir Olgos vardai] – gimė 1989 metais ir baigia šiais metais Vilniaus žydų mokyklą. Beje, Vilniaus žydų mokykla yra valstybinė, ne privati.

Kitas, žydams tikriausiai pats svarbiausias dalykas, yra žydiško gyvenimo atsigavimas, įmanomu tapęs po perestroikos ir Lietuvos nepriklausomybės. Dabar grįžtu į gyvenimą, prie kurio buvau pratęs prieš daug daug metų. Tuo metu, kai susikūrė Izraelio valstybė, kai ji kariavo – Šešių dienų karą 36, Yom Kipuro karą 37 ir pan., aš, kaip ir daugelis kitų, negalėjau nesižavėti Izraeliu. Daug žmonių demonstravo solidarumą su Izraelio tauta. Aš tylėjau per partinius susirinkimus, kai mano žmonės buvo niekinami. Dabar aš didžiuojuosi Izraeliu ir esu laimingas, kad mano sūnus tenai gyvena. Negalvoju apie išvykimą. Negaliu padalinti savęs kiekvienam savo sūnui ir kiekvienai savo tėvynei. Palikime taip, kaip yra. Be to, mano Polina labai silpna. Prieš keletą metų dėl jos ligos turėjau išeiti į pensiją. Dabar ji retai išeina iš namų.

Kai atsistatydinau iš universiteto, įsidarbinau universiteto psichologinėje laboratorijoje, tyrinėjančioje švietimo temas. Tuo pat metu neseniai atsidariusi žydų mokykla man pasiūlė dėstyti žydų istoriją. Pasirodė, kad aš mokausi kartu su savo mokiniais, tiesiog vienoje klasėje aukščiau. Vaikystėje ir paauglystėje nesimokiau žydų istorijos ir dabar atvėriau sau šį nuostabų istorijos pasaulį. Dirbau iki 2004 metų ir jau metai, kaip ilsiuosi. Nors negalėčiau to vadinti poilsiu. Anksčiau, kai mano jaunesnysis sūnus labai susidomėjo Holokaustu, pradėjau rinkti medžiagą apie šį siaubingą žydų istorijos puslapį ir supratau, kaip mane traukia žydų gyvenimas ir bendruomenė. Tikriausiai, tai buvo vidinis postūmis daryti viską įmanomą ir neįmanomą, kad Lietuvos žydija atsigautų. Dabar esu Lietuvos žydų bendruomenės tarybos narys ir galiu dėti visas pastangas dėl bendruomenės. Netapau religingu; mano šeima mini žydiškas šventes ir laikosi privalomo pasninko per Yom Kipurą, pagerbdami protėvius ir milijonus žuvusiųjų.

Labai myliu Lietuvą. Dabar man patinka dalykai, kurių iš karto nepriėmiau – žlugusi sovietinė santvarka buvo tarsi šviežio oro gūsis, kurio būtinai reikėjo mano šalies egzistavimui, tačiau Lietuvos politikoje yra dalykų, kuriems nepritariu, t.y. atmetimas visų dalykų, susijusių su SSSR. Nemanau, kad taip elgtis yra teisinga. Man nepatinka neigiamas požiūris į pergalę prieš fašizmą. Daug žmonių čia galvoja, kad mes turėjome kovoti kartu su Hitleriu prieš SSSR. Aš griežtai prieš tokią nuomonę. Hitleris užgrobė pusę Europos, pavergė ir sunaikino milijonus žmonių. Buvau fronte ir žinau: bendromis pastangomis mes pasiekėme pergalę prieš fašizmą ir neturime to pamiršti. Tikiuosi, kad mano šalis su metais įveiks sunkumus.

ŽODYNĖLIS:

Isroel Lempertas
Vilnius
Lithuania
Interviewer: Zhanna Litinskaya
Date of interview: February 2005

I met Isroel Lempertas in the Lithuanian community where he agreed to give me an interview at once. He was very busy, so he could not pay me enough attention. I suggested interviewing him in his apartment, but he refused saying that his wife was sick and made an appointment with me at the community office at his earliest convenience. Isroel is an athletic man of short height, with a mop of grey hair. He is very modest. He looks serious, refined and intellectual. I can feel that the conversation is not easy for him. Isroel takes hard every reminiscence of his childhood, parents and brother, who perished in the lines. That is why he does not say much about his kin and I did not want to hurt his feeling with extra questions.

My family history 
Growing up 
During the War 
After the War 
GLOSSARY

My family history

I was born in a Lithuanian frontier town Mazeikiai, located 250 km from to the North-West from Vilnius, not far from the border with Latvia. The population of Mazeikiai was about 5-7 thousand people. Jews were about 700- 800 people. There is hardly anything I know about my ancestors. Like most adolescents, when I was young, I was not interested in my past as I had to think of my education, work and family. Now, I would like to get the information on my lineage, but there is nobody I can ask about it. As far as I know my maternal kin was born in Mazeikiai. I remember my maternal grandfather Faivush Levinson. I reckon he was born in 1860s. Grandfather was melamed in cheder. As I was later told by his students he was a very advanced person and a teacher. He gave not only traditional knowledge in cheder, but he also tried to tell more about nature, birds and flowers, read unreligious books of modern authors. As far as I know, grandfather Faivush Levinson was not truly religious man. I do not recall him in kippah or with a hat on. Judging from the pictures, his head never was covered.

I do not know anything about my maternal grandmother. She died long before I was born. I do not remember any tales about her. I do not even know her name. When the World War One was unleashed, Jews from frontier territories, namely Kaunas province, including Mazeikiai which was part of that province during Tsarist times, were exiled to the remote districts of Russia. Anti- Semitistic tsarist military authorities deemed that propinquity of Yiddish and German and vast difference of Jewish appearance and mode of life from the rest of peoples, inhabiting that territory, would incline Jews to the espionage. Many Jewish families from Baltic countries turned out be exiled. My mother's family was exiled to Berdyansk, warm Ukrainian town on the coast of the Sea of Azov [1000 km to the south from Kiev]. When Lithuania gained independence 1 almost all Jews came back to the motherland. The family of Faivush Levinson also returned. I cannot say whether my grandmother was alive. As far as I remember grandfather Faivush lived in the house of one of my aunts. He died in 1933. He was buried in Mazeikiai Jewish cemetery in accordance with the Jewish rite. I was not present at the funeral. It was not customary for Jews to take children to the funerals of the relatives.

Faivush had many children. My mother's brothers left for America in early 1920s. All I know is their names - Louis and Beniamin and that they had wives and children. I do not know what happened to them. There were 5 daughters, including my mother born in 1897. The eldest sister, who was couple of years older than my mother, had a double name Rosa and Shifra. She was called Shifra in our family. Her husband Aba Mets did not have a permanent job. He got by odd jobs. Shifra and Aba had two sons- Rafael, 4 years older than me and Nahman, who was my age. When the Great Patriotic War 2 was unleashed, we fled with the family of aunt Shifra. Her husband Aba was in the labor front first 3. He worked at some military plant in Siberia. Then he was drafted in the army and served in Lithuanian division #16 [the battalion is called Lithuanian because it was formed mostly from the former Lithuanian citizens, who were volunteers, evacuated or serving in the labor front]formed in 1943. Aba was killed in action in 1943 shortly after he had been drafted. He was not a young man at that time. Shifra and the boy came back to Lithuania and settled in Vilnius. About 20 years ago, she and her children left for Israel. Shifra had lived a long life and died in early 1990s. Her sons are doing well in Israel now.

Two of my mother's sisters lived in the USSR. Elder sister Liya, who was one or two years older than my mother, left for Baku, Azerbaijan, where her husband lived. I do not know how they met. They loved each other passionately. Liya's husband was Russian and it was one of the reasons why she left Lithuania. But at that time marriages between people of different nationalities were not acceptable. When Liya got married her name was Zimnikova. She was a housewife and her husband, whose name I do not remember, was assigned to different positions in the government of Azerbaijan. They had an only daughter Victoria. After moving to the USSR, Liya stopped corresponding with the kin in Lithuania, as it was considered dangerous and was persecuted in the USSR [Keep in touch with relatives abroad] 4. Moreover, Liya's husband was in the government. I do not remember where Liya and her daughter Victoria were during WW2. After war Victoria was married to my friend. They moved to Vilnius. When Liya and her husband got old, they moved to their daughter Victoria in Vilnius and lived there till the end of their days. Aunt Liya died in late 1970s.

Before departure for Russia, my mother's second sister Anna (it was the name she was called during the soviet times, and her original Jewish name is unknown), who was 2 years younger, worked as a child-minder in the Jewish kindergarten in Mazeikiai. In early 1920s Anna illegitimately ran away from Moscow, USSR with her Jewish husband Kabo. Before Lithuania was annexed to USSR in 1940 5 mother did not keep in touch with the sisters. Then she began corresponding with them. In autumn 1941, when fascist troops approached Moscow, Anna and her daughter Rina decided to get evacuated and came to us in Kirov oblast. After war Anna and Rina came back to Moscow. Anna died in the 1980s and Rina lives in Moscow now.

The fate of my mother's youngest sister, born in 1910, can be called tragic. Rahil married a pampered loitering Jew Jacob Rier from Riga. When WW2 began, Rahil's daughter Rosa turned 3. Rahil, Jacob and their daughter fled Mazeikiai on the second day of war. When our family got to Riga, Jacob insisted that his family should go to his relatives in the town of Salaspils 'to take a rest' in his words. We moved on, but Rahil's family was in occupation. In accordance with archival data, which I found after war, Rahil's family died in one of the most dreadful extermination camps in Salaspils. 6.

My mother Luba Levinson was educated at home. I do not remember her saying that she went to lyceum. Grandfather Faivush taught his children himself. Yiddish was my mother's native language. Born in Tsarist Russia and having spent her adolescence there, she was well up in Russian, both written and oral. As for Lithuanian, she spoke with a heavy accent like most of Jews. Like many Jewish ladies, mother did not work when she was young. She lived in her parental house and helped grandmother with chores. I do not know how my parents met. Maybe it was a pre-arranged Jewish wedding. They got married in early 1920s.

I know hardly anything about my father's family. I remember grandfather David Lempert lived in Latvia, in the town Daugavpils, but I do not know if he was born there. In my father's words David was born in the middle of 19th century. Father said that grandfather David dealt with timber trade and was a rather well-off. Judging by the portrait hanging in our house, where David is with beard, with a kippah on his head and from the scares tales of my father I can say that grandfather was a religious Jew. During World War One, father's family was also exiled. In my father's words grandfather refused to live in Kharkov [Ukraine, 440 km from Kiev], where he worked in some offices of the Soviet Army. When the war was over, the family returned to Lithuania. I cannot say when grandfather David died. I think it happened before the family came back to the Baltic country. Maternal grandmother, petite lean woman, with her head always covered, lived with us. I do not remember even her name. Her health was very poor and she mostly stayed in her room in bed. We just called her grandmother. I remember her lighting candles on the Sabbath eve. She read her thick shabby prayer book while she was able to see. When I was five, i.e. in 1930, grandmother died. She was buried in accordance with the Jewish tradition in the Mazeikiai Jewish cemetery. I do not know anything about father's siblings. I think he was an only son. At least I do not remember any talks about siblings.

My father Itshok Lempert was born in 1887. I do not know where he was born. Father was a very educated man. He finished lyceum and most likely some other education. Apart from mother tongue Yiddish, he was fluent in Russian. I cannot say how good was his Lithuanian, but it was definitely better than mother's. Father was exempt from the service in the tsarist army as he had myopia alta. Father was much respected in Mazeikiai. He worked as a chief accountant at the Jewish bank in Mazeikiai. He was a highly skilled accountant. He even had students. They came home to my father and he gave them private lessons in book-keeping. Apart from book- keeping and teaching, father was also involved in some social work.

My parents got married in Mazeikiai. I do not know if their wedding was Jewish as both of them, especially father, were unreligious. They might be married under chuppah out of mere respect for the relatives in order to observe the tradition. In 1923 my elder brother was born. He had a double name Mikhl-Duvid. He was named Duvid after grandfather, but I do not know the reason for his second name Mikhl. At home brother was called Duvid. I was born on the 17th of November 1925. I was named Isroel after one of my great grandfather, I do not know paternal or maternal. The surname of my father and grandfather was Lempert. I was born in independent Lithuania, so a Lithuanian version of my Jewish name was written in my birth certificate, namely Lempertas [Lithuanianization of names] 7 I still carry that name.

Growing up

Our family did not own any property and our parents always rented an apartment. I do not remember the peculiarities of our apartments. Usually these were 3-room apartments with a kitchen, without conveniences (there was an outhouse). Father was busy with his work and social activity and could not spend a lot of time with his children. Mother mostly took care of us. The air in our house, and conversations of our guests, mostly Yiddishists, affected our upbringing. Mother was a housewife, but she just ran the house,while others did all the chores. We always had a maid- a Lithuanian tacit and hard-working woman. As per order of my mother she cooked dinner, cleaned the apartment and did the laundry. My parents were not religious. They tried to observe Jewish traditions while grandmother, who lived with us, and grandfather Faivush, were alive. At least most kashrut rules were observed during cooking. There were separate dishes for milk and for meat in the house- from the set of china up to pots, pans and cutting boards. Meat was bought in a special Jewish store, where only kosher meat was on offer. One of the apartments where we stayed for a long time, belonged to the owners of the kosher store. There were three owners of the store - two brothers Glik and their widowed sister Mendelevich. Poultry was purchased in the store and taken to shochet. In my early childhood mother took me to shochet. I remembered his small house with a shed in the yard. There was always a line of Jewish ladies with cackling fowl. There was no pork in our house when grandmother was alive. On Friday she or mother lit Sabbath candles. That was it, there was no other preparation for Sabbath- no cooking of tasty things, baking challahs. There were no things in our house as compared to other Jews. On Sabbath father did not work. Jewish bank like other Jewish educations was closed on Saturday. Father kept late hours at his desk reading and writing and I think he was violating Sabbath traditions.

We did not mark Jewish holidays. Grandfather Faivush came over to us and carried out Paschal seder. Grandfather reclined at the head of the table clad in festive apparel and kippah. A piece of matzah -afikoman' was hidden under his pillow. I was to look for it. Usually Duvid was the one who asked grandfather traditional four questions about the origin of the holidays. [Editor's note: It is always the youngest son that is supposed to ask the questions, so according to the tradition it should have been Isroel.] I also remembered Chanukkah. Potato fritters were usually cooked in our house. The children usually played with a whipping top. Grandfather Faivush gave us Chanukkah money. I do not recall celebration of other holidays. When grandfather Faivush died, we stopped marking even those holidays. It was not because we were lazy. It was because of my father's atheistic principles. Because of that neither I nor my brother? Duvid went through bar mitzvah.

Neither father nor mother went to the synagogue. A big two-storied synagogue was not far from our apartment. Rabbi Mamjoffe was a very respectable man. He got along with father and he called on us. Father and rabbi had long conversations over a cup of tea. I do not know the subject of their conversations. I assume those were theological and philosophic topics. The surname of Mamjoffe was written on my birth certificate and I remembered his ornate signature very well. Rabbi Mamjoffe was atrociously slaughtered by Hitler's soldiers during the first days of occupation. When I worked with the historic archives after war, I came across that signature once again and I was concussed by my reminiscences from childhood. I knew a lot of people who were murdered- my classmates from lyceum and pals of my parents. But these were casual acquaintances and I was not touched to the quick. The preserved signatory of Mamjoffe really touched my soul. When I remember that man, tears come to my eyes.

Apart from the synagogue there were couple of more Jewish institutions. There was a mikveh not far from the synagogue, but our family did not go there. There were charitable organizations, such as Jewish kindergarten, canteen for the indigent. Our family was middle class, it was not rich. Books, papers, father was subscribed for, were the priority in our house. Since childhood we used to read them. We had radio in the 1930s. It was rather rare and expensive back in that time. My brother and I were given a bike. There were few Jewish children who had a bike and it was a kind of luxury. In summer we went to dacha [summer house], which parents rented in a small Lithuanian hamlet. Mother made us take a stroll in the forest for a long time, but brother and I were homesick and wanted to see our friends. We felt tedious in a hamlet. The living wage of our family was pretty decent. The majority of Jews were much poorer. There were a lot of rich people among Jews. Usually these were businessmen, owners of the stores, Jewish doctors and lawyers. I do not remember their names. All I know that the stores in the downtown mostly belonged to the Jews.

One of the local Jews Tulia, owned a house. The first apartment we rented was in his house. Tulia had large egg storage. He dealt with wholesale of eggs and even exported them to England. I did not enter the lyceum because of one of his daughters. My elder brother Duvid went to Ivrit lyceum. Gradually the number of students was cut and it was in the wane. Brother did not finish that lyceum and lately studied in the working school of the labor organization in Kaunas. There was an elementary Jewish school in Mazeikiai. I had studied there for couple of months and got ill. I was taught by my father and crammed for the lyceum by a tutor who came to us. I entered the 3rd grade of Lithuanian elementary school. Having finished it, I took entrance exams to the state Lithuanian lyceum. One of the entrance exams was Bible study. I practically flunked it, having got a satisfactory mark. The teacher, who took the exam on Bible, was the daughter of rabbi Mamjoffe. When I was not in the list of the admitted, Mamjoffe's daughter ran to my mother, repenting and blaming herself. She thought I was not admitted because she gave me a low mark. Two of Tulia's daughters were in the list of the admitted to the lyceum. They did not have brilliant knowledge and given satisfactory marks for the entrance exams. Tulia just bribed the director of the lyceum having arranged parties in his honor. I had studied in the 4th grade of Lithuanian elementary school and the year after I succeeded to enter the second grade of the lyceum. Thus I turned out to be in the same grade with Tulia's daughters. They were good girls. I made friends with them and helped them with homework. In general, mostly Jews, my classmates, were my friends, I remember Borya Mendelevich, son of the owner of butcher store, Jacob Gusev, Meishke Mitskievich. All of them perished during occupation.

There were Lithuanian guys in the class up till 1938. We got along with them. In general, there were very few anti-Semitists in Lithuania. I think, Lithuania was one of those countries, there anti-Semitism was rather weak as compared to the other countries, especially by the middle 1930s. Before 1924 there was a 'golden age' for Jews in Lithuania. Jews were not oppressed in any way. There were Jews in parliament 8, when in 1926 there was a coup d'etat in Lithuania 9 Tautininki came to power, there was an end to democracy. Communist party, 60% consisting of Jews, was banned. Jews were driven out from parliament and from leading positions in the state. But, that was not it. Dictator Smetona 10, came to power and he thought that Lithuanians should be leaders and the rest should keep quiet and help Lithuanians make a happy state. Though, Smetona treated Jews pretty well and we practically felt no anti-Semitism. Of course, in every day life anti- Semitism was displayed in different ways. I remember that once Lithuanian guys in elementary school tried to put some pigs fat on the lips of Jewish guys. But it was childish unmalicious prank. It was as if guys did not understand what they were doing. I came across with a real anti-Semitism in late 1930s. By that time I did not have any particular political interests. I paid attention to the conversations of my father and friends and later on I understood that father belonged to any party- neither communist, nor any other. He had his own views, 'left' views. There were Zionist organizations in the town, including Betar 11 and Maccabi 12. I did not go deep in the politics I joined «Maccabi», where I played ping-pong and communicated with people of my age.

In 1938-39 pro-Nazi public opinion was streamlined in Lithuania. The teacher of arts, a Lithuanian, called upon fascism among youth. I do not know who of them did it, but each morning there were anti-Semitist posters in the lobby of lyceum, namely a Jew with a 'snoot', plaits, distorted appearance and clothes, with a humped back. Those posters were removed, but next morning they appeared again. I know for sure that two guys from that circle shot Jews, including their classmates in 1941 during one of Hitler's actions. There was a very beautiful girl in our class, the daughter of the director of Jewish bank, Kock Glikman. Many guys wooed her, including one of those guys. She did not want to go with him and he shot her with his own hands during one of the actions in 1941. Many people, at least our family, understood, that fascism would bring calamity to our country and many people looked up to USSR. I am not sure if my father knew about political processes and repressions carried out by Stalin in USSR [Great Terror] 13. He had never talked to me about it.

During the War

When soviet soldiers came in our town in June 1940 many people welcomed them hoping for a better life. [Editor's note: In reality probably it was rather few people who welcomed the occupying Red Army in Lithuania. This is more than 50 years of Soviet propaganda, that regarded the occupation of the Baltic states as 'Liberation', that makes itself felt at this episode.] There was a train with soviet militaries and couple of tanks. I remember I and other boys rushed there, encircled the soldiers and tried to speak Russian to them, though we hardly knew anything in Russian. Many guys boasted on stars from the fore-and-aft caps the soldiers gave them. First there was a state of all-in-all euphoria. During the first day there was a meeting on the central square. My father took the floor. He welcomed soviet soldiers in his mother tongue-Yiddish. For the first time within many years Yiddish was heard from tribune in Mazeikiai. Then meetings were held almost every week and almost the whole town got together to listen to the speakers. Euphoria gave way to disillusionment. Many products vanished from the stores. Only one sort of bread remained and it was low-grade. There were hardly any manufacture goods, including soap and napkins. Nationalization was commenced. The bank where father was employed, was nationalized, but father kept on working there. People who owned any type of property or hired workers, were arrested and exiled to Siberia [Deportations from the Baltics] 14. Tulia and his family were exiled and many other. Tulia died in Siberian camp. His wife died in exile, but his daughters managed to come back to their native town in middle 1970s at an adult age. They did not stay in Lithuania long and left for Israel.

Our lyceum was declared a secondary school and the 7th grade of lyceum was the 9th grade at school. Other than that things were the same. I entered Komsomol organization 15. I was rather active- conducted meetings, called upon people to support soviet regime, drew wall posters. One year with the Soviets went by very quickly. On the 21st of June 1941 we had school- leavers party at school. I came home late and did not stay in bed for a long time. Early in the morning we heard the roaring of the planes. The town was bombed. The Great Patriotic War was unleashed. People were panicking, trying to escape, abandoning their houses. Some Jews thought that Germans would do them no harm and decided to stay. Our family did not have a dilemma- to stay or not to stay. By the evening of the Sunday, 22nd of June we left the town on foot. There were four of us - the families of aunt Shifra and mother's younger sister Rahil. People were fleeing. There were crowds of fugitives on the road with suitcases, rucksacks and bales. The road was bombed and I saw death for the first time. Not all people got up after the bombing was over. Retreating units of the Soviet Army walked along with us. We had walked for couple of days until we reached Latvian border and stayed for couple of days at some train station in Latvia waiting for a train. We had a problem with food. We did not take much with us and we ran out of food pretty soon. Father and uncle Aba Metz exchanged our things with products and our family managed to get by couple of days. Then we managed to get on the train heading to Riga. Upon our arrival we were placed at some school, where evacuation point was organized. We slept in a large hall on the floor. In the afternoon all evacuees were given some soup or porridge and bread. The situation was rather unusual mildly to say. By 1940 we had lived in bourgeois Lithuania and were used to relative comfort. We decided to stick together as it was easier to overcome trouble with the support of kin, which was really precious under those circumstances. In a day or two Jacob Rier, husband of aunt Rahil insisted that we should stop by in Sauspils and take a rest in the place of his relatives and wait for the stir to end. He was not used to the complications and aunt Rahil obeyed her husband. We said goodbye to her and their little Rozochka. At that time we did not know that we would never see them again.

We moved on in about ten days. We took a train, which was supposed to evacuate some plant. Couple of empty platforms were attached to the trains so that the fugitives could get on them. There was barely any room. The train started. We had been on the road for no less than 3 weeks. Before we got on the train, father got some [food] products in exchange for some things. At the evacuation point we were given dry ration- rusks. At first, we did not starve. When the products were over, we felt famished. During stops father and elder brother got off to look for food. Sometimes we got some food from the local people by exchanging them with what they had and at times they managed to get a pot of soup given to the evacuees at the stations. The road was being constantly bombed and the train made frequent stops. Then evacuees scattered in different directions hiding in some natural shelters. I saw a lot of deaths, but it was impossible to get used to it.

We arrived in the town of Kirov [850 km to the east from Moscow]. First we settled at the evacuation point. We were kept there for couple of days. The so-called 'buyers' - the chairman of kolkhoz 16 and construction supervisors came there. As a rule they selected young people. In a while we and the family aunt Shifra were sent to some kolkhoz in Kirov oblast. First I was involved in agricultural works and then in carpentry. Father was confined to bed because of illnesses and hunger and died in late 1941. At that time aunt Anna and Rina came from Moscow. She also went to work at kolkhoz. All of us lived in one room in the house of the local kolkhoz people. They treated us really well, but the food was catastrophically scarce though I got trudodni 17 and ration and mother received tiny dependent's ration. I dreamt of studies in spite of the war. I still thought of entering the institute. When Moscow Teachers' Training Institute was evacuated in Kirov, I was enrolled for the first course of Physics and Mathematics department. I was not exactly what I was dreaming about- to become a historian or a philosopher, but I was not to choose. I lived in the hostel of the institute in Kirov. Mother really suffered when father died. She often was unwell. I managed to make arrangements for my mother to have a room in my hospital. She was hired as a cleaner in the hostel and was given a room there. She also was on duty in the hostel. My student life went by very fast. It was easy for me to study and I did well. We lived in a cold hostel like one family, we shared everything we had. Everyday with bated breath we listened to the round-ups from the lines. Guys of all kinds of nationalities studied with me, but our friendship was cemented because of our common grief. There were no discords. I had studied only for a year and a half. At the beginning of 1943 my brother and I were drafted in the front-line forces. My brother worked at some military plant all the time and he came to the military enlistment office on numerous occasions, but he was not drafted, and now was the time.

We were sent to the newly-formed Lithuanian division # 16, 18 positioned in the town of Balakhna, Nizhniy Novgorod. Mother stayed in Kirov and we agreed that she would stay by the institute all the time so it would be easier for us to find her after war. By that time the situation in the lines was considerably different - after defeat of the fascists in the vicinity of Stalingrad [Stalingrad Battle] 19, nobody questioned the victory of the Soviet Army. My brother and I were in the different places. I had spent couple of months training and was sent to the front shortly afterwards. Unfortunately, my brother was not in the lines for a long time. He was killed in action shortly after he was drafted in the front-lines.

In the summer of 1943 I turned out to be on the leading edge. I was a private in the infantry. It was the hardest and most dangerous military profession. We always were the first to confront the enemy face -to-face. Our division was the part of the First Baltic front 20. We swiftly moved along the territory of Russia, then Ukraine and further to the West. We were fed well in the army. It was the first time during the war times when I was full with the food. Of course, living conditions were much to be deplored. We slept in the dugs-out. Sometimes we settled in the houses of the liberated hamlets so that we could sleep in a warm place and take a bath. But it happened on very rare occasions. I was not a coward. I was one of the first who rushed in the attack. Before one of the fiercest battles I joined the Communist party. I did it consciously and deliberately. In the lines all those who wished were admitted in the party, without any bureaucratic routines. So I was admitted in the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. I remember that often we darted in assault with the Stalin's name and we did it willingly. We thought he was the one who encouraged us and assured us in the victory. It was the way we were brought up. During one of the most serious battles I was ahead of everybody. I jumped in the enemy's trench and killed the fascists who were there. As it turned out my deed turned out to be decisive in liberation of the village we were attacking. I do not remember its name now, but it was somewhere on the border of Russian and Belarus. After that battle my commander included me in the list of the awardees. I felt strange. I was a modest guy and I did not think my action to be extraordinary. Soon there was a resolution and I was conferred with the Order of Fame 21. Soon I was elected a Komsomol organizer of the squad and became the aide of the political officer 22. I was to follow the rounds-up of the fronts, estimate political situation. By the way, news- paper were delivered daily and had political classes with the soldiers when they were not in the battles. The war was about to end and the front was advancing to the Western borders of the USSR.

In the summer of 1944 my motherland Lithuania was liberated. I always corresponded with mother. As we agreed, she kept on working in the hostel of the Teachers' Training School. She was evacuated in Moscow with that institute. Mother asked me to be cautious not to be hit by the bullet, but I was never a coward. Strange as it may be the most difficult for me at the front was the lack of the conveniences, the chance to wash my face, take a bath and put clean clothes on, not fascist bullets and the fear of being killed at any moment. Marshes, filth, gnats and not getting enough sleep desponded me the most. My character did not fit the military service, though I was quite good in the battles being a brave soldier. At the end of 1944 the invitation for the officers' courses was sent to our regiment. It was suggested that I should go there. I did not want to be a career soldier as I did not like military service. I wanted to continue my studies at the institute. I understood that the war was winding up and it would be difficult for me to be demobilized at the rank of an officer. But still, I agreed. I even do not know why. Probably, because I was highly responsible. I left for the courses, which were to last for 3 months. These were officers' courses of the First Baltic Front. It happened right after Lithuania had been liberated. We settled in Riga. The war was about to end and the courses were constantly prolonged to save as much officers as possible. When the war moved to Eastern Prussia, we were sent to the former German Kaliningrad region 23, having been liberated by soviet troops. We met victory here. We were exulting. We were so happy to know that the war was over and now it was the time to think of our future.

After the War

We had been already conferred the officers' rank and I became a junior lieutenant. Shortly after our victory we were allocated to different military units. I was sent Vilnius and assigned Komsomol organizer of regiment # 249, where I used to serve. First I lived in the barracks with everybody. Our regiment was in Severny Gorodok, it was the name of one of the outskirts of Vilnius. Mother stayed in Moscow for a while. She was supposed to have a permit to come to Vilnius. When I managed to get a permit for her, I went to Moscow to take mother in Vilnius. In Moscow I saw aunt Anna and cousin Rina. By that time they came back from Kirov oblast, where they stayed during war. First mother and I rented our lodging in Vilnius. It was a small room without conveniences. In 1946 many people left Vilnius for Poland and many apartments were empty. [In 1946 soviet authorities permitted to leave the territory of the USSR to all people, who were born on the territories annexed to the USSR in the period of 1939- 40s.] I was given a small two-room apartment with a kitchen, but without conveniences. Finally, we had our own house and we settled there with mother. I had been writing the requests on demobilization, but they were returned to me unsigned.

I was demobilized only in 1947. I was happy. The only thing for me to do was to find a job and go to the institute. The real hardship in my life started. At that time in Lithuania, as well as in the rest of the USSR, anti- Semitism [Campaign against 'cosmopolitans'] 24 was thriving. I came across it when I was seeking a job at the institute. I finished one year and a half in the period of time when most people did not even manage to finish 10 classes. It was enough to find a job. Besides, I was born in Lithuania, a front line soldier with the awards, the member of Communist Party, which was rare. I wanted to be a lector. I had that experience in the regiment and got along with people. Nothing happened. First, I addressed the "educational agency" Znaniye [Znaniye all-Union society, a public educational agency supporting spread of political and scientific knowledge.]. I was offered a job as an accountant. I had not experience in that. Then, the second secretary of the Central Komsomol Committee of the Republic, the fellow soldier, recommended me for a position of the aide of the first secretary of the Central Komsomol Committee. Of course, I did not succeed. I addressed other organizations. First I was welcomed as I did not look like a typical Jew, but when it was the time to see my last name during processing of my documents, the head of HR department found any reason to refuse me. Of course, they never said that the true reason was my Jewish origin. Finally one good fellow soldier helped me get a job as a literary worker at the paper 'Sovietskaya Litva'. [Russian language Lithuanian newspaper. Between 1944 and 1990 it came out six time a week in 70,000 copies daily (1975)]

The same year- 1947 - I submitted the documents to the Vilnius university, Physics and Mathematics Department. The pro-rector, responsible for academic studies, an inveterate anti-Semitist, told me: «you studied at the Teachers' Training Institute. Take another attempt». But I was helped by the party organizer of the university, who was from Mazeikiai. He knew my father very well and insisted that I should be admitted to the second course as I was the member of the party and a front-line soldier. Students of those years did not look like modern students. At that time we were adults having gone through war. I was also responsible for my mother. She could not work, so I was the only bread-winner. When I was in the third year I was employed by Chair of Marxism and Leninism as teachers' assistant. There was a lack of teachers in social studies Lithuania, who were fluent in Lithuanian and Russian languages. On the third course I was appointed as an assistant to the teacher in Marxism and Leninism. There were 3 students-teachers in the entire university, including me. Upon graduation I successfully defended my diploma and I was not to worry of the mandatory job assignment 25. They even did not ask what I would like to do. I remained teaching at the university.

I did not associate state anti-Semitism, commenced with the assassination of the great Jewish actor Mikhoels 26, extermination of Jewish Anti- fascist Committee 27 and ended with the preposterous so-called 'doctors' plot» 28 with Stalin's name. I thought there were the willingness of the local state activists to outdo others in front of all-union dignitaries. I should say that I personally was not touched by anti-Semitistic campaigns. I kept on teaching successfully. Judging by the way tutors and students treated me, I can say I was respected. I took hard Stalin's death in 1953. Gradually I came to understanding his true role and the resolutions adopted at divulging the  Party Congress 29 were taken by me as logical and necessary. The truth was revealed. Only now, after perestroika 30 we came to know almost everything about transgressions of the soviet régime and gangster leader Stalin.

I had worked in the university by 1989, before the outbreak of perestroika. I had defended candidate theses [Soviet/Russian doctorate degrees] 31. When the independence of Lithuania was restored 32 I confirmed my title. Now I am the doctor of History. I should say I did not accept perestroika at once. It was hard for me to object all those ideas I was sincerely devoted to- the ideas of socialism and communism. Being the nee of Lithuania I understood very well that Moscow was alien in our country. Now I completely agree with the term 'soviet occupation, when it goes about soviet regime. I support the independence of my country, its membership in European Union. I hope that Lithuania will overcome temporary obstacles and become a flourishing European country.

I am happy in my private life. I met a wonderful Jewish girl at the university. Polina Aibinder was the student of the medical department. We had a lot in common. Both of us were born in small Lithuanian towns. She was born in Kupiskis in 1930. Her father Zelik Aibinder was a tailor and mother was a housewife. Polina had a sister Rosa Aibinder. In 1941 she did not manage to get evacuated and had to go through all the horror of Vilnius ghetto 33. Rosa survived. Shortly after war was over she left for Israel. She is still living there. In 1941 Polina and her parents left the town and were evacuated in Chuvashia. Upon return Polina's family settled in Vilnius. Polina and I started seeing each other. In 1951 we got married. We had a very modest wedding. We registered our marriage in a regional marriage registration office and had a small party with closest people in my aunt's apartment as there was no room in our apartment. We moved in my mother's place. In 1952 our elder son came into the world. We named him David after my brother. Our second son Ilia was born in 1957.

Our family lived the way all common families lived by the soviet regime- from check to check. We did not have any riches, but our life was pretty decent. My wife worked as a doctor. Children, like others, went to the kindergarten, then to school. Mother helped us the best way she could. In early 1960s she was getting more and more unwell. She took to her bed and in died in 1965. She was buried in the Jewish sector of the cemetery 34, but without any Jewish rites being observed. We went on vacation every year, sometimes with children. Like most people from Vilnius we went to the spas [Recreation ?enters in the the USSR] 35 in Palanga [popular resort in Lithuania on the coast of the Baltic Sea]. We got trade-union travel vouchers and had to pay only 30% of the trip, so we could afford to take a vacation every year. Children went pioneer camps on the territory of Lithuania. In early 1970s I bought a car and we took an interest to travel around Lithuania. We went to Crimea and the Carpathians [Ukraine]. In couple of years I got a land plot for my orchard. At that time there collective horticulture was developed and workers were given land plots of 600m2. The land plot was small and the cottage built could not exceed 30 square meters. We enjoyed taking care of our garden, orchard and flowerbeds. All could fit in our house- we, our children and grandchildren. When the restrictions as for the size of cottages were cancelled, I expanded my cottage. Now we have a pretty decent heated dacha [summer house].

David graduated from the Mathematics Department of Vilnius University. He was an excellent student, but still he had problems with a job. He was given a mandatory job assignment teach mathematics at the elementary school, though he ranked the 2nd of the 3rd best student and was dreaming of scientific work. Finally I managed to find a place for him - to perform research at the University, but David was dissatisfied: the salary was skimpy, there was no way for the growth and he could not work on his own. He had a family - his wife Liza, a Jew, who worked as an accountant and two daughters, Elena and Anna born in a row in 1982 and 1983 respectively. In early 1990s David and his family left for Israel. There he does well. He is a mathematician/programmer. His wife is working as an accountant. My favorite granddaughters served a full term in Israel army. Now both of them study at Haifa University. My son's family lives in Petakh Tikvah. I visited him for couple of times. I am happy he managed to achieve what he sought.

My younger son Ilia also finished Vilnius university. He is a historian. His wife Larissa is a Ukrainian Jew. During soviet regime she came to Vilnius to enter the institute like many Jewish young people as it was much easier in Lithuania as compared to other republics. [There was rerlatively less discrimination against Jews upon entering higher education in Lithuania than elswhere in the Soviet Union.] Larisa finished university, Russian philology department, defended candidate theses. She is the candidate of science now. Larisa is currently dealing with Judaic. Ilia has two children- the elder Olga, born in 1986, entered Moscow university, Judaic department. She studies Jewish philology. My only grandson Alexander, whom I call Sachenka - I call all my grandchildren tender names: Lenochka, Anechka, Olenka - [Russian diminutives for Elena, Anna and Olga] born in 1989 is finish Vilnius Jewish school this year. By the way, Jewish school in Vilnius is not private, but state.

Another, probably the most important thing for the Jews is the revival of Jewish life, which became possible with perestroika and independence of Lithuania. Now I came back to the life I used to have so many years ago. In the period of time when the state of Israel was founded, when it was at war - six-day war 36, Yom-Kippur war 37 etc., I, like many other people could not help, but admire Israel. Many people displayed solidarity with Israelies. I kept silent at the party meetings, when my peoples was stigmatized. Now I am proud of Israel and I am happy that my son lives there. I do not think of immigration. I cannot split myself for each of my sons and for each of my motherlands. Let things remain the way they are. Besides, my Polina is very sick. Couple of years ago to had to retire because of her poor health. Now, she rarely leaves the apartment.

When I resigned from the university I was employed at psychological laboratory by the university dealing with research of educational issues. At the same time I was offered to teach Jewish history at the Jewish school, which was recently open. It turned out, that I was learning together with my students, being one class ahead of them. In my childhood and adolescence I did not study Jewish history and now I opened that wonderful history world for me. I had worked by 2004 and now I am taking a rest for a year. Though, I cannot call it a rest. Earlier, when my younger son took a keen interest in Holocaust, I started collecting materials on that horrible page in the Jewish history and understood that Jewish life and community appealed to me. Probably it was an inner need to do possible and impossible for the Jewry to be revived. Now I am a member of the Board of the Community of Lithuanian Jews. Now I have the chance to do my best for the community. I did not become religious; my family marks Jewish holidays and mandatory fasts on Yom Kippur to commemorate my ancestors and millions of those who perished.

I dote on Lithuania. Now I like things, which I could not accept at once- crushed communistic regime was like a breath of fresh air, something which was necessary for our country to exist, but there are things in Lithuanian politics, which I disapprove, i.e. getting away with everything, connected with the USSR. I do not think it is the right thing to do. I do not like a negative attitude toward the victory over fascism. Here many people think that we should have fought with Hitler against USSR. I am strongly against it! Hitler captured half of Europe, enslaved and exterminated millions of people. I was in the lines and I know: because of our combined efforts we gained a victory over fascism and we should always keep it in mind. I hope that my country would get over the difficulties with growth.

GLOSSARY:

Vera Tomanic
Belgrade
Serbia
Interviewer: Klara Azulaj

I was born in 1917 in Bistrinci, near Osijek, Croatia. My father, Pavao
Bluhm, was born in 1887 in Kiskoros, Hungary, and my mother, Elza Bluhm
(nee Grunwald), was born in 1895 in Bistrinci.

When I was born, we lived in Bistrinci, but we soon moved to Belisce, where
my father found work with the Jewish family Guttman, originally from
Hungary. That family bore the title of Baron. The Guttman family owned the
Slavonian-Podravian railroad, and they had a wood processing factory where
they also made tannin, a mixture exported to England for leather
processing.

The village of Belisce was an industrial area whose residents were all
workers and clerks employed by the Guttman family. We were given a
pleasant, spacious apartment. The problem was that it did not have its own
bathroom. In the entire settlement there was no plumbing, but they
installed special communal facilities, one for workers and one for clerks.

We had a small garden, which my mother took care of as a hobby, not out of
necessity. We had a servant for the household upkeep. At home we spoke
Croatian, Hungarian and German.

My father, Pavao, was very religious. Every morning he put on tefillin
(phylacteries) and prayed. My mother Elza was not religious to the same
degree, but our family marked all the Jewish holidays, and every Friday we
lit candles. We lived a real Jewish life because the Guttman family, which
was very religious, made it possible. Many Jews worked on the construction
of the railroad and in their factory. Besides my family, about 30 other
Jewish families lived in Belisce. We enjoyed a peaceful, harmonious life.

When it was time for me to start elementary school, I had to enroll in the
state school, because in Belisce there was no Jewish elementary school.
However, after school we had regular religion classes. Our teacher, Ankica
Stein, came twice a week from Osijek. So from a young age I was religiously
educated.

My father's parents, my grandfather Herman Bluhm and my grandmother Salli
Bluhm (whose maiden name I cannot remember), were Orthodox. They lived in
Kiskoros, Hungary. Grandfather Herman had two butcher shops: one kosher,
and one non-kosher. In their house, they kept kosher. My father's whole
family was very religious and strictly maintained all the religious
traditions. Grandfather and Grandmother Bluhm had seventeen children, but
not all of them survived. I remember six of my father's siblings: Ignac,
who was a clerk; Jocko and Feri, who were butchers; Miksa and Panni,
merchants; and Roza, a housewife. Unfortunately, only Jocko and Panni
survived World War Two. The others were killed in Auschwitz.

My aunt Panni married a merchant and remained in Kiskoros . We children
especially liked to go to her place, because she had a grocery store where,
among other things, she sold ice cream. Every summer we spent at least a
month with my father's family, and during the year, when it was convenient
for them, they came to visit us in Belisce.

Everyone in our family, from my mother's side and from my father's side,
were very close to one another. We liked to spend as much time together as
possible. And today, the few of us who survived get along very well.

My father's parents' home was a typical small village house. In the yard
they had cattle and poultry. As long as Grandfather Herman worked as a
butcher, Grandmother Salli took care of the house and raising the children.
Every Friday she took food to the bakery, and Saturdays she brought it back
so it would be warm, because on Saturday she would not light a fire.

My father finished elementary school in Kiskoros and continued his
schooling in Budapest at the Commercial Academy. Since his parents were
poor, during his schooling he ate with various Jewish families. When he was
not sure if the meat for lunch was kosher, he took a small piece and when
no one was looking he hid it in his handkerchief and later threw it away.
After finishing the Commercial Academy in 1915, my father went to Belisce
to work at the Guttman family's railroad. He got the work easily because he
spoke Hungarian and he was qualified. He started working as the director of
a sector. Father only learned Croatian in Belisce. My mother Elza lived in
Bistrinci, literally the neighborhood next to Belisce. Through fortunate
circumstances, Mother and Father met and married in 1916.

My mother's parents, Marko Grunwald and Eleonora Grunwald (nee Spiezer)
regularly went to synagogue and observed all the holidays, but Grandmother
Eleonora did not keep a kosher kitchen. Grandmother and Grandfather had
three children, Elza, Berta and Felix. Grandfather Marko was born in 1861
in Marijanci, near Osijek. In Bistrinci he had a mixed-good store. He died
in 1917. Grandmother Eleonora was born in 1871 in Barcs, Hungary. When she
married my grandfather, she helped him run the store. After his death, she
moved, with her daughter Berta, to our apartment.

Her youngest child, my uncle Felix, enlisted in the army in Bistrinci in
1915 while still a minor. When he understood that this had been a mistake,
he deserted, and went by boat to America. There he trained to be a butcher
and opened a butcher shop. In 1935, for the first time after deserting, he
came to visit his family again. I remember how harshly he criticized the
way our butcher shops processed poultry. After America, the work here
looked crude. He died in Cleveland in 1954.

Because of my enrollment in the gymnasium, my family moved to Osijek in
1929. I enrolled in the women's gymnasium. It was not a Jewish school, but
at the time I started there the director was a Mr. Herschl, and many of the
teachers were Jewish. I remember Professor Polak, and the German teacher,
Mrs. Fischer. As soon as we got to Osijek, I joined the Jewish youth there.

My parents bought a house at 18 Zagreb Street, and my mother opened a shop
which sold food out of our home. She had two salespeople, and she herself
worked the cash register. My grandmother Eleonora and my aunt Berta, who
continued to live with us even after we moved to Osijek, took care of my
younger sister Lilie, who was born in 1923, and me.

In 1930, together with his Jewish friend Miroslav Adler, my father opened a
big textile store that sold fabric by the meter. It was on the street with
the most traffic. In the store were four full-time, permanent employees,
and one cashier.

Around 2,000 Jews lived in Osijek. There were two synagogues, one in the
upper part of the city and the other in the lower part. We had our own
rabbi, cantor and shochet (kosher butcher). The rabbi was Dr. Ungar, a very
well-educated man. The temple was well-attended, big and beautiful. Every
Friday night, even the young people would go to the temple. No one forced
us to go, it was in our upbringing, and out of our own personal need.

In addition to the temple we had a place for socializing, performances and
lectures. The Jewish community was big, very active and religious. I
remember Hana Levi, who worked in the Osijek elementary school. She was
brought from Israel to teach Hebrew to the children. In Osijek lived the
very well-known Dr. Weissman, who had a sanatorium. He was famous for the
fact that he treated the poor in Osijek free of charge, regardless of
whether they were Jews or not.

I became actively involved in Hashomer Hatzair. This was a left-leaning
Zionist group that supported the idea that Israel should be built based on
kibbutzim (collective settlements), without the need for force and weapons,
in a peaceful manner. Our goal was to go to Israel one day and cultivate
the land. We had good instructors. Among the first settlers in Israel were
Jews from Osijek.

The most active members of Hashomer Hatzair were Ruzica and Josha Indig,
Zora and Zlata Glid, and Heda Maller. Many of the members went to Israel,
and there they established Kibbutz Shaar Hamakir, which still exists today.
Later on, they established Kibbutz Gat. At the meetings we received
information about what was happening in Israel and about the Zionist
movement. My group was called Kadima and many girls from it went to Israel.
I remember Lea Rosezweig , Mira Maller, Hilda Goltlieb, Magda Beitl, Zlata
Stein. There were 50 or 60 girls and boys in Hashomer Hatzair. My younger
sister Lilie was also active. Every summer we went on a joint summer
holiday. There was Vico, the women's Zionist society, which raised money to
buy land from the Arabs and to open hospitals and old age homes in Israel.

Saturdays at 11 there were special services for the youth held by a Dr.
Freiberger. The Jews helped one another a lot, especially the rich helped
the poor. Many children from elsewhere went to school in Osijek. Since
there was no organized cafeteria, these children ate with Jewish families.
One boy came to my house every day for lunch.

After finishing gymnasium, for health reasons I did not continue with my
studies. I intended to later, but my life story took another direction. I
met my future husband, Milorad Tomanic, and because of him I neither went
to Israel nor continued my studies.

Milorad was an active officer in the Yugoslav army stationed in Osijek when
we met. He was only granted permission to marry once he became a
lieutenant, so the two of us dated for four years. In the beginning, my
parents were not thrilled that I was dating a non-Jew, but over time they
learned to like him and we married in 1939. He grew very close to my
parents and they saw that he honored and had a positive attitude towards
Judaism. He was so tolerant that we celebrated all Jewish holidays in my
house. Our children and even our grandchildren were brought up to be proud
of the fact that they are Jews, and he supported me in this.

For professional reasons my husband had to move to Belgrade and enroll in
Faculty of Mechanics; these studies were financed by the state. Upon
arriving in Belgrade, I gradually made new friends. In the beginning I
socialized only with the family of Regina Alfandari and with my mother's
distant relative, Aunt Olga. With regular visits to the synagogue, which
was on Kosmaj Street, my circle of friends grew to include the Krauss and
Kresic families.

In the beginning we lived as tenants. My parents helped us a lot
financially, and we had my husband's stipend. We frequently went to Osijek
for the weekend to visit my family, because I missed them very much, and my
sister Lilie often came to visit us.

1941 arrived and one could simply feel in the air that something terrible
was stirring. Fear grew in Jewish circles as news arrived about the events
throughout Europe. People still hoped that nothing would happen. My husband
abandoned his studies because he was mobilized, and I remained alone in my
seventh month of pregnancy. On April 6th, Belgrade was bombed. Regina
Anfandari's family arrived to help me. They took me to their apartment.
Together we decided to leave Belgrade. We started off towards Kaludjerica
on foot, but after two days we all returned to our own apartments. Belgrade
was full of debris, and on April 9, 1941, I resolved to make my way back to
Osijek to my parents.

My mother fainted when I appeared at the door, because until then they
didn't know what had happened to me. They had only heard about the bombing.
They told me that the same day, the Independent State of Croatia had been
declared. The next day, news arrived that the synagogue in Osijek had been
burned. We were all shocked and we no longer went out on the street. My
father did not open his shop. Every day, new limitations on Jews were
announced: forbidding our movement, instituting a curfew, confiscating
shops, banning us from using public transportation. We could not even go to
the vegetable market in the morning, but only just before it closed. A new
Jewish community was formed and we all had to register. In the community
they gave us a little bit of help in the form of food.

On July 10, 1941, the first 50 Jews and the first 50 Serbs were arrested.
We Jews each received a yellow armband with numbers, and a little Star of
David which we had to wear on our arms. In some respects, the Croatian
Ustache (a political and military organization of Croatian nationalists
before and during World War Two who supported the Nazis) were worse than
the Germans.

On July 2, 1941 I gave birth to my daughter Mirjana. I was in the hospital
when they announced that Slavko Kvaternik (a Croatian politician and
nationalist during World War Two, who was declared a war criminal after the
war) would arrive in Osijek over the weekend. A decree stated that from 11
on Saturday to 11 on Sunday, Jews and Serbs were not permitted to appear on
the streets. A big rally was supposed to be held.

I asked the doctor to let me go home, because I did not want to be
separated from my parents. They let me go. At the rally, they carried
coffins and burned Jewish books, while yelling anti-Jewish slogans. After a
few days, a group of Ustache raided our house with the intent of taking
anything they wanted from it. My mother recognized one of them and
courageously told him: "Can't you see that this woman just gave birth to a
baby? Are you going to take the bed she is lying on, too?" As if she could
feel something terrible happening, my baby began to cry with all her might.
The one that my mother recognized flew out of the room and screamed to the
others: "Can't you hear how that baby is crying? Let's get out of here."
And they collected themselves and left. So we were saved, but from the
great fear I lost my milk and was no longer able to breastfeed my baby.

Soon a decree came that several Jewish families would need to live
together, and a Ms. Papo came to live with us.

In the village of Tenja, Jewish youth began building a camp for Jews.
Osijek Jews were expected to come up with 2 million dinars for security
that nothing would happen to them. They were barely able to collect this
money. The youth built barracks in the Tenja camp where we were supposed to
live, as if to await the end of the war in peace.

Returning from work one day, our youth ran into a group of German youth and
it quickly came to a brawl. Kalman Weiss, a boxer, was in our group. He had
an iron fist and he beat a number of Germans, so they ran away. We knew
that there would be retaliation for this incident. All of our group decided
that we would illegally leave Osijek.

They especially wanted Kalman. They caught him, but he jumped out of the
truck where they had put him and ran away.

In the meantime the camp in Djakovo was constructed, especially for women
and children. The women from Vinkovac, Slavonski Brod and Vukovar were
taken there. The first two months the Osijek Jewish community provided food
for the camp. The Ustache government allowed each family to take one child
from the camp and take care of him. My family took care of a 12-year-old
boy whose name I cannot remember, and a 4-year-old girl named Zuza from
Vinkovac, whose mother remained in the Djakovo camp and whose father, we
found out later, was killed in Auschwitz. It was clear to everyone that
there was no future for Jews, and many tried to flee to Dalmatia. My father
wanted us to try and reach Hungary, but my mother Elza began to panic
because she feared we would not have anything to live on there. Grandmother
Eleonora said that she was too old and could not run, and Aunt Berta did
not want to go without her mother.

From April 10, 1941 to May 15, 1942, I illegally went to Belgrade a few
times, with permission slips written under another name. I went to check on
my apartment and to see if there was any news from my husband. And I tried
to find something to do because I did not have any income.

In Serbia they issued a law that Jewish women would not be taken to camps,
so I managed to get documents from the Germans that I could continue to
live in Belgrade. However, they did not give me documents for my child. On
the 15th of May 1942 I stayed to live in Belgrade. After my departure, my
parents tried to flee. They paid a local German named Rot to smuggle them
to Hungary. Rot turned out to be a swindler, and instead of sending them,
he handed them over to the Ustache police.

Rot survived the war, and my sister Lilie and I testified against him in
1945. However, he managed to run away and escape the trial.

In June, 1942, my parents, my aunt, and my grandmother were taken to the
Tenja camp. In the camp were about three and a half thousand people. From
Tenja they were sent to Auschwitz. My father was taken to the Jasenovac
camp and my mother to the Stara Gradiska camp, while Grandmother Eleonora
and Aunt Berta were kept in Auschwitz. None of them returned.

In the meantime I learned that my sister had managed to get to Budapest.
The grandmother of little Zuza, the girl who was staying with my family,
sent a man to smuggle her granddaughter and my sister across the Danube on
a small boat to Subotica, Hungary, where she herself lived. The escape
succeeded. My sister awaited liberation in Budapest, living under the name
Magda Sipos. This identity was obtained for her by our father's distant
relatives, with whom she made contact in Budapest.

I lived under very difficult conditions in Belgrade. I survived by selling
things from my apartment. Officially, I received 200 grams of corn bread,
and that was only under my name since my daughter Mirjana did not have
documents. Later I was able to regulate all of my documents on account of
the fact that my husband, Milorad Tomanic, was an active military officer
in captivity. At that point I fell under the protection of the Red Cross.

My husband regularly contacted me from captivity. He changed camps many
times. Among those camps were Nuremberg and Osnabrueck. In Osnsabrueck
there were two camps one next to the other. One was for officers and the
other for communists and Jews. Some of my relatives were in the other one.
Since my husband was able to receive packages, for Purim I made kindle,
which he smuggled in to my cousin Mark Spiezer and to his brother who was
imprisoned as a communist in the other camp. Through my husband, I kept in
touch with them and with my sister Lilie. She wrote to him, and he sent me
news about her, and her, news about me.

1945 arrived, and with it, liberation. Now I needed to be patient to see
who would return. I was sure that my aunt Berta, who was very beautiful,
had survived. I knew that the Germans had houses for their entertainment. I
thought that maybe she had reached one of those houses and in that manner
would have been saved, but she did not. She was killed in 1942 in
Auschwitz.

I did not have the patience to wait for news from my sister, so I left my
daughter with my cousin Olga, and went to Subotica where there was a
reception camp for those that had returned from Hungary. They were unable
to give me any information, and I went towards Budapest with two Jews who
had returned from forced labor in the Bor copper mines and had family in
Hungary. We started off in a truck driven by a Russian who agreed to take
us for free. On the way I bought food and other necessities for my sister.

In Budapest I inquired at the military mission and received information
about my sister. You can imagine how excited we were to see one another.
However, she was unable to return immediately with me. She had to wait for
a regular transport so that she could receive the necessary documents. I
returned to Belgrade. On May 1st my sister and her good friend Vilma
arrived. They stayed with me in my apartment. Very quickly I found work,
and soon my husband arrived from captivity. The first thing my child said
when she saw her father was: "This is my father from the picture." While
the other members of the household worked outside the house, I became a
classic housewife. I cooked and cleaned for all of us. Soon Lilie and Vilma
moved out and got married, Lilie to a Jew named Djordje Alpar, Vilma to a
Serb. My husband was employed by the military, because while he was in the
camp he was active in anti-fascist work.

After liberation I was very active in the women's anti-fascist movement. In
1945 in the journal Politika there was an ad asking Jews who survived the
war to register. I immediately registered and began helping in the
community, forming a kitchen and a reception center. We cooked and did
laundry for those who returned from various camps and from the Bor mines.

Life returned to some sort of normalcy. In 1948 I gave birth to a son,
Rodoljub. However, my brother-in-law Djordje Alpar was arrested as a
follower of Stalin (editor's note: Tito and Stalin had their famous falling
out in 1948 and Yugoslavs turned to those who seemed to side with the
Soviets). My husband and I took care of my sister and her daughter up to
the moment when they arrested my husband. They imprisoned him because he
was a follower of Cominform, a political organization of the communist
countries, under the control of the USSR; and also because he believed that
Tito and Yugoslavia should accept all of Stalin's positions. To make
matters worse, my husband stated at a meeting that the construction of Novi
Belgrade could not be completed as established in the first five-year plan.
He was an engineer by profession and he knew the terrain on which they were
building Novi Belgrade. It was sandy and needed a lot of preliminary work.
He also complained that the government was confiscating wheat from the
peasants. One of his biggest sins was that he did not denounce his brother-
in-law Alpar when they charged him, and moreover, he took care of Alpar's
daughter and wife. They gave him a three year prison sentence.

Again my sister Lilie and I lived without means. Luckily some distant
relatives from Israel sent us packages, so we were able to survive by
selling the things from these packages: chewing gum, combs. My husband was
released in 1954. I became active in the work of the women's section of the
Jewish community. Still, I mostly concerned myself with taking care of my
family. I educated my two children. Now my daughter Mirjana is a doctor and
my son Rodoljub is an engineer. Unfortunately, my husband Milorad died in
1998.

Now I am already very old. I do not often go to the Jewish community, but I
raised my children and my grandchildren in a Jewish spirit and they
continue on in the way that I showed them.

Rachel Gitelis
Odessa
Ukraine
Interviewer: Alexandr Tonkonogiy
Date of interview: October 2002

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

My family background

My grandfather on my father's side, Shulem Gitelis, was born in Olgopol [450 km from Odessa] in 1863. I visited Olgopol once when I was a child. It was a remote small town. I remember a market and a synagogue; maybe there was more than one. My father, Mordko Gitelis, told me that the inhabitants were mostly Jewish, and that they had good relations with the Ukrainian farmers of the villages around. My grandmother, Surah Gitelis, was two years younger than my grandfather. I have very dim memories of them because we only visited them rarely. They were dressed in plain clothes, not very fashionably. My grandfather had a black capote [caftan] and a black little cap [kippah], and my grandmother wore a dark dress and a kerchief. They spoke Yiddish and were religious. My grandfather was a teacher of Hebrew in cheder. [Editor's note: In cheder they did not teach Hebrew as a language but as the language of the Torah and the Talmud, so it was really the study of these books in Hebrew rather than Hebrew as such.] My grandparents had five children: my father, his brothers, Idl and Shimon, and his sisters, Gitl and Manya.

Idl was born in Olgopol in 1892. He studied in cheder. Later he finished an accounting school and became an accountant. In the 1920s he moved to Rybnitsa in Moldavia. His wife Rosa and he had two children: Nelia and Fira. Nelia lived in Murmansk. She died recently. Idl died in Rybnitsa in 1965.

Shimon was born in Olgopol in 1894. He also finished cheder. He was a laborer. He didn't get married. He perished at the front during World War II.

Gitl was born in 1896. She received religious education at home. She had a private teacher, who was one of my grandfather's pupils. Gitl was a housewife. She was religious, observed Sabbath and followed the kashrut. She was married to Sania Gitman, and they had a daughter called Sonia. Sonia lives in Germany. Gitl died in Odessa in 1978.

Manya was born in 1898. She studied at home like her sister. She married Meyir Miaskovetskiy and was a housewife. They had two daughters: Tania and Rusia. Manya died in Storozhynets, Chernovtsy region, in 1967. Her daughters moved to Israel in the 1990s and died there.

My father was born in Olgopol in 1888. He could speak Yiddish, Russian and Ukrainian. He finished cheder. He was gifted, but couldn't continue his education. He was the oldest child in the family and had to help his father at work to provide for the family. After finishing cheder he became an apprentice in sorting out eggs. There was no work for him in Olgopol, so he moved to Ladyzhin in 1908. Ladyzhin was a bigger town. The majority of its population was Jewish. Ukrainian farmers from a nearby village sold their products at the market. The Jews of Ladyzhin were storeowners, bakers and tobacco manufacturers. Tobacco was grown in Ladyzhin. I went to see the process of tobacco leaves being dried once.

My grandfather on my mother's side, Shulem Roizmarin, was born to a poor Jewish family in the town of Ladyzhin, Podoliya province, in 1848. He died in 1908. My grandmother, Brana Roizmarin, told me that he died suddenly when sitting at the table. My grandmother was born in Ladyzhin in 1853. Her parents were merchants, just like my grandfather's family. Her family was not rich either. The Jews of Ladyzhin at that time were all petty merchants.

I loved my grandmother. She was very nice and kind. She wore long skirts and a shawl. She went to the synagogue on Fridays, Saturdays and holidays. All her children went to the synagogue with her. She owned an inn, and I spent most of my time with her. She had a house with a few rooms that she rented out to visitors coming to town. Her tenants were actors, musicians and chazzanim. There was always music playing in her house, and her guests sang a lot. My grandmother didn't have a garden or any livestock, but she was always busy anyways, with so many people to be tended. She didn't have any kitchen or housemaids. She came to our house every Friday, and my mother and her baked bread to last for the whole week. They baked it in a special oven in the stove where my mother usually kept meals for Saturday to keep them warm. They also baked delicious matzah for Pesach.

My grandmother had six children. Mosha, Avrum-Leib, Shimon, Itzyk and Aron, and one daughter, my mother Hana. My mother's oldest brother, Mosha Roizmarin, was born in 1876. He studied in cheder. He got married and had a son and a daughter. In 1924 his son moved to America and his daughter went to Moscow. Mosha moved to Tulchin, Podoliya province.

Avrum-Leib Roizmarin was born in 1878. He finished cheder. In 1927 he moved to Odessa where he was a worker at a factory. He and his wife Bluma had two sons: Shulia and Motl. They perished during World War II. Avrum died in the 1950s, and Bluma died in the 1960s.

Itzyk Roizmarin was born in 1880. He also finished cheder. He was married and had three children: Fania, Zina and Yasha. He moved to Odessa in 1916 where he was a nickel plater. He and his son Yasha perished in the ghetto in Odessa in 1941. His daughters both died in Odessa: Fania in the 1970s and Zina in the 1980s.

Shimon Roizmarin was born in 1882 and also finished cheder. He lived with my grandmother and helped her to run the inn. He had a gramophone, and there was always music in their house. We liked to sing in Yiddish and I remember the words of one song, 'Why does my fiancé have to be a soldier?'. Shimon moved to Odessa from Ladyzhin in 1927. He worked at a plant. He and his wife Hava had two sons: Aron and Abrasha. Abrasha died in an accident before the war, and Aron died in the 1980s. Shimon died in 1965 and his wife in 1979. They were both buried in the Jewish cemetery in Odessa.

Aron Roizmarin was shot by the GPU 1 in the 1920s when he was 37 for refusing to give them his valuables. I remember the night when he was shot. Many people came into the streets crying. Somebody was holding me. It was such a sad night. His wife Mirl was left behind with their children: Shaya, Shulia and Sonia. Shaya and Shulia perished at the front during the war, and Sonia died in Odessa in 1980.

My mother, Hana Roizmarin, was born in 1888. She was the youngest in the family and helped her mother around the house. She received a religious education at home: A melamed taught her to read and to pray in Hebrew. When my father came to work in Ladyzhin in 1908, he rented a room at the inn. He fell in love with my mother and she liked him, too. Five years later they got married. I never knew why it took so long and never asked them why. I have a copy of their marriage certificate issued by a local rabbi in 1913. I don't know any details about their wedding, but I guess they must have had a traditional Jewish wedding.

After their wedding they lived in a house, which was specifically built for them, next to my grandmother's inn. There were three rooms in this house. The furniture wasn't very rich. We had two kitchens, the winter kitchen inside the house and the summer kitchen outdoors. We had no servants, but a shabesgoy [non-Jew] came once a week on Sabbath to do whatever work we weren't allowed to do. We had neither electricity nor running water, nobody in Ladyzhin did. We had a stove in the house and a kind of toilet in the yard. It was a small house, and there wasn't enough space for all of us, so my parents began to build a bigger house. They didn't complete the construction thought because we had to move to Odessa.

They opened a food store in one of the rooms of the house - it simply had a number of shelves and a counter. They sold honey, butter, herring, and so on, which were purchased from the surrounding villages by a young man whose nickname was 'Burl, the pug-nosed'. It was a pure family business without any employees. Our store was popular and always full of customers, Jewish and non-Jewish. My parents were honest and decent people and always treated their customers in fair and just manner.

Growing up

My parents had three children. My sister Freida was born in 1914, my brother Burl in 1916, and I followed in 1918. My mother told me about the pogroms 2 in Ladyzhin in 1920, which were organized by the gangs of Petliura 3. People were hiding in their cellars then. We had no cellar. My mother was looking for shelter, but nobody let her in. People were afraid that a small child - I was two years old - would make a noise and that bandits would find out where they were hiding. My mother was embarrassed. Accidentally I slipped out of her trembling arms and fell into another cellar. The kind people hiding inside not only caught me but also let my mother come in with the other children. Later these people were saying that I brought them luck because they all stayed alive. While hiding in cellars during pogroms my mother got kidney problems from the cold and dampness. In 1923-1924 she had a surgery and one kidney was removed. She had a surgery at a private clinic in Odessa. I suffered from headaches after I fell into the cellar.

I have many memories of our life in Ladyzhin. I remember how we celebrated holidays in our family. We always celebrated Sabbath. On Sabbath we always had a lovely tablecloth, beautiful dish sets and lots of delicious food: Gefilte fish, very nice and rich broth, meat, pickles, white bread, apples and wine, of course. My mother and grandmother always lit candles on Saturdays. They all prayed and never worked on Saturdays. My parents went to the synagogue on Saturdays and on holidays. I also remember going to the synagogue a few times on Friday. We had separate kitchen-ware for dairy and meat products. The dishes that we used at Pesach were kept in the attic. They were very beautiful pieces. I remember that the house was always cleaned before Pesach to remove the chametz. I helped, of course, but I don't recall details anymore. On Pesach we always had matzah, matzah pudding, broth and Gefilte fish. My father conducted the seder ceremony and read the story of the exodus of the Jews from Egypt. The whole family was there for the seder. My brother asked the 'mah nishtanah' question and it was also his job to find the afikoman. My father prayed on all Jewish holidays. We celebrated the major holidays like Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Chanukkah and Purim as well, but I don't really remember them, only the gifts on Chanukkah. My grandmother and my parents spoke Yiddish, but they could also speak Russian and Ukrainian. They spoke Yiddish and Russian with the children.

I began to study at a Jewish lower secondary school in Ladyzhin in 1926. All subjects were taught in Yiddish. My sister and my brother also went to this school. I only attended classes in Ladyzhin for two years. I had some friends in Ladyzhin but I've forgotten their names and only remember Molka and her sister, who were the daughters of our Jewish neighbors. Later they moved to Tashkent.

My parents didn't discuss the Soviet power and its attitudes towards Jews in the family, but I know that it was due to the Soviet power that we had to move. In Ladyzhin we were considered rich people because we were shop owners. Therefore it was dangerous to stay after the Revolution of 1917. Some people came to search our house in 1927. They were looking for gold, but we didn't have any. My mother had a leather-and-fur coat, a very nice one, which they took away. They even apologized to my mother for having to fulfill their order. My parents decided to close their store. We left for Odessa in 1928. About half a year later my grandmother, Shimon's family, Aron's widow, Mirl, and her children moved to Odessa, too. My mother's brother Itzyk lived there.

Odessa seemed a big beautiful town to me compared to Ladyzhin. I admired its toyshops and the beautiful dolls that were sold there. Life was hard in Odessa in the beginning. My father didn't have a profession and trained to become a nickel plater. It was a hard and hazardous work, and my father was often ill. My mother was a housewife. We became poorer, but my mother still tried to cook something better on holidays.

We kept observing all Jewish traditions. My mother and my father went to the synagogue on Sabbath. There were several synagogues. We dressed up and visited our relatives or they came to see us. We only observed some rules of the kashrut, as it was impossible to buy kosher products in stores. We had special dishes for meat and dairy products though. On Pesach we had Gefilte fish, gefrishte motses [steamed matzah in Yiddish] and pancakes. My father held the seder ceremony. On Yom Kippur all members of the family fasted, even children over 5 years of age. I remember Purim and hamantashen with raisins and poppy seeds. We observed Jewish traditions until my mother died in 1966. I still have two candlesticks which my mother used on Sabbath.

There was a Jewish theater in town. I often went there. They had very good performances, but I don't remember any plays or names of actors.

In the beginning we lived in a small one-bedroom apartment. There were five of us. There were two beds, a wardrobe and a table. I shared a bed with my sister Freida. We lived in this apartment until 1937 or 1938, and then we moved into a bigger one-bedroom apartment. It was twice as big as our previous apartment, and there were two kitchens in it. One was a common kitchen that we shared with other tenants. We cooked in this common kitchen, and our own kitchen served as my parents' bedroom.

There were several Jewish schools in Odessa before the war. In 1929 my sister, my brother and I went to the Jewish lower secondary school. I remember a big gym, and I also recall concerts where I sang Jewish songs. We had a very good singing teacher. We called him 'Tra-la-la'. We studied Yiddish language and literature, German and Russian, mathematics, history and many other subjects. We didn't have any special Jewish subjects. [Editor's note: In Jewish schools in the USSR the students were taught the same subjects as in other schools, but the language of instruction was Yiddish.] We studied in Yiddish and I still have a very good conduct of Yiddish. I had many friends of various nationalities. During my summer vacation after the 8th form I took up jobs at the port as an accounting clerk to help my parents. I had many friends at school, but none of us was a pioneer or a Komsomol 4 member. It wasn't mandatory at that time, and we didn't find it necessary. I kept in touch with my schoolmates for a long time. Many of them moved to other countries and some of them have already died. There were nine of us including myself. There are only three of us left in Odessa now: Mirah, Kinera and I. We call each other and talk about the past.

In 1933 there was a famine 5 in the country. It was a hard time for our family. My father was ill and my mother couldn't find a job. My mother took her golden earrings to the Torgsin store 6 to exchange them for some bread. My mother and Hava, Shimon's wife, were selling this bread at the market to buy some other food from the money. Every evening we had some bread, a loaf among the five of us, and some soup. Every afternoon I came from school and took a bowl of soup to Grandmother Brana, who was living with Uncle Shimon. Sometimes she stayed with us for a few days, but she always hurried back home 'to sleep in her own bed', as she used to said. She was very old, and it was hard for her to endure the hardships of the time. She died in 1934 when she was about 80. She was buried in the Jewish cemetery near the Chumka 7. All our neighbors came to her funeral. The Kaddish was recited in the cemetery and for seven days we all sat on the floor wailing for her.

In 1936 my father went to look for a job in Kutaissi, Georgia. He worked as a nickel plater there. When I was in the 9th form in 1938, I left my school because we were going to follow my father to live in Kutaissi. However, we had to cancel our departure because my brother fell ill with tuberculosis. My father returned to Odessa in 1938. I didn't go back to the school. I got a job as an accounting clerk at the Krupskaya knitting wear factory. I finished an evening accounting course in 1940 and worked in the factory until 1941 when we evacuated.

My sister Freida finished secondary school and an accounting course in the 1930s. She worked as an accountant in an office. My brother Berl finished secondary school in 1932 and entered the Odessa Machine Building College. He studied there several years, but then quit and went to work as a nickel plater with my father in the Caucasus. He fell ill in 1938 and died in 1940. He was a very talented and handsome boy. His death was a terrible blow to our family, and my father said that there wouldn't be any music or entertainment in our house for a year. After a year had passed, he turned on the music and said that life was to go on. My brother was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Slobodka 8. During the war the cemetery was ruined and we couldn't find his grave after the war.

During the war

I knew that Hitler came to power in Germany in 1933 and that there was fascism over there, but I wasn't really concerned about things [Editor's note: In 1933 Hitler became chancellor, in 1934 president and supreme commander of the armed forces]. The 1930s was the period of arrests in the USSR. [The so-called Great Terror] 9But fortunately it didn't affect our family. In 1939 the Germans occupied Poland. Then many people perished in the Finnish war 10. We still believed that the war wouldn't hit our country but in 1941 the Great Patriotic War 11 began.

German bombers started dropping bombs on Odessa. We lived near the sea and decided to move to our friends, who were living in the center of Odessa for safety reasons. The first month of the war was horrific. There were constant air raids. My mother and sister were very afraid of the bombing. I wasn't and even went to our old home to water the flowers. The farmers stopped selling their products at the market. They were afraid to come to Odessa. Local people, who kept livestock, came to sell food at the market. We didn't have a fridge or a cellar and couldn't buy stocks of food. We kept butter in a bowl of water and replaced the water to keep it fresh longer. My father was summoned to the military registry office. My mother wanted me to go with him. The registry office was located near the Opera Theater, far from our house. When we were on the way another bombing began. We hid in a building, although we knew that it was a poor protection during such disasters. My father was released from military duty due to his poor health.

We decided to evacuate in September 1941. Our relatives didn't come with us. My father was against it. His argument was that our army would defeat the enemy and that the war would be over soon. My mother told him that they had to leave for the sake of the children. We didn't have any information about what the Germans were doing in the occupied areas. We obtained an evacuation permit and boarded a boat at the port. We didn't know what its point of destination was. The boat was overcrowded and there was no water there to wash oneself.

There were people from Bessarabia 12 who had been traveling for a long time. They had lice and we contracted lice from them. There was no food on the boat either. We reached Novorossiysk, a port on the Black Sea in Krasnodarskiy region [200 km from Odessa]. There we could either exchange our clothes for food or buy some. We got on the train heading for Karaganda region in Kazakhstan. When the train stopped we could go and buy some food again. It was my duty to fetch some water to wash ourselves and drink. Our trip lasted a week, or longer, before we arrived at Jan-Arka station, Karaganda region, Kazakhstan [2,000 km from Odessa]. We rented a small room with two single beds in it from a Kazakh family, where we lived throughout the evacuation period. They had a cow and every morning our landlady left a jar of milk at our door. 'This is for the children', she used to say.

I was lucky and found a job at a canteen. The human resource manager there liked me and offered me a job as a waitress. I cried because I couldn't bear the smell in the canteen, but my mother said that I had to accept this job because nobody else in our family had one. There were two girls from Odessa in this canteen, and they also convinced me to accept it. After some time I got used to this work. Every morning I came to the canteen wearing a starched apron. The other employees liked me and called me 'Purple Rose'. People could get food at the canteen for money or cards. People were starved because the monthly cards only lasted for one or two weeks. We always gave the leftovers to starved people. We had many Jewish, Russian and Kazakh friends during our evacuation. I remember a nice Russian woman, Dusia, and a man, Vania, from Belarus. He was shell-shocked and couldn't talk. People were saying that he began to talk because he fell in love with me. He and his friend, Volodya, went to the front and wrote to me from there. Unfortunately, my husband destroyed all their letters later. I have no idea what happened to these two men.

Later my sister got a job as an assistant accountant at the same canteen. My father got a job as a storeman at the railroad storehouse. My mother was too weak to work. She observed Sabbath and followed the kashrut even in evacuation She didn't work or cook on Saturdays, but we had to work on Saturday.

It was very hot in Kazakhstan in the summer, and there were terrible sandstorms. One had to walk with one's eyes closed. Our house was located at the bottom of a hill and once I couldn't even find it during the storm. Sometimes my father accompanied me to work during such storms.

In 1944 we heard that Odessa was liberated. Through a search bureau we found out that my father's sisters, Manya and Gitl had survived and were in Olgopol. During the war there was a ghetto in Olgopol, guarded by the Romanians, who were a little bit nicer to the Jews than the Germans, and my aunts and their families survived. We decided to go see them before we went to Odessa. We took a train to Kodyma station [400 km from Odessa] and from there we went to Olgopol on a horse-driven cart. In Olgopol we lived at Aunt Gitl's house until the end of the war. My father worked as an egg sorter. Aunt Gitl had a kitchen garden near the house. We ate what we grew there. My aunts were so poor that they wore dresses that they made from bags. On 9th May 1945 the war was over and we began to pack to go home. We went to Kodyma on foot and from there we took a train to Odessa.

We stayed at our acquaintance's house for some time. We found out that some people in high positions were living in our old apartment. They refused to move out, and we went to live with Mirl, Aron's widow, in the center of Odessa before we received a new apartment. Her daughter, Sonia, and Sonia's two children also lived there. Sonia's husband had perished at the front. They lived in a poor one-bedroom apartment. The living conditions were terrible, of course, but we were happy to be alive. After a few months we received a one-bedroom apartment. It was just one room but we refurbished a small hallway into a kitchen. We had no comforts whatsoever. Later we installed a water supply pipe, but the toilet was outside. There was no heating in the apartment, and it was very cold. We bought coal and used a burzhuika [a primitive iron stove] to heat the room. We didn't have any furniture. Everything had been stolen from our former apartment. Only our wardrobe had been saved by our neighbor and he gave it back to us.

Post-war

It was difficult to find a job after the war. There were only vacancies for qualified personnel. I got a job by chance and became an assistant accountant at the card office. My sister got a job as an accountant in an office. My father worked as a nickel plater, and my mother was a housewife. My father worked several years until he fell ill and died in 1950.

Many Jews who stayed in Odessa during the war perished in the ghetto, including my cousin Yasha, his father Itzyk and my mother's cousins Sosia, Freida, Enta and Feiga. There were many other people we knew that perished. After the war all Jewish schools and the Jewish theater were closed. We couldn't believe that we wouldn't have an opportunity to go to performances in Yiddish. There was only one operating synagogue left in Peresyp 13 whereas there were over 100 synagogues before the war.

We continued to celebrate Jewish traditions. My parents went to the synagogue on Saturdays and on holidays and never used public transportation. My mother had a seat in the synagogue in Peresyp. My parents always bought chicken at the market to take it to the shochet to have it slaughtered until the shochet moved to Israel in the 1970s. I didn't feel any anti-Semitism in Odessa after the war, although there was anti-Semitism on a state level. Jews had problems entering higher educational institutions and finding jobs after finishing university.

My sister married Leib Goldferb, a Jew, that returned from the front, in November 1945. They had a Jewish wedding party at home with a rabbi and a few guests. They lived in his apartment. She was a housewife. Leib came from a very religious family and always observed all Jewish traditions. My sister used to take chicken to the slaughter facility in Odessa. She cooked traditional Jewish food at Pesach and other holidays. But neither she nor I went to the synagogue like our mother used to. In 1946 their daughter, Ada, was born, and Marah followed in 1952. She was my favorite. Freida's children are very dear to me. They have always been with me in good and in bad times.

I married Itzyk Moshevich Knepfolgen in 1951. My good friend introduced us to one another. We had a Jewish wedding with a chuppah, and our marriage was registered in the synagogue. We had many guests and a lot of food at our wedding party. Itzyk was two years younger than I, and he had a secondary education. His mother and sister were still alive. His father perished at the front. Itzyk was also at the front during the war and he was wounded on his arm. After the war he worked at a store, and then he got a job as a plumber. We lived with my mother.

Unfortunately, our marriage fell apart. We were very different and had different views of life. I was used to going to work, but my husband was convinced that I should be a housewife. He couldn't provide for his family. He made many promises to me, saying he would find a well-paid job, but he never kept his promises. He never thought about tomorrow and wasted all the money he had. Our marriage lasted eight years. We didn't have any children and decided to get divorced. The divorce was a great disappointment to me. A friend told me later that Itzyk moved to America in the 1970s.

When we got divorced my mother said, 'Rachel you're growing old and you'll be alone'. I answered, 'You see what bad luck I have. But I'll take care of you whatever happens.' My mother died in 1966 at 78. We buried her in the Jewish cemetery according to the Jewish traditions.

In the 1950s Stalin was planning to deport all Jews to the North and Far East [to Birobidzhan] 14. There were many discussions on this subject, but it never came to it because Stalin died in March 1953. I remember this day very well. People were very worried. They couldn't imagine their life without him. I just felt sorry for him like I would have for any other human being. When Khrushchev 15 denounced the cult of Stalin at the Twentieth Congress of the CPSU 16 we believed that all he was saying was true because we were taught to believe our government.

We didn't know much about Israel, but we were happy that our people got a new motherland. I have never been to Israel, but I would like to see the country. It will always remain a dream considering my age. I've watched TV programs about Israel and talked with my acquaintances about it. I am very pleased that young people have an opportunity to fly there to see the country.

In the 1970s many of our relatives and acquaintances moved to other countries. Gitl's daughter, Sonia, and her son live in Germany, and Manya's two daughters moved to Israel. They died, but their children live and work there. Mirl's daughter, Ada, and her family live in Israel. Idl's granddaughters are in Murmansk and Moldavia. We also planned to move, but had to cancel our plans. My sister died of a long-lasting disease in 1981. One of my nieces married a young Jewish man, but his family didn't favor the idea of departure to another country. Younger members of my family are thinking of going to Israel.

I retired in 1974. Before my retirement I was a packer at the Metalwork plant. I quit my accountant job due to my illness. I live with my sister's husband and my older niece Ada. My younger niece Marah lives separately, but we are still very close. Marah is an English teacher at the Jewish school. She graduated from the Faculty of Foreign Languages at the Pedagogical Institute. Both my nieces help me a lot. We observe Jewish traditions - Sabbath and the kashrut. We now have kosher food stores in Odessa. Marah's son, Sasha, and Freida's husband go to the synagogue. Jewish life has revived in Odessa in recent years. Jewish organizations support old people. I hope it will continue this way and pray for peace in the whole world. I am 84 years old now, 'un ikh fur shoyn funem yarid' [Yiddish: I am slowly leaving this world behind].

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