Travel

Ernest Galpert ist ein großer, schlanker Mann, der sich schnell bewegen kann. Obwohl er bald 80 wird, kann man ihn keinen alten Mann nennen. Er sitzt aufrecht und hat die Figur eines jüngeren Mannes. Dazu hat er dicke Haare, helle Augen und ein schönes Lächeln. Auf offiziellen Dokumentationen steht der Name Ernest, aber er wird Ari genannt – ein Spitzname für Archnut. Seine Kinder und der Rest der Familie nennen ihn Ari-bacsi [„Onkel“ auf Ungarisch]. Er spricht fließend Russisch mit einem leichten ungarischen Akzent. Das Paar Galpert ist sehr herzlich und offen. Sie haben über 40 Jahre in dieser Wohnung, in einem Gebäude gewohnt, das mitten in Uschhord in den 1920er unter tschechoslowakischer Herrschaft gebaut wurde. In der Wohnung, die sie sehr sauber halten, haben sie alte, schwere Möbelstücke. Ernests Frau Tilda kümmert sich gut um den Haushalt. Zusammen bilden sie ein liebevolles Paar. Sie sind immer zusammen und zwischen ihnen gibt es viel Liebe.

Familienhintergrund

Mein Großvater und meine Großmutter Galpert väterlicherseits wohnten im Dorf Nishnije Worota [60km von Uschhorod], in der Region Wolowez im Karpatenvorland. Ich kannte meine Großeltern sehr gut. Mein Großvater, Pinchas Galpert, wurde in den 1860ern in Nishnije Worota geboren. Meine Großmutter Laya wurde in den 1870ern geboren. Ich weiß weder ihren Geburtsort noch ihren Mädchennamen. Ich habe nie Verwandte von ihnen kennengelernt. Mein Großvater absolvierte die Jeschiwa, doch weiß ich nicht, wo sie war. Ihre Kinder wurden in Nishnije Worota geboren. Mein Großvater und Großmutter hatten acht Kinder. Mein Vater, Eschje Galpert, in 1896 geboren, sein jüngerer Bruder, Idl, und seiner Schwester, deren Name ich vergessen habe, wohnten bei den Eltern. Die Schwester meines Vaters zog bei ihrem Mann ein, als sie heiratete. Ich kann mich nicht an sie erinnern. Der restlichen Kinder unserer Großeltern zogen auch weg, als sie älter wurden. Ein Bruder meines Vaters, an dessen Name ich mich auch nicht mehr erinnern kann, zog nach Bogota, Kolumbien. Sein anderer Bruder, Moische Galpert, wohnte in Michalovce in der Slowakei. Die ältere Schwester meines Vaters wanderte in die Schweiz ein. Die Brüder meines Vaters Jankel und Berl zogen in den 20ern nach Palästina, nachdem sie vor dem 1. Weltkrieg ihre Vorbereitung auf den Hachschara-Gütern gemacht hatten. Sie waren in einem Trainingslager für junge Menschen, wo jüdische Jugendliche auf das Leben in Palästina vorbereitet wurden.

Zu Beginn von 1934 zog die Familie meines Vaters nach Mukatschewo. Eigentlich wuchs mein Vater in Mukatschewo auf. Nachdem sie dahinzogen, arbeitete mein Großvater bei der jüdischen Beerdigungsgesellschaft [Chewra Kadischa]. Sein jüngerer Bruder Idl war sein Assistent. Idl wohnte bei seinen Eltern vor seiner Ehe. Mein Großvater war Chassid. Ich kann mich an ihn als alten Mann erinnern. Er hatte einen grauen Bart und Pejes [Schläfenlocken]. Unter der Woche trug er einen schwarzen Anzug und einen großen schwarzen Hut und samstags trug er einen langen schwarzen Kaftan und eine Kippa mit 13 Eichhörnchen-Schwänzen, die die Chassidim samstags und zu jüdischen Feiertagen trugen. [Anm. d. Ü.: Der Hut, den die Chassidim normalerweise zu Feiertagen tragen, heiß Streimel.] Meine Großmutter war eine Hausfrau. Sie trug schwarze Kleider und ein schwarzes Tuch. Sie war sehr nett und warmherzig und liebte ihre vielen Enkelkinder. Sie starb in 1937, im Alter von 60. Jetzt, im Alter von 80, verstehe ich, dass sie nicht sehr alt war, aber damals schien sie mir sehr alt zu sein. Vielleicht wurde sie vorzeitig alt, weil ihr ihre Kinder fehlten, die weit weg von zuhause wohnten.

Die Familie meines Vaters war sehr gläubig. In einer chassidischen Familie hätte es nicht anders sein können. Mein Großvater ging jeden Tag in die Synagoge – so wie seine Söhne nach ihren Bar-Mizwoth. Zuhause nahmen sie Sabbat und die jüdischen Feiertage wahr und sprachen Jiddisch. Mein Vater und dann sein jüngerer Bruder Idl absolvierten den Cheder und gingen danach zur Jeschiwa in dem Ort Nitra in der Slowakei. Dieser Teil der Slowakei gehörte damals Österreich-Ungarn. Mein Vater erzählte mir ein bisschen von der Jeschiwa. Dort waren meistens junge Männer aus ärmeren Familien, die zum Studieren aus anderen Dörfer dahinfuhren. Studenten aus wohlhabenderen Familien aßen im Restaurant. Diejenigen, die das nicht leisten konnten, aßen bei jüdischen Familien. Mein Vater erzählte mir lustige Geschichten über solche Mahlzeiten. An einem Tag war er bei einer Familie, am anderen Tag wurde er von einer anderen Familie eingeladen. Manche Familie behandelten ihn mit Arroganz, andere freundlich und andere mit Respekt. Als Kind luden wir auch Studenten von der Mukatschewo-Jeschiwa zum Essen ein. Jeden Dienstag aß Chaim, ein armer jüdischer Student, bei uns und Mutter versuchte immer was Besonders zu kochen, so dass Chaim sich heimisch fühlen würde.

Während des Ersten Weltkrieges wurde mein Vater zu den österreichisch-ungarischen Landstreitkräften, der sogenannte KuK-Armee, eingezogen. Damals spielte Religion eine wichtige Rolle in der Armee sowie im Leben überhaupt. Militärangehörige durften in die religiösen Einrichtungen ihrer jeweiligen Konfessionen – wenn es die Zeit dafür gab, natürlich. Die Juden ging samstags in die Synagoge und die Christen durften sonntags in ihre Kirche. Manchmal luden die einheimischen jüdischen Familien die jüdischen Soldaten zum Sabbat oder anderen jüdischen Feiertagen zu sich ein. Bei den Militäreinheiten konnte man sogar koscheres Essen bekommen. Mein Vater wurde von den Russen eingefangen und in die russische Region Twer gebracht. Er erzählte mir von seiner Gefangenschaft. Er redete liebevoll von den Russen. Die Kriegsgefangene arbeiteten für die Gutsherren. Sie erhielten gute Unterkünfte und Essen. Mein Vater arbeitete bei einem Gutsherrn als 1917 die russische Revolution stattfand. Dann gab es Bürgerkrieg. Als der Krieg 1918 vorbei war, entließen die Bolschewiki alle Kriegsgefangene, die von der zaristischen Armee eingefangen wurden und mein Vater kehrte nach Mukatschewo zurück. Kurz danach heiratete er meine Mutter.

Der Vater meiner Mutter, Aron Kalusch, starb vor meiner Geburt. Die Juden aus dem Karpatenvorland kamen in der Regel aus Galizien in der westlichen Ukraine. Viele ihrer Nachnamen stammten von den Namen der Dörfer oder Orte aus denen sie herkamen. Viele Juden hießen Debelzer oder Bolechover mit Nachname – Ortsnamen in Galizien. Ich glaube der Name Galpert vom Ortsnamen Galpert stammt. Es gibt niemand anderen mit dem Nachnamen Galpert in der Ukraine. Nur von Galperin habe ich gehört. Ich nehme an, wenn ihre Ahnen nach Österreich-Ungarn zogen, wurden ihren Familiennamen in die deutsche oder ungarische Version geändert. Die Familie von Großvaters Aron zogen wohl aus Kalusch weg, das ist meine einzige Vermutung. Ich weiß nicht, wo mein Großvater genau geboren wurde. Er wurde in den 1860ern geboren und war Glasschleifer.

Meine Großmutter, Laja Kalusch, wurde in den 1870ern im Karpatenvorland geboren. Ich weiß auch nicht, wo sie geboren wurde. Oder wie sie mit Mädchenname hieß. Sie war Hausfrau. Meine Mutter und ihre Schwestern und Brüder wurden in Mukatschewo geboren. Meine Mutter war die älteste der Familie. Sie wurde 1894 geboren und hieß Perl. Der Rest der Kinder wurde im Abstand von einem oder zwei Jahren geboren. Ghinde, die Schwester meiner Mutter, war das zweite Kind. Das dritte war Jankel und das jüngste war Nuchim. Meine Mutters Familie war nicht so gläubig wie die chassidischen Familien, aber sie gingen zum Sabbat und zu den jüdischen Feiertagen in die Synagoge. Jeden Tag beteten die Männer zuhause und natürlich nahmen sie den Kaschrut [die jüdischen Speisegesetze] wahr. Alle Kinder wurden jüdisch erzogen. Zuhause sprach die Familie Jiddisch und mit ihrem nicht-jüdischen Nachbaren Ungarisch.

Während des Ersten Weltkriegs war im Karpatenvorland eine Epidemie der sogenannten Spanischen Grippe. Viele starben in Mukatschewo von dieser Grippe. Um die Ausbreitung des Virus zu verhindern, wurden die Leichen im jüdischen Friedhof in Gräbern begraben, die mit flüssigem Chlorid gefüllt waren. Menschen wurden auch lebendig begraben, wenn sie als hoffnungslos krank galten. So starb der jüngere Bruder meiner Mutter, Nuchim. Mein Großvater starb von der Grippe und Nuchim war noch am Leben als sie ihn 1914 zum Friedhof brachten.

Nach dem Tod meines Großvaters Aron und nachdem die Trauerperiode vorbei war, heiratete meine Großmutter wieder. Ihr zweiter Mann war jüdischer Witwer aus Michalovce, Slowakei, wo der Bruder meines Vaters, Moische, lebte. Das einzige, was ich vom zweiten Mann meiner Großmutter wusste, war, dass er Schochet [jüdischer Metzger] war. Seinen Namen weiß ich nicht mehr. Ab und zu besuchte uns meine Großmutter für ein paar Tage. Ich erinnere mich daran, dass sie eine alte Frau im schwarzen Kleid und mit schwarzem Tuch war. Meine Großmutter und ihr Mann starben 1941 im Zweiten Weltkrieg. Die Juden aus der Slowakei wurden nach Auschwitz gebracht. In 1939 griffen die Faschisten [Deutschland] Polen an und bauten dort Konzentrationslager. Es gab nur Gerüchte, dass die Juden aus der Slowakei nach Auschwitz transportiert wurden. Meine Eltern wussten, dass meine Großmutter und ihr Mann ins Konzentrationslager gebracht wurden, doch teilten sie ihr Wissen mit uns nicht. Allerdings wussten wir Kinder, dass etwas Schlimmes passiert war. Meine Mutter weinte und weinte und fragte wiederholt, „wie ist Mutter? Wie ist Mutter?“ 1944, als die Juden aus dem Karpatenvorland nach Auschwitz gebracht wurde, hatten wir keine Ahnung davon, was dort passiert. Wir dachten, es wäre ein normales Arbeitslager, obwohl Gefangene auch vor Krankheiten und Hunger in den Arbeitslagern starben. Niemand wusste, dass es ein Todeslager war. Meine Mutter schrieb immer wieder Briefe an Großmutter, aber wir hörten nichts von ihr und meine Mutter war sehr bekümmert. Endlich bekam sie einen Brief von den Nachbaren von Großmutter. Sie schrieb, dass meine Großmutter und ihr Mann in Auschwitz ums Leben kamen.

Ich erinnere mich nur dunkel an den Bruder meiner Mutter, Jankel. Er starb im Zweiten Weltkrieg, aber bevor die Deutschen damit anfingen, die Juden in die Konzentrationslager zu schicken. Ihre Schwester Ghinda heiratete und zog zum Ort ihres Mannes, Wynohradiw [80km von Uschhorod]. Ich kann mich noch gut an sie erinnern, weil wir oft Urlaub mit ihrer Familie verbrachten. Ghindas Ehemann war Schneider und nach der Ehe war sie Hausfrau. Sie hatten sechs Kinder. Eine Tochter starb schon im Säuglingsalter. Ghindas Kinder waren ungefähr in meinem Alter. Ihre älteste Tochter hieß Surah. Eine ihrer Töchter, meine Nichte Olga, starb vor kurzem in Israel und ihre zweite Tochter, Perl, lebt in Kanada. Ghidas Söhne Aron und Jankel waren im Konzentrationslager. Nach der Befreiung zogen sie nach Israel. Sie lebten auf einem Kibbuz. Aron starb Ende der 1980er und mit Jankel habe ich den Kontakt verloren. Ghindas andere Tochter, dessen Namen ich vergaß, lebte in Budapest, Ungarn. Sie starb in den 1970ern. Ghinda hatte Diabetes und starb 1940. Ihre Familie war religiös. Meine Mutter war die einzige Überlebende von ihren Brüdern und Schwestern, nachdem die Deutschen anfingen, die Menschen in die Konzentrationslager zu deportieren.

Ich glaube meine Eltern hatte eine arrangierte Hochzeit, da es unter jüdischen Familien üblich war, diesbezüglich Ehevermittler- Schadchanim – anzusprechen. Meine Eltern hatten 1919 eine traditionelle jüdische Hochzeit, als das Karpatenvorland noch zur Tschechoslowakei gehörte. Meine Eltern erzählten mir davon, wie viele Gänse geschlachtet wurden und wer ihre Gäste waren, aber an andere Details erinnere ich mich nicht mehr. Ich war damals ein Junge und interessierte mich nicht für sowas. Sie hatten zuhause eine Chuppa im Hof und den Rabbiner von der Synagoge meines Vaters. Der Rabbi führte eine traditionelle Hochzeitszeremonie durch und das Brautpaar musste einen Teller mit ihren Füßen zerbrechen. Jetzt ist es Glas, aber damals war es ein Teller. Als der Teller zerbrach riefen die Gäste „Masel Tov!“ [Glückwunsch] und sangen Hochzeitslieder. Dann wurde getanzt. Zum ersten Tanz tanzte das Brautpaar, dann kamen Mizwa-Tänze, bei denen die Gäste nacheinander mit der Braut tanzten. Jeder Gast bezahlte dafür, mit der Braut tanzen zu dürfen. Die Reichen zeigten immer, wie viel Geld sie auf den Teller stecken, während die Armen das Geld sehr schnell losließen, so dass niemand wusste, wie viel. Das erzählte mir meine Mutter.

Nach der Hochzeit halfen die Verwandten meiner Eltern ihnen, ein Haus zu kaufen. Die Juden in Mukatschewo wohnten im Ortszentrum. Dort war eine jüdische Gegend in Jidischgas [„jüdische Straße“ auf Jiddisch]; es gab auch jüdische Haushalte in andern Vierteln. Meine zukünftige Ehefrau, Tilda Akerman, wohnte auch im Jidischgas und wir wohnten in der Straße nebenan, wo jüdische Häuser und nicht-jüdische Häuser sich benachbarten. Es gab keinen Platz für einen Garten. Land war teuer im Zentrum. Die Bauer wohnten und bauten ihre Produkte am Stadtrand auf. Meine Großeltern väterlicherseits wohnten bei uns in der Nähe in der Danko-Straße.

Im größten Zimmer unseres Hauses hatte mein Vater einen kleinen Laden mit Eingang durch die Haustür. Es gab drei Zimmer und eine Küche im Haus. Wir betraten die Wohnräume durch den Laden. Mein Vater verkaufte im Laden Lebensmittel. Er arbeitete alleine in Laden und es gab keine weitere Angestellten. Er machte den Laden früh morgens auf und schloss ihn früh nachmittags, um in die Synagoge zu gehen. Nachdem er wiederkam, machte er den Laden bis zum Abend auf. Manchmal kamen Kunden, auch wenn der Laden schon zu hatte, und mein Vater bediente sie trotzdem. Er hatte jüdischen und nicht-jüdische Kunden, die in unserer Straße wohnten. Wir Kinder halfen ihm auch im Laden. Mein Vater verdiente genug, um über die Runden zu kommen. Wir waren weder reich noch arm. Wir verhungerten nicht und konnten es uns leisten, am Donnerstag die Armen zu unterstützen, so dass sie den Sabbat feiern konnten. Den Armen zu helfen wurde als heilige Aufgabe – eine Mizwa – betrachtet. Donnerstags wurde in der Synagoge für die Bedürftigen gesammelt und mein Vater gab immer einen Beitrag.

Es gab in der Familie drei Kinder. Meine Schwester Olga wurde 1920 geboren. Ihr jüdischer Name war Friema. Ich wurde am 20. Juni 1932 geboren. Der Namen Arnucht wurde auf meiner tschechoslowakischen Geburtsurkunde geschrieben. Ich wurde nach meinem Großvater mütterlicherseits, Aron, genannt. Während der ungarischen Herrschaft [1939-1945] wurde ich Erno genannt und während der sowjetischen Herrschaft [1945-1991] wurde ich Ernest, aber ich wurde immer von engen Freunden Ari genannt. Meine jüngere Schwester, Toby, wurde 1925 geboren. In Israel heißt sie Jona. Auf jiddisch Tojb für Toby heißt „Traube,“ und „Traube“ heißt „Jona“ auf hebräisch.

Mukatschewo war ein jüdischer Ort. Es hieß sogar „kleines Jerusalem“ und war Zentrum des Chassidismus. Juden machten über die Hälfte der Bevölkerung in Mukatschewo aus. Es gab über 15.000 Juden im Ort. In jeder jüdischen Familie gab es fünf bis sechs Kinder. Die österreich-ungarische Behörden waren den Juden gegenüber tolerant. Juden genossen die Gleichberechtigung und, als das Karpatenvorland 1918 Teil der Tschechoslowakei wurde, wurde das Leben noch besser. Die Präsidenten der Tschechoslowakei, Masaryk und dann später Benes, erlaubten den Juden, ein öffentliches Amt zu führen. Religion wurde immer gewürdigt. Samstags gingen die Juden in die Synagoge und alle Läden machten zu. Die Ladenbesitzer und Handwerker waren alle Juden. Die Nichtjuden passten sich an. Sie wussten schon, dass sie am Schabbes nichts kaufen konnten und erledigten also alles am Donnerstag und Freitag.

Viele Juden hatten Werkstätten und Fabriken. Handel wurden meistens von Juden betrieben. Juden handelte auch das Holzfällern und Holzverkauf. Es gab reiche jüdische Familien, aber die Mehrheit war natürlich arm. Es gab jüdische Handwerker: Schneider, Schuster, Zimmerer und Schreiner. Die Friseure und Herrenfriseure waren auch Juden. Die Ärzte und Anwälte in Mukatschewo waren meistens Juden. Die Nicht-Juden waren zumeist mit Landwirtschaft beschäftig und bekleideten Ämter.

Es gab eine Beschäftigung, die nur von Jüdinnen gemacht wurde. Jede verheiratete jüdische Frau trug Perücke [Anm. Der Kopf der Braut wird rasiert und sie zieht die Perücke an, bevor sie zur Chuppa geht]. Deswegen stellten viele Frauen in Mukatschewo Perücken her. Sie verkauften ihre Perücke im Karpatenvorland und nahmen Bestellungen aus der Tschechoslowakei und Ungarn entgegen. Diese Beschäftigung benötigte besondere Fähigkeiten und Mütter fingen an, ihre Töchter vom frühen Alter an auszubilden.

Die meisten Juden lebten von einem Gehalt von der Gemeinde; sie arbeiteten für die Gemeinde. Es gab ungefähr 20 Synagogen und Betstuben in Mukatschewo. In jeder Synagoge war ein Rabbi und Schammasch. Es gab viele Cheders, wo Melamdim [Lehrer] und ihre Behelfer, ihre Gehilfen, arbeiteten. Ab drei gingen Kinder zum Cheder. Die Mohels waren für die Beschneidungen zuständig. Manche verkauften religiösen Bücher und Betartikel für die Feiertage.

Es gab in Mukatschewo zwei Schochtim. Sie arbeiteten in einem Gebäude in der Nähe der Synagoge. Die Juden aßen größtenteils Geflügel. Sie brachten ihr Geflügel zum Schochet um es schlachten zu lassen. Das Gebäude hieß Schlobrik [Anm. d. Ü.: Ernest erklärt, dass das Wort „Schlobrik“ vom Dialekt der Mukatschewo-Region kommt und ist wohl eine Mischung aus den jiddischen Wörtern „schecht“ für „Schlacht“ und „recht“ für Recht.]. Es gab einen großen Raum, in den die Juden am Abend vor dem Feiertag gingen. Sie standen in Schlangen für die zwei Schochtim. An der Theke waren mehrere Haken, worauf die Schochtim die von den Kunden mitgebrachten Hühner mit Kopf nach unten hingen. Der Schochet mussten alle Regel streng wahrnehmen. Um ein Hähnchen zu schächten, musste er sofort den Hals durchschneiden. Die Hühner bewegten sich dann immer noch und überall spritzte Blut. Der Schochet nahm das Hähnchen vom Haken runter und gab es dem Besitzer wieder. Das Blut floss noch und es sah furchtbar aus. Die jüdische Familie schickten oft die Kinder zum Schochet. Wir gingen gerne vor den Feiertagen in die Schlobrik, da es viele andere Kinder gab und wir amüsierten uns beim Quatschen. Die Kinder nahmen manchmal ein Hähnchen von jemand anders! Die Mütter dachten, sie binden bunte Bände an den Hühnerbeine, so dass die Kinder sehen können, welches Hähnchen ihnen gehörte.

Im Cheder lernte man vorwiegend Religion. Es gab auch eine jüdische Grundschule, von den Zionisten finanziert. Die Lehrkraft dort gehörte zionistischen Organisationen an. Der Rektor der Schule hieß Kugel. Er war ein großer, gutaussehender Mann. Die Schüler lernten Iwrit [hebräisch], wie es heute in Israel gesprochen wird. Es gab Lehrer aus Palästina an dieser Schule. Diese Schule gefiel den Chassidim nicht so sehr, da ihr Schwerpunkt nicht die Religion war. Das Haus steht noch und ist heute die Berufsschule.

In Mukatschewo war eine Jeschiwa – eine jüdische Hochschule. Der Hauptrabbi der Jeschiwa war der populäre chassidische Rabbi Chaim Spira. Unser Chesed in Uschhorod war nach ihm benannt: Chesed Spira. Spira war ein sehr bedeutender Chasid und war überall bekannt. Ich kann mich noch sehr gut an ihn erinnern, da mein Vater und ich Schirajem – Essensreste – bekamen. Traditionell lädt samstags ein Rabbi Chassidim zum Abendessen ein. Der Rabbi verteilt die Reste der Gerichte. Saraim bringen einem Segnungen. Chassidim nahmen jedes Stück aus den Händen der Rabbi. Manchmal kämpften sie sich dafür. Ich weiß noch, dass, als ich vier oder fünf war, ich auf Händen und Füßen krabbelte, um Schirajem vom Rabbis Tisch zu holen. Mein Vater besuchte nicht jeden Samstag den Rabbi, aber ich versuchte es. Samstagmorgens ging mein Vater in die Synagoge und als er wiederkam, saßen wir uns zum Essen hin und ich rannte zu dem Rabbi, um rechtzeitig die Schirajem zu bekommen. Einmal war ich verwirrt und, statt am Tisch mit dem Rabbi zu sitzen, saß ich am Tisch für die Arme, die sich ein Schabbes-Essen nicht leisten konnten. Sie hatten Tscholent, ein Eintopf mit Bohnen und Fleisch. Ich aß, aber einer der Chassidim fragte meinen Vater ganz böse, ob er so arm war, dass er seinen Sohn zum Armenessen beim Rabbi schicken musste. Mein Vater fragte, ob das stimme und erklärte mir den Unterschied zwischen Schirajem und dem Essen für die Arme.

Es gab ein bisschen Konkurrenz in Mukatschewo zwischen zwei Rabbiner. Außer Rabbi Spira war auch der Belzer Rebbe, auch ein populärer chassidischer Rabbi. Er baute in Mukatschewo eine Synagoge und die Gemeinde wurden in Befürworter oder Gegner der beiden Rabbis geteilt. Die Synagogen von Spira und Belze waren nah aneinander. Ich weiß nicht, wie es bei den Erwachsenen war, aber die Junge, deren Eltern unterschiedliche Synagogen besuchten, bewarfen sich gegenseitig mit Steine. Es gab auch Konflikte zwischen dem Amt der Rabbiner und den Zionisten. Ein Grund dafür, war die jüdische Grundschule. Die Grundschule beschäftigte sich nicht sehr viel mit religiösen Fächern. Wegen so einer Abwendung machten die Rabbis sich Sorgen. Es ging auch um unterschiedliche Überzeugungen. Chassidim meinten es war nicht nötig, nach Palästina einzuwandern. Sie glaubten, der Messias wird kommen und alle Juden zum Ahnenland Palästina bringen. Sie hätten nur auf ihn zu warten, während die Zionisten frühzeitig Menschen dabei halfen, nach Palästina zu ziehen. Rabbi Spira hielt oft wütende Reden gegen die Zionisten und beschimpfte sie sogar.

Es gibt ein bekanntes jüdisches Fluchwort: jemandes Namen zu löschen, so dass niemand sich an ihn erinnert. Dieses Fluchwort wird zum Purimfest ausgesprochen, wenn jemand den Namen Haman sagt. Jedes Mal, wenn Haman erwähnt wird, wird gebuht und man stampft die Füße. Kinder und Erwachsene machen krach, um Hamans Namen aus der Geschichte auszulöschen. Es gibt der Ausdruck, den Namen oder Erinnerung gewisser Menschen „auszulöschen.“ Diesen Ausdruck benutzte Rabbi Spira oft in Bezug auf die Zionisten. Manchmal eskalierte es. Während ihr diese Rede hielt, warfen ab und zu Schüler der Grundschule Eier auf Rabbi Spira. Jetzt verstehe ich, dass das alles falsch war. Aber damals nicht: Der Rabbi sprach gegen die Zionisten und sie agierten gegen den Rabbi.

Es waren zahlreiche zionistische Parteien in Mukatschewo. Es gab die Misrachi, eine orthodoxe zionistische Partei. Im Alter von 13 war ich kurz bei einem Club der Misrachi. Es gab auch ein Tanz-Club, wo Jungs und Mädels zusammen tanzten. Es war meinen Eltern schon bewusst, dass ich dahinging. Ich war sehr schüchtern und meine Eltern wollten, dass ich mit anderen Jugendlichen sozialisierte. Meine Mutter nähte mir sogar ein Shirt zum Tanzen. Ich war zu schüchtern, um mit Mädels zu tanzen und gab auf. Es gab auch andere zionistische Parteien. Es gab auch eine, die Betar hieß. Ich nannte sie Faschisten. Diese Zionisten glaubten, sie können ihre Ziele mit Waffen und Gewalt erreichen. Es gab die Hashomer Hatzair [eine sozialistische-zionistische Jugendorganisation]. Sie waren chauvinistische Juden, aber sie waren Kommunisten. Die gibt es in Israel noch und mit demselben Namen. Sie sind Zionisten und sprechen im Namen des Staates Israel, aber sie glauben, dieser Staat hat kommunistisch oder zumindest sozialistisch zu sein. Alle zionistischen Parteien waren mehr oder weniger religiös und gegeneinander. Es gab ein aktives und interessantes Leben in Mukatschewo.
Rabbi Chaim Spira starb 1937. Chassidim aus Ungarn, der Tschechoslowakei, Rumänien und Polen kamen zu seiner Beerdigung. Obwohl meine Mutter dagegen war, brachte mein Vater mich mit. Sie hatte Angst davor, dass ich von der Menge getrampelt wurde. Ich kann mich noch sehr gut an Spiras Beerdigung erinnern. Der ganze Ort trauerte. Es wurden schwarze Tücher an die Häuser gehangen und die Menschen waren schwarz bekleidet. Es sah aus, als ob es plötzlich dunkel wurde. Nicht-jüdische Einwohner kamen auch zur Beerdigung. Die Polizei patrouillierten die Straßen und trugen Schutzhelme, falls es Unruhe gab. Die Menschen trugen abwechselnd den Sarg von dem Haus, wo Rabbi Spira wohnte, durch den Ort bis zum jüdischem Friedhof auf der anderen Seite der Stadt. Jede fünf oder zehn Meter wurde den Sarg einer anderen Männergruppe übergeben. So viele Menschen waren dazu bereit, dass der Sarg von Mukatschewo bis Uschhorod hätte ausgehändigt werden können. Männer trugen ihn auf ihren Schultern, um Rabbi Spira zu ehren. Manche weinten. Egal wie jung ich war, erinnere ich mich noch an diese überfordernde Trauer. So viele kamen zum Friedhof, dass kein Zentimeter Platz blieb.

Mein Vater, Eschje Galpert, war Chassid und war dementsprechend angezogen. Er trug einen langen schwarzen Kaftan und schwarze Kippa, sowie einen schwarzen Hut und Streimel zu den Feiertagen. Er hatte einen großen Bart und Pejes. Meine Mutter trug eine Perücke und dunkle Kleider. Zuhause sprachen wir nur Jiddisch. Wir, die Kinder, sprachen fließend tschechisch und gingen zu einer tschechischen Schule. Doch unsere Eltern sprachen kein tschechisch, da sie in Österreich-Ungarn geboren wurden. Die ältere Generation, so wie meine Eltern, sprachen mit ihren nicht-jüdischen Bekanntschaften auf ungarisch.

Das Aufwachsen

Mein Vater hatte eine schöne Stimme und ein musikalisches Gehör. Er sang im Chor als er in der Jeschiwa war. Vater mochte das Singen und die Musik. Onkel Idl hatte ein Grammofon. Es hatte einen Griff, den man aufziehen musste, um die Platte zu hören. Onkel Idl brachte sein Grammofon immer mit und mein Vater hörte Musik. Doch er wollte mehr hören. Die Chassidim durften nicht ins Kino oder Theater gehen. Bei uns im Kino in Dorf waren Musik-Filme mit Caruso, Mario Lanza, und Schaljapin. [Anm.: Mario Lanza (1921-1959): geboren Alfredo Arnold Cocozza, Opernsänger in Filmen, ab 1942 trug er den Künstlername Mario Lanza; Enrico Caruso (1873-1921): bekannter italienischer Opersänger; Fjodor Iwanowitsch Schaljapin (1873-1921): einer den berühmtesten russischen Sänger.] Mein Vater ging ins Kino und stand hinten an der Tür, wo niemand ihn sehen konnte. Was hätten die anderen Chassidim über die Interessen meines Vaters gesagt! Einmal kam ein berühmter Chasan [Anm. Kantor – Vorbeter in der Synagoge] in den Ort und trat in der Hauptsynagoge auf. Dahin gingen mein Vater und ich, obwohl wir schon weit weg von der Hauptsynagoge wohnten. Mein Vater sang und war Chasan in der Synagoge, in die wir jeden Schabbat und zu jüdischen Feiertagen gingen.

Alle Jungen gingen ab 3 Jahren in den Cheder. Unterricht fing um halb 7 und meine Mutter weckte mich jeden Tag um halb 6. Es war im Winter umso schwieriger aufzustehen, da es noch dunkel und kalt war. Der Cheder war ein kleines, weiß-bemaltes Zimmer in dem Haus, das im Hof der Synagoge stand und wo der Melamed wohnte. Ich weiß nicht, wie viel die Eltern für ihre Kinder bezahlen mussten, aber es war bestimmt nicht viel. Im Winter musste jeder Schüler einen Holzklotz für den Ofen mitbringen. Der Rabbi war sehr arm und wir mussten seiner Frau im Haus helfen: Wir fällten und holten Holz. Wir lernten bis Mittag und hatten dann eine Stunde Pause. Wir liefen schnell nach Hause, für ein zügiges Mittagessen, und dann liefen zurück in den Cheder. Wir durften auch spielen. Die meisten von uns kamen aus ärmeren Verhältnissen und die Eltern konnten es sich nicht leisten, Spielzeuge für ihre Kinder zu kaufen. Wir spielten Fußball mit einem Ball, den wir aus Socken zusammenbastelten.

In der ersten Klasse lernten wir das hebräische Alphabet. In der 2. Klasse, mit vier Jahren, kannten wir Jungen schon das Aleph-Beth und konnten die Gebete lesen. In der 3. Klasse, im Alter von fünf oder sechs, studierten wir Thora. Die Sprache war die selbe wie in den Gebeten, nur wurden die Nikudim [Anm. Vokalzeichen] hinzugefügt. Wir hatten in jeder Klasse einen anderen Rabbi als Lehrer, der die entsprechenden Kenntnisse für die jeweilige Klasse hatte. Ab der 3. Klasse benutzten die Lehrer einen Bambusstock. Jeden Donnerstag wurden wir geprüft und wenn ein Schüler durchgefallen war, schlug ihn der Rabbiner mit dem Bambusstock so oft wie er es angemessen fand. Jeden Donnerstag stand ich auf und meiner Mutter sagte, dass ich Kopfschmerzen habe und zuhause bleiben sollte. Mein Vater verstand schon den Grund meiner Kopfschmerzen, da er auch als Junge im Cheder war. Meine Mutter fragte Vater, ob ich nicht zuhause bleiben darf, weil sie dachte ich wäre ein schwaches Kind. Einmal dachten die Ärzte ich hätte Anämie; das tat meiner Mutter leid, doch mein Vater bestand immer darauf, dass ich in den Cheder gehe. Ehrlich gesagt, nachdem ich zurück vom Cheder nachhause kam, hatte ich nie Kopfschmerzen und konnte draußen spielen!

Ab sechs Jahren ging ich in die Grundschule. Jüdische Kinder gingen in die tschechische Grundschule für Jungen und Mädchen. Wir mussten gleichzeitig an der Grundschule und im Cheder lernen. Die Schule fing 9 Uhr morgens an. Ich frühstückte und ging normalerweise um 6:30 in den Cheder. Wir beteten um 8:30 dann ging ich in die Grundschule. Nach dem Unterricht ging ich nachhause zum Mittagessen und danach züruck in den Cheder, wo wir bis zum Abend lernten. Doch, unsere Lehrer wussten, dass wir im Cheder viel zu tun hatten und gaben uns deswegen nicht so viele Hausaufgaben.
Als ich zur Grundschule gehen sollte, schnitt mir mein Vater mein Pejes ab. Er wollte nicht, dass ich anders als die anderen Kinder bin, weil er dachte, sie würden mich hänseln. Die Jungen in der Oberstufe im Cheder hatten langen Pejes, sowie mein Vater und Großvater, und ich wollte wie sie sein. Ich weinte als er meine Pejes abschnitt. Er sagte mir, solang ich ein Kind bin, war die Länge meiner Pejes seine Entscheidung – als Erwachsene dürfte ich die Länge meiner Pejes selber bestimmen. Mit 14 oder 15 schnitt ich heimlich meine Pejes, da ich zu schüchtern dafür war, sie zu tragen. Mein Vater erinnerte mich daran, wie ich damals weinte, als er sie abschnitt. Ich trug dazu Zitzit [Anm. Schaufaden; verknotete Fäden, an dem rituellen Gebetsmantel Tallit gebunden]. Das versteckte ich in der Schule unter meinem Hemd, aber ich zog es nie aus.

In der Schule und im Cheder wurden uns unterschiedlichen Sachen erzählt und ich war oft verwirrt. Einmal kam ich nachhause mit Tränen in meinen Augen nach einer Stunde Naturwissenschaft. Ich sagte: „Unser Rabbi hat uns erzählt, dass Gott die Welt in sechs Tage schöpfte, aber die Lehrer an der Schule haben was Anderes gesagt. Wen soll ich vertrauen? Den Rabbi oder unseren Lehrer?“ Obwohl mein Vater Chasid war, war er ein sympathischer und kluger Mann und verstand, dass das ein Zusammenbrechen meines Verständnisses dieser Welt und deshalb mir eine Katastrophe bedeutete. Also sagte er mir Folgendes: „Du hörst beiden zu. Was der Rabbi sagt, lernst du für Cheder und in der Schule, sagst du das, wonach dein Lehrer fragt. Wenn du älter bist, wirst du herausfinden, was für dich richtig ist.“ Daraufhin hatte ich in der Schule gute Noten und keine Probleme im Cheder. Samstags besuchte ich meinen Großvater und er prüfte, was ich unter der Woche im Cheder lernte. Wenn er sich darüber freute, gab er mir immer Süßigkeiten. Meine Oma gab uns dagegen bedingungslos Süßigkeiten. Ich besuchte sie auch manchmal nach der Schule.

Mädchen gingen in die Beit-Jaakov-Schulen, wo sie das Schreiben und Lesen auf Hebräisch lernten. Unterricht hatten sie ein paar Stunden, einmal der Woche. Meine Schwestern gingen nicht hin, weil sie das Lesen zuhause mit unseren Eltern lernten. Meine Mutter konnte auf Hebräisch lesen und mein Vater konnte lesen und schreiben. Eigentlich lernten die Mädchen das Schreiben nicht. Sie mussten die Gebete lesen können. Die Sprache kannten sie nicht und deswegen verstanden sie nicht, was sie lesen. Im Cheder lernten wir auf Hebräisch zu lesen und das ins Jiddische zu übersetzen. Doch manche chassidischen Familien brachten ihren Töchtern das Lesen und Übersetzen bei, aber wenige von ihnen. Es gab auch Gebetsbücher übersetzt auf Ungarisch.

Vier Jahre waren wir an der Grundschule und dann waren wir vier Jahre an der sogenannten Mittelschule. Nach dieser Schule durfte man zur Oberschule. Meine Schwestern und ich absolvierten eine Mittelschule.

Wir feierten zuhause den Sabbatabend und alle jüdischen Feiertage. Freitag morgen fing meine Mutter an, für den Sabbat zu kochen. Sie kochten für zwei Tage, da sie am Samstag gar keine Arbeit machen durfte. Sie kaufte vom jüdischen Bäcker die Challa und vom Markt das Gemüse und Milchprodukte. Vor dem Sabbat gingen mein Vater und ich in die Synagoge. Danach kamen wir nachhause und meine Mutter zündete die Kerzen an und betete. Dann kam das Abendessen. Nach dem Gemeingebet sagte mein Vater eine Bracha, ein Segen, über das Essen. Danach sagen wir Zmires. Samstagmorgens gingen meine Eltern in die Synagoge. Mein Vater brachte mich mit. Nach dem Gebet gingen wir zurück nachhause und mein Vater saß sich hin, um religiöse Bücher zu lesen. Er las oft für meine Schwestern und mich vor. Damit meine Schwestern verstehen konnten, übersetzte er von Hebräisch auf Jiddisch. Er erzählte uns über die Geschichte des jüdischen Volkes und wiederholte die Geschichten aus der Thora. Danach gingen wir meine Großeltern besuchen.

Während des Monats Adar bereiteten wir uns auf Pessach vor. Mein Vater hatte viele religiöse Bücher: das gesamte Talmud, den Tanach und viele mehr. Einmal im Jahr, vor Pessach, mussten wir die Bücher lüften. Wir nahmen eine Leiter in den Garten und stellten besondere Sperrholzbretter darauf. Dann setzten wir die Bücher auf diese Bretter und mischten die Seiten durcheinander. So fingen die Vorbereitungen für Pessach an. Es gab eine Liste von Aufgaben, die jeden Tag zu erledigen waren. Meine Mutter räumte die Küche auf und meine Schwestern und ich die anderen Räumlichkeiten. Wir mussten alle Krümel entfernen und alle Brotreste an die nicht-jüdischen Nachbaren geben. Am Abend vor Pessach kontrollierten wir, dass alles richtiggemacht wurde. Wenn wir nicht geglaubt haben, dass alles sauber genug war, führten wir das Ritual Bedikas Chamez durch, ein symbolisches Aufräumen [Anm. Dieses Ritual wird obligatorisch vor jedem Pessach durchgeführt.]. Am Abend davor steckte meine Mutter ein Paar Brotstücke irgendwo hinter einen Kleiderschrank, unter den Tisch oder auf einen Regal. Mein Vater prüfte das Haus mit einer Kerze in der Hand, um zu bestimmen, ob es noch Chamez gab. Er hatte auch eine Gansfeder und Schaufel bei. Er fegte das gefundene Chamez in die Schaufel und suchte weiter durch das Haus. Das Chamez wickelte er in einem Stück Stoff ein – dieses Paket stellte er meinem Holzlöffel auf, um zu zeigen, dass es kein Chamez mehr gab. Am Vorabend kamen die Nachbaren zusammen, um ihr Chamez zu verbrennen. Jeder hatte Chamez im Stoff eingewickelt, eine Feder und einen Holzlöffel, was verbrannt wurde. Dann beteten sie. Danach durfte ich kein Brot essen. Ich durfte Kartoffel essen, aber kein Brot.

Zuhause nutzten wir nur koscheres Geschirr. Es gab Geschirr für Fleisch- und Milchprodukte, die nicht zu mischen waren. Dazu hatten wir auch besondere Utensilien und Geschirr für Pessach. Dafür packten wir das Alltagsgeschirr in einem Korb im Keller oder Dachboden weg und nahmen das besondere Geschirr mit runter. Wir Kinder konnten kaum darauf warten, bis die Eltern die Gläser auspackten. Dem Brauch nach sollte jeder Jude vier Gläser Wein am ersten Sederabend trinken. Es gab für unsere Eltern große Gläser und kleinere für uns Kinder. Jeder hatte sein eigenes Glas. Wie wir uns über das besondere Geschirr im Haus freuten! Zum Pessach hatten wir schicke Gläser. Das größte war für Elias, den Propheten.

Zum Sederabend wurde der Tisch mit einer weißen Tischdecke bedeckt. Wir waren in guter Stimmung. Es gab Servietten, mit Sprüchen aus der Thora bestickt. Die wurden für das Decken der Matzen benutzt. Im Mukatschewo gab es eine jüdische Bäckerei, die die Matzen herstellte. Die Bäckerei wurde davor von Chamez gereinigt. Der Rabbi bestätigte dann, dass die Bäckerei sauber ist und gab seine Genehmigung für das Backen von Matzen. Jede Familie bestellte so viel wie sie brauchte und die fertigen Matzen wurde zuhause in großen Weidenkörben geliefert. Die Bäckerei blieb den ganzen Monat auf. Die ganze jüdische Gemeinde stellte armen jüdischen Familien Mazzen zur Verfügung, doch es gab sehr wenig davon und diese Familien hungerten während des Pessach, da sie Brot – ihre Haupternährung – nicht essen durften. Am Tag vor Pessach gingen die meisten religiösen Chassidim in die Bäckerei, um ihre eigenen Matzen machen, da sie dem Bäcker nicht vertrauten. Schmura Matze war sehr teuer. [Anm. Matze schmura ist eine Matze aus Weizen, die seit der Ernte und Mahlen unter Beobachtung steht.] Jeder kaufte die Art Matze, die er sich leisten konnte – aber jeder kaufte Matze. Da mein Vater kein Fanatiker war, kauften wir normale Matze. Jetzt gibt es Geräte für die Herstellung von Matzen, aber damals wurden sie handgemacht. Der Teig war aus Weizen, den von Juden angebaut wurde. Es gab jüdische Bauern dafür. Das Getreide wurde in von Juden getriebenen Mühlen gemahlen. Keine nicht-jüdische Hand fasste die Matze an. Wir waren keine wohlhabende Familie und wir Kinder hatten immer Hunger zum Pessach. Wir wollten von morgens bis abends Matze kauen, aber davon gab es nicht genug.

Zehn Tage vor Pessach bereitete meine Mutter die Rote Beeten für Borschtsch in einer großen Schüssel vor. Sie schälten die Beeten und steckte sie ins Wasser; zum Pessach wurden die Roten Beeten zum Beete-Kwass [ein Brot-Getränk mit Hefe] zubereitet. Im Karpatenvorland heißt dieses Gericht Borschtsch. Vor Pessach schickte mich meine Mutter zum Schochet, zum Metzger mit den Hühnern. Sie kochte Hühnerbrei und Nudeln. Ich koche immer noch Nudeln zum Pessach. Sie kochte auch Tscholent: ein Eintopf mit Fleisch, Kartoffeln und Bohnen. Für jeden Feiertag backte sie außerdem Kuchen. Als Kinder mochten wir Matzen mit Milch. Ich erinnere mich noch an Stücke Matze in meiner kleinen blauen Emaille-Schüssel.

Am Sederabend zündete meine Mutter die Kerzen an. Dann wurden die Gebete rezitiert. Die Männer gingen danach in die Synagoge. Als wir zurückkamen, war der Tisch schon mit einer weißen Tischdecke und Essen gedeckt. Da herrschte schon eine feierliche Stimmung. Der Seder war ein Familienfeiertag. Das Wort „Seder“ heißt „Ordnung.“ Dafür gibt es ein strenges Vorfahren, was man durchführen muss. Die Beteiligten mussten sich zurücklehnen: die Sitze waren mit Kissen ausgestattet, so dass man sich darauf zurücklehnen konnte, um Freie und Adliger nachzuahmen. Nur mein Vater lehnte sich auf dem Kissen zurück. Der Meister des Hauses trägt ein weißes Gewand, das man Kittel nennt. Es wird nur zum Sederabend und in der Synagoge zum Jom-Kippur getragen [Anm. Männer werden auch damit begraben].

Mein Vater saß zum Sederabend immer am oberen Ende des Tisches. In der Haggada wird das Vorfahren für den Sederabend beschrieben. Am Anfang fragt der jüngere Sohn vier traditionelle Fragen [die ma nischtana]: „Weshalb ist dieser Abend anders als alle anderen?“ „Warum nur eine Matze, während wir an anderen Abenden Brot und Matze essen?“ „Warum an diesem Abend vier Gläser, während wir zu anderen Feiertagen nur ein Glas Wein trinken?“ „Wozu die bitteren Kräuter, während wir an allen anderen Abenden andere Kräuter essen?“ „Warum entspannen wir uns und essen so, während wir an anderen Abenden aufrecht sitzen?“ Weil ich der einzige Sohn war, stellte ich diese Fragen, die ich im Cheder lernte. Für meine Schwestern übersetzten wir dieses Gespräch ins Jiddisch. Nach Beantwortung der Fragen führte mein Vater im Singen fort: „Wir waren in Ägypten die Sklaven Pharaos...“ Dann tranken den Wein in gewissen Zeitabstand. Vater zählte die Plagen auf, die Gott in Ägypten anrichtete – die 10 symbolischen Plagen, die auf Hebräisch Makkot heißen. Bei jeder Nennung einer der Plagen, tropften wir Wein auf einem Unterteller.

Dann kam der interessante Teil, wo mein Vater eine Matze in zwei Stücken zerbrach und den größeren Teil in einer Serviette einwickelte, den er dann unter einem Kissen steckte. Das heißt der Afikoman und den wird nach dem Essen gegessen [Anm.: ohne das Essen des Afikomans ist der Sederabend nicht zu Ende]. Den Afikoman klauten wir auch für Lösegeldzahlung ab und zu.

Das größte Glas Weil in der Mitte des Tisches war für Elias vorgesehen. Wir machten die Haustür auf, so dass er reinkommt. Doch wollten wir nicht unbedingt die Haustür offenlassen, da es auch nicht-jüdische Nachbaren in der Gegend gab. Es war aber in Mukatschewo sehr ruhig: die nicht-jüdischen Nachbarn respektierten die jüdischen Bräuche und Traditionen und dazu waren wir auch an ihre gewöhnt. Als Kinder konnten wir kaum darauf warten, bis Elias reinkam und seinen Wein trank. Wir erwarteten, ein Rühren des Weins zu sehen. Manchmal sagte einer von uns, „ich sehe es!“ Danach sangen wir Lieder. Am folgenden Tag wiederholten wir den Sederabend. In Israel wird Pessach sieben Tage lang gefeiert. In der Galut [jüdischen Diaspora] dauerte es acht Tage mit zwei Sederabenden hintereinander.

Die Feiertage waren alle in ihrer eigenen Art und Weise nett. Zu Rosch ha-Schana gingen wir in die Synagogen beim Läuten des Schofars [Halljahrpousane]. An diesem Tag gingen meine Schwestern mit Mutter in die Synagoge. In manchen chassidischen Familien gingen die Töchter regelmäßig in die Synagoge. Waren waren aber keine Fanatiker. Meine Schwestern saßen im oberen Stockwerk mit der Mutter und ich blieb bei Vater. Als wir wieder nachhause kamen, stellte meine Mutter Äpfel und Honig auf dem Tisch, um damit ein süßes neues Jahr zu symbolisieren. Wir tauchten die Äpfel in den Honig und aßen sie.

Zum Jom Kippur betete mein Vater und ich den ganzen Tag in der Synagoge. Meine Mutter ging auch in die Synagoge. Am Abend davor aßen wir ganz viel, da wir den ganzen Tag fasten mussten. Vor meiner Bar Mitzwa gab mir meine Mutter immer Kekse oder Kuchen, um sie mit in die Synagoge zu nehmen. Nach meiner Bar Mitzwa musste ich auch fasten. Jom Kippur war ein schwieriger Tag, da den in der Synagoge verbracht wurde. Jede Familie nahm eine oder zwei Kerzen mit. Die waren groß genug, um 24 Stunden zu brennen. Sie waren am Vorabend angezündet und brennte, bis am folgenden Abend drei Sterne im Himmel erschienen. Diese Kerzen rauchten ganz viel, also verstehe ich nicht, wie man in dieser stickigen Luft beten konnte. Ihre religiösen Geister halfen ihnen bestimmt. Am Ende Jom Kippurs war dann ein feierliches Essen. Die Juden gingen meist in die ihnen nächstgelegene Synagoge. Wir gingen in eine kleine Synagoge in der Duchnowitsch-Straße. Das ist der alte Name der Straße, der bis heute erhalten blieb. Man sieht sofort, dass das Gebäude früher mal eine Synagoge war. Die architektonischen Traditionen wurden miteinbezogen. Dazu wurde sie auch gut instandgehalten. Jeder Besucher hatte einen Stuhl mit einem Brett zum Torah-Lesen. Solche Stühle hießen Schtender. Es gab ein Aaron haKodesch, in dem die Torah-Rollen aufbewahrt werden. Nach Gesetz gab es eine getrennte Abteilung für Frauen im zweiten Stock. Es gab eine Mikwe in der Jiddischgas [Jüdische Gasse] in Mukatschewo.

Zwischen Jom Kippur und Sukkot [Laubhüttenfest] liegen vier Tage, um die Sukka [Laubhütte] zu errichten und verzieren. Nach dem Abendessen ging die Familie in den Hof, um mit dem Bau der Sukka anzufangen. Kinder mochten vor allem diese Zeit sehr. Die armen Juden machten eine Sukka aus dem, was sie zur Hand hatten. Wir hatten eine vorgefertigte Sukka aus kleinen Bretter und Haken. Diese errichteten wir an einem Abend. Wohlhabendere Juden hatten permanente Bände auf dem Dauch, worauf sie die Riede stellen konnten. Zigeuner im Dorf verkauften sogar Riede dafür. Sukka findet im Herbst statt, wenn es oft regnet. Wenn es regnete, lief es in die Sukka, so dass drinnen zu essen unmöglich wurde. Die Religiösesten schafften es, in der Sukka eine Mahlzeit zu verbringen. Manchmal war es so, dass es, obwohl der Regen schon vorbei war, noch in die Suppenschüssel tropfte. Die wohlhabenderen Familien breiteten ihre permanenten Dächer aus, um sich vor dem Regen zu schützen.

Die Kinder freuten sich darüber, die Sukka zu schmücken. Wir schmückten sie wie einen Weihnachtsbaum. Wir machten Dekorationen aus Buntpapier und bestimmten, wessen Dekorationen am besten waren. Ich war sehr gut Dekorationen machen und brachten es den anderen Kindern bei.
Das Purimfest war ganz fröhlich. Am Tag davor bekamen die Kinder Ratschen aus Holz und Flöten. Als das Buch Ester in der Synagoge vorgelesen wurde, kam der Name Haman oft vor und währenddessen versuchten die Kinder in der Synagoge, so viele Geräusche wie möglich zu machen. Die Süßigkeiten zum Purimfest – Schlachmones – brachten wir zu Nachbaren und Bekannten. Kinder brachten diese Süßigkeiten von Haus zu Haus. Dazu bekamen wir auch Leckereien und kleine Münzen als Geschenke. Am wichtigsten waren die Purimshpilen: Kinder oder Erwachsene bereiteten ein Lied, ein Gedicht, ein Tanz oder sonst kleine Vorführung zum Purimfest vor. Was wir spielten, hielten wir vorher geheim. Dann bildeten wir kleine Gruppen von ein paar Jungen oder einem Mädchen, und traten bei den reicheren Familien auf. Dafür bekamen wir Münzen und Leckereien. Meine Schwestern und ich nahmen auch an solchen Auftritten teil. An einem Tag sammelten wir viel ziemlich viel Geld.

Jeder Feiertag hatte seine Symbole. Das Symbol des Purimfestes war die Ratsche. Zum Simchat Tora hatten die Kinder Äpfel mit kleinen Fähnchen. Zum Chanukka spielten die Kinder mit einem kleinen Kreiseln [auch Dreidel genannt] – wir spielten um Geld, weil es gewöhnlich ist, zum Chanukka Geld zu schenken. Die Dreidel schnitten wir aus Holz. Das lernten wir im Cheder. Meine Mutter zündete jeden Tag eine Kerze in der Chanukkia an.

In 1935 wurde Benes Präsident der Tschechoslowakei. Nach den Wahlen besuchte er Mukatschewo. Da gab es ein Kongress im Hof der Militärbarracken und alle Einwohner Mukatschewos gingen hin. Dort war auch unsere Schule und alle Schüler hielten Fahnen, um den Präsident zu begrüßen. Benes hatte dieselbe Politik gegenüber Menschenrechten wie sein Vorgänger Masaryk.

1936 wurde ich 13. Reb Alter, unser Gemara-Lehrer im Cheder, wo ich jeden Nachmittag nach der Grundschule war, bereite mich auf meine Bar Mitzwa vor. Ich musste dafür einen Vortag zum einen Teil der Tora halten. Ich weiß nicht mehr, welcher Teil es war. Das hieß Drosche. Ich hatte meine Bar Mitzwa an einem Sonntag. Das war das erste Mal, dass ich in der Synagoge in meinem Tallit an der Tora stand. Ich las das Gebet vor, das man dafür vorlesen muss, wenn man zur Tora abgerufen wird. Es gab am Abend ein Essen, zu dem unsere Verwandtschaft, sowie Freunde von mir und von meinem Vater eingeladen wurden. Ich musste vor ihnen die Drosche lesen. Die Gäste saßen alle am Tisch. Ich weiß noch, dass es Bier und paprizierte gelbe Bohnen in großen Schüsseln gab. Die Gäste tranken das Bier und aßen die Bohnen mit ihren Händen. Ich las die Drosche und dann stellte mir ein älterer Chasid Fragen, die ich nicht beantworten konnte. Ich brache in Tränen aus und verließ den Raum. Hinter der Tür lauschte ich wie die anderen Chassidim ihn dafür ausschimpften, dass er mir meine Feier verdarb. Es war nicht einfach, zurück in den Raum zu gehen. Ich weinte noch ein bisschen weiter, dann überredeten mich meine Eltern und Gäste, zurück zu kommen.

Der Großvater Pinchas starb in 1936. Er war um 65 Jahre alt. Er wurde nach jüdischen Tradition im jüdischen Friedhof in Mukatschewo begraben. Meine Großmutter saß für ihn Schiwe. Nachdem er starb, übernahm der jüngere Bruder meines Vaters, Idl, die Chewra Kadischa. Ich erinnere mich nicht mehr an die Beerdigung meines Großvaters, aber ich erinnere mich daran, als meine Großmutter 1937 starb. Natürlich war die Familie darüber sehr, sehr traurig, doch ich dachte, dass das Sterben älterer Menschen die Naturordnung war. Meine Großmutter war auf dem Boden in einem Raum. Ihr Körper wurde mit einem schwarzen Tuch gedeckt. An ihrem Kopf leuchtete eine Kerze. Um sie herum saßen Frauen ohne Schuhe. Sie weinten. Der ältere Bruder meines Vaters, Berl, kam aus Palästina zur Beerdigung. Berl war sehr gut darin, Zeremonien zu leiten. Aber diesmal kam Berl in den Hof rein und rief, „Mama, Mama!“ Dann fingen alle Anwesenden an zu weinen. Ich spürte Angst und es war das erste Mal, dass mir die Endlichkeit des Todes bewusstwurde. Großmutter Laya wurde neben meinem Großvater im jüdischen Friedhof in Mukatschewo begraben. Mein Vater las Kaddisch über ihr Grab und saß Schiwe.

Ein Jahr nach dem Tod meiner Großmutter heiratete Idl, der Bruder meines Vaters. Er hatte bei einem Schadchan [Hereitsvermittler] nachgefragt, der für ihn ein Mädchen aus Chust [60km von Uschhorod] im Karpatenvorland. Ihr Vater, Herr Katz, war ein wohlhabenderer Jude. Er hatte einige Töchter. Weil Idls Vater tot war, musste mein Vater, sein älterer Bruder, die Verantwortung über die Hochzeitsvorbereitungen nehmen. Die Verhandlungen fanden bei uns statt und wir Kinder interessierten uns sehr dafür. Wir mussten in der Küche bleiben, aber wir lauschten von hinter der Tür. Da waren der Vater des Mädchens, mein Vater und der Schadchan. Mein Vater und Herr Katz diskutierten die Mitgift. Mein Vater erzählte ihm von der wichtigen Stelle seines Bruders bei der Chewra Kadischa, und dass er ein anständiger und gottesfürchtiger Mann war. Er hörte sich wie der beste und begehrteste Verlobte überhaupt an. Herr Katz sagte, seine Tochter sei eine Schönheit. Der Schadchan meinte, dass das Mädchen keine Mitgift braucht, weil sie selber wie Gold sei. Ich hatte es so verstanden, dass weder mein Vater noch Idl das Mädchen gesehen hatte. Sie verhandelten lange bevor sie eine Vereinbarung erreichen konnten. Sie machten aus, dass Herr Katz die abgesprochene Geldsumme in einer Bank einbezahlen wird und die Bestätigungsscheine an Herrn Rot, der angesehene Besitzer des Schreibwarenladens in Mukatschewo. Wenn es eine Hochzeit gab, musste Herr Rot diese Dokumente Idl überreichen und wenn nicht, zurück an Herrn Katz schicken. Idls Hochzeit fand ungefähr drei Monate nach der Verhandlung statt. Es war eine traditionelle Hochzeit, mit einer Chuppa bei uns zuhause. Meine Mutter und die Nachbaren kochten das Essen. Es war eine freudige Hochzeit.

1938 wurde ich 15 und musste arbeiten gehen. Ich wurde Lehrling bei einem Mechaniker, dem jüdischen Besitzer einer Gerätewerkstatt. Ich lernte das Reparieren von Fahrrädern, Nähmaschinen, Grammofonen und Kinderwagen. Meine Ausbildung hätte zwei Jahre dauern sollen. Eigentlich fing ich ein Jahr später mit der Arbeit an, aber mein Meister bezahlte mir mein Lohn nicht. Ich reparierte und er bekam das ganze Geld. Er gab nur ein bisschen Taschengeld.

1938 eroberten die Deutschen die Tschechoslowakei und gaben das ehemalige ungarische Territorium samt Karpatenvorland an die Ungarn wieder [Anm.: die Deutschen eroberten nur die tschechischen Gebiete und die Slowakei wurde zum unabhängigen Staat, doch wurde dieser Teil, der meistens von Ungarn bevölkert wurde, tatsächlich nach dem Ersten Wiener Schiedsspruch 1938 an Ungarn zurückgegeben]. Es gab damals unterschiedliche Meinungen dazu. Die Ungarn freuten sich und die älteren Juden erinnerten sich, dass es unter des ungarisch-österreichischen Regimes keine Judenverfolgung gab und hofften auf Besseres. Dagegen empfanden die jüngere jüdische Bevölkerung die Ungarn als Besetzungsmacht, und sprachen tschechisch als Protest gegen die Besetzung. Im Laufe der Zeit wurde klar, dass es um ein faschistisches Ungarn ging und die Behörden fingen an, antijüdische Gesetze einzuführen. Die Juden durften nicht mehr Fabriken, Läden oder Geschäften besitzen. Sie mussten ihr Vermögen an nicht-jüdischen Besitzer abgeben, sonst wurde alles vom Staat enteignet. Nur wenige reiche Juden konnten ihr Vermögen verkaufen, während die anderen ihre Lizenzen verloren und dazu auch die Möglichkeit, für ihre Familien zu sorgen. Mein Vater verlor seinen Gewerbeschein. Mein Meister verlor auch seine Lizenz für die Werkstatt und sie wurde 1940 zugemacht. Mein Vater und ich waren auf der Suche nach Arbeit. Nun arbeiteten wir bei der Schreibwarenfabrik von Herrn Rot, die noch im Betrieb war. Ich wurde Mechaniker und mein Vater wurde als Arbeiter angestellt.

Meine ältere Schwester, Olga, hatte Erfolg in der Schule. Sie absolvierte mit guten Noten und wollte zur Oberschule, aber mein Vater war dagegen. Es gab in der Mittelschule jüdische Kurse und sie machte samstags zu, während an der Oberschule die Schüler sonntags lernten. Als er allerdings seine Lizenz verlor, musste Olga arbeiten gehen. Sie brauchte gute Kleidung, die mein Vater sich nicht leisten konnte. Mein Vater redete mit Herrn Rot darüber, Olga in seinem Büro anzustellen. Er erklärte Herrn Rot, dass Olga zu Oberschule wollte, aber er konnte sie nicht unterstützen. Aus religiöser Sicht sah mein Vater es nicht ein, dass ein jüdisches Mädchen zur Schule mit Atheisten geht. Mein Vater bat Herrn Rot darum, Olga eine Chance in seinem Büro zu geben, um zu lernen. Er könnte später darüber entscheiden, ob er sie als Angestellte haben möchte. Herr Rot war religiös und stimmte meinem Vater zu, dass es nicht angemessen ist, dass ein jüdisches Mädchen aus einer anständigen Familie zur Oberschule geht. Also nahm er Olga in seinem Büro auf. Seine Fabrik hatte Geschäftsbeziehungen mit Papierzulieferer in Deutschland und Böhmen. Olga konnte tschechisch und war für Herr Rots Briefwechsel zuständig. Herr Rot stellte auch Stenografie- und Deutschlehrer an, die zu uns kamen, um sie zu unterrichten. Olga wurde seine Sekretärin. Herr Rot diktierte seine Briefe auf Jiddisch oder Ungarisch und diese übersetzte Olga ins Deutsche und Tschechische. Diese Kenntnisse nutzte sie später im Leben viel aus.

Wir wuchsen weniger religiös als unsere Eltern auf. Ich traf mich mit anderen Arbeitern, die Kommunisten waren, was mich prägte. Natürlich wurden wir keine Atheisten, doch sicherlich waren wir nicht so religiös wie unsere Eltern. Das ärgerte meine Mutter sehr, wogegen mein Vater viel herablassender war und mir Vieles verzieh. Als Teenager wollte ich nicht bis zum Ende der Gebete in der Synagoge bleiben. Als ich die Synagoge verließ, um mich mit Freunde zu treffen, bat mein Vater mich nur darum, nachhause zu kommen, wenn er nachhause kommt, um meiner Mutter keine zusätzlichen Sorgen zu bereiten. Einmal als sie aus irgendeinem Grund mit mir wütend war, sagte sie, „Wir holen dich zurück zur Religion, wenn du älter bist.“ Wir behandelten die Eltern mit Respekt, doch diesmal verlor ich die Fassung und erwiderte, „nur, wenn ich den Verstand verliere.“ Dafür kann ich mir selbst nicht verzeihen. Ich kann mir nicht vorstellen, wie meine Mutter sich wohl fühlte, als sie das von mir hörte. Es tut mir sehr leid, dass ich nicht um ihre Verzeihung bat.

In Herr Rots Fabrik lernte ich meine zukünftige Frau, Tilda Akerman, kennen. Damals wurde sie Toby genannt. Tilda und ich waren im selben Alter. Sie kam aus Mukatschewo. Sie erzählte mir, dass wir zusammen in der Grundschule waren, aber ich sie ignoriert hatte. Tilda arbeitete in der Fabrik. Dort gab es auch andere Mädels. Wenn irgendwas mit den Geräten nicht ging, riefen sie mich, um es zu reparieren. So lernte ich Tilda kennen. Wir hatten jüdische Freunde. Tildas Freundin Frieda und mein Freund Woita arbeitete in der Fabrik. Frieda und Woita wollten heiraten, nachdem der Krieg vorbei war. Tilda und ich verliebten uns auch ineinander. Wir trafen uns nach der Arbeit und gingen spazieren. Tilda besuchte mich zuhause und ich war auch bei ihr zuhause. Meine Eltern mochten sie. Wenn es den Krieg nicht gegeben hätte, hätten wir geheiratet. Doch wegen des Krieges wussten wir nicht, was uns passieren wird.

Tilda wurde in eine religiöse jüdische Familie geboren. Ihr Vater, Aizik Akerman, produzierte und verkaufte Wein und ihre Mutter, Ghinda Akerman, geboren Weiss, war Hausfrau. Es gab insgesamt acht Kinder in deren Familie. Tilda war das siebte Kind. Ihre ältere Schwester, Margarita, absolvierte die Handelsakademie in Mukatschewo. Sie heiratete ihren Cousin Weiss. Sie waren beide Sympathisanten der Kommunisten. Margaritas Mann zog 1938 in die UdSSR und sie sollte nachkommen, doch als das Karpatenvorland Teil von Ungarn wurde, hatte sie keine Chance mehr. Sie hatte einen Sohn namens Alexandr. Sie musste sich dann allein um die Familie kümmern. Sie arbeitete als Anwalt und Übersetzerin und nahm alle Arbeit auf, die sie finden konnte. Wir erfuhren nichts über ihren Mann. Tildas Bruder, David, war Winzer wie sein Vater. Philip und Serena, Tildas ältere Schwester und Bruder, absolvierten auch die Handelsakademie.

Serena war auch Sympathisantin der Kommunisten und war an die Veröffentlichung einer kommunistischen Zeitung beteiligt. Sie heiratete einen Kommunisten namens Borkanjuk, ein Abgeordneter aus der Kommunistischen Partei im tschechischen Parlament. Für ihre Eltern, war es eine Schande, einen Nicht-Juden zu heiraten. Tildas Mutter lehnte ihre Tochter ab. Serenas Ehe sorgte für Empörung unter den Juden in Mukatschewo. Das führte auch zum Tod von Tildas Vater in der Synagoge 1937, als er von irgendwelchen Verrückten ermordet wurde, indem sie ihn mit einem Holzklotz an den Kopf schlugen. Weil eine seiner Töchter mit einem Nicht-Juden verheiratet war. Tilda musste arbeiten gehen und Serena und ihr Mann zogen in die UdSSR.

Als die Faschisten in Ungarn an die Macht kamen, zog Tildas Bruder von dort nach Polen und von dort aus nach England. Während des Zweiten Weltkriegs war Philip im tschechischen Korps an der westlichen Front. Nach dem Krieg lebte er in Uschhorod, wo er 1987 starb. Sein Bruder Aron arbeitete in einem Glaswerk. Hugo war auch Arbeiter. Tildas jüngerer Bruder, Schmil, studierte. Bis auf Margarita und Serena waren alle anderen Kinder in der Familie religiös.

Während des Krieges

Anfang 1941 wurde mein Vater zur ungarischen Zwangsarbeit in der Region Welykyj Beresnyj rekrutiert. Dort war die sogenannte Árpád-Linie im Bau [Anm. Die Árpád-Linie war eine Militärfestung in den Ost-Karpaten. Die Bauarbeiten dafür begannen 1940]. Das war eine Art Arbeitslager. Juden wurden nicht in die ungarische Armee aufgenommen, dafür mussten sie aber beim Arbeitsbataillon am Bau von Verteidigungslinien, Barracken und anderen Projekten an der Front arbeiten. Sie hatten keine Waffen und starben oft unter Abschuss. Mein Vater war Zwangsarbeiter bis 1942, als er wegen seines Alters entlassen wurde.

Die Juden hatten es schwer, vor allem mit dem Ausbruch des Krieges mit der Sowjetunion 1941. Es gab viele Einschränkungen. Juden erhielten Brot mit Essensmarken. Die wohlhabenderen Juden konnten Essen im Markt kaufen, währen der Lage für die armen Juden noch schlimm war. 1943 wurde allen Juden befohlen, runde gelbe Stoffstücke, die später durch Sterne ersetzt wurden, zu tragen. Doch zumindest brachten die Ungarn die Juden nicht um und es gab keine Pogrome.

1943 heiratete meine Schwester Nuchim Weingarten, einen jüdischen Mann aus Mukatschewo. Unsere Eltern bereiteten Olga eine jüdische Hochzeit vor. Sie hatten eine Chuppa in der Synagoge und die Hochzeitszeremonie führte der Rabbi durch. Olgas Mann wurde zum Arbeitsbataillon rekrutiert und von da aus ging er zur Front. Zu dieser Zeit wussten wir nichts über ihn.

In April 1944 wurde ich zur Zwangsarbeit nach Ungarn gebracht. Tilda und ich wussten nicht, was uns bevorstand. Wir machten aus, dass wir den Kontakt durch die Schwester vom Vater, die in der Schweiz wohnte, erhalten würden. Wir lernten ihre Adresse auswendig: Lugano, Bella Visari, 10. Zuerst arbeitete ich in Budapest und danach an anderen Orten. Wir gruben Schützengräben und bauten Verteidigungslinien. Wir wohnten in einer großen Baracke ohne Heizung und mit kaum was zu essen, um am Leben zu bleiben. Mein Freund Woita und mein Cousin Aron, der Sohn der Schwester meiner Mutter, waren mit mir im Lager. Wir arbeiteten von 6 Uhr morgens bis es dunkel wurde. Es gab am Nachmittag eine Pause für das Mittagessen. Als wir abends in die Baracken wiederkamen, schliefen wir sofort ein. Es gab Aufseher im Lager, aber es war nicht so schlimm wie ein Konzentrationslager generell. Wir konnten mit den Einheimischen auf Ungarisch reden und sie erzählten uns von den Geschehnissen.

Im Sommer 1944 wurden die Juden aus ungarischen Städten und Dörfern langsam in die Konzentrationslager geschleppt. Wir wussten, dass alle Verwandten in Mukatschewo ins Konzentrationslager transportiert wurden, aber wir wussten noch nichts von den Gaskammern oder der Vernichtung der Juden in den Lagern. Fälle kamen schon vor, in den Häftlingen in unserem Lager vor Hunger oder Krankheiten starben, aber es war kein Todeslager. Mein Cousin Aron erfuhr über Lokführer, die Züge nach Auschwitz fuhren, dass es sich dort um ein Todeslager handelte, doch konnten wir es nicht glauben, dass Menschen in die Gaskammern verschickt werden könnten. Wir konnten es einfach nicht fassen. Erst nach dem Krieg lernten wir, was in Auschwitz stattfand und, dass dort unsere Verwandtschaft ums Leben kam und wie das passierte. Beide meiner Eltern, mein Vater und meine Mutter, wurden sofort in die Gaskammer verschickt.

Als sowjetische Truppen in Januar 1945 Ungarn erreichten, wurden wir an die Deutschen abgeliefert. Wir waren unter ungarischen Herrschaft, aber nachdem wir den Deutschen übergeben wurden, schickten sie uns in ein deutsches Konzentrationslager in Zachersdorf, in der Nähe der österreichischen Grenze. Das war allerdings auch ein Arbeitslager. Wir waren in Gruppen von 100 Häftlingen verteilt und arbeiteten zusammen an den Verteidigungslinien und Panzergraben für die Deutschen. Das war in März als der Schnee schmolz und wir knietief im Matsch arbeiten mussten. Das war schwere Arbeit, aber zum Glück dauerte es nur zwei Monate. In unserer Gruppe von 100 Menschen gab es nur sechs Überlebende.

Ende März 1945 kamen die sowjetischen Truppen in Österreich an. Ich hatte Typhus und war im Delirium. In unserer Baracke waren zweistöckige Hochbetten. Ich war auf dem Bett unten. An meinem letzten Arbeitstag gruben wir einen Schutzgraben und in der Nähe bildeten die Deutschen Jungen im Schießen aus. Ich kann mich noch daran erinnern wie ein Offizier rief, „Die Russen kommen bald. Reißen Sie sich einfach zusammen!“ Die Kanonade konnten wir schon hören. Ich wusste nicht mehr, was um mich herum passiert oder wie lange ich im Delirium war. Ich weiß noch, dass mein Cousin Aron sich auf meinem Bett setzte und mir sagte, dass das Langer bald evakuiert wird und dass wir flüchten müssen, weil sie das Lager niederbrennen werden. Ich war überhaupt nicht in der Lage zu laufen. Ich sagte ihm, dass er mich dalassen und weitermachen sollte – dann hörten wir wie jemand schrie, „Die Russen sind da!“ Irgendwie verdrängten diese Wörter jedes Zeichen von Krankheit in mir. Wir sechs gingen über die Front. Schüsse fliegen an uns vorbei. Wir hatten Angst davor, von einer deutschen oder sowjetischen Gewehrkugel zu sterben. Endlich trafen wir auf sowjetische Kommunikationstechniker, die ein Telefonkabel legten. Sie versuchten uns mit Gesten zu zeigen, dass wir uns hinlegen sollten, aber wir gingen einfach weiter. Einer von uns hatte eine Wunde an der Hand. Wir legten 16 Kilometer zurück. Jetzt, wo ich an diese Zeit zurückdenke, kann ich mir gar nicht vorstellen, wie wir es schafften, nach Szombathely in Ungarn zu kommen [ungefähr 20km von der österreichischen Grenze]. Dieser Ort wurde von Faschisten befreit.

Später, im März 1945, wurden wir in ein sowjetisches Lager für Kriegsgefangene gebracht. Die sowjetischen Truppen schickten alle, die hinter der Front waren, in Lager für Kriegsgefangene. Wir kamen aus den Konzentrationslager und hatten keine Papiere und wurden zu Kriegsgefangene neben den Faschisten, die versucht hatten, uns zu vernichten. Wir hatten keine Dokumente und wurden für deutsche oder ungarische Faschisten gehalten. Wir trugen alte Lappen. Alle Gefangenen waren auf einem Feld. Unter uns waren Faschisten. Es regnete und war sehr kalt. Wir kannten kein Russisch. Wir wurden von Wächtern mit Maschinengewehr überwacht. Wir versuchten uns zu erklären und sagten wir waren „zide,“ was „Jude“ auf Tschechisch heißt, aber dadurch wurde es nur schlimmer. Der Wächter dachte, wir beschimpfen Juden und fing an mit uns zu reden. Das einzige was wir verstanden war, „Ich werde sie erschießen!“

Am nächsten Tag standen wir in Schlangen und marschierten zum Bahnhof. Wir kamen in Uschhorod an. Nochmal befohlen sie uns in Reihen zu stehen und wir marschierten mit einem Wächter irgendwohin. Wir kamen in eine enge Gasse im Zentrum Uschhorods. Wir entschlossen uns zu flüchten, als wir ein Tor erreichten, was zu einem Hof führte. Komme, was mag, dachten wir. Als wir das Tor näherten, fingen wir an zu laufen. Die Wächter kamen uns nicht hinterher. Wir gingen in ein verlassenes Haus und fanden dort was zu essen. Wir blieben zwei Tage in diesem Haus. Wir wollten nur nachhause. Wir hatten keinerlei Information über zuhause. Aron, Woita und ich schafften es, nach Mukatschewo zu kommen. Wir gingen meistens zu Fuß. Ab und zu wurden wir auf einer Pferdekutsche gefahren. Auf dem Weg bekamen wir Essen von den Bauern. Als wir nachhause kamen, war niemand da.

Wir wussten nichts über die Situation. Wir erholten uns ein bisschen und entschieden uns, in die sowjetische Armee zu gehen. Wir wollten, dass die Faschisten für ihre Taten bezahlen. Wir wollten unsere Verwandten befreien. Wir gingen zum Registratur, um uns für die Armee freiwillig zu melden. Als die Offiziere uns anschauten, sagten sie, wir sollten eher ins Krankenhaus als in die Armee gehen. Ich war extrem dünn und meine Genossen sahen nicht viel besser aus. Der Offizier, der mit uns sprach, lehnte Woita ab, aber Aron und ich flehten ihn an, uns zuzulassen. Wir wurden zum Übungsbataillon in Polen geschickt. Der Krieg war schon vorbei. Ich diente also in der Armee, nur nicht an der Front. Das Karpatenvorland gehörte der Sowjetunion und ich war verpflichtet, Militärdienst zu leisten. Ich war ungefähr ein Jahr in Polen und danach wurde ich nach Chmelnyzkyj in der Region Winnyzja, Ukraine, geschickt. 1947 wurde ich entlassen.

Tilda und ich waren dafür bestimmt, uns wieder zu sehen. Sie kehrte nach Mukatschewo zurück, während ich noch beim Militär war. In 1944 wurden Tilda und ihre Familie nach Auschwitz transportiert, wo jüngere Juden zum Arbeitsdienst verschickt und ältere Juden und Kinder vernichtet wurden. Die Deutschen brauchten Arbeitskraft. Tildas Familie kam in Auschwitz um. Ihre ältere Schwester Margarita und ihr Sohn waren auch da. Margarita hatte die Wahl, nicht mit ihrem Sohn zu gehen, doch sie entschied sich dafür, mit ihm zu bleiben und sie gingen zusammen in die Gaskammer. Tildas Eltern und ihr jüngerer Bruder, Schmil, kamen auch in der Gaskammer ums Leben. David und Hugo starben bei der Zwangsarbeit und ihr Bruder Aron ging über die Grenze in die UdSSR und kam im Gulag um. Tilda, ihre Schwester Serena, die während des Zweiten Weltkriegs in der UdSSR war, und ihr Bruder Philip waren die einzigen Überlebende der Familie. Serena kam 1945 zurück ins Karpatenvorland. Philip ging 1946 von England nach Uschhorod zurück.

Tilda und ihre Freundin Frieda wurden von Auschwitz in ein Arbeitslager in dem Ort Reichenbach geschickt. Meine Schwestern Olga und Toby waren auch dort. Dieses Lager war in der Nähe einer Militärfabrik für Radiogeräte. Die Lagerinsassen bauten Radiogeräte zusammen. Tilda und meine Schwester waren bis ihrer Befreiung in diesem Lager. Meine Schwestern erzählten Tilda, dass meine Verwandten in Auschwitz ums Leben gekommen waren. Nach der Befreiung gingen Tilda und ihre Freundin nach Mukatschewo.

Nach dem Krieg

Meine Schwestern kamen nicht zurück nachhause. Olga hatte keine Information über ihren Mann, der drei Tage nach ihrer Hochzeit in die Armee abgerufen wurde. Manchmal bietet das Leben unglaubliche Überraschungen an: Auf dem Weg zurück nach Mukatschewo über die Tschechoslowakei traf Olga ihren Mann wieder. Er wurde mit anderen aus dem Arbeitsbataillon bei Oskol, ein Ort in der Ukraine, gefangen. Er wurde zum Kriegsgefangengenlager gebracht und von dort aus zu einem Gulag. Damals gehörte das Karpatenvorland noch zur Tschechoslowakei. Als die tschechische Armee gegründet wurde, alle tschechische Bürger im Gulag waren zur Armee geschickt. Sie wurden vom Gulag entlassen um in der tschechisch-slowakischen Armee zu dienen. Nuchim wurde zur tschechisch-slowakischen Armee rekrutiert und ging fast bis zum Karlovy Vary, ungefähr 300km von unserem Haus. Dann wurde er entlassen. Er hatte viele Ehrenmedaillen und eine Wohnung als Dankeschön für seine Leistung erhalten. Er ging jeden Tag zum Bahnhof um die Züge zu treffen, die jeden Tag Menschen aus den Konzentrationslager nachhause brachten, und hoffte, dass ihn jemand über Olga und unsere Familie informierten könnte. Dann traf er Olga am Bahnhof.

Meine Schwestern blieben in der Tschechoslowakei und etwas später, in den 1950ern, zogen sie nach Israel. Meine jüngere Schwester Jona heiratete in Israel. Er hieß Stein. Olga arbeitete als Buchhalterin bis zu ihrer Pensionierung. Ihr Sohn Schua wurde in 1947 geboren. Er handelt in Informatik und ist Professur an der Universität von Tel Aviv. Jona war Hausfrau nachdem sie heiratete. Sie hat zwei Töchter: Margalit, 1950 geboren, und Erit, 1953 geboren. Jonas Töchter sind verheiratet und haben Kinder. Ich erinnere mich nicht an ihren Familiennamen.
Tilda ging zurück nach Mukatschewo. Ich war mit Woita in Kontakt. Er gab Tilda die Adresse meiner Feldpost. Als ich einen Brief von Tilda bekam, war ich sehr, sehr glücklich. Ich schrieb ihr zurück und so entstand einen Briefwechsel zwischen uns. Mit ihrem nächsten Brief schickte sie mir Foto. Auf der Rückseite hatte sie es mit „An meinen liebsten Ari“ unterschrieben. Ich hatte dieses Foto bei mir und jetzt steht es im Familienalbum.

Tilda blieb bei ihrer Schwester Serene in Uschhorod. Sie ging arbeiten. Ich wurde 1947 von der Armee entlassen und kam nach Uschhorod. Tilda arbeitete bei dem Handelsbüro im Ort. Als wir uns trafen trug ich ein verblasstes Soldatenhemd und Soldatenstiefel. Tilda und Serena gaben mir Marken, um Kleidungen zu kaufen, da alles mit Marken verkauft wurde. Ich fing als Mechaniker in einer kleinen Werkstatt an. Wir wohnten alle zusammen in Serenas kleiner Wohnung. Sie teilte mit uns ihre Möbel und Geschirr. Ich hatte keinen Pass, nur einen Militärausweis. Tilda und ich wohnten zusammen, ohne über das Heiraten zu reden. Ihre Schwester war unsere einzige Verwandtschaft, also was für eine Hochzeit wäre das?

Am 30. April 1948 gingen Tilda und ich spazieren. Es war ein schöner Tag. Bis dahin hatte ich schon einen Pass. Wir gingen draußen und einer von uns sagte, „lass uns zum Standesamt gehen.“ Damals war alles so einfach. Bewerbungsunterlagen waren nicht nötig. Wir gingen zum Standesamt, zeigten unsere Dokumente und der Leiter des Standesamtes schrieb unsere Namen auf und stellten uns die Heiratsurkunde aus. Es war wie sonst jeder andere Tag. Ich kaufte eine Flasche Champagner und Pralinen und lud den Leiter des Standesamtes ein, mit uns auf unser Glück zu trinken. Er gab uns einige Gläser und wir machten die Flasche Champagner auf. Dann wurden wir im Fotoladen, im selben Gebäude wie das Standesamt, fotografiert. Wir gingen nach draußen und Tilda sagte, sie muss zur Arbeit, da ihre Kollegen die Feierlichkeiten zum 1. Mai vorbereiten wollten. Meine Kollegen bereiteten auch eine Feier vor und luden mich dazu ein. Also trennten wir uns und jeder ging zu seiner jeweiligen Arbeit. Das war unser Hochzeitstag. Kurz danach heirateten auch mein Freund Woita und Tildas Freundin Frieda. Sie wohnten bis in die 70er in Uschhorod und wir blieben miteinander befreundet.
Auf der Arbeit erfuhr ich keinen Antisemitismus oder sonstige Vorurteile. Ganz im Gegenteil fing die Leitung an, mich zu befördern, weil ich Russisch spreche. Ich lernte es in der Armee. Damals konnten nur wenige in dem Karpatenvorland Russisch verstehen. Später lernten Kinder Russisch in der Schule, aber damals war ich der einzige, der Russisch konnte. Mein Freund und ich machten eine kleine Reparaturwerkstatt für Geräte auf. Es gab in dieser Werkstatt viele jüdische Angestellte. Der Vorstand war Herr Tamper, ein Jude. Ich verdiente gut, da ich schon guter Mechaniker war. Einmal bat mir Tamper an, nach Kiew zu fahren, wo ich an einem Ausbildungskurs zum Geschäftsführer der Qualitätssicherung machte. Ich war der einzige Kollege, der Russisch sprach. Ich sprach mit Tilda darüber und wir stimmten überein, dass ich hingehen sollte. Ich war einen Monat dort und absolvierte den Kurs mit guten Resultaten.

Als ich wieder zuhause war, erfuhr ich, dass der Vorstand die Werkstatt aufgelöst hatte. Er wollte mich als Geschäftsführer in der Metallwaren-Werkstatt. Das Geschäftsführer-Gehalt war niedriger als bei meiner vorherigen Stelle, aber ich hatte keine Wahl, da die Werkstatt zugemacht wurde. Diese Werkstatt wurde zum Bolschewik-Werk, wo ich Geschäftsführer einer Werkstatt war. Ich leistete meine Arbeit gut und fing an, Veränderungen einzuführen. Ich mag neue Entwicklungen und dafür erhielt ich Zusatzgeld, was meinen Gehaltsverlust ausglich. Die Leitung schätze meine Leistung und schlug mir vor, an einer Hochschule zu studieren. Um an der Hochschule studieren zu dürfen, muss man Absolvent einer Oberschule sein. Weder Tilda noch ich waren an einer Oberschule. Sie und ich entschieden uns als dafür, an einer Oberschule zu studieren.

Unser Sohn Pjotr wurde 1951 geboren. Sein jüdischer Name war Pinchas, nach meinem Großvater väterlicherseits. Unser zweiter Sohn Juri wurde 1955 geboren; er trägt den jüdischen Namen Eschje, nach meinem Vater.

Um zur Schule gehen zu können, stellen wir für Pjotr ein Kindermädchen an. Meine Frau und ich studierten sonntags an einer Schule. Am Sonntag hatten wir den ganzen Tag Unterricht und unter der Woche Hausaufgaben. Wir absolvierten diese Schule und erhielten ein Abschlusszeugnis. Jetzt durften wir unser Studium fortsetzen. Ich absolvierte die kommunale Abteilung der Maschinenbau-Fakultät der Hochschule für Maschinenbau in Odessa und verteidigte meinen Abschluss mit Auszeichnungen. Währenddessen wuchs das Werk einfach weiter. Als in anfing dort zu arbeiten, gab es ungefähr 30 Angestellte in der Werkstatt, aber als ich absolvierte waren es schon 80 Angestellte. Ich wurde zum Leiter der Technik im Werk. Ich war zufrieden mit dieser Stelle. Ich war kein berufsorientierter Mann und war mit dem, was ich hatte, zufrieden.

Als ich zum Leiter der Technik angestellt wurde, überzeugte mich die Leitung, in die Kommunistische Partei überzutreten, weil es mir beim Berufsaufstieg helfen würde. Nur Parteimitglieder erhielten die Schlüsselpositionen in der ehemaligen UdSSR. Ich bekam Empfehlungen und wartete auf die Genehmigung vom Büro der kommunalen Parteikommission. Jeder wusste, dass ich den Ruf eines begabten Ingenieurs hatte und es gab keine Einsprüche gegen meine Parteimitgliedschaft.

Meine Frau ging auch zur Kommunistischen Partei. Wir hatten keine Ahnung von Kommunismus. Wir wussten gar nichts davon, was vor dem Großen Vaterländischen Krieg in der UdSSR geschieht. Außerdem tat dieses Land uns nichts Böses. Wir waren dankbar für ein gutes Leben und eine Gelegenheit zu studieren und arbeiten. Um der Partei beizutreten, mussten wir Formulare ausfüllen, in der wir schrieben, dass wir im Konzentrationslager gewesen waren. Diejenigen, die seit 1917 in der UdSSR lebten, verbargen die Wahrheit über ihrer Internierung im Konzentrationslager. Die Menschen, die im Konzentrationslager waren, wurden mit Verdacht behandelt. Man hätte sie vielleicht fragen könnten, „wenn Sie im Konzentrationslager gewesen sind, warum sind Sie nicht ums Leben gekommen?“ Tilda und ich machten uns Sorgen darum, diese Tatsache auf dem Formular anzudeuten, aber schließlich entschieden wir uns: wenn wir die Partei beitreten werden, wollen wir die Wahrheit erzählen und wir werden die Wahrheit über uns schreiben. Am Ende kam nichts dabei daraus.

Als ich der Partei beitrat, wurde die Stelle des Chef-Ingenieurs im Werk etabliert. Ich wurde dafür angestellt und arbeitete in dieser Position für 20 Jahre. Am Ende meiner Beschäftigung gab es schon 800 Angestellte im Werk. Nach sowjetischen Verhältnissen war es kein besonders großes Werk, doch für Uschhord war das Bolschewik-Werk ein riesiges Unternehmen. Wir bekamen oft Zusatzgeld und lebten gut. Ich erhielt den Orden „Zeichen der Ehre“ und eine Reihe von anderen „Metallwaren“. Ich bekam auch die Auszeichnung „Bester Beteiligter am Sozialistischen Wettbewerb“. Neben der Leistung meiner direkten Aufgaben entwickelte ich auch innovative Ideen. Ich entwarf eine sehr interessante Schleifmaschine für die Möbel-Industrie. Dadurch wurde der Schleifprozess mechanisch. Davor war es ein manueller Prozess. Dafür erhielt ich ein Patent und eine mit Geld dotierte Auszeichnung.

Antisemitismus erlebte ich so gut wie nicht. Meine Kollegen wussten, dass ich Jude war. Tilda und ich schrieben immer auf allen Formularen, dass wir Juden waren und, dass Jiddisch unsere Muttersprache war. Ich schämte mich nie dafür. Ich habe eine jüdische Seele. Meine Kollegen behandelten mich gut. Es gab im Werk nur einige jüdische Angestellten. Mit ihnen sprach ich auf Jiddisch. Zigeuner gab es auch, da das Werk sich einer Gegend mit vielen Zigeunern befand. Im Werk gab es auch Ungarn, Slowaken und Ukrainer. Mit allen verstand ich mich gut. Es ist einfach: behandelst du jeden mit Respekt, dann wird er versuchen, deine Erwartungen zu erfüllen.

Nur einmal erlebte ich einen Fall Antisemitismus. Es war wohl nur ein kleiner Vorfall. Außerdem erfuhr ich erst später davon. Unser Direktor wurde zu einem neuen Werk versetzt, das sich noch im Bau befand. Ich blieb weiterhin Chef-Ingenieur und wurde stellvertretender Direktor. Es war nicht mein Vorhaben, Direktor zu werden, da ich mit meiner Stelle zufrieden war. Als der neue Direktor ins Werk kam, half ich ihm bei der Einführung im Betrieb und dafür war er mir sehr dankbar. Viele Jahre später erzählte mir mein jüdischer Bekannter, dass, als es im Büro des kommunalen Parteikomitees um die Anstellung eines neuen Direktors ging, jemand sagte, „warum suchen wir einen neuen Direktor, wenn es Galpert gibt?“ Und daraufhin sagte der Sekretär des kommunalen Parteikomitees, mein guter Bekannter, „Aber er ist Jude.“ Das ist der einzige Fall wovon ich weiß, dass meine jüdische Identität meine Karriere behinderte. Wenn ich ehemalige Kollegen auf der Straße treffe, freuen sie sich darüber, mich zu sehen, und wir grüßen einander.

Es ging Tilda gut. Sie absolvierte eine neunmonatige Partei-Ausbildung. Sie war gut in Sprachen und lernte recht schnell Russisch. Sie arbeitete beim Handelsbüro des kommunalen Exekutivkomitees [Ispolkom]. Sie leiste dort gute Arbeit und wurde zur Assistentin des stellvertretenden Vorstandes der Lokalverwaltung befördert, wo sie jahrelang arbeitete. Tilda verbarg nie, dass sie Jüdin ist. Tilda eignete sich auch schnell Ukrainisch an, da alle Dokumente auf Ukrainisch waren. Sie wurde Geschäftsführerin des Protokollamtes, eine ziemlich hohe Position. Im Buch des Karpatenvorlandes wird mein Name erwähnt und zwar als eine Person, die einen großen Beitrag zur technischen Entwicklung der Stadt leistete. Also hatten wir keine Probleme mit der sowjetischen Macht, auch wenn wir uns schon Sorgen machten.

Meine Frau und ich lebten nicht lange unter sowjetischen Herrschaft – die Region, in der wir wohnten, wurde erst 1945 Teil der UdSSR – und wir hatten sonst kein so klares Verständnis davon, was tatsächlich um uns herum passiert. Wir glaubten an alles, was die Kommunistische Partei sagte. Als wir jünger waren und für den Besitzer einer Fabrik arbeiteten, gehörten wir zum Proletariat. Er beutete uns aus. Wir glaubten wirklich daran, dass wir auf eine glänzende Zukunft und eine schöne internationale Gesellschaft der Gleichberechtigten hinarbeiten. Was für eine wunderbare Idee das war! Wir lasen Bücher von Marx, Lenin und Stalin. Dazu lasen wir auch Bücher von utopischen Sozialisten. Das, was sie in diesen Büchern schrieben, hörte sich schön an. Es war interessant und wir lebten im Glauben daran. Als Stalin in 1953 starb, trauerten wir. Natürlich sahen wir, dass die Realität anders als in der Buchbeschreibung war, aber wir dachten, es hing von der Übergangsperiode ab und, dass der tatsächliche Stand der Dinge den Oberbehörden nicht bewusst war. Doch hatten wir schon das Gefühl, dass etwas falsch war und die Wörter und Taten nicht übereinstimmten. Wir erlebten die Kampagne gegen den Kosmopoliten in 1948 mit. Das hatte keine Wirkung auf uns und wir verstanden die Situation einfach nicht. Es schein eine Verfälschung zu sein. Das gilt auch für die sogenannte Ärzteverschwörung in Januar 1953. Das war alles schlimm und ein Versuch, den Antisemitismus zu verstärken. Wir wollten uns nicht zu tief einmischen. Als Chruschtschow über Stalin redete und darüber, wie das sowjetische System auf dem 20. Parteitag der KPdSU die Verbrechen vom Stalin veröffentlichte, verstanden wir worum es alles ging. Es wurde uns dann klar, dass wir die Idee von Kommunismus und Sozialismus aufgeben mussten.

Weil ich Parteimitglied und Geschäftsführer war, musste ich zu Ingenieuren im Werk propagieren. Ich war für die regelmäßigen Politikkurse mit ihnen zuständig. Eins kann ich ehrlich sagen: niemals drückte ich meine Meinung aus. Ich sagte nur, „der Chruschtschow sagt dieses...“ oder „...so sagte Breschnew.“ Ich wies immer auf den beiden hin, da Tilda und ich seit dem 20. Parteitag verstanden, dass die Idee von Kommunismus eine falsche war. Immerhin blieben wir Parteimitglieder – bis zum letzten Tag in 1991, der Umbruch der Sowjetunion. Irgendwann am Ende der 1980er hörte ich damit auf, die politische Ausbildung meiner Kollegen zu leiten und meine Parteimitgliedschaft wurde reine Formalität.

Unsere Söhne waren gesunde und brave Kinder. Sie sind sehr unterschiedlich: Pjotr ist ruhig, er beeilt sich nie und bleibt gerne zuhause; dagegen ist Juri fröhlich und gesellig. Er hat viele Freunde. Unsere Söhne waren im selben Kindergarten und auf derselben Schule. Sie hatten die selbe Grundschullehrerin. Sie lernten Russisch in der Oberschule. Pjort absolvierte mit Auszeichnungen. Wir wollten nicht, dass er in der Ukraine weiterstudiert, weil wir Angst vor Antisemitismus hatten. Die Ukraine war Teil der UdSSR. Der Antisemitismus war in Russland nicht so stark wie in der Ukraine. Er ging nach Leningrad und bestand erfolgreich seine Zulassungsprüfungen zur Hochschule für optische Mechanik. Dort studierte er fünfeinhalb Jahre. Seine vordiplomierte praktische Übung war beim Militärwerk in Ischewsk und sie schickten sehr gute Leistungsreferenzen für ihn an die Hochschule zurück.

Als es um die obligatorische Berufsvergabe ging, ließen wir den Chef-Ingenieur des Fertigungswerks in Uschhorod ein Antragsschreiben an die Hochschule in Petrograd schicken und Pjotr bekam eine Stelle in diesem Werk. Vor Perestroika arbeitete er dort als Gestalter. Als Perestroika anfing, wurde dieses Werk wie viele andere Betriebe zugemacht. Unser Sohn fing an, bei einem Internet-Anbieter zu arbeiten. Er heiratete mit 38. Er war schüchtern. Ich glaube ich war auch so im selben Alter. Jetzt bin ich anders. Er hatte zwar Freunde, aber mit Mädchen traf er sich nicht. Er heiratete seine Kollegin. Sie war Elektroingenieurin, aber später studierte sie Buchhaltung. Danach arbeitete sie als Chef-Buchhalterin. Ein Freund von ihnen zog nach Deutschland und überredete unseren Sohn, auch dorthin zu ziehen. Natürlich wollten wir nicht, dass unsere Kinder so weit weg von uns wohnen, aber wir versuchten trotzdem nicht, es ihm auszureden. Pjotr absolvierte seine Elektronik-Ausbildung in Deutschland. Die Firma Siemens bezahlte seine Ausbildung und stellte ihn nach seinem Studium an. Seine Frau ist Buchhalterin. Es geht ihnen sehr gut. Sie wohnen in Frankfurt am Main. Leider haben sie keine Kinder.
Unser jüngerer Sohn wollte die Zulassungsprüfungen an derselben Hochschule in Leningrad wie Pjotr machen. Leider wurde er krank und konnte die Prüfungen nicht machen. Er wurde zur Armee rekrutiert. Er diente in einer Militäreinheit, die mit Radargeräten umgingen. Juri assistierte einen Offizier, der mit Elektronik arbeitete. Nach der Demobilisierung ging er zurück nach Uschhord und arbeitete als Mechaniker in einem Werk. Er fing auch bei der elektrotechnischen Fakultät an der polytechnischen Universität Lwiws. Nach seinem Studium wurde Ingenieur in demselben Werk, wo er als Mechaniker arbeitete. Dort arbeitete er bis das Werk während Perestroika zugemacht wurde. Juri eröffnete ein Café mit einem Freund. Es gefiel Juri nicht so sehr, aber er musste sein Lebensunterhalt verdienen. Er arbeitete drei Jahre dort. Als der Chesed in Uschhord etabliert wurde, lud der Direktor Juri dort zum Arbeiten ein. Juri ist der regionale Direktor von Chesen und genießt seine Arbeit. Er heiratete 1974. Juri wohnt mit seiner Familie unweit von hier. Wir besuchen uns oft. Beide Söhne haben nicht-jüdische Frauen. Sie sind mit ihren Familienleben zufrieden und das ist, was am Ende zählt.

Unser einziger Enkelsohn Philip, Juris Sohn, wurde 1975 geboren. Als er mit der Schule fertig war, bekam er vom Sochnut ein Angebot, in Israel zu studieren. Am Anfang gab es doch einige Probleme. Sie versprachen ein kostenloses Studium, aber vor Ort war es eine andere Geschichte. Dort studierte er Kochen und nach Unterricht arbeitete er als Koch in einem Restaurant am Toten Meer. Dann wurde er zur Armee rekrutiert. Nach seinem Wehrdienst war Philip auf dem Institut Wingate in Netanja. Sein Fachgebiet war Sportmedizin. Unser Enkelsohn studiert jetzt im fünften Jahr und er ist sehr glücklich. Wir unterstützen ihn und helfen ihm dabei, sein Studium erfolgreich abzuschließen. Er mag seinen Beruf und wir freuen uns darüber, dass er die Gelegenheit bekam, zu studieren und reisen. Letzten Sommer war Philip hier zu Besuch. Sochnut organisiert im Karpatenvorland Sommerferienlager und er bekam für diesen Sommer eine Einladung. Wir erhoffen uns, unseren Enkelsohn diesen Sommer sehen zu können. Er hat vor, sich in Israel niederzulassen.

Ich kann nicht sagen, dass meine Frau und ich unsere Religiosität nach dem Krieg aufrechterhielten. Wir beteten nicht, in die Synagoge gingen wir auch nicht und es war unmöglich die Kaschrut zu befolgen. Nach dem Tod meiner Familie gab ich die Religion auf. Ich kann nicht an einem Gott glauben, der die Massenvernichtung der Juden anhand ihres Jüdisch-Seins erlauben kann. Wenn es passierte und Gott nichts dafür tat, es zu vermeiden, würde es bedeuten haben, dass Er entweder nicht existiert oder nicht so mächtig und gerecht ist, wie mir in der Kindheit erzählt wurde. Unsere Kinder wussten allerdings, dass sie Juden sind. Ich erzählte ihnen die Geschichte des jüdischen Volkes. Zu jedem Feiertag erzählte ich die Geschichte und Traditionen dazu. Zu Pessach erzählte ich davon, wie die Juden nach Israel kamen und von Moses gerettet wurden. Ich erklärte, warum wir zum Pessach Matze essen. Tilda kochte traditionelles jüdisches Essen. Zum Pessach hatte sie immer ein Fass Rotebeete-Kwass. Zum Purimfest machte sie Hamantaschen und für Rosch ha-Schana stellte sie Äpfel und Honig auf dem Tisch.

Ich erzählte meinen Söhnen von meiner Kindheit und vom Cheder, davon wie mein Vater und ich in die Synagoge gingen und über meine Bar Mitzwa. Ich erzählte ihnen auch, wie ich die Religion aufgab und Arbeiter wurde. Ich erzählte auch davon, wie ich meine Mutter verletzte und, dass ich mich dafür noch schuldig fühle und nur in meinem Kopf um Verzeihung bitten kann, da ich sie nach dem Lager nie wiedersah. Unsere Söhne bekamen ihr Wissen über das Judentum in der Kindheit. Wir waren der Meinung, dass wir dazu verpflichtet waren, ihnen jüdisches Leben zu zeigen. Als sie noch Kinder waren, erzählte ich nichts von den Konzentrationslagern. Die Erinnerungen waren zu schwierig für Tilda und mich.

Meine Frau und ich hatten viele Freunde. Die meisten waren Juden, aber wir hatten auch nicht-jüdische Freunde. Tilda und ich freuten uns darüber, glückliche Treffen mit Freunden zu haben. Wir feierten immer Geburtstage in der Familie und sowjetische Feiertage. Ich kann nicht sagen, dass uns die Bedeutung dieser Feiertage besonders wichtig war, aber wir schätzten die Möglichkeit, Freunde einzuladen und ihre Gesellschaft zu genießen. Manchmal waren so viele Gäste da, dass wir die Tür zwischen den Zimmern aufhalten mussten, um den Tisch dazwischen aufzustellen. Egal wie wenig Platz es gab, wir hatten immer sehr viel Spaß dabei. Viele unserer Freunde waren älter als wir. Wir hatten ältere Freunde, weil nur wenige Juden in unserem Alter aus den Lagern wiederkamen. So viele unserer Freunde sind nicht mehr da. Es gibt keine mehr. Nur wir beide. Verstehen Sie, was das heißt? Da waren so viele von uns. Viele gute Freunde. Wenn wir zum Friedhof gehen, gibt es da einen und da einen... es ist erschreckend. Ich bin froh darüber, dass die Kinder unserer Freunde in Uschhord mit uns in Kontakt bleiben.

Meine ganze Freizeit verbrachte ich mit meiner Familie. Am Wochenende gingen wir oft spazieren und wandern in den Bergen. Im Sommer gingen wir wandern und im Winter Skifahren in den Bergen. Urlaub hatten wir am Meer im Süden. In den 1970ern erhielt ich eine Parzelle Land und darauf bauten wir eine Datsche und hatten Obstbäume und Blumen. Die Datsche war unsere Lieblingsfreizeitbeschäftigung. Meine Söhne halfen mir dabei, die Datsche zu bauen. Meiner Frau gefiel die Gärtnerei. Tilda und ich gingen oft auf Konzerte und ins Theater.

Als es in den 1970er Massenausreisen von Juden nach Israel gab, dachten meine Frau und ich nicht einmal an die Auswanderung. Wir hatten Verständnis für unsere Bekannten und halfen ihnen beim Packen unter anderem. Viele unserer Freunde und Bekannten wanderten aus, auch unsere enge Freunde Woita und Frieda. Nach Israel zu gehen würde bedeuten, von Null anzufangen. Mein Hebräisch wäre genügend für den alltäglichen Austausch, aber nicht für die Arbeit. Wir waren schon an unsere Wohnung und Alltagsroutine gewohnt. Wir haben jüdische Freunde, aber da waren auch die nicht-jüdischen Freunde. An sie waren wir auch gewohnt und es hätte uns gefehlt, mit ihnen zu reden. Wir überlegten uns und redeten mit den Kindern darüber. Wenn sie das gewollte hätten, hätten wir uns bestimmt dazu entschieden, nach Israel zu ziehen. Unsere Söhne waren doch nicht sehr überzeugt von der Idee. Also blieben wir. Wir werden natürlich älter und Auswanderung wird noch weniger möglich. Ich werde bald 80 und das Leben neu anzufangen ist nicht für mich.

Wir freuten uns über die Perestroika. Es war uns schon klar, dass das sowjetische System kein gutes war. Meine Schwestern lebten in Israel und ich durfte ihnen nicht schreiben [mit Verwandtschaften im Ausland in Kontakt bleiben], weil meine Frau und ich hohe Positionen auf der Arbeit hatten und dazu Parteimitglieder waren. Damals durften die Bürger nicht mit jemandem aus einem kapitalistischen Land in Kontakt sein. Die Frau von Philip, Tildas Bruder, schrieb mit ihrem Bruder in Israel. Wir gaben ihr Briefe für meine Schwestern, die sie mit den Briefen an ihren Bruder schickte und er schickte sie weiter an meine Schwestern. So schickten meine Schwestern ihre Briefe auch. Diese Vorgehensweise war sehr kompliziert und wir schrieben uns nur ab und zu, aber ich hatte dennoch Angst davor, dass es aufgedeckt wird. Ich hätte meine Stelle verlieren oder von der Partei ausgeschlossen werden könnten oder, noch schlimmer, ich hätte vor Gericht stehen, mit Spionage oder sonst was angeklagt und ins Gefängnis eingeliefert werden können. Also wusste ich von meinen Schwestern und sie von mir. Dieser gelegentliche Briefwechsel war unsere einzige Chance, Informationen auszutauschen.
Während jemand während der sowjetischen Zeit ins Ausland zog, glaubte man nicht daran, dass man ihn wiedersieht, dass man ihn besucht oder er besuchen kommt. Perestroika ermöglichte uns das. Meine Frau und ich reisten in 1988 das erste Mal nach Israel, als die Perestroika erst anfing. Wir trafen uns auf einer Feier und dort stießen wir zuerst auf Gorbatschow. Es war wie wieder zum Leben zurückzukehren! Tilda und ich trafen uns mit Woita, mein Freund, der mit mir im Konzentrationslager war, und Frieda, Tildas Freundin, die mit ihr im Konzentrationslager war. So eine Freundschaft ist mehr als Blutverwandtschaft. Nach so langer Zeit trafen wir sie wieder. Wir umarmten und küssten uns. Natürlich war ich von Israel sehr beeindruckt. Dort sind die antiken und modernen Zeiten sehr schön ineinander verwoben. Seitdem waren wir schon mehrere Male in Israel. Ich mag dieses schöne Land. Ich bewundere seine Menschen, die so ein Paradies mitten in der Steinwüste aufbauen konnten. Ich bin sehr froh darüber, dass mein Sohn ein Teil dieses Land wurde. Das Wiederbeleben jüdischen Lebens hierzulande fing mit der Perestroika an.

Vor drei Jahre besuchten Tilda und ich Auschwitz mit einer Gruppe vom Chesed in Chmelnyzkyj. Ich war der „Rabbi“ dieser Gruppe und es war meine Aufgabe, dort Kaddisch für die Verstorbenen in Auschwitz aufzusagen. Ich erzählte dieser Gruppe von unserem Leben und davon, was unseren Familien passierte. Wir waren die einzigen Teilnehmer dieser Gruppe, die eine persönliche Verbindung zu Auschwitz hatten. Der Rest der Gruppe war in verschiedenen Ghettos in der Ukraine. Diese Reise war sehr schwierig für uns. Während ich Kaddisch auflas machte sich Tilde Sorgen um mich: meine Knie und Hände, sowie meine Stimme, zitterten. Das war eine furchtbare Erfahrung. Natürlich versuchte ich, mich zusammenzureißen. Unsere Reiseleiterin hörte, dass Tilda und ich miteinander auf ungarisch sprachen. Sie bestimmte, wir waren Ungarn, und brachte uns in den ungarischen Raum. Dort waren an den Wänden vom Boden bis zur Decke Namen alphabethisch aufgeschrieben. Ich fand die Namen von meinem Vater und Onkel Idl. Ich weiß nicht, wie lange ich dieses Moment erlebte. Ihre Namen waren ganz unten und, als ich die las, fiel ich hin. Ich konnte nicht wieder aufstehen. Ich fürchte mich schon davor, mich daran zu erinnern, aber wir müssen uns erinnern und den Lebendigen erzählen, so dass es nie wieder passiert.

1983 kündigte ich meine Stelle als Chef-Ingenieur. Ich kam mir der Menge an Arbeit nicht klar. Die Geschäftsführung wollte, dass ich bleibe, aber ich wollte nicht als Chef-Ingenieur weiterarbeiten und sie boten mir eine Stelle als Berater an, da ich seit dem Bau dieses Werks dort arbeitete. Ich wusste alles über das Werk. Ich arbeitete bis 1991 dort. Im selben Jahr fing eine Aktion an, alle Rentner zu kündigen. Der Direktor des Werks schlug vor, eine kleine Firma auf Grundlage dieses Betriebs zu gründen, und dass ich dafür Direktor werde. Ich lud alle zu pensionierenden Arbeiter zu dieser Firma ein. Dort arbeitete ich zwei Jahre weiter, mir gefiel der Job nicht und ich hörte auf. Meine Frau hörte mit 55 auf, zu arbeiten. Die Geschäftsführung wollte, dass sie länger arbeitet und sagte, dass sie es ohne sie nicht schaffen. Tilda bleib noch fünf Jahre und 1983 bestand sie darauf, dass die kündigen möchte. Es war Zeit für Ruhe.

Ich habe jetzt Arbeit zu tun. Während der Jahre der sowjetischen Herrschaft war ich Jude. Ich bin im tiefsten Herzen Jude, ich wurde als Jude großgezogen und meine jüdische Verwandten kamen im Konzentrationslager ums Leben. Nach meinem Rücktritt lud mich die jüdische Gemeinde in Uschhorod dazu ein, Vorstandsvorsitzende zu werden und für die Übereinstimmung mit den jüdischen Gesetzen – der Jiddischkeit – zu sorgen. Es gibt auch andere Juden mit solchen Kenntnissen, aber sie sind viel jünger und erinnern sich nicht an so viele Sachen wie ich. Außerdem wuchs ich in einem chassidischen Haushalt auf. Ich unterrichtete früher Erwachsene und Kinder. Ich erzählte ihnen, wie es bei mir zuhause war und wie es in einem jüdischen Haus sein soll. Heute ist es einfacher, weil es dafür jüdische Schulen und für Erwachsenen-Vorträge in der Synagoge gibt. Es gibt jüdisches Massenmedien und Bücher, aber damals in den 1990ern war es anders. Ich halte noch Vorträge. Ich bekomme Einladungen, vor allem zu Feiertagen, um über Traditionen, Gebete und Interpretationen von Jiddischkeit zu reden, weil ich es studierte und noch weiß, worum es geht. Manchmal lese ich zusätzliche Information, um meine Erinnerung zu stärken, aber meistens erzähle ich davon, was ich durchlebte. Ich lehrte Kinder und ich freue mich darüber, den Menschen nützlich zu sein. Ich bin Jude und glaube, dass ein Jude davon bewusst sein muss, warum er Jude ist. Wenn man an seine jüdische Identität glaubt, muss man ein allgemeines Wissen von jüdischer Geschichte haben.

Nach meinem Abtritt feierten meine Frau und ich die jüdischen Feiertage zuhause. Dafür haben wir alles, was wir brauchen. Wir haben ein Chanukkia und die Schüler der jüdischen Schule schenkten mir ein von ihnen gesticktes Tuch für die Umwicklung der Matzen. Wenn amerikanische Rabbiner unsere Synagoge besuchen, war ich der einzige, der mit ihnen auf hebräisch sprechen konnte. Sie mochten mich so sehr, dass sie mir ein Tablett mit kleinen Löchern, das beim Sederabend zum Pessach benutzt werden kann und besondere Gläser für den Sederabend geschenkt haben. Ich benutze sie. Wenn es soweit ist, werde ich sie an jemand anderen weitergeben.

Tilda und ich und die Familie meines Sohnes verbringen die jüdischen Feiertage beim Chesed. Beim letzten Purim war ich auf der Bühne. Chesed hatte eine Feier im Theater organisiert und wollte, dass ich auftrete. Ich dachte zu mir, „werde ich ihnen die Geschichte von Haman und Ester erzählen, wenn sie schon so bekannt ist? Nein, ich plane eine Überraschung!“ Ich trug Gummistiefel und eine Mütze und ging auf die Bühne, wo ich Witze erzählte und Lieder sang. Ich hatte dem Zeremonienmeister gesagt, dass er mich von der Bühne herunternehmen sollte, wenn ich so tue, als ob ich betrunken wäre. Also wusste er, dass ich alles nur vorspiele, aber die anderen dachten, dass ich schon betrunken war. Er versuchte mich zu fangen und ich sagte vortäuschend, dass „wenn ein Jude beim Purimfest viel trinkt, warum will er mich von der Bühne tragen?“ Ich wurde für mein künstlerisches Können gelobt, weil jeder glaubte, ich wäre betrunken. Das war das einzige Mal, dass ich so herumscherzte. Eine alte Person ist wie ein Kind. Sie überzeugten mich davon, Menschen zum Lachen zu bringen. Ich zündete auch bei der Chanukka-Feier im Theater im Ort die Chanukkia an.

Meine Frau und ich werden dieses Jahr 80, aber wir versuchen nicht aufzugeben. Wir gehen jeden Tag spazieren, egal welches Wetter. Regen, Schnee oder Frost sind uns egal, es ist nur schlimm, wenn es sehr windig ist. Jeden Tag gehen wir 6 Kilometer. Wir haben einen Lieblingsweg – wir laufen zu einem Park am Stadtrand. Dreimal der Woche gehen Tilda und ich ins Schwimmbad. Wir gehen seit 15 Jahren dorthin. Wir versuchen fit zu bleiben. Ich weiß nicht, wie lange wir das noch hinbekommen. Meine neue Lieblingsfreizeitbeschäftigung ist das Computer. Als ich es mir kaufte, dachte ich an Kommunikation mit meinem Enkelsohn in Israel, da Telefonanrufe teuer sind. Also kaufte ich wegen E-Mails einen Rechner, aber später lernte ich es sehr zu schätzen. Ich besuche Computer-Kurse beim Chesed. Ich werde so nervös, wenn ich etwas Falsches mache, aber wenn ich was Neues lernen, bin ich sehr glücklich. Ich fand auch das hebräische Alphabet am Rechner und nun kann ich auf Iwrit schreiben. Es macht mir so einen Spaß. Computer ist mein einziges Hobby, das ich nicht mit meiner Frau teile. Bei allen anderen sind wir zusammen. Trotz allem was passiert ist, bin ich dem Leben dafür dankbar, dass wir uns kennenlernten und ein gemeinsames Leben verbringen konnten.

Liselotte Teltscherova

Liselotte Teltscherova
Prague
Czech Republic
Interviewer: Eva Pressburgerova
Date of interview: June 2003

Mrs. Teltscherova is a very kind woman, very open and friendly. Despite being 82 she is still very active and seems to be very fit, apart from the fact that she does not hear very well. She lives alone in an apartment building about thirty minutes from the city center. Her apartment is not very big, but it is cozy with old furniture and photographs of her family in a large bookcase. Mrs. Teltscherova also has a cat.

Family background">Family background

I didn't know my paternal grandparents. They died before I was born. My paternal grandfather's name was Bernard Teltscher. He was born in Mikulov and spent all his life there. He was a wine wholesaler - I think our family's wine-shop was founded by him. He died in Mikulov, but I don't know when. My paternal grandmother's name was Johanna Teltscherova, nee Spitzerova. She came from Miroslav and moved to Mikulov after her marriage with my grandfather. My grandparents' mother tongue was German. They weren't orthodox, but they were religious. They kept a kosher household and celebrated the holidays because it was common in those times. I don't know any details though since this was before I was born.

My grandparents had eleven children, my father was the second youngest. My grandmother died just after she had given birth to the youngest boy. Later they had a stepmother, whom they loved very much. My father had many brothers. One of them was killed during World War I, one had died before I was born. Two of them, Robert and Oskar, lived in Vienna. We met them quite often both in Mikulov and Vienna. One of my father's brothers lived in Brno. His name was Evzen. The others lived in Mikulov and worked in the wine-shop. Their names were Richard, Felix and Jan.

Richard was a Zionist and a member of the Jewish Party during the First Republic [First Czechoslovak Republic] 1. He had a wife called Valerie, who was very well educated. She studied agriculture at Vienna University. Women couldn't officially study at university in those years, but she found some special way of doing so. She was the chairwoman of WIZO [Women's International Zionist Organization] in Mikulov. She was a Zionist and also a very charitable person.

My father's name was Bedrich Teltscher. He was born in Mikulov in 1896. He studied at Vienna Commercial Academy. My father was in the Austro-Hungarian army. He was a lieutenant, or something like that, and he kept a saber at home. I remember he always said that there was blood on it because he had killed a pig with it. He was a wine wholesaler. He ran the wine-shop, founded by my grandfather, with his brothers. They had huge cellars with many employees and also some offices. There were about ten people working for them, and they also employed many sales agents. Their property was taken away by the Germans after 1939. Today there's a wine-shop called Vinarstvi Mikulov in Mikulov, the basement of which stems from our former wine-shop.

My maternal grandfather's name was Gustav Abeles. I don't remember when he was born, but he came from Mikulov. He only had elementary education. He used to dress like anyone else, there was nothing special about his appearance. I think my grandfather had a shop where he sold soap and old clothes. That was before I was born. The shop didn't do very well. I remember that my grandfather worked as a bank clerk after I was born. My grandparents were also supported by my father. My grandfather had a beautiful garden; he loved flowers. I think he had someone to look after the garden, but I'm not sure about it because the garden wasn't next to their house. It was quite a big garden though, and he mainly grew flowers and also fruit; wine and fruit. There was a fig tree in his garden and we ate the figs, which is quite unusual in our country. My grandfather didn't have any animals because the garden was located in an urban part of Mikulov. He only had a dog, a Doberman called Cezar.

My grandmother came from a little village called Genzeldorf, or something like that, in Austria. [There is a village called Genzersdorf in Lower Austria.] Her name was Adela Abelesova, nee Drillova. I don't know when she was born. She certainly only had elementary education, which was usual in those times. She moved to Mikulov after the marriage with my grandfather. My grandmother was a pretty woman and very elegant. She didn't wear anything typically Jewish. She was a housewife and was very charitable. She worked as the president of the Organization of Jewish Women in Mikulov. They helped poor Jews: there were many of them in Mikulov, but nobody was hungry thanks to this organization. My grandmother had a non-Jewish woman to help her at home, who did the washing and the cleaning. She lived in the house of my grandparents' and some time later her mother and her sister came to Mikulov as well. They got a little house from my father. They could live there without paying anything. The housemaid's sister was a nun, but then she got tuberculosis and couldn't stay in the monastery any more.

My grandmother was a perfect cook. She often went on a holiday to Austria - usually she went alone because my grandfather wasn't very sociable. My grandmother, on the opposite, was outgoing and cheerful and traveled a lot. She had many relatives in Austria, especially in Vienna, so she usually visited some of them in Austria, but she also went to the spa in Karlovy Vary 2.

One of my grandmother's relatives I remember is her younger brother. I really loved him. His name was Willy Drill and he lived in Mauer bei Wien, which is part of Vienna today. He was a doctor and very nice. He usually didn't ask for any money when he visited and examined poor people; he always brought them something. He was so much liked that when Jews were deported, people didn't let him go and he could stay for another two years. However, finally he was deported, too. His wife wasn't Jewish, but she went with him, although she could have survived if she had stayed. They both died in a concentration camp. There's a street named after him in Mauer today.

My grandparents lived in a very old house in Emil Schweinburg Street. It was a Jewish street, it had been the so-called ghetto in the middle ages. After the reign of Joseph II 3 Jews were allowed to move out of the ghetto, but most of them stayed in that area. My grandparents lived in this street, too, but my parents didn't live there any more.

My grandparents lived in a two-storied house. An old lady stayed on the ground floor and my grandparents lived on the first floor. Their floor was divided into two parts - the front part and the back part. There was a living room, a bedroom, a kitchen, a pantry and a hall in the back part, and there were two other rooms in the front part. We slept in those rooms when we visited our grandparents. They had a stove, which they heated with coal. They had running water in the house, which was quite common. What was very special though was their bathroom. There was a bath tub in there and a bathroom stove, so if they lit the stove, they also had hot water. That was very unusual in those times.

They weren't kosher, but they observed some of the main Jewish traditions. They went to the synagogue on high holidays. And my grandmother also went there on Saturdays. They celebrated seder on Pesach. We were invited along with all the other Teltscher children. There were usually more than ten people. It was very nice. The whole family was sitting around the table. My grandfather conducted the seder, he read Jewish history [the Haggadah] and we ate bitter spices during some passages and drank wine. The children got wine with water. Then the youngest child asked the four questions in Hebrew [the mah nishtanah] - we learned that at school. There was a festive dinner. We ate some traditional food. I remember soup with gnocchi made from matzah flour, which I liked very much. Then, after dinner, there should traditionally be some more prayers and songs, but we didn't stick to that. We only had dinner. My grandparents also had a festive meal before Yom Kippur, but again, it was only dinner, they didn't observe any other laws.

My parents weren't very religious either but tradition was very important to them, as it is for many Jews. They went to the synagogue on high holidays. Another reason why they went there was because they were rich and used the opportunity to give some money to the poor, and for other purposes, after the service. Then they prayed for dead relatives. My father also lit candles for the dead at home. We fasted on Yom Kippur. And, we have always declared ourselves as Jews. But it was more out of tradition than religion. We didn't observe Sabbath. Jewish holidays weren't celebrated very much at home.

My favorite holiday was Simchat Torah. We went to the synagogue with small, blue and white flags. I also liked Purim because there was a Jewish ball, and I was allowed to go when I was 16. The money from the ball was used for charity. The ball was organized by WIZO and the Organization of Jewish Women, and it took place in a Jewish café. There was a big hall and all the important Jewish events, such as balls, lectures and theater performances took place there. We gave theatre performances on Purim as kids and that also happened in this café. My aunt Valerie, who was the chairwoman of WIZO in Mikulov, supervised us. WIZO also organised Chanukkah celebrations in cooperation with the Organization of Jewish Women. Every child got some refreshment and presents from the community. It was mainly organized for poor children, but we all got something because they didn't want the poor children to feel that they were poor. The community members were very close and always helped each other.

My mother's name was Hertha Teltscherova, nee Abelesova. She was born in 1899 in Mikulov. She only went to elementary school. There were no Czechs in Mikulov before World War I and both my parents went to a Jewish school, which had German as the main teaching language. They couldn't speak Czech well. My mother wanted to marry somebody else before my father, but her mother didn't like that man. Then Mr. Bedrich Teltscher came; he was rich and my grandmother liked him. It wasn't an arranged marriage, though. My mother was a beautiful woman, so my father had every good reason to marry her. However, I do think that the fact that he was rich played a part in my mother's decision. They had their wedding in a synagogue in 1920. I'm sure they went on a honeymoon, but don't ask me where. My mother was a housewife when we lived in Mikulov.

Growing up">Growing up

I was born on 18th November 1921 and my sister Kitty Peterson, nee Teltscherova, followed in 1924. We were both born in Vienna because it was the nearest bigger city. We were raised bilingually, but our mother tongue is German. We spoke German with our parents at home, but I spoke Czech with my sister.

We were raised in an old patrician house, which was very beautiful and overgrown with Virginia creeper. There were two floors. We had a cellar on the ground floor and there was also an apartment there, where one of my father's employees lived. Then there were six rooms on the first floor, a big hall, a terrace and a beautiful garden. There was an old sycamore and gingko and then two Mediterranean trees with lovely blue blossoms in the garden. I really loved the house. The Gestapo established their headquarters there after we left during World War II. And they left the garden as it was. But then the STB [Statni Tajna Bezpecnost] 4 came and they destroyed the garden as well as the Virginia creeper. They cut down the trees and painted the house in an ugly yellow color. They only left the sycamore, and that's why the street is called Pod Platanem [Under the Sycamore].

We had a cook, a servant and a Fraulein [governess]. Her name was Ada. They lived in our house, which was usual in those times. The servant and the cook weren't Jewish, but the Fraulein was. The cook did the bigger part of the shopping, but my mother also did some. We never had a kosher kitchen. I remember a story regarding that. When I started to go to school, we used to have religious classes. We were taught by the rabbi and he said that Jews had to eat kosher. The children didn't know what that meant, so he explained that, for example, we weren't allowed to eat ham. When I came home that day, we had ham for dinner. And I told my mother, 'Mum, we aren't allowed to eat ham. The rabbi said that Jews aren't allowed to eat ham'. And my mother answered that it was beef ham, and that we therefore had no problem eating it. I believed her for some time. My mum only used to cook on special occasions, but she always made delicious desserts when we had guests. She also made beautiful hand-made sweaters and leather gloves.

When we were young, we liked the Fraulein. She came from a Czech family living in Vienna. She spoke perfect Czech as well as German. We spoke Czech with her because our parents only spoke a little Czech and wanted us to practice. Ada had a few sisters and two brothers and we sometimes went to Vienna with her to visit them. One of her sisters was a dressmaker and made clothes for us. The Fraulein was a very dominant person, I think that our mother was a little afraid of her. When we were older, we were angry with her because we didn't like to have someone looking after us all the time. Ada spent many years with us. After the Germans arrived she went to my parents' friends in England to work as a servant for them. Then her sister came to us for help and my parents helped her to emigrate to America. Our Fraulein also went to America later and they worked there as servant and cook for someone. They were in touch with my parents after they left for the USA.

Mikulov had a population of 8,000 people when I was a child. There were about 1,000 Jews. It's the oldest Jewish town, after Prague, and has a very nice old cemetery. Rabbi Low [Judah ben Bezalel Low] 5 was there before he went to Prague. There used to be a number of synagogues back in the 19th century, but there was only one left when I lived in Mikulov. There was a special section for women - it was a balcony. There was also a small synagogue for winter service. There had only been one Jewish school in Mikulov during the Austro-Hungarian times [the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy]. But one of the schools was in the Jewish street. It was a state school. It was still called the Jewish school, although it was a German one. There were two other German schools in Mikulov and only one Czech school, when I was a child. I didn't go to the Jewish school, because we didn't live in the Jewish street, but most of the other Jewish children did.

The Jewish community in Mikulov was conservative. There were really religious people such as the cantor and the rabbi, but they weren't Orthodox. There were various Jewish organizations in Mikulov: Maccabi 6 for adults, Maccabi Hatzairot for children, WIZO and the Organization of Jewish Women. There was a very famous Jewish museum in Mikulov and many beautiful exhibitions in the Jewish museum of Prague originally come from this museum. The museum was founded by my uncle Richard, the one who was a member of the Jewish Party. As far as I remember, there was no mikveh when I was a girl, but there was a kosher butcher shop. I don't remember any other Jewish institutions. The Jews in Mikulov usually owned shops, mostly in the Jewish street. And there were also Jewish lawyers and two doctors; that was a kind of Jewish intelligentsia. Life was pretty quiet in Mikulov during my childhood. I remember the celebrations on 7th March, the birthday of President Masaryk 7. The few Czechs and the Jews got together. I remember that there was also a special service in the synagogue on that day, although I can't recall any details.

My sister only went to Czech schools. I went to a German elementary school in Mikulov and then to a German grammar school for four years. There were only three or four Jews out of thirty-five children in our class. The non- Jewish children made stupid remarks about Jews; they probably heard it at home. And, they weren't ashamed at all. Some teachers were anti-Semitic, too. So I decided to change school and went to a Czech grammar school in Breclav. I finished my 5th and 6th year in Breclav.

I mostly made friends with Jews at school as well as outside school. I had one or two non-Jewish friends, but I felt better among Jews. I think our parents didn't care whether our friends were Jewish or not. There were two groups of Jewish children - the first one consisted of less wealthy children and then there was a group of younger children, who went to Czech schools and had a lot of non-Jewish friends. I met more children from the first group and my sister more from the second group. My parents would have preferred to see me socialize with the second one, too, but in those years I was very left-wing, and I was ashamed of my rich family a little. We were playing just like other kids. I was a member of the Maccabi Hatsairot. We met at least once a week. All the children who lived in the Jewish street were there. We were interested in Jewish history and the history of Zionism, we sang Jewish songs and went for trips.

I read a lot. I didn't have any favorite writer, but when I was sixteen, I knew a lot of literature, not only the modern writers. I also read the classics because we had them at home. I knew French literature as well. I read philosophy - I probably didn't understand it, but still, I read Spinoza 8 and Nietzsche 9. I read them in German. Nietzsche has to be read in German because he uses such a poetic language. I also read in French and in Czech. When I went to school to Breclav, I got money for lunch from my parents, but I bought books instead of food.

My parents didn't let me go on holiday with my friends; my sister and me usually had to go to Switzerland to learn French. We went there three times and always spent a month there. I was also on a summer course at the University of Neuchatel once - it was fun because there were people aged around 18 and I was only 14 then. My parents usually went on holiday to Austria, mostly to Vienna, to visit relatives. My father often went to the spa because he had rheumatism; sometimes he couldn't even get out of bed. He went to Piestany [spa town in Slovakia] and to Badgastein [spa town] in Austria. I remember that we were also on vacation in Italy with my parents once, and we often went to Vienna with my parents by car. They didn't have a car of their own for quite a long time, but we usually hired one with a chauffeur. And then we had cars in the wine-shop. My parents got their driving license when we were a little older. My mum was good at driving; she drove later when they lived in America [after World War II] as well, but my father was clumsy.

I was good at sports. I loved skiing. I usually went to the Austrian Alps with my mother's relatives. It was the family of my mother's cousin and they had a son, who was really good at skiing because they learned skiing at school. I skied with him every year. I swam and went cycling in the summer. I usually went to the lakes on bicycle with my friends.

During the war">During the war

After 1938, when the Germans occupied Sudetenland 10, we left Mikulov and went to Brno. My parents weren't allowed to work in Brno [because of the anti-Jewish laws in the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia] 11, but we had brought some money from Mikulov. At first we rented an apartment there. Soon we got a notice to leave because they didn't want to have a Jewish family there, although the owner of the apartment was Czech. Uncle Ervin's wife had her own apartment in Brno, so I lived there with my grandparents. My sister lived in Uncle Ervin's apartment with his family. Uncle Robert's family moved to Brno from Vienna when Hitler came to Vienna [after the Anschluss] 12 because they had Czech citizenship. My parents stayed with them.

My sister went to commercial academy in Brno. I finished grammar school in Brno. It was a Jewish grammar school with Czech as teaching language. There were Jewish teachers who couldn't teach anywhere else. They were great. Our teacher of history and philosophy was the only Jewish associate professor at Brno University. We also had an excellent teacher of biology, who made me interested in the subject very much. I was a member of Techelet lavan [leftist Zionist organization] in Brno. It was a Jewish youth organization, a Zionist movement. It was founded by young people who wanted to go to the kibbutz and were also influenced by a German movement called Wandervogel [founded in 1895]. Wandervogel was a youth movement, a somewhat left-wing and very romantic movement. People went on trips together, had their own songs and read romantic literature. It was founded in Germany and also existed in Austria and here [in the Czech lands]. Originally, Techelet lavan was called Blau-Weiss [German for Blue-and-White]. It was like a Jewish Wandervogel.

I became a member after I arrived in Brno. I met people from Techelet lavan at school and I was also left-wing, so I was happy to have the possibility to become a member of such an organization. We made trips, studied the history of the Zionist movement, but also the ideas of socialism and Marxism. We also read literature. It was a kind of intellectual movement. We were interested in philosophy and literature and also in music: we sang beautiful songs. It was absurd, I didn't understand it in those times, but then, during the war, I realized that we were concerned about Chinese literature and didn't realize at all that meanwhile the world was being destroyed.

I know about some of my classmates who survived the war. One of them was a boy, who came from Presov. After the school was closed by the Germans, he returned to Presov, somehow got Aryan documents and survived. Another one of my classmates, my good friend originally came from Poland. Then, in October 1939 he did not come to school. We realized that he, just like all Polish people [Polish Jews] were sent to concentration camps in Poland. But then I met him in 1940 on the boat to Palestine. It was such a surprise. He had a younger brother who had come to Palestine before him. They had some relatives there, so they helped him. They also sent visa for my friend to the concentration camp. You know, it was just at the beginning of it all, it was not so strict then, and if someone got a visa, they let him go. So we met on the boat. He studied archeology in Palestine and became a professor of archeology at Hebrew University.

My friend Helga was deported to Terezin with her mother. They stayed there throughout the war. Her mother worked there as a nurse and got typhoid and finally died of it. Helga was also ill, but she survived. After the war she went to Libya to her sister and brother-in-law. Then she went to London and finally to America, where she became a painter. She died in 2003.

Uncle Richard and Aunt Valerie knew they had to leave Bohemia very quickly after 1939 because of their Zionist activities, so they went to Poland and then succeeded in emigrating to England. So did my uncles Felix and Jan. They spent the rest of their lives there. Uncle Evzen was killed during World War II. Uncle Robert emigrated to Palestine with his wife. Oskar was killed, probably in a concentration camp, but I don't know any details. My grandparents were deported from Brno to Terezin 13 and died in Treblinka. I got that information from the Prague Jewish community, which has records of people who were in Terezin.

My father was called to the emigration office in 1940 and told to leave the Protectorate [Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia] 14 and the Reich within one week. I don't know why this happened, but it certainly saved our lives. I was talking with my father about it later, and he said he also didn't know why. My father was a very charitable man, and I think that sometime he had probably helped someone, who later got a special position with the Germans and then helped us in return.

I had problems regarding that later, in the communist times, because they told me that my father had to be a confidant. If nothing else, I knew for sure that my father wasn't a confidant! It wasn't easy to leave the Protectorate after the beginning of World War II. It was impossible to get a visa to any of the allied states if you were in the German area. There was only one place in the world where it was possible to go with a J- passport 15 - Shanghai. All you needed was some money. I don't know, there may have been organized transports to Shanghai, but my parents went individually. We got the money from my father's brothers who had already gone to England. We took a train to Opatija, Italy, and waited there for the boat to Shanghai, which only went once a month. So we were there for nearly a month. During that time I was very lucky because I received a student certificate to study in Palestine - I got it from my uncle Richard, who got it in England for me. He sent it to Italy by post. So I had the opportunity to study in Palestine, which was better than going to the ghetto in Shanghai. Palestine was a British mandate and I couldn't go there with the J-passport. However, somebody told us that there was an old German consul in Fiume, who was very kind and gave passports without a 'J' to Jews. I went there with my father. We told him that I had crossed the border illegally to Yugoslavia and then to Italy and he really gave me the new passport. I went to Jerusalem to study biology, and my parents went to Shanghai with my sister.

I don't know much about my parents' life in Shanghai because we weren't in touch for a long time. I know they didn't have an easy life there. My mother had to do everything on her own. They opened a shop with another Jewish woman. My mum baked cookies for the shop at home. The living conditions were very hard; there was no running water for example.

My studies in Palestine were an interesting experience. I got the certificate and everyone with the certificate got a scholarship for two years. It wasn't much but it helped. There were many Czechs with the certificate. Some of them were married, had left their wives at home and wanted to get them over to Palestine as well, so they renounced the scholarship and bought the certificate for them. I know that it worked in one or two cases. But still we had to work. I had to pay for the room I rented and I had to eat something. We were doing the cleaning at Jerusalem University, but there were too many applicants, so everyone only got the job for three months. I also cleaned in houses. At first I thought I could teach languages or something like that, but there were too many educated people. There were many doctors, who were selling eggs instead of working in their profession.

I always rented a room with someone else because it was cheaper that way. I found Eva Weidova through an advertisement and we lived together for some time. She came from Slovakia. She was very kind. She was rather domestic, she cooked very well. She also came to Jerusalem to study, but then she found a boyfriend and probably got married. I don't know, what happened to her later.

I became a member of the Communist Party in Palestine. The party was illegal, so it was impossible to tell anyone, 'I'm a member, come and join us'. They just talked with you about social things etc. but they couldn't say they were in the Party because it was dangerous; you could have gone to prison or even be expelled. It was no fun. They were always telling me, 'Talk quietly, why are you shouting?' I answered, 'I come from a democratic country, everyone can say what he thinks there, I'm going to say whatever I want and as loud as I want!' I didn't realize the danger.

They took me to the poor parts of the city - it's hard to describe, I mean, it's unimaginable how people were surviving under such bad conditions. There were 12 people living in one room without windows. I couldn't sleep for a week after that visit. So I entered the Party because I wanted to help all those people, and I believed in all their ideas. At first there was one party for both, Jews and Arabs. But we didn't meet the Arabs at all. Maybe the leaders met them but normal members didn't. Then there were some problems, because it was found that one of the leaders was an English confidant... Then the Arab party was separated from the Jewish one. I don't know much about it, I wasn't very active. I was only active among students - we were teaching illiterate children but didn't have any political ambitions. We taught the children every day in the afternoon, because they usually worked in the morning. So they came after work, we gave them something to eat - some bread and tea we got from the organization - and taught them something. It probably wasn't teaching on the highest level. We were only students, and everyone taught something about his subject at university. We taught them some basic things, such as how to read and write, and I told them about nature, which I liked.

Post-war">Post-war

My sister worked as a secretary in Shanghai. She met her future husband there after the war - he was a member of the merchant navy - and went to America with him. My parents went to America soon after. They had an opportunity to go back to Czechoslovakia, but they finally decided to go to the USA. And I'm really happy about that because it was a hard life here during the communist times. My sister first worked as a secretary in America. Then she had a daughter, Janice, and stayed at home with her. She lives in a village near San Francisco now. My parents lived in San Francisco. My mum was very flexible again: she worked in a spice factory called Spice Island. She was very hard-working, but then she became ill. She died of cancer in 1969. It was difficult for my father to find a job in America. He wasn't as flexible as my mother. Besides he wasn't young any more and there weren't many possibilities of work for people of his age. He helped out in shops, particularly after Christmas, when people came to shops to exchange unwanted presents. It was funny in a way that he did that kind of work because he used to be such a great tradesman. My father died in 1978. Both my parents are buried in the Jewish part of a cemetery in San Francisco. And, my father had a tombstone made with the names of our relatives who were killed during the war.

My parents got some 'Wiedergutmachung', reparation, because my grandfather had owned some properties in Austria. The reparation payments in America started much earlier than here. They got a certain amount every month, so they had something like a pension.

I returned to Prague in 1946. I didn't want to stay in Palestine because I felt my home was here, in the Czech Republic, and I had enough of emigrating. I didn't want to go to America and I especially didn't want to go to Mikulov because it was a cemetery for me: only four Jews returned there after the war. Some of them had emigrated before the war, that's true, part of the young people went to Palestine and some of them were in England, but they were only a few left anyway. Our lives were saved by emigrating because nobody else from our relatives in Mikulov or in Austria, apart from my father's two brothers, who had left for England, survived.

I returned to Prague by boat. It was a very adventurous journey. We went to France first since the immigration offices were there. The journey took very long because the boat was half broken, it was from South America. There were cabins but we stayed on the deck, which was cheaper. There were about five or six young people - mostly from Austria - and we shared our food. We went through Egypt, then to Greece and then to Marseille. The journey should have taken five days, but finally we were going for more than a week. After we left Egypt, the boat had some problems; there was soot everywhere, we were very dirty. There were showers on the lower deck, but there wasn't enough water, so after a few days they didn't want to let us take a shower. It was horrible. The most terrible thing was that we didn't have enough food. We had some Palestinian money... they sold bread but the further we got from Palestine, the higher was the price. So we were very hungry. There were some French actors on the boat, they lived in cabins and also had food. I remember as we were watching them eat and felt really sick from hunger. Finally we got to Marseille. We had some family friends there, so I stayed with them for a few days, they gave me food and some money and then I took the train to Prague.

I finished my PhD after I went to Prague. It was quite a formal thing because the studies in Palestine were much more difficult than the ones here. I started to work as a researcher in the Research Institute for Plant- Growing. I worked there until the 1960s, then I went to the Institute for Experimental Botany.

I met my husband at work - we were working in the same institute. My husband's name was Slavomil Hejny. He was born in 1921 in Vysocina. He spent his childhood in Protivin. Then he moved to Prague, where he studied and worked at the university. Later he worked as a director of the Institute of Botany in Pruhonice [a suburb of Prague]. He had the same education as I. He wasn't Jewish. I had always told everyone that I'm a Jew, and I said it to my future husband as well. And I told him that he could have problems because of it. But he got very angry and told me that he wanted to marry me no matter what. My family didn't mind that he wasn't Jewish. My sister's husband wasn't Jewish either. We got married at the local council in Prague.

We had two sons. Petr was born in 1952 and Michal in 1955. I didn't raise my sons as Jews; it was impossible. Everybody knew that I had been to Palestine. I was always considered a Zionist and had many problems. So, I was a Jew, my husband was an atheist, but it was no topic for us. Once, however, Michal came home crying and told me that children didn't want to play with him because his mother was a Jew. So I told them everything, and among other things, I told them that Einstein was a Jew. This became a famous sentence in our family: Einstein was a Jew. I always worried that my children might suffer because of me. I was considered a Zionist just because I had been to Palestine, and to be a Zionist was worse than to be an imperialist. There were no particular reasons, but the communists were trying to get rid of everything that was a little different from their way of thinking. I wasn't a Zionist, otherwise I wouldn't have come back. However, I knew it was nothing to be ashamed of because I knew what it meant to be a Zionist. I was happy after the establishment of the State of Israel, although I wasn't a Zionist. I have to say after all that happened here, I was sorry I didn't stay there.

I had been a member of the Communist Party in Palestine, and there were only idealists. Everyone believed that the possibilities should be the same for everybody. So I came back home and joined the Party here as well. I found the conditions strange, but I was thinking that every beginning was a hard one. I believed in it until 1952, until the 'Slanskiada' [Slansky trial] 16. It was my first court case. They accused me of co-operation with Slansky. They wanted to throw me out of the Party. They said I was a Zionist. They said I was a spy. I remember I couldn't sleep at night because I was thinking about what I could possibly do. I had to do something, when everyone said I was a spy. I didn't understand the system. Then I found out that it wasn't only me, but all Jews, even the laborers. And then I began to understand. I couldn't leave the Party though. Well, I could have, but I was afraid. I already had my son Petr, and we lived in an apartment owned by the Research Institute. Leaving the Party would have meant the end of everything. So I stayed in the Party but I didn't believe anything anymore. Then they threw me out in 1969 because of the political change after 1968, and I was happy.

It was a strange feeling: I didn't feel guilty at all for being in the Party, I didn't do anything bad, I didn't have any advantages. It was exactly the opposite, but I had always problems there. Then I had to do the candidacy [candidate of science] for my work. I needed a recommendation from the Party and they didn't give it to me. They said it was because I didn't come to the meetings. But that wasn't true. However, I had some friends at university. I worked there as a lecturer and they liked me. They helped me somehow, so I passed the exams although I didn't have the recommendation.

I wasn't able to communicate with my family in America after the war. It was dangerous. I would have risked losing my job, which I couldn't afford. But I had an aunt here; she was married to one of my father's brothers. She was a good friend of my mother, even after they divorced. She had also been in Shanghai during World War II. She came back and lived in Miroslav in South Moravia. My parents sent her letters for me, she sent the letters to me and my answers back to my parents. My parents came to Prague for the first time in 1964. It was also the first time I saw them after the war. I worked at the Academy of Sciences then and there was a very sensitive personnel officer there. I could tell him that my parents lived in America, and I could also send them letters directly. I also went to America to visit them. My mother was ill; she had breast cancer. She had an operation in 1963. She was all right for a while, but the tumor returned after two years. I was allowed to visit her in America without bigger problems then. I was also sent to America to the International Botany Congress in Seattle. That was in 1969.

I got divorced after the political changes in 1969 17. My husband didn't want to stay with me any more because of his career. He became a Doctor of Science and a member of the Academy of Sciences. He died in Prague in 2001.

I had to leave the Institute for Experimental Botany in 1977 for political reasons - they accused me of being a Zionist spy. There's no written record about that, but it's clear why it happened. I was a Jew and Jews had to leave their positions. Besides I had been to Palestine, which automatically meant that I was a Zionist, an imperialist, and had no rights. Each institution, research institute, ministry and other similar organization were given quotas of how many people they had to fire. And Jews had to leave first. So they threw me out.

I worked as a laborer in a factory: I manufactured pills in Leciva [pharmaceutical factory] and I was really upset because I had done bio- chemistry before and saw all the mistakes they made. I worked there for a year. Then I went to Svoboda Printing Works because I didn't understand the subject there. I worked in a bindery for about a year. There were very nice people there. In 1978 I started to work for PIS [Prague Information Office] 18. Legally, I was only allowed to do the manual work. But if you worked somewhere on a special agreement, your employer didn't have to let outsiders know about you doing another job. I worked there as an interpreter for people from the Third World. Later the regulations were changed and I couldn't work there anymore. I found a job in an insurance company in 1980. I worked there as a foreign correspondent. In 1983 I started to teach German. Then I met a philologist and she offered me to do translations for Artia Publishing House. I started to work for them in 1985. I was really afraid that somebody could recognize me. But I was lucky and always met nice people.

I became a member of the Prague Jewish community after I returned from Palestine and gradually I became more active. Once I needed a book for my translation, and I knew I could get it at the Jewish community. So I went to the library and the librarian was very nice and helped me. I told him if he needed any help I would help him. And he answered that he personally didn't need anything, but he told me about the organization Komise zen [Council of Women]. They regularly go to elderly people to congratulate them on their birthdays. I joined that organization - I think that was in the 1970s. I became more active in the Jewish community after I was thrown out of the Party. After WIZO was founded in 1990, I became a member of this organization as well, and I started to help out in the social department of the Jewish community.

After they threw me out of the Party in 1969, I was trying to listen to Radio Free Europe, but it was difficult. We lived in Ruzyne [part of Prague where the airport is located]. We could only listen to it in the cottage. I listened to Radio Vienna a lot and to Voice of America a little, but Radio Free Europe had a very bad signal. I also got some Samizdat journals and books - usually some of my friends gave them to me.

My life didn't change much after my divorce. I was always proud to be a Jew. I probably started to meet my Jewish friends more often because I didn't have to respect my husband and his friends anymore. In general, I and my husband more or less shared the same political opinions. Before 1969 it was easier, but afterwards... He was weak. I couldn't make any compromises. Actually, neither could he, but he got himself to believe the things they said. And then it became impossible to have a real discussion with him. So we got divorced.

My son Petr has spent all his life in Prague. He worked as a proofreader with Albatros Publishing House, and then he became an editor. Now he works as a freelance translator and he's also an editor with Slovart Publishing House. He is married. His wife comes from South Bohemia, she has nothing to do with Judaism, but I would say that she is the best Jew in our family; she's really interested in it. They have a daughter, Jana, and she is also very interested in everything Jewish. I always go to the Spanish synagogue 19 with her. It's very nice to see the continuity of traditions.

Michal emigrated to America when he was 20. He studied at the conservatory and in DAMU [Academy of Drama] in Prague, and then he studied psychology in America. He was an actor. He later became a writer there. He did different things for a living; he just wanted to write. He also co-operated with some people here and translated a musical, which was on show in Prague. Michal died in America in 1992.

My life hasn't changed much after the Revolution in 1989 [the so-called Velvet Revolution] 20. Of course I was very happy and I hope that future generations won't have to live through what we had to. But there are many problems now as well, for example ecological problems. There weren't many changes for me personally, and I'm too old now. However, Jewish life in Prague has become more intense and I have joined in - I still do some social work. I go to visit people who need some help. I didn't want to have any official functions. I find this kind of social work very important. I'm still a member of the Council of Women and of WIZO. I go to the synagogue on high holidays and I light candles for the dead. I don't live kosher. Religion doesn't mean much to me; these things are more family tradition than religion for me. I've already been to Israel three times since 1990. There wasn't any possibility to go there before. I was only there for a couple of weeks each time. I have many friends there and they also come to visit me in the Czech Republic. I still teach German in two companies and I translate.

Glossary

1 First Czechoslovak Republic (1918-1938)

The First Czechoslovak Republic was created after the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy following World War I. The union of the Czech lands and Slovakia was officially proclaimed in Prague in 1918, and formally recognized by the Treaty of St. Germain in 1919. Ruthenia was added by the Treaty of Trianon in 1920. Czechoslovakia inherited the greater part of the industries of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy and the new government carried out an extensive land reform, as a result of which the living conditions of the peasantry increasingly improved. However, the constitution of 1920 set up a highly centralized state and failed to take into account the issue of national minorities, and thus internal political life was dominated by the struggle of national minorities (especially the Hungarians and the Germans) against Czech rule. In foreign policy Czechoslovakia kept close contacts with France and initiated the foundation of the Little Entente in 1921.

2 Karlovy Vary (German name

Karlsbad): The most famous Bohemian spa, named after Bohemian King Charles (Karl) IV, who allegedly found the springs during a hunting expedition in 1358. It was one of the most popular resorts among the royalty and aristocracy in Europe for centuries.

3 Joseph II (1741-1790)

Holy Roman Emperor, king of Bohemia and Hungary (1780-1790), a representative figure of enlightened absolutism. He carried out a complex program of political, economic, social and cultural reforms. His main aims were religious toleration, unrestricted trade and education, and a reduction in the power of the Church. These views were reflected in his policy toward Jews. His ,Judenreformen' (Jewish reforms) and the ,Toleranzpatent' (Edict of Tolerance) granted Jews several important rights that they had been deprived of before: they were allowed to settle in royal free cities, rent land, engage in crafts and commerce, become members of guilds, etc. Joseph had several laws which didn't help Jewish interests: he prohibited the use of Hebrew and Yiddish in business and public records, he abolished rabbinical jurisdiction and introduced liability for military service. A special decree ordered all the Jews to select a German family name for themselves. Joseph's reign introduced some civic improvement into the life of the Jews in the Empire, and also supported cultural and linguistic assimilation. As a result, controversy arose between liberal- minded and orthodox Jews, which is considered the root cause of the schism between the Orthodox and the Neolog Jewry.

4 Statni Tajna Bezpecnost

Czech intelligence and security service founded in 1948.

5 Low, Judah ben Bezalel (1520s-1609)

Austrian Talmudist, mathematician and rabbi. From 1553 to 1573 Low was Moravian 'Landesrabbiner' at Nikolsburg (today Mikulov, Czech Republic), and as such he directed the affairs of the community, as well as the study of the Talmud. The Moravian communities considered him an authority, even long after he had given up his office. Low founded and, for some time, conducted the 'Klaus', a Talmud school, in Prague. Low was chosen chief rabbi of Poland in Posen at the end of the 1580s, and he became chief rabbi of Prague at the end of the 1590s.

6 Maccabi World Union

International Jewish sports organization whose origins go back to the end of the 19th century. A growing number of young Eastern European Jews involved in Zionism felt that one essential prerequisite of the establishment of a national home in Palestine was the improvement of the physical condition and training of ghetto youth. In order to achieve this, gymnastics clubs were founded in many Eastern and Central European countries, which later came to be called Maccabi. The movement soon spread to more countries in Europe and to Palestine. The World Maccabi Union was formed in 1921. In less than two decades its membership was estimated at 200,000 with branches located in most countries of Europe and in Palestine, Australia, South America, South Africa, etc.

7 Masaryk, Thomas Garrigue (1850-1937)

Czechoslovak political leader and philosopher and chief founder of the First Czechoslovak Republic. He founded the Czech People's Party in 1900, which strove for Czech independence within the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, for the protection of minorities and the unity of Czechs and Slovaks. After the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy in 1918, Masaryk became the first president of Czechoslovakia. He was reelected in 1920, 1927, and 1934. Among the first acts of his government was an extensive land reform. He steered a moderate course on such sensitive issues as the status of minorities, especially the Slovaks and Germans, and the relations between the church and the state. Masaryk resigned in 1935 and Eduard Benes, his former foreign minister, succeeded him.

8 Spinoza, Baruch (1632-1677)

Dutch philosopher of Portuguese-Jewish origin. An independent thinker, he declined offers of academic posts and pursued his individual philosophical inquiry instead. He read the mathematical and philosophical works of Descartes but unlike Descartes did not see a separation between God, mind and matter. Ethics, considered Spinoza's major work, was published in 1677.

9 Nietzsche, Friedrich (1844-1900)

German philosopher and poet. Long misunderstood and even reviled as a result of misuses of his work, most notably by the Nazis, Nietzsche has become one of the most influential philosophers of the late 20th century. Nietzsche is famous, among others, for the theory of the Übermensch, which he developed in Thus Spoke Zarathustra. In 1889 he suffered a mental breakdown from which he never recovered.

10 Sudetenland

Highly industrialized north-west frontier region that was transferred from the Austro-Hungarian Empire to the new state of Czechoslovakia in 1919. Together with the land a German-speaking minority of 3 million people was annexed, which became a constant source of tension both between the states of Germany, Austria and Czechoslovakia, and within Czechoslovakia. In 1935 a nazi-type party, the Sudeten German Party financed by the German government, was set up. Following the Munich Agreement in 1938 German troops occupied the Sudetenland. In 1945 Czechoslovakia regained the territory and pogroms started against the German and Hungarian minority. The Potsdam Agreement authorized Czechoslovakia to expel the entire German and Hungarian minority from the country.

11 Anti-Jewish laws in the Protectorate of Bohemia-Moravia

After the Germans occupied Bohemia and Moravia, anti-Jewish legislation was gradually introduced. Jews were not allowed to enter public places, such as parks, theatres, cinemas, libraries, swimming pools, etc. They were excluded from all kinds of professional associations and could not be civil servants. They were not allowed to attend German or Czech schools, and later private lessons were forbidden, too. They were not allowed to leave their houses after 8pm. Their shopping hours were limited to 3 to 5pm. They were only allowed to travel in special sections of public transportation. They had their telephones and radios confiscated. They were not allowed to change their place of residence without permission. In 1941 they were ordered to wear the yellow badge.

12 Anschluss

The annexation of Austria to Germany. The 1919 peace treaty of St. Germain prohibited the Anschluss, to prevent a resurgence of a strong Germany. On 12th March 1938 Hitler occupied Austria, and, to popular approval, annexed it as the province of Ostmark. In April 1945 Austria regained independence legalizing it with the Austrian State Treaty in 1955.

13 Terezin/Theresienstadt

A ghetto in the Czech Republic, run by the SS. Jews were transferred from there to various extermination camps. It was used to camouflage the extermination of European Jews by the Nazis, who presented Theresienstadt as a 'model Jewish settlement'. Czech gendarmes served as ghetto guards, and with their help the Jews were able to maintain contact with the outside world. Although education was prohibited, regular classes were held, clandestinely. Thanks to the large number of artists, writers, and scholars in the ghetto, there was an intensive program of cultural activities. At the end of 1943, when word spread of what was happening in the Nazi camps, the Germans decided to allow an International Red Cross investigation committee to visit Theresienstadt. In preparation, more prisoners were deported to Auschwitz, in order to reduce congestion in the ghetto. Dummy stores, a cafe, a bank, kindergartens, a school, and flower gardens were put up to deceive the committee.

14 Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia

Bohemia and Moravia were occupied by the Germans and transformed into a German Protectorate in March 1939, after Slovakia declared its independence. The Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia was placed under the supervision of the Reich protector, Konstantin von Neurath. The Gestapo assumed police authority. Jews were dismissed from civil service and placed in an extralegal position. In the fall of 1941, the Reich adopted a more radical policy in the Protectorate. The Gestapo became very active in arrests and executions. The deportation of Jews to concentration camps was organized, and Terezin/Theresienstadt was turned into a ghetto for Jewish families. During the existence of the Protectorate the Jewish population of Bohemia and Moravia was virtually annihilated. After World War II the pre-1938 boundaries were restored, and most of the German-speaking population was expelled.

15 J-passport

Special passport given to Jews during World War II. The red letter 'J' was written into it and every man had Israel, every woman had Sara added to their name.

16 Slansky Trial

Communist show trial named after its most prominent victim, Rudolf Slansky. It was the most spectacular among show trials against communists with a wartime connection with the West, veterans of the Spanish Civil War, Jews, and Slovak 'bourgeois nationalists'. In November 1952 Slansky and 13 other prominent communist personalities, 11 of whom were Jewish, including Slansky, were brought to trial. The trial was given great publicity; they were accused of being Trotskyst, Titoist, Zionist, bourgeois, nationalist traitors, and in the service of American imperialism. Slansky was executed, and many others were sentenced to death or to forced labor in prison camps.

17 Political changes in 1969

Following the Prague Spring of 1968, which was suppressed by armies of the Soviet Union and its satellite states, a program of 'normalization' was initiated. Normalization meant the restoration of continuity with the pre-reform period and it entailed thoroughgoing political repression and the return to ideological conformity. Top levels of government, the leadership of social organizations and the party organization were purged of all reformist elements. Publishing houses and film studios were placed under new direction. Censorship was strictly imposed, and a campaign of militant atheism was organized. A new government was set up at the beginning of 1970, and, later that year, Czechoslovakia and the Soviet Union signed the Treaty of Friendship, Cooperation and Mutual Assistance, which incorporated the principle of limited sovereignty. Soviet troops remained stationed in Czechoslovakia and Soviet advisers supervised the functioning of the Ministry of Interior and the security apparatus.

18 Prague Information Service (PIS)

The organization was founded in 1957 as an independent cultural and educational office with the goal of informing Prague citizens as well as native and foreign visitors about the economic, social, political and cultural development and life of Prague. PIS has been organizing guide service in Prague and in other regions as well as activities of regional groups relating to national history and geography.

19 Spanish Synagogue

This famous Prague synagogue was built in 1868 on the site of the oldest Jewish prayer house in what was the Jewish ghetto then. It was designed in Moorish style. The interior decoration features a low stucco arabesque of stylized Islamic motifs. The interior, along with the stained glass windows, was completed in 1893. It served as a house of worship for an increasing number of Reform Jews. After being closed for over 20 years, the synagogue was reopened in 1998.

20 Velvet Revolution

Also known as November Events, this term is used for the period between 17th November and 29th December 1989, which resulted in the downfall of the Czechoslovak communist regime. The Velvet Revolution started with student demonstrations, commemorating the 50th anniversary of the student demonstration against the Nazi occupation of Czechoslovakia. Brutal police intervention stirred up public unrest, mass demonstrations took place in Prague, Bratislava and other towns, and a general strike began on 27th November. The Civic Forum demanded the resignation of the communist government. Due to the general strike Prime Minister Ladislav Adamec was finally forced to hold talks with the Civic Forum and agreed to form a new coalition government. On 29th December democratic elections were held, and Vaclav Havel was elected President of Czechoslovakia.

Liselotte Teltscherová

Praha
Česká reublika
Rozhovor pořídila: Eva Pressburgerová
Období vzniku rozhovoru: červenec 2003

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

Kazeta č. 1, strana A:

Q: Jaké je vaše celé jméno? Vy se jmenujete Liselotte?

A: Ano, přesně tak.

Q: A jak se to píše?

A:L-i-s-e-l-o-t-t-e. Je to takové urgermánské jméno.

Q: Kde a kdy jste se narodila?

A: 18. listopadu ´21 ve Vídni.

Q: Kde jinde jste žila kromě té Vídně?

A: Vždycky tady v republice až na válečná léta, kdy jsem byla v Palestině.

Q: V kterých městech tady v republice jste žila?

A: Do roku ´38 v Mikulově na jižní Moravě, potom v Brně do roku ´40, pak jsem byla v emigraci…

Q: To jste byla v tý Palestině?

A: V tý Palestině. A pak jsem se vrátila v roce ´46 a od té doby jsem v Praze.

Q: Jaké máte vzdělání?

A: Mám gymnázium a hebrejskou univerzitu v Jeruzalémě, vyštudovala jsem biologii, tam jsem dostala titul magistra přírodních věd, pak jsem tady dělala doktorát, pak jsem tady dělala kandidaturu a pak jsem napsala práci doktora věd, která byla hotová a schválená a nemohla jsem ji obhájit z politických důvodů.

Q: Tu biologii jste studovala v Praze?

A: Tu biologii jsem studovala v Palestině.

Q: Aha, v Palestině…

A: Tam jsem dostudovala biochemii, botaniku, zoologii. Tam byly tři předměty na rozdíl od nás tady. A tady jsem jenom dělala doktorát, to byla prakticky formalita, protože tady žádali na ten doktorát podstatně míň než jsme tam se učili, poněvadž tam byla škola velmi přísná, výběrová, tam byli za prvé profesoři věhlasní z celého světa za války a za druhý tam byl strašný přebytek studentů, takže oni strašně vybírali, takže opravdu to bylo velmi přísný. To byla čistá formalita, opakovala jsem ty zkoušky a levou zadní. A pak jsem tu dělala aspiranturu, to jsem dělala už během práce…

Q: Jaký všechny zaměstnání jste vystřídala?

A: To bylo celý život totéž, já jsem dělala vědeckou pracovnici od roku ´47 do roku ´77, kdy jsem musela opustit Ústav experimentální botaniky z politických důvodů a pak samosebou to bylo pestrý. Pak jsem dělala ve fabrice pomocnou dělnici a pak jsem začala… pomocnou dělnici na dvou místech… napřed jsem dělala v Léčivech, to jsem dělala pilulky, to mě hrozně votrávilo, protože do toho jsem viděla, poněvadž jsem uměla biochemii a viděla jsem, co tam dělaj za nemožnosti, to vždycky ráno jsme várku udělali a druhý den jsme ji našli rozemletou, protože nesprávně namíchali účinné látky, ten mistr nedokázal ani vážit atd., takže jsem si řekla, když už musím dělat takovou práci, tak musím jít někam, kde tomu vůbec nerozumím, a tak jsem potom šla do Svobody, do tiskárny a tam jsem byla v knihvazárně. Tak tam se mi povedlo, že jsem tomu opravdu nerozuměla a tam byli moc dobrý lidi, těch lidí jsem si tam vážila. No a potom jsem začala pracovat pro PIS, to byla určitá doba, kdy lidi, který nebyly zaměstnaný – já jsem nemohla být zaměstnaná, já jsem mohla dělat jenom manuální práci… Ale to mohli vzít na smlouvu o dílo. A nemuseli hlásit, o koho jde. To jsem potom dělala tlumočnici a jezdila jsem s lidma z třetího světa… Jednou jsem s jedním Kubáncem jezdila po mlíkárnách a potom s Habešanama jsem měla hodně co dělat, ty se učili tady vyrábět láhve a ve sklárnách… A pak se změnily předpisy a už museli zase hlásit všecko, tak mě už nemohli zaměstnat, tak potom jsem se uchytila v pojišťovně, tam bylo takové oddělení na likvidaci škod na motorových vozidlech z ciziny a tam se muselo znát jazyky. Tak tam se uchytili takový ty vyhozený lidi, poněvadž to byli jediný lidi, který uměli pořádně řeči. No tak tam jsem potom dělala cizojazyčnou korespondentku a pak jsem se nějak uchytila a začala jsem učit tu němčinu. A to bylo samosebou všecko vždycky zakázaný pro mě. Tam byli nějaký lidi, který to tak pytlíkovali… prostě nás tam bylo několik takhle vyhozených… Tak pak jsem vyučovala němčinu, no a pak jsem začala překládat. To zase jsem tam poznala jednu filoložku a ona mně řekla poslyš, vždyť ty bys mohla překládat. Ona překládala pro Artii. Já jsem tam šla, oni slyšeli bioložku, tak byli velmi rádi, protože si ušetřili redakční práci, já jsem to vždycky i po stránce obsahové… Ale měla jsem šílenou hrůzu, že mě někdo pozná, no a nic. A pak jsem zjistila, jak jsem dávala strašně bedlivý pozor, aby jo někdo nevěděl, co jsem zač, že ta redaktorka, pro kterou jsem pracovala, byla dcerou člověka rovněž vyhozeného, kterého já jsem velmi dobře znala taky z biologických ústavů. Oni se vždycky našli dobrý lidi, který pomohli. Tak tam to potom bylo pestrý, ale dokavad jsem pracovala normálně, tak to bylo celý život jedno a totéž.

Q: A vy teďko jste vlastně v důchodu, ale stejně jste říkala, že ještě…

A: Já jsem už tenkrát byla v důchodu, já jsem nuceně odešla v pětapadesáti letech do důchodu a to všecko jsem dělala vlastně k důchodu… jenomže za komunistů důchod byl takový, že bylo úplně v podstatě jedno, kolik kdo vydělával. Já jsem měla slušnej plat, vedla jsem velký oddělení… Ale když se šlo do důchodu, tak základ byl dva tisíce korun, z kterého byl důchod a co bylo nad to, to byly korunové částky, to nebylo nic. A zvýšit se do určité míry mohl ten důchod jenom když člověk dělal přes svůj věk. To potom byly procenta. No a to já jsem nemohla, protože mě vyhodili. Takže já jsem měla důchod, z kterého sice zemřít se nedalo, ale žít taky ne.

Q: A vy ale teďko ještě učíte pořád učíte a překládáte?

A: Já ještě trochu učím v takových dvou projekčních kancelářích, tam patřím k nábytku z nějakého důvodu… Dokavad mě chtějí, tak proč ne… Ale překládám, něco člověk musí, protože jinak mu zrezaví mozek úplně… Ono je to aj tak nedobrý být starý.

Q: Teď bych se zeptala na váš domov, vaši rodiče, byli hodně nábožensky založený?

A: Vůbec ne. Naprosto ne.

Q: Jaký je váš mateřský jazyk?

A: Můj mateřský jazyk je vlastně němčina. Protože ten Mikulov má ze všech velkých měst nejblíž k Vídni. A tam nebyli žádný Češi před první válkou. Takže moji rodiče chodili do německých škol samosebou, do židovské školy s německým vyučovacím jazykem… Tam nebyli Češi. A po válce přišli Češi a to byli… Tam bylo hejtmanství, tak okresní hejtman a jeho úřednictvo, celníci, pan pošta a tím to zase haslo. Takže moji rodiče neuměli dobře česky…

Q: Takže jste doma mluvili německy?

A: No tak s rodičema německy a já mám část škol německých a část škol českých. A měla jsem sestru mladší o dva a půl roku a tam se to lámalo. Ta už měla jenom české školy. Takže se sestrou jsem v podstatě mluvila česky. Ale s rodičema jsme mluvili německy.

Q: Takže i sestra vlastně mluvila s rodičema německy…

A: Vlastně tak dvoujazyčně jsem vyrůstaly. Ale mateřský jazyk je německý.

Q: Jaký jiný jazyky umíte?

A: Jaké jazyky? No tak tu němčinu samosebou, pak umím angličtinu, francouzštinu, ruštinu docela dobře, polštinu ne tak dobře, ale dorozumím se a můžu číst, no a hebrejštinu.

Q: Vy jste říkala, že máte sestru?

A: Mám sestru.

Q: A máte ještě nějaký jiný sourozence?

A: Ne.

Q: A můžu se zeptat, jak se vaše sestra jmenuje?

A: Ta se jmenuje Kitty.

Q: Dvě t se tam píšou?

A: Dvě t a tvrdé y.

Q: A příjmením?

A: Peterson. Ona je v Americe.

Q: Ona se narodila taky ve Vídni?

A: Taky ve Vídni a taky žila v Mikulově… Po této stránce je to úplně stejný, jenomže za války, my jsme emigrovali všichni… a ona jela s rodiči do Šanghaje a strávila tam válku a potom po válce tam přišli nějaký Američani, nějaké obchodní loďstvo, a tam poznala svého budoucího manžela a odjela do Ameriky. A rodiče pak jeli za ní.

Q: V kterém roce se narodila?

A: Ona se narodila roku ´24.

Q: A její mateřský jazyk je také německý…

A: To je všecko stejný, jenomže ona má český školy.

Q: Jaký má vzdělání?

A: Ona má jenom gymnázium do kvarty a pak chodila do obchodní školy.

Q: A to chodila v Čechách?

A: V Brně.

Q: Jaké bylo její zaměstnání?

A: Ona dělala sekretářku jak v Šanghaji u nějaké firmy, tak myslím i zpočátku v Americe, ale pak se jí narodila dcera a ona u ní byla doma a měla… v té Americe školky, to není jako tady, je to spíš taková luxusní záležitost… Právě díky tomu je spousta takových soukromých školek. Že nějaká matka chce zůstat doma se svým dítětem a je tam určitý dozor… Já detaily nějak nevím… Bere si děti rodičů, který chodí pracovat…

Q: A má je vlastně u sebe doma?

A: No, a to měla moje sestra.

Q: A žije teda v Americe a kde?

A: Je to blízko San Francisca.

Q: Má jenom jedno dítě?

A: Ona má jenom jednu dceru.

Q: Vy jste říkala, že jste byla vdaná…

A: Ano.

Q: Můžu se zeptat na vašeho muže na nějaký věci?

A: No, to myslím, že celkem není zajímavý, já jsem se pak rozvedla… No, ptát se můžete, proč byste se nemohla ptát…

Q: A můžu se teda zeptat, jak se váš muž jmenoval?

A: Slavomil.

Q: A příjmením?

A: Hejný. Já jsem si nechala svoje jméno.

Q: A kdy a kde se narodil?

A: Počkejte, já to samosebou vím, ale… No tak žil celý život v Protivíně, ale narodil se… Ono mě to pak napadne… Starý lidi jsou sklerotický…

Q: Tak já se budu ptát dál a pak si vzpomenete. Takže jste říkala, že celý život žil v Protivíně…

A: Jo. Teda za mládí. Potom byl v Praze.

Q: A pak jste spolu byli v Praze…

A: On už byl předtím v Praze, on tady študoval a pracoval na univerzitě.

Q: Je židovskýho vyznání?

A: Ne.

Q: Ani žádný kořeny nemá?

A: Vůbec ne.

Q: Jaký má mateřský jazyk?

A: Český.

Q: A jaký má vzdělání?

A: Měl, on umřel… Měl vzdělání stejný jako já, jenomže on jsa věrným členem strany… Ani tak věrným, ale on prostě nedokázal žít v žádným rozporu, takže když se to obrátilo potom po devětašedesátém, tak on se taky obrátil, proto jsme se taky rozešli, to nešlo dohromady, já mu pak překážela v kariéře, když jsem byla vyhozená…. Takže on na rozdíl ode mě ten doktorát věd udělal a stal se dopisujícím členem akademie, posléze akademikem a pak už zase nebyl akademikem teďka po revoluci, poněvadž to už neexistuje. A byl ředitelem Botanického ústavu v Průhonicích.

Q: V kterém roce zemřel?

A: On zemřel před dvěma lety.

Q: Takže 2001?

A: Jo.

Q: V Praze?

A: V Praze.

Q: Máte děti?

A: No měla jsem dva syny a mám už jenom jednoho.

Q: A můžu se zeptat na jejich jména?

A: No tak ten starší, kterej žije, se jmenuje Petr Hejný, doktor Petr Hejný, on by mně dal pár facek, kdyby slyšel, že mu dávám tituly, ale on je doktor, tak proč bych mu to vzala. A ten druhý se jmenoval Michal.

Q: Vychovávala jste je jako Židy? Vedla jste je k tomu židovství?

A: Nevedla jsem je vůbec k ničemu, poněvadž jsem si to nemohla dovolit, protože… Jelikož bylo známo, že jsem byla v Palestině atd., tak já jsem platila pro rodnou stranu stále za sionistku a měla jsem jeden průšvih za druhým politický, takže děti pak věděli samosebou, že jsem Židovka… Napřed nic, prostě jsme se snažili před nimi… Ten můj manžel byl bez víry. Tak to nebylo téma. Jenomže díky tomu, že já jsem měla neustálé průšvihy a byl strašný antisemitismus a my jsme bydleli potom v baráku, který patřil tomu ústavu, to nebyla… já jsem dělala ve dvou ústavech. To jsem vám už jednou řekla nebo neřekla… Napřed jsem dělala ve Výzkumném ústavu rostlinné výroby, to patřilo k Akademii zemědělských věd a pak jsem přešla v šedesátých letech do Akademie věd. A v tom ústavu Akademie zemědělských věd tam byl opravdu velký antisemitismus, ale ani ne tak mezi lidma. I některý, no to vždycky najdete, ale hlavně byl tam kádrovák, který prostě se nepodepsal na stejný papír, jako já, poněvadž i ten podpis mu smrděl, ne jenom já. No tak prostě jsem měla neustálé průšvihy. S partají atd. No a potom právě v tom baráku, kde jsme bydleli, tam byli samý lidi s Ústavu, tak zřejmě se bavili a před dětičkami, tak jednou Míša přišel nahoru… Hrál si s dětma na dvoře a přišel domů s velkým pláčem, že děti mu řekli, že si s ním nebudou hrát, protože má maminku Židovku. No tak já jsem potom dětem samosebou všecko vykládala a to… To si pamatuju… Tenkrát už jsem jim vykládala, kolik velkých lidí bylo Židů mezi jiným a tak jsem jmenovala a u nás bylo potom okřídlené slovo, když si děti říkaly, Einstein byl taky Žid. Takže oni pak samosebou věděli… Já jsem vždycky měla strašný strach, že kvůli mně ty děti budou trpět, že se nedostanou na žádnou školu, poněvadž to bylo opravdu šílený, co mi dělali. Jenom proto, že jsem byla v Palestině, já jsem byla sionistka a sionistka bylo něco horšího než já nevím co, než imperialista. Já jsem nebyla žádná sionistka, jinak bych se byla nevrátila, ale kdybych byla, tak bych se taky za to nestyděla, protože já na rozdíl od těchto lidí dokonce vím, co to je sionismus. Oni to nevěděli, byla to prostě nadávka. Já jsem jednou šla, to byli kluci… asi tak osmiletý mohl být Petr… to bylo po těch třídně-politických prověrkách, to mě chtěli vyhodit a bůhvíco, a já jsem řekla, bože můj, ty děti se budou mít tak špatně a nikam se nedostanou, já jsem je neměla přivést na svět. Snad to bude lepší, když já tu nebudu. Tak jsem šla do ústavu, otevřela jsem si plyn v laboratoři. A takhle když jsem seděla, tak jsem si řekla, bože kdo se o ty děti bude starat, ten můj manžel měl než dvě levé ruce, ale čtyři levé nohy. On byl jenom vědec. Tak jsem si řekla, to nemůžu dělat, oni budou bezprizorní, tak jsem plyn zase zavřela a šla jsem domu. No ale opravdu teda jsem z toho měla hrůzu. A taky Petr dlouho nemohl študovat kvůli mně. On byl velmi dobrý češtinář, on už maturoval se zvláštním vyznamenáním za tu češtinu a dělal potom zkoušku a když se podívali no jo, matka tohle, tak zle. Až potom, no to byla historka velmi veselá, když on byl potom na vojně a on tam pracoval nějaký major, byl jeho představený a ten se připravoval na nějaké zkoušky a on potřeboval, aby mu to někdo všecko napsal ty práce a to, a ten Petr mu to dělal. A on mu to dělal pečlivě, ne proto, že ho tak miloval, ale proto, že byl v Písku a tam byla jeho dívka v Písku. A on chtěl mít hodně volna, takže se choval velmi slušně, ten major si ho strašně oblíbil a díky tomu neustále chtěl, aby vstoupil do strany. A já vždycky jsem přišla Petra navštívit, on byl bledý, já povídám, co se děje? Už mě zase tahá do strany. Tak my jsme si vymejšleli… Tak jak se partaj neustále mstila do pátého pokolení, tak ale oni nikdy nic nepsali a bylo to, jak kdo chtěl. Tak pan major mu řekl, no děti nemůžou za rodiče. A nebylo to nic platný. Vymysleli jsme si… dědeček už umřel, babička umřela dřív, oni byli v Americe… Tak jsme udali, že teta je v Americe a dědeček je v Americe… skoro to nebylo nic platný… No horko těžko se z toho vyzul… Když přišel domu, tak měl zvláštní pochvalu od toho majora no a díky tomu… potom on měl svoje jméno, odstěhoval se ode mě, aby nemusel udat, že bydlí u tý Teltscherový a vzali ho potom dálkově, on už pracoval v Albatrosu jako redaktor a vzali ho dálkově, on vyštudoval pak dálkově doktorát udělal, všecko, ale kvůli mně asi pět let se nikam nedostal.

Q: Ještě se vám zeptám, kde a kdy se narodili.

A: Oba se narodili v Praze, Petr v roce ´52 a Míša v roce ´55.

Q: A kde všude žili?

A: No Petr žil celou dobu tady v Praze a Michal ten utekl, když mu bylo dvacet let. Devatenáct nebo dvacet. A byl potom v Americe.

Q: Jaký měli vzdělání?

A: No Petr měl vysokou filosofickou fakultu a Michal měl konzervatoř, pak byl na DAMU a pak ještě študoval v Americe dálkově psychologii.

Q: A co zaměstnání? Co dělali?

A: No tak Petr začal jako korektor v Albatrosu, pak byl redaktor léta a stále pracuje částečně na volné noze překládá a hlavně je redaktor v Slovartu. No a Michal, ten žil všelijak. Protože on byl herec, jestli jste viděla film Dívka na koštěti, tak ten jeden kluk, ten brejlatý, to je Míša. A on potom utek, tak tam už nehrál, nebo velmi málo a myslel si, že je spisovatel. Já si netroufám říct, jestli psal dobře, nebo špatně, ale psal, a bylo mu jedno, žil vždycky z nějakých takových… jenom aby mohl psát, potom ještě tady spolupracoval s nějakýma lidma, překládal nějaký muzikál, co se hrálo tady, já už jsem zapomněla, jak se to jmenovalo, tam v Parku oddechu u tý fontány. A naštudoval to, tak tady potom taky vydělal prachy, několikrát byl potom tady. No a potom…

Q: A zemřel v tý Americe?

A: Jo.

Q: A můžu se zeptat, v kterém roce?

A: ´92.

Q: Máte nějaký vnoučata?

A: Mám jednu vnučku, která je tady k vidění, ale všecko už je to starý.

Q: Teď bych se vás zeptala na vašeho tatínka. Jak se jmenoval?

A: Bedřich.

Q: Teltscher?

A: Ano.

Q: Kdy a kde se narodil?

A: Narodil se v Mikulově v roce 1896.

Q: Žil někde jinde než v tom Mikulově?

A: No tak stejně jako my. Potom v Brně po děvětatřicátém roce a pak emigroval do Šanghaje a pak bydleli v San Franciscu do smrti.

Q: A v kterém roce zemřel?

A: Počkejte, abych vám nelhala…

Q: Tak aspoň přibližně…

A: Asi ´78.

Q: Jaký měl vzdělání?

A: Obchodní akademii.

Q: A co dělal za zaměstnání?

A: On byl doma dokavad žil, byl obchodník vínem. Velkoobchodník vínem dokonce.

Q: A potom když se přestěhovali do tý Šanghaje?

A: No v tý Šanghaji provozovali nějakou cukrárnu nebo něco takovýho, nějaký krámek, tam bylo ghetto v Šanghaji, tak ono to nebylo nic moc, maminka do toho pekla a tatínek tam prodával eště zase s jednou brněnskou Židovkou. Tak něco takového. A v Americe potom moc dvakrát neuspěl, protože už byl starej, tam starší lidi neměli velké vyhlídky, takže on dělal vždycky jenom takové pomocné práce v nějakých obchodech a maminka se na něho vždycky zlobila, říkala, on vždycky dává rady, a on to nikdo nechce od něho slyšet, já mu říkám, nemluv, pak samosebou ho nikdo nechce. Takže on byl potom vlastně… Oni moji rodiče dostali nějaký ten Wiedergutmachung, to odškodnění od Němců, on dědeček měl nějaký majetek v Rakousku, moje babička pocházela z Rakouska a ten Mikulov ležel přímo na hranicích, to za první republiky nebyl takový rozdíl a předtím vůbec ne. A to odškodnění tady to přišlo pozdě, ale pro ty lidi, který byli venku na západě, to přišlo mnohem dřív. A rodiče to potom měli tak, že si nechali vyplatit to odškodnění měsíčně, že měli něco jako důchod. A maminka pracovala a tatínek potom už skoro nic, jenom vždycky takovou výpomoc. Já vím, že například o vánocích tam každý každého obdarovává, pak to lidi choděj do těch obchodů a vyměňují si to, a tam se může všecko, tam je to takový, co já vím, když jde někdo na taneční zábavu, tak jde a vypůjčí si šaty a potom je vrátí. Tak vždycky potřebují po těch vánocích, kdy všichni vyměňují všechno, tak potřebujou pomoc, tak v takových dobách se uplatnil jako takový poslíček, my jsme se strašně vždycky smáli, poněvadž táta byl velký obchodník a najednou… takže nic moc.

Q: Vy jste říkala, že vaši rodiče nebyli moc nábožensky založený…

A: Vůbec ne, vůbec. Teda takhle, abyste nemyslela… U Židů dělá hodně tradice, že by byli věřící, nebyli. Babička ještě sem tam držela něco, nějaké zvyky, od babičky to vím, ale rodiče už skoro vůbec ne, ale zase se chodilo do synagogy na velký svátky a na ty velký svátky se chodilo do synagogy, protože… Je tam volají lidi, aby četli z Tóry. To je ale každou sobotu. Jenže každou sobotu ten Teltscher… tatínek pocházel z jedenácti bratrů, v Mikulově jich bylo ještě pět a měli ten velký obchod, tak byli velmi bohatí, tak když přišli, tak je volali k Tóře, aby předčítali, protože to bylo spojeno s tím, že potom dával nějaký peníze pro chudé a pro různé účely, tak to byl jeden důvod, proč tam šel a druhý důvod byl, že se odříkává modlitba za mrtvé, za zemřelé. A to za rodiče a potom taky nějaký bratři, to on držel. Rozsvítit za zemřelé, to taky vždycky doma taky rozsvítil, tak takové spíš tradiční záležitosti, což nebyla otázka víry, ale tradice, to se drželo. Na Jom Kipur se u nás postilo. Zase ale spíš z tradice, to patří k tomu. A vždycky jsme se hlásili jako Židi, my jsme měli vždycky židovskou národnost. Takže po této stránce jo, ale spíš to bylo všecko otázka rodinný tradice a nikoliv nějaké víry.

Q: Jaký byl mateřský jazyk vašeho tatínka?

A: Německý.

Q: Byl v armádě?

A: Byl v armádě, ano.

Q: Vzpomenete si, v kterých letech?

A: No, to nevím přesně, to bylo ještě za Rakouska-Uherska. Já vím, že byl poručík nebo něco takového, že měl doma schovanou šavli a vždycky říkal, na té šavli lpí krev, s tou jsem jednou zapích prase. To si ještě pamatuju.

Q: A víte, v které to bylo armádě?

A: No v rakousko-uherský, žádná jiná tenkrát nebyla. Když už byla republika, tak on už byl starší.

Q: Říkala jste, že měl asi jedenáct bratrů…

A: Jo.

Q: A můžete mi o nich třeba něco říct, cokoliv, co vás napadne?

A: Já vím, že jsem měla spoustu strejčků a tet a díky tomu taky spoustu bratranců a sestřenic, tak dva žili ve Vídni, jeden žil v Brně, jeden padl, jeden umřel a ty ostatní byli v Mikulově. A byli zaměstnaný v tom obchodě.

Q: Během války jste byli společně v tom Brně a pak byl váš tatínek v tý Šanghaji?

A: Nás potom Němci mu poručili, že do týdne musí opustit… A oni z Itálie na rozdíl ode mě, on mi ještě opatřil to, že jsem mohla do tý Palestiny jet a sami potom jeli do Šanghaje.

Q: Nejdřív byli teda v tý Šanghaji a pak odjeli do Ameriky…

A: Až po válce.

Q: A v kterém roce, vzpomenete si?

A: V kterém roce? V sedmačtyřicátém asi. Za války oni nemohli vůbec komunikovat s Amerikou, to bylo ghetto, to bylo obsazeno Japonci Šanghaj a Japonci tam zřídili ghetto.

Q: Teď se vás budu ptát na vašeho dědečka z otcovy strany.

A: Z otcový strany? Tak to bude velmi rychlá odpověď, toho jsem neznala. Já jsem rodiče z otcovy strany.. ty už nežili, když já jsem se narodila.

Q: A vzpomenete si třeba, jestli vám tatínek o něm něco vyprávěl?

A: No tak vím… jak jsem vám řelka… jedenáct dětí, tatínek byl druhý nejmladší a při tom nejmladším, když se narodil, tak ta matka umřela. Takže oni potom měli macechu, které si strašně vážili, zřejmě musela být světice, protože jinak by se těžko vdala do rodiny s jedenácti klukama. To muselo být různý.

Q: Teď se vás zeptám na maminku…

A: Ta se jmenovala Hertha. Th se to píše.

Q: A jak se jmenovala za svobodna?

A: Abelesová. Pěkné židovské jméno.

Q: A kdy a kde se narodila?

A: Narodila se v roce ´99 v Mikulově.

Q: A ona taky žila v Mikulově a pak v tý Šanghaji…

A: Všecko stejný. To je úplně stejný jako u táty.

Q: Kdy a kde zemřela?

A: Zemřela v Americe v roce ´69.

Q: Jaký měla vzdělání?

A: Ona měla jenom základní.

Q: A co dělala? Měla nějaký zaměstnání nebo byla v domácnosti?

A: Ona byla milostpaní v domácnosti celou dobu tady, jenomže pak se ukázalo… já když jsem byla mladá, tak jsem byla velmi levičácká a styděla jsem se za to, že jsem z tak bohaté rodiny, takže já jsem se trošku s despektem na ní dívala, poněvadž ona byla opravdu taková milostpanička. A pak se ukázalo, že ona se dokázala úžasně přizpůsobit a v tý Šanghaji pracovala a vedla celou domácnost, to nebyl žádný špás, poněvadž tam to bylo úplně primitivní, tam nebyla tekoucí voda v tom ghettu, opravdu to byla dřina a úsilí to všecko udržovat a celou dobu zásobila, doma pekla, za nějakých velmi primitivních podmínek a pro tu cukrárnu, to všecko dělala ona. A pak přišla do Ameriky a na rozdíl od tatínka se úplně zase přizpůsobovala a pracovala celou dobu v jedné továrně jako dělnice. Byla to továrna na koření. To byl nějaká slavná velká továrna, někdy jsem tady už viděla… Jmenovalo se to Spice Island. Tak tam ona dělala, ovšem jako dělnice. Do té doby než onemocněla, kdy už potom nemohla dělat, maminka umřela na rakovinu.

Q: Její mateřský jazyk byla taky němčina.

A: Taky.

Q: Měla nějaký sourozence?

A: Měla bratra.

Q: Zase bych vás poprosila, jestli mi o něm můžete něco říct…

A: Ale jo, ten je docela zajímavý Ten bojoval v první světový válce a byl v Rusku, tam bojoval na té frontě a vrátil se s legionáři, on se stal legionářem nebo něco podobného. A vrátil se a měl takovou továrničku ve Vladislavi u Třebíče. On měl malýho syna, pozdě se mu narodil ten syn, byl šestiletý, když je deportovali, a byli ve Varšavě v ghettě a on potom byl bojovníkem. On padl při povstání v ghettě Varšava, jeho manželku s tím dítětem odvezli někam předtím. On byl v práci a přišel domů a ta rodina byla pryč. Takže oni zahynuli předtím. A on padl při bojích o ghetto Varšava.

Q: Teď bych se ještě zeptala na dědečka z maminčiný strany.

A: Dědeček z maminčiny strany byl Mikulovák a babička pocházela z jedné vísky z dolních Rakous, to byla Rakušanka.

Q: A můžete mi říct, jak se jmenoval dědeček?

A: Dědeček se jmenoval Gustav Abeles a babička se jmenovala Adéla Abelesová.

Q: A rodné příjmení?

A: Rodné jméno bylo Drillová – dvě l. A o té babičce vám můžu něco zajímavého… Ne o ní, ale o jejím bratrovi. Ona měla mladšího bratra, to byl úplně kouzelný člověk, on to byl lékař. A bydlel to se jmenovalo Mauo bei Wien, dneska to patří k Vídni, a to bylo takové předměstí, kam se chodilo na ten Heurigatt, na to mladé víno. A on tam byl lékařem a byl takový strašně boží člověk.

Tape one, side B

On chodil léčit, ale nikdy nic neměl. Protože když viděl, že lidi maj bídu, tak jim ještě nosil. A většinou si nepsal žádné účty. A byl tak strašně oblíbený, měl manželku, která nebyla Židovka a byl tak oblíbený, že když odváželi Židy, tak se to obyvatelstvo proti tomu postavilo a nedovolili a by ho odvezli. Dva roky se tam udržel, ale pak už to nešlo. A ta manželka, která by klidně byla přežila, dobrovolně šla s nim a oba zahynuli v koncentráku. A dneska tam v tom Maua je ulice doktora Drilla. Protože to byl vynikající člověk. Já jsem ho velmi milovala. On byl podstatně mladší než babička, takže jsem ho poznala… i ta babička nakonec zahynula, když byla o dvacet let mladší, než jsem já dneska, takže to je všecko relativní.

Q: Vzpomente si, kdy a kde se babička a dědeček narodili?

A: Kdy to vám už opravdu při nejlepší vůli neřeknu. Babička se narodila v tom Rakousku, to byla vesnice Genzeldorf nebo tak nějak se to jmenovalo a dědeček se narodil v Mikulově.

Q: Co dědeček dělal?

A: Dědeček měl nějakou výrobu mejdla pokud vím, to už jsem nezažila. A staré hadry, s takovýma věcma handloval.

Q: A víte, jaký měl vzdělání?

A: Asi jenom základní v té době. Určitě a babička taky.

Q: A dědeček žil v Mikulově celou dobu, celý život?

A: Ano.

Q: A babička se přestěhovala za dědečkem?

A: Babička, když se vdala, tak se přestěhovala do Mikulova a oni po roce devětatřicátém taky žili v Brně a potom byli deportovaní.

Q: Byli pobožný hodně?

A: Nebyli hodně pobožný, ale eště něco drželi.

Q: A vzpomenete si třeba něco…

A: Babička občas chodila do synagogy, dědeček taky, ale to ostatně maminka a tatínek taky, hlavně tatínek. Tak například oni pořádali seder na Pesach. My jsme byli tam a protože ty moji bratranci a sestřenice neměli dědečka… ale jo, ty jedny jo, ale ty eště byli méně pobožný. A tam se ten seder… u nás doma se taky nedělal, my jsme ho měli u babičky. Tak ona pozvala všecky Teltscherovic děti a byla tam velká tabule, velký seder, to bylo krásné. Ten strýc, jak jsem vám řekla, ten strýc, ten doktor, ten byl strašně takový, že kdekomu pomáhal. A babička byla taky velmi dobročinná. Ona byla prezidentkou Spolku židovských žen v Mikulově a ty se hlavně zabývaly pomocí. V Mikulově bylo hodně chudých Židů, ale ani jeden neměl nikdy hlad. To se všecko podporovalo. A babička byla opravdu velmi dobročinná.

Q: Babička nechodila do zaměstnání?

A: Ne.

Q: Rodný jazyk obou byla němčina?

A: Němčina.

Q: Byl dědeček v armádě?

A: To se mě ptáte moc, to já nevím. To by bylo asi hluboko ještě za Rakouska. To opravdu nevím. O tom se jaksi v životě nemluvilo. Že by byl velký bojovník před pánembohem, to zaručeně ne.

Q: Měli nějaký sourozence?

A: Sourozence měli, jo. Babička měla, toho jsem znala dobře, strýce Willyho a dědeček měl asi tři nebo čtyři bratry, jeden byl zubař ve Vídni, ale ani jména si nepamatuju, v tom já mám zmatek.

Q: Vzpomenete si třeba na nějaký příběhy, který se u vás vyprávěly třeba o vašich předcích?

A: No já už jsem vám něco řekla…

Q: A něco jinýho vás třeba ještě nenapadne?

A: Hlavně se vykládalo, když se strejci scházeli, tak vždycky vykládali o lumpárnách, když bylo tolik kluků, co všechno prováděli, když jich bylo tolik kluků.

Q: Napadne vás třeba nějaká hezká historka?

A: Ale jo. Můj otec zřejmě vynikal, to byl jeden z největších lumpů z rodiny, tak například taková věc, že si udělal kaňku do sešitu a učitel mu řekl, to si můžeš nechat zarámovat. A on šel - v Mikulově každý každého znal – tak šel k sklenáři a nechal si zarámovat kaňku. Nebo jednou ho matka prý poslala, aby dělal vajíčka pro všecky bratry – bylo jich doma asi devět – tak on udělal ty vajíčka – a když byly hotový, tak místo aby je zavolal, oni hned nebyli na místě, tak to všechno sněd. A takový různý věcičky se vykládaly.

Q: Ještě se trošku vrátím k těm vašim prarodičům, jestli třeba chodili nějak zvláštně oblečený nebo jestli něčím se vyznačovali židovským…

A: Ne. To už je příliš moderní na tu… Moje babička vůbec, to byla velmi hezká ženská, i moje matka byla krásná ženská, já jsem po otci, takže to není vidět. To moje sestra byla po matce. Babička byla elegantní dáma a dědeček chodil taky normálně oblečený, to by bylo muselo být ještě jedna generace předtím.

Q: Mohla byste mi říct něco o tom, jak vypadal jejich dům nebo tam, kde bydleli?

A: Moji prarodiče bydleli ve velmi starém domě v ulici Emila Schweinburga za první republiky a byla to židovská ulice. Tak tam byl ten dům, v takovém starém baráčku bydleli.

Q: Říkáte, že to byla židovská ulice, znamená to, že byla speciální oblast, kde bydleli Židé?

A: Ta ulice, to bylo původní ghetto. Tam bydlelo gró Židů. Potom po Josefu II., když se Židé mohli stěhovat, ti majetnější se stěhovali, takže potom v Mikulově bydleli i na jiných místech, ale většina Židů, i takových, kterým se vedlo velmi dobře, ale který tam nějak uvízli, tak bydleli v tý ulici. Ten barák, kde bydlela babička a dědeček, ale byl to takový starý milý barák poschoďový. Ale byly tam taky výstavné baráky, i v té židovské ulici, velké baráky, takže to bylo různý a většina Židů tam žila. My jsme tam už například nebydleli.

Q: Měli doma elektřinu?

A: Jo.

Q: Víte něco o tom, jaký měl váš dědeček politický názory?

A: Já se obávám, že nižádné.

Q: Jezdili někam na dovolenou?

A: Babička jezdila vždycky do Rakouska, my jsme měli zvláště z babiččiný strany, ale i z dědečkový strany. V Mikulově žil jenom dědeček. Pokud žili ty sourozenci, všichni byli buď ve Vídni nebo někde v Rakousku. Ono totiž z Mikulova, tak jak se lidi z venkovských měst dostávali do větších měst, tak z Mikulova do Vídně. Ve Vídni byl dokonce Spolek Mikulovanů ve Vídni. Takže všichni ty příbuzný byli tam a babička jezdila často do Rakouska, ale potom taky vím, že jezdila do Karlových Varů.

Q: Jako do lázní?

A: Do lázní. Ale babička, dědeček ne.

Q: Vzpomenete si, jestli vám třeba vyprávěli něco o svým dětství?

A: Kdo?

Q: Vaši prarodiče, babička s dědečkem.

A: Jo, no tak babička vykládala o tom, když byla malá, jak žili na vesnici, měli takový krám se smíšeným zbožím. Ale na žádnou zvláštní historku, to si teď nevzpomínám. Ale mluvili o tom.

Q: Měli doma nějaký zvířata?

A: Jo, dědeček měl dlouho psa, dobrmana. Ten pak umřel, pak už nebylo nic, když už byli starší. Ale na toho psa si ještě pamatuju. César se jmenoval.

Q: A měli nějakou zahrádku?

A: Zahradu, dědeček byl velký zahradník, miloval kytky. V jeho zahradě rostl fík – Mikulov, to je úplně na jihu – nejteplejší část Moravy a tam dozrály fíky každý rok.

Q: Měli doma někoho, kdo by jim pomáhal s domácností?

A: Jo, měla babička pomocnici.

Q: A měli někoho na hlídání dětí?

A: To vám nepovím.

Q: Teď kdybyste mi mohla říct ještě něco víc o tom Mikulově, kde jste vyrůstala. Cokoliv co se třeba týká židovských… jestli tam byly židovský školy…

A: Židovská škola tam byla jenom za Rakouska. Potom už to nebyla židovská škola, ale jedna ze škol byla v židovské ulici. Jenom obecná. Měšťanka byla jenom jedna společná, ta už byla jinde. Gró židovských dětí chodilo do této školy. Já ne. Já jsem tam nechodila.

Q: A vy jste chodila kam?

A: Do školy, kam jsem náležela podle bydliště. My jsme nebydleli v té židovské ulici.

Q: Byla tam synagoga?

A: Jistě.

Q: Jedna nebo víc?

A: V Mikulově bylo původně spousta synagog, Mikulov je staré ghetto, to je po Praze nejstarší ghetto, s krásným starým hřbitovem. Rabi Löw než přišel do Prahy, tak byl v Mikulově. Původně tam bylo víc synagog, když já jsem žila, tak už byla jenom jedna synagoga, pak taková malá, kde byly bohoslužby v zimě.

Q: Kolik tam asi žilo lidí, když jste byla malá?

A: V Mikulově? Osm tisíc.

Q: A kolik z toho bylo Židů?

A: Židů bylo asi tisíc. Ale neručím vám za to číslo.

Q: Mohla byste mi něco říct o tý židovský komunitě tam?

A: Tam byla židovská pospolitost, tam Židi drželi pospolu, no samosebou že se taky hádali, to víte, ale velmi drželi spolu, jak vám říkám, tam bylo spoustu nemajetných Židů, ale žádnému se nedařilo nějak… to neexistovalo, aby se někoho nechalo, aby měl bídu. To byla spousta všelijakých takových příležitostí, například chanuka, to nebyla nejdůležitější akce, ale na chanuka bylo vždycky takové pohoštění pro všechny židovské děti a organizoval to právě onen Spolek židovských žen, ve kterém byla moje babička, to dostali děti, teda ty potřebný, takové velikánské balíky s šatstvem, se vším možným, a s dárky. A to si pamatuju, že z výchovných důvodů, že nám řekli, no samosebou se zúčastnili všechny děti, a aby nemysleli ty chudý děti, že oni jsou nějaký chudáci a proto něco dostanou, tak dostali dárky všichni. Ale to mi bylo řečeno: ty máš doma všecko, vy to dostáváte jenom aby ty chudé děti nemysleli, že jsou nějaký to, tak ty dostaneš knížku, kterou už máš, dostaneš zase posla. To dělali asi z výchovných důvodů. Tak to byl jeden příklad. Ale vždycky se opravdu podporovali. My jsme samosebou do tý synagogy chodili na takové jako bylo Simchat Tóra, to jsme rádi chodili, poněvadž to jsme pak chodili po synagoze, měli jsme fangličky, modrobílé… Zvlášť tam byla taková společnost těch židovských dětí z židovské ulice. A tam to byla moje společnost. Já jsem tam mezi ně chodila, kdežto moje sestra, ta byla nóbl, ta se stýkala s těmi bohatšími dětmi. Já jsem je neměla moc ráda. A matka zase nerada viděla, že já se stýkám s těmahle, takže já jsem byla víc v synagoze a více jsem se stýkala s těma dětma. No a potom byly například také, kromě těch podpůrných a všelijakých takových organizací židovských, tak tam byla například tělocvičná jednota Makabi, tak tam jsem byla velmi aktivní. A pak tam bylo mládežnické hnutí, takové sionistické, no vidíte, tenkrát jsem byla opravdu… tak oni věděli, proč mě pak… Tak jsem chodila taky mezi tu mládež. To byla moje společnost. Byla tam soudržnost veliká.

Q: Byla tam mikve?

A: Mikve ne. Ledaže bych o ní nevěděla, ale myslím, že ne. Byli tam pobožný lidi jako kantor a rabín a tak, ale nebyli ortodoxní. Byli konzervativní. Já vím, že původně byla mikve, ale za mých časů už ne.

Q: Byl tam někdo ortodoxní?

A: Byli velmi pobožný, nám se jevili, že jsou ortodoxní, ale ta obec byla konzervativní. Rabín byl konzervativní. Co tam bylo, bylo židovské muzeum, velmi slavné a krásné exponáty, které jsou dneska tady v muzeu, pocházejí z Mikulova. To muzeum založil dokonce jeden můj strýc. To byl velký židovský činovník, on byl také činovník v židovské straně, tenkrát byla židovská strana za první republiky a on tam byl činný, a on byl velmi velmi… on byl sionista a on byl velmi uvědomělý Žid a on založil s jedním profesorem z Brna to židovské muzeum a to bylo opravdu velmi cenné a s krásnými exponáty.

Q: To byl tatínkův bratr?

A: To byl tatínkův bratr.

Q: Byli v Mikulově nějaký typický zaměstnání, který dělali Židi?

A: Židi samosebou handlovali. Spousta takových malých obchůdků, byli taky bohatí Židi, ale nejvíc bylo takových menších obchůdků. A potom tam byli advokáti židovští, dva lékaři židovští, byla taky jakási židovská inteligence.

Q: Vzpomenete si, když jste byla malá na nějaký projevy antisemitismu?

A: Samosebou u Němců, a zvláště potom po třiatřicátém roku, když Hitler nastoupil, tak už byli Henleinovci, tak to bylo…

Q: Pamatujete si ze svýho dětství nějaký důležitý politický události?

A: V dětství byl poměrně poklidný život za první republiky, já vím, že se vždycky oslavoval 28. říjen a 7. březen, narozeniny prezidenta Masaryka, to byly vždycky velký oslavy a tam bylo těch pět a půl Čechů a Židi. Zvlášť potom po nástupu Henleina, to zase drželi spolu, a byly taky v synagoze vždycky ty oslavy. Potom to bylo ošklivý už kolem takového pětatřicátého roku, to si pamatuju samosebou, co dělali ty henleinovci v těch kožených kalhotech a bílých punčochách a demonstrace, to si pamatuju. Jednak jsem už byla větší a to už byla ta doba před osmatřicátým rokem, to si samosebou přesně pamatuju a pamatuju si, když byla první mobilizace v březnu v osmatřicátém roce a potom když jsme utíkali, když Hitler obsadil Sudety, to si už všecko pamatuju.

Q: Víte, jak se seznámili vaši rodiče?

A: Moji rodiče se seznámili… Já vím, že moje matka předtím by se byla chtěla vdát za někoho jiného a ten se nelíbil babičce, a potom přišel Teltscher, Teltscher byl bohatý Žid, tak to se zase babičce líbilo, no ale to manželství bylo velmi dobré, já jsem v životě neslyšela hlasité slovo mezi otcem a matkou.

Q: A byl to domluvený sňatek?

A: Ne, takový jako dřív s dohazovačem ne. Vůbec ne. Moje matka byla velmi krásná žena. Takže ten Teltscher měl důvod, proč se o ni ucházel.

Q: Můžete mi říct něco víc o tom domě, kde jste vyrůstala?

A: To byl starý, patricijský dům, velmi krásný, obrostlý psím vínem, měl dvůr, na tom dvoře byla zase vinná réva, poněvadž v Mikulově roste všude a pak byly dvě zahrady. Jedna zadní zahrada, tam byly hlavně ovocné stromy a přední zahrada, ta byla velmi krásná… Ten dům byl patrový a my jsme bydleli v prvním patře. A byl tam takový jako balkon, ale na sloupech a tam kolem toho byla ta stará zahrada. A tam byl starý platan, obrovský platan, ten existuje ještě dnes. To je jediný, co nechali, to vám hned budu vykládat, a byl tam ginkgo a potom tam byly paulovnie, to byly dva stromy, to jsou mediteránní stromy a oni mají nádherné květy, takový modrý zvony. Ten dům byl opravdu krásný. A když jsme utekli, když přišli Němci, tak se tam usídlilo gestapo. Gestapo tam bylo celou dobu, a ty tu zahradu nechali ještě netknutou. Protože já jsem tu zahradu ještě jednou viděla tak, jak byla a to, když jsem přišla, já jsem se vrátila koncem šestačtyřicátého roku a jela jsem do Mikulova, poněvadž jsem potřebovala rodnej list a tenkrát jsem ještě myslela, že rodiče přijdou sem, protože až v sedmačtyřicátým se jim naskytla ta příležitost, tak taky papíry pro rodiče. A to ještě to bylo netknutý. Pak jsem tam dlouho nebyla a potom se do stejného baráku nastěhovali estébáci. A bylo tam taky vězení… My jsme měli příbuzného po matce s mým bratrancem… S náma ne, ale dobrý přátelé rodin a ten syn, ten byl tenkrát dvacet něco… dvaadvacet, tak nějak… On jako čtrnáctiletý kluk se dostal do koncentráku, přežil Osvětim, vrátil se, doštudoval, stal se agronomem, byl v družstvu v Mikulově a po tom všem oni ho zase zatkli, nikdo… žádný důvod nemusel být, byl Žid, že jo… takže ho zatkli a on tam byl uvězněný. No nic, dostal se zase z toho ven a posléze v osmašedesátém utekl do Anglie a a udělal tam velkou kariéru a dneska je to sir Francis Lampert, tak to je nejslavnější mikulovský Žid. A ty estébáci ze samého strachu, aby tam na ně nikdo nečíhal, vytrhli to psí víno, natřeli ten barák takovou ošklivou žlutou barvou, pokáceli ty všecky stromy a nechali tam akorát ten platan, protože ten byl trochu opodál. Takže dneska se tam ta ulice jmenuje Pod platanem. Ta ostuda, že ty Němci to nechali… Němci poškodili ten starý hřbitov, oni tam měli střelnici, ale kdo to potom zničil od základu, byli komunisti. Ono to dneska vypadá dobře… Já jsem tam byla, jednou tady byl tatínek na návštěvě ještě za komunistů, to si nedovedete představit, jak to vypadalo. Zarostlý, všecko to leželo na zemi, tam byla prastará část, jako na starém hřbitově tady, a potom byla část nová, tatínek tam měl ležet rodiče a chodil po té… on nebyl vidět, jak běhal tím porostem, vysokým a to všecko leželo na zemi a některé hroby ani nenašel. Taky zničili celý to ghetto. To, co dneska zůstalo, co je dneska jako pod památkovým ústavem a ukazujou to a dělaj s tím velký cirkus, já tam nerada chodím, protože je to pro mě hřbitov, vždyť je to směšný, pro mě jsou to směšný zbytky, poněvadž já vím, jak to předtím vypadalo. To strhli komunisti, ty prastaré baráky, které měly obrovskou hodnotu historickou, tak to strhli a zřídili tam takové sídliště, takové ošklivé dvouletkové… Tak to bylo, to se nedá nic dělat.

Q: Ještě se vás zeptám, co ten váš dům dneska, co tam je?

A: Tam byla nějaká výrobna, protože potom tady byla moje sestra – taky ještě za komunistů – a byli jsme v Mikulově a ukázala jsem jí ten barák zvenku a ona potom chtěla, zkusili jsme jít dovnitř, šli jsme zezadu dvorem, a tam byla vrátnice, já jsem prosila, že jsme tu svého času bydleli, jestli by byli tak laskavi, ale oni tak laskavi nebyli a vyhodili nás. Ona byla ještě s manželem Američanem, takže to dělalo velmi dobrý dojem. No co se dá dělat.

Q: Jezdili vaši rodiče někam na dovolenou?

A: Rodiče jezdili na dovolenou. Hodně do Rakouska. Oni tam měli spoustu příbuzných a známých a tatínek trpěl na revmatismus, takže on jezdil do Piešťan, ale jezdil i do Badgasstein v Rakousku, ten jezdil většinou takhle po těch lázních, poněvadž on někdy nemohl vůbec chodit. A maminka dost s příbuznými a s tetami a tak cestovala, hodně v Rakousku, my jsme byli v Itálii, to jsme byli u moře, když jsme byly malý, to si pamatuju, to s maminkou, a ještě tenkrát taky tatínek. Pak jsme byly ve Švýcarsku, maminka s náma taky jezdila, ale my jsme byly potom v penzionátu ve Švýcarsku, dvakrát s náma byla maminka a bydlela zvlášť a jednou jsme už potom byly samy, abysme se učily francouzsky.

Q: A na jak dlouho to bylo?

A: No o prázdninách na měsíc. Já jsem uměla francouzsky skutečně jako česky, ale už jsem to zapomněla do značné míry, dneska umím líp anglicky než francouzsky.

Q: Měli jste doma nějakou pomocnici v domácnosti?

A: Jo, měli.

Q: A někoho, kdo pomáhal rodičům vás hlídat?

A: Taky jsme měli. Měli jsme kuchařku, takovou na úklid a tak a ještě chodila, když bylo velké prádlo, tak chodila ještě pradlena a pak jsme měli slečnu k dětem.

Q: Měli jste jí rádi?

A: Když jsem byla malá, jo. Ale potom nějak mě to vadilo…

Q: Jedli jste doma košer?

A: Ne, ani babička už nevařila košer.

Q: Dodržovali jste doma nějaký svátky?

A: Jak jsem vám řekla Jom Kipur, na Chanuka jsme rozžehli svíčky, ale jenom my děti, to bylo naše. A jinak dohromady nic, na den úmrtí a na narozeniny tatínek taky svíčky zapálil, ale jinak doma nic, ne.

Q: Jak často jste chodili do synagogy?

A: Na vysoké svátky.

Q: A šabat jste dodržovali?

A: Vůbec ne.

Q: Chodila jste do školky?

A: Do školky ne, my jsme měli slečnu.

Q: Můžete mi říct něco víc o té škole, kam jste chodila?

A: To byla do normální obecná škola, pak jsem chodila do gymnázia. Čtyry roky v Mikulově, v Mikulově bylo německé gymnázium a pak jsem přešla na vlastní žádost do Břeclavi do českého gymnázia.

Q: A proč?

A: Tam byl velký antisemitismus a mě to otrávilo.

Q: Jaký jste měla oblíbený předměty ve škole?

A: Všecky jazyky, já jsem se učila jazyky jako opice a neměla jsem ráda matiku, na to je zatížená naše rodina, my jsme byli všichni blbí na matiku, teda otec snad ne, aspoň kupecké počty uměl, ale my jsme byli blbí, moji synové byli blbí a vnučka je blbá na matiku, všichni vždycky na jazyky hlavně. A pak jsem chodila do Břeclavi do gymnázia a tam jsem udělala kvintu a sextu a pak přišel osmatřicátý rok a my jsme šli do Brna a tam jsem zase na vlastní žádost pokračovala na židovském gymnáziu. To bylo s českým vyučovacím jazykem, ale židovské gymnázium, to jsem už nechtěla chodit jinam. A tam jsem maturovala a tam se potom stáhli z celé republiky, když už Židi nesměli nikde jinde učit, židovské učitele na tuhle školu. A my jsme měli některé úplně vynikající lidi. Například jeden, ten učil dějepis a filosofickou propedeutiku, to byl jediný židovský docent na brněnské univerzitě, to byl úplně vynikající člověk, pak jsme měli úplně vynikající učitelku biologie, já jsem byla spíš furt zatížená na ty jazyky a na dějepis a na takové věci, na literaturu hrozně, to mě bavilo, to jsem vždycky znala víc než ten učitel pomalu ze světové literatury, poněvadž jsem hodně četla. Potom jsem se díky té učitelce zapálila do té biologie.

Q: Chodila jste do nějakého kroužku nebo na jazyky mimo školu?

A: Jo. Já jsem se stále učila jazyky mimo školu, tu francouzštinu a angličtinu taky.

Q: A třeba ještě něco jinýho? Jestli jste třeba hrála na nějakej hudební nástroj…

A: Hrála jsem na klavír, ale to nebyl kroužek, to jsem měla učitelku. Pak jsem chodila do těch židovských mládežnických organizací.

Q: Když jste chodila do školy, měla jste židovský kamarády ve škole nebo to bylo jedno nebo jak to bylo?

A: To jsem měla.

Q: Co jste podnikala s kamarády, když jste chodila do školy?

A: Hráli jsme si jako všecky děti, nic zvláštního.

Q: Co jste dělala ve volném čase?

A: No četla jsem hlavně hodně, sportovala jsem dost, ale hodně jsem četla.

Q: Jezdila jste na prázdniny s kamarádama někam?

A: Rodiče mi bránili, to jsem vždycky velmi těžce nesla, že jsem musela vždycky kam veleli rodiče, do toho Švýcarska, potom jsem byla ráda, že jsem se naučila jazyky tak dobře, ale tenkrát jsem to považovala za těžkou urážku, že jsem nemohla na letní tábor s těma dětma. Teprve až když jsme byli v Brně. A to už měli naši jiný starosti, než nás tak hlídat, to jsem potom jela na jeden zimní tábor.

Q: Jak dlouho jste v tom Brně byli?

A: ´39 - ´40.

Q: A pak jste jeli do tý Itálie?

A: Pak jsme byli vypovězený, pak jsme jeli do tý Itálie.

Q: Vzpomněla byste si, kdy jste prvně jela v autě?

A: To si nevzpomenu. Brzy. To nebyl žádný problém, my jsme jezdili každou chvíli do Vídně, to jsme jezdili autem.

Q: A měli vaši rodiče auto?

A: Ne, rodiče neměli dlouho auto, ale to byl takový špeditér, to se vždycky najal a jelo se do tý Vídně. A potom byly auta ve firmě, v obchodě. A maminka s tatínkem se taky učili jezdit, a to už jsme byli trochu starší. A maminka se dobře naučila, ta potom jezdila i v Americe, ale tatínek, ten na to byl levej. Jednou myslím málem skončil ve škarpě ještě v Mikulově a to mu maminka potom zakázala jezdit a v Americe se o to ani nepokoušel. To ho vozila maminka. Ale jezdit autem to nebyl žádnej problém. Asi když mi bylo pět, ještě žádný nebylo, ale na to si nepamatuju. Co si tak pamatuju, tak jsme jezdili autem.

Q: Chodili jste s rodičema do restaurace třeba na jídlo?

A: No, když jsme byli někde na letním bytě, jo, nebo když jsme byli ve Vídni, ale ve Vídni taky většinou ne, poněvadž jsme byli u nějakých příbuzných. A v Mikulově kam bysme chodili do restaurace.

Q: Učili vás vaši rodiče něco o židovství? Třeba jestli vám povídali o těch svátcích nebo cokoli…

A: Rodiče ne, my jsme chodili na náboženství, takže to říkal v obecné škole kantor a na gymnáziu rabín, a naši asi předpokládali, že to stačí. Já podezírám maminku, že toho taky moc nevěděla.

Q: Měla jste nějakej oblíbenej svátek, když jste byla malá?

A: Jo, Chanuka se mi líbilo a Simchat Tora, a když jsem byla starší, tak Purim, protože byl bál židovskej, tak to už jsem směla, když už mi bylo šestnáct a sedmnáct, tak to se mi líbilo. A na Purim jsme taky jako děti hrávali divadlo. To zase ten spolek židovských žen organizoval, to se mi líbilo.

Q: Můžete mi říct něco víc o tý válce, jak to s váma bylo?

Tape two, side A

A: V osmatřicátým roce jsme z Mikulova utekli do Brna, když obsadili Němci Sudety. Ve 40 roce si zavolali otce na Vystěhovalecký úřad a sdělili mu, že do týdne musí opustit protektorát a Reich, což nebyla žádná švanda, protože to už bylo za války. A do žádné země spojenců nebylo možno dostat vízum, když člověk byl po vypuknutí války tady na území německém. Ale Někteří bratři tatínkovi, ty už byli v Anglii. Já jsem měla jednoho strýce, který byl velmi aktivní sionista a po tom okamžitě šli. A jemu se podařilo ilegálně utéct do Polska a odtamtud se dostal do Anglie. Nakonec bylo jediné místo na světě, kam člověk mohl s J pasem (Němci zavedli pro židy pasy, tam bylo velké červené J každá žena Sára, takže já jsem byla Liselotta Sára Teltscherová). S takovým pasem se člověk dostal jenom do Šanghaje. Tam stačila nějaká nevelká suma peněz, na důkaz, že nebude hned na obtíž úřadům. Tak to nějak ty příbuzný v Anglii otci poslali a my jsme do týdne odjeli do Itálie, tam se čekalo, do Šanghaje jela loď vždycky jenom jednou měsíčně, tak tam se muselo čekat, mezitím nás chtěli vrátit hitlerští fašisté, protože jsme tam seděli. Ale já jsem tam dostala studentský certifikát, což byla vzácnost a každý muž měl za svým jménem jméno Izrael a k a to mi zařídil právě ten strýc, protože měl styky. Takže já jsem mohla jet do tý Palestiny, ale nebylo to tak jednoduchý, protože Palestina to byl tenkrát britský mandát. To znamená, že i tam se nemohlo jet, když někdo byl v protektorátu po vypuknutí války. My jsme byli v Terstu a tam se hemžilo židovskými emigranty z celé Evropy a co nevěděl jeden, věděl druhý, tak jsme se dozvěděli, že ve Fiumě, to je dnešní Rijeka, byl starý německý konzul , který byl prý strašně slušný a vydával prý lidem pasy bez toho J, aby se mohli někam dostat a vůbec šel židům na ruku. Takže mě tatínek sebral a šli jsme tam. On si totiž tatínek vymyslel takovou historku, že bych mohla říct, že jsem se ilegálně dostala do Jugoslávie, že jsem z Jugoslávie ilegálně přešla hranice do Itálie a že teďka jsem tady a tak dále. Ten konzul byl opravdu tak slušnej, že mi vydal pas – to vám vykládám, abyste věděla, že nebyli všichni fašisti. Tím jsem se dostala do tý Palestiny pak. Tím, že jsme byli vypovězení, to nám zachránilo život. Nikdo, kdo tady žil, ani ty v Rakousku, nikdo to nepřežil. Jenom ta moje rodina a ti dva bratři tatínkovi, kteří byli v Anglii, ale pokud zůstal někdo tady, tak nikdo to nepřežil. Takže jsem jela do toho Jeruzaléma a zbytek rodiny jel do Šanghaje.

Q: Když jste se vrátila z toho Jeruzaléma, tak jste se vrátila rovnou do Prahy?

A: Do Prahy jsem se vrátila...Teda takhle, blízko Mikulova, v městečku Miroslav jsem měla dobré známé, tak jsem jela tam, tam jsem byla asi dva týdny a pak zpět do Prahy a tady jsem si hledala místo a tak.

Q: Ve kterém roce jste se vrátila?

A: V šestačtyřicátém.

Q: Proč jste se rozhodla, že po válce zůstanete tady v České republice? Nechtěla jste třeba někam emigrovat?

A: Ne, nechtěla, mně už stačila emigrace, to není taková radost. Na to musí mít člověk povahu. Kdybych byla ovšem tušila, co mě tu čeká, tak jsem si to sakramentsky rozmyslela. Já jsem velmi litovala, že jsem se vrátila, já jsem měla všecky cesty otevřený. Já jsem byla přijatá na jednu univerzitu v Leedsu v Anglii, mohla bych tam jít nebo bych byla mohla s rodičema. Takže jenom tohle .. já jsem chtěla budovat socialismus, protože jsem byla zaslepená, nevěděla jsem, co činím a velmi jsem toho litovala, ale tenkrát jsem nechtěla.

Q: Jela jste se podívat do Mikulova, když jste se vrátila?

A: No jela jsem tam pro ty papíry, jak jsem vám vykládala a setkala jsem se tam s jedním Židem, který se vrátil. Němci už byli odsunutí a teď jsme potkali jednoho řezníka. A to byl Němec jako poleno, hrozný nacionalista, a já říkám jak to, že tady zůstal? No to je prý politický vězeň. Já povídám cože? A on mně řekl no tak on za Němců šmelil, ti ho za to zabásli a díky tomu tam zůstal a takových věcí tam bylo víc, ale to jsou maličkosti. Pro mě to byl hřbitov, tam ze všech Židů se po válce vrátili čtyři. Řada emigrovala, to je pravda, hlavně ti mladí, se dostali do Palestiny, někteří byli v Anglii, ale to jich bylo pár... Ne já bych tam byla nejela a děkovala jsem pánubohu, že ty moje rodiče sem nejeli, protože oni se původně chtěli vrátit. A v Praze by byt nedostali, vrátili by jim dům v Mikulově. A při té myšlence, že by matka měla žít na místě, kde vyrostla s rodičema a byly kolem ní jenom samé to ..., to nejde, to prostě nejde. Já dodneška nerada jezdím do Mikulova.

Q: Já se teď posunu trošku dál, k tomu období komunismu. Byla jste někdy členkou strany?

A: Jo.

Q: Jak dlouho?

A: No já jsem vstoupila v Palestině do strany. Jak dlouho? No až mě vyhodili. Protože vystoupit člověk to... já jsem tomu věřila, v Palestině byla ilegální strana, tam byli samí idealisti, samosebou se nic nevědělo tohle že..., jenom se věřilo, že by všichni lidi měli mít stejně možnosti. Tak jsem se vrátila jako členka strany.

Q: A v té Palestině, to byla česká komunistická strana?

A: Ne, Komunistická strana Palestiny, to byla společně arabská a židovská, malá ilegální. No a jela jsem sem a vstoupila jsem tady. Mně to bylo hned hrozně divné ty poměry tady, ale tak jsem si furt říkala, to jsou takové dětské nemoci a věřila jsem tomu do roku ´52, do “Slánskiády”. Pak jsem viděla teprve zač je toho loket. To jsem měla první velký proces, to mě chtěli vyhodit, to začali tvrdit, že jsem sionistka a já nevím co a že jsem spolupracovala se Slánským. Že jsem se chodila radit se souvěrcema na ústředním výboru, tam moje noha v životě nevkročila. Že jsem se radila se Slánským, on Slánský byl sionista. No šílené. Že jsem špion. No a to já si pamatuju, jak jsem v noci nespala, říkala jsem si probůh, no něco jsem musela udělat. No něco jsem musela udělat, když si všichni myslí, že jsem špion. No já jsem tomu mechanismu nerozuměla. No a potom, jak se ukázalo, tak jsem to nebyla jenom já, ale všichni židi, dokonce dělníci. Já jsem měla známého dělníka v Autopraga a ten měl taky tehdy potíže. Takže to jsem začala chápat oč jde. To ale nebylo nic platný, protože vystoupit člověk nemohl. No, mohl vystoupit, ale to už pak měl člověk strach. Péťu už jsem v té době měla a člověk nevěděl kam půjde když vyletí, bydleli jsme v ústavním bytě, vyhodí nás na ulici? Co budu dělat? Vystoupit ze strany znamenalo konec všeho. Takže jsem seděla ve straně a ničemu jsem nevěřila. Až mě vyhodili z tý strany, byla jsem ráda. Jenom jsem nebyla ráda a to jsem věděla, že to znamená vyhazov z práce. Ale to už děti byly vetší, ještě jsem je měla doma, ale to se nedalo holt nic dělat. No ale to byla taková zvláštní věc, špatný svědomí za to, že bych byla ve straně, že bych někoho a konto toho poškodila, že bych měla nějaké výhody, tak to já absolutně nemám. Protože já jsem nikdy žádné výhody neměla. Naopak, kdykoliv se ve straně něco šustlo a to se šustlo často, tak vždycky jsem měla...v roce 1958 to byly ty třídně politické prověrky, to jsem chodila půl roku s výpovědí v kapse, pak se to zase obrátilo. No a to bylo pokaždé. Pak jsem seděla na místě, kde byl požadavek, že musím udělat kandidaturu. No to byly scény. To jsem měla dělat na univerzitě, dálkově při práci. A to mi strana nedala potvrzení, závodní organizace napsala, že nechodím na schůze, což byla lež. Já jsem se snažila chodit na každou schůzi aby mi nemohli nic říct. Že nemám zájem, no ty nejhorší věci. To jsem ale měla kamarády na univerzitě, tam jsem předtím už přednášela, měli mě tam rádi. No a oni bez mého vědomí, když viděli, že mám posudek ze závodní organizace, že bych tu kandidaturu nikdy nemohla udělat, tak to nějak obšlápli a já jsem byla jediná myslím aspirantka v Československu, která udělala kandidaturu bez posudku závodní organizace. Takže vždycky se našli lidi, ale pokaždý jsem měla potíže. Takže, že bych z toho tyla to vůbec ne, to bych asi nedokázala. To se přiznávám, já jsem to dělala kvůli dětem. Já jsem vždycky říkala, že ta strana je svinská záležitost, protože nedávají člověku možnost než rozhodnout se mezi dvěma zlými věcmi. Mohla jste se rozhodnout, chci poškodit rodinu, nebo chci dělat něco proti svému svědomí. Já se přiznám, že bych proti svým dětem nic nedělala.

Q: A ve kterém roce Vás vyhodili?

A: No v tom devětašedesátém.

Q: Teď se Vás ještě zeptám na tohleto období totality. Stýkala jste se s ostatními Židy, měla jste židovské přátele?

A: Za totality? No měla, ale přes manžela zase, jsem měla obojí.

Q: A mluvili jste někdy s židovskými přáteli o židovství, o tématech s tím spojenými?

A: No samosebou.

Q: Můžu se zeptat, jak jste se seznámila se svým manželem?

A: No v práci. My jsme oba byli ve stejném Ústavu.

Q: A kde jste měli svatbu?

A: V Praze.

Q: Ale jako na úřadě?

A: No kde jinde.

Q: Hrálo nějakou roli ve Vašem rozhodování jestli se vezmete, to, že není Žid?

A: Jo. Já jsem vždycky každému napřed řekla, že jsem Židovka, tak aby se mnou nemluvil jestli nechce. Tak jemu když jsem to řekla, a že bychom se snad neměli vzít. On se tehdy rozčílil a řekl mi, za koho mě máš. Pak se ale ukázalo, že už... Petr se narodil v dvaapadesátém roce, ten rok, co začala Slanskiáda. A to už do něj začali hučet dobrý soudruzi aby se mě zřekl, že jsem si ho vzala, jen abych se ze něj schovala. Abych zestřela tou svou sionistickou tohle, proto jsem si nechala svoje jméno např. atd. atd., a on nebyl úplně odolný, musím říct. On byl introvert a pro něho to bylo mnohem horší než pro mě. Já jsem si zařvala a nějak jsem to ze sebe dostala a on to žral všechno do sebe a těžce to celý ty léta nosil, ne to, že jsem Židovka, ale to že po mně pořád jdou. On věděl, že jsou to všichni tohle.. Ale tenkrát, když do něho hučeli... protože než jsme se měli brát, on se mě ptal, „Proč si mě nechceš vzít“? A já mu řekla „No podívej, já jsem Židovka a budu s tím mít nepříjemnosti”. A potom on tedy pod tím jejich vlivem přišel a zeptal se, jak jsem věděla už tehdy, že budu mít nepříjemnosti. Tak jsem se naštvala, a říkám mu jednoduše vždyť víš, že jsem se stýkala se Slánským a on mi tehdy zavolal a řekl Teltscherová, dej si pozor, budu teď dělat špionážní práci, tak aby tě to nezabarvilo. No tak se zastyděl a nikdy už o tom nechtěl slyšet. On nebyl špatný člověk, on byl slaboch.

Q: Co tomu říkala Vaše rodina, že jste si vzala někoho kdo není Žid, vadilo jim to?

A: Moje sestra si taky vzala nežida, to jim nevadilo.

Q: Potom, když jste byla vdaná, tak jste asi moc nedodržoval židovský svátky nebo tradice. Nebo jak to bylo?

A: Tak jako předtím, já jsem předtím nic nedodržovala. Přestala jsem se postit na Yom kipur v Palestině. V Palestině ti neortodoxní nedrží vůbec nic, přesto že spousta z nich byla z východu, kde byli všichni doma z opravdu pobožných rodin, ale tam se nic nedrží, tak tam jsem si všechno odvykla. Takže pro mě to nebyl žádný přechod.

Q: A chodila jste do synagogy?

A: Ne, no takhle, podívat se to jo, ale abych tam chodila nějak pravidelně to ne. To teďka chodím na Yom kipur do synagogy, ale tenkrát ne.

Q: Co pro Vás znamenalo, když vzniknul Izrael jako stát?

A: No to znamenalo hodně, já jsem to tam zažila, jak to vypadalo, tak to jsem samosebou měla radost, že vzniknul stát, přestože jsem nebyla sionistka v tom smyslu, že bych tam byla musela, ale potom všem musím říct, že lituju, že jsem tam nezůstala. Tam jsem byla mezi svými, tam kdyby proti mně někdo něco měl, tak jsem věděla proč. Tady člověk nevěděl proč.

Q: A byla jste tam potom ještě někdy?

A: Jistě, já jsem byla už třikrát v Palestině, v Izraeli tedy.

Q: A kdy to bylo?

A: Teďka, už po devadesátém roce, předtím nebyla žádná možnost.

Q: A jak dlouho jste tam byla?

A: Vždycky jenom na pár týdnů, tak na dva týdny. Já tam mám spoustu přátel a oni taky jezdí za mnou, takže to není problém.

Q: Když jste se vrátila zpátky do České republiky a Vaše rodina byla v těch Spojených státech, jestli jste s nima mohla nějak komunikovat?

A: No ze začátku ne, protože jsem měla vachrlaté postavení a jednou nohou jsem byla pořád mimo ústav, tak to by mi bylo ještě scházelo. Takže o rodičích se vůbec nemluvilo, jenom jsem tady měla tetu, ona byla původně vdaná za jednoho bratra mého otce, pak si vzala někoho jiného, takže už nebyla moje teta, ale byla to dobrá přítelkyně mojí matky. Ona byla také v Šanghaji a vrátila se a rodiče pak psali jí a ona mi to posílala a já jsem jim psala zase přes ní. To byly takové styky, dokonce když se mi narodil Petr, tak mi sestra poslala (ona ta její dcera byla starší) nějaké dětské věci a to všecko šlo k tetě a takhle přes ní se to…

Q: A ta teta bydlela taky v Praze?

A: Ne, ona bydlela v Miroslavi na Jižní Moravě.

Q: Až potom v čtyryašedesátém roce byly rodiče poprvé v Praze, takže až tehdy jsem je viděla poprvé po válce.

A: To je hrozně dlouhá doba..

Q: A teprve potom, to už jsem byla v Akademii věd, kde byla velmi rozumná kádrovačka. V tom ústavu rostlinné výroby bych si to nemohla doposledka dovolit. A tam jsme to hlásili, že tam mám rodiče a už to bylo dobrý, už jsem si s nima dopisovala. A potom jsem byla v Americe.

Q: A kdy jste tam byla?

A: No já jsem tam byla několikrát. Jednou jsem byla v Americe, když mamince už bylo špatně, tam se to na rozdíl od Čech říkalo, když měl člověk rakovinu, takže maminka to věděla, měla také operaci. A potom se to vrátilo. Ona měla rakovinu prsu, takže jí vzali prs a to bylo ještě před tím, v třiašedesátém roce. V čtyřiašedesátém byla tady v Praze, byla v pořádku. A po dvou letech se to vrátilo a to bylo na plíce a nedalo se to operovat. Takže už věděla a tehdy mě pozvala a kupodivu mi dokonce, když byla na smrt nemocná, dali povolení vycestovat, takže jsem ty rodiče ještě viděla. A potom jsem byla v Americe v devětašedesátém, to už žil jenom tatínek a to jsem jela služebně. To jsem byla myslím jediná nebo dva jsme byli z republiky, kteří jsme byli vyslaný na Mezinárodní botanický kongres v Seattlu a to je blízko. No a to byla moje labutí píseň. Já jsem měla dobrého přítele profesora v Michiganu na univerzitě, on tady byl taky, tak ten mě potom pozval a já jsem tam byla půl roku na stáži. A tady mezitím vyhodili Dubčeka atd. A já jsem věděla, že přijedu, že mě vyrazí odevšad, tak to se nedalo nic dělat.

Q: Poslouchala jste nějaký rádia jako Svobodnou Evropu nebo Hlas Ameriky?

A: Snažila jsem se poslouchat Svobodnou Evropu, ale ono se to strašně blbě poslouchalo, my jsme bydleli v Ruzyni a tam to bylo hrozný. Akorát když jsme byli na chalupě, tak tam jsme to poslouchali. Já jsem hodně poslouchala Rádio Vídeň, dneska se to nedá chytit, oni pak změnili vlnovou délku, ale tenkrát se to dobře poslouchalo, takže člověk měl nějaké informace. Hlas Ameriky taky, ale to taky nebylo moc dobrý, ale Svobodná Evropa nebyla skoro vůbec slyšet. Až pak v šedesátých letech, když to bylo uvolněný, tak se to dalo.

Q: Měla jste přístup k nějakým samizdatovým časopisům nebo knihám?

A: No sem tam jsem něco dostala, ale...

Q: Váš život po osmdesátémdevátém roce, jak se to změnilo a tak?

A: To není nijak moc zajímavý, protože se dvakrát moc nezměnilo. Měla jsem samosebou velkou radost, protože už se to snad nikdy nevrátí a ty další generace nebudou muset prožít to co my, ačkoliv teďka to vypadá hnusně na tom světě. Není to žádná radost, je spousta jiných problémů, třeba nepolitických, ekologických a všelico, že vlastně ty mladé lituju, že to nemají až tak dobrý, ale tenkrát po revoluci si to nikdo nepřipouštěl. Ale pro mě osobně se toho tolik nezměnilo, já už jsem byla přestárlá.

Q: A změnilo se po tom osmdesátémdevátém něco, co se týká vaší židovský identity?

A: Jo, no začala jsem chodit pravidelně chodit… to vlastně bylo už dřív ještě za komunistů – když mě vyhodili, tak jsem začala chodit na obec, to už jsem si to mohla dovolit, ale předtím dokud jsem pracovala jsem si musela dávat stále pozor… takže celý židovský život se zintenzívnil, začalo se víc akcí a tak, tak jsem se zapojila (to už za komunistů jsem dělala takovou tu sociální práci), ale to se zintenzívnilo teď, tak toho se zúčastňuju, dělám sociální práci ňákou takovou.

Q: Jak trávíte volný čas?

A: Čtu, dřív jsem chodila velmi ráda do divadel, teďka mám potíže, protože velmi špatně slyším, tak vždycky ne všemu rozumím, taky nemám tolik peněz, abych mohla chodit pořád a do koncertů chodíme jednou měsíčně, no a potom v létě, my máme chalupu v jižních Čechách a tam trávím veškerý čas na zahradě, já jsem tam tu zahradu založila, ona je velmi krásná, já jsem se tam hojila z toho, že už s těma kytkama nemůžu nic mít. V létě opravdu nemám čas, protože musím pracovat tam.

Q: Jste členkou Židovské obce v Praze?

A: Ano.

Q: Podílíte se nějakým způsobem na její činnosti?

A: Ano. Dělám v Komisi žen a potom jsem pomocnice v sociálním oddělení, chodím za lidma, kteří to potřebujou, mám takový opravdu… jeden zvlášť případ takový, kde ten člověk je na mně hodně závislý, druhou taky, to byla moje přítelkyně, ona je prakticky slepá, já jí chodím číst. A ten druhý, to je člověk ochrnutý, ten je hodně závislý, aby k němu chodili lidi, poněvadž sedí v křesle a nemůže se hnout. Tak jenom takové věci. Žádný velký funkce jsem nechtěla. Já myslím, že tohle je hodně důležitý. A to ne každý dělá s nadšením, protože je to jenom práce, není to tolik vidět.

Q: Jste členkou nějaké židovské organizace?

A: Komise žen a WIZO.

Q: Co pro vás znamená členství v takové organizaci?

A: Znamená to to, že mám pocit, že někomu pomáhám. Je mi taky příjemný, že je to taková práce neokázalá. Po veškerých zkušenostech a po všech těch peripetiích opravdu nemám žádnou potřebu se nějak zviditelnit nebo dělat nějaké funkce. A to mi vyhovuje, poněvadž já mám pocit, že to je užitečný. Já zvlášť u toho ochrnutého pána, to je vzácný člověk, ten má za sebou život, to je něco úplně zvláštního, co ten prožil. A vím, že má radost, když přijdu a že mu to pomáhá, z takových věcí mám radost. Ty gratulace, to jsem ze začátku trošku podceňovala, ale teď vidím, že je spousta takových lidí, který jsou sami a opuštěný a maj vyloženě radost. A pokud něco potřebujou, tak to můžu jít dát dál, na to sociální oddělení. Tak mám dojem, že to je v rámci mých ubohých možností užitečný, tak proto mě to těší. To WIZO? To je spíš taková společenská záležitost tady. Jinak to má nějaký sionistický účely, občas se dělá sbírka… Ten můj poměr k sionismu je trochu ambivalentní, ne že bych nebyla sionistkou, nebo byla nějak proti, ale nesdílám vždycky ty názory, které se tady normálně je možno slyšet. Je tam vždycky nějaký hezký program. Je tam kulturní program, máme předsedkyni, která po této stránce je velmi šikovná, úžasně dobře organizuje, takže máme hodnotné ty kulturní programy a taky jezdíme spolu po vlastech českých a v Německu jsme byly, v Berlíně, v židovském muzeu, je to zajímavé, a člověk musí někam patřit.

Q: Které židovské svátky doma slavíte?

A: Chodím do synagogy, chodím na maskir, chdím s mou vnučkou, protože ta na to klade důraz, ale abych nějak… No moje vnučka zapálila například na chanuka svíčky, to se jí velmi líbí, tak to dělá, zapaluju svíčky za zemřelé, ale jinak… Na vysoké svátky chodím do synagogy. Já dohromady nevařím vůbec, jenomkdyž přijdou děti, nebo když mám hosty, protože já pro sebe nedokážu vařit, takže nemůžu vařit ani košer protože… Vnučce je osmnáct let.

Q: Zúčastňujete se společných oslav některých svátků s ostatními členy obce nebo přáteli?

A: Abych chodila, tam je to vždycky večer, to se mi nechce… Ne, nějak aby to bylo pravidlem, že bych chodila, ne. Dřív jsem chodila na to Chanuka, nebo na Purim na obec, teďka už ne.

Q: Jakou úlohu hraje náboženství ve vašem životě?

A: Nepříliš velikou. Hraje úlohu proto, že to je rodinná tradice.

Q: Tak to je všechno. Děkuju moc.

A: Nemáte zač.

Tape three, side A

Q: Minule jsme se nedostali k tomu, v kterym roce se narodil ten váš muž, jestli si vzpomenete…

A: Asi taky ´21.

Q: K těm vašim zaměstnáním, co jste dělala v důchodu, jak se to tak různě střídalo… já tady mám napsaný, co jste dělala, ale oni by chtěli vědět, v kterých letech…

A: V sedmasedmdesátém jsem šla do penze, to jsem napřed dělala ve výrobě tablet, tam jsem byla tak asi rok, potom v tiskárně, to byl další rok, a pak jsem dělala v tom PISu, to jsem dělala tu tlumočnici, to jsem dělala asi dva roky. A pak jsem byla v pojišťovně, to jsem dělala tu korespondentku, to bylo taky asi dva roky nebo tři roky. A potom jsem učila, to jsem byla už na volné noze, pak jsem učila ty jazyky, jezdila jsem do těch kurzů od toho Domu techniky a tak. A asi dva nebo tři roky poté, co jsem začala učit, jsem pak začala překládat.

Q: Otázka na vaší sestru: vy jste mi říkala, že dělala v Šanghaji i ve Spojených státech sekretářku, věděla byste, v jaký firmě?

A: To vám vůbec nepovím. Poněvadž já jsem s nima měla takový sporadický styk. A pak když jsem potom už byla hodně stará a byla jsem v Americe atakdále, no tak jsme se bavili o jiných věcech, to už nebylo tak zajímavý.

Q: Vy jste říkala, že ona žije blízko San Francisca, to je nějaká vesnice nebo město.

A: Tam to všechno souvisí, to je jedno hrabství takzvané a teďka ono to má různý jména, ale všechno to souvisí.

Q: Vy jste říkala, že ten váš muž strávil mládí v Protivíně, ale narodil se někde jinde a nebyla jste si jistá, kde…

A: Počkejte…. Já nevím… někde na Vysočině, spíš na jihu.

Q: Teď se ještě zeptám na toho vašeho syna, co byl v Americe, v kterým městě nebo kde tam žil?

A: Ve státě Upper New York, jmenovalo se to Oneon, to je malé město.

Q: Váš tatínek žil v těch Spojených státech taky někde u toho San Francisca?

A: Ten žil přímo, rodiče žili přímo v San Franciscu.

Q: Těďko tady mám ty vaše prarodiče z tatínkový strany. Vy jste říkala, že jste je nezažila, ale jestli přece jenom nějaký informace o nich, já nevím, jak se jmenovali třeba…

A: Otec se jmenoval Bernard a matka se jmenovala Johanna.

Q: Jak se jmenovala babička za svobodna?

A: Spitzerová.

Q: A pak se jmenovali Teltscherovi.

A: Jo.

Q: Takže pocházeli z Rakouska?

A: Z Moravy. Když oni žili, tak to bylo Rakousko. Dědeček pocházel z Mikulova, myslím, že babička z Miroslavi a přestěhovala se tam.

Q: A celý život žili potom v tom Mikulově?

A: Jo.

Q: A věděla byste, kdy a kde zemřeli?

A: Zemřeli v Mikulově, ale kdy, to já nevím. Mám tady… to zhotovila jedna moje sestřenice, která už umřela, ta se velmi zajímala o rodinné svazky a mám tady takový rodokmen celé rodiny. To vám ukážu, jestli vás to bude zajímat.

Q: To by mě moc zajímalo…. A věděla jste, jaký měli vzdělání?

A: No asi základní, předpokládám.

Q: Co dělali? Čím se živili?

A: Dědeček byl obchodníkem vína. Myslím, že on začal s tou firmou, že on to založil.

Q: A to bylo tak, že oni vlastnili ten obchod.

A: Ano.

Q: A věděla byste něco o tom, jak byli pobožný? Jestli něco dodržovali?

A: No tak, nebyli asi bůhvíjak pobožný, ale pobožný rozhodně byli.

Q: A košer třeba drželi?

A: No to určitě, to určitě, v té době to bylo samozřejmý.

Q: A svátky taky dodržovali?

A: No to určitě taky. Já jsem je nezažila, ale to je samozřejmý, to se všechno v tý době dodržovalo. Moji prarodiče z matčiny strany ty taky původně byli ještě pobožný a teprve v průběhu přestali být až tak pobožný, ale určitý věci dodržovali.

Q: Rodný jazyk obou byla němčina?

A: Ano.

Q: Měli nějaký sourozence?

A: Určitě měli, ale já vám nic přesně o tom neřeknu…

Q: Ještě se vás zeptám na vaší maminku. Já jsem u ní napsala, že platí totéž jako u tatínka, co se týká náboženství, ale oni chtějí to přece jenom nějak specifikovat. Jestli je třeba něco, co mezi nima byl nějakej rozdíl, jestli by se to dalo nějak…

A: Ne, to bych řekla, že ne. To prostě bylo v rodině, že jo, oni se o ty věci spolu nehádali…

Q: Teď tady mám, že vaše maminka měla jednoho bratra, a můžete mi o něm něco říct?

A: No tak on žil s rodinou potom v Brně, měl továrnu na lepidla nebo něco takovýho… Zahynul jako bojovník v ghettu Varšava. Jmenoval se Ervín.

Q: Ještě se vás zeptám na dědečka z maminčiný strany, jestli víte, kdy a kde zemřel?

A: No, zemřel, já dokonce vím, kde, v Treblince.

Q: Ještě jednou k tomu dědečkovi, jestli chodil nějak zvláštně oblíkaný, jestli nosil třeba kipu nebo…

A: Nic takového, oni nakonec ani košer nejedli.

Q: A říkala jste, že jste k nim chodili na ten seder, že jo?

A: Na ten seder jsme tam chodili, takže oni určité elementární věci dodržovali.

Q: A vzpomenete si třeba, co ještě jinýho? Jestli ještě nějaký jiný svátky slavili?

A: No tak samosebou, slavil se Jom Kipur a všecko teda… Na svátky chodili dědečeka babička do synagogy, moji rodiče na vysoké svátky taky. Zvlášť můj otec, protože na vysokých svátkách se odříkává vzpomínka na mrtvý a to tatínek nevynechal. Tak takové jako tradiční věci, to se dodržovalo, jo, ale nejedlo se už košer, takové ty formální věci, to ne. Kipa se samosebou nenosila, to vůbec ne, ale takové ty tradiční záležitosti, to jistě jo.

Q: A mohla byste mi třeba říct něco víc o těch svátcích, vy jste říkala, že na ten Pesach jste k nim chodili, na ten seder…

A: To byl seder, to je domácí oslava, tak proto.

Q: A řeknete mi, jak to probíhalo?

A: To sedí celá rodina kolem stolu, je to tradiční… jsou jednak macesy a hořké koření, to má symbolický význam… A on ten předsedající čte historii toho odchodu Židů z otroctví z Egypta. A on to čte a teďka se při určitých pasážích jí to hořké koření, pije se taky myslím čtyři sklenice vína při požehnání nebo něco takového, takže i děti, takže dostali malinko vína a zředilo se to vodou, ale museli to pít a potom nejmladší se ptá čtyři otázky: Proč se slaví a tak. My jsme se to učili aj ve škole v náboženství, tak to byla velká věc, když to přednášel, poněvadž hebrejsky samosebou a ten předsedající to vysvětluje… Potom, když se to končí, tak je večeře slavnostní, to se taky jedí takové věci tradiční, například polívka s knedlíčky z macesový mouky, to je hrozně dobrý… A pak, po večeři se ještě dál modlí a zpívá se, ale to musím říct, že u nás už se nedělalo. Jenom ta večeře, potom se to rozpustilo. Takže už tady vidíte taky, že se to sice dodržovalo, je to tradice, ale že už se to nedělalo se všemi…

Q: To je právě to, co já potřebuju vědět… Kdo teda vedl… kdo byl ten předsedající, to byl dědeček?

A: To byl dědeček.

Q: A nejmladší byl…

A: To kolísalo, napřed jsem to byla já, protože už jsem chodila do školy, sestra sice byla mladší, ale ještě to neuměla… Pak byl bratranec, ten byl o rok mladší než já a o rok starší než sestra a další rok potom už sestra…

Q: Byli ještě nějaký jiný svátky, který jste slavili společně s babičkou a dědečkem?

A: To se neslavilo doma, to se chodilo do synagogy… Co se ještě dělalo doma, to bylo v pátek večer, to se nedrželo…

Q: A co třeba chanuka?

A: No chanuka to se slavilo, to vám hned řeknu, ale ještě Jom Kipur, to samosebou před tím se jí takové slavnostní jídlo a potom, tak to jo. Ale to byla jenom ta večeře, u toho nebyl žádný náboženský jiný obřad. Tak takové věci jo, že sváteční oběd nebo tak. No a chanuka… moje babička byla předsedkyní židovského spolku žen. Ona s tou mou tetou, která to dělala za WIZO, a to vždycky WIZO organizovalo nějaké divadelní vystoupení dětí.

Q: A tam vy jste třeba taky někdy hrála?

A: No samosebou. A babička, ty organizovaly zase takové velké pohoštění pro židovské děti a tam ty děti z nemajetných rodin dostaly dárky, takové dárky užitečné jo, a ty ostatní děti, to nám vždycky doma hodně kladli, že to je jenom symbolicky, jenom aby ty děti, co dostali dárky, neměli dojem, že jsou chudáci, tak aby všichni dostali a ty ostatní, to bylo jenom symbolicky. No a to organizovala moje babička.

Q: Takže to se slavilo jenom společně, ale doma jste to neslavili?

A: To se nedělalo doma. Stejně na Purim, to ten spolek žen vždycky organizoval bál taky ještě s jinou organizací. A ty peníze, které se utržily, to bylo vždycky na dobročinné úkoly samosebou.

Q: Teď mě ještě napadlo, ta teta z toho WIZO, to byla z který strany?

A: To byla manželka jednoho tátovýho bratra.

Q: A jak se jmenovala víte?

A: Ona se jmenovala Valérie Teltscherová.

Q: A můžete mi o ní ještě něco říct?

A: No jo, to byla vzdělaná žena. Ten její otec měl pronajatý statek v Mikulově, ale pak oni žili ve Vídni. A ona pocházela z Vídně a měla bratra, ten študoval zemědělství, otec na to dbal, a ona študovala taky zemědělství. Ale tenkrát ženy nemohly studovat, takže to studovala jenom nějak externě nebo něco a neměla titul, protože nemohla oficiálně… Ale byla velmi vzdělaná dáma. A ona byla velká sionistka a byla to předsedkyně WIZO a oni byli bohatí a ona se velmi zabývala dobročinnou činností. Ona byla duší toho všeho.

Q: Ještě se zeptám na tu babičku z maminčinný strany, jestli víte, kdy a kde zemřela?

A: Ta zemřela spolu s dědečkem v Treblince.

Q: Pak se zeptám ještě na toho babiččinýho bratra, toho Willyho, toho lékaře, vy jste říkala, že pocházel z toho Mauer, jak se to píše?

A: Mauer. Mauer bei Wien.

Q: Vy jste mi říkala o tom dědečkovi z maminčinný strany, že měl nějaký obchod s mýdlem a starým oblečením…

A. Ale to nějak neprosperovalo a když já jsem už brala rozum, tak on už to vlastně nedělal.

Q: A co pak dělal?

A: Tam byla nějaká banka a on tam byl nějaký ouředník nebo něco… Já nevím přesně… Já vím, že otec babičku a dědečka podporoval, že se jim nevedlo…

Q: Taky jste říkala o dědečkovi, že měl krásnou zahradu a chci se zeptat, kdo se o tu zahradu staral, jestli dědeček, nebo jestli měli nějakýho zahradníka?

A: Jestli tam měl nějakého dělníka, to možná jo, ale já o tom zase nevím. Poněvadž to nebylo u baráku, to bylo opodál… Dokavad dědeček ještě jako byl… mi jsme byli v Miroslavi, takže já tohle přesně nevím, jak to bylo. Asi jo, poněvadž to bylo velký, to nemohl dost dobře udělat sám.

Q: A pěstoval tam spíš jako zeleninu, ovoce, nebo měl nějaký okrasný rostliny?

A: Měl taky okrasný a měl tam hlavně ovoce. Víno tam měl a ovoce. Měl tam fíkovník.

Q: A měli taky nějaký domácí zvířata, třeba nějakou drůbež nebo králíky?

A: Ne, to neměli vůbec. To bylo v části Mikulova, která byla městská. Jenom si pamatuju, že měl psa, který se jmenoval Cézar.

Q: Víte, jak se vaše babička seznámila s dědečkem?

A: To se mě ptáte moc.

Q: Víte, jestli měla babička doma někoho, kdo by jí pomáhal?

A: Jo, měla. Tam byla jedna… ona tam bydlela, to byla taková, která všecko pomáhala a ona potom, když její matka zestárla, tak ona si tu matku přizvala a ona bydlela potom… já nevím, možná jsem vám vykládala, že můj otec renovoval všecky ty baráčky v té židovské… on byl hrozně… otec taky dělal spoustu věcí dobročinných a on tam takovou kolonii, tam byly ty baráky úplně zničený a taky tam byla část, kde byly vyřazené vagóny a tam bydleli lidi. A on to všecko vybudoval tam baráčky.

Q: Jako že na to poskytnul peníze?

A: On to nechal dělat, samosebou že to platil. A nechal tam potom bydlet ty dělníky buď za velmi malý… ale prakticky mu asi neplatili vůbec a právě ta matka tý slečny Antelmannová se jmenovala… tak ta tam dostala domeček, samosebou, že tam bydlela taky zadarmo a ona měla ta pomocnice sestru a to byla jeptiška a ona potom dostala tuberu a odešla z toho kláštera, tak se tam taky nastěhovala a obě tam bydlely a to všecko rodina platila, takže to bylo takový spíš rodinný svazek. A ona byla taky moc hodná. My jsme pak celá rodina musela v devětatřicátém utýct a ona ještě jezdila do Brna a nosila dědečkovi a babičce různé věci, to jí dali. Nebyla to Židovka. Ona byla kdesi z Šumavy.

Q: A to teda nebyla součást domu babičky a dědečka, to bylo někde…

A: Ona bydlela u babičky, ona tam byla jako stále. A ta její maminka, ty dostali baráček.

Q: Vy jste mi říkala o tom, že babička jezdila na dovolenou do Rakouska. A jezdila tam sama nebo jezdil dědeček s ní?

A: Většinou jezdila sama. Dědeček byl takový… nebyl tak až moc společenský. Babička byla velmi společenská, velmi taková veselá a dost jezdila sama.

Q: A jezdila do Vídně, nebo i někam jinam?

A: I do Vídně, ona měla všude příbuzné.

Q: Takže jezdila k těm příbuzným?

A: No.

Q: Pak jste taky říkala, že jezdila do Karlových Varů jako do lázní.

A: Ano.

Q: Teď se vás zeptám ještě na dům, ve kterém bydlela babička s dědečkem, jestli byste mi mohla ten dům nějak popsat. Kolik tam bylo místností, jakej nábytek, topení…

A: No tak to byl velmi starý barák, dole bydlela jedna paní stará a oni bydleli v prvním poschodí, v prvním a jediném poschodí. Kolik tam bylo místností… to bylo vpředu a vzadu… Vzadu, tam byl obývák a ložnice a pak byla kuchyň a takový špajz a předtím taková místnost a potom ještě předu byly dvě místnosti. Tam spali naši a sestra a já, když jsme byli v Miroslavi a přišli jsme o svátcích na návštěvu. Jinak to nebylo obývaný.

Q: A víte, jak topili?

A: No v kamnech na uhlí. Ale měli, což bylo velký tenkrát… Měli i koupelnu.

Q: Takže měli tekoucí vodu?

A: Jo, to byl vodovod tam. Ale oni měli koupelnu a samosebou se muselo topit. Když se zatopilo v těch koupelnových kamnech, tak měli i teplou vodu.

Q: A měli tam i vanu nebo sprchu?

A: No měli vanu. Sprchu, to se tenkrát nenosilo, to se neznalo, ale už to, že měli koupelnu, ta se zřídila podstatně později, to nebylo v těch barákách, to vůbec neexistovalo. Poněvadž to byl velmi starý barák.

Q: A ten dům jim patřil?

A: Ten dům jim patřil.

Q: Teď jste říkala, že oni košer zezačátku dodržovali, ale potom už ne.

A: Jo.

Q: Teď mě ještě napadá, byl v Mikulově nějakej obchod košer nebo řezník?

A: Jo, byl řezník.

Q: Do synagogy chodili jenom na vysoký svátky, nebo na všechny, nebo jak to bylo.

A: No hlavně na vysoké svátky.

Q: A v sobotu chodili?

A: Ne. Babička chodila… Babička a dědeček asi chodili dřív zamlada, pak nechodili a pak babička měla takový… ta vždycky udělala nějakou přísahu a myslela, že to převrátí dějiny. Takže když nastoupil Hitler v Německu, tak ona přísahala, že bude chodit do synagogy, já nevím, ona myslela, že pánbůh zabije Hitlera, nevím… no prostě začala chodit do synagogy.

Q: A v tý době, vy jste říkala, že byla jenom jedna synagoga v Mikulově?

A: Jedna a jedna zimní, tam byly v zimě bohoslužby, poněvadž tam bylo tepleji. Jinak ale prakticky byla jedna synagoga. Když se v zimě konaly ty služby v té zimní, tak se nekonaly v té velké, takže to byla jedna synagoga.

Q: V tý zimní synagoze se nějak topilo?

A: To bylo menší, to se dalo vytápět.

Q: Řeknete mi o tom, jak ty synagogy vypadaly? Bylo tam zvláštní oddělení pro ženy?

A: Jistě.

Q: Byl to takový ten balkon?

A: Ano, dost velký balkon.

Q: Teď tady mám ještě nějakou otázku, ale já přesně nevím, co to je… S tím sederem, tady mám otázku, kdo hledal afikomen?

A: Afikomen… To se nehledá, to se jenom zakrývá, ale to se nehledá. To je maces, který se dává zvlášť a přikrývá pro proroka.

Q: To se prostě jenom přikreje a nic se s tím nedělá. Kolik tam bývalo asi lidí, na tom sederu?

A: Jo, tak to bylo různý. Od desíti nahoru. Hodně, protože oni zvali ty moje bratrance a sestřenice většinou, ty to doma neměli, a potom přišel ještě strýc Ervín s odinou…

Q: Takže tam vlastně byli samý příbuzný.

A: Jo, to byli samý příbuzný…

Q: Vy jste říkala, že jste jedli tu polívku s těma knedlíčkama, a co jste jedli ještě jinýho?

A: No ještě potom bylo maso, to já už si nepamatuju… Já si pamatuju ty knedlíčky, poněvadž to bylo hrozně dobrý, jednak je to tradiční, jednak to bylo hrozně dobrý, na to jsme se těšili a vím, že byl nějaký kumšt to dělat, poněvadž já sice vím, jak o tom maminka mluvila, ale já bych to asi neuměla. Potom byl moučník, prostě pořádná hostina.

Q: Vy jste říkala, že zemřeli v tý Treblince, jak jste se to dozvěděla?

A: To tady mají na Židovské obci kartotéku a mají ty lidi, který prošli Terezínem, to mají všecko evidovaný.

Q: Takže když člověk chtěl, tak si tam mohl přijít a nějak se to tam vyhledalo.

A: Ano.

Q: Takže váš tatínek chodil na nějakou obchodní školu…

A: Na obchodní akademii…

Q: A víte, kde to bylo? V tom Mikulově?

A: Ne, tam určitě ne. Hádám, že ve Vídni. Poněvadž tenkrát bylo všechno ve Vídni.

Q: Ten obchod s tím vínem jste říkala, že ho vlastně založil dědeček, takže ho tatínek zdědil?

A: No ty bratři to zdědili.

Q: Měli tam nějaký zaměstnance?

A: Jo, samosebou, to byl velkoobchod a oni byli velmi bohatý, to bylo několik firem, jak vždycky přikoupili a to... A nějaký bratr pracoval hlavně v é firmě a můj otec například pracoval ve firmě Karel Hauser, ale to bylo všecko prakticky dohromady. A měli rozsáhlé sklepy, tam byli dělníci, pak měli kanceláře, tam pracovali lidi. Ale kolik, to vám neřeknu. V té kanceláři, tam sedělo maximálně deset lidí. Ale potom měli ještě cestující, zástupce různý, ale v tom já se nevyznám. Já jsem se o to nestarala, já o tom opravdu nevím.

Q: A jak jste říkala, že to byly jednotlivý firmy, to bylo všechno v Mikulově, nebo to bylo rozptýlený?

A: No proto jsme byli v Miroslavi, to byla miroslavská firma, kterou koupili. A zezačátku tam vždycky nějaký bratr seděl a vedl to. A pak to přestěhovali do Mikulova. Takže to ostatní bylo v Mikulově.

Q: Já teď nevím, jestli jste mi říkala, v tý Miroslavi, jak dlouho jste tam byli, kdy jste ta byli?

A: Pět let. Ale předtím tam byl jiný bratr.

Q: A tam jste teda bydleli. A měli jste tam nějakej domeček nebo…

A: Jaký domeček, vilu postavil táta! A tu mně ukradli, protože mně jí měli vrátit a nevrátili.

Q: A jak to?

A: Protože tvrdilo se, že to je… to bylo zapsáno na firmu Karel Hauser, ale ta firma byl táta a táta byl ta firma, takže on měl nárok, ale tenkrát mi to zapřeli a já jsem tenkrát taky nevěděla, na koho se mám obrátit. A potom mě poradili, ale to už bylo propadlý… No, staly se horší věci, to je jenom, když jsme mluvili o té vile…

Q: A co se stalo vlastně s tím obchodem, když vy jste odešli?

A: No, to zabrali Němci. A pak to zabrali zase komunisti. Takže dnešní, až budete pít víno vinařství Mikulov, tak to je ono. Oni to rozšířili a zmodernizovali, to jo, ale to původně ten základ, to je ono.

Q: Teď tady mám ještě ty tatínkovy bratry. Vy jste mi říkala, že jeden byl zabitej během první světový války a jeden že zemřel. Byl nějak nemocný?

A: To vám nepovím, snad dokonce spáchal sebevraždu, ale všecko nevím přesně, to všecko se stalo, než jsem se narodila.

Q: A nějaký ty bratři žili taky ve Vídni?

A: Ve Vídni žili dva.

Q: A stýkali jste se s nima?

A: Jo. Jezdili jsme za nima a oni za náma.

Q: Pamatujete si nějaký jména těch bratrů?

A: Ten jeden se jmenoval Robert a ten druhý Oskar.

Q: To byli ty z tý Vídně. A ty z toho Mikulova?

A: Jména? Nejstarší byl Richard, to byl manžel tý Valérie Teltscherové, potom byl Felix a potom byl Jan. A pak byl jeden v Brně, Evžen.

Tape three, side B

Q: A teď ještě se vás zeptám teda, jak to s těma bratrama bylo za války?

A: Ten jeden ve Vídni, Oskar, zahynul za války, ten Robert se s manželkou vystěhoval do Palestiny.

Q: A setkala jste se s nima, když jste byla v tý Palestině?

A: Jo.

Q: A nějak pravidelně jste se tam stýkali?

A: Ne, no tak sem tam jsem se s nima setkala. Potom, ten co byl v Brně, ten Evžen, ten zahynul. A ty z Mikulova ty se vlastně všichni zachránili. Ten Richard to byl velký sionista, to byl velký sionista, on byl taky v té židovské…, byla židovská strana za první republiky, to znáte, tak on tam měl nějaké funkce, on byl známej funkcionář, takže jeho Němci okamžitě hledali a on věděl, že musí utéct. Tak utek do Polska a odtamtud nějakým dobrodružným štylem se dostal do Anglie. A ty ostatní ta rodina, ty ještě stačili tam vyjet.

Q: Taky do tý Anglie teda?

A: Ano a Felix a ten Jan ty se taky dostali do Anglie a my jsme byli vypovězený, to jsem Vám vyprávěla.

Q: A oni pak v tý Anglii zůstali?

A: Ty zůstali a umřeli tam. V Anglii mám ještě dva bratrance.

Q: Teď se ještě zeptám na svatbu maminky s tatínkem…

A: U té jsem nebyla prosím..

Q: …protože já jsem se vás ptala na to, jestli to byl domluvenej sňatek, vy jste říkala, že ne …

A: To jsem neřekla, že ne, já nevím. Já myslím tak. Moje matka byla velmi krásná žena a to vím, tátovi se líbila, ale jestli ona si ho vzala z lásky nebo proto, že to byl bohatý Teltscher, tak skoro se obávám, že to byl důležitý argument. Podívejte, dětem se takové věci nevykládají. Když jsem už nebyla dítě, ale taková, kdy se se mnou dalo mluvit, tak měla rodina jiné starosti. Od devětatřicátého roku, pak jsme byli rozdělený.

Q: Měli svatbu v synagoze?

A: To určitě.

Q: A víte, jestli jeli na líbánky?

A: To vím taky, že jeli, ale kam, to se mě neptejte, to nevím….na líbánkách rozhodně byli, to ano.

Q: Když jsem se vás ptala, kam se jezdilo na dovolenou, tak tady mám, že jste byli v Itálii s rodičema někdy?

A: Když jsme byli malí.

Q: No a tady se hned ptají, jestli na tom bylo něco významného, když si to pamatujete?

A: Ježišmarjá, já jsem byla úplně malé dítě, to Vám opravdu neřeknu.

Q: Taky jste mi říkala, že jste jezdili do Švýcarska se učit tu francouzštinu. A jak často jste tam jezdili nebo kolikrát jste tam byli?

A: To bylo třikrát.

Q: A to jste byla se sestrou?

A: Se sestrou.

Q: A to byl jako tábor?

A: Ne, to byl penzionát.

Q: Takže tam byly ubytovaný jenom děti a učili jste se tam?

A: Tam byly učitelky… a jednou jsem navštívila prázdninové kursy na univerzitě v Neuchatellu, mně bylo čtrnáct, to byla velká švanda, samí lidi minimálně po maturitě a do toho já.

Q: A jak to, že jste se tam takhle dostala?

A: To mohl každý, to nebylo povinný to vzdělání, jenomže to dělali normálně starší lidi. Já jsem uměla v tý době velmi dobře francouzsky…(takže jsem tam mohla) zapsali mě tam, naši si to přáli, tak jsem tam chodila.

Q: A jak dlouho to trvalo?

A: Pamatuju si, že ten jeden učitel literatury zadával takové domácí různé náměty, že se měl napsat sloh a potom to probral. Tak samosebou ve čtrnácti letech, si pamatuju dva náměty, ten jeden už…a ten druhý „rodina, to neznamená jenom se spolu najíst“. No tak já jsem si tam napsala své moudrosti a on to částečně kritizoval, že to není… no a potom vždycky každý si šel ven u katedry pro ty papíry a on když mě viděl, tak málem spad.

Q: Ještě mi řekněte jak dlouho to trvalo tyhle kursy?

A: My jsme tam byly vždycky měsíc.

Q: A tady na tý univerzitě, tam už jste byla bez sestry?

A: Na tý univerzitě už jsem byla jenom já. Ona byla v penzionátě se mnou. Ona chodila do těch kursů tam. V tom penzionátě byly různé kursy, takové kroužky a tam bylo každý den vyučování. Půl dne. A na univerzitě taky půl dne.

Q: Ještě se zeptám na ten Mikulov. Vy jste mi říkala, že dřív, asi než jste se narodila, tak tam bývalo těch synagog víc.

A: Víte co, ona existuje publikace, já vám ji vyhledám, můžete si to vzít a přečíst si, kolik v určité době bylo synagog, protože já to nevím.

Q: Věděla byste jestli…, říkala jste, že jedna z těch škol, který byly v Mikulově, že byla v židovský ulici, jestli to byla státní škola?

A: Státní, ano. Ona se stále jmenovala židovská škola, poněvadž tam byla původně, původně to byla židovská škola, ale potom byla německá samosebou, poněvadž v Mikulově byly tři německé školy a jedna česká.

Q: Byly tam ještě nějaký židovský instituce v tom Mikulově?

A: Jo byly nejrůznější ty spolky.

Q: Vzpomenete si na něco konkrétního?

A: No já nevím, byly ty náboženské různé, v rámci té obce, potom byly ty ženy, WIZO bylo. No jo, potom bylo Makabi – sportovní a mládežnický a Techelet Lavan. Možná byly ještě ňáký, já si teďka nepamatuju.

Q: Teď se ještě zase zeptám na ten dům, co jste v něm vyrůstala. Vy jste mi ho popisovala spíš jako zvenčí, jestli byste mi mohla říct, kolik tam bylo místností, kolik měl pater třeba…

A: Tam bylo strašně moc místností, počkejte, to musím spočítat… Měl dvě patra a dole jsme nebydleli my, tam jsme měli jenom sklep a byl tam byt a ten měl jeden zaměstnanec tatínkův a nahoře v patře, to bylo … jedna, dvě, pokoj pro služku, tři, čtyři, pět, šest, šest místností, ale ještě kromě obrovská hala mimo, balkón velký…

Q: Takže, to byl krásnej velkej dům.

A: No, buržoazní bydlení.

Q: A teď jste se zmínila o tý služce, tak ta s váma bydlela?

A: Jo.

Q: A co dělala, co měla na starosti?

A: To byla pokojská a byla kuchařka, dvě byly.

Q: A ony obě bydlely u Vás?

A: Obě dvě u nás bydlely, to bývalo tenkrát zvykem, to byly takové holky ze selských rodin a pak se z toho vdaly, tam si našetřily ňáký…

Q: A nebyly židovskýho původu?

A: Ne.

Q: Jo a ještě jste říkala, že jste měli slečnu na hlídání?

A: Jo, to jsme taky občas měli.

Q: A ta s váma taky bydlela?

A: Ta s náma taky bydlela.

Q: A taky nebyla Židovka?

A: To byla Židovka.

Q: A vzpomenete si něco o ní. Jestli jste ji měli rádi, jak jste s ní vycházeli?

A: Jo, když jsme byli malí, tak jsme ji měli rádi, ale ona byla stará panna že jo taková…taky jsme jezdili, ona pocházela z Vídně, ale byla to česká rodina, původem někde z Moravy, ještě ve Vídni, ona mluvila líp česky, no uměla i dobře německy… do tý rodiny, tam jsme jezdili, ona měla několik sester a dva bratry, tam jsme jezdili s ní, je navštívit. Jedna sestra byla švadlena, ta nám šila vždycky šaty, no a… to jsme ji měli rádi, ale potom jsme ji neměli rádi, protože ona byla taková dominantní osoba, mám pocit, že se jí maminka spíš bála, no a my jsme byly větší a už jsme nereflektovaly na to, aby za náma furt někdo chodil a dozíral na nás, tak jsme potom už měli na ní vztek. A ona potom, to se ňák usadilo, maminka byla rozumná, ona nechtěla… ona už pak byla prazbytečná tam, ale vyhodit se to nehodilo, protože se okupovalo Rakousko… no a rysy mi dělala, a s kresbama mi pomáhala, protože na to jsem byla špatná.

Q: A jak dlouho s váma vlastně byla?

A: Ona u nás strávila dlouhá léta a vyhodit se ji neslušelo. Tak potom už po okupaci Německa, už to tady bylo vachrlatý, tak oni naši měli známé, který utekli z Vídně do Anglie, tak oni si ji potom vzali zase jako hospodyni. Tak ona byla tam. A potom k nám přišla její sestra, ta utekla z Rakouska, tak u nás bydlela chvilku a zase bylo potřeba ji odsunout, protože ona byla Rakušanka a to tady bylo špatný, tak té taky pomohli ven. A ony se potom octly v Americe, byly u nějakého filmovýho toho a dělaly mu hospodyňku ta jedna a kuchařku nebo co a žily tam. A ta naše slečna pak dostala rakovinu a umřela a to naši se s ní, když přišli po válce z Shanghaje, vyhledali jí a stýkali se s ní a ta druhá, ta potom ještě žila a tu si pamatuju, já když jsem byla v šedesátémčtvrtém roce v Americe u maminky, tak ona tam přišla taky na návštěvu, ona bydlela v Los Angeles. A taky nějaký bratranec její s manželkou, to byli nejlepší kamarádi našich v Americe.

Q: Jak se jmenovala křestním jménem ta slečna?

A: Ada, tzn, že se jmenovala asi Adéla.

Q: A vy jste jí říkali Ada?

A: Ada, ano.

Q: A mluvili jste s ní německy nebo česky?

A: Česky. Ona byla právě u nás, abychom mluvily česky, protože naši mluvili česky mizerně.

Q: A kdo u vás doma nakupoval, ta služka?

A: Asi jo, nejspíš. Něco nakupovala maminka a něco asi ta kuchařka.

Q: A košer jste nedrželi?

A: Ne, nikdy. Já si pamatuju takovou historku. Když jsem začala chodit do školy, tak my jsme měli náboženství. Učil nás pan rabín. To bylo v Miroslavi, já jsem začala chodit do školy v Miroslavi, no a pan rabín řekl, že Židi musejí jíst košer, a protože děti nevěděly, co to je, oni byly z takových rodin…., tak vysvětloval, že šunka se nesmí jíst atd. a tenkrát, co pan rabín řekl, bylo svatý, no a já přijdu domů a k večeři, co čert nechtěl, měli jsme šunku. Já povídám „maminko, to se nesmí, pan rabín řekl, že Židi šunku nesmí“. A maminka řekla „to je kraví šunka“. Tak jsem to pak nějaký čas jedla jako kraví šunku.

Q: A maminka taky někdy vařila nebo nikdy?

A: Jo, taky.

Q: A vařila jenom na nějaké zvláštní příležitosti?

A: No spíš, takové zvláštnosti, jinak tomu moc nedala. Ona dělala nějaké, ...ona štupovala punčochy, velmi hezky pletla a háčkovala. I babička i maminka. My jsme měli krásné svetry a celé výbavy. I rukavice kožené dělala. No různé takové věci. Nebo když zvala hosty, tak všelijaké takové cukrářské výrobky dělala. A babička byla vynikající kuchařka.

Q: A babička doma, ty taky měli kuchařku nebo vařila babička?

A: Tam byla ta pomocnice tak uklízet a tak a babička vařila.

Q: Vy jste říkala, že jste chodila v Mikulově na gymnázium čtyři roky. A já bych se vás chtěla zeptat na tu školu, kolik tam bylo Židů, kolik Čechů, jak to tam bylo?

A: Málo Židů, z pětatřiceti žáků u nás ve třídě tak tři nebo čtyři, ale víc ne. To bylo vždycky takové procento.

Q: A kamarádila jste se spíš s těma židovskejma dětma?

A: Rozhodně se židovskejma.

Q: A mimo školu jste se stýkala taky spíš s těma židovskejma dětma?

A: Já teda osobně jo, protože já jsem byla v tom židovském hnutí mládeže a já jsem se stýkala výhradně s židovskými dětmi. Jo měla jsem taky jednu nebo dvě jiné kamarádky, ale nebyla jsem s nima tak zadobře, jako s těmi židovskými dětmi.

Q: A co třeba na to říkali vaši rodiče, vedli vás k tomu, abyste se kamarádili víc s těmi židovskými dětmi?

A: Myslím, že jim to bylo v podstatě jedno. Ale například moje sestra, tam byly dvě židovské společnosti, ta jedna, kde jsem byla já, to hnutí židovské mládeže spíš takový ty méně majetný děti a potom ty, co chodily do českých škol, ty byly mladší a ty měly spoustu nežidovských přátel.

Q: Vy jste mi říkala, že jste na vlastní žádost přešla na to gymnázium do Břeclavi, protože v Mikulově byl antisemitismus na tý škole. A vzpomenete si třeba, jak se to projevovalo?

A: No jo, dělali poznámky, všelijaký takový a mluvili mezi sebou, oni se nestyděli tenkrát pro Henleina a to mi šlo silně na nervy. Ono to šlo na nervy asi taky té mé kamarádce. Ale to byla kantorova dcera. No vidíte, oni byli pobožný, to byla moje nejlepší kamarádka. A on byl kantor, to vůbec nevadilo. Tak ale to přece jenom stálo nějaké peníze, když se jezdilo vlakem, já nevím, a ona taky neuměla moc dobře česky, zkrátka ta tam zůstala, ale asi jí to muselo jít na nervy stejně jako mně.

Q: A všechny ty děti byly takový?

A: Ne, ne. To musím říct, němečtí sociální demokraté byli vynikající lidi, protože to nebyl žádný špás, v takové přesile Henleinovců se držet, to byli opravdu vynikající lidi. A pak byli taky někteří profesoři antisemiti. My jsme měli profesora češtiny, to byl henleinovec prvního řádu, on učil tělocvik a češtinu. Ten měl ohromný zájem, aby se ty děti naučily česky, on sám nic neuměl, ale vůbec to neučil. Tak to byl například antisemita, ale víc jich bylo takových, co byli nacionální Němci.

Q: A byli tam nějaký židovský učitelé?

A: Byl tam jeden profesor, ale ten už potom umřel. Pak už ne. Pak byl jeden protivný, toho nikdo neměl rád, o kterém se říkalo, že nebyl Žid, ale měl nějaké příbuzenstvo. Fakt je, že po válce jsem ho tam viděla taky. Ale ten byl protivný, to nebyl pro Židy žádný přínos.

Q: Pak jste mi říkala, že jste to gymnázium nakonec dokončila v Brně a ještě, že v tom Brně učili židovský učitelé….

A: No jistě, to bylo židovský gymnázium.

Q: Ještě se vás zeptám, jestli z těch vašich kamarádů z dětství z Mikulova ještě někdo žije, jestli se s někým stýkáte?

A: Nestýkám se. Dva myslím, žijou v Izraeli, jedna je v Anglii, pokud ještě nezemřela, s tou jsem se viděla, když jsem byla v Anglii. Ne, dvě jsou v Anglii, obě jsem viděla. Jeden je tady, to je jediný Mikulovák židovský kromě mě, který je v Československu. Jinak téměř všichni zahynuli.

Q: A ten, co jste říkala, že je tady, tak s tím jste se kamarádila?

A: No tak nekamarádila, on byl o něco starší a on se kamarádil s tou druhou společností, ale teďka jsem s ním docela zadobře.

Q: A ještě kdyby jste mi mohla říct, co jste dělali jako děti, já vím, že jste chodila do nějakýho toho sportovního klubu, že jste sportovala, ale ještě něco dalšího s těma dětma?

A: Jo, do toho židovského hnutí mládeže, to bylo takové skautské hnutí.

Q: A jak se to jmenovalo?

A: To se jmenovalo Makabi a v Brně jsem pak byla, to se jmenovalo Tchelet Lavan.

Q: Navštěvovali jste se se svejma kamarádama doma?

A: Jo.

Q: Taky jste mi říkala, že jste ráda četla. Tak jaký knížky jste měla ráda?

A: No já jsem toho četla, co jsem dostala do rukou.

Q: Tak neměla jste třeba nějakýho oblíbenýho autora nebo něco…

A: Ne, ale já jsem četla opravdu hodně. Já jsem znala celou německou literaturu, nejenom moderní, já jsem četla klasiky, poněvadž naši to měli v knihovně, tak já jsem si to četla. Znala jsem francouzskou literaturu docela dobře. Filozofy jsem četla, určitě jsem jim nerozuměla, ale četla jsem Nietzscheho, Spinozu.

Q: A kolik vám bylo, když jste četla třeba ty filozofy?

A: To mi bylo patnáct, šestnáct, když jsem začala.

Q: A v kterým jazyce jste to četla?

A: Německy. Nietzsche se musí číst v němčině, ten píše krásnou němčinu, to je poetický ještě navíc, a Spinozu, od toho jsem četla Etiku, teď jí mám českou, ale měla jsem ji německou.

Q: A ostatní knížky jste četla německy nebo česky?

A: Ne, já jsem četla francouzsky. Já jsem běžně četla francouzsky, německy jsem četla hodně, poněvadž jsme měli hodně věcí doma. To byla německá knihovna a česky, no vždycky jsem dostala české knihy, to naši zase… pokud bylo něco vzdělávací, tak byla ruka otevřená, knihy, to jsme mohli dostat, co jsme si přáli a do divadla nebo něco takového…

Q: Jo, chodili jste do divadla?

A: V Mikulově se nedalo chodit, takže jsme byli ve Vídni nebo potom v Brně. To nám všechno naši dopřáli. A co ne, potom když jsem si začala už sama kupovat, to už byly jiné doby. Když jsem jezdila do Břeclavi, tak jsem dostala peníze, abych mohla jít na oběd, no ale měla jsem řadu spolužáků, který nechodili na oběd, ale kupovali si takový sýr, chleba, to bylo tenkrát za babku a kousek sýra, kmínovej sýr si pamatuju, potom úlomky z pišingrů, to bylo hrozně levný, to jste dostala takový pytel úlomků a to bylo za korunu nebo za kolik, tak já jsem to samosebou udělala taky a za prachy, který mi zůstaly, jsem potom kupovala knížky. Takže já jsem potom měla velikánskou knihovnu, ta se ztratila samosebou, to ještě naši odstěhovali a pak se nějak to…, tak pak jsem si koupila, takže česky jsem samosebou četla taky.

Q: Ještě se vrátím k těm sportům, co jste ráda dělala, jaký sport?

A: Lyžovala jsem velmi ráda.

Q: A kde jste lyžovali?

A: No my jsme měli z maminčiny strany příbuzné v Rakousku, to byl maminčin bratranec. A ten měl tři děti a oni byli velký sportovci, kromě toho v Rakousku byl ve středních školách lyžování předmět vyučovací. Takže oni měli syna, ten byl asi o rok nebo o dva starší než já, on byl vynikající lyžař a oni mě vzali s sebou, poněvadž já jsem byla náruživá lyžařka a já jsem s tím klukem hlavně lyžovala, takže já jsem lyžovala velmi dobře, takhle jsem byla většinou v Alpách, tak bodejť bych nelyžovala dobře, když jsem měla ty možnosti, oni mě vždycky brali s sebou. No v létě jsem plavala, jezdila na kole.

Q: A to jste jezdili s těma kamarádama někam na výlety?

A: My jsme jezdili na kole hlavně plavat, jezdili jsme tam k těm rybníkům.

Q: Můžete mi zase něco ještě víc říct o tom hnutí mládežnickým? Co se tam dělalo, jak to fungovalo, jestli jste se pravidelně scházeli?

A: No to jsme se pravidelně scházeli.

Q: A jak často?

A: Alespoň jednou tejdně.

Q: A bylo to nějak organizovaný?

A: No jistě, to bylo organizovaný.

Q: A byli tam s váma nějaký dospělí?

A: No dospělí, tak starší.

Q: A kolik vás tam třeba bylo?

A: Tam bylo dost těch dětí, já už si ani nepamatuju. Všecko co tam bydlelo v té židovské čtvrti, tak ty děti tam chodily.

Q: A co jste teda podnikali?

A: No co jsme podnikali, jednak jsme se zabývali židovskými dějinami a dějinami sionismu a takovými všelijakými židovskými věcmi, zpívali jsme, dělali jsme skautské všelijaké takové, chodili na výlety. Potom v Brně jsme se zabývali uměním, to jsme měli takové kroužky, ten byl lepší ten Techelet lavan, ale ten neexistoval v Mikulově.

Q: Můžu… já si jenom napíšu, jak se jmenoval ten v Brně?

A: Techelet lavan… původně se to jmenovalo Blauweis

Q: A to je hebrejsky?

A: Hebrejsky, techelet je modrý a lavan je bílý.

Q: Pak jste mi ještě říkala, že kromě toho Makabi byl ještě….

A: Ten Makabi hacarot. Makabi bylo sportovní hnutí, tam chodili všichni cvičit i dospělí a Makabi hacarot bylo to hnutí mládeže, bylo více takových. To znamená mladý makabejec.

Q: No ale pořád tady mám, že tady byla ještě nějaká mládežnická sionistická skupina…

A: No to bylo ono, Makabi hacarot.

Q: Pak jste mi ještě říkala, že taky na Purim jste chodila na bál.

A: No jo, to byly maškarní.

Q: A kde se to konalo?

A: Tam byla židovská taková kavárna, a tam byl taky velký sál a v tom sále se konalo všecko, ty plesy. Pak tam bylo jeviště, takže když měly děti vystupování, tak tam vystoupily, přednášky tam byly, no prostě všecko, židovské věci se odbývaly tam.

Q: A vy jste říkala, že jste taky hrála na Purim divadlo?

A: Jo.

Q: A kdo vás vedl?

A: To například ta moje teta a potom kolikrát, tam byla jedna taková mladá paní, která učila gymnastiku, to nebyla Židovka, tak tu k tomu vzali aby nás to učila, takhle různě.

Q: Teď se ještě zeptám, když jste byli v tom Brně, tak vy jste tam chodila do školy a co vaši rodiče? Pracovali nějak nebo jak to tam ….

A: No jak mohli pracovat, nemohli už pracovat.

Q: Ale jak jste získávali peníze na živobytí nebo z čeho jste žili?

A: No tak peníze byly, že jo. Ty peníze si přinesli přece a ty se dostaly na vázaný vklad a něco na to živobytí Němci povolili.

Q: A kde jste tam bydleli?

A: No napřed jsme měli na Siroči byt a potom když přišel, …kdy to bylo, v devětatřicátém roce, ve čtyřicátém nás vypověděli, protože tam nechtěli mít židovskou rodinu, ačkoli to byl Čech ten majitel. Tak potom jsme bydleli rozstrkaně. Manželka strýce Ervína, toho maminčinýho bratra, měla rodiče taky v Brně a ty měli byt a z toho bytu pronajali pokoj a kuchyň babičce a dědečkovi a tam byl ještě takový kumbál bez oken a v tom kumbálu jsem bydlela já. Moje sestra bydlela u toho strýce Ervína, ty měli byt a ona bydlela u nich. A rodiče bydleli s tím strýcem Robertem z Vídně, ty měli český občanství, takže oni utekli sem, když přišel Hitler do Vídně, oni se potom stěhovali, ty měli byt, tak u nich bydleli.

Q: Takže takhle u příbuzných.

A: Jo takhle jsme byli rozstrkaný.

Q: Teď jsou tady ještě takový otázky ohledně toho, jak to bylo, když jste odešli z toho Brna. Vy jste museli, že jo, vy jste říkala, že tatínkovi bylo řečeno, že musíte do týdne opustit protektorát. A oni se ptají, oni si myslí, že to nebylo moc běžné.

A: To nebylo vůbec běžné, ale já za to nemůžu, já neznám druhý případ. A o to jsem se zajímala!

Q: A nevíte čím to bylo?

A: To nikdo, ani otec nevěděl a já jsem kvůli tomu měla nepříjemnosti za komunistů. Mně tvrdili, že můj otec byl konfident a kdesi cosi… A když jsem se potom viděla s tatínkem, tak jsem se ho ptala, on řekl, že neví, ale že za to, že byl dobročinný. On se domníval, že někdo, komu svého času pomoh a to pomohl tolika lidem, že nemoh vědět, kdo, že se potom domohl nějakého postavení u Němců a že si na něho vzpomenul. A ono je to velmi pravděpodobné, protože kdybych to nezažila, tak tomu taky nevěřím. Ten týden byl hrůzostrašný, ale pak se ukázalo, že to byla vlastně záchrana, my bysme všichni zašli.

Q: Jak jste se dostali do tý Itálie, jak jste tam vlastně jeli?

A: Vlakem.

Q: A tam jste byli asi měsíc, než přijela ta loď, že jo?

A: Tak dlouho dokavad ne …, protože my jsme oficiálně všichni jeli do Šanghaje, to, že jsem potom dostala ten certifikát, to byla druhá akce. Tak oni čekali tam na odjezd tý lodě, ta jela vždycky jen jednou za měsíc

Q: A ještě, proč jste vlastně jeli zrovna do tý Šanghaje, vy jste mi říkala, že se v tu dobu nedalo nikam jinam jet?

A: To byla jediná možnost. To bylo jediný místo, kam mohl jet Žid bez víza.

Q: A to bylo daný nějakým zákonem, nebo jak to, protože já jsem o tom mluvila s kamarádama …?

A: To je známý, tam bylo hodně Židů z Rakouska i z Česka. Do Šanghaje se mohlo bez víza, …musel jenom člověk dokázat, že má určitý obnos peněz, který nebyl příliš vysoký, aby nebyl hned… aby se o něj nemuseli starat, že něco vystačí. Za mýho otce to zaplatili jeho bratři z Anglie. Takže to bylo jediné východisko. V Itálii jsme nemohli, vždyť oni nás chtěli vrátit, to byla jediná možnost. A to zjistili ty tatínkovi bratři, během toho jednoho týdne, když ho vypověděli, protože on hledal, že jo. Teď kam, tenkrát už Žid se nemohl nikam dostat, Žid nedostal vízum. Nebo byly ty J-pasy, přece jsme měli, tak s tím se člověk nikam nedostal, ale do Šanghaje ano. A do Palestiny tehdejší se s J-pasem dalo jet, ale bylo to vázané na certifikát a certifikátů bylo hrozně málo.

Q: Jak jste získala ten certifikát?

A: Ten strýc, co jsem Vám řekla, ten Richard, to byl velký činovník, ten to získal v Anglii.

Q: A jak vám to z tý Anglie…?

A: Do Itálie mi to poslal, já jsem jela do Itálie s tím, že jedu do Šanghaje s rodičema.

Q: A to se takhle poštou rychle dalo?

A: To se dalo zřejmě, no to nebylo tak rychle, tam jsme seděli měsíc.

Q: Ta emigrace do tý Šanghaje, bylo to nějak organizovaný nebo se tam prostě jezdilo jednotlivě?

A: Nevím, jestli byly taky transporty, spíš jednotlivě, naši rozhodně jednotlivě jeli.

Tape four, side A

Q: Když jste byla v tý Palestině, když jste tam studovala, pracovala jste taky nějak?

A: Samosebou.

Q: A co jste dělala?

A: Hlavně to bylo tak, že univerzita, protože já jsem nebyla jediná, která tam byla bez peněz, to byla většina studentů, tak za první jsme pracovali v úklidu. Ale to poněvadž bylo víc zájemců, než bylo míst na úklid, tak vždycky tři měsíce se pracovalo, pak se muselo tři měsíce přerušit a zase. Tak nejrůznější… pak jsem pracovala v domácnostech v úklidu, protože já jsem myslela, že bych mohla jazyky učit nebo něco, ale tam byl takový nadbytek inteligence, tam bylo lékařů, který prodávali podomácku vajíčka…

Q: A musela jste tam platit nějaký školný, nebo jak to bylo?

A: Napřed, kdo měl studentský certifikát, tak to bylo se školným na dva roky a oni vypláceli dokonce takové stipendium. Nebylo to bůhvíco, ale bylo to docela slušný. Pak se ukázalo… tam bylo Čechů dost se studentským certifikátem a byli tam některý ženatý, který nechali manželky doma a chtěli je tam dostat, tak se zřekli toho stipendia a zakoupili za to certifikát. A dokonce v jednom nebo ve dvou případech se to podařilo. Tak já jsem měla kluka tady. A udělala jsem to taky. Ale jestli to dostal, nevím. Ale už se rozhodně nedostal ven a zahynul. Takže jsem prachy potom neměla a po těch dvou letech… já jsem byla ale dobrá študentka, já jsem potom byla osvobozená od toho, ale musela jsem stále něco pracovat, poněvadž jsem neměla peníze.

Q: Kde jste tam bydlela?

A: Různě.

Q: Jako že jste si něco pronajala?

A: No, tak různě. Vždycky v nějakém pajzlíku.

Q: Líbilo se vám v té Palestině?

A: Ale no je to hrozně zajímavá země, to určitě jo.

Q: Ještě se zeptám, vy jste říkala, že vaši rodiče měli v tý Šanghaji nějakou pekárnu nebo něco takovýho?

A: Prodejnu cukrovinek. A maminka to zásobila. Ta to doma dělala.

Q: Vy jste říkala, že vaši rodiče dostali nějaký to odškodnění, kdy to dostali?

A: No to bylo dřív než tady kvůli tomu, že to komunisti nechtěli. Tam to dostali hned, jakmile tam došli asi. Já nevím přesně, kdy, to všichni na západě dostali, to tady vyloženě udělali komunisti, to je důležitý, aby se to vědělo. Vyloženě prohlásili, že my to nepotřebujeme a dělali to z antisemitismu. To je přeci známý, že to byli hrozný antisemiti.

Q: Tak tady je ještě taková poslední část, na kterou se zeptám. Vy jste mi říkala, že jste vlastně po tom, co vás vyhodili ze strany, že jste začala chodit na obec a začala jste tam být aktivní…

A: Během doby… já jsem jednou potřebovala do překladu nějakou knížku a věděla jsem, že to můžu dostat na obci, já jsem byla v obci, a ten knihovník byl strašně hodný a pomoh mně a já jsem mu řekla, že bych mu taky ráda pomohla, kdyby potřeboval, ještě jsem mu řekla… on řekl, co byste chtěla dělat a já jsem mu řekla, mně je to jedno, když potřebujete umýt schody, tak vám umeju schody. A on mně právě řekl, já ani nepotřebuju, ale je ta komise žen, jak chodí gratulovat, tak tam jsem teda vstoupila no a pak už to jedno dalo drhuý, tak jsem tam poznala nějaký lidi, tak jsem zase do toho WIZO a na to sociální oddělení, že dělám tu sociální práce, takhle se to vyvíjí.

Picture No. 1:

To je fotka babičky a dědečka zamlada. Nebude to asi svatební fotka, to nevypadá, ale je to velmi starobylá fotka.

Q: A myslíte, v kterém desetiletí by to mohlo být vyfocené?

A: To mohlo být nějak na začátku dvacátého století… pravděpodobně… Možná ještě dřív. Když dědeček a babička byli mladý. Tak to mohlo být klidně ještě koncem devatenáctého století. Dokonce spíš než na začátku dvacátého.

Picture No. 2:

To je výlet za první republiky toho hnutí mládeže Techelet Lavan.

Q: A řeknete mi něco o tom, kam jste třeba jezdili…

A: My jsme dělali nejrůznější výlety, kdy bylo tohle přesně… ani nevím, jestli se u toho… opravdu nevím, to je už velmi dlouho.

Picture No. 4:

To je možná septima nebo oktáva židovského gymnázia v Brně v roce 1939 a to byla poslední třída, která maturovala v tom gymnáziu. Poslední třída židovská, kde ti žáci směli maturovat. Pak už to nešlo.

Q: A v Brně bylo jenom jedno židovský gymnázium, nebo jich tam bylo víc?

A: Ne, v celé republice bylo jedno židovské gymnázium v Brně a pak bylo hebrejské gymnázium v Mukačevě s hebrejským vyučovacím jazykem. Tady je Helga, ta moje kamarádka, ta taky přežila.

Q: A můžete mi ještě něco o tý vaší kamarádce Helze říct? Znaly jste se ze školy z Brna?

A: My jsme se znaly z Brna, ona potom byla v Terezíně, přežila to v Terezíně, obě to přežily, ale matka byla ošetřovatelka a umřela na tyfus už po válce v Terezíně. Ona měla taky tyfus, ale přežila to a posléze se dostala… její sestra s manželem emigrovali před válkou a vzali jí k sobě, to bylo v Libyi, v severní Africe a odtamtud se potom dostala oklikama přes Londýn a do Ameriky a stala se z ní malířka.

Q: A ještě žije?

A: Žije, my jsme v kontaktu.

Picture No. 7:

To jsou moji rodiče a moje sestra za války v Šanghaji.

Q: Víte, kde to bylo vyfocený?

A: Nevím, já jsem v Šanghaji nebyla… Někde u nich doma asi.

Picture No. 8:

To je prostě… to jsem s jednou kolegyní, studentkou, to je v Jeruzalémě, to je jenom…

Q: To byla nějaká vaše přítelkyně bližší?

A: Já jsem s ní bydlela. To takhle vždycky lidi bydleli, aby to bylo levnější, tak to byla moje spolubydlící.

Q: Jak se jmenovala?

A: Eva Weidová.

Q: A s tou jste se poznala v Palestině?

A: Jo. To jsem nějak dostala zprávu, že ona hledá spolubydlící, to se tak bydlelo, aby to bylo levnější a tam jsme se poznaly, poněvadž jsme se poznaly a pak jsme nějaký čas bydlely spolu.

Q: A to byla Češka?

A: To byla Slovenka.

Q: Ještě něco dalšího o ní, napadne vás?

A: Byla to milá holka… Ona tam přišla jako študentka, ale nebrala to moc vážně, měla tam přítele, asi se pak vdala, to jsem se mezitím odstěhovala… A prakticky neštudovala. Ona byla fajn, bylo to příjemný, poněvadž ona byla taková hospodyňka, ona vždycky uvařila… takže jsem se přiživila… já jsem se zúčastnila koupě, ale ona dobře vařila, což nebyl můj případ. Takže jsme se takhle doplňovaly.

Q: A ona tam teda zůstala?

A: To nevím, co se s ní stalo. Vím, že měla toho přítele, předpokládám, že si ho pak vzala, co se s ní potom stalo, pak nás rozvál… Pak jsem bydlela úplně jinde, pak jsem vstoupila do strany, to bylo ilegální, to už jsem musela taky při bydlení… to nebyl žádné špásy, to bylo opravdu ilegální, když někoho chytli, tak ho mohli taky deportovat, takže tím se to roztrhlo.

Picture No. 9:

To je výlet Spolku pro židovsko-arabskou spolupráci v Palestině a byla to taková studentská sekce toho spolku.

Q: A vy jste byla členkou toho spolku?

A: Já jsem byla členkou toho spolku.

Q: A co jste v rámci toho spolku dělali?

A: No tak, bylo to hlavně osvětový, protože moc se toho jinak dělat nedalo. Prostě zájem byl pěstovat tu židovsko-arabskou spolupráci. Protože to bylo… ne úplně populární.

Q: A tady jste na nějakém výletě?

A: To jsme na výletě blízko Jeruzaléma.

Q: A to jste jezdili častěji na ty výlety?

A: No tak, někdy jsme jeli, prostě jsme byli mladý a študáci, tak jsme jeli na nějaký výlet. Ale to nemělo s tou činností… jenom že to byli lidi z toho spolku a tak nějaký z těch kamarádů si dali spicha v sobotu, že jo, tam je sobota, ne neděle a udělali jsme si výšlap. A ten Arab, to je nějaký… ten se tam dostal úplně čirou náhodou.

Q: A vy jste tam taky, na tý fotce?

A: Jo, tohle.

Q: Tohle na kraji.

A: Jo.

Picture No. 12:

To je fotka na lodi na zpáteční cestě.

Q: Když jste jeli z tý Palestiny?

A: Ano.

Q: A to jste vy, tady?

A: Toto.

Q: A ty ostatní tady, to je kdo?

A: To je Němka, která jela… ta měla manžela Vídeňáka, který sloužil, on byl na vojně… My jsme jeli jako do Francie, jinak se nedalo jet. Tam byly ty úřady, které… Takže tam bylo dost Rakušanů s náma na té lodi, to byla taková loď různá… Poněvadž to bylo hodně levný, tam jeli lidi, který neměli moc peněz. Tak ona se měla sejít, a taky se sešla s tím svým manželem v Paříži. Tak to byla ona… To byl jeden Vídeňák, který se vrátil, a to byl Čech. Ten se jmenoval Gold, nakolik já si pamatuju a ten jel sem, ale posléze, když viděl, že sem přišli komunisti, tak jel zase zpátky do Palestiny.

Q: Jak dlouho ta loď jela? To musela jet hodně dlouho.

A: Velmi dlouho, protože to byla taková kraksna polorozbitá, ona to byla nějaká jihoamerická loď, nebo pod jihoamerickou vlajkou jela, já nevím. A jeli tam kromě nás nějaká skupina herců francouzských, který vystoupili v Sýrii. A my jsme měli… tam byly kabiny a kromě toho se mohlo na palubě, to bylo nejlevnější. Tak my jsme neměli kabinu, my jsme bydleli na tý palubě a jídlo jsme měli s sebou. Protože to bylo drahý, my jsme měli nejlevnější lístek. Tak jídlo nějaký jsme měli s sebou. A to jsme se sešli – hlavně to byli Rakušáci – kolik nás bylo, pět nebo šest takových mladých – a dali jsme si hned jídlo společně, že uděláme komunu, potom to bylo… my jsme se museli jít dolu mejt do nějakých sprch, poněvadž na palubě nebylo nic. No a vyjeli jsme a to jelo přes Egypt a potom do Řecka a pak teprve do Marseille. A už když jsem jeli z toho Egypta, tak ta loď… prostě to začalo šíleně padat saze, takže jsme byli šíleně špinavý na tý palubě a něco a furt něco opravovali a měli jsme jet asi pět dní a jeli jsme pak přes tejden. No bylo to hrozný a teď jak jsme měli společně to… potom jim docházela voda v těch sprchách, tak ty kluky vůbec nepustili, aby se myli, holky… my jsme byli vlastně jenom dvě holky, tak my jsme vždycky teda… prostě nás pustili, ale bylo to všelijaký a byli jsme strašně špinaví, protože sice jsme se vysprchovali, ale za chvilku zas ty saze na nás padaly. Úplně to dštilo saze. A teď hlavní hrůza byl, že nám docházelo jídlo. A oni to byli nějaký podvodníci, měli jsme palestinské peníze, že jo, čím dál jsme se vrátili… oni prodávali chleba… a ten chleba počítali… čím jsme byli dál od Palestiny, tím byl dráž. Takže nám docházely prachy a my jsme měli šílený hlad. A ty Francouzi, ty bydleli v kajutách a chodili jíst. A já si pamatuju, jak jsme se šli na ně dívat, jak oni jedli. A úplně nám přišlo zle, jak jsme byli hladný. Takže my jsme přišli do Marseille špinavý jako čuňata a hladný hrozně… já jsem už neměla prachy, ale ty kluci měli, my jsme zase všecko společně, tak jsme to přežili.

Q: A z tý Marseille jste se potom dostala jak sem?

A: No to bylo normálně… Tam jsme se jenom zdrželi pár hodin a jeli jsme dál do Paříže. A v Paříži jsme museli čekat, až nám vystavili doklady a všecko to zařídili, to byli nějaké ouřady, já už si to přesně nepamatuju, a tam jsme byli asi tejden, ne-li dýl, ne-li deset dní.

Q: A pak jste jeli kam?

A: A pak jsme jeli přes Německo sem.

Q: A jak jste jeli?

A: Vlakem. Ale to už jsem jela sama. Jednak já už nevím… já jsem se zdržela v Paříži, já jsem měla známé ve Švýcarsku, ty mě pozvali, tak jsem ještě jela do Curychu z Paříže, tam mě trošku dali do pořádku, tam jsem se najedla a jela jsem zpátky do Paříže a jela jsem vlakem sem potom. A pak jsme přišla sem a první bylo, to byla celní prohlídka vlastně teprve tady. No tak, celní prohlídka, já jsem nic neměla… Ale pasy kontrolovali. A to jsem přišla, a to ten celník se podíval: Vy jste byl v Palestině? Tolik vašich souvěrců prahne po tom, aby se tam dostali, a vy jste se nám vrátila. Tak jsem si řekla, to jsem byla chytrá, že jsem se vrátila do takové země! A to se pak opakovalo, tak jsem měla šílené potíže, na univerzitě, různě, takž jsem potom brzy litovala, že jsem se vůbec vracela.

Picture No. 13:

To jsem já v době, kdy jsem se vrátila po emigraci zase zpátky.

Q: Vzpomenete si, kdo vás fotil?

A: Ta moje přítelkyně.

Q: Bylo to u nějaké zvláštní příležitosti?

A: Ne, prostě… Ona je malířka a předtím taky fotografovala a prostě si namanula, že mě vyfotí…

Q: A kde vás to fotila?

A: To bylo u ní doma.

Picture No. 14:

Toto je fotka mých rodičů a sestry s manželem a to je u nich doma v Americe.

Q: U sestry nebo u rodičů?

A: U rodičů pravděpodobně.

Q: Dovedla byste odhadnout zhruba ve kterejch letech to bylo?

A: To mohlo být celkem brzy po té… asi koncem čtyřicátých let.

Q: A jak to vlastně bylo, kdy se sestra vdala?

A: Sestra se vdala v Šanghaji za Američana, který tam přišel s obchodním loďstvem už po válce. A ona se tam vdala a jela s ním do Ameriky a rodiče přišli potom za ní. Měli pak možnost.

Q: A víte, za jak dlouho se ty rodiče tam dostali?

A: No asi za dva roky. Protože měli jet sem a potom měli tu možnost a zaplaťpánbůh, že zvolili tuto možnost.

Picture No. 15:

No tak to je, to my máme takové sleziny ještě z ústavu, tak to mě samosebou vždycky zvou, protože já jsem s nima velmi zadobře… já jsem musela přece odejít, že jo. Tak to je vloni myslím, takže to je poslední fotka, kterou mám.

Q: A kde to je?

A: To je u nich v ústavě, to je Suchdol.

Q: A to je Ústav experimentální botaniky?

A: Přesně.

Q: Budu jenom tak skákat z jedné události na druhou. Povídala jste mi o těch vašich strýcích a mám tady o tom, jak to s nima bylo za války. Mám tady větu, že váš strýc Oskar byl tehdy zabit. Ale…

A: On zahynul zřejmě…

Q: Zřejmě někdy za tý války, ale nevíte o tom nic bližšího…

A: Nevím přesně kde, co, ale zřejmě zahynul v nějakém koncentráku.

Q: Pak bych se vás ještě chtěla zeptat, jestli byste mi mohla ještě trošku něco víc povědět o tom, když jste byla v tý Palestině. Tady mi píšou, že to je hrozně zajímavý a tak jestli byste mi o tom mohla ještě něco víc říct.

A: A co vám mám říct?

Q: Třeba chtěli vědět, jaký tam byly vztahy s Angličanama, s Arabama… Jestli byly nějaký konflikty nebo jak si to pamatujete.

A: S Araby podstatě pro normální řadový Židy neexistovaly žádné styky. Já jsem vám řekla, že jsem tam byla v komunistické straně. Tam jeden čas byly Arabové i Židi, ale Arabové měli svou organizaci, Židi měli svou organizaci, takže jsme věděli, že existuje nějaký soudruh Musa a nějaký ty vedoucí v tom ústředním výboru se asi setkali, ale řadoví členové zase vůbec ne. Vůbec ne, protože arabská a židovská ulice, to bylo úplně oddělený… Problematika byla různá… To nebylo. A pak nějak, to se ukázalo, že ten Musa, ten vedoucí, že to byl vlastně konfident anglickej a pak se to nějak rozdělila ta partaj a ještě jednou rozdělila, různě… Já jsem potom vystoupila, nejenom já, poněvadž jsme toho měli plný zuby, takže se to pak rozdělilo na arabskou a židovskou stranu, ale abych vám to nějak přesně historicky vykládala, to jsem nebyla až tak aktivní, já jsem byla aktivní mezi studenty a zabývala jsem se těmi problémy těch negramotných, tý mládeže, kterou jsme učili a takové věci, ale abychom měli nějaké vysoké politické cíle tenkrát, to ne.

Q: Teď jste mi povídala o tom, že jste se zabývali těmi negramotnými dětmi, můžete mi říct něco víc o tom, co jste dělali prakticky…

A: No učili jsme, to byla výuka každý den odpoledne, ty děti pracovaly většinou, tak po práci ty děti přišly, a to byla dokonce taková organizace, že jsme jim mohli dát svačinu, chleba mazaný a čaj a něco jsme je učili. Asi to nebylo příliš na vysoké úrovni, mezi těmi studenty, kde já jsem dělala, tak jedna byla učitelka skutečně. To nebyla studentka, to už byla hotová učitelka a ta to asi dělala odborněji než my. No a pak byly ty studentky, byli tam i kluci, a to bylo různý podle oboru, který měli. Já jsem měla kamarádku, ona byla matematička a fyzička, tak určitě ráda vyučovala počty ty děti… ona aspoň uměla dokonale hebrejsky, protože ona tam byla delší dobu, jenže já jsem tam vletěla, když jsem byla v Palestině dva roky. Ale na to, aby člověk uměl dokonale hebrejsky dva roky teda nestačej. Takže já jsem s tím trošku bojovala a taky jsem samosebou radši vykládala o přírodě, když jsem byla ta bioložka. Takže to asi nebylo na bůhvíjak vysoké odborné úrovni, to asi nebylo. Ale učily se ty děti číst a psát a nějaké ty základní znalosti… To byly děti víceméně zanedbané, takže je nikdo nechtěl naučit základům biologie nebo co já vím, takové ty všeobecné věci… Svůj účel to určitě mělo… A pak jsem taky učila… to jsem měla přítele a on napřed taky učil v těch kroužcích a pak skončil univerzitu a to byl taky matik. A on uměl dokonale hebrejsky… A on potom učil u takových dětí naprosto zanedbaných, který byly taky částečně už měly nějakou trestnou činnost… takové děti těžce vychovatelné. A on tam učil a přitáh mě tam.

Q: A to bylo taky přes tu komunistickou stranu nebo to už bylo nějak jinak?

A: To vlastně nepodléhalo straně, ale bylo… všechny tyhle organizace byly levičácké samosebou… Takže tam jsem potom taky učila, to ovšem patří k mým nejhorším vzpomínkám, protože já jsem na ně byla krátká. Tak já jsem nemluvila dokonale tím jazykem, já jsem neměla žádné zkušenosti s dětma z těchto kruhů, to byli ty orientální Židi, který byli naprosto jiný, z naprosto jiné kulturní oblasti, spíš blízký arabskému světu. Takže to bylo pro mě cizí a měla jsem hrozné problémy. Abych je vůbec ukáznila, aby vůbec seděli… Takže to jsem se vždycky třásla před každou hodinou a pak jsem se z toho vyzula. Postupně se to trochu lepšilo, ale že bych tam byla odvedla nějakou moc důležitou práci, asi ne. A hrozně jsem se toho vždycky bála.

Q: Řeknete mi ještě něco o tom svém příteli?

A: No tak co o něm mám říct… Byl to student, pocházel z velmi chudé rodiny polské, mateřštinu měl jidiš a uměl hebrejsky, oni se tam učili na gymnáziích a kromě toho chodili do těch talmudistických škol. A opravdu krásnou hebrejštinu umí ten, kdo umí číst tóru a umí číst talmud. To je úroveň, na kterou jsem se nikdy nedostala. On měl úspěchy, on to dělal velmi dobře, on taky byl velmi dobrý učitel. On pak, to bylo v Jeruzalémě, a potom dostal místo učitele, to bylo mizerně placený, my jsme to neměli zaplacený vůbec, to byla dobrovolná činnost, ale on už tam dělal po škole, už si musel vydělat a měl jakýs takýs plat, ale žil s tím, že se jedlo jednou denně jako my všichni, nějaký kus chleba, tak on nadále víceméně takhle žil. Takže pak se stal učitelem v Haifě už normálně na škole… Jinak jako není nic zvláštního zajímavého.

Q: Pak tady mám zmínku o tom, když už jste byla zpátky v Český republice, že jste byla v Americe na nějakým mezinárodním botanickým kongresu, kdy to bylo?

A: To bylo v roce 1969.

Q: V roce 77 jste musela odejít z toho Institutu experimentální botaniky z politických důvodů, mohla byste o tom říct něco bližšího?

A: Co o tom můžu říct. Nikdo nikdy nikomu nic nenapsal, písemný záznam o tom neexistuje, prostě… Je docela jasný, proč to bylo. Bylo to proto, že jsem byla Židovka a Židi museli jít, pokud se na ně dalo sáhnout. Když někdo byl v Palestině, tak byl sionista, imperialista a já nevím co, tak neměl právo na nic. Kdyby desetkrát dělal odbojovou činnost, to jsem dělala, ale to bylo úplně irelevantní. Každá ta instituce, ve vědeckých ústavech, na ministerstvech, v takových organizacích, kde seděli intelektuálové, dostala určitou kvótu, kolik lidí musela vyhodit. V první řadě šli Židi. Tak mě vyhodili.

Q: Vy jste mi říkala, že jste byla členkou Židovský obce nějak potom, jak jste se vrátila…

A: No, hned, jak jsem se vrátila… Já jsem se tam šla něco zeptat kvůli rodičům… Já jsem se tím nikdy netajila.

Q: Pak tady mám ještě o tý Komisi žen, oni zase chtěj vědět, kdy to bylo…

A: To bylo někdy v sedmdesátých letech.

Q: A bylo to potom, co vás vyhodili z tý strany?

A: Jo, protože dokavad člověk seděl v Akademii, tak nemohl… Já jsem chodila na Obec na nějaký ty akce, ale abych tam byla pracovala, to bych byla vyletěla mnohem dřív ještě.

Q: Takže jste začala být aktivnější potom, co vás vyhodili z tý strany.

A: Taky jsem měla víc času.

Q: A kdy jste se stala členkou WIZO?

A: WIZO bylo později, protože to se nějak zakládalo až později. Někdy v devadesátém.

Q: Teď se vás zeptám na to, jak se změnil život po tom, co jste se rozvedla se svým mužem. Jestli jste třeba potom začala být aktivnější třeba na obci nebo něco…

A: Ne, poněvadž to s tím nemělo co dělat. Já jsem nijak netajila, že jsem Židovka, hrdě jsem se k tomu vždycky hlásila…

Q: A třeba co se týká přátel, jestli se něco změnilo…

A: No tak jo, to se snad trochu změnilo, o něco víc jsem se potom stýkala s Židy, poněvadž jsem nemusela brát na něho ohled a na jeho přátele, taky jsem měla trochu víc času, ale tak jenom nepatrně. Že bych se já nějak změnila kvůli tomu, že jsem se rozvedla, to ne.

Q: Mluvili jste doma s manželem o politice?

A: No to jistě. Měli jsme v podstatě stejný názory… Já už jsem dávno nevěřila té celé záležitosti. To bylo velmi velmi kritický, tam v těch ústavech se neustále dělaly revoluce, jenomže to nikam nešlo. My jsme to podávali na Ústřední výbor a já nevím… napřed na okres, na město, oni vždycky říkali ano ano a vůbec se nic nedělo. A on to věděl přesně tak jako já. Ale nechtěl. A dokavad to bylo bezkonfliktní, dokavad jsme nadávali všichni svorně… ale po tom devětašedesátém roce, když došlo k těm prověrkám atd., no tak potom už šlo o to… a to on nebyl ochoten udělat ten krok, takže my jsme se rozvedli, kdybychom se nerozvedli, tak jsme se rozvedli za dva roky, protože bysme se pohádali. Já jsem tohle nedokázala tyhle kompromisy dělat. A on vlastně taky ne, to bych mu křivdila, kdybych řekla, že on byl nějaký lump, on nebyl, on byl jenom slaboch a on si to vsugeroval. On to v podstatě věděl, ale on s tím nedokázal žít. Takže potom s ním nebyla řeč. Pak jsem s ním přestala diskutovat.

Q: Tohle jste říkala, že to byl ten Tchelet lavant, mohla byste mi o tý organizaci říct něco víc?

A: Původně to byla organizace, která vznikla z jedné strany z takového hnutí těch mladých lidí, který chtěli do kibucu a z druhý strany to bylo ovlivněný německým hnutím Wandervogel. Wandervogel znamená – Vogel je pták a wandern je dělat pěší túry. To bylo hnutí mládeže takové trochu levičácké, velmi romantické, ty lidi dělali výlety společně a měli své písně a takový romantický… takovou literaturu…

Q: A to bylo v Německu?

A: To vzniklo v Německu. Byl potom taky v Rakousku, byl taky asi i tady. Původně ten Tchelet lavant se jmenoval Blau-Weiss. Tady u nás. To byl vlastně židovský Wandervogel.

Q: Takže ten Wandervogel nebyl židovský?

A: Ne. Ti Blau-Weiss byli sionisti.

Q: A vy jste byla členkou v Brně?

A: V Brně.

Q: Jak jste se o tý organizaci dozvěděla? Já jsem začala chodit do židovského gymnázia, to jsem vám vyprávěla. A tam jsem se seznámila s lidma, který tam byli organizovaný a já jsem předtím v Mikulově byl ten Makabi hacair. A já jsem byla levičák, tak mně mnohem líp vyhovoval ten Tchelet lavant, ale to v Mikulově nebylo a v Brně jsem potom s radostí vstoupila tam.

Q: A co jste tam dělali?

A: No my jsme taky studovali, studovali jsme dějiny sionismu, ale taky socialismu, marxismus taky částečně, četla se tam literatura… Až úplně to bylo groteskní… To bylo takový hnutí intelektuálů, který se zabývali filosofií a literaturou a velmi hudbou, velmi krásně se tam zpívalo, lidi na flétnách doprovázeli a zpívaly se kánony, opravdu na vysoké úrovni. To byla taková intelektuálština, musim říct jako ex post, tenkrát jsem to nevnímala, ale potom, během války, když jsem na to myslela, že když Němci okupovali Československo, tak my jsme se zabývali čínskou literaturou, si pamatuju, že jsme čtli… a furt nějak dál jsme se scházeli a četli jsme si to, že se boří svět, to nám snad ani nedošlo. No tak ono to tenkrát nedošlo vůbec, to je vždycky tak, že teprve potom si uvědomujete, co se děje. No ale přesto, když mladý lidi se můžou zabývat čínskou literaturou v takovym… tak je to trošku divný. Teď mně to připadá groteskní.

Q: To byli lidi zhruba ve věku na tom gymnáziu?

A: Ne, to začalo od dětí tak od desíti let. Bylo to organizovaný trošku jako skaut. Ten skaut na to měl taky trochu vliv potom. Jako skauti byli ty mladší, potom byli takoví ty střední a potom už ty takoví dospěláci nad osmnáct let. První byli od desíti do čtrnácti, pak do sedmnácti…

Q: A bylo to tak, že se o ty mladší vždycky starali ty starší, nebo tam byli ještě nějaký dospělí?

A: Ne, to se pracovalo ve skupinách, no a vždycky ta skupina měla vedoucího. Já jsem dělala vedoucí skupiny, já jsem měla děti od třinácti do patnácti let.

Q: A dokad jste byli v Brně, tak jste byla členkou Tchelet lavant?

A: Jo.

Q: Vzpomenete si konkrétně na tenhle výlet?

A: Ne, to vám neřeknu.

Q: Ještě se vás zeptám, jestli víte, v kterém roce se vaši rodiče vzali?

A: Počkejte, to já vypočítám, to muselo být 1920.

Q: Jsou vaši rodiče pohřbený na židovském hřbitově?

A: V San Franciscu. To je hřbitov všeobecný a část židovská. A na náhrobku, to už tatínek nechal udělat, že tam je nápis, na upomínku maminčiných rodičů a bratr maminčin a jeho manželka a bratranec muj. To pokládám za velmi důležitý, že nezanikly ty jména úplně. Ačkoliv jsou v Pinkasový synagoze.

Q: Teď bych vás poprosila, cokoli co se týká tý fotky…

A: To je septima židovského gymnázia z devětatřicátého roku. Tady je nás velmi málo. A ještě poměrně se zachránilo dost lidí. Tady je moje přítelkyně Helga, která teď umřela asi před dvěma měsíci a ta byla v Terezíně, ta měla babičku árijku, Němku… Rakušanku. Ale jinak to byla židovská rodina. Její rodiče byli židovský, dědeček byl židovský… a to jim nějak pomohlo, když měli být poslaný dál z Terezína, tak oni… oni je vyčlenili z toho transportu, takže zůstali v Terezíně. Ona tam byla s maminkou, poněvadž otec jí zemřel dřív a ona tam zůstala s maminkou a dožily se teda osvobození, jenomže ta matka dělala ošetřovatelku a dostala tyfus a zemřela tam. A Helga se zachránila. Její sestra emigrovala už na začátku války napřed do Palestiny a pak měla manžela lékaře, tak byli v severní Africe a nechali ji přijít a odtamtud se dostala do Amerika a přežila. Tohle je profesor Gaian, to je profesor historie, on pocházel z Prešova. A on se vrátil za Němců, když zavřeli to gymnázium, vrátil se do Prešova, on se jmenoval Heidelmann. A nějak si opatřil papíry árijský na jméno Gaian a on potom narukoval… zúčastnil se povstání. A zajali je, ale už jako Slováka, ne jako Žida. Takže ten se taky zachránil. Pak se zachránil Franta Meyer, ten je v Americe, ale nevím, jak se zachránil. To jsem jenom o něm slyšela. Potom se zachránil ještě jeden, ten tady není. Ten se jmenoval Grauss. František Grauss a to byl slavný člověk. To byl nesmírně chytrý člověk a byl taky historik a stal se akademikem. A byl potom taky v devětašedesátém vyhozen a šel do Německa a v Kostnici se stal profesorem. Ale ten už dávno umřel. A toto je Licht. To byl můj dobrý kamarád. To je zajímavá historka. Tak ten… v Brně bylo před válkou dost takových lidí, který se dostali za první světové války… z Haliče a z těch západních částí Polska bylo hodně židovských uprchlíků, který přišli sem na Moravu. Mnoho, protože tam pronásledovali Židy. Takže oni uprchli sem. A někteří se vrátili a někteří tu zůstali. A v Brně jich bylo dost, co zůstali. A ten Licht pocházeli z rodiny s polskou národností. A jak jsme se to dozvěděli? To bylo v oktávě, to bylo nějak v říjnu 1939 najednou nepřišel. A potom jsme se dozvěděli, že sebrali všecky občany polské národnosti a poslali je do Polska do koncentráku. A ten Licht byl mezi nima. A potom jsem vám vykládala, jak nás vypověděli, a v Terstu jsem se rozloučila od rodičů, tatínek mě doprovodil na loď, já jsem nastoupila na loď a najednou někdo volá Teltscherová, Teltscherová a já koukám – on Licht. Oholený… To byla taková věc. Ten Licht měl mladšího bratra a ten se dostal do Palestiny a oni tam měli nějaké příbuzné, nějakého strejce. A ty jemu poslali vízum do toho koncentráku. To bylo někde v Polsku. A tenkrát to bylo na začátku, to se stupňovalo, že jo… Oni v té době, když někdo měl vízum do ciziny, tak ho pustili. Tak toho Lichta z toho koncentráku pustili, my jsme se setkali na té lodi, my jsme se potom kamarádili, on studoval… z něho se stal profesor archeologie na hebrejské univerzitě. Oni všichni dělali kariéru, když tam zůstali, já jsem se vrátila, tak jsem spadla k těm komunistům. To byl velmi chytrej a moc fajn člověk.

Q: Proč jste se tenkrát rozhodla vrátit z tý Palestiny?

A: No, z blbosti, protože jsem šla budovat… Ne, podívejte se, já jsem vám řekla, že jsem tam byla… Jak já jsem se tam dostala do tý partaje… Jednak dokázali působit na nás… To jsem vám vykládala, jak nás vezli… jak nám ukázali ty chudinské čtvrti…

Q: Ne, to jste mi neříkala…

A: Aha. Ta partaj byla ilegální, tak ono se nedalo verbovat… říct, hele já jsem ve straně, vstup tam taky, to nešlo. Takže mluvili, diskutovali, neříkali… když říkali něco hodně levičáckého a člověk jim řekl, tak ty seš komunista… Kdepak, kdepak, poněvadž to bylo nebezpečný. Za to nejenom člověk šel do kriminálu, ale oni ho vyhostili, odvezli někam do Afriky, tak to nebyly žádné špásy. Já vím, že mě vždycky říkali, mluv potichu, proč tak křičíš, já jsem řekla, já pocházím z demokratické země, u nás každý může říct, co chce, já budu říkat, co chci a nahlas tolik, jak chci! Já jsem vám řekla, že jsem pracovala v těch kroužcích, že jsme vyučovali. To vzniklo tak, že oni vždycky poslali… Oni člověka vzali a zavedli do takové chudinské čtvrti a to je těžko popsat. To pro středoevropana je nepředstavitelný, jak ty lidi žili. V zemljankách bez oken, kde v jedné místnosti bylo dvanáct lidí. Já si pamatuju, jak jsem jednou prolezla takovou čtvrtí. A Židi všecko, jo. V blátě děti si hráli. Já jsem z toho tejden nespala. To strašně působilo. Ta sociální rétorika… my jsme tomu věřili. Ale co tomu velmi pomohlo bylo to, že ti sionisti, teda ten oficiální cíl byl strašně nacionalistický, strašně nacionalistický. Oni nadávali na ty Araby…

Q: No a to se právě chci zeptat, vlastně teda ten spor toho židovsko-arabského přátelství, vy jste říkala, že jste si s těma Arabama moc nestýkali. Nebo spíš vůbec.

A: Ne nestýkali. To byla politická záležitost. To se psaly články, to se diskutovalo o těch věcech, to se snažili ovlivnit i tohle k spolupráci, to nebyla praktická. Ten Arab je tady čistou náhodou. To je v okolí Pal… Jeruzaléma, kde byli Arabové a my jsme tam stáli, kluci nás fotili.

Q: A von se přifařil

A: A ten Arab se ze zvědavosti přifařil.

Q: Aha, aha. To je dobrý, dobře. Teď se tady ještě ptají, jak jste dostala ten certifikát, aby jste mohla studovat v tom Jeruzaléme, tak jestli jste musela předtím dělat nějaký zkoušky nebo něco?

A: Nemusela. Já jsem měla maturitu. Musela jsem pak během prvního ročníku složit dvě zkoušky z hebrejštiny.

Q: Hmm, hmm, jasný.

A: Každý, kdo neměl maturitu z hebrej…, hebrejské školy.

Q: Dobře, ještě se tady ptají, ve kterým roce jste se zase vy vzala se svým manželem?

A: Kdy jsem se vzala? Haha! Počkejte. Kruci. No čtyřicet devět, snad.

Q: Takže takhle rychle vlastně potom, co jste se vrátila.

A: No, já jsem se vrátila čtyřicet šest.

Q: Jo a pak jste se nějak poznali?

A: Jo

Q: A pak jste se vzali? Jo a teď tady ještě k týhlenstý poslední fotce se zase ptají…

A: No to ne, to je úplně, to já nevím, proč jsem vám to vůbec dala…

Q: Protože jsem chtěla vaší současnou fotku.

A: Jo, aha. No tak to je na takovém mecheche našeho ústavu, mého bývalého ústavu.

Q: Jo.

A: To nemá vůbec nic jináč.

Q: A u jaký to bylo příležitosti?

A: To je moje bývalá technička.

Q: To byla nějaká oslava něčeho nebo co to bylo za slezinu?

A: My se scházíme jednou, někdy taky na nějaký oslavě, ale zásadně jednou ročně, před Vánocema. Ty starý, všichni dohromady a i ti nový. No tak ty mladý člověk už pomalu nezná. Ale celá stará garda se schází a držíme takhle dost pohromadě.

Q: Jasně.

A: No, tak to je nějaké u takové…

Q: Dobře, no tak já myslím, že už je to asi všechno.

A: No vidíte, tak jsme to zvládly, posléze. Doufám, že už nebudou…

Q: Já taky doufám.

Bársony Józsefné

Életrajz

Sajnálatos módon Bársony Józsefné az interjú véglegesítése előtt elhunyt, ezért a végső pontosításokat unokahúga, Sándor Erzsébet segítségével végeztük el. A szövegbe az ő kiegészítéseit kerek zárójelben, dőlt betűkkel szúrtuk be. A Bársony Józsefnéről és környezetéről írt bevezető is az ő munkája. Ezúton mondunk köszönetet kedves segítségéért. A ferencvárosi lakás egyetlen szobája az egykori polgári bútorokkal, szőnyegekkel van tele. Láthatóan egy régebbi, nagyobb lakásból kerültek ide. A két háború között csináltatott garnitúra darabjai: egy szekreteres kombinált szekrény, vitrin, kör alakú nagyasztal, körülötte négy bársony bevonatú székkel. A szőnyegek, hasonlóan a vitrinben lévő tárgyakhoz, nem annyira értékesek, mint inkább mutatósak. Egy olyan hajdani polgári miliőt vannak hivatva képviselni, amelyben Bizsu néninek igazán, egész életében nem volt része. Bizsu néni nagyon idős a számtalan betegségtől egyre apróbbá töpörödő asszony, rövidre vágott hófehér hajjal és fürkésző manó tekintettel. Nem lát tisztán, ráadásul az egyik szeme kisebb mint a másik, így az erőltetett nézéstől mindig az az érzése a vele szemben ülőnek, hogy Bizsu néni mindjárt leleleplezi, és kihúzza belőle a legféltettebb titkot is. Élénk, szikrázó tekintete tükrözi azt az élénk, szikrázó észt, ami ritka adomány 95 éves korban. A mozgás nehezére esik, bottal jár, de a lakásban nem használja. Önellátásra rendezkedett be, amíg csak teheti, nem kér senkitől sem segítséget. Az asztal melletti hintaszékben tölti a nap legnagyobb részét. Ölében Mici, a macska, kezében a tévé távirányítója. Spektrum-, National Geographic- és Romantic-csatorna fogyasztó. A tévét fülhallgatóval hallgatja, mert így nem zavarja a szomszédokat. Fölötte a falon, nagy fekete keretben, Auschwitzban elvesztett 15 éves fiának fényképe függ.

Egyik felmenőmről sem tudom igazán, hogy honnan származik, de az biztos, hogy mind magyarországiak voltak. Ezt tudom, mert voltak a második világháború kezdetén azok az évek, amikor igazolni kellett a magyar állampolgárságot, mert volt, aki nem volt magyar állampolgár, amikor a hitlerizmus kezdődött [lásd: zsidótörvények Magyarországon]. Ezért tudom, hogy itt, Magyarországon született az apám is. A dédmamámról, az anyai nagymamám édesanyjáról annyira emlékszem, hogy nem tudott magyarul. Hát azelőtt Magyarországon csak németül beszéltek [Ez természetesen túlzás, az állítás csak a magyarországi zsidóság egy részére igaz. – A szerk.]. Találkoztam vele a nagymamánál, mindig odament látogatóba. Nem tudtam vele beszélgetni, ő beszélt velem németül, én beszéltem vele magyarul. Olyan kis kalap volt a fején, masnival. Úgy emlékszem rá. Csak ezt a dédmamámat ismertem meg a testvérét. Más dédet nem ismertem. Nem tudom, hogy a nagyszüleim hol születtek, hogy éltek-e Budapesten kívül máshol, csak azt tudom, hogy apám Haláborban született [Halábor – kisközség volt Bereg vm.-ben, 1910-ben 500 főnyi lakossal. Trianont követően Csehszlovákiához került. – A szerk.]. Nagyapámat Bauer Sámuelnek hívták, nagymamámat Weiss Léninek. Ő valószínűleg nem is járt iskolába, emlékszem, úgy ment moziba, hogy az anyám ment vele, s felolvasta neki a szöveget. Apai nagymamám és a későbbi mostohaanyám édesanyja testvérek voltak. Érdekes, hogy az egyik testvér megváltoztatta, magyarosította a nevét, Fehér Eugéniának hívták, a másik viszont, az apai nagymama, Weiss Léni nem. Volt egy fiútestvérük, a Jentli bácsi [Fehér József].

Az apai nagyszüleim a Haller utcában laktak, ugyanabban a házban, mint mi. Nagymama az első emeleten lakott, mi meg a másodikon. Cselédlány is volt a nagymamánál. A nagymamám hatvanhárom éves volt, amikor meghalt, de én csak arra emlékszem, hogy a cseléd fűzte be a cipőjét, segített neki felöltözni, és nagyon-nagyon öregnek láttam. Én most, kilencvenhat évesen sem érzem magamat olyan tehetetlennek, mint akkor az a hatvanhárom éves öregasszony, én még most is felveszem a cipőmet egyedül, és nem hagyom magamat öltöztetni. Vallásosak voltak, kóser étkezés volt, meg voltak tartva az ünnepek.

Az édesanyám szülei, a Kellermann nagymamáék akkoriban a Garay utcában laktak, aztán elmentek lakni a Hernád utcába. Ott laktak életük végéig. Miután anyám meghalt, nem sokat törődtek velünk. Pedig több testvére is volt édesanyámnak, nagynénik, nagybácsik, voltak jómódúak is. Róluk sajnos nem tudok többet mesélni. Kellermann nagyapámék foglalkozásáról nem tudok semmit, még kislány voltam, amikor meghaltak. Nagyon vallásosak voltak. Ahányszor a nagymamám meglátott, mindig sírva fakadt, mert eszébe jutott a lánya. De senki nem segített. A nagyszüleim politikai nézeteiről fogalmam sincs, gyerekek voltunk, nem osztottak meg velünk komoly dolgokat. Tudtommal nem voltak problémáik a zsidóságuk miatt, magyarul beszéltek otthon, és mindenkivel jóban voltak [A családnak ezzel az ágával az édesanya korai halála miatt nagyon laza volt a kapcsolat. – A szerk.].

Mi a Haller utcában laktunk, onnan mentem férjhez. Egy nagy szobánk volt, egy alkóvos, az alkóv külön volt, egy egész ebédlő volt benne. Az ember, ha bejött, akkor az ebédlőbe ment be, a háló azután következett. Volt vezetékes víz is, viszont villany nem volt, lámpával [értsd: petróleumlámpával] világítottunk. Később bevezették az olajlámpát is [Valószínűleg a gázvilágításról van szó, amelyhez a gázt olajból nyerték. A 18. század végén állítottak elő először kőszénből világítógázt (légszeszt), a 19. század első felében néhány gazdag pesti polgár házában már volt gázvilágítás (kőszén alapú, esetleg repceolajból előállított gázzal). Később kőszén helyett olajból is állítottak elő világítógázt. A gáz ún. gázharisnyákban elégve árasztott fényt. A gázvilágítást – elsősorban a lakásokban – a 20. század elején kezdte fölváltani a villanyvilágítás. – A szerk.]. Amikor megszületett a húgom, szegődtettek egy cselédet [lásd: cseléd], mert kellett, hogy a kislányra vigyázzon valaki. Az illető majdnem vak volt, mindent összetört, de nem tudtak megfizetni egy drágábbat. Volt olyan, hogy cseléd- és helyszerző. Ha oda elment az ember, tudott szerezni olcsóbb cselédet, drágábbat, attól függően, hogy kinek milyenre volt szüksége.

A Remete utcában volt egy zsinagóga, ahova jártunk, meg ott volt a Páva utcai zsinagóga, de oda csak a húgom járt, akkoriban az iskolából ide voltak irányítva, a Páva utcába. Amikor én iskolába jártam, akkor csak a Remete utcai zsinagógába jártunk. Én jártam Talmud iskolába is [lásd: Talmud-Tóra], az is a Remete utcában volt.

Otthon a családban magyarul beszéltünk mindig, nem is tudom, hogy az apám tudott-e más nyelven. A szüleim is tartották a vallást, kóser módra főztünk és szombattartás volt, vagyis zsinagógába jártak minden szombaton [lásd: étkezési törvények; szombati munkavégzés tilalma]. Az asszonyok nem mentek minden héten a templomba, csak ünnepkor. A férfiak viszont, apám, nagyapám mentek pénteken, szombaton is. Meg volt tartva az újév [Ros Hásáná], a hosszúnap [Jom Kipur] meg minden. Meg a húsvét [Pészah]. Ünnepek előtt mindig új ruhát kaptunk, tetőtől talpig. (Unokahúg: „Persze nem volt pajeszos a nagypapám, nem ortodox jellegű volt a vallása, vagy nem látszott ez rajta, mert nem hordott kaftánt, nem hordott imaszíjat.”)

Gyerekkoromban az utcában, ahol laktunk, voltak zsidók és keresztények is, és nem volt semmi hadakozás a zsidó és a keresztény között. Egyformán játszottunk egymással, sok gyerek volt a házban. Ami a szomszédokat, barátokat illeti, nem számított, hogy keresztény volt vagy zsidó. A szomszédunk is keresztény volt, és nagyon jóban voltak apámmal. A nevelőanyám pedig nagyon szomszédolós volt, minden szomszéddal barátkozott.

A környékünkön volt zsidó kávémérés meg fűszerüzlet is. Meg volt pálinkamérés is, az is zsidó tulajdonban volt. A kapu mellett jobbra volt a pálinkamérő, és balra volt egy nagy borkimérés. Sőt a szemben lévő házban, az udvarban is volt egy kocsma. Azt hiszem, kocsmából volt a legtöbb. Sok üzlet volt zsidó kézben, mert földbirtokos nem lehetett zsidó a múltban. Én is csak felnőttkoromban tudtam meg, hogy miért van az, hogy zsidó az ügyvéd, az orvos meg a tudós, tanult ember, és egyetlen paraszt nincs zsidó. [A zsidók az 1850-es évekig nem rendelkezhettek földdel, telekkel és ingatlannal, és nem foglalhattak el állami hivatalokat sem, így árutermeléssel és eladással, valamint pénzügyletekkel foglalkoztak. Amikor elkezdődött Magyarország modernizációja, a zsidók az ipari és kereskedelmi vállalkozások, a bankszakma, a vállalati és magántisztviselôi, valamint a szabad értelmiségi pályák felé orientálódtak. - A szerk.] Ez sehogy sem ment a fejembe. Aztán kezdtem olvasgatni, és így tudtam meg, hogy tulajdonképpen a zsidónak nem lehetett földje. Így kénytelen volt a gyerekeit taníttatni, mert különben nem lett volna szakmájuk.

Édesapám Haláborban született. Amikor én születtem, harminc éves volt, tehát 1879-ben születhetett. Volt nekünk egy cipőüzletünk ugyanabban a házban, ahol laktunk, a kilencedik kerületben, de nem emlékszem, hogy apám cipész volt-e vagy inkább kereskedő. Nem igazán emlékszem, hogy miket csinált, mielőtt kitört a első világháború.

Édesanyám biztos, hogy Budapesten született 1888 körül. A leánykori neve Kellermann Ilona. Fogalmam sincs, hogy az anyám milyen iskolát végzett. Huszonhét éves volt apám, amikor elvette az anyámat feleségül. Esküvői képet nem láttam, talán nincs is. Az anyám nagyon fiatalon ment férjhez, tizennyolc évesen. Apámnak nem volt könnyű helyzete, mivel anyám romboló tüdőbajt kapott, amikor én még a világon sem voltam, és az orvosok három hó¬napot jósoltak neki. Apám pénzt és időt nem kímélve, mi¬ndent elkövetett, hogy az életét meghosszabbítsa, és ez négy évig sikerült. 1912-ben halt meg. Azután ott maradt két gyermekkel és a vagyona maradványaival. Kezdődött a hivatalos procedúra, amikor a gyámhatóság követelte anyám hozományának letétbe helyezését az árvák javára (azt csak mellékesen jegyzem meg, hogy amikorra nagykorúak lettünk, a pénzünk egy villamosjegyet sem ért, így át sem vettük), de ezzel az intézkedésükkel apámat tönkretették. Így lettünk szegények.

Általában nagyon kevés emlékem van az édesanyámról, huszonnégy éves sem volt, amikor meghalt tüdőbajban. Olyan nagyon kicsi voltam, hogy nem is hatott rám annyira, mint a bátyámra. A bátyám szinte belebetegedett. Idősebb volt két évvel, ez sokat jelent. Én csak később raktam össze mozaikszerűen a dolgokat.

A bátyám, Bauer Árpád 1907. szeptember nyolcadikán született, Budapesten. Gyerekkoromban sokat voltunk együtt, mert nem mehetett játszani, csak ha engem is vitt magával. De én igazából egy kolonc voltam neki. Fölkapott, aztán szaladt velem, mert utol akarta érni a társait. Ő is csak a négy elemit meg a négy polgárit végezte el, és utána nem tanult semmiféle szakmát, mert segített apámnak vásározni. Megnősült, mert azt akarta, hogy önálló legyen. Elvitték feleségestől a hatéves kisfiával, Gyurikával együtt, az egész család ottmaradt Auschwitzban. (Unokahúg: „Árpád sorsa rémtörténet a maga megoldatlanságával. Ő ismerte az édesanyját, mivel pár évvel idősebb volt, és nagyon megviselte az anyja halála. Elcsúszott az élete, nem is tanult, nem lett szakmája, tengett-lengett, Mikivel – Bársony Józsefné első férjével, Fényes Mórral – járt vásározni, begyűjteni. Aztán elvette feleségül Eckenfeld Helént, s aztán megszületett Gyurika. 1938-ban született, hat éves körül lehetett, amikor meghalt.”)

Apámat nem hagyták a szülei békén, hogy nősüljön meg, mert nem volt türelmük velünk foglalkozni, terhükre voltunk, így apám elég hamar megnősült. Szerintem megbeszélt esküvő volt ez a második. Még tizennyolc éves sem volt a mostohaanyám, amikor hozzáment apánkhoz. Valószínű, hogy nem volt apámba szerelmes, de becsülte, mert szorgalmas és jóképű ember volt egy beren¬dezett lakással, ám két gyerekkel, de mostohaanyám vállalta, mert mindenáron szabadulni akart a nyomorúságból. Erről a második esküvőről vannak emlékeim, 1914-ben volt. Fénykép erről sem maradt, de az emlékezetemben megvan, hogy nézett ki a nevelőanyám mint menyasszony. Mert akkor már öt éves voltam, a bátyám hét. Elszöktünk a mostohanagymamához, akihez közel laktunk, mert ott volt az esküvő, és meg akartuk nézni a menyasszonyt. Persze amikor észrevették, hogy ott vagyunk, rögtön elvittek onnan, mert nekünk nem volt szabad ott lennünk. Rendes esküvő volt, menyasszonyi fátyollal, zsinagógában [lásd: házasság, esküvői szertartás].

Aztán eljött a keserű időszak is. Miután apámat elvitték katonának az első világháborúban, nem maradt kereső, aki eltartson, így hát anyám kellett eltartson bennünket. Mivel tartaléktőkénk nem volt, ott álltunk minden jövedelem nélkül. Anyám tanult fehérnemű-varrónő volt. Sikerült neki egy nagyon előkelő belvárosi szaküzletben munkát vállalnia. Nagyon szépen dolgozott mint bedolgozó, rajz után csodás dolgokat varrt, nagyon meg voltak vele elégedve, de olyan keveset keresett, hogy csak saját magát tudta belőle eltartani, meg a lakbért fizetni. Miránk már nem jutott, a nagyszülőknél kosztoltunk, válogatás nem volt, ha nem ízlett, mást nem kaptunk. Én rossz evő voltam, fogamra valót sohasem kaptam, hát inkább nem ettem. Nem lehetett semmit kapni, mindenért sorba kellett állni, a fagyos krumplitól kezdve, amiből csurgott a lé, mindenért. Lassan mi lettünk a bátyámmal a sorban állók. Villany nem volt nálunk, a petróle¬umért is sorba kellett állnunk, a tüzelőért is, a szobában soha nem volt fűtve, csak annyi meleg volt, amit a konyhai csikótűzhely adott, az is csak addig, amíg a főzés tartott. Valószínű akkor is volt feketepiac, és pénzért mindent lehetett kapni, de nekünk nem volt egy vasunk sem. A nagyszüleimnek volt pénzük, de inkább hadikölcsönbe [lásd: hadikötvény az Osztrák–Magyar Monarchiában] fektették, ami egy fillérig odaveszett. Akkor mint gyerek nem sokat értettem ezekből a dolgokból, csak azt gondoltam, hogy senki sem szeret minket, csak tengünk-lengünk a világban. Gyerekek vagyunk, és hiányzik a szülői ölelés és szeretet. Az évek teltek, és nem változott semmi. Apánkat nem láttuk, tudtuk, hogy él, de hogy mikor látjuk viszont, fogalmunk sem volt, csak azt tudtuk, hogy anyánk nagyon várja, mert minden személyes holmijára nagyon vigyá¬zott. Időnként elővette és szellőztette, hogy a moly bele ne menjen. Minden évben eltett lekvárt, mindenféle befőttet, és ahhoz nem volt szabad hozzányúlni, mert az a Papának volt eltéve, nekünk ebből nagyon kevés jutott. Jellemző, hogy a bátyám néha egy kissé megdézsmálta, és ezért bizony büntetés járt. A gyerekkorunk úgy telt el, hogy megszoktuk azt, hogy szegények vagyunk.

Ritkán előfordult, hogy anyánk ünnepi délutánt rendezett, ez nagyon ritkán volt. Elküldött bennünket a cukrászdába, és hozatott velünk két-három minyont, és kibontott egy üveg befőttet. Ilyenkor bezárta az ajtót, hogy a nagymama meg ne tudja, mert ő ezt könnyelműségnek tartotta volna. Így zajlott az életünk, de nekem legeslegjobban a babusgatás hiányozott, mert azt láttam, hogy a másik anya, ha a gyerek rossz, megveri, de nemsokára utána megöleli és csókolja.

Aztán lassan kezdtek a foglyok hazaszállingózni, mivel Oroszországban kitört a forradalom, ki, ahogy tudott elindult hazafelé, apánk is megérkezett. Az öröm nagy volt, ki sem mondható. Apám meg volt lepve, hogy át tudott öltözni, minden holmija megvolt, még egy zsebkendője sem hiányzott, pillanatok alatt „elegáns ember” lett belőle, így kezdtem ráismerni.

Ám az életünkben túl sok változás nem történt, mert közben itthon is kitört a forradalom [lásd: Tanácsköztársaság; fehérterror], ami nekünk, gyerekeknek nagyon érdekes volt, de a felnőtteknek szörnyűség. Ugyanúgy nem lehetett semmit sem kapni, de nekünk egy kicsit talán több jutott. Lehet, hogy a nagymama annak örömére, hogy az egyetlen fia hazajött, kinyitotta az erszényét, vagy apánknak volt pénze, ezt nem tudom, de egy kicsit jobb életünk volt. De nem sokáig, mert apánk sokat betegeskedett, nem tudott úgy pénzt keresni, hogy elég legyen, a szegénység hozta a gondot, idegességet, veszekedést. Az országban zűrzavar volt. Minket na¬gyon könnyen ki lehetett volna elégíteni, mert a babot nagyon szerettük minden formában, és a tésztát is, ez volt a szegény emberek eledele, mert ez olcsó volt, de anyánk nem szerette, és nem is nagyon szeretett főzni.

A húgom, Margit akkor született, mikor apám hazajött a háborúból, 1919-ben. Tíz és fél évvel volt fiatalabb a húgom, de már meghalt. Borzasztóan szerettem őt. Mindig megvolt közöttünk ez az erős kapcsolat. A húgom még javában iskolába járt, nyolc éves volt, amikor én férjhez mentem. Azután az én üzletemben tanulólány lett, és ő is kitanulta a kalaposszakmát. A húgom egy keresztény fiúhoz ment férjhez, Tóth Lászlóhoz, ennek köszönhette, hogy őt nem vitték el. (Az unokahúg, Tóth Lászlóné Bauer Margit lánya anyja sorsáról: „Szüleinek volt egy Margit nevű unokatestvére, aki ékszerész férjével együtt a 1930-as évek elején kiment Brazíliába, és ékszerészként befutott /Bauer Margit szülei, Bauer Izidor és Schwarz Janka unokatestvérek voltak, így lehetett közös unokatestvérük/. Ez a Margit 1937-ben, pesti látogatása alkalmával, magával vitte a kis Bauer Margitot, úgymond, örökbe fogadta, és gyakorlatilag kivándoroltatták. Anyám még kis fiatal lányka volt, még húsz éves sem, de 1939-ben a Tóth László iránt érzett olthatatlan szerelme miatt hazajött. Visszakönyörögte magát, hogy ne kelljen neki Brazíliában a tengerre néznie. És így aztán két év után hazajött, és egész életében honvágya volt Brazília után.”)

A házban, ahol nevelkedtünk, sok gyerek volt, és sokat játszottunk együtt, és mindig hangosak voltunk, mivel kézzel fogható játékunk nem volt, rohan¬gáltunk a padlástól a pincéig, kiabáltuk, ipi-apacs vagy azt, hogy adj királyt katonát, azt hiszem, a mai gyerekek ezt a játékot nem is ismerik, de ehhez nem kellett pénz, csak jó láb és torok, az meg in¬gyen volt. Lakott mellettünk egy család, a Fényesék, ők is hozzátartoznak a gyermekkoromhoz, és fontos szerepet játszanak majd később az életemben. [Egyébként – mint a családfából is látható – nem csak szomszédok voltak, hanem rokonok is: Fényesné Róza néni az apa lánytestvére, tehát nagynéni volt. – A szerk.] Náluk mindent lehetett csinálni, színházasdit játszottunk, mindent magunkra szedtünk, ugráltunk a sezlonon, szóval sokszor felforgattuk a házat, de azért némileg ren¬det is csináltunk, hogy mire Róza néni, az anyuka haza¬jön, túl nagy rumlit ne találjon. Jó kedvű család volt, pedig még nálunk is szegényebbek voltak, a háború kitörésekor költöztek ide Szatmárból. Ugyanolyan méretű lakásuk volt, mint a miénk, de ott kilenc gyerek volt, a legnagyobb tizenhárom éves, a legkisebbek pár hónaposak, ikrek voltak. Volt két gyerekük, akik már nem laktak velük, egy fiú, aki süketnémának szü¬letett, és a süketnémák intézetében nevelkedett, az utána következő lány nem volt velük, ő valahol külföldön élt. Miklós volt a tizenhárom éves, utána Pali, Cilike, Szerén, Etus, aki velem egy idős volt, utána az ikrek, Berta és Laci. Róza néni batyuzott, még vonat tete¬jén is utazott, ment vidékre, vitte, ami oda kellett, és onnan hozta, amit itt lehetett eladni. A két nagyobb fiú is besegített, cukorkát árultak a katonáknak a Ferenc József laktanyánál, közben nekik kellett volna a kicsikre vigyázni, de azt hiszem, hogy azok csak úgy nőttek föl maguktól, nem dirigálta őket senki. Talán azért voltak vidámak. Róza néni, amikor megérkezett – volt, hogy csak este tízkor –, nagyon gyors volt, hamar összedobta a vacsorát, felkeltette a gyerekeket, és akkor ettek, de ő mindig olyanokat főzött, amit a gyerekek szerettek. Fantasztikus dolgokat talált ki, pél¬dául morzsolt kukoricát főzött nagy fazékkal, amit a csirkéknek adnak, krumplis tésztát, amit én nagyon szerettem és babot minden formában, ahogy éppen eszébe jutott. Voltak ötletei, pirított grízt felengedett vízzel, aztán besűrítette, és a tetejére min¬dig akadt valami pótlék – vagy sárga cukor vagy pirított hagyma.

Nagyon régen jártam én iskolába, az első világháború alatt. Nem mindig ugyanabba az iskolába, mert volt, amikor katonák voltak abban az iskolában, ami közel volt hozzánk. Jártam a Tűzoltó utcai iskolába meg a kilencedik kerületben a Tóth Kálmán utcai iskolába is. Hatéves koromban írattak be az iskolába, ez 1915 körül lehetett. Volt egy borzalmasan antiszemita földrajztanárnőm, úgy emlékszem, harmadik vagy negyedik elemiben, aki nagyon utálta a zsidókat. A zsidó gyereknek, ha valamit eltévesztett, azt mondta, hogy „Menjetek Palesztinába!”. Emlékszem még Elferné kézimunka-tanárnőre. Meg volt az osztályfőnök, Dr. Trócsányi Zoltánné, avval nem volt probléma, az soha nem zsidózott. Nagyon szép nő volt, a nevét sem felejtettem el. Az osztálytársaim között nem volt senki, akivel baj lett volna. Különben is én egy nagyon zárkózott gyerek voltam, az otthoni dolgok sem voltak nagyon rendezettek, nagyon érződött, hogy édesanyánk meghalt. Nem tudtam eléggé felengedni, beilleszkedni, mindig magányos voltam. Nem voltam kitűnő tanuló, de a feladott leckét mindig megtanultam, azt is csak azért, mert anyám megkövetelte. Utáltam a magolós tárgyakat, mert soha nem értettem meg, amit bemagoltam. Még van egy érdekes élményem az iskolából. Felvonultunk az iskolával, amikor kitört a forradalom. Meg elvittek az Orczy-kertbe bennünket, és ott a lövészárkokban szaladgáltunk, ott azon az elkerített részen, ahol a katonákat képezték ki.

Nem végeztem el a négy polgárit [lásd: polgári iskola], mert kórházba kerültem, volt egy óriási műtétem, ami meghatározta az egész életemet. Hat évig voltam beteg. A második polgáriból maradtam ki, és tizenhét éves koromig beteg voltam. Tuberkulózisom volt. Az anyám tüdőbajban halt meg, és úgy látszik, hogy nekem a csontjaimra ment az a betegség [csonttuberkulózis]. Egy ütésből kifolyólag jelentkezett a baj. A nagymamám cselédje egy nehéz vasfazekat lóbált a kezében, én nekiszaladtam, és megütötte a combomat. Hónapok múlva kiderült, hogy sántítok. Azt mondták, hogy rossz szokás. Mire megállapították, hogy mi a bajom, addigra akkora lyuk lett a combcsontomban, hogy minden lépésnél összecsuklott. Egy évig voltam egyfolytában kórházban. Nem tudtam ülni, csak feküdni. A híres Verebélyi professzor operált ingyen [Verebélÿ Tibor (1875–1941) – sebész, egyetemi tanár, az MTA tagja, a III., majd az I. sebészeti klinika igazgatója, 1938–39-ben az egyetem rektora. 1939-től az egyetem képviseletében felsőházi tag. Jelentős iskolát nevelt fel. – A szerk.]. De csak azért, mert rendkívüli eset voltam. Egyébként csak sok pénzért operált bárkit, őt méltóságos úrnak szólították [A „méltóságos” megszólítás a III–V. fizetési osztályba tartozó vagy magas kitüntetéssel bíró vagy főnemesi származású (grófi és újabb időkben bárói címmel rendelkező) személyeket (és feleségüket) illette meg. – A szerk.]. Különben a professzor is rajtam tanult, műhibájának köszönhetően hat évig nem épültem fel, tizenhét éves koromig tartott ez a betegség. A gyermekkorom elment a háborúval a fiatal lánykorom meg a betegsé¬gemmel.

Miután felépültem, mindenáron szakmát akartam tanulni, de anyám nem akarta, mert hát ingyencseléd voltam otthon. Anyám varrt, de megélni nem tudott belőle. Soha nem engedte meg, hogy én vasárnap elmenjek valahova, vagy találkozzak barátnőkkel, kolléganőimmel. Úgy engedte meg, hogy elmenjek tanulni szakmát, ha utána mindent megcsinálok, mikor hazamegyek. Így hát elmentem női kalapos tanulónak a Váci utca és Havas utca sarkán lévő házba. A kalapszalon, ahová jártam, nem ment elég jól, és azt mondta a főnököm, hogy megszün¬teti, de nem bontja fel a szerződésem, hogy ne veszítsek egy évet, hanem helyezkedjek el, és akkor átírják a szerződé¬sem. Igyekeztem elhelyezkedni, ami elég hamar sikerült, az Üllői úton, a Dániel nevű kalapüzletben. Nagyon szerettem a szakmámat, és nagyon hamar meg is tanultam, egy fél év múlva már önállóan dolgoztam. A mintakalapot megcsinálta a mamzel, utána már én csináltam. Természetesen nem csak én voltam, hanem több tanulólány, és önállóan dolgozó kisasszonyok, de már én is azok közé tartoztam, csak a fizetésem volt tanuló, pedig különbül dolgoztam, mint bár¬melyikük. Még a mamzelt is tudtam volna pótolni, és megmondtam, hogy ha nem fizet többet, nem maradok. Nem vette komolyan, de én még aznap, ami¬kor szóltam, elmentem máshol keresni munkát. Nagyon bíztam magamban, és tudtam, hogy el fogok tudni helyezkedni. Sikerült is a Corvin-közben.

Közben privát életem is volt, esténként otthon mosogathattam, hétvégeken meg nagytakaríthattam, de azért néha volt egy kis szabadidőm, és a Fényes gyerekekkel összejöttem. Igaz, hogy már nem voltak gyerekek. Miki [Fényes Mórról van szó] volt a legidősebb, szintén vásárokra járt, és néha feljött hozzánk apámmal sakkozni, és ha úgy adódott, eldiskuráltunk. Neki voltak problémái, nősülni akart, gondolta, ha egy jómódú lányt elvesz, akkor nyit egy üzletet. Ha volt egy kis ideje, elment lánynézőbe, sokszor megtárgyalta velem, volt, akit be is mutatott.

Nekem volt egy barátnőm, a Baross utcában laktak. Néha anyám elenge¬dett egy-egy vasárnap, de nyolc órára otthon kellett lennem. Nagyon jól éreztem magam náluk, mivel fiúk, lányok összejöttünk, Balázs néni – mivel így hívták őket – nagyon vendégszerető volt, mindig sütött kalácsot, kávé vagy kakaó is volt. Közben teltek a hónapok, és én nagyon restelltem, hogy én mindig megyek Balázsékhoz, és úgy gondoltam, hogy egyszer nekünk is meg kellene hívni őket. Anyám semmiképpen nem akarta, azt mondta, hogy nekünk arra nem telik. Már eltelt a tanulóévem, és fel is szabadultam, amikor végre beleegyezett, hogy meghívjam a Balázs gyerekeket a partnereikkel, a Fényes Etust, aki velem egy idős volt és egy Szidi nevű barátnőmet. Abban az időben már Miki elég sűrűn járt hozzánk apámmal sakkozni. Anyám azzal bosszantott, hogy nem a sakk miatt jár fel, hanem énmiattam. Mondtam, az nem létezik, hiszen velem beszéli meg, hogy most hol volt éppen lánynézőben, meg kü¬lönben is jó haverok voltunk, és el sem tudtam volna képzelni mint ud¬varlót, de azon a héten, amikor feljött hozzánk, azért szóltam neki, hogy vasárnap vendégeink lesznek, és ha van kedve, jöjjön fel. Eljött a vasárnap, megjöttek a vendégek, és legnagyobb meg¬lepetésemre megjött Miklós. Mivel abban az időben rádió, televízió nem volt, legtöbbször kártyáztunk, társasjátékot játszottunk vagy énekeltünk. A barátnőim kérték, hogy énekeljek, s mivel elég jó hangom volt, és szerettem is énekelni, nem kellett nagyon rábeszél¬ni. Egyszer csak azt vettem észre, hogy Miki le sem veszi rólam a szemét. Nem tudtam mire vélni, mivel én nem voltam belé szerelmes, csak jó haverok voltunk. Én már régen elkönyveltem magamban, hogy nem fogok soha férjhez menni, mert aki olyan szegény, mint én, az se szegénynek, se gaz¬dagnak nem kell.

Aztán 1927 novemberében, Erzsébet-napra feljött a Miki, és hozott nekem egy arany karkötőt. Így derült ki, hogy tényleg komoly szándékkal foglalkozik velem. Sokat beszélgettünk, mindig arról beszélt, hogyha megnősül, szeretné, ha a felesége szeretné. Lelkiismeret-furdalásom is volt emiatt, mert arra gon¬doltam, hogy én nem vagyok belé szerelmes. Nagyon szeretem mint embert, de hogy hozzámen¬jek feleségül, arra soha nem gondoltam. Kötelességemnek tartottam, hogy ezt megmondjam neki, ő erre azt válaszolta, hogy majd megszeretem. Mindenesetre a helyzetem olyan volt, hogy örülnöm kellett annak, hogy valaki el akar venni feleségül, és otthonról elszabadulhatok. Ez nem volt egy olyan csekélység. Szóval 1928. augusztus tizenkettedikén megesküdtünk, én tizenkilenc éves voltam, a férjem nyolc évvel idősebb. Az esküvőnk a Rumbach utcai zsinagógában volt. Rögtön elköltöztünk a szülőktől. Nagyon nehéz volt lakást kapni. Lelépést kellett fizetni, és egy szoba-konyhás lakást kaptunk, amiben nem volt sem vécé, sem víz, minden kint volt [Feltehetően arról van szó, hogy az előző bérlőnek pénzt adtak, hogy nekik adja át a lakás bérleti jogát. – A szerk.]. Kispesten vettük ki a lakást, mert a férjem odament dolgozni [Kispest – az 1920-as években rendezett tanácsú, 1930-ban már megyei város volt Pest-Pilis-Solt-Kiskun vm.-ben, 1920-ban 51 100 főnyi, 1930-ban már 64 600 főnyi lakossal. – A szerk.].

Miki vásárokra járt, mielőtt összeházasodtunk. Amikor megnősült, azt akarta, hogy ezt ne csinálja többet. Azért mentünk Kispestre lakni, mert az öccse ott lakott, piacokat tartott, és azt mondta, hogy abból meg lehet élni. A férjemnek volt egy textilboltja is, az csak akkor volt nyitva, amikor nem volt piac. Ez bevált neki, de tulajdonképpen akkor kezdett nekünk jobban menni, amikor én is üzletet nyitottam. Pedig eszem ágában sem volt eredetileg. Ahol laktunk, a háztulajdonoson kívül még egy család élt. A feleség tanárnő volt, és papírkereskedést nyitott, mert abbahagyta a tanárságot. Ő beszélt rá, hogy ha már kalapos vagyok, nyissak egy kalaposüzletet. Abban az időben nagy divat volt a kalap. Én féltem, hogy belebukok, meg féltem, hogy elmegy a pénz. Az én férjem sokkal jobban értett a dolgokhoz, és azt mondta, hogy „Egy bizonyos összeget erre szánok, és ha elúszik, akkor tudomásul vettem. Aki mer, az nyer”. Úgyhogy nyitottunk egy kicsi kis boltot, amit mi magunk állítottunk elő. A Teleki téren vettük a tükröt, saját kezűleg csináltuk a dobozokat, nagyon egyszerű módon lett ez a kis bolt berendezve, de első pillanattól kezdve ment. 1930. május harmincadikán nyitottam. Fantasztikusan jól ment, pedig szezon vége volt, amikor megnyitottam.

Közben megszületett a fiam, [Fényes] Ervin 1929. július huszonötödikén. Persze nem a legjobbkor, mert a gyerek jön a leghamarabb, és ha nem lettem volna olyan tudatlan… A gyerekem kilenc hónapos volt, amikor az üzletet nyitottam. A nevelőanyám nem segített, egyetlen egyszer nem jött el, hogy vigyázzon a fiamra. Nekem alkalmazottat kellett tartanom ahhoz, hogy a gyerekemre vigyázzon valaki, ha én nem vagyok otthon. Vettem egy fiatalt, akiről gondoltam, hogy a gyerekemmel is törődik, meg a lakást is ellátja. Később, amikor már jobban ment nekem, vettem egy német nőt is. Ebben az időben mondtam le a kóser étkezésről is, amikor már nem én vezettem a háztartást, mert nem voltam otthon. Néha, amikor véletlenül hazamentem, mert az is előfordult, akkor láttam, hogy összekeverik a tejesedényt a húsossal. Én kiadom a rengeteg pénzt, mert minden a duplája, ami kóser, és közben tréflit eszek. Akkor minek? Attól kezdve nem voltam kóser.

Szóval az üzletem beindult, vettem fel tanulólányokat is. Egyedül dolgoztam, még a férjem is besegített nekem. Nagyon szépen meg tudtunk élni. Sőt még spórolni is tudtunk. Aztán lakást cseréltünk, és lett mellékhelyiség, meg lett spejz, és a víz bent volt a lakásban. Ahogy a helyzetünk jobbra fordult, természetesen nagyobbak lettek az igényeink is. Akkor már szerettem volna egy komfortos lakást, mert a lehetőségeim megvoltak hozzá. De hiába hirdettem, nem tudtam kapni olyan helyen, hogy közel legyen az üzlethez, és a férjem is könnyen tudjon a piacokra járni, be tudjon jönni a kocsi az utcába. Akkoriban földes utak voltak, és voltak olyan utcák, ahova nem tudott bemenni a lovas kocsi. Aztán találtam egy házat, nem volt túl jó állapotban, de nagyon jó helyen volt (a Báthory utcában). Persze kellett egy kis hitel is hozzá. Hamarosan vissza is tudtuk fizetni, de nem tudtam rendbe hozni a házat abban az évben, mert annyi pénzem nem volt. Aztán egy évre rá (1931-ben) beszéltem egy építőmesterrel, és az egész házat tatarozták, szigetelték, és még hozzá is építettünk, mert az egyik szoba nagyon pici volt. Úgyhogy két egyforma utcai szoba lett, meg az udvaron volt két szoba meg a konyha. Két és fél métert építettünk hozzá, ezáltal lett egy sarokszoba is, amely a fiam szobája lett.

Ez a tatarozás nagyon nehéz volt, mert amikor kezdődött az építkezés, fekvőbeteg voltam két hónapig [Valószínűleg a gyerekkori csonttébécé kiújulása. – A szerk.]. A két tanulólány vezette az üzletet, mert nem volt más. A végén, amikor már nagy keservesen valahogy fel tudtam kelni, de menni nem tudtam, taxi vitt be az üzletbe, és ott egész nap feküdtem egy nyugágyban, és onnan dirigáltam a dolgokat a nyugágyból, és én magam is dolgoztam, de menni nem tudtam még. Nem volt az olyan egyszerű. Aztán ez a periódus is elmúlt. Közben a húgom is elvégezte az iskoláit, és mivel a szüleim nagyon szegények voltak, úgyhogy ők nem tudtak semmiben segíteni, nem tudott tovább tanulni, eljött, és kalapos lett nálam ő is. Kitanulta a szakmát, és aztán őbelőle is kalaposlány lett. Úgyhogy amikor én beteg voltam, akkor ő meg még egy tanulólány vezették a boltot.

1932-ben, rá két évre, nyitottam egy nagyobb üzletet, mert a kisboltot kinőttük. A kisbolt is jó helyen volt, de a másik Kispest szívében, a legjobb helyen. Gyönyörűen be lett rendezve, Kispesten olyan modern üzlet nem volt, mint az enyém. Neoncsövekkel, piros kókuszszőnyeggel, beépített bútorokkal, tükrökkel, olyan fiókokkal, amiknek a tetején üveg volt. Kirakatok voltak, ahol a kalapok láthatóak voltak. Csodálatos szép üzletet nyitottam, és volt külön műhely is. Nagyon elegáns üzlet volt. Ez is szerencsére sikeres volt, és bár rengeteget költöttem rá, de meghozta az eredményt. Közben a fiamat is beírattam hat évesen az iskolába.

Egy percig sem panaszkodhattam addig, amíg nem kezdődött meg 1939. Nem voltak anyagi problémáink, 1939-ig [lásd: zsidótörvények Magyarországon] nem volt semmi problémánk. Avval együtt, hogy már hallottunk éppen eleget Ausztriáról [lásd: Anschluss] és a hitlerizmusról, de addig még nem érintett minket annyira. De amikor a férjemnek 1939-ben be kellett vonulnia munkaszolgálatra, akkor már saját bőrünkön kezdtük érezni. 1940-ben is be kellett vonulnia jó pár hónapra, 1941-ben is. 1942-ben úgy vonult be, hogy már nem is jött többé haza. Ez már egy külön regény, az utolsó találkozásunk a férjemmel. Az én férjem Aszód mellett, egy Iklad nevű kis helységben volt munkaszolgálatos. Egyik nap valaki bekiáltott a boltba, hogy viszik az ikladi munkaszolgálatosokat ki az országból. Otthagytam csapot-papot, hazarohantam, szóltam anyámnak, hogy csomagoljon nekem, mindent, ami a keze ügyébe akad, mert én rohanok, megyek Ikladra. A meleg holmit, amit hazaküldött, mert azt hitte, hogy nem kell neki, azt is összecsomagoltam, és vittem neki. Nagy keservesen eljutottam, taxival, villamossal Aszódra. Találkoztam útközben egy vonattal, amelyik ment Pest felé, én meg mentem Aszódra. Láttam, hogy sok rajta a munkaszolgálatos, kétségbe is estem, hogy már elkéstem. Aszód teljesen üres volt. Aztán egy katonával összeismerkedtem, és próbáltam szóra bírni egy kis anyagi segítséggel. Valahogy megmondta, hogy a Józsefvárosi pályaudvaron vannak, ott megtalálom őket. Én, mint az őrült, mentem volna vissza, de vonat nem volt. Nagy keservesen találtam egy autót, amelyik elvitt Aszód mellé, Gödöllőre. Tovább nem tudott, mert nem volt jó az autója. Akkor megint szereztem valami autót, ami elvitt a Józsefvárosi pályaudvarra. De ott olyan nagy csönd volt, hogy tudtam, hogy valami tévedés volt, mert ott semmi nincsen. Megkerestem a főnököt a pályaudvaron, a vasúti állomás főnökét, hogy legyen olyan szíves, segítsen ki, és magyarázza meg, hogy hol vannak. Azt mondta, hogy ő nem mondhat semmit, mert ez nem egyezik az ő beosztásával, ő semmit nem mondhat el. Annyit könyörögtem neki, hogy végre elmondta, hogy Rákospalota-Újpesten van a szerelvény. Nem is fogadott el semmit. Nagyon rendes volt hozzám. Aztán már ültem a villamoson, mert taxi már nem vitt semerre, mert nem mehetett tovább. Amikor odaértem, már tudtam, hogy jó helyen vagyok, mert rettenetes sok nép volt ott a pályaudvaron és óriási kiabálás. A nagy kiabálásból kiderült, hogy valami két kilométerre van a nyílt pályán a szerelvény. Volt egy átjáró magasan, és oda felmentem, átmentem a túlsó oldalra, és elindultam arra, amerre a szerelvény volt. Gyalogoltam, gyalogoltam és gondoltam, hogy majd csak találok egy kis szakadt kerítésdarabot, ahol bebújhatok. Találtam is egy jó nagy lyukat, ahol befértem volna, de ott állt két katona. Mondtam, hogy „Az Isten áldja meg magukat, ne lássanak, forduljanak el, ide nekem muszáj bemennem”. Beengedtek, és kezdtem a férjemet keresni. Minden szerelvénynél megálltam, és kiabáltam, hogy „Fényes Miklós! Fényes Miklós!”. Voltak, akik tudták, hogy hol van, és megmutatták, hogy melyik vagonban van a férjem. Mondták is neki, hogy „Gyere, itt van a feleséged!”. Nem volt hajlandó kijönni, azt mondta, hogy őt ne ugrassák. Nagy nehezen bekiabáltam neki, hogy „Itt vagyok!”. Magán kívül volt. Kérdezte, hogy kerültem oda, hogy lehet, hogy én ott vagyok. Hát én magam sem tudom, hogy kerültem oda. Délelőtt kezdődött az utam, és este kilenc órakor találtam rá az uramra. Ez volt az utolsó találkozásunk. Soha többé nem láttam. Meghalt, pedig nagyon megígérte, hogy haza fog jönni. Azt mondta, hogy neki nem lesz semmi baja, csak én vigyázzak magamra, és akkor minden nagyon jó lesz.

Az első férjemnek a nyolc testvére közül a lányok (Szerén, Etus) meghaltak a deportálásban, volt viszont egy ikerpár is köztük (Berta és Laci), azok túlélték. A fiú tíz éve halt meg fehérvérűségben. A lány Izraelbe [akkor még: Palesztinába] ment még 1939-ben, két kisgyerekkel meg a férjével. Annak a kislányát szerettem nagyon. Angyalnak hívták. Érdekes, hogy két évvel ezelőtt meglátogatott Angyal és a testvére engem. A fiú öt éves volt, amikor elmentek. Úgy örültem neki, mintha a férjemet láttam volna. De ő is meghalt, most nemrég, hirtelen.

Közben a két üzletet be kellett csukni, mert zsidóknak már az sem lehetett [lásd: zsidótörvények Magyarországon]. Ez jóval a csillagosság előtt történt, úgy emlékszem. Azt tudom, hogy este bezártunk, és reggel már nem lehetett kinyitni, tehát minden ottmaradt, elveszett [A zsidókat sújtó különböző rendelkezések sorában a sárga csillag viselését 1944. március 31-én írták elő, zsidó kereskedéseket álprilis 21-én záratták be. – A szerk.]. Aztán csillagos ház lett a miénk [lásd: csillagos házak]. Én nem akartam kiköltözni a saját házamból (Báthory 35.), inkább befogadtam még más családokat. Mindenki kapott egy szobát, volt például olyan család, akik különben is együtt laktak, ők egy szobába kerültek. Én a szüleimmel (Unokahúg: „Azonnal befogadta őket, amikor csillagos házzá lett a háza.”) és a gyerekemmel beköltöztem az egyik szobába, a többit mind odaadtam. Eleinte a húgomék is velünk laktak, de aztán nekik ki kellett költözni, mert a férje keresztény volt. Nagyon velünk akart maradni, de rábeszéltem, hogy menjen inkább, mert esetleg segíthet nekünk. Úgyhogy ő cserélt egy zsidó családdal, akik pont a szemben lévő házban laktak. Igyekeztem, hogy mindenkinek legyen külön konyhája, hogy ne legyen zűrzavar. Mosókonyhából lett az egyiknek konyhája, a másiknak az én konyhámat megfeleztem, és volt egy raktárhelyiség, az volt a harmadik konyhája. Tulajdonképpen egész szépen meglettünk volna, de hát ez nem így alakult. Tulajdonképpen mindent tudtam, hogy mi fog történni, csak azért mindig volt mellette egy kis reménysugár, hogy talán mégsem jól gondolom [„Kispesten a mintegy 4000 helybeli zsidót 548 szobában zsúfolták össze kijelölt épületekben, melyek a város 53 különböző utcájában álltak. Az áthelyezés május 15. és 30. között zajlott le” (Randolph L. Braham: A magyar Holocaust, Budapest, Gondolat/Wilmington, Blackburn International Inc., é. n. /1988/). – A szerk.].

Aztán minden bekövetkezett, amit gondoltam, természetesen. Jöttek a deportálások, pontosan úgy, ahogy én el is képzeltem. Amikor a csendőrök Kispestre bejöttek, akkor én már tudtam, hogy itt már bajok vannak. Azt sem mondhatom, hogy nem menekülhettem volna, mert folyton hívtak a pesti rokonok, hogy jöjjek a gyerekemmel, és náluk lehetek. Én azt mondtam, hogy én nem mehetek, én a szüleimet nem hagyom itt, együtt maradok velük. Az én apám borzasztóan szerette a kertet, ültetgetett, barkácsolt, és nyulakat tartott. Én csodálatosan boldog voltam, hogy az apámat boldognak látom. Aztán minden zsidó házat megszálltak a csendőrök, az udvart, az utcát is. A lakásból ki sem lehetett lépni. És eljött 1944. június harmincadika, amikor bejöttek a csendőrök a lakásunkba. Azt mondták, hogy most indulunk, de először mindenki vetkőzzön le a saját helyiségében. „Pucérra vetkőzni!” – kiáltották, hogy nehogy valamit elrejtsünk. Énrajtam nem volt semmi más, az egyetlen jegygyűrűm maradt csak meg akkorára, gondoltam, ezt talán nem fogják elvenni. De azt is levetette a csendőr.

Összeraktunk mindent, hogy legyen egy váltás ruha meg egy kis ennivaló. De a csendőrök kiborították a hátizsákot, és csak az maradhatott benne, amit ők megengedtek. A kapuban a gyerekem bakancsa megtetszett az egyik csendőrnek, és rögtön lehúzatta a lábáról. Ott maradt a fiam mezítláb. Így csoportosan vittek bennünket, gyalogosan a vasútállomásra. Voltak, akik velünk éreztek, voltak, akik nem. Azt hiszem, többen voltak, akik nem, mert valahogy nagyon könnyű volt ellenünk uszítani az embereket. De aki akart volna segíteni, az sem tehette volna, mert a közelünkbe sem engedtek senkit. Szóval elkerültünk a vasútállomásra, felszállítottak bennünket, és elindultunk a monori téglagyárba. Ott már töméntelen ember volt, több ezer lehetett [Monor ún. bevagonírozási központ volt, Budapest közigazgatási határaitól délre és keletre fekvő településekről koncentrálták ide a zsidó lakosságot. A monori téglagyárból kb. 7500 embert szállítottak Auschwitzba július 6. és 8. között. – A szerk.]. A terheseket, betegeket és a gyermekeseket a tető alá rakták, oda, ahol a téglákat tartották. Ültünk ott a pucér földön a sárban, és örültünk, hogy volt annyi hely, hogy mindnyájan le tudtunk ülni a földre. Ott is aludtunk, és vártuk a csodát. Nagy bombázások voltak azalatt, amíg mi a téglagyárban voltunk, és én annyira kívántam, hogy jöjjön egy bomba, és egyszerre haljunk meg. Szóval még el sem indultunk Magyarországról, és már elkezdődtek a szörnyűségek. A téglagyár területén nem volt vízellátás, a vízért naponta ment ki egy lajtos kocsi Monorra, egy parasztházhoz. A testvérem minden áldott nap kijött ehhez a monori parasztházhoz, élelmet hozott, meg amit még tudott, én pedig miután megtudtam, hogy minden nap ott van, minden nap elmentem valahogy a kocsival, és ott találkoztunk.

Összesen nyolc napig voltunk a téglagyárban, és a hatodik napon egy barátnőm, aki szintén ott volt a kilencéves kislányával meg a szüleivel, azt mondta nekem, hogy szökjünk meg együtt, amikor elindul a lajtos kocsi, előtte bebújunk a budiba, és amikor minden elcsendesedik, szépen kijövünk és elsétálunk. Azt válaszoltam, hogy én nem hagyom ott a szüleimet, mert ki fog törődni velük. Én akkor azt hittem, hogy talán lesz mód arra, hogy a szüleimmel törődhessek. A furcsa az volt, hogy neki nagyon gazdag szülei voltak, és őt úgy nevelték fel, mint egy kis királykisasszonyt. Őneki mégis az volt a fontos, hogy valakivel megmeneküljön. Azt hiszem, hogy mai napig jól él.

A hetedik napom a szüleimet hazaengedték azon a címen, hogy a lányuk keresztény férfi felesége. Én pedig ott maradtam a fiammal, holott talán megmenekültem volna, ha az előző nap a barátnőmmel elmegyek, de a lelkiismeretem ezt nem engedte. Szegény apám könyörgött, majdnem zokogott, hogy engedjenek engem is, de azt mondták neki, hogy ne sokat beszéljen, mert őt is itt tartják. Könyörögtem neki, hogy ne szóljon semmit, csak menjenek, mert legalább annál kevesebb a gondom. Hazaengedték őket, és ahogy utólag megtudtam, két hét múlva újra elvitték őket. A sárvári internálótáborba kerültek, és onnan küldték Auschwitzba őket, ott haltak meg mindketten [Sárvárott volt az ország egyik legnagyobb internálótábora, ahonnan 1500 zsidót deportáltak Auschwitzba. A deportálást itt a németek hajtották végre. Randolph Braham ellentmondásosan említi meg a deportálás időpontját: „A magyar Holocaust” (Budapest, Gondolat/Wilmington, Blackburn International Inc., é. n. /1988/) című mű 77. oldalán 1944 augusztusát említi, a 157. oldalon írottak szerint 1944. július 24-én zajlott a deportálás.].

Szóval ott maradtam a gyerekemmel, és másnap vittek a transzportba. A húgom végigkísért egész a vasútállomásig, mert gyalog mentünk. Aki nem tudott gyalog menni, azt feltették a kocsira, én pedig a csomagjaimat az ennivalóval és ruhaneművel, amiket a húgom hozott, odaadtam egy ismerősnek, akit kocsira tettek, hogy ne kelljen cipelni. Természetesen teljesen máshova vittek, mint azokat. Nem is találkoztam velük soha többé, úgyhogy nekem nem volt ennivalóm, nem volt ruhám, amit váltsak, semmim a világon. Nagyon meleg volt, mert ez júliusban volt. Marhavagonokban szállítottak, őrületes tömeg volt. Három napig utaztunk, éjjel nappal, borzasztó körülmények között. Jóformán ülni is alig lehetett. A gyerekem százkilencvenkét centiméter magas volt, és szegénykémet, mint egy colstokot, úgy kellett összehajtogatni. Szeretett volna mindig kinézni a rácsos ablakon. Mondtam, hogy „Fiam, ülj le, mert kevesebb helyet foglalsz”. Nem volt sem vizünk, sem ennivalónk, semmink nem volt. Voltak ott olyanok, akiknek mindenük volt, de jóformán azok sem ettek, vagy ha ettek is, én nem láttam. Nagy csomagokkal voltak, és gondolták, hogy kitart nekik. Senki nem tudta, hogy mi következik. Én valahogy nem búsultam azért, ami elveszett, amit felraktam a kocsira. Borzalmas meleg volt, valaki megkönyörült rajtam, adott egy hálóinget, és abban az egy szál hálóingben voltam végig. A lábaim betegek voltak, gumiharisnyában voltam, fáslival.

Három nap után, július tizenkettedikén, megérkeztünk Birkenauba. Kiszállítottak, mindenki magához vette a holmiját, mindenki igyekezett valahogy védekezni a meleg ellen. Az volt az első, hogy a gyerekemtől elválasztottak, mindenkinek megmondták, hogy ebbe vagy abba a csoportba álljon. Olyan zűrzavar volt az agyamban, hogy nem tudtam felfogni. Álltam bénult aggyal. Ott termett a gyerekem, ölelt, csókolt, és sírva mondta, hogy„Anyukám, meg fogod látni, hogy találkozunk, meglátod, hogy találkozunk!”. Ő jobban tudott gondolkodni, mint én. Én csak reszkettem, folyton attól féltem, hogy elkapják, és a szemem láttára agyonütik, mert otthagyta a sorát. Folyton csak azt mondtam, hogy „Menj vissza, kisfiam. Menj vissza. Nehogy valami történjen”. Ő meg, szegénykém, ő vigasztalt engem. Ez egy borzalom volt. Soha többé nem láttam a tizenöt éves fiamat. A fiamat, aki kilenc évig hegedült, már a konzervatóriumba járt, és nagyon nagy reményeket fűztek hozzá a tanárai. Művésznek készült, hegedűművésznek. Semmi nem lett belőle. (Unokahúg: „A családi legendárium szerint annyira tehetséges volt a kis Ervin, hogy olyan mester vállalta a tanítását, akinek egyébként nagyon komoly náci kötődései voltak, a gyakorlószobában állítólag Hitler-kép volt a falon. De arról is legalább annyi családi emlék szól, hogy Ervin utált gyakorolni, és igaziból a gépek érdekelték, a műszaki dolgok.”)

Szóval kiszállítottak, sorba állítottak, aztán elindítottak. A láger óriási területen feküdt, tulajdonképpen egy óriási település volt, ami sok-sok lágerből állt. Volt külön férfiláger, külön női láger, külön családi láger. Jobbról-balról az út mentén drótkerítések voltak, és rettentő, óriási tüzek égtek, nem is egy helyen. Nem tudtam, hogy ez mi lehet. Tulajdonképpen senki nem tudott semmit. Utólag kiderült, azok a nagy tüzek azért voltak, mert akkor éjjel égették el a cseh családi lágert, amikor mi megérkeztünk. A krematórium már telített volt, és égettek, ahol lehetett. [Auschwitzban 1944 nyarán nem bírták a krematóriumok a terhelést, Otto Moll SS-főtörzsőrmester, a krematóriumok parancsnoka nagy égetőgödröket ásatott: összesen kilenc, hatalmas (40-50 méter hosszú, 8 méter széles és 2 méter mély) árkot, ahol három sor hullát fektettek egymásra, benzinnel lelocsolták és meggyújtották. – A szerk.]

Megérkeztünk, és betereltek egy óriási nagy helyiségbe, nagyobb volt, mint egy lovarda. Ott álltak a parancsnokok, és rögtön le kellett vetkőzni meztelenre. Az egyik helyen levágták nullás géppel a hajunkat, aztán befújtak minket mindenféle porokkal előlről, hátulról, hónaljba, mindenbe. Ezután elvittek a fürdőbe, ahol tusolók voltak. Miután onnan kihajtottak, méretekkel abszolút nem törődve, mindenkinek dobtak egy ruhát. Ez nem azt jelenti, hogy nadrágot, melltartót, bugyit, harisnyát, cipőt. Egy ruhadarabot. Egy szót sem szóltak közben, úgy kezeltek bennünket, hogy még az állatokat is különbül. És ez még csak a kezdet volt. Magamra vettem a rongyot, még az volt a jó, hogy kétszer körülért. Volt olyan szerencsétlen, aki fel sem tudta magára venni. Mivel folyton őriztek, figyeltek, még csak arra sem volt mód, hogy az emberek egymás között elcseréljék ezeket a rongyokat. Aki nem tudta felvenni magára a ruhát, amit odadobtak neki, az várakozott meztelenül. Aztán megint elindultunk valamerre. Rengeteg villanydróttal körülvett láger volt, fogalmam sem volt, hogy mik azok a drótok. Én valahogy összekerültem azokkal a nőkkel, akikkel együtt utaztam. Voltak olyanok, akik bennfentesek voltak, vezetőknek voltak kinevezve, akik a németekkel tudtak beszélni. Sajnos én nem tudtam németül. A férfiak abba a cseh családi lágerbe kerültek, ahol az égetést láttuk.

A lágeren belül is voltak barakkok, amiket valószínűleg istállókból alakítottak ki. Megvoltak azok a karikák, ahova az állatok voltak kötve. Az utolsó előtti transzport voltunk mi, akik megérkeztünk, nem volt hova bennünket elszállásolni. Annyira tele volt a láger, hogy egy egész éjszakát ácsorogtunk, úgyhogy lassan meg is tanultunk állva aludni, egymásnak dőlve. Körülbelül két nap múlva, amikor enni adtak, avval együtt, hogy éhes voltam, nem tudtam enni. Fadaraboktól kezdve, minden volt az ételben. Csak azt láttam, hogy akik régebben kerültek oda, azok sokkal jobban bírták a dolgokat, mert megszokták.

Közben mindig vittek transzportot, és így felszabadultak a helyek. Így kerültem az egyik priccsre, ez olyan priccs volt, amin gyalulatlan deszkák voltak, közte hézag, aztán megint deszka, megint hézag. A cipőm volt a párnám, hogy a fejem kicsit magasabban legyen. Borzalmas volt, mert arról a priccsről sem éjjel, sem nappal nem volt szabad lejönni, enni is ott kellett, és legalább háromszor annyian voltunk, mint ahányan elfértünk. A napnak a felében zellappel álltunk. Ez azt jelentette, hogy hajnalban kivittek bennünket a barakkból a lagerplatzra, és felsorakoztattak ötös sorokba, utakat hagyva köztünk. Ott kellett állni, állni addig, amíg ők nem gondolták meg, és behajtottak a barakkba. Csoportosan mehettünk a vécére, csoportosan mehettünk mosdani. Ha közben valami történt, azt az illetőt megbüntették, mert hogy merészelte máskor végezni a dolgát, mint amikor ők megengedik. Az életünk mindig egy hajszálon múlott. Volt egy nagyon érdekes esetem. A zellappelban álltunk, és odajött egy nő, nem is ismertem, és azt mondja, hogy adjam oda a kezem. Mondom, „Mit akarsz vele?”. „Nagyon hosszú életű leszel”, azt mondta nekem. Az olyan nevetséges volt ott ilyent hallani, mert ott az élet annyi volt, mint a nulla. Mondom, „Te marha! Hogy tudsz ilyen hülyeséget mondani? Mondjál valami okosabbat!”. Azt mondja, „Nem tudok mást mondani, csak amit látok”. Én meg dühöngtem rajta, hogy tud valaki ilyen hülye lenni.

Borzalmas helyzet volt ez az egész nekem. Nagyon jól tudtam, hogy nekem dolgoznom kell, akármit csinálni, de valamit dolgoznom kell, mert én nem bírom az ácsorgást. Inkább gyalogolok, mint ácsorgok. Minden nap volt transzport, és én folyton jelentkeztem. Egyszer sikerült is bekerülnöm abba a csoportba, ahol mindenkit ellenőriztek. Pechemre pont a Mengele doktor volt, aki válogatott. Odakerültem elébe, persze pucéran. Nem értettem egy szavát sem, csak utána tudtam meg, hogy tanakodtak rajtam, hogy hova küldjenek, a gázba vagy még hagyjanak, mert testi hibás vagyok, mert látszottak a gyerekkori műtétemnek a nyomai. Úgyhogy ott ácsorogtam, ameddig el nem rántott a vezetőnk, egy lengyel nő – mert ezek mind vezetők voltak, a lengyelek meg a szlovákok, aki hamarabb kerültek be a lágerbe. Szóval akkor sikerült megmenekülnöm. Megint visszakerültem a lágerbe, megint volt valami transzport, megint jelentkeztem. Le kellett vetkőznöm meztelenre, de ezúttal a ruhámat a karomra vettem, és így nem látszott az operálás helye. Így bejutottam a transzportba. Előbb a fürdőbe vittek. Ott megfürödtünk, adtak rendes ruhát, bugyit, de az is inkább bugyogó volt. Régifajta flanelnadrág, aminek egy madzag volt a korca, amit meg kellett az embernek a derekán kötni. Aztán ott álltunk, és vártunk. Aztán kiderült, hogy már nincs transzport aznap, és visszafordítottak, de már nem vittek vissza, hanem egy másik lágerbe vittek. Abban a lágerben egész más körülmények voltak, mert nem barakkok voltak, hanem szobák, amiknek hajópadlója is volt. Nem voltak priccsek, a földre lehetett feküdni. Nem volt se takaró, se párna, se alul, se felül semmi. Nem volt az a borzalmas szigorúság, mint az előző lágerben. Ott voltunk, nem tudom, hány napig. Aztán megint csoportba vettek bennünket, és megint elindítottak. Megint elmentünk a fürdőbe. Amikor ide beértünk, itt is le kellett vetkőzni, itt is más ruhát adtak, és itt is csak úgy mehettünk be a lágerbe, hogy megfürödtünk, és megint tiszta ruhát kaptunk. Sorba állítottak bennünket, és akkor már valóban osztottak ennivalót. Margarint, kenyeret, felvágottat. A bugyimnak a korcát összehúztam, és abba raktam bele az ennivalómat. Úgyhogy nem fölvettem, hanem az volt a szatyrom. Felszállítottak a vagonba, elég kényelmesen voltunk. Feküdni és ülni lehetett. Egy vödör feketét tettek be a vagonba, de az pillanatokon belül elfogyott. [1944] augusztus huszadikán indítottak el, három napig utaztunk éjjel-nappal, ameddig megérkeztünk a Bréma melletti lübberstedti munkáslágerbe [munkatábor] [Lübberstedt – helység Alsó-Szászországban, 28 km-re Brémától, a neuengammei koncentrációs tábor egyik altábora volt itt. – A szerk.].

Ebben a lágerben fabódék voltak, és itt a priccseken volt pléd is, vagyis inkább lópokróc. Ezek kétszintes priccsek voltak. Minden priccsen egymaga feküdt mindenki. Volt alattam is valami vékonyabb matracféle, ami szalmával volt kitöltve. Hajnalban kellett kelni, sípoltak, kellett rohanni, hogy időben mindenki ott legyen, és sorba álljon. Lutri volt, hogy ki hova kerül munkára. Nem lehetett tudni, mert minden nap máshonnan kezdték el a csoportokat elindítani. Volt, amikor bombagyárba vittek dolgozni, ahol kis bombákat gyártottak. Volt, hogy az erdőbe vittek gombát szedni, volt, hogy csalánt szedni vittek. Ez még nem volt olyan rossz, csak legföljebb csupa hólyag lett a kezem. Volt, amikor elvittek krumplit ültetni. Az volt még a jobbik eset, mert elültettük az egyik sorba a krumplit, a másikból meg kiszedtük. Akkor legalább ettünk nyers krumplit. Volt, amikor csillézni vittek. Az nagyon nehéz volt, mert akkor már nagyon hidegek voltak, és a sínek oda voltak fagyva a földhöz. Nekünk azt fel kellett szedni, és elvinni oda, ahova előírták. Aztán volt a répapucoló, a krumplipucoló meg a konyhások. Ezek nagyon jó dolgok voltak, ha oda valaki bekerült.

Aztán jött egy változás, jött egy másik lagerführer. Ez a lagerführer a konyháról kivett két dolgozót, és nem tudom, hogy milyen oknál fogva, de engem betett a konyhára. Nekem ott nem volt jó, a konyhások máramarosiak [lásd: Máramarossziget] voltak, csupa ismerősök, barátok vagy rokonok, én nem voltam odatartozó. Én lettem ott a legaljasabb cseléd, a legnehezebb és a legpiszkosabb munkát nekem kellett végezni. Először is nem tudták megbocsátani, hogy engem oda betettek, és onnan az ő haverjukat kirakták. Én nem tudom, hogy az a lagerführer mit látott rajtam, esténként is, mikor keresztülment a konyhán az éttermük fele, mindig megkérdezte, hogy vagyok. Csodálkoztam is, hogy az az ember hogy lehet SS. Olyan jó embernek nézett ki. Mondták is utólag, hogy ez egy hamburgi kereskedő volt. El lehet képzelni a konyhát. Hétszáz literes kazánok voltak, amiket nekem kellett kitakarítani kívül-belül. Azonkívül minden reggel ki kellett a salakot szednem a küblikbe, kitakarítanom a tűzteret teljesen és meg is rakni szénnel. Hat mázsa szenet kellett feltolni a konyhába. Bizony tél volt, síkos volt, és többet mentem visszafele, mint előre a súly miatt. Este meg ki kellett takarítani azt az óriási nagy konyhát. Én bizony nem voltam boldog a konyhán egy cseppet sem.

Akkoriban barátkoztam meg Pirivel (Piroska Roth). Stefi társam helyére került ő be. Stefit néhány nappal azelőtt vitték el, azon a címen, hogy állapotos. Minden állapotost felszólítottak, hogy jelentkezzen, azzal bolondították őket, hogy dupla kosztot kapnak. Ő nem volt állapotos, mert én voltam vele olyan jóban, hogy hozzám őszinte volt. Ő nem volt terhes, de nem tudott ellenállni mégsem, mert nagyon éhes volt, és az a dupla csak jól jött neki. Hiába könyörögtem neki, hogy ne fogadja el, mert nagyon drága lesz neki. Körülbelül két hétig tartott a nagy gyönyörűség. Aztán jöttek, összeszedték ezeket, és elvitték a gázba. Ideadott nekem egy bicskát, és azt mondta, „Hogyha nem jövök vissza, legyen a tiéd, ha visszajövök, akkor visszakapom tőled”. Nem jött vissza. Soha többé nem láttam. Neki a helyére jött a Piri. A Pirivel lettem olyan jóban, mint a Stefivel voltam. A Piri revieren volt [német: gyengélkedő]. Kiengedték a revierről, de az ő blokkja már megszűnt, s mivel nálunk a Stefi helye felszabadult, oda osztották be. Pont bent voltam a barakkban, amikor bejött, és mondta, hogy őt oda osztották be. Nagyon érdekes volt, mert bejött, benyúlt a kabátja alá, elővett egy krumplit, és nekem akarta adni. Mondtam neki, hogy nekem ne adja, mert én nem tudok érte adni semmit. De ő erőszakolta, addig-addig, amíg elfogadtam tőle a krumplit. Így tulajdonképpen eléggé le voltam neki kötelezve. Ő peches volt, mert a férje elment Amerikába, előbb megesküdtek, de ő már nem tudott utánamenni, mert mire minden papírt elintézett a férje, hogy a felesége utánamehessen, addigra már nem lehetett egyáltalán menni. Így ő Auschwitzba került a szüleivel együtt. Elég az hozzá, hogy amikor én a konyhára kerültem, ezzel a társammal nagyon jóban lettem. Azért kellett az embernek valaki, akivel szót tudott váltani, mert nagyon borzalmas volt. Amikor már nagyon hidegek voltak, akkor bizony azt is megtettük, hogy összefeküdtünk ketten az én priccsemre, mert akkor ketten egymást melegítettük. Neki is volt egy pokróca meg nekem is, akkor már két pokróc volt rajtunk, még a fejünket is betakartuk. Rengeteg volt az egér, ott szaladgáltak a pokróc tetején meg mindenhol. Borzalmas volt.

Amikor bekerültem a konyhára, amihez hozzáfértem, mindent loptam, cukrot meg lekvárt, tejport, és odaadtam Pirinek. Mindig jött a konyha hátsó részéhez, és én odaadtam neki, amit aznap szereztem. Szenet is loptam. Egy talicska szenet betoltam a barakkba, mert ott volt Piri, hogy legalább ne fázzon. Azt is el kellett dugni, mert ha megtalálták, akkor borzalom volt. Körülbelül egy hónapig voltam a konyhán, mert a lagerführer elment. Tudtam nagyon jól, hogy ahogy ő elmegy, akkor engem onnan rögtön kitesznek, mert ez egy olyan erőszakolt valami volt. Így is lett. Megint elkezdődött az a bújócska, hogy melyik csoportba kerüljek. Megint elkezdődött a munkába járás meg minden nap az a zellappel, hogy hova kerülök, milyen munkára, mennyit kell gyalogolni meg kivel, mert az is sokat jelentett, hogy melyik nő volt beosztva, hogy melyik csoportba kerültem én. Ezek között a német felügyelőnők között volt olyan is, akitől úgy irtózott mindenki, hogy borzasztó. Mindenkinek adtak gúnynevet, úgyhogy ennek a nőnek Görcs volt a neve. Az a nő, aki annyira gyűlölt engem a konyhán, az is vitt csoportokat dolgozni. Grétinek hívták, Grete. Pechemre, ahogy kikerültem a konyháról, mindjárt őhozzá kerültem, az ő csoportjába. Hát nagyon igyekeztem, hogy belém ne tudjon kötni, de ő mindig igyekezett, hogy ártson nekem.

Ekkor már legalább egy éve ott voltunk [Bár végeláthatatlanul hosszúnak tűnhetett ez a borzalmas időszak, a deportálásuk óta valójában csak néhány hónap telt el. – A szerk.]. Elvittek bennünket egy olyan helyre, ahol volt egy nagy hegy, sínek és egy tehervagon. Szóval földet kellett az egyik helyről a másikra lapátolni, amíg eljut a vagonhoz, és az utolsó dobta be a vagonba a földet. Én nem sokat válogattam, megálltam a vagon mellett, és én voltam, aki a földet dobtam be a vagonba. Nem volt könnyű munka, mert a földet az egyik helyről a másik helyre tenni könnyebb volt, és amikor fel kellett dobni, és ezt óránként nem is tudom, hogy hányszor kellett megismételni, hát bizony sokszor elfáradtam. Igyekeztem olyankor megállni, amikor lát a Görcs, nehogy úgy vegye, hogy akkor nem csinálok semmit, amikor ő nem figyel. Aztán nem tudom, hogy hányszor mentünk nap mint nap. Úgy voltam vele, hogy már nem keresgéltem, hogy máshova kerüljek, mert nem volt vele bajom tulajdonképpen. Én rendesen dolgoztam, és ő békén hagyott. De ez a gyaloglás, elég nehéz volt, mert amikor már nem tudom, hogy hány napig csináltam, akkor már nagyon elfáradtam. Mondtam az összekötőnknek, hogy szóljon a nőnek, hogy engedje meg, hogy egy fél órát lepihenjek, mert nem fogok tudni visszagyalogolni. A nő azt mondta, hogy ő nem mondja meg, mert ő nem fogja végignézni, hogy engem agyonverjen a Görcs. Azt mondtam: „Ne törődj vele, hogy mit fog csinálni, ez már az én bajom, mert olyan mindegy, hogy most ver agyon vagy útközben.” Úgyhogy azt mondtam, hogy „Ha nem mondod meg, akkor megkérek valakit, aki tud németül, és majd az megmondja”. Így kénytelen volt megmondani. A Görcs meg mondta, hogy feküdjek le nyugodtan. Én csak egy fél órát kértem, és amikor már gondoltam, hogy letelt a fél óra, felültem, fel akartam kelni, de odajött, és intett nekem, hogy maradjak, és majd ha sípolni fog, csak akkor keljek fel. És megengedte, hogy egész addig, ameddig nem indultunk vissza a lágerünkbe, ott feküdjek a fa alatt. Ez a nő mondta el az összekötőnknek, hogy nem tudja elképzelni, hogy Gretének mi a baja énvelem, mert avval adott engem át neki, hogy legyen rám gondja, mert én lusta vagyok. Pedig azt mondta, a legjobb munkaerő vagyok az egész csapatban.

Tél lett, és én elkezdtem turbánokat csinálni, mert fáztunk. A kopasz fejünkkel meneteltünk a munkahelyre a rettenetes hidegben, és a jégcsapok lógtak a fejünkről, olyan hideg volt. Nem volt se kabátunk, se harisnya a lábunkon. Olyan fényes volt a lábam, mint a tükör, és olyan vörös, mint a pecsenye, és olyan dagadt is. Az étel annyi volt, mintha vizet ittam volna. Csak eleinte volt valamennyire tartalmas, aztán már nagyon hamar romlott. Mindig rosszabb és rosszabb lett a koszt. A végén már majdnem azt mondhatom, hogy langyos vizet ettünk. Abban egy gramm só nem volt, abban a világon semmi. Marharépa úszkált benne, három-négy szem és slussz. Se zsír, se só nem volt benne. Semmi tartalom nem volt. Olyan bizonytalan volt az életünk, hogy borzasztó. Nem volt semmi, amiről beszélhettünk volna, csak főzésről meg evésről beszéltünk, ebben éltük ki magunkat. Egész télen nem volt kabátunk, s akkor áprilisban kiosztották a kabátokat, hogy mindenki bontsa ki az egyik ujját, és cserélje ki egy másikkal. A kabátok jelezték, hogy mi foglyok vagyunk. Minden kabátnak más színűnek kellett lenni. Aztán [1945] április tizedikén nem vittek munkába, hanem csoportba raktak, és elindítottak bennünket. Mentünk gyalog, aztán felraktak bennünket vagonokba. Minden vagonban ült egy német katona, aki vigyázott ránk. Enni nem adtak egyáltalán. Vittek a vagonban, és a végén megálltunk Lübeckben. Mindenki rettentő éhes volt, eléggé le is gyengültünk, le is szállhatott, aki akart, és volt, aki kapargált ott a szemétdombon, amit talált. Ott voltunk egypár napig Lübeckben a vasúti pályán, és egyszer csak hirtelen elindították a szerelvényt. Kiderült – mert azért mindig akadt valaki, aki meghallotta, hogy miről beszélnek a németek –, hogy elindultak, mert már közeledett az ő ellenségük, nem a miénk. Ha otthagytak volna, akkor felszabadultunk volna már aznap, de sajnos menekítettek bennünket. Ment a vonat, és aztán kezdődött a tragédia, amikor amerikai zuhanóbombázók jelentek meg az égen hármas csoportban, és végiggéppuskázták a szerelvényt. Mondanom sem kell, a végén a nyílt pályán megállt a vonat, mindenki ugrált ki a szerelvényből. Akik leugrottak, mind ottmaradtak egy csomóban, egymás tetején, mert közben lövöldöztek, géppuskáztak. Én egészen kimentem a vagon platójára, amin az ember áll, mielőtt leszállna. Egészen kicsúsztam, hogy engem ne tudjanak lelökni, és méricskéltem jobbra-balra, hogy tudnék leugrani, mert rettenetesen magasan voltunk. Magas töltésen volt a szerelvény, és alatta volt még egy mély árok. Nem volt mit tenni, addig méricskéltem, hogy a végén leugrottam. Valami csoda történt, mert el nem estem, meg nem ütöttem magamat, semmi bajom nem történt. Talán életemben először éreztem és utoljára, mintha az anyám a karjára vett volna, és úgy tett volna szépen le. Mindenki szaladt, amennyire tudott. A németek persze kiabáltak, hogy nehogy valaki elmenjen, holott ha ott maradtunk volna, akkor felszabadultunk volna. Hagytuk magunkat, mint a marhákat vezetni, de mindig is ez volt a hiba, hogy mindig hagytuk magunkat. Talán pár órát ücsörögtünk ott, a németek meg rohangáltak, szaladgáltak, hogy összetereljenek bennünket, és visszahajtsanak a vonatra, nehogy egy is elmenjen. Két hullámban támadták a szerelvényt, amiben tartózkodtunk, de nem sérült meg. Amikor elindultunk, otthagytuk a sebesülteket; azok kiabáltak, hogy „Ne hagyjatok itt! Vigyetek el! Ne hagyjatok itt meghalni!”. De senki nem törődött velük.

Ezután még mentünk egy jó darabig, és valamikor éjszaka vagy este megérkeztünk egy állomásra. Kivagoníroztak bennünket, és elindultak velünk gyalog, és egy erdőben letelepedtünk. Ott töltöttük az éjszakát. Másnap reggel elvittek a pályaudvarra, és bevagoníroztak. Amikor mindannyian bent voltunk a vagonban, akkor valaki kiabálta, hogy ne hagyjátok magatokat, mert felrobbantják a szerelvényt, tűzszünet van, és nem szabad lőni. Mint az automaták, mindnyájan kiugrottunk a vagonokból. Lőni nem szabadott, erre slaggal kezdték a vizet ránk ereszteni, hogy betereljenek a szerelvénybe, de nem hagytuk magunkat. Úsztunk a vízben, de nem mentünk be a szerelvénybe. Elég az hozzá, hogy ez is egy jó darabig tartott a pályaudvaron, amíg nagy keservesen összeszedelőzködtünk. A lágerfőnök már nem erőszakoskodott, és visszavezetett bennünket abba az erdőbe, ahol az előző éjszakát töltöttük. Reggel, amikor kivilágosodott, körülnéztünk, és kiderült, hogy már egyetlen német sem volt körülöttünk. A német katonák, a német nők, akik felvigyáztak ránk, mind-mind eltűntek. Nem gondoskodtak rólunk egyáltalán. Utána már senki nem törődött velünk. Jöttek angol katonák, de ezek nem megszállók voltak, csak átvonulók, úgyhogy azok sem gondoskodtak rólunk. Nagyon el voltam keseredve, mentem az úton, és nem láttam egy katonát se, csak civilek voltak, mindenki eldobta azt, ami egyáltalán emlékeztette volna arra, hogy katona volt valaha.

Volt ott egy olasz láger, elindultunk, hogy szerezzünk valamit. Ott a szemétdombon mindenféle rothadt krumplit meg káposztalevelet meg hasonló dolgokat összeszedtünk. Az egyik ezt hozott, a másik azt, valaki szerzett levesport, a másik fagyasztott halat. Voltunk vagy nyolcan, akik összeálltunk, és én mondtam, hogy én legfeljebb megfőzöm, mert én szerezni nem tudok semmit. Úgyhogy főztem egy nagy kübli ételt, amiben a fagyasztott haltól a krumplin át a káposztalevélig és amit a szemétdombon össze lehetett szedni, az minden benne volt. Talán ezért nem lett semmi bajunk, mert mi olyan ételt tettünk az éhes gyomrunkba, amiben egy gramm zsiradék nem volt, csak csupa zöldségféle. Aztán megint összeszedtek bennünket, elvittek egy olyan lágerbe, ami úgy nézett ki, mint egy kórház, fehér vaságyak voltak benne matraccal, paplannal. Asztal is volt a helyiség közepén. Mindenkinek külön ágya volt, itt már normális körülmények között lakhattunk. Csak azt tudom, hogy még mindig nem volt mit egyek, nem tudtam hozzájutni semmihez, erre valaki adott nekem mustárt, másvalaki adott nekem fagyasztott halat, de semmi más ennivalóm nem volt. A mustárt rátettem a fagyasztott halra, és egy mélytányér fagyasztott halat megettem. Nagyon beteg lettem. És amikor osztottak ételt, én nem tudtam enni, mert úgy elrontottam a gyomromat. Az volt a legszebb, hogy nem is bánkódtam miatta, és folyton azt mondtam, hogy de jó, hogy el van rontva a gyomrom, így most nem tudok enni, most megspórolom az ennivalót, és egyszerre jóllakok majd. Osztottak konzerveket dobozban, a katonák huszonnégy órai ellátására szánt konzervek voltak ezek, leveskocka, csokoládé, keksz, tejpor, cukor, ilyenek. Mire jobban lettem, már nem is voltam olyan éhes, már nem is tudtam volna megenni azt az összes ennivalót egy ültő helyemben, mert az ember úgy van, hogy többet kíván, mint amennyit bír.

Aztán innen is elvittek bennünket. Minket angolok szabadítottak fel, ezeket a területeket angolok foglalták el. A Keleti-tenger partjára vittek bennünket, teherautókkal. A helység nevére már nem emlékszem. Elfoglaltak egy magánterületet, ahol nyaralók, víkendházak voltak. Ezekbe a víkendházakba telepítettek be minket. Különböző módon voltak berendezve ezek a házak, mindegyikben volt konyha, volt, amelyikben rezsó volt, volt, ahol tűzhely volt. Volt, ahol közösen összefogtak, és úgy főztek. A Piri barátnőm ekkor már nem volt velem. Ahogy felszabadultunk, ő rögtön összeköttetésbe lépett az angol vezetőkkel, mert az ő férje amerikai katona volt. A felszabaduláskor tehát egyenesen Amerikába került. Nagyon rendes volt, mielőtt elment, mondta, hogy írjak levelet, akinek akarok, és ő továbbítja. Azonkívül hozott nekem cipőt és mindent, amihez hozzá tudott jutni, mert neki több lehetősége volt, több mozgásterülete volt. Haláláig leveleztünk. Szóval miután Piri elment, volt egy másik társnőm, akivel úgy döntöttünk, hogy ketten valahogy megleszünk. Nem akartam tömegszállást, mert elég volt nekem a sok emberből. Egy nyaralónak a manzárdját foglaltuk el. Tyúklétrán kellett oda felmenni. Csak egy ponton lehetett kiegyenesedni, a csúcsos pontján. Volt neki ablaka is. Nagyon ügyesen volt berendezve az a pici helyiség, mert minden volt, ami a világon kell. Előttünk volt a tenger. Az ablakon, ha kinéztünk, két hajó volt oldalra dőlve, elsüllyedve. Az egyik a Deutschland, egy német hajó, a másik holland hajó volt, a Kapakona. Mesélték, hogy a két hajót felrobbantották Az emberek a hajóról menekülni próbáltak, mert nem volt messze a hajó a parttól. De azokat, akik próbáltak kiúszni, lelövöldözték. Én ezt nem láttam, csak a hullákat láttam, mert később kivetette őket a tenger. A parton feküdt a sok felpuffadt hulla, fehérek voltak, mint a hó, ahogy a só kiette őket. Ötször akkorák voltak, mint a valóságban, úgy fel voltak puffadva. Én nem is mentem ki a partra soha, mert azt mondtam, hogy rosszul vagyok, ezt nem lehet elviselni.

Szállították minden nap a nyers kosztot. Mindenfélét, vagy húst, vagy halat, vagy zöldségféléket, kiosztották, és mindenki azt csinált vele, amit akart. Már nem éheztünk, csak a szervezetünk nagyon ki volt éhezve, volt például egy alkalom, amikor olyan éhes voltam, hogy nem tudtam elaludni, felkeltem éjjel, és főztem egy lábas zabpelyhet. Fölkeltettem a társnőmet, leültünk mellé, és az egész lábossal megettük. Aztán lefeküdtünk, és akkor már tudtunk aludni, mert akkor már jól laktunk. Úgyhogy minden nap mindenfélét kitaláltam ezekből a nyers kosztokból. Csináltam például töltött káposztát, lapulevélbe becsomagolva, ételízesítővel, zabpehellyel. Ilyesmiket kitaláltam minden napra, úgyhogy mindig valami mást főztem. A barátnőm Romániából volt, Nagyváradról, nagyon ügyes nő volt, angol szabónő. Vele folyton varrtunk, természetesen kézzel, mert gépem nem volt. Rongyokban voltunk, az egész lágeréletünk alatt egy rongy volt rajtunk. El lehet képzelni, hogy milyen állapotban volt az, mire felszabadultunk. Volt, aki nem tudott varrni, szerzett magának anyagot, és mi élelemért megvarrtuk. Még cigarettát is kaptunk. Az a nő, aki a munkáslágerben a tolmácsunk volt, ő maradt a mi vezetőnk itt is, annak dolgoztunk a legtöbbet. A legszebb nyaralóba ő költözött be, ott rengeteg holmi volt. Mi rengeteget dolgoztunk, még bőröndöket is csináltunk, anyagból. Mindenki igyekezett magának valamit szerezni, hogy mire útra kelhetünk, addig fel legyünk öltözködve valahogy.

Viszont nem volt transzport, szóba sem jött, hogy hazavinnének bennünket. Májusban szabadultunk, de még júliusban ott voltunk. A cseheknek szerveztek transzportot, de a magyaroknak senki nem szervezett transzportot. A magyarokat nem hozta haza senki, csak 1946-ban szerveztek magyar transzportot. Nem tudtam, hogy a cseheket Budapesten keresztül viszik Csehországba [Csehszlovákiába]. Ha tudtam volna, akkor jó pár hónappal hamarabb kerültem volna haza. Nemsokára összeszedtek bennünket is, mert kiürítették ezt a területet. Megint felraktak bennünket teherautóra, és elvittek Neustadtba. Ott már nem volt valami jó, mert ott már nagyon kis helyiségekbe kerültünk, és többen is voltunk egy helyiségben. De ott már volt mozgási lehetőség, mert mindenki mehetett oda, ahova akart. Ezzel a társnőmmel mondtuk, hogy menjünk el, próbáljuk meg más lágerekben, hátha találunk valaki ismerőst vagy rokont. Fogalmam sem volt, hogy rajtam kívül a családból van-e valakim. Úgy tudtam, hogy a szüleim otthon maradtak. Nem tudtam, hogy mi van a gyerekemmel, nem tudtam, mi van a férjemmel. Aztán jött Neustadtba egy mentőautó, és kiderült, hogy megy Bergen-Belsenbe, és elvitt. Ott egy nagy katonai laktanyába volt összegyűlve a sok häftling [német: fogoly]. Azok is innen-onnan jöttek; akik eredetileg a bergen-belsen-i táborban voltak, szinte mind meghaltak. Kiderült, hogy a kispesti asszonyok, akik Bergen-Belsenbe kerültek, mind meghaltak tífuszban [A birkenaui szelekciót túlélő kispestieket éppúgy szétszórták az egész birodalomban, mint mindenki mást. Persze volt, aki végül BB-ben kötött ki. Közvetlenül (azaz Birkenau érintése nélkül) egyikük sem került ide. Az utolsó hetekben is ezrek haltak meg, a felszabadulás után még mintegy 30 ezer fogoly halt bele az éhezésbe és a betegségekbe. Sokakat a tífusz vitt el, de általában az éhség, a végkimerültség és a tífusz együtt végzett az áldozatokkal. Adatunk arról nincs, hogy a kispestiek mekkora része halt meg tifuszban. – A szerk.].

Aki nem kapta meg a tífuszt, azt a tífuszosok közé fektették, hogy így haljon meg, mert abban az időben már nem volt krematórium, már nem égettek hullákat, és hát olyan módon pusztítottak, ahogyan lehetett. Ott halt meg az összes ismerősöm Bergen-Belsenben, mint kiderült. Én egy pofonnak köszönhettem, hogy abba a transzportba nem kerültem bele. Annak idején együtt akartam maradni a kispesti asszonyokkal, de kaptam egy rettentő nagy pofont, mert nem fordultam meg, amikor a német mondta, hogy „Hátra arc!”. Ennek a pofonnak köszönhettem, hogy életben maradtam, mert így egész másfele vittek.

Itt, Bergen-Belsenben már nem nagyon gondoskodtak rólunk, olyan átmeneti szállás volt az egész. Összetalálkoztam két vagy három kispestivel, akik életben maradtak, és tárgyaltuk, hogy valahogy el kellene indulni. Aztán összeismerkedtünk egy csoporttal, akik románok voltak. A vezetőjük nagyon talpraesett férfi volt, aki beleegyezett, hogy csatlakozzunk hozzájuk. Szerencsénk volt, mert a magyarokat nem nagyon szerették sehol sem. Akármerre mentünk, mindig azt mondta a román, hogy mi ne szóljunk, hallgassunk, hogy ne is tudják, hogy magyarok vagyok. Augusztusban indultunk el, nem tudom, hogy hányadikán, de nagyon sokáig tartott. Előbb Hannoverbe mentünk. Mikor megérkeztünk valahova, akkor megkerestünk ezeket az irodákat, ahol a zsidó häftlingek kaptak pénzt. De hiába volt pénzünk, nem kaptunk érte semmit. Amerre mentünk, mindenhol kiégett házak voltak. Utaztunk marhavagonban, csúcsosan megrakott szenes vonat tetején, volt hogy ütközőn utaztunk. Mosakodni a pályaudvarokon lehetett. Volt, amikor lelöktek a vonatról. Még az volt a szerencsém, hogy nem ütöttem meg magamat, mert a hátizsák a hátamon volt, és arra estem rá. Még mielőtt elindult volna a vonat, megint felmásztam. Volt úgy, hogy egész éjszaka úgy utaztam egy peronon, hogy jóformán csak az egyik lábamat tudtam lerakni, mert csak annyi hely volt. Ennivalóról gondoskodtunk, még mielőtt elindultunk. Voltunk öten vagy hatan nők, összesen, pestiek. Az volt, hogy amíg az én ennivalómból volt, addig mindenkit abból kínáltam, de mikor már az enyém elfogyott, akkor már senkinek nem jutott eszébe, hogy adjon. Akkor azt csinálták, hogy titokban ettek, hogy ne kelljen senkivel megosztani. Egyedül a társnőmmel voltunk abban a helyzetben, hogy mindent egyformán fogyasztottunk, és egyformán gondoskodtunk is magunkról.

Szóval keservesen elértünk Pozsonyba. Ott este volt, és már orosz katonákat is láttunk. Tulajdonképpen én már a vagonokban láttam az orosz katonákat. Hogy mit műveltek egész éjjel! Járták keresztül-kasul a vagonokat, és szedték el a csomagokat. Az én hátizsákom az átjáróba volt letéve. Azon tapostak végig egész éjszaka, de senkinek nem jutott eszébe, hogy azt felvegye onnan. Így megmenekült a hátizsákom meg a benne lévő. Amire kivilágosodott, megszűnt ez a zabrálás. Aztán megérkeztünk a Keleti-pályaudvarra. Ott fogadtak minket, és adtak egy karéj lekváros kenyeret mindenkinek. Lovas kocsikon – akkor azzal közlekedtek – vittek el egy Dózsa György úti iskolába, amit berendeztek a häftlingeknek. Odavittek a pályaudvarról, és azt mondták, hogy itt van ez a priccs, ez az enyém. Én arra gondoltam, hogy ha nekem itt kell töltenem az éjszakát, mert nincs senkim, akihez menjek, akkor én megölöm magam. Az nem létezik, hogy ezt én továbbcsináljam. Azért bírtam ki az egészet, hogy a családommal találkozzak.

Anyám két testvére lakott a legközelebb a Dózsa György úthoz, az egyik a Péterfy Sándor utcában, a másik a Hernád utcában, elindultam, hogy megkeressem őket. Elmentem a Hernád utcába, és ott találtam a két nagynénimet meg a nagybácsimat meg a gyerekeit. Ők a gettóban [lásd: budapesti gettó] voltak, de már januárban vagy februárban felszabadultak, és már hazakerültek. Mondtam, hogy menni akarok a húgomhoz, Kispestre, megkeresni, mert remélem, hogy ő megvan meg a szüleim is. A nagynénéim nem tudtak semmit a húgomról, senkiről. Jött a két nagynéném velünk, kísértek engem, és mentünk a húgomat megkeresni. A húgom épp nem volt otthon. A nagynéném mondta, hogy menjek vissza velük Pestre, és aludjak náluk. Akkor már éppen fel akartam szállni a villamosra, hogy menjek a nagynénimékkel vissza, amikor leszálltak ismerősök, olyanok, akikkel együtt kerültem Auschwitzba, csak őket máshova vitték. Nagyon örültek nekem, és mondták, hogy aludjak náluk. Én azt mondtam a két nagynénémnek, hogy inkább itt alszok az ismerősöknél, ha a húgomat nem találom meg aznap, mert reggel itt, Kispesten kell jelentkeznem hivatalosan, ahonnan elvittek. Aztán elmentünk együtt megnézni a testvéremet, hátha közben hazajött. És valóban, közben meg is érkezett. Hál’istennek, semmi baja nem történt, hála a keresztény férjének, nem esett bántódása. Hát el lehet képzelni az örömét! Én nagyon fásult voltam, egyáltalán nem tudtam semminek sem örülni, az az igazság. Akkor ott maradtam a testvéremnél, akkor már nem mentem az ismerősökkel.

Első nap még nem volt semmi probléma, mert azt mondta a testvérem, hogy kapott az én fiamról hírt, és a fiam él. Kiderült, hogy a szüleimet elvitték, amiről nem tudtam. Közben kiderült, hogy a férjem sem érkezett meg, az sincs. De amikor megtudtam, hogy a fiam él, azt gondoltam magamban, hogy „Hála istennek, legalább a gyerekem életben van, és így el tudom viselni a csapást”. Aztán pár nap múlva jöttek hozzám olyan asszonyoknak a férjei, akiket Bergen-Belsenbe vittek. Jöttek a feleségük után érdeklődni, és azok mesélték, hogy a gyerekemmel együtt voltak. Onnan tudtam meg, hogy az én gyerekem már nem él. Kiderült, hogy a betegtranszporttal ment el, de ő nem volt beteg, csak ragaszkodott egy kispesti férfihez, akit még itthonról ismert. Ez egy nagyon jómódú ember volt, kereskedő volt itt, Kispesten, üzlete volt. Ez az ember képviselő volt, egy művelt, intelligens ember, és az én gyerekem jól érezte magát vele. Mindenkinek kellett valaki, akivel két szót váltson. Mindenkinek kellett valaki, akihez tartozzon. Akinek nem volt gyereke vagy testvére vagy anyja vagy apja vagy nem tudom, kije, ismerősökkel barátkozott.

Én voltam az egyetlen a családból, aki hazajöttem. Senki más. A bátyámat is megölték családostól. Hatéves kisfiát, feleségét, őt magát is megölték. Hogy a húgom megmaradt, az egy csoda, mert akik itthon maradtak, azok is pusztultak, mert volt bombázás meg ostrom meg hasonló. Ő nem érezte, hogy ő milyen veszélyben van. Ő csak folyton várt minket haza. Mindig azt remélte, hogy az én gyerekem hazajön. A lekvártól kezdve, ami a gyerekem kedvence volt, mindent készített. Tervezgette a férjével, hogy taníttatják tovább.

Hazakerültem egy szál ruhában. A házamban idegenek éltek, és olyan ellenségesen fogadtak, mintha nem tudom, mi lettem volna. Az volt a bűnöm, hogy a ház az enyém. A házamban öt család lakott, a lakásomban a lakók úgy dirigáltak, mint a nagy kommunisták. Énnekem szavam sem lehetett. Oda nem mehettem lakni. Természetes, hogy a testvérem mondta, hogy lakjak velük. A Báthory utca 40. szám alatt laktak. De én már tulajdonképpen borzalmas állapotba kerültem. Teljesen kicsúszott a lábam alól a talaj. Nagyon nehéz erre visszaemlékezni, mert ez az életemnek egy borzalmas szakasza, nem tudtam, nem lehetett feldolgozni rövid idő alatt ezeket a dolgokat. Az volt az egyetlen vágyam, hogy csak haljak meg, mert ezt úgysem tudom túlélni. A testvérem alig tudta tartani bennem a lelket. Csak a húgomat sajnáltam, mert annyira odavolt, hogy megjöttem, és tele volt tervekkel. Még mielőtt megjöttem, kinyitotta az üzletemet, mert kapott egy felszólítást, hogy a hozzátartozók kinyithatják azoknak az üzletét, akiknek becsukták annak idején, de ha nem nyitja ki senki a családból, akkor másnak adják oda. Hogy nehogy elvesszen a boltom, ő kinyitotta, de már ki volt rabolva teljesen. Kalap nem kellett senkinek, elkezdtek gyártani orosz katonasapkákat. Teherautóval mentek az üzlet elé a sapkákért. Aki ügyes volt, nagyon sok mindent tudott szerezni ebben az időben, de az én testvérem mindentől félt. Előfordult, hogy az orosz katona vitt egy zsák lisztet, és ő nem fogadta el.

Én tehetetlenül néztem a dolgokat. Semmiben sem reménykedtem. Üres lett az életem. Amikor bementem az üzletbe, olyan voltam, mintha nem is az enyém lett volna, mint egy idegen. Idegen voltam a testvérem lakásában, idegen voltam az üzletemben. A szakmám már nem számított, kalapot már senki nem viselt, örültek, ha ennivalójuk volt, nemhogy kalapot tegyenek a fejükre. Mindenki kendőben járt. A gazdagok, a szegények, mindenki kendőben járt. Az elején megpróbáltam beilleszkedni a húgomék életébe. Bejártam az üzletbe, vezettem a húgom háztartását, vásároltam, főztem, takarítottam. Ők egész nap elvoltak, Pesten volt az irodájuk, a férje építész volt, kiszállt dolgozni mindenfelé, a húgom pedig az irodát vezette. Rengeteg munka volt, mert az újjáépítés zajlott, mert romban volt az egész ország. Az építészeknek volt munkájuk. Nekik megvolt a jövedelmük is, nem volt hiányuk semmiben. Én magam sem panaszkodhatok, mert minden kívánságom lesték. Nem akartam az üzletet feladni, mert abban reménykedtem, hogy valahogy majd csak lesz. Az egyik üzlet úgyis fel lett adva, amelyik a férjemé volt. Ha azt tudtam volna kinyitni, azzal jobban jártam volna, mert textilbolt volt, és a textilbolt az még ment, de a kalapbolt az nem. Így körülbelül 1947-ig tartottam az üzletet, fizettem a rezsit. Jövedelmem nem volt, a vagyonom kilencven százaléka elveszett, mert amiket odaadtam ennek-annak, azok mind elvesztek, nem kaptam vissza semmit sem. Mindent elvittek az oroszok. Amit nem vittek el, arra is azt mondták, hogy elvitték az oroszok. Szegény apám is sok mindent az üzletből mindenhova odaadott, hogy a háború után legyen mit kezdeni velük. Azokból semmi nem került vissza. Az ékszereim is mind odavesztek.

A testvéremék vettek egy romos öröklakást a Szilágyi Erzsébet fasorban. A tervük az volt, hogy rendbe hozzák, eladják, aztán vesznek egy másikat. Amikor az öröklakásuknak egy szobáját meg a konyháját rendbe hozták, beköltöztek, és átadták nekem a kispesti lakást, a Báthory u. 40-et. Ez egy nagyon szép lakás volt, két szoba összkomfort, egyedülálló ház volt egy kertben, ami tele volt gyümölcsfákkal. Közben a házamat is eladtam, mert értelmetlen volt vele bármit kezdeni, mert azokat a lakókat soha nem tudtam volna kielégíteni, nem tudtam volna nekik lakást szerezni, hogy visszaszerezzem a házamat. Így jóformán ingyen odaadtam. Az üzletet is eladtam, de azzal jobban jártam, mert az üzlet nem az enyém volt, csak béreltem. A bérleményt majdnem annyiért adtam el, mint amennyiért az egész házat, amennyiért az ötszobás házat a százötvenegyes telekkel.

Tulajdonképpen akkor vettem át a húgomék lakását, mielőtt megesküdtem a második férjemmel. A második férjem, Bársony József fiatal, nőtlen ember volt. Ebben az időben nagyon sok nősülni akaró férfi és nagyon sok férjhez menni akaró nő volt, mivel nagyon sok vesztette el a deportálásban a férjét vagy a feleségét. De én nem akartam olyan emberhez menni, akinek felesége volt meg gyereke, mert nem akartam, hogy örökké azt halljam, hogy milyen volt a felesége, milyen volt a gyereke, vagy a gyereket neveljem olyan rosszul, ahogy engem neveltek, mert engem sem az édesanyám nevelt fel. Volt kérőm több, de azért választottam azt, akit választottam, mert soha nem volt felesége, soha nem volt gyereke, és nem is vágyott gyerek után. A második férjembe sem voltam szerelmes, egyáltalán. Ő a maga módján szeretett, elvett feleségül, de azért élte külön a maga életét, ami engem nem is zavart. A férjem szeretett szórakozni. Én inkább hajlamosabb voltam a visszautazásra, és nagyon jó volt, hogy ő ki tudott ragadni ebből a rossz hangulatból. Mentem vele mindig, mert nélkülem nem ment soha. Mindenhol ismerték. A Moulin Rouge-ban ott állt kint a tömeg, nem tudtak bemenni, és ha minket meglátott a portás, már intett. Minden műsort végig kellett néznem, ha tetszett, ha nem.

A második férjem is zsidó volt, de kitért [lásd: Vallásváltoztatás (felekezetből kilépés)], mert azt hitte, hogy akkor segít magán, és nem viszik el. Ugyanúgy elvitték, mintha nem tért volna ki. Ő az édesanyját veszítette el, mert Pesten laktak, és a gettóba kerültek. Az anyja végigélte azt, hogy a gettóban voltak, de amikor hazament a saját lakásukba, nem volt ablak, megfázott, tüdőgyulladást kapott, és meghalt. Mire a fia hazament, addigra az anyja már nem élt. Volt egy bátyja, 1901-es. Amikor összeházasodtunk, mondta, hogy térjek ki. Azt mondtam: „Végigcsináltam az egész deportálást, elvesztettem az egész családomat, egymagam jöttem haza, gondolod, hogy most fogok kitérni? Eszem ágában sincs.” Csak polgárilag esküdtünk, nem templomban. Megkérdezték, hogy reverzálist kötünk-e [Reverzális – a házasuló felek megegyeznek abban, hogy születendő gyermekük melyik szülő vallását kövesse. – A szerk.]. Nem kötöttünk. Eszemben sem volt, hogy gyereket szüljek, pedig fiatal voltam, csak nem akartam. Azonkívül a férjem sem volt olyan, akiről el tudtam volna képzelni, hogy gyereket neveljen.

Az én férjem nem akart Kispesten lakni, egy évig laktunk csak itt. Keserves egy évig tartott, amíg hirdettem, és nagy nehezen elcseréltem a lakást. Az jobban járt, aki velem cserélt, mert én egy másfélszobás lakást cseréltem a hetedik kerület, Dembinszky utcában, nagyon kellett költeni ahhoz, hogy lakni lehessen benne. Nem akartam elköltözni, annyi minden kötött ahhoz a környékhez… Aztán arra gondoltam, hogy talán jobb is, mert az emlékeimtől könnyebben szabadulok, ha nem maradok Kispesten. De ma már tudom, hogy az ember önmagától nem tud megszabadulni, az emlékeit viszi magával. Én csak annyit tudok, hogy nincs a napnak olyan perce, hogy ne legyenek eszemben a családtagjaim, mindazok, akik voltak, akik elmentek mellőlem, legfőképpen a gyerekem, aki hetven éves lenne, ha élne, de az ő kis élete tizenöt évig tartott összesen.

Amikor a férjemmel összekerültem, taxitulajdonos volt. Akkor örökölni lehetett a taxiengedélyt a szülőktől, és az ő apjának volt három gyereke és három engedélye. Mindegyik gyerek kapott egy engedélyt. A férjem bérelte a bátyja engedélyét, bérelte a nővére engedélyét, és így futott neki három kocsija. Panaszra nem volt ok, anyagiakban nem volt hiányom semmi. Viszont hamarosan a taxijai miatt osztályidegen lett, mivel nem adta be a kocsijait a szövetkezetbe, hamarabb vették el az engedélyét is, és csak nagy keservesen tudott elhelyezkedni mint taxisofőr.

1956-ban [lásd: 1956-os forradalom] mi nem vettünk részt semmiben, de a férjemet elküldte az igazgatója; már hamarabb elküldte volna, mert mindig kifogásolta a főnököt. Az igazgató elővett néhány embert, akik tényleg csináltak valamit, és azt mondta, hogy ha a Bársony ellen felszólalsz, ezt mondod, meg azt írod, akkor megtarthatod a munkahelyedet. Úgyhogy a forradalom után elvették az engedélyét [Bársony Józsefné föltehetően a „vezetői engedélyére”, azaz a jogosítványára gondolt. – A szerk.]. Először nem tudott elhelyezkedni csak kocsimosónak. Ez nagyon nehéz volt, mert mindenféle gáz, benzingőz, kipufogógáz volt ott. Hazajött, azt mondta, hogy nem megy többet. Azt mondtam neki: „Hogyha nem mész többet dolgozni, akkor azt fogják mondani a jóakaróid, hogy nem akarsz dolgozni ennek a rendszernek. Muszáj dolgoznod, ha tetszik, ha nem. De az nem kötelességed, hogy oda menj be, ahol a legrosszabbul érzed magad. Ott dolgozz, ahol friss levegőt kapsz és kész.” Nagy keservesen elment dolgozni, nem lett semmi baja. Aztán jött egy engedékenyebb időszak, vissza lehetett szerezni az engedélyt, és teherautó-sofőr lett, tehertaxis. Szeretett dolgozni, csak azt bánta, hogy miért nem ment hamarabb teherautóra. Mennyivel többet keresett volna. A lényeg az, hogy ügyes ember volt. Mindenhol feltalálta magát. Nekem valóban nem kellett volna dolgoznom mellette, mert megkereste azt, ami kell.

1956 nekem inkább azért izgalmas, mert akkor született meg az Icukám [Icuka Bársony Józsefné testvérének, Tóth Lászlónénak a lánya. – A szerk.]. Én őt rettentően akartam, mert én nem akartam gyereket. A húgom elvált a férjétől, és volt egy barátja, aki nem akarta a gyereket, volt neki már egy, de annak sem volt jó apja. Lett volna három gyerekük is, de mind el lett véve. Ezt meg rábeszéltem, hogy hagyja meg. Azonkívül a húgom annyira szerelmes volt abba a férfiba…, öt évig tartott a kapcsolat, de tudtam, hogy nem fog megmaradni. És lett 1956, amire senki sem számított, és a férfi disszidált. Szakított vele, és aznap disszidált, amikor a gyerek született. Ezért is akartam a gyereket, mert képes lett volna öngyilkos lenni e miatt a férfi miatt, és én nem tudtam örökké a sarkában lenni. Utána senki nem kellett neki többé. Ez olyan nagy szerelem volt neki, hogy senki nem tudta pótolni. Harminchét éves volt, amikor a lánya megszületett, és leélte az életét anélkül, hogy egy férfi lett volna neki közben. A férje, akitől elvált, az el akarta venni őt megint, és magához vette volna őt a lányával együtt. Nem ment vissza hozzá. Aztán az én segítségemmel nevelte fel a kislányt. Olyan, mintha az enyém lenne.

Én 1953-ig otthon voltam. Nem akarta a férjem, hogy dolgozzak, de én mondtam neki, hogy azt akarom, hogy legyen majd saját nyugdíjam. Nem érdekelt egyáltalán, hogy mit csinálok vagy mennyit fizetnek. Elmentem a Hegedű utcai szövetkezetbe, egész közel volt a lakáshoz. Ledolgoztam tíz évet. Játékokat csináltunk, műanyag játékokat és szőnyegeket, meg festőhengert is vágtunk. Azután is mentem dolgozni, amikor már nyugdíjas voltam [1963-ban ment nyugdíjba. – A szerk.], mert akkor volt egy olyan lehetőségem, hogy egy kötödét vezethettem a Kecskeméti utcában, a Reitter kötödét. A tulajdonosok is zsidók voltak, de olyanok, akik nem tartották a vallást. Azt mondták, hogy nem kell tennem semmit, csak a meglévő holmikat eladni. Társbérlet volt az üzlet, volt egy ruhavarró, egy férfi, aki női ruhákat varrt, blúzokat, és árulta közben ezeknek a kötöttáruját. Megosztoztak a kirakaton, és megosztoztak az üzleten. Akkor jött divatba a twistpulóver [„Twistpulóver – kártolt gyapjúból készült, bebújós, hosszú ujjú, V-alakú nyak¬ki¬vá¬gás¬sal rendelkező pulóver, amely éveken keresztül, változatlan áron, 160.– Ft-ért volt kapható, s szinte egyenviseletnek számított az ifjúság körében. Rendkívüli népszerűségének valószínű oka, hogy a ruházati ipar szegényes termékei között ez az egyszerűségével kitűnő ruhadarab nem illeszkedett a szokásos termékek so¬rába.” (Kozák Gyula: Lábjegyzetek a hatvanas évek Magyarországa monográfiához /Kézirat/). – A szerk.]. Én üzletasszony voltam, tudtam, hogy valamit csinálni kell, meg kell fogni, ami adódik. Gondoltam, hogy nem ülök ölbe tett kézzel és várom a vevőket, amikor a kutyának sem kell az, ami van. Megvettem a fonalat, megköttettem, összeállíttattam, eladtam, és ez így ment szünet nélkül. Közben vásároltak mást is. Nagyon jól ment az üzlet. Egészen hatvanéves koromig ott voltam. Lehettem volna tovább is, de nem bírtam azt a házaspárt, ki nem állhattam. Folyton bolondították a bedolgozókat, soha nem fizették ki őket időben. Aztán észrevettem, hogy bizalmatlanok, és azt végképp nem tűrtem el. Addig, amíg úgy éreztem, hogy megbíznak bennem, addig csináltam. Hiába könyörögtek, hogy menjek vissza, nem mentem.

A háború után, hiába volt a férjem kitérve, tartottuk a vallást. Hitközségi adót fizettünk, templomba jártunk, a Bethlen téri templomban megvolt a helyünk. Ezt 1956 alatt sem titkoltuk. A férjemet, amikor meghalt, rendes zsidó szertartással temettettem el a rákoskeresztúri temetőben [lásd: temetés].

Én különben soha nem voltam párttag. Amikor a deportálásból hazajöttem, azt mondta a húgom, hogy akik a deportálásból hazajönnek, mind belépnek a szocialista pártba [azaz: a kommunista pártba]. Azt mondtam, hogy éntőlem nyugodtan beléphetnek, én nem lépek sehova.

A férjem gondolkodott az Izraelbe való kivándorláson, de én nem akartam. Én azt mondtam, hogy én már otthont építettem. Mondtam, hogy menjen ki ő, és ha sikerül neki, akkor majd utánamegyek. De jól tudta, hogy nem mennék utána. Nem is voltunk Izraelben, bár voltak ott rokonaink. Az első férjem legfiatalabb húga, aki kiment még 1939-ben a két gyerekével meg a férjével. Tartottuk a kapcsolatot, persze. Arról is volt szó, hogy kimegyünk Dél-Amerikába, bár én nem nagyon akartam. Már háború után volt. Minden megvolt, csak elsikkasztották a papírokat, amiket küldött a rokonunk Brazilíából.

1967-ben volt az egyetlen külföldi utam, kimentem Amerikába, hogy meglátogassam a Piri barátnőmet. Várt engem a repülőtéren, összetalálkoztunk, és körénk csődült a személyzet, a repülőgép személyzete, egy halom ember, öleltek, csókoltak bennünket. Ez úgy történt, hogy Piri, ameddig várt a reptéren, hogy az unalmát elüsse, elmesélte néhány alkalmazottnak, hogyan ismerkedtünk meg, s azok annyira meghatónak találták a történetet, hogy mikor megérkeztem, körbeállva ünnepeltek. Akkor még a Piri teljes családja élt, mind ott voltak Penssylvaniában. Minden nap máshova voltunk meghívva… Még egyszer meglátogattam, a halála előtt, 1995-ben, rettentő boldog volt ő is, én is, ez volt az utolsó találkozásunk.

1989 után nem változott semmi. Ugyanúgy imádják a pénzt, és ugyanúgy van szegény ember és gazdag ember. Viszont most nincs középosztály. Én nem panaszkodom, mert én a nyugdíjamból megélek, kapok nyugdíjat Németországból, és a magyar államtól is kapok életjáradékot. Én egy beosztó ember vagyok, nem is költöm el a nyugdíjamat. A húgom lánya miatt idejöttem lakni, mert én a hetedik kerületben laktam, és nagyobb lakásom volt jóval, mint ez. De ez nekem megfelel, nem is kell nagyobb. Minek egymagamnak?

Hirschberg Frigyes

Hirschberg Frigyes szüleivel

Életrajz

Nagyapám, Hirschberg Móric 1867-ben Ungmogyoróson született [Árva megye]. A dédapám korán halt meg, a gyerekei szegénységben maradtak. A nagyapám pincér volt, aztán 1898-ban bekerült a KuK hadseregbe, ahol szanitéc volt a gyalogezredben. Mint őrvezető szerelt le 12 évi szolgálat után. Amikor leszerelt, megkapta az abschiedet [leszerelőlevél, obsit], és akkor valahogy Kabára került [Kaba: Nagyközség Hajdú vm.-ben, az 1910. évi népszámlálás idején 6800 főnyi lakossal. A kabai hitközséget 1862-ben alapították. Volt Hevra Kadisa, rituális fürdő, zsidó elemi iskola. – A szerk.], és elszegődött egy birtokra, ahol béresekre meg egyebekre felügyelt. És a birtokos családjába, a Löwinger családba nősült be. [Nem nagyon valószínű, hogy a nagypapa 12 évig volt katona és csak 31 éves korában került volna a hadseregbe. Elképzelhető, hogy 1898 körül vagy talán kicsit előtte leszerelt már – hiszen 1902-ben már gyermeke született, és 1906-ban már rasekol volt Kabán, tehát addigra már nagyon jól beilleszkedett ebbe a közösségbe. A másik lehetőség, hogy esetleg nem a nagypapa, hanem a dédnagypapa volt 12 évig katona, de a családi legenda a nagypapára ruházta ezt át. – A szerk.] Jó hozományt adhatott az Löwinger. A nagyszüleim, különösen a nagyanyám nagyon ügyes volt gazdaságilag, úgyhogy három üzletük volt. Az egyik volt kocsma, a másik egy szatócsüzlet és még valami, de nem tudom pontosan. A nagyapám nagyon népszerű ember volt.

Kabán nem volt vallástalan. Ki így, ki úgy tartotta be a törvényeket, kinek volt szakálla, kinek nem volt, de kóser háztartást tartott mindenki. Volt mikve, volt sakter, volt egy rabbi is, volt dájen is. Amennyire emlékszem, mindenki ment a zsinagógába minden reggel és este is. A nagyapám volt, aki a „smóne eszré”-ből elsőnek lépett ki [A „smóne eszré”-t, a 18 áldást állva kell mondani. Az, hogy ő „lépett ki elsőnek”, azt jelenti, hogy elsőnek fejezte be. – A szerk.] Nem volt egy nagy talmed hóhem [tudós, vallásilag képzett ember]. Hosszabb szövegbe bele se fogott, biztos, talán egy-egy bróhét azért tudott. De tfilint, azt légolt. Például elment kártyázni – szeretett kártyázni, kártyázott zsidókkal és nem zsidókkal is, sőt ha valahol megkínálták esetleg valami más étellel, valószínűleg meg is ette, de otthon kóser volt –, és ha egész éjszaka kártyázott, akkor szegény nagyanyám vitte utána a táleszt és a tfilint. Ott felvette minden további nélkül, nagyon szabályosan. De hogy aztán tudta-e a bróhékat, vagy nem, azt nem tudom. Viszont mikor gazdag volt, és ő rasekol volt, akkor a zsidó iskolát is ő építtette [1906-ban épült Kabán a zsidó elemi iskola. – A szerk.], ő, aki majdnem analfabéta volt.

A nagymama, Löwinger Betti nem volt sájtlis. Ő otthon volt, és irányította az üzleteket. 1926-1927 körül halt meg, és akkor minden elúszott. A nagyapám elég rabiátus ember volt, és állítólag ha valakivel összeveszett a vendégek közül, kiverte. És hát a gyerekek, különösen János és szegény apám is, hordták el a pénzt, különösen nagyanyám halála után.

Nagyapámnak két testvéréről tudok. Volt egy nővére a Róza, aki férjhez ment, és kimentek Amerikába. És volt egy bátyja, a Vilmos. Ő suszter volt, és Pesten a Tűzoltó utcában lakott. Ott volt egy nagy cipészműhelye, ahol sitzeket adott ki. Ő már akkor idős volt, és maga nem dolgozott, csak helyeket adott ki másoknak, minthogyha azok neki dolgoztak volna, ezzel volt legalizálva a műhely. De akik ott dolgoztak, azoknak saját kuncsaftjaik voltak, és a sitzért [helyért] fizettek a nagy-nagybácsinak. A Vilmos bácsi özvegyen maradt, és nyolcvanvalahány éves korában elvett egy asszonyt, aki német állampolgár volt, hogy a házasság révén magyar állampolgár lehessen. A háborúban mind a ketten meghaltak.

Apámék tizenegyen voltak testvérek, de a felnőtt kort csak öten élték meg. Róza volt a legidősebb. Hozzáment egy nagyon jó családból származó fiúhoz. A Rosenthalék gazdagok voltak, már akkor volt tanítónő közöttük, szóval tanult emberek voltak. A Róza férje viszont nem értett semmihez sem, mert elég nehezen tanult. A család vett neki egy lovat, és fiákeres volt. Az állomás messze volt, és ő kijárt az állomáshoz és beszállította az embereket a faluba. Ők voltak a legszegényebbek. A Rózának volt vagy hat gyereke, akik kisgyerekkorban meghaltak, és volt nyolc élő gyerek, akik közül csak egy, Irén élte túl a háborút.

A fiúk közül a legidősebb apám volt. Aztán volt a János, aki hat elemit végzett, utána elment kereskedőinasnak. Aztán feljött Pestre, és itt tűzkövet és szaharint árult a csarnokban. Ezek csempészáruk voltak, Ausztriából hozták a hajósok. János ivott és kártyázott. Időnként nem volt egy fillérje sem, akkor kölcsönkért, de mindent megadott. Nagyon későn nősült, már az 1940-es években. Amikor Budafokon – mert mi ott laktunk a szüleimmel – csillagos házakban gyűjtötték a zsidókat, akkor hozzánk költözött a felesége, és innen deportálták a húgommal együtt. János túlélte a háborút.

Miklós bácsi, az öccsük volt az első egyetemet végzett ember a családban. Ő nem Kabán nevelkedett, hanem Vilmos bácsi vette magához Pestre, hogy legyen gyerek – mert addigra az ő lánya már férjhez ment Romániába –, és Miklóst gimnáziumba járatta. És miután akkor már numerus clausus volt itt, tovább tanulni Brünnbe ment, és ott végezte az egyetemet [lásd: egyetemi tanulmányok és a numerus clausus]. Vegyészmérnök lett. Egyetem alatt dobolt és gitározott, azzal kereste a kenyerét. Aztán visszajött, de nemigen tudott állást találni. Bevonult, és Ukrajnában 1942. december 6-án, a születésnapján halt meg „végelgyengülésben”. Nem nősült meg soha.

Apám Kabán született 1902-ben. Elég rossz magaviseletű gyerek volt, így kicsapták három-négy gimnáziumból, és csak az ötödik osztályt végezte el. Aztán a nagyapám lakatosnak adta. Azt el is végezte, a segédlevele megvolt, de sosem dolgozott lakatosként. Először pénzkölcsön-közvetítéssel foglalkozott, egy banknak volt az ügynöke. Ha egy paraszt kölcsönt akart kérni, ő járta ki neki. Apám szeretett mulatni, van is egy képem, ahol valami szüreti bálban van magyaros ruhában – szóval volt benne egy kis dzsentri-imitálás.

Apám Kabán ismerte meg anyámat, Stern Piroskát, amikor a kabai pap [a rabbi] felesége meghívta őt, mert valamiféle rokonság volt közöttük. Aztán apám elment Tállyára anyám szüleihez, megkérte a kezét, és megcsinálták az előketubát [lásd: házassági szerződés]. Szegény [Stern] nagyapámnak komoly problémája volt. Mert nagyon vallásos ember volt, és szívesebben adta volna a lányát egy bóherhez vagy egy jómódú fiatalemberhez, de 1919-ben, a Kommün [lásd: Tanácsköztársaság] alatt ugye tönkrement. Végül is odaadta anyámat az apámhoz, mert ő nem kért hozományt – ez nagyon lényeges szempont volt. 1929-ben házasodtak Kabán.

Anyai nagyszüleim Tállyán éltek [Tállya Zemplén vm.-ben lévő nagyközség, 1920-ban 3900 főnyi lakossal, a Hegyalja egyik legjobb bortermő vidéke. – A szerk.]. Ott szinte minden zsidó kereskedő volt. Volt egy körülbelül egy kilométeres főutca, és ott üzlet üzlet hátán volt. Volt azon legalább hat szatócsbolt és még egyebek is, textil, vas, kocsma. Hogy ezek miből éltek, nem tudom. Szinte minden üzlet zsidó volt, illetve egy volt, ami nem zsidó volt, de annak is a felesége állítólag zsidó volt. Aztán volt persze rabbi, sakter, volt samesz. Aztán volt egy meszes, aki meszet égetett, és azzal járta a környező falukat. Volt egy zsidó földbirtokos és egy malmos is, azok gazdagok voltak. Más gazdag embert nem ismertem. Volt egy zsidó suszter és három vagy négy zsidó kocsma is. Volt zsidó pék. A bárheszt ő sütötte ki általában. Ha megvolt a tészta, meg volt fonva a kalács, akkor elvittük a pékhez. Meg a sóletot is elvittük hozzá, és mi, gyerekek mentünk el érte szombaton, mert 13 éves korig még hordhattuk [Attól fogva, hogy a fiú betöltötte tizenharmadik évét, és megvolt a bár micvája, a legtöbb vallási ügyben felelősségteljes felnőttnek tekintik, tehát rá is vonatkozik a szombati munkavégzés tilalma. – A szerk.].

A nagyapámnak, Stern Mártonnak vegyeskereskedése volt, de csinált ő mindenfélét, még temetkezési vállalkozó is volt. Nagyon ügyes ember, ezermester volt. Ő festette a cégtáblákat. A grófék – mert Tállyán földbirtokosok voltak –, ha elromlott egy konnektoruk vagy varrógépük stb., akkor a Stern bácsiért küldtek. Az első világháború után a nagyapám tönkrement. Az 1919-es forradalom [lásd: Tanácsköztársaság] alatt kirabolták, és sosem tudott talpra állni. Amire már én emlékszem, Stern nagyapám összegyűjtötte a gallérokat, és elvitte a városba mosatni és keményíteni. És ráadásul melamed is volt, hozzá jártam a héderbe. És a nagyünnepekre pedig előimádkozott. Rendesen a sakter volt az előimádkozó, de nagyünnepeken, amikor hosszabbak voltak az imák, és egy ember nem bírta volna végigénekelni az összes istentiszteletet, akkor többen voltak, jó hangú emberek, akiknek volt valami kóvedjük [tisztelték őket]. A faluban, amennyire emlékszem, a legtöbb kóved a gazdagoknak járt.

Tállya nagyon vallásos falu volt, de volt egy zsidó nevű szőlőbirtokos, aki Pesten lakott, tréfli háztartást vezettek, és ráadásul szombaton biciklizett a fia [lásd: szombati munkavégzés tilalma]. De azért ez nem volt „akkora bűn”, mert sok pénzt adott a hitközségnek. Ha kicsit késett a templomból, akkor megvárták a lejnolással. A hitközség fenntartott egy sláfstubot [jiddis: ’hálóhelyiség’], ahol volt két ágy, asztal, mosdó, és ott aludhattak az ajrahok [jiddis: ’vendég’]. Ha jött egy ajrah pénteken, akkor a baleboszok [jiddis: ’házigazdák’] odamentek és kérdezték, hogy „van már vacsorája?”. „Nincsen.” „Hát akkor jöjjön hozzánk.” Ha volt, akkor szombat délelőtt jöjjön. Úgyszólván veszekedtek az ajrahért.

A Stern nagyapám nagyon vallásos és nagy tudású ember volt, mert fiatalkorában jesivába járt. A nagyanyám, Kohn Hanna parókás volt. Sőt az anyám is parókát hordott az esküvője után egészen addig, amíg el nem költöztek Kabáról.

Az asszonyok péntek este nem mentek templomba, inkább szombat reggel és ünnepeken reggel. A férfiak templom előtt minden pénteken mikvébe mentek. Az ott volt, abban a tömbben, ahol a templom. Ott lakott a samesz. És ott volt először a vágoda. Télen, amikor korán imádkoztak, akkor még volt idő, és utána a férfiak tanultak bent a pólisban, az a helyiség az, amiből az ember belépett a templomba. Télen nem fűtötték a templomot, és akkor a fűtött pólisban imádkoztak. Amikor lehetett bent a nagytemplomban imádkozni, akkor a fiatal fiúk gyakran külön imádkoztak a pólisban, mert ők hamarabb akartak végezni péntek este. Templom után hazamentünk, először elénekeltük a „sólem aléhem”-et [lásd: Salom Alékhem], tapsoltunk, körbementünk, aztán a nagyapám megáldott mindenkit [lásd: áldás]. Utána volt a kidus. Aztán volt a kézmosás és a vacsora [lásd: mosdás, szombat].

Szombat reggel mi, gyerekek valamit ettünk, de a felnőttek időben mentek a templomba, ilyenkor mentek a nők is. De a lányok, így Aranka és Sári szinte sose mentek. Aztán jött a cvibl mit eier [hagymás tojás], májjal vagy máj nélkül, és utána közvetlenül vagy később az ebéd: húsleves, amit rendszerint fekete retekkel ettünk, és utána jött a sólet. Délután kicsit lefeküdtek az emberek. Mi, gyerekek elmentünk nyáron sétálgatni. Aztán jött a minhá és a mááriv [a délutáni és az esti imádkozás, lásd: ima], és nekünk, gyerekeknek volt a feladatunk kimenni és megnézni, hogy mikor jön a három csillag. Akkor aztán bementünk, és mi gyújtottuk fel a villanyt. Akkor kezdődhet a mááriv. Mááriv után hazamentünk, és otthon megcsináltuk a havdólét [lásd: hávdálá], a fűszernek a megszagolása [lásd: ima] életkor szerint történt. Utána a férfiak visszamentek a zsinagógába, és akkor volt a melave malke, kikísérik a szombat királynőt. Ez egy ilyen „batyubál” volt. Mindenki vitt magával egy kis ennivalót vagy maradékot, egy kis kalácsot, süteményt, szóval ami volt, és akkor azt megették, közben énekeltek.

Peszáhra a semore maceszhoz [a peszáhi különleges előírásoknak megfelelően készített macesz] már félretették az aratásnál a búzát, és vigyáztak, hogy ne csírázzon ki. Aztán közvetlenül Peszáh előtt megőrölték, és abból csinálták az egész maceszt a hitközség emberei [lásd: smire macesz]. Központilag is sütöttek és vettek. Egyébként helyben állítottak elő kóser bort is, mert bortermő vidék volt. Amikor a macesz készült, vagy a rabbi ellenőrizte, vagy a hitközség néhány nagyon vallásos, talmudtudó zsidó tagja. A maceszt csak férfiak csinálták, nagyapám volt az, aki dagasztotta. Mi, 13 éven aluli fiúk két társaságba voltunk szortírozva. Az egyik a gyúrórúdon vitte a tésztát a sütőbe, a másik meg kaparta le ezeket a rudakat vagy a táblákat üveggel. Az egész maceszsütéssel megvoltunk a Peszáh előtti utolsó délután. Peszáh előtt mindenki eladta a homecot egy kereszténynek [lásd: homecolás], akivel nagyjából jóban voltak. Kötöttek egy szerződést, és aztán mindent beraktak otthon a kamrába, és lezárták. Peszáh után visszavásárolták, és tudta mindenki, hogy dupla pénzt fizettek érte, na de nem az áráért vették. Mondjuk, 2 pengőért eladják, és visszavásárolták 4 pengőért.

Szükeszkor [lásd: Sátoros ünnep] a nagypapa egyedül építette a szükeszt. Azon voltak díszítések meg rabbiknak a képei meg mógen Dóvid, szalag, Jeruzsálem képe, és a Peszáh utolsó napján megcsókoltuk a szüke falát. Az eszrogot Abaújszántóról osztották el, és akkor ki-ki megmondta már előre, hogy mennyi kell, és annyi eszrogot hoztak. Gyakorlatilag kint ettünk a szükában, ha nem esett, reggelit, vacsorát. Ebédet azt feltétlenül. A vacsorát is általában.

Hanukakor ajándékot nem kaptunk, de trenderliztünk, gyerekek, felnőttek együtt, méghozzá promencli cukorban. Azok ilyen apró kis cukorkorongok [Prominclicukor – apró kerek mentolos cukorka. – A szerk.] Purimkor a zsidók bizonyos családoknál gyűltek össze, például nagypapámnál is, elsősorban rokonok, esetleg egy-két szomszéd. A cigányok tudták azt, hogy mikor van Purim, és arra bejöttek. Hozzánk mindig csak egy cigány járt, és akkor ő hegedűvel kísérte a zsidók énekét. A cigányok mindig ismertek 1-2 zsidó dalt is, például a „Hot a yid a vaybele…” [jiddis: ’Volt a zsidónak egy felesége…’]. A vendégek meg ittak, beszélgettek. Nálunk nem nagyon csináltak Purimspielt Tállyán.

Az anyai nagyanyám olaszliszkai. [Olaszliszka Zemplén vm.-ben található nagyközség. – A szerk.] A szülei gyűjtöttek pénzt, és amikor már volt elég pénzük, a gyerekeik is felnőttek, elhatározták, hogy kimennek Izraelbe meghalni – hát ugye nem kell annyit gyalogolni, amikor a mesiáh [héber: ’messiás’] jön –, és ki is mentek. Sájndl dédanyám meghalt, el is temették az Olajfák hegyén [A Jeruzsálem közelében álló hegyhez liturgiai szempontból is számos fontos dolog kapcsolódik: az a galamb, melyet Noé kiküldött a bárkából, innen tért vissza az olajággal a csőrében; Isten ezen a helyen nyilatkoztatja ki magát a Messiás eljövetelekor; a Messiás innen kezdi majd győzelmi bevonulását Jeruzsálembe stb. Manapság itt van a legfontosabb temetkezési hely Izraelban, hiszen azok vannak a legközelebb a holtak feltámadásának helyéhez, akiket oda temettek. – A szerk.]. Na most Pinhász dédapám, talán unatkozott egyedül, vagy meg akarta látogatni a családját, tény az, hogy hazautazott, és akkor kitört az első világháború, és már nem tudott visszamenni, és Olaszliszkán halt meg.

A nagyanyám jól beszélt magyarul, a nagyapám viszont Husztról származott (tudott viszont ruszinul), és folyékonyan, de akcentussal beszélte a magyart [A Máramaros vm.-ben lévő Huszt nagyközségnek mintegy 10 ezer lakosa volt 1910-ben; a lakosok 23%-a tartozott az izraelita hitfelekezethez. A község etnikailag erősen megosztott volt: a lakosság fele (51%) rutén nemzetiségű, 34%-a magyar és 15%-a német volt. – A szerk.]. Viszont helyesen írt németül. Ezért lett a KuK hadseregben írnok egy zsidó tiszt mellett. A nagyszülők egymással és a fiukkal, Joszival jiddisül beszéltek, de a lányok magyarul beszéltek. A lányok ugye nem jártak szombaton a templomba, nem jártak a héderbe – az igazi vallásosaknál a lányok nem jártak –, de megtanultak héberül olvasni, és persze jártak a magyar nyelvű iskolába. És amikor anyám elment Husztra a nagyapjához, akkor ott volt egy cseléd, „ikh ken nist fárstejn, a jiddise méjdl ken nist kájn jiddis. Ikh bin a siksze un ikh ken!” [Jiddis: ’Nem értem. Egy zsidó lány, aki nem tud jiddisül? Én siksze (nem zsidó) vagyok, mégis tudok!’ – A szerk.]

A nagyanyám sokat olvasott, mégpedig német regényeket, és a nagyapám, aki nem olvasott, mert ugye a regények nem valók egy vallásos zsidónak, azért követelte mindig, hogy számoljon be arról, hogy mit olvasott. A nagyapám Gemorét [lásd: Talmud] olvasott, azaz tanult. És érdekes módon, olvasott újságot, mert sorsjegyet árult, és ha volt húzás, megvette az újságot, és értesítette azokat, akik nyertek a faluban. A nagymamám olvasta a „Cene René”-t is [Szó szerint: „Gyertek és lássatok”, zsidó nőknek írt magyarázatos és egyszerűsített Sulhán Áruh jiddis nyelven. – A szerk.]. Például templomban. Hát ott volt olyan, hogy az asszonyok nem imádkoztak, hanem mit tudom én, az egyik a „Cene René”-t olvasta. A nagyszüleimet 1944-ben deportálták. Nem jöttek vissza.

Anyám 1907-ben született. Három testvére volt. Az egyik húga, Sájndl [Sári] Tállyán élt. Varrónő volt, de olyan varrónő, hogy az úriasszonyok, grófnék, bárónék, akiknek annyi pénzük volt, amennyit akartak, Tállyán varratták a ruhájukat. Amikor jött az első deportálás 1941-ben – Kamenyec Podolszkba [lásd: kamenyec podolszki vérengzés] deportálták a nem magyar állampolgárságú zsidókat, de elvitték a szegény magyar állampolgárságú zsidókat is, akik nem tudtak fizetni –, meghallották az úriasszonyok, és elment egy-kettő a csendőrséghez, hogy a Sternéket ne vigyék el, mert akkor veszélyben van az úriasszonyoknak a ruhája. Végül mégis elvitték őket 1944-ben, Sájndlt deportálták, a férje munkaszolgálatos volt. Ő túlélte, és a háború után Izraelbe költözött, és új családot alapított. De még ez sem volt elég. A másik húga, Aranka nem tanulta ki a varrást, ő inkább a háztartásban segített. Abaújszántóra [Abaújszántó Abaúj-Torna vm.-ben lévő nagyközség 4800 főnyi lakossal, nagy múltú, de az 1920-as évekre erősen megcsappant ortodox hitközséggel. – A szerk.] ment férjhez, és vendéglőjük volt. Egy kislánya született, együtt deportálták őket.

Anyám öccse, Joszi a 6 elemi után elment Abaújszántóra jesivába. Amikor befejezte, a nagyapa egy világháborús ismeretségének a szénbányájában dolgozott mint tisztviselő. Joszi a háború után megnősült, az esküvője az ortodox zsinagógában volt Pesten, aztán elmentek Nyíregyházára. Még a háború után is kóser volt. Vásároztak, abból éltek. Joszinak 6 elemije volt csak, de nagyon művelt volt. Sokat olvasott és nem csak vallásos könyveket, hanem mindent, és bármiről lehetett vele beszélgetni, még az asztrológiáról is. Az 1970-es években, amikor a gyerekeik leérettségiztek, disszidáltak, és Amerikában telepedtek le. Mindent nagyon jól megszerveztek. Joszi felesége jó szervező volt. Mindenüket eladták és kicsempészték valahogy a pénzt az országból, aztán a fiukat előreküldték, eladták a maradék dolgaikat és utánamentek Amerikába. Miklós, a fiuk számítógépes, a lányuk pedig Izraelben él a családjával.

Tállyán nem volt zsidó elemi, csak katolikus, református és evangélikus. Anyám a reformátusba járt, ugyanis a nagyapa megkérdezte, hogy van-e kép [A Tóra azon tiltását alapul véve, hogy „Ne csinálj magadnak faragott képet, és semmi hasonlót azokhoz, amik a fent az égben, alant a földön, vagy a föld alatt a vizekben vannak” (Móz. 20, 4), a rabbik megtiltották emberek, ill. állatok képi ábrázolását, hogy a zsidókat így védjék meg a bálványimádástól. Ezért nincsenek figuratív elemek a zsinagógák, sírok, vallásos könyvek díszítésében. – A szerk.], mondták neki, hogy nincs, akkor bement megnézni, és tényleg nem volt, na akkor oda mehetett a lánya. [Mivel jó hangja volt Piroskának, kérték a református iskolában, hogy menjen a kórusba. Hát elment. Egy-két zsoltárt elénekelt, a nagyapa felismerte, hogy ez tilem [jiddis: zsoltár], és akkor rendben volt minden. Anyám sokat járt a református templomba is, nem imádkozni, hanem énekelni a kórusban (de Jézus nevét nem ejtette ki, még az énekekben sem).

Ketten voltunk testvérek. Én 1930-ban születtem, Adél húgom 1932-ben Kabán. A bank, aminek apám dolgozott, tönkrement 1929-ben a világgazdasági válságban [lásd: 1929-es gazdasági világválság], és nem volt semmi munka, ezért olyan 1933 körül feljöttünk Budafokra [Budapest melletti település, 1926-ban lett rendezett tanácsú város, 1950-ben csatolták a fővároshoz. 1930 körül 16 ezer főnyi lakosa volt. – A szerk.]. A szüleim a Lódenposztógyárban dolgoztak [A gyár a Budafokkal szomszédos Albertfalván volt. – A szerk.]. Anyámnak 1942 körül felmondtak, és akkor elment a Goldberger gyárba mint varrónő. 1938-ban hozták be a nyolcórás munkanapot [A Gömbös-kormány 1935 június elején tett ígéretet a 48 órás munkahét rendeleti úton való bevezetésére, de az 1937:XXI. tc. vezette be a napi 8 órás (heti 48 órás) munkaidőt a minimálbérrel és a fizetett szabadság intézményével együtt. Addig az iparban a munkaidő napi 10 óra körül mozgott. A szabályozás természetesen csak az alkalmazottakra (tisztviselő, munkás, stb.) vonatkozott, a mezőgazdasági dolgozókra nem terjedt ki. – A szerk.], addig viszont a szüleim két műszakban dolgoztak [Természetesen a nyolcórás munkanap bevezetése után sem szűnt meg a két vagy három műszakos munkarend. – A szerk.]. A házinéni azt adott enni, amit anyám este megfőzött minekünk. Nagy szegénységben éltünk.

Budafokon barlanglakásban éltünk. Arrafele sok ilyen volt. Az első, amiben laktunk, csak egy helyiségből állt. A másodiknak már volt egy konyhája, oda lépett be az ember, egy szobája és a konyhából nyílott még két vak rész, azokon nem volt ablak. A falak ki voltak meszelve, és nálunk kivételesen deszkapadló volt – a legtöbb helyen csak földpadló. A lakás nyáron nagyon hideg volt, takaróval kellett aludni, télen viszont nem kellett sok fa a fűtéséhez. Volt egy kis vaskályha, avval fűtöttük a szobát. Villany nem volt, petróleumlámpával világítottunk. Víz is csak fent volt, ahol a tulajdonos háza állt. Csatorna nem volt, a szennyvizet csak úgy kiöntöttük. A vécé közös volt, az is fent volt. Az udvarunkon három vagy négy család lakott. Heti 15 pengőt fizettünk a lakásért, amikor apám körülbelül heti 20 pengőt kapott, anyám pedig olyan 16-ot.

Az első két iskolaévet Tállyán töltöttem a nagyszüleimnél. Apám vitt le azért, hogy tanuljak egy kis „jiddiskájtot” [lásd: stetl]. Ott nem volt zsidó elemi, ezért az evangélikus elemibe jártam, meg héderbe. Az elemiben hat osztály volt, és úgy nézett ki, hogy az első két padban volt az első osztály, utána a második, harmadik és így tovább. Jobboldalt a fiúk, baloldalt a lányok. Szombaton nekünk, zsidó gyerekeknek nem kellett iskolába mennünk.

A héderbe olyan 12–14 éves korig jártak, aztán volt, aki elment a jesivába. Aki nem tanult, az valami szakmát tanult, vagy – hás v-hólile [jiddis: ’Isten ments!’] – polgári iskolába ment. A héderbe iskola után és a szünetben, a „zman”-ban jártunk. Olyan 8-10 gyerek volt ott, még a lányok is időnként ott tanultak olvasni [héberül]. A tanulás úgy ment, hogy előbb elolvastuk a szót héberül, és azt tájcsoltuk [jiddis: ’fordítottuk’] jiddisre. Nem mindig értettük, mert nem tudtunk se héberül, se jiddisül. Mert Tállyán, úgy tudom, hogy csak három-négy családnál beszéltek jiddisül.

Olvasni egyébként hároméves koromban kezdtem tanulni Tállyán, mert akkor ott voltam valamennyi időt a nagyszüleimnél. A nagyapám otthon tanított: nagyon szépen rajzolt, és felrajzolta kis kártyákra az alefbeyst [héber ábécét, lásd: alef-bész], és akkor én voltam a kereskedő, és a nagyapám a vásárló: „én most kérek egy samekhot” [A héber ábécé egyik betűje, amely – mint minden héber betű – egyben egy számot is jelent. – A szerk.], azután, mit tudom én, a feleségem kér egy lamedot. A két év alatt, amíg a héderbe jártam, először olvasni, írni, aztán Himest [lásd: Hümes] tanultuk. A héderben a tanév végén volt a sijem [jiddis: ’a befejezés’], azaz a tanév befejezése. Hát akkor volt egy kis ünnepség. Akkor volt sütemény meg kalács. Talán még egy kis bort is ittunk. Mivel a nagyapám volt a melámed, a gyerekek rajtam töltötték ki a bosszújukat. Megvertek meg csúfoltak, és én nem is mertem megmondani a nagyapának, ez volt számomra a kellemetlenség a héderben.

Télen este az imádkozás után mindig a héderben voltunk. A felnőttek bent maradtak a templomban tanulni, mi, gyerekek pedig visszamentünk a héderbe és házeroltunk [jiddis: ’ismétel’]. Hát valahol itt kezdődik az én életutam. Abszolút vallásos zsidó nevelést kaptam. Nemigen értettem, ha azt láttam, hogy a tanítóval meg az orvossal milyen tisztelettel beszéltek a nagyszüleim. „Hát azok buták, hiszen ők a Jézusban – bocsánat, nem Jézusban, hanem a Jajcliban, mert még a nevét sem mondtuk ki –hisznek!”

Harmadik osztályra feljöttem Pestre, egy kis zsidó iskolába jártam. Az apámnak valami ismerőse, aki tanító lett, az vezette. Kétféle gyerek járt oda: a többség gazdag volt, polgárok, és néhány szegény, például én. Mi megkaptuk a HÉV jegyet [Budafokot helyiérdekű vasút kötötte össze Budapesttel. – A szerk.], és volt napközi, és ott kaptunk ebédet. Itt is volt héber – de itt nem úgy ejtették a szavakat, mint Tállyán, ott például azt mondtuk, hogy Pirem, itt azt mondták, hogy Purim –, tanultunk imádkozni, a Tórából is valamit fordítani – de itt magyarra fordítottuk a Bibliát, nem jiddisre. Jött a rabbi, de ez egész más volt, a rabbi ornátusban volt [A neológ rabbik a katolikus papi ruhához hasonló ruhát viselnek. Egy ortodox zsidó szemében ez meglehetősen szokatlan viselet, az interjúalany feltehetően ezért is használja az egyébként katolikus misemondó öltözetet jelölő „ornátus” szót. – A szerk.]. Ketten voltunk az osztályban, akik kápedlit viseltünk állandóan. Nekem Tállyán pajeszom is volt, de amikor visszakerültem Budafokra, azonnal levágatták a szüleim. Télen szalámit kaptunk a napköziben, és az talán nem volt kóser. Hát mindez engem zavart, mert én az előzővel voltam beoltva.

A szüleim mint gyári munkások nem lehettek vallásosak. Nagyünnepekre elmentek a templomba, de szombaton azért bevásároltak meg minden. Hét közben dolgoztak, így máskor nem tudtak elmenni vásárolni. A tejest és a húsost nem választottuk el, de a kacsát vagy a tyúkot, amit a piacon vettünk, mindig elvittük a sakterhoz [lásd: étkezési törvények]. Az apám minden reggel megimádkoztatott, bár ő maga nem imádkozott. Az imákat tudta kívülről.

Nyáron apám feladott minden nap egy imaszakaszt, hogy tanuljam meg, és amikor hazajött, kikérdezte. Reggelenként előfordult, hogy apám imádkoztatott engem. Ha hibáztam, abból könnyen lehetett egy pofon. Apám vett egy Misnát, aminek alul jiddis fordítása volt, láttam, hogy azt tanulta, és egy nyáron azon végigmentünk együtt.

A bár micvóra egyedül készültem fel, mert apám akkor már munkaszolgálatos volt. Kaptam ajándékot néhány embertől a hitközségben, mert ismertek, hiszen jártam templomba, és tudták, hogy szegények vagyunk. Kaptam egy órát és pénzt, amit hazaadtam, meg a Mózes öt könyvét.

Az elemi után egy állami polgáriba [lásd: polgári iskola] kerültem. A mi osztályunkban három zsidó volt. Az osztályban mindenki engem vert, minden tízpercben megvertek, például ha valaki rossz jegyet kapott. Amikor már polgáriba jártam, nyáron egy zsidó textilkereskedőnél kifutóféle voltam, beutaztam Pestre, és vittem csomagot vagy levelet, és ezért kaptam pénzt. Később retikülkeret-üzemben kaptam állást, délutánonként oda jártam. Ebből fizettem a kis húgomnak és magamnak a tandíjat.

A háború után a zsidó tanítóképzőbe iratkoztam be, az ott volt a Rabbiképző épületében. A polgárit még 1944-ben sikerült befejeznem, mert előbb zárták le a félévet. Amikor harmadikos voltam a tanítóképzőben [A tanítóképző ebben az időben még középfokú iskola volt, a 14–18 éves korosztály részére. – A szerk.], apám meghallotta, hogy különbözeti vizsgával át lehet menni a zsidó gimnáziumba – ezt előtte nem lehetett –, és mondta, hogy tegyem le a különbözetit, és érettségizzek ott le, és akkor mehetek egyetemre. Közben bejártam a Rabbiképzőbe, a szemináriumba. Aztán leérettségiztem. Aztán egy évet jártam a Rabbiképzőn, de beláttam, hogy nem nekem való.

Rossz jegyeim voltak, és csak a történelem segített abban, hogy végül is egyetemre kerüljek. Az egyetemen a biológia–kémia szakon csupa budai úri gyerek volt. Három zsidó volt közöttük. Engem elfogadtak, mert én megmondtam, én egy proli zsidó vagyok, és mert nem voltam olyan lelkes kommunista, de még párttag sem.

Biológia–kémia szakos tanár lettem. Aztán az agrártudományi egyetemen lettem tanársegéd. Azután szereztem meg a műszaki egyetemen a szakmérnöki diplomát is, és summa cum laude doktor lettem. A legtovább az Élelmiszerkutató Intézetben dolgoztam mint kutató. Az utolsó munkahelyem, ahol 9 évig voltam, egy kis középkori zsinagóga volt, ami múzeumként működik. Itt mindent én csináltam, jegyet adtam el, magyaráztam angolul és héberül, még takarítottam is.

Van egy fiam, Hirschberg Gábor, aki most már Izraelben él. [Hirschberg Frigyes fia 2003-ban Izraelben meghalt. – A szerk.] A feleségem hívő katolikus, de amikor felmerült, hogy mi legyen a fiunk, azt mondta: „Valaminek lennie kell. Én egyáltalán nem bánom, ha elviszed a zsinagógába, és zsidónak neveled, de ha nem viszed el, akkor én fogom elvinni a katolikus templomba.” Úgyhogy rendszeresen jártunk a zsinagógába, megcsinálta a bár micvóját, és néhány éve alijázott. Phd-zett, erre nagyon büszke vagyok, és vegyészmérnökként dolgozik.

Klara Dovgalevskaya

Klara Dovgalevskaya with two friends

Klara Dovgalevskaya
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Vladimir Zaidenberg
Date of interview: December 2001

Interviewer's Note: This was a very difficult interview. I had to return to Klara Dovgalevskaya three times because of her poor health. Afterwards, she got very tired and shared nothing about her life after the war. She asked me to finish the interview at that point.

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

My family background

My name is Klara Dovgalevskaya. When I was young I was called Khaya. I was born in the village of Tripolye, Ukraine.

I never knew my paternal grandparents; I don't even know their names. My father, Leizer Dovgalevsky, was a merchant. He had his own small one-room store in Tripolye. He went around villages buying various staple food products - grain, flour, bread, sugar, salt - which he then sold in his store. I remember that during his lunch break my mother, Esfir Dovgalevskaya, would run to work for him while he went home to eat, and then he would go back to the store and my mother would come home. My mother worked from dawn to dusk. They worked a lot and our family was not poor.

We had a big house. My paternal great-grandfather built the house. It was a good-sized house with several rooms: a living room, a boys' bedroom, a girls' bedroom, and our parents' bedroom. But the toilet was outside, and water for the bath was heated only once a week for my mother to wash us one by one. I remember we had a big garden and three cows. One of the cows was very smart, but wild. She could open the gates with her horns, and would come to our kitchen window and call my mother. She loved mother very much. In the mornings I woke up early, ran to the kitchen, and my mother would give me a glass of warm, fresh milk.

Our parents had seven children. The eldest was my brother Moishe, born in 1900. Then came Aba, born in 1903, followed by Pinya in 1905. My sister Buzya was born in 1907; in 1910 came brother David; and in 1912 my sister Sonya. I, the youngest, was born in 1914. I was born on the first day of Passover.

Growing up

My mother said that those were hard times then, probably due to the start of World War I. It was more difficult for my father to buy products in the villages, and life became harsher. My mother worked a lot around the house while my elder sister Buzya took care of me. My mother would put a scarf around Buzya's neck and shoulders, put me inside it, and Buzya would walk with me everywhere.

I can vaguely remember our Passover celebrations. I remember that at Passover my father sat at the head of the table, with the boys sitting on his right hand and the girls on his left. My mother served the food. My father took me on his lap and lifted me up; I remember dancing on his lap and singing. And then, suddenly, I pissed. My father got angry and put me down. I remember it very vividly even though I was only two years old.

My parents and the elder children spoke Yiddish at home. The children went to cheder. After that they attended a Ukrainian school in Tripolye. My elder brother Moishe left for Kiev in 1916.

Then our family suffered a terrible tragedy. In 1918-1919 there were gangs in Tripolye that consisted of 15-20 men. They would come to villages, and rob and kill Jews. One of the gang leaders was Zelyony, the son of the priest from our village. When his gang came into our village, he would put a soldier next to our gates and say, 'This kike is a good one. We should protect him.'

My elder brother Pinya was not living with us at the time. Once some Komsomol 1 members came from Kiev to our village to fight against the gangs. They were all young men and women, without any training or knowledge of how to fight against bandits. So, the bandits encircled them and put them into the basement of my father's store. They also posted guards there. My brother Pinya, who was 14 years old, decided to rescue them. He went to the store and began digging in the ground in order to reach the basement. The guards saw him and shot him, wounding him in the leg. He dived into the river to escape them, and my mother lost communication with him for a long time. Later, we found out that he had managed to reach Kiev and got to the hospital there. His leg was amputated and he remained handicapped for the rest of his life.

After this event, some time later, another gang burst into Tripolye. They came into our house and one of them slashed my father on the head with his saber. I saw that happen. My brother Aba rushed to defend my father, but he was also slashed by the saber. My father died at once. Aba ran out of the house, still alive.

After the gang attacked our house and killed my father, they raped my mother. I did not understand what was going on, but my mother was crying and begging, 'Please, don't kill me, my children are so young! Do you see how young my girl is? She will not live without me.' She also motioned for me to leave and so I went to another room. When everything was over, my mother ran to me, took me in her arms and ran out of the house, running without any purpose.

I followed after her, holding tight onto her skirt. All the other children had run away in fright, I alone stayed. She found Aba sitting against a wall, dead. My mother touched him, and I was crying with fear that the bandits would come and kill my mother and me as well. As it turned out, when Aba ran out of the house, the bandits caught him and put him against the wall and began to shoot at him. But their bullets did not hit him. Later my mother said, 'He died from fear'.

On that night, my mother sent my sister and me to spend the night with an old Jewish couple. They lived in a semi-basement. At night, the bandits burst into their home and beat them to death with ropes. I can still hear their cries as if it happened yesterday. The bandits did not find us, so my sister and I remained alive. Early in the morning, when it was still dark, my mother took us away. The next night, which was our last night in Tripolye, the priest's wife allowed us to stay with her. It was very hot where she put us to sleep, and I remember constantly asking her for something to drink. But nobody gave me a drink because they where afraid that the bandits, who also stayed in that house, would find us out. I don't know where my mother with my brother and other sister spent that night.

In the morning, those of us Jews who remained alive, around 15 people, found a boat and crossed the Dnepr River. We went to Kiev along the other side of the Dnepr. I don't remember how many days the journey took us. I only remember that my mother carried me. My mother was wearing only an underskirt, because she had no time to dress when she left the house. So she covered me with this underskirt when we stayed at an empty bakery. Its owner let us stay there. My brother David walked, holding my mother's hand and crying all the time: 'Oy, meyne fiselekh!' [Yiddish: Oh, my feet!] When we came to Kiev, the feet of my mother and my brother were very swollen.

I don't remember how, but my mother found some of my father's relatives in Kiev. I think it was his cousin's family, because his last name was also Dovgalevsky. The cousin was not in Kiev at the time, he had left for America, but his family was still living in Kiev, downtown, in a rich, nice house. His wife accepted us. But we did not stay long at that house. The family moved to America, too. I don't even remember their names. We had to move out of their flat. My mother found us a tiny room where we all lived.

In Kiev my mother found Pinya, my elder brother, who had had his leg amputated and who now walked on crouches. My eldest brother Moishe found a job at a bakery, and every day he brought us bread. It was so good! Pinya, the invalid, sold cigarettes; he hung a tray with cigarettes on his neck and sold them.

At that time my mother's mother, my grandmother, came to live with us. I don't remember her name. I only remember that she was very old and blind and she was in bed all the time. I would get into her bed, and she would tell me Bible stories about the Jews. I asked my mother, 'How come grandmother looks into the Bible and reads, being blind?' Mother said, 'No, she does not read; she knows all the words by heart'.

While my grandmother was still alive, my mother would buy matzah for Passover, and my grandmother would tell us all about Moses and the exodus from Egypt. My brothers criticized our grandmother. They said there was no God, for if He existed, He would never have let anyone kill our father and brother and cast us out of our house in Tripolye. To this my grandmother replied: 'God punishes us for the sins of our forefathers'.

I was sent to the Jewish orphanage. It was located in Podol 2, near the synagogue. The times were hard; there was a famine in Ukraine 3 after the Revolution of 1917 4, so the synagogue organized an orphanage for young orphans. We were fed and taught there. We did not study religion, but we danced and sang Jewish songs. I still remember them. In the beginning I lived at the orphanage, but then my mother began to take me home every day and I went back there every morning, so the orphanage became more like a kindergarten for me. The synagogue fed the older children as well. They did not stay at the orphanage, but simply came there every day to eat. My brothers and sisters came too. I don't know how our family would have survived had it not been for the synagogue. I spent two or three years in that orphanage.

Then we moved to another flat, also small, and lived there until 1941. I only started going to school when I was already 8 years old because I was so very weak and ill. It was hard for me to study, so my elder sister and brothers helped me. We had a mixed class: boys and girls together. The school was Russian. The students were of different nationalities: Russians, Ukrainians, and Jews. I was friends with all of them; they all looked the same to me.

But in our yard children teased me: 'Khaya is a zhyd [kike]! Khaya is a zhyd [kike]!' It took me a while to understand what they were teasing me for. Only later did I understand that I was Jewish and that this was the reason why my father and brother were killed, my mother raped, and why the whole yard teased me.

I studied only for 4 years, finished elementary school and then attended a factory college. Our life was very hard financially; my mother did not work, so I could not stay at school. At the factory college we studied one day and worked one day. We were also taught such regular school subjects as mathematics, physics, geography, and drawing. Every other day we took a tram and went to the factory where we were taught bench work. I liked it, although I cannot say that my dream was to become a metalworker. I did not care; I only wanted to learn some profession in order to be able to earn a living. We received no payment for our work, but we got fed every day. We ate soups that were not very tasty, so children who were richer than me, gave theirs to me. I was happy to eat mine and their portions as well.

My elder sister Buzya married her cousin Yefim Dovgaletsky. She never worked outside her home; she was a housewife. My sister Sonya studied at the Medical Institute. She also worked as a nurse at the hospital part-time at nights, and studied during the day. She very much wanted to become a doctor. My brother Pinya worked at the knitting factory. It was a factory where invalids were employed, and he was chief of the section that prepared yarn. Before his army service, my brother David was a worker. He was called up in 1931. I still have a photo of him with our mother, Sonya and Pinya, taken right before David went to serve in the army. My brother Moishe worked at the bakery, but by then it became a plant.

When David returned from the army and saw my hands, he was shocked. My hands were covered with calluses, because I worked with metal. He made me quit this heavy job. Then I worked at the same knitting factory as my brother Pinya. I worked with the knitting machine. David forced me to study all the time. He said, 'Look what nice girls are working at the office. You should study too!'. I finished a course for bookkeepers and for a short while, it was already 1940, I worked as a bookkeeper.

In the 1930s I and my brothers and sisters, joined the Komsomol. We loved Soviet holidays very much. I remember that on 1st May we always came together at the Dynamo stadium, wearing sports suits and marching in demonstrations along Kreschatik Street [the main street of Kiev]. We also celebrated the October Revolution Day 5 and New Year's Eve. At that time, we no longer celebrated any Jewish holidays, as we were all Komsomol members, and Pinya was a member of the Communist Party.

Right before the war the atmosphere was disquieting because of talk about Hitler. I did not read newspapers, so I don't remember now if there was any information about Hitler's negative attitude towards the Jews. I think my mother knew about it from newspapers and was very anxious. My brother David and sister Sonya were mobilized even before the war. David was in the reserve and Sonya was a doctor. We understood that since mobilization has started, there would be a war.

During the war

The war [the Great Patriotic War] 6 broke out on 22nd June 22. It was not until noon that we learned that Germany had attacked us. I went to the military enlistment committee because I wanted to fight at the front. They registered my profession and said that when the army needed people from these non-military professions, we would be called. But nobody called.

When the war broke out, my mother was not in town. She, my sister Buzya, and mother's four young grandchildren were in Brovakhy village. There was a collective farm there, where Yefim Dovgalevsky, Buzya's husband, was working. He went there every spring to fix tractors. So, Buzya with her children and our mother went there every summer as well. That's where the war found them.

In Kiev evacuation started at my work place. I tried to get in touch with my mother but I failed. My elder brother Moishe was working at the Bolshevik plant at the time. He insisted that I evacuate together with him. I remember that during the evacuation bombing raids were frequent. We were put on an open locomotive platform together with tanks and other military equipment. This is how we went to evacuation in Sverdlovsk.

My brother stayed at the Uralmash [a heavy machine building plant] in Sverdlovsk with the equipment and machines, and we, who were working at the plant, were sent to villages. I found myself in the village of Boiny, where I lived until 1944. We worked at the collective farm, sewing, digging, loading and unloading sacks with vegetables and other products.

All the time I was trying to find out what was going on with Sonya, David and my mother. I wrote to military units, to the village where my mother was supposed to be staying, but I learned the horrible truth only after I returned to Kiev. I came back to Kiev in the summer of 1944. Kreschatik Street was ruined; houses had been blown up. Our basement was also destroyed. I found a photo album and a picture of my sister Sonya at her graduation. There were no clothes in our flat. But there were many rats, because our basement was used as a vegetable warehouse during the war.

Once at the market a woman approached me and said, 'Are you Klara Dovgalevskaya? I can tell you about your family.' Buzya's husband, Yefim Dovgalevsky, went to Brovakhy village to take them away before Hitler's coming. On his way there, he met some Ukrainian friends, who gave him a lot to drink, got him drunk, then took all of his money and killed him with an axe. They left his body in the forest, where it was found by the locals. Before the fascists came, the locals hid my mother, Buzya and her children in someone's basement. A neighbor took the oldest girl, Firochka, to stay with her. She said, 'Let her stay with me. If something happens, she will live'. When the fascists came, somebody betrayed my family. Mother, Buzya and the children were led out of the basement put on horses and taken into the forest. They also took the owner of the horses. In the forest he was ordered to dig a grave. My mother was thrown into that grave and buried alive. Buzya and her small children were shot. The man who was ordered to dig the grave told that story. Firochka, Buzya's oldest daughter, remained at the neighbor's. Once, a woman in the village quarreled with this neighbor and told her that she would let the Germans know about the Jewish girl. So, this neighbor took Firochka to the commandant's office, and she was also shot.

My sister Sonya was killed in Kiev. A neighbor from our yard told me how it happened. Sonya served in the army and took part in the defense of Kiev. When the Germans were already in Kiev, she came to our house. She was not wearing her military uniform, but a light Ukrainian blouse. From her friend Manya she took the keys to our flat that I had left for her, went into our flat, and began to look for some clothes. It was late September, rainy and cold. She asked Manya for a coat, but Manya said there were no clothes there, that the Germans had probably stolen everything. But Sonya should have had her own keys! So, Manya went out of the yard behind Sonya and pointed her out to the Germans who were passing by. They caught up with Sonya and took her with them. The neighbors said they saw that Sonya and other Jewish women were led out of the Gestapo gates on Vladimirskaya Street and put on a truck. Rumor has it that they were taken to Babi Yar 7 and shot there.

In the mid-1960s, my brother Pinya met a man who said he knew David Dovgalevsky. He said he was together with him in the encirclement of Kiev and in the camp for prisoners of war in Darnitsa [industrial zone of Kiev]. Thousands of Soviet prisoners of war were kept under the open sky, without food, without water in that camp. Many people died every day. Their relatives saved many of them, though. Ukrainians were saved by their wives and mothers, who paid for their release in gold and valuables. That's how that man got saved. But David was killed, because all the Jews were killed there. That's what that man told my brother. So, after the war I was left practically alone. My mother, my sisters, and one of my brothers were killed just because they were Jewish.

My brother Pinya and his wife returned to me from evacuation. Their son Abrasha was killed together with my mother, Buzya and her three children in that village in 1941. After the war, Pinya continued to work and headed a workshop of the invalids' factory. He died in 1968. My eldest brother Moishe also returned from Sverdlovsk. He continued to work at the Uralmash plant. He died in 1974.

Post-war

After the war the situation of the Jews worsened in general. I could not find a job for a long time because I was Jewish. On the bus people would always say, 'Oh, too many zhyd [kikes] have come here. We are moved out of our flats so that they could move in. First they did not want to fight in the war, and now they want to return to their Kiev flats.' It was very hard. I bore this burden my whole life, since the moment my father was killed.

So I decided that my children would never be Jewish. When I was 35, I began to date my boss, Valentin Zaritsky, who was half Ukrainian, half Polish. I understood that he would not stay with me for long because I was not very beautiful. But I wanted to have children. He and I lived officially together for only two months, but I had twins from him, and then he left me.

My sons, Valery and David Zaritsky, were born in 1951. Both my sons are Ukrainians. I did my best to help them identify with Ukrainians. It was very hard for me to bring them up. They spent many years in a boarding school and then in a vocational school. One of them is an electrician, the other a metalworker. Valery lives with me; he is still single. David has a family.

Life is very hard now. If it was not for the aid of the Jewish community, we would have starved already. I really appreciate their help. It is hard for me to speak now. And I don't really have much to add.

Glossary

1 Komsomol

Communist youth political organization created in 1918. The task of the Komsomol was to spread of the ideas of communism and involve the worker and peasant youth in building the Soviet Union. The Komsomol also aimed at giving a communist upbringing by involving the worker youth in the political struggle, supplemented by theoretical education. The Komsomol was more popular than the Communist Party because with its aim of education people could accept uninitiated young proletarians, whereas party members had to have at least a minimal political qualification.

2 Podol

The lower section of Kiev. It has always been viewed as the Jewish region of Kiev. In tsarist Russia Jews were only allowed to live in Podol, which was the poorest part of the city. Before World War II 90% of the Jews of Kiev lived there.

3 Famine in Ukraine

In 1920 a deliberate famine was introduced in the Ukraine causing the death of millions of people. It was arranged in order to suppress those protesting peasants who did not want to join the collective farms. There was another dreadful deliberate famine in 1930-1934 in the Ukraine. The authorities took away the last food products from the peasants. People were dying in the streets, whole villages became deserted. The authorities arranged this specifically to suppress the rebellious peasants who did not want to accept Soviet power and join collective farms.

4 Russian Revolution of 1917

Revolution in which the tsarist regime was overthrown in the Russian Empire and, under Lenin, was replaced by the Bolshevik rule. The two phases of the Revolution were: February Revolution, which came about due to food and fuel shortages during WWI, and during which the tsar abdicated and a provisional government took over. The second phase took place in the form of a coup led by Lenin in October/November (October Revolution) and saw the seizure of power by the Bolsheviks.

5 October Revolution Day

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

6 Great Patriotic War

On 22nd June 1941 at 5 o'clock in the morning Nazi Germany attacked the Soviet Union without declaring war. This was the beginning of the so-called Great Patriotic War. The German blitzkrieg, known as Operation Barbarossa, nearly succeeded in breaking the Soviet Union in the months that followed. Caught unprepared, the Soviet forces lost whole armies and vast quantities of equipment to the German onslaught in the first weeks of the war. By November 1941 the German army had seized the Ukrainian Republic, besieged Leningrad, the Soviet Union's second largest city, and threatened Moscow itself. The war ended for the Soviet Union on 9th May 1945.

7 Babi Yar

Babi Yar is the site of the first mass shooting of Jews that was carried out openly by fascists. On 29th and 30th September 1941 33,771 Jews were shot there by a special SS unit and Ukrainian militia men. During the Nazi occupation of Kiev between 1941 and 1943 over a 100,000 people were killed in Babi Yar, most of whom were Jewish. The Germans tried in vain to efface the traces of the mass grave in August 1943 and the Soviet public learnt about mass murder after World War II.

Chava Pressburger

Chava Pressburger and Petr Ginz

Chava Pressburger
Prague
Czech Republic
Interviewer: Pavla Neuner
Date of interview: May 2005

Mrs. Chava Pressburger lives in both Israel and the Czech Republic. It was in Prague, in her cozy and tastefully furnished apartment, where the interview took place. Mrs. Pressburger impressed me as a very educated and cultured woman and works as an artist. I met her for the first time at the end of 2004 in a Prague bookstore, where she was signing a newly published book of diaries of her brother, Petr Ginz. I was immediately captivated by the book's cover, which she designed.

Family background

I unfortunately didn't know either of my grandfathers; they died before I was born. My grandfather on my father's side was named Josef Gunz, and was born in 1857 in Barchovice. According to his birth certificate, he was circumcised at birth. His father was named Filip Gunz and was a merchant, his mother was Estera, nee Pickova, and came from Lesna. Later, grandpa 'Czechified' his name, and changed the 'u' with an umlaut to an 'i'. So my father's last name was already Ginz. Grandma was named Berta, nee Stastna. She was born in 1866 in central Bohemia. From my grandfather's birth certificate, it's obvious that my grandparents and their parents were merchants. I don't know how religious they were, and how much they observed Jewish customs, but I imagine that Jews in those days were all very religious.

My grandparents lived in Zdanice, near Prague. In the beginning my grandpa was a teacher, but then, I don't know at what point in his life, he began to deal in antiques. He opened an antique store, at first in Kostelec nad Cernymi Lesy, and then he moved with his family to Prague, and opened an antique store on Jungmannovo Namesti [Jungmann Square] in Prague. According to various letters, notes, pictures and what I had heard from my father, my grandfather was a very educated person, though I don't know where he came by his education; most likely he was self-taught. Grandpa also knew many languages and was very intelligent and had a talent for art. I have several pictures that he himself painted and that look like they were done by a professional artist. He also wrote poetry, and I have part of his business correspondence written in verse in German and also in Czech. Besides artistic talents, my grandfather also showed a talent for business. When he died in the year 1912, at a relatively young age, he left behind an extensive collection of antiques and an estate large enough to enable his wife and five children to lead a comfortable life. This could have lasted up to her death, but unfortunately the Nazi regime severed this beautiful family.

My grandfather's store on Jungmannovo Namesti was in those days a well- known place in Prague where Czech and German artists and poets would meet. They would mainly pick through rare books that my grandfather was an expert in. A large part of his antique collection was made up of rare old books. While he was still alive, my grandfather was a big proponent of Czech culture and associated with the Czech intellectual elite. He's buried in the Jewish cemetery in Prague at Olsany and has a Czech inscription on his tombstone.

From what I hear, my grandpa and grandma's household was modern for the times. They dressed as was the custom in the West in those days: my grandpa in a nice suit and tie, and my grandma in beautiful dresses. Their Prague apartment was comfortable for the times, it had about five rooms. Of course, they had running water and electricity. After my grandfather's death, grandma and grandpa's son, my father's brother, Viktor Ginz, turned one of the rooms into a lawyer's office and did business there. In my grandparents' home, German and Czech were spoken, and they always had a maid.

The apartment was furnished with beautiful and valuable antique furniture. Antique paintings hung on the walls, including one of Christ's head. After various trials and tribulations that painting finally ended up in my possession. It's a portrait painted by the Austrian Gabriel Max on the cusp of the 19th and 20th century. Gabriel Max was a well-known artist who also lived in Prague for some time, and the National Gallery in Prague has many of his paintings, which are often exhibited in the Convent of St. Agnes 1. This painter used to shop in my grandfather's antique store when he was staying in Prague, and would buy skulls from him, which he then used as models for painting people's heads. He owed my grandfather some money, and from correspondence between Max's widow and my grandfather it follows that she sent my grandfather a painting, Christ's Head, instead of paying the debt that her husband left when he died. This correspondence thus documents that the painting is real, and not a forgery.

I used to go regularly to my grandma's for a visit every Saturday. I remember these visits very well, and I used to like them very much. In those days one didn't talk with children much, the adults sat apart and spoke Czech to each other, or German when they didn't want us children to understand, but despite all this Grandma always had special little cakes prepared for us, spiced in a peculiar way, whose taste I even now feel on my tongue. The household was of course kosher, the synagogue was attended on only the major holidays and the rest of the Jewish holidays were observed at home. My grandfather didn't wear a kippah or caftan or anything like that. Neither did my grandmother wear an Orthodox wig.

My grandparents had five children. The oldest daughter, Herma, was born in 1890, two years later came a son, Viktor, who was nicknamed Slava. Two years on, a daughter, Anna, was born. Then came my father, Otto, and finally, in 1898, the last son, Emil. None of these siblings or their families survived the concentration camps, only my father, I and Emil's daughter Hana were saved.

My father married a Christian woman, and so did his brother Emil. My grandmother proclaimed that if her third son, Slava, did the same, she would commit suicide. The whole family knew that Slava was going out with Marie Ciolkova, who was also a Christian, a very nice woman. They went out for about ten years, but Slava never got up the courage to marry her. If he would have done so, she would have protected him from the concentration camp. As it was, he was one of the first to be transported, and died. Miss Ciolkova then waited for him another two years, still hoping that he would return from somewhere. Later she married an Armenian. Marie was a good friend of my parents' and my father hid the diaries of my brother, Petr Ginz, with her, which were found not long ago and which I publicized. Marie died in one apartment house in Modrany, alone and ill with Alzheimer's. This apartment house was then bought by a certain person, who didn't throw out my brother's diaries after discovering them, which he did with most of the things he found in the apartment house. When, after the tragic crash of the shuttle Columbia in 2003 along with Petr's drawing 'Moon Landscape' on board, Petr's name became known almost everywhere in the world, the owner of the apartment house remembered Petr's diaries and put them up for sale. After some time I finally acquired them.

Aunt Herma was the oldest and married a rich person, Karel Levitus, who was the general manager of the insurance company Asecurazione Generali in Prague. My aunt had a large collection of antiques from my grandfather, to which was devoted an entire floor of their villa in Prague in which they lived. My aunt was a housewife; they had no children. Both were put on one of the first transports and both died in 1942 in the Maly Trostinec concentration camp in Poland.

The other daughter, Aunt Anna, remained single and lived with my grandmother. We liked her very much; she spent a lot of time playing and romping about with us. She didn't survive Auschwitz, and died in 1943.

Emil's wife was named Nada. She wasn't Jewish. They had some relatively small firm that manufactured printing cylinders, and thought that they could save it by divorcing and transferring it to her name. Unfortunately, as a divorcee, Emil was soon summoned to the transport to Terezin 2. Then he was transported further east, from where he never returned. Their daughter, Hana, survived the Holocaust, she stayed in Terezin until the end of the war, but their son Pavel died.

My grandparents on my mother's side aren't of Jewish origin. My grandpa was named Antonin Dolansky and my grandma Ruzena, nee Pultrova. I don't know when they were born, but my grandma came from around Hradec Kralove, where later she and her children lived. Grandpa was a country teacher. He died young, he was a little over 40, and left my grandmother alone with five children and a small teacher's pension. They were very badly off, literally poor, and so all the children had to work. My mother didn't get married until she was 29, even though she was very pretty, but she had to help support the family, so that the younger siblings could study. I don't know if my mother actually converted, but when she married my father in 1927, she completely gave herself body and soul over to Judaism. Her family wasn't against it - Grandpa wasn't alive any more at that time - in those days before Hitler, when a Czech girl married a Jew, it meant that she was lucky, because a Jew didn't drink, usually made good money and was a good father and husband, which my father really did fulfill.

My mother had a brother, Josef, who died before the war in a motorcycle accident. Then she had an older sister, Bozena, who married the director or deputy of the Zivnostenska Bank in Hradec Kralove. Their son was a well- known Czech actor, Ota Sklencka. They also had a daughter, Eva. The oldest sibling was Ludmila, who married Mr. Vanek and they had two daughters together. Mother's brother Jaroslav married a girl whose father owned a printing house in Hradec Kralove, which he later took over. Another brother, Bohumil, had a beautiful mixed-goods store in Hradec Kralove. My grandma was paralyzed for the last 15 or 20 years of her life due to a stroke. She lived with her housekeeper, who looked after her and all of her well-positioned children took care of her. She died in 1943.

My father was named Otto Ginz - later, when Hitler came to power, he shaved his mustache and changed his name to the more Czech-sounding Ota - and was born in the year 1896 in Zdanice near Prague. As opposed to my mother, my father was a withdrawn and strict person, and didn't show his feelings, though I know that he liked my brother and me very much. His life's hobby was membership in the Esperanto movement, and during an international congress of this movement that took place in Prague he met my mother, who was also a passionate Esperantist. My mother would tell that when she saw my father, she thought that he was a Spaniard, because he was a little on the darker side. Because everyone spoke in Esperanto, you couldn't tell who was from where. But then, when they got to know each other more and spoke a bit, it came out that they were both Czechs. Their marriage took place in Prague at the city hall.

My mother was named Marie Dolanska and was born in Cibuz, near Hradec Kralove, in 1898. My mother grew up in the country and then in Hradec Kralove, where she went to a commerce-oriented high school and then worked as a secretary at an insurance company. She also took German and French at school. At home they spoke Czech. Our mother was much more open and approachable than our father. My mother had many interests, all sorts of intellectual ones, but she also used to go to gymnastics.

My brother was named Petr Ginz and was born in 1928 in Prague. Our childhood was more or less the same. Petr was two years older and I loved him very much. He had his bar mitzvah in the Maisel Synagogue in Prague, I remember that afterwards there was a small celebration at home with relatives, and a chocolate cake. Petr was a talented boy, and when Jews were no longer being accepted at high school [see Exclusion of Jews from schools in the Protectorate] 3, my parents put him in a school named the Experimental School, in Nusle. It was a special school for talented children where they were attempting to teach with not completely conventional methods. Our parents thought that here his talent would take root and develop. But soon after they threw Petr out of this school as well, because of his Jewish origin. My brother was always very curious and Mother and Father supported education.

Petr began to write already as a child; he wrote many articles, stories and poems. He drew a lot as well. He wrote several short stories from the age of 11 to 12: 'Ferda's Adventures', 'From Prague to China', 'Journey to the Center of the Earth', which belong to Yad Vashem 4 in Jerusalem, and later from the ages of 13 to 14, more voluminous novels, 'The Secret of the Devil's Cave', 'The Wise Man of Altai', 'Around the World in a Second' and 'A Visit from Prehistoric Times'. Somewhere Petr notes that he's already got 260 pages of 'The Wise Man of Altai' finished. Unfortunately only 'A Visit from Prehistoric Times' survived, the rest of the later novels was lost. But perhaps, like his diaries, those works will also surface somewhere. I own 'A Visit from Prehistoric Times'. Like every young boy, he liked to read Verne's novels full of fantasy. Petr imagined that he had found a forgotten novel of Verne's, in the attic of Verne's old apartment building, translated it from French to Czech, and that he's presenting it for the first time to Czech readers. It's about some prehistoric reptile that lives somewhere in the Belgian Congo. In the novel he describes this monster, which is in reality a large robot, controlled by a dictator who through it wants to dominate the entire continent, and all of Africa is terrified of it. It's an analogy to Hitler and is relatively long. Petr bound and illustrated the book himself. He wrote the novel shortly before he was transported away in 1942, so he wasn't yet 14 at the time.

Growing up

I was born in Prague in the year 1930. Since then not much has changed in Prague, that is, modern technology has of course changed things a lot, there are many more cars driving around and the metro. But as far as streets and buildings go, they're the same streets, the same buildings, the same Vltava River, that I knew as a child.

I remember from my childhood that Esperanto played a very important role in the life of my parents. Quite often we would have visitors from all over the world, and I remember, for example, how once at Christmas a black man from Nigeria, an Esperantist of course, came to visit us. And when we were walking along the street with him, one primitive lady, when she sighted him, began to run away and yell 'A devil! A devil!'. Our household was always a hive of activity and fun, and we always had visitors over, and also our Ginz relatives, grandma and my father's brothers and sisters. My father's four siblings and mother lived in Prague and we would visit them regularly every week. On Sunday we would go for a walk in the park, together with the children of the other uncles and aunts we would run on ahead and play, and the parents would walk behind us and talk. Back then we had to be nicely dressed though - white stockings and shiny shoes - so we wouldn't cast a bad light on the family. We went to visit my mother's siblings' families in Hradec Kralove about twice a year, and they visited us as well.

We attended the synagogue on only the major holidays. Our mother led a kosher household at home, but in a somewhat liberal fashion. At Passover, for example, I remember that we had matzot, but at the same time we ate bread and rolls. Dishcloths and utensils for meat and milk were separate, we didn't eat pork, we bought meat at a kosher butcher and as children we were brought up in a Jewish spirit. We observed all Jewish holidays. Chanukkah usually came out to be around Christmas time, we would light the menorah, and for Christmas we would go to Hradec Kralove to my mother's Christian family, and would celebrate Christmas there with them and would get gifts. It was a rich and happy childhood, which unfortunately lasted a very short time.

The apartment which we grew up in was relatively modest, nevertheless furnished with all the necessities. We had two rooms and a kitchen with conveniences. When we were small, we slept with our parents in the bedroom, later in the living room. The apartment was furnished mainly with antique furniture that our father had inherited from his father. We had a maid who lived with us, and slept in the kitchen. We went through several of them, among them were also one or two Germans, because our parents wanted us to learn German from her. In the end, though, she learned Czech from us more quickly.

Our father and mother had a large library, and we children were allowed to read some of these books. And we also had our own children's books there. In those days it wasn't the custom for children to get a lot of books as gifts, so we would go to the public library. We borrowed books there quite often. We used to visit the City Library on Marianske Namesti [Square], which still functions to this day.

I don't think that my parents belonged to some political party, but by their opinions I judge that they were social democrats. They had many friends, mainly from Esperanto circles, but also from others, and they were always very cultured people.

Both my brother and I grew up at home. We started our school attendance at the Jewish elementary school in Prague on Jachymova Street. I think that my favorite subject at school was drawing. Outside of school we didn't have any private tutors, but we both regularly attended the gym, which I liked a lot. My girlfriends from elementary school were in a similar situation as I, all came from well-to-do Jewish families and our childhood was very happy. Besides my Jewish classmates I don't remember any friends outside of school.

In our home it was important that the children pay attention to their responsibilities and that all was in order. In the morning we rose, the maid prepared breakfast and then Petr and I would walk by ourselves to school. In those days there weren't very many cars about and the streets were safe for us. We lived at Tesnov, close to Hlavkuv Bridge. It was a beautiful walk; on winter mornings the gas lamps would still be lit and the snow would crunch under our feet. School was in the morning, I usually finished earlier than Petr and my mother would be waiting for me in front of the school. Then we would have lunch at home; only our father was in the office and came home later. After lunch our mother would go lie down and we would do our homework; in those days there wasn't much of it.

Then we would play a bit at home, and then go out for a walk, usually with the maid. Often we would go to Stvanice, which is an island in Prague, there we would toboggan or play with a ball, and when it was warm, you could bathe in the Vltava there. And in the winter we would again go to the Vltava, to skate; the river froze over regularly and we would skate from Hlavkuv Bridge to the weir and back again. Sometimes we would go skating to the arena on Stvanice, but there you had to pay. They had music playing there and you would skate round and round. We would go shopping to the market at Ovocny Trh [Fruit Market]. I remember how there would be old women sitting there, selling pats of butter and cheese, and would let us have a taste, which I liked to do very much. The butter would then be kept in the pantry, in cold water. We would also have fruit preserves or sauerkraut stored there. When we returned from our walk, it was suppertime, and then Petr and I would like to read, there really wasn't any other form of entertainment. Reading was our main hobby.

During longer holidays and summer vacation we would always go outside of Prague with our parents. At Christmas and Easter we would go skiing to the mountains, while summer vacation we spent in the countryside, where our parents rented a bungalow. One place was named Radosovice. It was close to Prague, and our father would come visit us on the weekends. We were there alone with our mother and the maid. We would go swimming, for walks, picking mushrooms in the forest and so on.

It wasn't the custom to eat in restaurants, we ate at home, but my parents often went to coffee shops with their friends. There weren't many cars yet in those days, and so every car ride was quite a big experience. For me, unfortunately, a bad one, because during every ride I suffered from carsickness and would be nauseous. On the contrary, riding on the train wasn't anything special for us. We didn't have our own car.

I recall all sorts of national celebrations, mainly the anniversary of the founding of the [First] Czechoslovak Republic 5. In the streets there would be parades with flags, and music would play. The holiday was also celebrated at our Jewish school. I think that Jews were always similar to the nations in which they lived. Thus Czech Jews were very similar to Czechs, and so responsibility, hard work was just as characteristic for Czech Jews as for Czechs. I didn't know anti-Semitism in my early childhood at all. Then when I was attending Jewish school, sometime in 1937 or 1938 or so, because of a lack of space a part of the school moved to the neighboring German boys' school on Masna Street. During recess we would go out into the schoolyard, which was separated from the yard of the German school by just a fence, and those small German boys would even then yell things like 'Juden heraus!' [Jews out!] and 'Jews to Palestine' at us.

During the war

I remember a few important political events from my childhood. When Hitler came to power, Munich in 1938 [see Munich Pact] 6, when the Germans invaded Poland [see Invasion of Poland] 7 and when the Germans occupied Bohemia and Moravia in March 1939 [see Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia] 8. I was nine years old at the time. And in the years leading up to these events, the years of critical political events, I heard adults' conversations, my parents, friends and relatives. They were conversations that the adults led among themselves, daily, in great tension, and we children of course felt this strained atmosphere, even though our parents and the others didn't talk to us about it.

We felt anti-Semitism soon after the occupation. The financier Petschek [Petschek Ignatz, a German industrialist of Jewish origins; did business in Bohemia mainly in the sphere of brown coal. Controlled the majority of mining and market with brown coal in Bohemia and partly also in Germany; had significant influence on the Czechoslovak economy], in one of whose firms our father worked as manager of the export department, arranged emigration permits and employment in foreign countries for all of his Jewish employees. For our father as well. At that time we were supposed to emigrate to New Zealand, but our parents didn't take advantage of it in time. They said to themselves, we have our apartment here, and we're going to go somewhere at the ends of the earth, it won't be all that bad. Later it was already too late. All anti-Jewish prohibitions and regulations [see Anti-Jewish laws in the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia] 9 applied to our family as well, even though our mother wasn't of Jewish origin. Our father they threw out of work, us they threw out of school. The Jewish school was definitively closed during the school year 1941/42. The number of food stamps we were allowed was limited, and we were only allowed to ride in the last tram car, we weren't allowed to sit. All the others, Czechs and Germans, sat. We weren't allowed to go to the park and to various public places, and so on. At birth my brother and I had been registered in the Jewish birth register. My brother and I were considered according to the Nazi Nuremberg Laws to be half-breeds of the 1st degree, and therefore all anti-Jewish measures applied to us. There was only one difference: that the Germans took these children from mixed marriages to the concentration camps only from 14 years old and up.

And so it happened that my brother was transported to the Terezin ghetto alone in the year 1942, at the age of fourteen. My transport followed two years later. This decree was very cruel, and I'd say that for mixed families often worse, because the family couldn't stay together. The Germans tore from a family a child, which then had to leave alone, which was horrible both for it and for the rest of its family. I remember my feelings when I was waiting to turn 14 with the knowledge that my parents were going to have to give me up to the Germans. The feelings of my parents, their fear and helplessness were similarly indescribable. Our father was protected from the transports due to his marriage to an Aryan. This privilege was however revoked by the Germans in February 1945.

Occasionally you were allowed to send postcards from Terezin, which were censored and written in German. So we got a few cards from Petr, and we were allowed to reply with thirty words. About twice we also got an illegal letter from Petr, one that had been smuggled by a Czech policeman that had hidden it and brought it to us. Usually those policemen didn't do it for free, but for good money. Both letters were written on very thin paper, so the policeman could securely hide it in his clothing.

My father didn't want to work at the Jewish Community in Prague, where many Jews that had lost their jobs worked as clerks. He said that it's not for him, that it's slacking off. He went to work in a Jewish orphanage, where he washed dishes, and I sometimes went there to help him out. The orphanage was run by the Freudenfeld family. At that time they were also rehearsing the today well-known children's opera Brundibar, so in Terezin they followed up what had been rehearsed in the orphanage. [Editor's note: The children's opera Brundibar was created in 1938 for a contest announced by the then Czechoslovak Ministry of Schools and National Education. It was composed by Hans Krasa based on a libretto by Adolf Hoffmeister. The first performance of Brundibar - by residents of the Jewish orphanage in Prague - wasn't seen by the composer. He had been deported to Terezin. Not long after him, Rudolf Freudenfeld, the son of the orphanage's director, who had rehearsed the opera with the children, was also transported. This opera had more than 50 official performances in Terezin. The idea of solidarity, collective battle against the enemy and the victory of good over evil today speaks to people the whole world over. Today the opera is performed on hundreds of stages in various corners of the world.]

In 1944 I had to embark on the transport. I was never able to imagine it, but as a mother I know that it must have been unimaginably cruel. In this sense the fate of half-breeds was much worse than when the whole family left together. When the family had to tear itself apart and go into the unknown, that was very difficult for the mother as well as for the child. My mother was always strong, she comes from this healthy Czech family, and that's probably why she was able to endure it all.

In Terezin I lived in a girls' home at L 410. Some things from life in Terezin I remember, others are completely wiped from my memory. Our home was led by Willy Groag and Mrs. Englanderova. I also remember that my cousin Hanka Ginzova was there with me, and also Sary Veresova. I recall one incident. The girls had gotten a small Christmas tree from somewhere, because there were a lot of half-breeds there. These were children that often had been brought up in a completely Christian fashion, and the Germans had sent them to the concentration camp only due to racial reasons. They were used to the Christmas holidays and so put the tree in the middle of the room. Then Willy Groag, who was a big Zionist [see Zionism] 10, arrived and got horribly upset, grabbed the tree and flung it on the ground.

Our mother supported us in Terezin a lot: she tried to send packages, even addressed them to other people. We would then get the packages from them and give them a certain share. That is, mainly Petr, because I wasn't in Terezin that long. Our mother tried from Prague to save us in some way, and so went to see one of the top Gestapo commanders, whose name I don't remember. He received her in his office 'gnadige Frau hin a gnadige Frau her' [my dear lady here and my dear lady there], sat her down and said, 'My dear lady, you don't have to worry about your children in Terezin, they belong to a special group, and according to orders that group won't be transported further on and will stay in Terezin.' Other sources also mention this decree.

People have asked me, how it was then possible that Petr was transported further on. But he wasn't the only half-breed that was sent from Terezin to the East. Though the explanation causes me great pain, I can't hold it against anyone, that when he tried to save a member of his family and had the opportunity to put a half-breed, though usually only a child, on the transport instead, he did it. It was a matter of life and death. I think that that's the way it happened, but I can't condemn it, because if I had been in that situation and could have saved my brother in this way, I maybe would have also behaved similarly. Petr was transported to Auschwitz in the fall of 1944. He was already sixteen, and so maybe that protection didn't apply to him any more. This is all just speculation. No one from the Terezin Altestenrat [Council of Elders] is alive to explain it. When Petr was assigned to the transport to Auschwitz, I volunteered to go with him. I then got a card, where they wrote in German that they aren't accepting me for the transport, because they already have enough of them.

As a small child, Petr wanted to be a scientist, writer or journalist. In Terezin he was the initiator and editor of a secret magazine, Vedem 11, which was published every Friday by a group of boys in Barracks No. 1 in L 417, where Petr lived. They had all intellectual activities strictly forbidden by the Germans, and so in the evening during the reading of this magazine in a forum of all the boys, one of them stood on guard, so he could warn them in time if one of the guards was approaching. Vedem was of a very high standard, it had philosophical, historical and other articles, and also a lot of boyish humor and self-criticism. When Petr, the magazine's editor, didn't collect enough articles from his friends for Friday's edition, he wrote the articles himself under various pseudonyms.

During those two years in Terezin, when Petr lived in the boys' barracks L 417, his personality developed significantly. Petr had access to the library, which was composed of books confiscated from Jews after their arrival at Terezin, and Petr tried to read as many as he could. His notes from Terezin, in which he tasks himself what he has to learn and what to read, prove this. A small sample from these notes: 'September 1944... I read: Schweitzer: From My Life and Work, Dinko Simonovic: The Vincic Family, Thein de Vries: Rembrandt, Thomas Mann: Mari and the Magician, Dickens: A Christmas Carol, Danes: Origin and Extinction of Natives in Australia and Oceania, Milli Dandolo: The Angel Spoke, K. May: The Son of the Bear Hunter, Oscar Wilde: De Profundis and other novels'. Shortly after this note Petr was sent to his death in Auschwitz.

I have one witness to how Petr died. Jehuda Bacon, a well-known Israeli painter, who knew Petr from L417, told me that he saw him walking on the road to the gas chambers. Petr was always quite tall, skinny and pale. He was already in Terezin for two years when they transported him to Auschwitz, and he most likely didn't pass the selection.

My father came to Terezin in April 1945, when after another change in the Nuremberg Laws he lost the protection of his 'Aryan' wife. Together we were then liberated by the Russian Army and in one Russian car returned to Prague, where my mother had already worn a hole in the floor standing in front of the window. Our reunion couldn't be happy without Petr's return, month after month we waited, but to no avail.

At the beginning of the war, living with the worry that the Germans would confiscate their expensive antique furniture from my grandfather, my parents moved the furniture to Hradec Kralove to my mother's family. Everything that was hidden with relatives, we got back after the war without any problems. Many things were also preserved because my mother stayed home for the entire duration of the war. Problems came up in the case of property of my father's siblings, which was hidden with various Czechs. Only a small part of that property was returned, some simply denied it and refused to return it. What the Germans didn't take, the Czechs kept.

Post-war

After the war, like many other Jewish children, I had a strong desire to learn, because for five years I hadn't been able to go to school. I prepared for the high school entrance exam with Prof. Irma Lauscherova, passed it successfully, and entered the 'kvinta' [fifth year] of the Gymnazium [High School] of Hana Benesova in the Prague quarter of Vinohrady. After two years, I on my own initiative transferred to the Reformist Practical High School on Dusni Street in Prague. I tried to learn as much as possible, so outside of high school I also took some sort of library course, learned how to drive a car and subsequently passed my driver's exam, and for two years I attended the School of Applied Arts on Narodni Avenue in Prague three or four times a week. There my specialized artistic education began. In high school I studied French, which I very early on made use of. I was supposed to graduate in 1948, which however didn't happen, because right before graduation I left with my then boyfriend and future husband, Jindrich [Abraham] Pressburger, for France. At that time it was the last chance to leave Czechoslovakia [see February 1948] 12. I left without my parents, halfway illegally, using someone else's passport.

My husband comes from Slovakia; he was born in the year 1924 in Bratislava. He worked in the Zionist movement Hashomer Hatzair 13. We met thanks to sports. I received a notice about a trip to the mountains that this Zionist organization was putting on, I went skiing with them, and so met Abraham.

After leaving Czechoslovakia we got to Vienna, where we stayed for about six weeks. Then Abraham was sent as a leader of Zionist youth to Paris. In Paris he worked another year for Hashomer Hatzair, and then we emigrated to Israel, where we were then married, and my husband took the name Abraham. My leaving Czechoslovakia was motivated mainly by my husband's Zionism and my love for him. A strong reason was also my desire for freedom, from the age of nine I had not been free and after the Communist putsch in Czechoslovakia I saw that another similar regime was coming. If it hadn't been for Abraham's Zionist tendencies, I would have at that time rather stayed in France. I was very happy during the year that we spent there. For one, I was young, and for another Paris, freedom and the cultural atmosphere there very much suited my nature.

We arrived in Israel from Marseille on a ship named Negba, which translated from Hebrew means 'To Negev'. And we really did drop anchor in Negev, in Ber Sheva. Hebrew became my second language, the same as English. When we came to Israel, Hebrew was a difficult language for me, and so I began to read all books in English. I also speak French, German and also Esperanto from childhood.

My parents stayed in Prague until the year 1956, and then also moved to Israel. My mother kept a kosher household in Israel as well, as opposed to me. She was also a big Zionist and had a talent for lecturing. While still in Czechoslovakia she and my father gathered films and slides and she lectured on Israel at the Esperanto Club. She then also gave lectures on the ship on the way to Israel. In the beginning it was very difficult for them in Israel. My husband and I worked, we already had a child, and my parents lived with us in a small apartment. That was a tough situation. But then, on the basis of an agreement with Germany [BEG - Bundesentschädigungsgesetz, a West German law from the year 1956, according to which claims for compensation put forth by victims of National Socialist persecution are processed] they began to receive compensation, which put them on their feet. They bought their own apartment and after that things went well for them. My father died in 1975, my mother lived until the age 93. Both are buried in a cemetery near Haifa.

In the beginning we lived in Ber Sheva in a comfortable apartment that my husband was allocated as part of his employment. A few years later we bought a small house in Omer, near Ber Sheva. The house stands in a very nice residential neighborhood, which isn't officially a part of Ber Sheva, but practically everyone that lives here works there. A lot of doctors, professors, more or less an intellectual elite, live here. The house stands on a lot measuring 1,000 square meters. I take care of our garden. When the house was being built, it was desert, today we have a beautiful lawn and many plants, bushes and tall evergreens, which have since grown to a huge height. We planted them because we were homesick for Europe, and wanted to have our own forest.

Both of our children, our son Yoram and daughter Tamar, lived with us up to their entry into the army. Yoram was in a special unit in the army as a parachutist, and took part in the Lebanese War [see 1982 Lebanon War] 14. That was a very difficult time for us, when we were afraid that we'd perhaps never even see him again. Luckily he got through it all, was decorated, and began to study Mechanical Engineering at the local university. After he finished his studies he left for America, where he received a scholarship and completed a PhD. He then stayed in America and now works in his field for a private company. Tamar lives in Jerusalem, she also finished university in Israel and has a PhD from the University of Jerusalem. The thesis of her doctorate was 'The attitude of Israeli and German media towards the Holocaust' and this work of hers was then also published in book form. Tamar also lived partly in America, where her first son was born, nonetheless she currently lives in Israel and works as the head of a scientific research department of the Myers-JDC-Brookdale Institute in Jerusalem.

Our household remained secular, as well as that of my son, his wife and his daughter in America. Tamar is the most inclined to observe traditions. Although she isn't Orthodox, she nonetheless observes all holidays, and so does her husband. We traveled abroad several times with the children, but now my husband and I travel alone. We've been to America several times to see our son and we often travel to Prague, which we both like very much.

I still devote myself to art. I think that Petr and I inherited a talent for art from my mother's family and actually from Grandpa Ginz as well. My mother also liked to paint. I drew from my youngest years, in those days I imitated Petr. I have no formal, integral art training. While still in Prague, after the war, I attended evening classes at the School of Applied Arts on Narodni Avenue. In Paris I then attended lectures at the Beaux Arts on an informal basis; I tried to catch what I could here and there. Then beginnings in Israel weren't easy, our finances didn't allow me to register in some art school, we had to work to make ends meet. Despite this, though, I attended various private courses given by various Israeli artists. I also learned artistic printing techniques such as etching, lithography, and finally also a technique that I have actually been using for more than the last ten years and which I have further perfected. This technique consists of the hand-manufacture of my own paper, which I then use for my artistic works. I make beautiful paper from plants that I pick myself and then process. Something similar is known as Japanese paper. Nevertheless, I don't just make paper for paper's sake, but during the manufacturing process I'm already forming a work of art. I give it various shapes, colors, or artistically print or finely draw on the finished paper.

I taught for ten years at the Visual Art Center in Ber Sheva, but it has unfortunately ceased to exist. I became a member of the Artists' Union in Israel. I frequently exhibited in Israel as well as in Europe, also several times in America. A portion of my works is focused on the theme of Shoah. In this respect my most important exhibition took place at the Jewish Museum in Prague, then in Texas at the Houston Holocaust Memorial Museum, then also in Los Angeles, West Hartford and in Providence. This project concerns itself with the story of one house, a villa in the Podoli quarter of Prague, that had belonged to my uncle Karel Levitus and aunt Herma, my father's sister. It was a beautiful, large villa, which we often visited as children and where we very much liked to be. In this exhibition I show and describe the beautiful pre-war idyll and then the arrival of the Germans, who threw my uncle and aunt out of the villa, stole all of their property and sent them on one of the first transports to a concentration camp, where they were murdered. A large, beautiful antique collection, that took up the entire upper floor and which my aunt had inherited from my grandfather the antiques dealer, was stolen and confiscated, and how then after the end of the war the house waited for its original owners to return, which however didn't happen because they were no longer alive. This house only passively watches everything that happens in it. After the Germans the house was occupied by Czechs to whom it had been allocated. Then the villa got into the hands of the Communist regime, which again moved its own people into it. After the fall of this regime the new government wanted to return the house to its original owners, and as their inheritors I and my cousin received a certain amount of compensation for it. But the house keeps living its life even with new residents, however I frequently dream that at night its original owners, my relatives, appear.

Glossary

1 St

Agnes of Bohemia: the daughter of the Czech king Premysl Otakar I. During her entire life Agnes of Bohemia was active as a member of the Clarisian Order, she also significantly participated in the public life of her times, had significant influence on among others her brother, King Vaclav [Wenceslaus] I the One-eyed. Agnes was also behind the fact that the burial ground of Czech kings was transferred from the St. Vitus Cathedral at the Prague Castle to the Clarisian convent Na Frantisku. Agnes of Bohemia died in 1282. Soon after her death Agnes began to be considered a saint by the Czech people, it was believed that numerous miracles were happening at her intercession. The canonization of Agnes was attempted, unsuccessfully beginning with Jan Lucembursky, then his son Charles IV, and later for example Leopold II of the Habsburgs - it wasn't until 1874 that the Archbishop of Prague, Cardinal B.J. Schwarzenberg managed to have Agnes beatified - she was then proclaimed a Saint on 12th November 1989 by Pope John Paul II.

2 Terezin/Theresienstadt

3 Exclusion of Jews from schools in the Protectorate

The Ministry of Education of the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia sent round a ministerial decree in 1940, which stated that from school year 1940/41 Jewish pupils were not allowed to visit Czech public and private schools and those who were already in school should be excluded. After 1942 Jews were not allowed to visit Jewish schools or courses organised by the Jewish communities either.

4 Yad Vashem

This museum, founded in 1953 in Jerusalem, honors both Holocaust martyrs and 'the Righteous Among the Nations', non-Jewish rescuers who have been recognized for their 'compassion, courage and morality'.

5 First Czechoslovak Republic (1918-1938)

6 Munich Pact

Signed by Germany, Italy, the United Kingdom and France in 1938, it allowed Germany to immediately occupy the Sudetenland (the border region of Czechoslovakia inhabited by a German minority). The representatives of the Czechoslovak government were not invited to the Munich conference. Hungary and Poland were also allowed to seize territories: Hungary occupied southern and eastern Slovakia and a large part of Subcarpathia, which had been under Hungarian rule before World War I, and Poland occupied Teschen (Tesin or Cieszyn), a part of Silesia, which had been an object of dispute between Poland and Czechoslovakia, each of which claimed it on ethnic grounds. Under the Munich Pact, the Czechoslovak Republic lost extensive economic and strategically important territories in the border regions (about one third of its total area).

7 Invasion of Poland

The German attack of Poland on 1st September 1939 is widely considered the date in the West for the start of World War II. After having gained both Austria and the Bohemian and Moravian parts of Czechoslovakia, Hitler was confident that he could acquire Poland without having to fight Britain and France. (To eliminate the possibility of the Soviet Union fighting if Poland were attacked, Hitler made a pact with the Soviet Union, the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact.) On the morning of 1st September 1939, German troops entered Poland. The German air attack hit so quickly that most of Poland's air force was destroyed while still on the ground. To hinder Polish mobilization, the Germans bombed bridges and roads. Groups of marching soldiers were machine-gunned from the air, and they also aimed at civilians. On 1st September, the beginning of the attack, Great Britain and France sent Hitler an ultimatum - withdraw German forces from Poland or Great Britain and France would go to war against Germany. On 3rd September, with Germany's forces penetrating deeper into Poland, Great Britain and France both declared war on Germany.

8 Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia

9 Anti-Jewish laws in the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia

In March 1939, there lived in the protectorate 92,199 inhabitants classified according to so-called Nuremberg Laws as Jews. On June 21, 1939, Konstantin von Neurath, the Reichsprotector, passed the so-called Edict Regarding Jewish Property, which put restrictions on Jewish property. On April 24, 1940, a government edict was passed which eliminated Jews from economic activity. Similarly like previous legal changes it was based on Nuremburg Law definitions and limited the legal standing of Jews. According to the law, Jews couldn't perform any functions (honorary or paid) in the courts or public service and couldn't participate at all in politics, be members of Jewish organizations and other organizations of social, cultural and economic nature. They were completely barred from performing any independent occupation, couldn't work as lawyers, doctors, veterinarians, notaries, defence attorneys and so on. Jewish residents could participate in public life only in the realm of religious Jewish organizations. Jews were forbidden to enter certain streets, squares, parks and other public places. From September 1939 they were forbidden from being outside of their home after 8 p.m. Beginning in November 1939 they couldn't leave, even temporarily, their place of residence without special permission. Residents of Jewish extraction were barred from visiting theatres and cinemas, restaurants and cafés, swimming pools, libraries and other entertainment and sports centres. On public transport they were limited to standing room in the last car, in trains they weren't allowed to use dining or sleeping cars and could ride only in the lowest class, again only in the last car. They weren't allowed entry into waiting rooms and other station facilities. The Nazis limited shopping hours for Jews to twice two hours and later only two hours per day. They confiscated radio equipment and limited their choice of groceries. Jews weren't allowed to keep animals at home. Jewish children were prevented from visiting German and from August 1940 also Czech public and private schools. In March 1941 even so-called re-education courses organized by the Jewish Religious Community were forbidden, and from June 1942 also education in Jewish schools. To eliminate Jews from society it was important that they be easily identifiable. Beginning in March 1940, citizenship cards of Jews were marked by the letter "J" (Jude - Jew). From September 1, 1941 Jews older than six could only go out in public if they wore a yellow six-pointed star with "Jude" written on it on their clothing.

10 Zionism

a movement defending and supporting the idea of a sovereign and independent Jewish state, and the return of the Jewish nation to the home of their ancestors, Eretz Israel - the Israeli homeland. The final impetus towards a modern return to Zion was given by the show trial of Alfred Dreyfus, who in 1894 was unjustly sentenced for espionage during a wave of anti-Jewish feeling that had gripped France. The events prompted Dr. Theodor Herzl (1860-1904) to draft a plan of political Zionism in the tract 'Der Judenstaat' ('The Jewish State', 1896), which led to the holding of the first Zionist congress in Basel (1897) and the founding of the World Zionist Organization (WZO). The WZO accepted the Zionist emblem and flag (Magen David), hymn (Hatikvah) and an action program.

11 Vedem

The magazine Vedem was put out by boys from the 1st boys' home inTerezin (located in a former school designated L 417), which for practically all of its existence was led by the educator and teacher Valtr Eisinger, alias Prcek [Squirt]. He established the principle of self- government in the home, and named it after a Russian school for orphans, which was named 'Respublika Skid'. Vedem began to be published as a cultural and news magazine. In the beginning it was available to all, thanks to it being conceived as a bulletin-board magazine. Subsequently for security reasons this approach was abandoned. After each publication the magazine was passed around, and its entire contents were discussed at the home's plenary meetings held every Friday. Everyone who was interested could attend these meetings. Vedem was published weekly from December of 1942, and always as one single copy. The magazine's pages are numbered consecutively and together the entire magazine has 787 pages. The authors of the absolute majority of the contributions were the boys themselves, who ranged from 13 to 15 years old. We can, however, also find in the magazine contributions by educators and teachers. Published in Vedem were stories, critical articles, articles inspired by specific events, educational articles, poems and drawings. Mostly the boys describe in their works the situation in the camp, state their perceptions relating to life in Terezin, but also concern themselves with the problem of the Jewish question, Jewish history, and so on. Often-used literary devices are irony (especially in commenting the overall situation in the camp), satire (mainly in poems), metaphors, the use of contrasts. Most articles are written anonymously, or under various nicknames. Some boys, supported by the efforts for collective education that ruled in Terezin, formed an authors' group and all used the pseudonym Akademie [Academy] for their articles. Part of the magazine Vedem was published in book form by M.R. Krizkova in collaboration with Zdenek Ornest and Jiri Kotouc under the name 'Are The Ghetto Walls My Homeland?'

12 February 1948

Communist take-over in Czechoslovakia. The 'people's domocracy' became one of the Soviet satelites in Eastern Europe. The state aparatus was centralized under the leadership of the Czechoslovak Communist Party (KSC). In the economy private ovnership was banned and submitted to central planning. The state took control of the educational system, too. Political opposition and dissident elements were persecuted.

13 Hashomer Hatzair in Slovakia

the Hashomer Hatzair movement came into being in Slovakia after WWI. It was Jewish youths from Poland, who on their way to Palestine crossed through Slovakia and here helped to found a Zionist youth movement, that took upon itself to educate young people via scouting methods, and called itself Hashomer (guard). It joined with the Kadima (forward) movement in Ruthenia. The combined movement was called Hashomer Kadima. Within the membership there were several ideologues that created a dogma that was binding for the rest of the members. The ideology was based on Borchov's theory that the Jewish nation must also become a nation just like all the others. That's why the social pyramid of the Jewish nation had to be turned upside down. He claimed that the base must be formed by those doing manual labor, especially in agriculture - that is why young people should be raised for life in kibbutzim, in Palestine. During its time of activity it organized six kibbutzim: Shaar Hagolan, Dfar Masaryk, Maanit, Haogen, Somrat and Lehavot Chaviva, whose members settled in Palestine. From 1928 the movement was called Hashomer Hatzair (Young Guard). From 1938 Nazi influence dominated in Slovakia. Zionist youth movements became homes for Jewish youth after their expulsion from high schools and universities. Hashomer Hatzair organized high school courses, re-schooling centers for youth, summer and winter camps. Hashomer Hatzair members were active in underground movements in labor camps, and when the Slovak National Uprising broke out, they joined the rebel army and partisan units. After liberation the movement renewed its activities, created youth homes in which lived mainly children who returned from the camps without their parents, organized re-schooling centers and branches in towns. After the putsch in 1948 that ended the democratic regime, half of Slovak Jews left Slovakia. Among them were members of Hashomer Hatzair. In the year 1950 the movement ended its activity in Slovakia.

14 1982 Lebanon War

also known as the 1982 Invasion of Lebanon, and dubbed Operation Peace for the Galilee (Shlom HaGalil in Hebrew) by Israel, began June 6, 1982, when the Israel Defence Force invaded southern Lebanon in response to the Abu Nidal organization's assassination attempt against Israel's ambassador to the United Kingdom, Shlomo Argov, but mainly to halt Katyusha rocket attacks on Israeli population in the northern Galilee region launched from Southern Lebanon. See also Operation Litani. After attacking Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), Syrian and Muslim Lebanese forces, Israel occupied southern Lebanon. Surrounded in West Beirut and subject to heavy bombardment, the PLO and the Syrian forces negotiated passage from Lebanon with the aid of international peacekeepers.

Feiga Tregerene

Feiga Tregerene
Kaunas
Lithuania
Interviewer: Zhanna Litinskaya
Date of interview: October 2005

Feiga Tregerene lives in a 1970s building in a residential area of Kaunas. She has a nice two-room apartment furnished in the fashion of the same period. Feiga, a short and slim lady, makes an impression of a very ill person. She can hardly move around her apartment, and when walking, she needs to hold on to the walls. She has a low and indistinct voice. Nevertheless, Feiga agrees to this interview. She emphasizes that it is her wish to tell the story of her life and family and leave this kind of memory about them. Feiga speaks very quietly, her answers to my questions are concise, but in the middle of her story she acquires some confidence. Feiga absolutely refuses to be photographed, and she has no recent pictures of herself to share with us.

My ancestors and I come from Birzai, a small town in the east of Lithuania. This was a typical Lithuanian town. There were corner shops and stores in the center of the town, most of them owned by Jews. They were rather small shops, and townsfolk had to go to Kaunas or Zarasai for major shopping. The town stores were selling groceries, meat, haberdasheries and household goods. There were cobblers', tailors', glass shops, etc. in the town. Twice a week there was a market in the central square where farmers sold their products: vegetables, potatoes, and dairy and meat products. The central part of the town was mostly populated by Jews, while the Latvian and Lithuanian population traditionally resided in the outskirts of the town. All communities lived in peace following their own and respecting everybody else's traditions. There was a Catholic cathedral and a Protestant church in the town, but there was no Orthodox church. However, the most beautiful building of this kind was a two-storied wooden synagogue. With its wood carvings, it looked like the utmost piece of construction art to me. There were a few synagogues in Birzai, but I remember this central choral synagogue. Sloss, a large park, was a popular place in our town. It was laid out on two levels. The townsfolk dressed up to walk in the shade of the trees and among the flowers on weekends and holidays.

Unfortunately, of all my ancestors, I only knew my grandmother, my father's mother, though I can't remember her name. She was born in the 1860s, and in the 1930s, when I was a child, she lived in Birzai in the family of my father's brother Chaim Berl. My grandfather Fayvel Glezer died around 1914, which was long before I was born, and since then all first-born boys in our family were given the name of Fayvel after him. I don't know what my grandfather did for a living. He may have been a craftsman. Anyway, he didn't really make a fortune, and his children were not wealthy, or I would rather say, they were poor.

The family of my grandfather was a traditional Jewish family. My grandfather and grandmother observed Jewish traditions and went to the synagogue. They celebrated Jewish holidays and raised their children to respect traditions. I know this from the memories I have of my grandmother. She was an old thin lady, or at least, I believed she was old, when I knew her. She always wore dark clothes and a kerchief on her head. She lived a quiet life and died quietly in 1936. I don't remember her funeral. According to [local] traditions, Jewish children are not supposed to attend funerals. However, I know for sure that she was buried at the Jewish cemetery in Birzai in accordance with Jewish traditions, and all mourning requirements were observed.

My father's eldest sister, whose name I don't know, moved to America, when she was young. I have no information about her. My parents and she had no contacts. My father's elder brother, Chaim Berl Glezer, born in the 1880s, also lived in Birzai. I don't remember his wife's name, but I remember her always wearing an apron. She spent all her time doing the housework and cooking for the numerous members of her household. Chaim Berl had many children and had to make every effort to provide for them. He was some kind of a craftsman and also often assisted my father.

One of Chaim Berl's sons was a convinced Zionist, who moved to Palestine in the late 1930s. He was one of the pioneers of the kibbutz movement. He became the director of a large kibbutz. Chaim Berl's other sons, Perez and Chaim, joined the Komsomol 1 like many other poorer Lithuanian Jews. They perished at the front during the Great Patriotic War 2. All the other of Chaim Berl's children survived. He had four or five daughters, and I remember their names: Chaya Sora, Feiga, Paya, Zipa, though I can't remember, who was born after whom. Leibl, the youngest son in the family, had turned six before the Great Patriotic War.

Fortunately, Chaim Berl and his children managed to leave the town on the first day of the war. They returned to Lithuania after the war and settled in Kaunas. From there they gradually moved to Israel. Paya was the first one to do this. She married a Polish Jew after the war, moved to Poland, and from there they moved to Israel. Her brother, who was the director of a kibbutz, supported his sister at the initial stage. Leibl followed his sister to Israel. Feiga, Chaya Sora and Zipa, who were married by then, also moved to Israel with their children. They are still there with their children and grandchildren, enjoying a prosperous life in Israel. Chaim Berl lived as long as 70 years. He died in Kaunas in the middle of the 1950s. His wife didn't live much longer. They were buried at the Jewish cemetery in Kaunas.

My father's brother Meishe Glezer, born in the 1900s, had two children: daughter Chaya and son Fayvel. They were members of the Komsomol. When the war began, they left Birzai with a group of Komsomol activists. They worked in a kolkhoz 3 in Udmurtia [a region in the north of Russia, 1500 km from Moscow]. They survived, but Meishe and his wife as well as other Jews, were killed in Birzai in 1941. After the war Fayvel and Chaya moved to Israel. As far as I know, they still live there.

My father's sister Riva, who was much younger than him, was an underground movement activist. She was a Komsomol member and later she joined the Communist Party. In the early 1930s, during the rule of Smetona 4, she was arrested and put in jail for eight years before the Soviet rule was established in Lithuania 5. Riva was released and married Kodulu Stupas, her Lithuanian friend. He was also a member of the Communist Party. On the first day of the war Riva, who was seven months pregnant, left Birzai, and I was to accompany her. I was 14 then. I will describe our mishaps and our long trip into evacuation later. I accompanied Riva and her daughter Nadia, born in August 1941, through all the years of the war. After the war Riva was reunited with her husband, who had been kept in some Fascist concentration camps on the occupied territory. Riva gave birth to another girl, but it wasn't her destiny's will to let her raise her children. Her imprisonment in jail, and then lack of food and hard work in evacuation affected my aunt's health. She had a poor heart. Riva died in the late 1950s. Her children live in Israel.

My father Isroel Glezer was born in Birzai in 1891. The only education he got was at cheder. He had to start work and became a painter's apprentice, when he was still very young. Very soon my father surpassed his master and became the best expert in painting. He was highly skilled and did fine work, which required artistic skills. The climate in Lithuania is humid, the winters are cold and damp, and people tend to have all renovations done during the summer. To have work to do in winter, my father learned how to engrave on granite gravestones in the Jewish cemetery. When World War I began, my father was drafted into the army. In less than a year's time he was wounded and shell-shocked. He was taken to a hospital in Kiev [today Ukraine]. When he recovered, he was dismissed from the army. When he returned home, his father Fayvel had already passed away, and my father took to work. He also helped my grandmother about the house. In 1919 my father married my mother. She also came from Birzai. My father knew her since they were young.

I didn't know my maternal relatives. My mother was orphaned, when she was a young girl. Her parents died before she turned 18. The only thing I know is my grandfather's name. His name was Khona Rapeik. This beautiful and rare name was my mother's maiden name. Unfortunately, I can't remember my grandmother's first name, though my mother must have told me her name, when I was a child, I would think. My mother's only sister [Feiga Rapeik] died in her childhood. However, my mother had a cousin. His name was Shimon. He was a vendor and a rather wealthy man, though he didn't provide any support for my mother and was just a relative in name. Unfortunately, this is all I know about my mother's family.

My mother, Chaya Rapeik, was born in Birzai in 1896. When my mother became an orphan, she moved to a Latvian town, I don't quite remember, which town it was, but there was a distant relative of hers living there. In this town my mother became a dressmaker's apprentice. She went to work for a dressmaker where she was provided with boarding and meals. It didn't take long before my mother acquired the necessary trimming skills. Her mistress was good to the orphaned Jewish girl. My mother remembered the kindness of this lady, who was so helpful at the very start of my mother's adult life.

Having learned a new craft, my mother returned to her hometown. She settled in her parents' house. Chaya earned her living by sewing. My parents had a modest wedding party, but it was a traditional Jewish wedding. They stepped under the chuppah in the largest synagogue in town. After the wedding my father moved into the house where my mother was living. My sister, brothers and I were born in this house, and this was where I spent the happiest years of my life. In 1920 a girl was born, and my parents gave her the name of Hanna. I think my mother gave her this name after her father Khona. In 1921 a boy, who was given the name of Fayvel after my father's father, was born. Two years later another boy was born. He was given the name of Falk. I was born on 17th February 1927, a few years after my brother. I was given the name of Feiga after my mother's sister, who died in infancy. My mother had no more children after me, though she was still young.

We were not wealthy. My father was the only working member of the family. It was common for married women to take care of their homes. My mother took care of the household and the children, and had no time to earn additionally by sewing. An efficient housewife can contribute so much more than whatever mythical earnings she might have, if she weren't tied to housekeeping and children.

We lived on the outskirts of town in a basically Lithuanian neighborhood. Our house was not far from the cemetery, which made it convenient for my father to get to work. There were three rooms and a kitchen in our small wooden house. The furniture was plain, but solid and lasting. The largest room served as a dining and living room. There was a sofa in this room, and this was where my sister and I slept. My brothers had a little bedroom of their own. The third room was our parents' bedroom. The kitchen was in the central part of the house. There was a big stove where my mother cooked, and the stove also heated the house. The toilet was in the yard, which was quite common at the time. We also kept chickens and turkeys in the yard. We didn't have a cow. My mother bought dairy products at the market. Some Jewish families kept pigs, but my mother believed this was quite out of the question for us.

I don't think my parents were very religious. They didn't pray at home and they didn't always cover their heads. My mother had her kerchief, and my father had his kippah on, when going to the synagogue. However, they strictly observed the traditions of a Jewish household that they had been taught in their childhood. In our household we strictly followed the kashrut. We had separate kitchenware, utensils, tableware, cups and plates for dairy and meat products. Mama bought meat in kosher stores: she usually bought inexpensive mutton and veal for holidays. We took our chickens and turkeys to a shochet at the synagogue. Usually this was the responsibility of the older children, and it became mine, when I grew up. However tight our situation was, we didn't starve. Mama was an efficient housewife. In the morning we usually had cheese pancakes or porridge. At lunch we had soup: cereals, boiled in meat broth or potato soup and a piece of meat. For supper we had a slice of bread and milk. Our food was plain but filling.

On holidays Mama always made something delicious. She used to start preparations for Saturday in advance. On Thursday she already had challah loaves in stock. She used to buy challah in a Jewish bakery store, or at times she baked bread in our stove. The house was filled with the smell of fresh bread starting on Thursday. Besides challah, my mother made very delicious little meat pies. This filling was both cost-effective and delicious. She bought cow lungs, washed them thoroughly, fried them with flour and onions, ground them in the grinder and filled little pies with this stuffing. When we got up on Friday morning, there was a dish full of little pies on the kitchen table waiting for us.

Mama usually boiled a chicken for Sabbath. She served it with little pies or kneydlakh and homemade noodles. In the summer, the season of berries and fruit, she made little pies with apple and cherry filling. It goes without saying, that chulent was there on Saturday. No Jewish household can do without chulent. Mama left a large pot with stewed meat, onions with spices, potatoes and beans in the stove overnight. On Friday evening, when my father came home from the synagogue, we sat together at the festively laid table. My mother said a prayer and lit the candles, and my father blessed the food and wine, broke off a piece of challah and dipped it in salt, signaling the start of our meal.

On Saturday morning my father also went to the synagogue, and when he was back, we had a meal that my mother had made in advance. On this day you are not supposed to heat the food, turn on the light or feed the animals. I used to feed our chickens and turkeys. It was not considered a sin, if I did it. After lunch everybody could take some rest. Mama used to read on Saturday. She liked Jewish writers, and her favorite was Sholem Aleichem 6. My father sang very well. I think he might have made a good opera singer, had he grown up in different conditions. On Saturday he liked singing Jewish songs, and neighbors and friends enjoyed listening to him. In the summer, when the weather was nice, we went for walks in the park. Jewish families used to walk there, bowing 'hello' to one another.

I have already mentioned that we lived in a Lithuanian surrounding, and my first friends were Lithuanian girls. We played together without giving a thought to what nationality one or another girl was. Our parents also had good relationships. I remember that the girls treated me to Easter bread on Easter. I accepted the treats, but never ate them. Mama didn't allow me to eat them, explaining that they might have been cooked with pork fat.

As for our Jewish holidays, I liked them so much! Christians were not supposed to be invited to our celebrations. Our Jewish world was rather secluded. My friends knew about Jewish holidays and sent me greetings, but they never attended our celebrations. My favorite holiday was Pesach, of course. We started preparations almost immediately after Purim. In my childhood I didn't quite recognize Purim, except that I liked the delicious 'Haman's ears' [hamantashen], triangular pies stuffed with poppy seed. When I went to the Jewish school, this was when I discovered the fun of the Purim carnival and merry performances.

However, Pesach was a true home holiday. The house was thoroughly cleaned: the floors were cleaned, the furniture polished, the table was covered with a fancy tablecloth, the windows were cleaned and lighter summertime curtains were hung up. There was the feeling of forthcoming festivities everywhere. My father prepared presents for the children in advance: new boots, dresses for the girls and suits for the boys. There were four of us, and he had to take care of each one, which was quite a challenge, considering his modest means.

Sometimes we had a chance to earn a little at my mother's cousin's house. They made matzah at home, and my older sister, my brothers and I assisted with kneading the dough and making holes with a special wheel. Our uncle paid us a few litas for this work, and this additional earning came in very handy.

A few days before the holiday, a big basket with matzah was delivered to our home from the synagogue. Mama had special kitchen and table ware for Pesach. Before Pesach my father conducted a special ritual of chametz removal. He searched and got rid of any traces of chametz in the house, sweeping them onto a special shovel and burning them in the yard. There was not a crumb of bread in the house throughout the holiday. Then the first seder took place. We had it at home usually. My father was sitting at the head of the table, conducting the ceremony. One of us found the afikoman and my brothers asked questions about the holiday, and all rules were followed on this day. My cousin Chaya often visited us on this day. She liked listening to my father singing. She asked him to sing.

Mama cooked most delicious Jewish food for the holiday, and gefilte fish was the central dish on the table. This was the most festive food. Pesach was the holiday, when we could afford it. Even on Sabbath we could not afford to have it. Stewed chicken, kneydlakh from matzah, matzah puddings, broth, imberlach and teyglakh, cakes made from matzah flour, chicken and turkey liver pate made our festive meal on this day. My father made wine from honey and raisins for this holiday. We called it the 'honey drink.' The door was kept open overnight. I truly believed that the Prophet Elijah visited every Jewish home on this holiday and had a little wine.

Pesach was the principal holiday. We also celebrated other holidays. On Shavuot Mama made things from cottage cheese: cheese cakes and pancakes. Rosh Hashanah, symbolizing the start of the year and repentance, started with the kapores ritual. Girls came to the synagogue with a hen and boys carried a rooster each. The shochet circled a chicken over his head, saying a prayer. Our parents went to the synagogue in the evening, and there was a delicious dinner waiting for us at home. Gefilte fish was the main dish that we had on this day, and our father, being the head of the family, was to eat the head of the fish. There were sweets, symbolizing a sweet year to come: apples with honey and imberlach. Besides, Mama also made meat, apple and cheese cakes. On Yom Kippur our parents observed the fast. Before and after the fasting we had a plentiful meal.

On Sukkot my father made a sukkah in the yard, using pine tree branches. Inside the tent he placed a portable table to have meals there on these days. On Simchat Torah we ran to the synagogue to watch the festival. When we grew older, we could also participate. I remember numerous lights on Chanukkah, the winter holiday, when Jewish residents lit chanukkiyah candles that could be seen through the windows. Mama lit another candle every day. When I was a little girl, my father used to make me a spinning top, and I played with it with other Jewish children. All eight days of Chanukkah we ate potato pancakes [latkes], cakes and pies made from the dough on vegetable oil. We also had little pies filled with jam. I learned the history of Jewish holidays and rituals, when I went to the Jewish school. Before school I didn't quite realize what they were about.

There was one four-year Jewish school in Birzai. All subjects were taught in Yiddish. When I started this school at the age of seven, my brother Falk had just finished it. We had wonderful teachers. They were truly committed to the idea of Jewish public education. I made a number of new friends at school. They were Jewish boys and girls. Basia was one of them, and there was Perez, whose parents owned a large store in the center of Birzai. He was probably the best provided for child at our school. My mother was an active member of the parents' committee. This committee was established to provide assistance to teachers. My mother attended its weekly meetings. Parents collected contributions to organize celebrations on holidays, buy costumes and supplies and support the needy schoolchildren. Besides general subjects that were taught in Yiddish, we were told about the Jewish history and religion, and this was when I came to know the origin of my people's holidays and traditions.

I liked preparations for Jewish holidays most of all. We staged amateur performances, which were sketches from the Jewish life, for each holiday. Purimspiel was the merriest performance on Purim. Once I even played the role of Queen Ester, the savior of the Jewish people. Our mothers and older sisters made costumes for holidays in our favorite teacher's apartment, which almost became a sewing shop. Our teacher enjoyed preparations to holidays as well. We also gave performances on Simchat Torah and Chanukkah. I enjoyed going to school, and my school years were happy and flew by quickly.

There was no place to continue my Jewish education in Birzai. My older sister Hanna became a dressmaker after finishing school. My brother Fayvel went to work in a craftsman's shop in Birzai. My father wanted me to continue my education. There was a Jewish gymnasium in Zarasai, where Jewish children could continue their Jewish education, but my mother was reluctant to have me leave our home. Therefore, after finishing my school, I entered a public Lithuanian gymnasium in Birzai. My brother Falk, who was good at technical things, also studied in this gymnasium. After finishing it he moved to Kaunas where he entered a Jewish secondary school.

I was the only Jewish student in my class in this Lithuanian gymnasium. My school mates and teachers were kind to me, but I didn't like it there anyway. It seemed a different surrounding to me. We had to leave the classroom, when the others had their religion classes. A rabbi conducted a common religion class for Jewish students.

In those years young Jewish people took an active part in political activities. Some young people were fond of Zionist 7 ideas related to the restoration of a Jewish state. However, the poorest strata of the Jewish community, suffering from the ruling regime, strongly believed in Soviet Russia. My sister and brothers joined the underground Komsomol. My sister and brothers' friends had frequent gatherings in our home. They also gathered in a nearby forest where they played the accordion and danced, and they also read Marxist books and propagated their ideas. My parents were aware of their older children's hobbies. They couldn't help being concerned about them. By that time my father's sister Riva had spent a few years in jail for her underground Communist activities, and my father was afraid his children might suffer the same punishment. One day before the holiday of the 1st of May young people put red flags everywhere in the town. The following day arrests started, and my parents decided that Hanna had to leave town to escape arrest. She went to Kaunas where Falk lived. Hanna went to work at a students' diner.

When the Soviet Army 8 came to Lithuania in June 1940 9 and the Soviet rule was established, my brothers and sister were just happy. Poor people were happy. Shortly after the Soviet rule was established many food products disappeared from stores. Nationalization began: property was taken away from those, who had worked hard to make their living. The wealthiest individuals were relocated to Siberia 10. My school friend Perez's family was sent to Siberia. After the war people told me that Perez survived, returned to Lithuania after the war and moved to Israel later. I never saw him again. In autumn I went to the new Soviet school organized on the basis of our former Jewish school. The term of education was extended by two years. I was happy to go back to school and see my school friends again. My sister Hanna became an active Komsomol member. Shortly before the Great Patriotic War began she joined the Communist Party. She worked in the passport office in Kaunas. My brothers Fayvel and Falk also became active Komsomol members. Fayvel was seeing a Jewish girl from Birzai and was thinking of marrying her.

In the middle of June 1941 our family got together in Birzai: my sister and brothers came home on vacation. I had finished the fifth grade of school. On the morning of 22nd June I saw airplanes in the sky. This was the first time I saw such a sight and so, I kept watching them. We had no radio, and our neighbors hurried in to tell us that the Great Patriotic War had begun. On this very day a few Komsomol activists left the town. My brothers Fayvel and Falk and my sister Hanna went with them. Aunt Riva's husband had to stay in the town for some time. He and other party leaders had to ensure that all party documents were destroyed. The family council decided to send away Riva and me to support her on the way. Riva's husband found a horse- drawn cart and we left our hometown. We didn't even get a chance to properly say 'good bye' to our dear ones.

We headed for Latvia. It took us a whole night before we reached a border side town. A few women from Birzai were with us. We stopped in a forest quite near the railway station. Riva and a friend of hers went to look for some transport to move on. At that time a bombing raid began, causing the explosion of railroad fuel tanks. It didn't take long before the whole town was burning. We had to move on and I realized I had lost Aunt Riva. We walked a few kilometers before I saw a truck. The truck stopped and from there my aunt called my name. We decided to never lose sight of one another for a single minute. We reached a railway station. There was a train on the tracks with all those who had left their homes. My aunt showed her documents and her party membership card, and we took this train. Our trip lasted at least ten days. On the way my aunt traded our belongings for food. I was hungry all the time. My aunt was pregnant and needed more food than I did, and I gave my share to her. We finally reached Kirov [about 1300 km north-east of Moscow], and from there we took a truck to the town of Slobodskoy, Kirov region.

We were accommodated in a local house. The mistress of the house was Russian, one of those wealthy people, who were relocated to this town after the revolution 11. She still hated the Soviet rule and for some reason she associated us with this regime. We could physically feel the hatred that she radiated. Soon my aunt had to go to hospital. Her baby was due soon. I was alone with our landlady. At some point of time I felt so starved that it caused giddiness. At this time our landlady was having tea that she made in a samovar. She never offered me a cup of tea. I spoke not a word of Russian, and this made my situation even worse. I went outside feeling unsteady. A local approached me in the street. She asked me a few questions, but I didn't understand a word. The girl left me and a few minutes later she brought me a glass of milk and a piece of bread. I shall always remember this girl. She probably saved my life. Later I went back into the house and went to sleep. In the morning, when I woke up, somebody knocked on the door. My parents were standing in the doorway.

We were laughing and crying, hugging and telling each other of our misfortunes. They happened to leave Birzai a few hours after us and kept looking for us. A Lithuanian acquaintance of theirs directed them to where we were. By that time Riva gave birth to a girl and named her Nadia. We still had no information about my brothers or Hanna. Riva didn't know anything about her husband.

Some time later my parents and Riva decided we should go to Gorky region where Lithuanian Komsomol members were, according to what people were saying. We took a train to Gorky, but in the middle of the way it headed in a different direction and we arrived in Udmurtia. We were taken to a kolkhoz and accommodated in a pise-walled hut. There was one room in the hut. The owner of the house had to move to his acquaintances. Mama started the search for her children again. She traveled to nearby kolkhoz villages asking people, when she finally succeeded. My sister Hanna happened to be in one of them. She joined us soon. She told us she had lost our brothers at the border between Latvia and Russia, and she knew nothing about what had happened to them.

We all went to work. Hanna and I worked at the flax harvesting in a kolkhoz. My father also worked in the kolkhoz, and so did Riva. My mother stayed at home with little Nadia. We were in bad need of food. The kolkhoz provided some gray bread and cereal. Mama started selling our clothes. With a sunken heart she traded a cut of English gabardine that she had bought for my brother to the director of the kolkhoz for a few bags of potatoes. My dresses and even nightgowns adorned with lace were selling well. Local girls wore my nightgowns as they would fancy dresses. Hanna couldn't agree to part with the Swiss watch that our father had given her. One day she came home in tears: her watch had been stolen. Somebody had taken it off her wrist.

My mother and sister couldn't help thinking about my brothers. Hanna decided to join the 16th Lithuanian division 12, hoping to find our brothers there or at least, get some information about them. Mama went to the Lithuanian representative office in Kazan, the capital of Tatarstan, to arrange for my sister to join the army. In fall 1942 Hanna went to Balakhna where the rear units of the 16th Lithuanian division were formed.

When Hanna left, Riva decided to move to the town of Glazov, where she was offered a job. Nadia was to go with her. I also went with them. Riva had to go to work, and I was to look after the baby. Some time later our parents joined us in Glazov. We shared our room with a young Lithuanian woman, who had two children. Her name was Neele. She was older than me, but we became friends. Neele loved a man, who was an officer in the Soviet Army. Neele looked forward to his letters and kept hoping that he would be safe. We got along well and lived like one family. I also looked after Neele's children while she was at work.

However, some time passed and we decided I had to go to work. Riva had a bread card 13, but this bread was insufficient for all of us. My father went to work at a military plant evacuated from Kalinin. He was a worker. By that time I picked up some Russian and could even write in Russian a bit. Having these skills I managed to get a job at the secretariat of the plant. As an employee I was provided with 800 grams of bread. I made friends at the plant. The girls were older than me, but we had common interests. We were fond of reading. There was a library at the plant, and I read almost all the books available there. I discovered the wonderful world of Russian classical literature. I joined the Komsomol at the plant. My mother was babysitting. She also worked at nighttime. Her acquaintance from Siauliai worked at a bakery. My mother worked night shifts with her, receiving a loaf of bread for her work.

Hanna wrote to us regularly. Fortunately, she wasn't sent to the front line. She returned to Balakhna after having acute malaria. She was sent to the hospital and after recovering she was assigned to a rear unit. My sister already knew the truth about our brothers, but she kept it a secret from us. My mother kept writing letters to Buguruslan and Kazan. Once we received a response with the return address of Fayvel Glezer. We were so happy and wrote back, but this Fayvel happened to be an older man. He just happened to have the same name as my brother.

Finally, Hanna decided to tell us the truth to save us from the pain of uncertainty. She found out that Fayvel, Falk and a large group of Komsomol members were detained at the former Soviet border in a small Latvian town. It turned out that the Soviet authorities didn't let everybody across the border. We were lucky that Riva had a party membership card. Younger and stronger men and women were left to create a living shield on the way of the enemy. My brothers had a chance to cross the border, but they decided to wait for Hanna. They didn't know that Hanna had already left without them. Then Fascist landing troops killed all the Komsomol members: my brothers and many of our acquaintances and friends. Learning this terrible news was very hard for us. Mama was grieving and never found peace till the end of her days.

In early 1944 Hanna was sent to a training course at the Ministry of Internal Affairs in Moscow. She finished her training in July 1944. Immediately after Vilnius was liberated my sister went to our home country. She was offered the position of manager of the passport office in Zarasai. In 1944, that same year, my sister married Andrushis, a Lithuanian man, whom she met at the training course.

We celebrated the Victory Day in Glazov in May 1945 14. It was full of joy and tears. This was a day off. People marched the streets. My sister was already making arrangements for us to go back home. Riva left in early 1945. In August I said 'good bye' to my friends, and my parents and I headed to our homeland. We arrived in Zarasai where my sister and her husband met us. She already had a boy. He was given the Lithuanian name of Rimas. My sister was very happy that we arrived. She put us up in a room in her two-room apartment.

Her husband was rather prejudiced against us. He wasn't an easy-going person. He worked in the accounting office of an NKVD body 15. Though he wasn't involved in arrests 16 or interrogations, the atmosphere itself must have affected his personality, which was not easy, anyway. I wouldn't say he was a manifest anti-Semite. I never heard a word of abuse from him, but he was treating my parents and me with resentment. In early 1946 there was a fire in our street, and this fire caused severe damage to our house. We were given separate apartments, though in one building. We finally had our own lodging.

My sister was very kind to me. She helped me to get a job. Though I had lower secondary education, I had a good command of Russian. There were few people who knew Russian at the time. I went to work as a secretary at a district consumers' association. Hanna decided to take care of my personal life as well. She had two Jewish friends, veterans of the Lithuanian division. They were brothers. They reminded her of our brothers. One of them was even called Fayvel. One day David and Fayvel visited us. David liked me and I liked him as well. We decided there was no point in waiting. A few weeks later we registered our marriage in a registry office.

My husband, David Treger, was born in Zarasai in 1920. His father Simon was a craftsman. His mother Chaya was a popular dressmaker. She even had clients from Kaunas. Chaya had her own dressmaking school, and her trainees worked in many Lithuanian towns. David had a good education. He finished a Jewish gymnasium where he got fond of Zionist ideas. The establishment of the Soviet rule prevented him from moving to Palestine. When the Great Patriotic War began, Chaya, Simon, my husband's sister Pesia and his younger brother Leibl stayed on the occupied territory and were killed like all the other Jews of Zarasai on 26th August 1941. This happened in the vicinity of the town. David and his older brother Fayvel left the town with other Komsomol members. They joined the 16th Lithuanian division. They were wounded several times and received a number of awards. Fayvel lost his leg, and David had three fingers of his right hand missing.

David had a good position: he was deputy director of the district consumers' association. However difficult this period of time was, David was doing well. He managed to get the wedding rings for us. His cousin made a crepe de Chine gown for me. We arranged a wedding party at my home. My husband and I shared the room with my parents. The Treger family house wasn't damaged during the war, but there was a Lithuanian woman living in it. Fayvel was a rough man. He went to the house and threw this woman's belongings out of the window. We moved into my husband's family house. Some time later Fayvel went to visit his relatives in Tashkent. He came back with his fiancée Irina. She was a Jewish girl from Ukraine. They got married and moved in with us. In 1947 my son was born. We named him Simon after my husband's father.

My father didn't work after he returned from evacuation. He was helping my sister to raise her son. When Simon was born, he moved in with us. When I went to work, he was babysitting. My sister didn't get along with her husband. She decided to get a divorce. In 1948 Hanna and her son moved to Birzai. Formerly we had made up our mind to never go back to our hometown, where even stones seemed to have been soaked in the blood of our dear ones and acquaintances, but then my mother decided to join my sister. She wanted to be of help to her. As for my father, he decided to stay with me. My mother never recovered from her sons' death. She walked along the streets recalling who lived there and what happened to him or her. One day she had a stroke right there in the street. My mother died. This happened in 1949. After her death my father moved in with Hanna.

There were few Jews left in Birzai, but they stayed together, remembering their deceased friends. They collected money to install a monument in their memory at the burial place. My father didn't work. He received a pension for his sons. In the middle of the 1950s Hanna's husband arrived in Birzai. He made an attempt to make up with her. As it turned out later, he wanted this for the sake of the apartment. My sister believed her husband. She, her son and her husband moved to Kaunas where they received a nice apartment. My father moved to Zarasai to live with me some time later. He was of great help to me. He was my best friend and companion. He lived many years before he died in 1976 at the age of 85. We buried my daddy at the Jewish cemetery.

Hanna didn't get along with her husband. She divorced him, but stayed to live in Kaunas. Hanna was a member of the Communist Party. She was the director of the passport office and retired from this position in due time. She married Yashgur, a Polish Jew. My sister must have been born unfortunate. Her second husband wasn't an easy-going man either. She lived with him for over 20 years. He died a few years ago. Hanna lives alone in Kaunas now. Her son Rimas identifies himself as a Lithuanian. He doesn't recognize any Jewish traditions. He married a Lithuanian girl and raises his children according to Lithuanian traditions.

After my son was born I continued working in the consumers' association for some time. During this period my husband's people convinced him to join the Communist Party. This wasn't what he wanted, but his position required him to be a member of the Party: my husband was the director of the consumers' association. In the early 1950s he was invited to visit the district party committee where they explained they wanted to employ me. The party authorities were in need of Russian speaking employees. I was employed as a typist. Some time afterward I was promoted to the typists' office manager. I worked the last years of my career as an accountant. I came to work at the district committee in January 1953. This was quite amazing, considering that in those years most Jews were fired and accused of all mortal sins 17. I wasn't involved in any party activities. I belonged to the support staff, but the Communist ideology did influence my personality.

In March 1953, when Stalin died, I was shocked at how my fellow employees were grieving. They thought life wasn't possible without him. I worked at the district committee for 30 years before I retired. It goes without saying that I couldn't avoid the party membership working at the district party committee. Therefore, I joined the Communist Party some time after I started my career there. However, I was just a nominal member of the Party. I wasn't involved in any party activities or events. Basically, I've never been interested in any politics or public activities. I believe this to be a waste of effort and time. It's better to dedicate more time to one's family, children, friends and books, if you ask me. My life is my children, my house. As for whatever public things, I couldn't care less. Perhaps, this attitude makes me feel lonely and exhausted nowadays, but this is the way I am, and one can hardly do anything about it.

We had a very good life. My husband was paid well, and we had all we needed. In 1956 my daughter was born. We gave her the name of Chaya after my mother. However, when the girl went to school, we started calling her Raya 18. We were raising our children in the Jewish way. Since their early childhood they were aware of their uncles' death. We told them about the memorable, sad and tragic events of Jewish history. Every year on 27th August we took our children to the place where my husband's parents died. Jews from all over Lithuania used to arrive there: from Kaunas, Vilnius and other towns. My husband and his brother established an initiative group to collect funds to immortalize the memory of the deceased ones. The monument was installed thanks to Jewish contributions.

Our children had friends of various nationalities. They studied in a Russian school. I recall no cases of oppression my children faced due to their Jewish origin and identity. We had a friendly atmosphere at home as well. Simon and Chaya's friends visited our home. They knew they would always receive a warm welcome here. My husband's salary enabled us to have a decent life. Each year we spent vacations in Palanga. These vacations were paid for by trade unions. There were no theaters in Zarasai, but we took every opportunity to attend tour performances. We took trips to Kaunas, Vilnius, Moscow and Leningrad [today St. Petersburg, Russia]. We led an active cultural life. Many people were surprised that my husband had no car or dacha 19, considering his positions that allowed many to accumulate a fortune. However, my David was a crystal-honest person. He was a decent man in everything he did. We didn't even have money to buy a cooperative apartment. We lived in his parents' home for a long time. In the late 1960s the Lithuanian consumers' association provided an apartment for us.

We had many friends. Most of them were from the intelligentsia of Zarasai. Despite our membership in the Party we never neglected Jewish traditions. It goes without saying that Sabbath or the kosher way of life were out of the question, but we always bought matzah for Pesach. Initially we bought it in the apartment where it was made secretly, and later we had it delivered from Vilnius. There was no synagogue in Zarasai or Birzai after the war. However, we got together with our friends to celebrate holidays. As for fasting on Yom Kippur, I still follow this tradition.

My husband always dreamed of Israel. During the period, when emigration to Israel was no different from a funeral, my husband or I couldn't even dare to think about Israel. Neither of us would have been allowed to move there. We had special permits to access secret documents. When perestroika 20 began and Lithuania regained independence 21, relocation to Israel was made possible, but my husband was severely ill by then. He had stomach cancer, but even in his poor condition he was dreaming of stepping onto the land of Israel, kneeling and kissing it. David's dream was not to come true. My husband died in 1992.

Our children had their own families by that time. Both of them got university education. Simon graduated from the Siauliai Teachers' Training College. Working as a teacher at the school for children with special needs, he received additional education and was promoted to headmaster of this school. Simon married a Jewish girl. A mixed marriage was out of the question in our family. His wife Rachil was a sanitary doctor in Kaunas. Simon and Rachil have two daughters: Taube, the older one, and Liana, the younger one. In the mid-1990s my daughter-in-law had problems at work. She lost her job, eventually. She insisted on emigration, and a few years ago my son and his family moved to Germany. The girls entered a college there. They are completing their education. Taube married a Russian man. They have a son. His name is Georgiy. He is my great-grandson. Liana married Igor, a former USSR citizen. They have no children yet.

My daughter Chaya graduated from the Faculty of Cybernetics of Kaunas Polytechnic College. She married Motl Rozenburg, a talented engineer. This was a pre-arranged marriage, but my daughter and her husband are happy. She has two children: son Elan, born in 1977, and daughter Elena, born in 1983. Elena has finished a medical college this year. She wants to continue her education to acquire her Master of Medicine degree. Chaya works in a private company and is making good money. Motl works at the design institute where he started his career. Elan, my grandson, finished a medical college. He married Lisa, a Jewish girl. In 1994 he realized his grandfather's dream and moved to Israel. He's become a true Israelite, a religious Jewish man observing his ancestors' covenants. Elan and Lisa have a lovely daughter. Her name is Michalia. She is my great-granddaughter.

David's death was a hard blow for me. In 1994 my children sold my apartment to take me to Kaunas. I am very ill. I haven't been out for almost two years. I feel like a very old, tired and lonely person, though I am not that old. I am a member of the Jewish community, but I am not in a condition to attend Jewish events. I speak with my sister Hanna and my daughter-in-law Rachil on the phone. They are my closest friends. On this Jewish holiday of Rosh Hashanah I wish joy, prosperity and happiness to the Jewish world!

Glossary:

1 Komsomol

2 Great Patriotic War

3 Kolkhoz

In the Soviet Union the policy of gradual and voluntary collectivization of agriculture was adopted in 1927 to encourage food production while freeing labor and capital for industrial development. In 1929, with only 4% of farms in kolkhozes, Stalin ordered the confiscation of peasants' land, tools, and animals; the kolkhoz replaced the family farm.

4 Smetona, Antanas (1874-1944)

Lithuanian politician, President of Lithuania. A lawyer buy profession he was the leader of the authonomist movement when Lithuania was a part of the Russian Empire. He was provisional President of Lithuania (1919-1920) and elected president after 1926. In 1929 he forced the Prime Minister, Augustin Voldemaras, resign and established full dictatorship. After Lithuania was occuipied by the Sovit Union (1940) Smetona fled to Germany and then (1941) to the United States.

5 Occupation of the Baltic Republics (Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania)

Although the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact regarded only Latvia and Estonia as parts of the Soviet sphere of influence in Eastern Europe, according to a supplementary protocol (signed in 28th September 1939) most of Lithuania was also transferred under the Soviets. The three states were forced to sign the 'Pact of Defense and Mutual Assistance' with the USSR allowing it to station troops in their territories. In June 1940 Moscow issued an ultimatum demanding the change of governments and the occupation of the Baltic Republics. The three states were incorporated into the Soviet Union as the Estonian, Latvian and Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republics.

6 Sholem Aleichem (pen name of Shalom Rabinovich (1859-1916)

Yiddish author and humorist, a prolific writer of novels, stories, feuilletons, critical reviews, and poem in Yiddish, Hebrew and Russian. He also contributed regularly to Yiddish dailies and weeklies. In his writings he described the life of Jews in Russia, creating a gallery of bright characters. His creative work is an alloy of humor and lyricism, accurate psychological and details of everyday life. He founded a literary Yiddish annual called Di Yidishe Folksbibliotek (The Popular Jewish Library), with which he wanted to raise the despised Yiddish literature from its mean status and at the same time to fight authors of trash literature, who dragged Yiddish literature to the lowest popular level. The first volume was a turning point in the history of modern Yiddish literature. Sholem Aleichem died in New York in 1916. His popularity increased beyond the Yiddish-speaking public after his death. Some of his writings have been translated into most European languages and his plays and dramatic versions of his stories have been performed in many countries. The dramatic version of Tevye the Dairyman became an international hit as a musical (Fiddler on the Roof) in the 1960s.

7 Revisionist Zionism

The movement founded in 1925 and led by Vladimir Jabotinsky advocated the revision of the principles of Political Zionism developed by Theodor Herzl, the father of Zionism. The main goals of the Revisionists was to put pressure on Great Britain for a Jewish statehood on both banks of the Jordan River, a Jewish majority in Palestine, the reestablishment of the Jewish regiments, and military training for the youth. The Revisionist Zionists formed the core of what became the Herut (Freedom) Party after the Israeli independence. This party subsequently became the central component of the Likud Party, the largest right-wing Israeli party since the 1970s.

8 Soviet Army

The armed forces of the Soviet Union, originally called Red Army and renamed Soviet Army in February 1946. After the Bolsheviks came to power, in November 1917, they commenced to organize the squads of worker's army, called Red Guards, where workers and peasants were recruited on voluntary bases. The commanders were either selected from among the former tsarist officers and soldiers or appointed directly by the Military and Revolutionary Committy of the Communist Party. In early 1918 the Bolshevik government issued a decree on the establishment of the Workers' and Peasants' Red Army and mandatory drafting was introduced for men between 18 and 40. In 1918 the total number of draftees was 100 thousand officers and 1.2 million soldiers. Military schools and academies training the officers were restored. In 1925 the law on compulsory military service was adopted and annual drafting was established. The term of service was established as follows: for the Red Guards- 2 years, for junior officers of aviation and fleet- 3 years, for medium and senior officers- 25 years. People of exploiter classes (former noblemen, merchants, officers of the tsarist army, priest, factory owner, etc. and their children) as well as kulaks (rich peasants) and Cossacks were not drafted in the army. The law as of 1939 cancelled restriction on drafting of men belonging to certain classes, students were not drafted but went through military training in their educational institutions. On the 22nd June 1941 Great Patriotic War was unleashed and the drafting in the army became exclusively compulsory. First, in June-July 1941 general and complete mobilization of men was carried out as well as partial mobilization of women. Then annual drafting of men, who turned 18, was commenced. When WWII was over, the Red Army amounted to over 11 million people and the demobilization process commenced. By the beginning of 1948 the Soviet Army had been downsized to 2 million 874 thousand people. The youth of drafting age were sent to the restoration works in mines, heavy industrial enterprises, and construction sites. In 1949 a new law on general military duty was adopted, according to which service term in ground troops and aviation was 3 years and in navy- 4 years. Young people with secondary education, both civilian and military, with the age range of 17-23 were admitted in military schools for officers. In 1968 the term of the army service was contracted to 2 years in ground troops and in the navy to 3 years. That system of army recruitment has remained without considerable changes until the breakup of the Soviet Army (1991-93).

9 Occupation of the Baltic Republics (Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania)

10 Deportations from the Baltics (1940-1953)

After the Soviet Union occupied the three Baltic States (Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania) in June 1940 as a part of establishing the Soviet system, mass deportation of the local population began. The victims of these were mainly but not exclusively those unwanted by the regime: the local bourgeoisie and the previously politically active strata. Deportations to remote parts of the Soviet Union continued up until the death of Stalin. The first major wave of deportation took place between 11th and 14th June 1941, when 36,000, mostly politically active people were deported. Deportations were reintroduced after the Soviet Army recaptured the three countries from Nazi Germany in 1944. Partisan fights against the Soviet occupiers were going on all up to 1956, when the last squad was eliminated. Between June 1948 and January 1950, 52,541 people from Latvia, 118,599 from Lithuania and 32,450 people from Estonia were deported in accordance with a Decree of the Presidium of the Supreme Council of the USSR under the pretext of 'grossly dodging from labor activity in the agricultural field and leading anti- social and parasitic mode of life'. The total number of deportees from the three republics amounted to 203,590. Among them were entire Lithuanian families of different social strata (peasants, workers, intelligentsia), everybody who was able to reject or deemed capable to reject the regime. Most of the exiled died in the foreign land. Besides, about 100,000 people were killed in action and in fusillade for being members of partisan squads and some other 100,000 were sentenced to 25 years in camps.

11 Russian Revolution of 1917

Revolution in which the tsarist regime was overthrown in the Russian Empire and, under Lenin, was replaced by the Bolshevik rule. The two phases of the Revolution were: February Revolution, which came about due to food and fuel shortages during World War I, and during which the tsar abdicated and a provisional government took over. The second phase took place in the form of a coup led by Lenin in October/November (October Revolution) and saw the seizure of power by the Bolsheviks.

12 16th Lithuanian division

It was formed according to a Soviet resolution on 18th December 1941 and consisted of residents of the annexed former Lithuanian Republic. The Lithuanian division consisted of 10.000 people (34,2 percent of whom were Jewish), it was well equipped and was completed by 7th July 1942. In 1943 it took part in the Kursk battle, fought in Belarus and was a part of the Kalinin front. All together it liberated over 600 towns and villages and took 12.000 German soldiers as captives. In summer 1944 it took part in the liberation of Vilnius joining the 3rd Belarusian Front, fought in the Kurland and exterminated the besieged German troops in Memel (Klaipeda). After the victory its headquarters were relocated in Vilnius, in 1945-46 most veterans were demobilized but some officers stayed in the Soviet Army.

13 Card system

The food card system regulating the distribution of food and industrial products was introduced in the USSR in 1929 due to extreme deficit of consumer goods and food. The system was cancelled in 1931. In 1941, food cards were reintroduced to keep records, distribute and regulate food supplies to the population. The card system covered main food products such as bread, meat, oil, sugar, salt, cereals, etc. The rations varied depending on which social group one belonged to, and what kind of work one did. Workers in the heavy industry and defense enterprises received a daily ration of 800 g (miners - 1 kg) of bread per person; workers in other industries 600 g. Non-manual workers received 400 or 500 g based on the significance of their enterprise, and children 400 g. However, the card system only covered industrial workers and residents of towns while villagers never had any provisions of this kind. The card system was cancelled in 1947.

14 Victory Day in Russia (9th May)

National holiday to commemorate the defeat of Nazi Germany and the end of World War II and honor the Soviets who died in the war.

15 NKVD

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

16 Great Terror (1934-1938)

During the Great Terror, or Great Purges, which included the notorious show trials of Stalin's former Bolshevik opponents in 1936-1938 and reached its peak in 1937 and 1938, millions of innocent Soviet citizens were sent off to labor camps or killed in prison. The major targets of the Great Terror were communists. Over half of the people who were arrested were members of the party at the time of their arrest. The armed forces, the Communist Party, and the government in general were purged of all allegedly dissident persons; the victims were generally sentenced to death or to long terms of hard labor. Much of the purge was carried out in secret, and only a few cases were tried in public 'show trials'. By the time the terror subsided in 1939, Stalin had managed to bring both the Party and the public to a state of complete submission to his rule. Soviet society was so atomized and the people so fearful of reprisals that mass arrests were no longer necessary. Stalin ruled as absolute dictator of the Soviet Union until his death in March 1953.

17 Campaign against 'cosmopolitans'

The campaign against 'cosmopolitans', i.e. Jews, was initiated in articles in the central organs of the Communist Party in 1949. The campaign was directed primarily at the Jewish intelligentsia and it was the first public attack on Soviet Jews as Jews. 'Cosmopolitans' writers were accused of hating the Russian people, of supporting Zionism, etc. Many Yiddish writers as well as the leaders of the Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee were arrested in November 1948 on charges that they maintained ties with Zionism and with American 'imperialism'. They were executed secretly in 1952. The anti-Semitic Doctors' Plot was launched in January 1953. A wave of anti-Semitism spread through the USSR. Jews were removed from their positions, and rumors of an imminent mass deportation of Jews to the eastern part of the USSR began to spread. Stalin's death in March 1953 put an end to the campaign against 'cosmopolitans'.

18 Common name

Russified or Russian first names used by Jews in everyday life and adopted in official documents. The Russification of first names was one of the manifestations of the assimilation of Russian Jews at the turn of the 19th and 20th century. In some cases only the spelling and pronunciation of Jewish names was russified (e.g. Isaac instead of Yitskhak; Boris instead of Borukh), while in other cases traditional Jewish names were replaced by similarly sounding Russian names (e.g. Eugenia instead of Ghita; Yury instead of Yuda). When state anti-Semitism intensified in the USSR at the end of the 1940s, most Jewish parents stopped giving their children traditional Jewish names to avoid discrimination.

19 Dacha

country house, consisting of small huts and little plots of lands. The Soviet authorities came to the decision to allow this activity to the Soviet people to support themselves. The majority of urban citizens grow vegetables and fruit in their small gardens to make preserves for winter.

20 Perestroika (Russian for restructuring)

Soviet economic and social policy of the late 1980s, associated with the name of Soviet politician Mikhail Gorbachev. The term designated the attempts to transform the stagnant, inefficient command economy of the Soviet Union into a decentralized, market-oriented economy. Industrial managers and local government and party officials were granted greater autonomy, and open elections were introduced in an attempt to democratize the Communist Party organization. By 1991, Perestroika was declining and was soon eclipsed by the dissolution of the USSR.

21 Reestablishment of the Lithuanian Republic

On 11th March 1990 the Lithuanian State Assembly declared Lithuania an independent republic. The Soviet leadership in Moscow refused to acknowledge the independence of Lithuania and initiated an economic blockade on the country. At the referendum held in February 1991, over 90 percent of the participants (turn out was 84 percent) voted for independence. The western world finally recognized Lithuanian independence and so did the USSR on 6th September 1991. On 17th September 1991 Lithuania joined the United Nations.

Liya Kaplan

Liya Kaplan
Tallinn
Estonia
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: June 2005

Liya Kaplan lives in a two-room apartment in the center of Tallinn. The first thing you notice there is the abundance of books. Since her husband's death, Liya has lived by herself. She is a charming young-looking lady. Her auburn hair is secured in a French pleat, her lips are painted. Liya is a small lady on the heavy side. She can hardly walk, as her legs are hurting. That's why she rarely goes out. In spite of this, Liya is very active. And in spite of her feeling unwell, she supports three elderly ladies, visiting them once in a while, calling on the phone and checking whether they need anything. Adults and children come to Liya to study Ivrit. She is very amiable and affable. She has a pleasant smile. I found her story very interesting.

Family background
Growing up
During the War
After the War
Glossary:

Family background

I don't know much about father's family. Unfortunately I don't even remember what town my father's family came from. All I know is that my paternal grandparents were born in Estonia. I don't remember their first names either. Grandfather's last name was Berkovit?. Father told me about my grandfather, whom I had never met. He came from a large family and had many siblings. I think grandfather's family was rather poor. All the boys slept on a wooden bench.

Once, a soldier came in. He was drafting soldiers for Nikolai's army 1. The children were asleep and he grabbed one of them by the leg and pulled him from under the blanket. It was my grandfather. He became a Cantonist 2 and served in the tsarist army for 25 years, as was the term at that time. Only after his army service was over could a Cantonist think of a family. I don't know where Grandfather got settled after being through with the army service. He got married and learned to be a tailor.

Jewish families were large at that time and there were twelve children in Grandfather's family. Apart from my father Isaac, born on 16th April 1886, I knew only two of them: his brother Iosif and his sister Vikhne. The family was truly Jewish, which was customary for that time. Jewish traditions were kept: they went to the synagogue, observed the Sabbath and Jewish holidays at home. Yiddish was the mother tongue of my father and his siblings. The sons went to cheder. I think they got a secular education as well. My grandparents died long before I was born. I have never seen them, not even in a picture.

From his childhood my father helped my grandfather at work; it was from him that my father learned the profession of a tailor. My father said that before the outbreak of World War I he was drafted into the tsarist army. Even as a child, my father had an ear for music and he was admitted to the regiment orchestra. He played the trumpet and violin. Upon his return from the army, my father got married and my parents settled in Tallinn. Of course, they had a traditional Jewish wedding; it couldn't have been any other way.

My maternal grandparents were also born in Estonia, but I don't know exactly when and where. My mother never told me what her father did for a living. My grandmother was a housewife. I never met my grandfather, Samuel Tsipikov. He died in the 1900s. I knew my grandmother, Khana Tsipikov, very well and loved her very much.

I know that the family was very large, there were fourteen children. I knew only three of them, other than my mother: my mother's sister Rosa [cf. common name] 3, her Jewish name was Reizl, and her brothers, Leopold and Nisson. My mother Frieda was born in 1889. I don't know where she or her siblings were born. My mother's family was religious and all Jewish traditions were strictly followed. Yiddish was spoken at home. Everybody spoke good German as it was spoken by many people in Estonia.

All the children were taught all kinds of crafts. My mother was a milliner before getting married; she made very pretty hats. My mother's brother Leopold was a butcher. He was stocky and always merry. I loved him very much. He was single. I don't remember what profession my mother's second brother Nisson had. He was married and had children. I remember that they were indigent. My mother's sister Rosa married my father's brother Iosif Berkovit?. They had two sons: Samuel, named after my grandfather, born in 1924, and David, born in 1927.

I don't know how my parents met. I only remember from my mother's tales that my father had wooed her for a long time, but she hesitated for some reason. In the end, they got married.

After getting married both my parents worked. My mother made hats at home and my father was a tailor. They lived modestly, refusing themselves many things. With time they managed to save enough money to open a fabric store. They sold silk and woolen fabric. The store was in the downtown area, located in a thoroughfare and gradually it became prosperous. At first, my mother worked in the store as a cashier. Once the business took off, they hired workers and my mother became a housewife. My father didn't work in the store either, he hired sales assistants. The family was large and my mother had maids.

There were five children in the family. The eldest brother Samuel was named after my maternal grandfather. He was born on 4th April 1915. My elder sister Ida was born on 11th September 1916. My second sister Vera was born on 14th September 1918. Her Jewish name was Dveira. Rudolf was born on 9th November 1919. I, the youngest, was born in 1922. I was named Liya.

Growing up

I don't know where my parents lived after getting married. When their store became profitable, my father purchased a house for our family. I was born in that house. It was a two-story wooden house in the center of Tallinn. The house was big. There were nine rooms and a large kitchen on the ground floor. There were rooms on the second floor as well. There was a huge, gorgeous orchard by the house. There were apple trees, plum trees, berry bushes and wonderful flowers. My father liked flowers a lot. He ordered buds of some special tulips in Holland. Those tulips grew in our garden. On 8th March 1944, there was a horrible bombing. Soviet aircrafts bombed Tallinn and our house burned down as a bomb fell right onto it.

Jews were not separate in Estonia; Jewish houses were mixed with Estonians. It depended on the income of the house as not everybody could afford to own a house in certain districts. The land was more expensive in the downtown area and much cheaper on the outskirts. We were friendly with our neighbors.

My maternal grandmother, Khana, lived with us for a while. Then she wanted to be on her own and my father, who loved and respected my grandmother, rented a small two-room apartment for her. I remember my grandmother had nice copper dishes in the kitchen. Her place was neat and tidy. I called on grandmother almost every day. I loved her very much, I liked to spend time with her. She knew a lot and was well-read. She always had time to listen to me and help me tackle my childish problems.

We mostly spoke Yiddish at home, sometimes German was generally accepted in Baltic countries. All of us knew Russian as well.

My parents were very religious. There were people who prayed in the synagogue twice a day, in the morning and in the evening, but this was not practiced in my family. We respected and observed all the other Jewish traditions. Friday evening we marked the Sabbath. My mother lit candles and prayed. Then we had a festive dinner.

Our house was known for tradition, which implied that anybody could come to us for the Sabbath dinner without invitation. Those who didn't have a place to have their Sabbath meal were hospitably invited to our house. Our relatives always came on Sabbath evening. There were also the visitors who didn't have a chance to get home in time for the Sabbath. We were happy to see everybody.

The next day it was a rule for parents to go to the synagogue. They took the children with them. We went to the synagogue on holidays as well. There was a large, beautiful synagogue in Tallinn 4; it doesn't exist anymore, it burned down during the bombing in 1944.

There were two cupboards in our kitchen: one for everyday dishes and another one for Passover, which was used only once a year, on Pesach. My mother strictly observed kashrut. There were separate dishes for milk and meat meals. There was no bread at home for the entire Pesach period. Matzah was bought in the synagogue and was eaten instead of bread. Matzah dishes were cooked. My father held the Pesach seder in accordance with the rite.

The family obligatorily fasted on Yom Kippur, starting from the first evening star on the eve of the holiday and continuing until the first evening star at the end of the next day. Children began fasting from the age of 12. Younger children could choose to miss one or two meals, but it wasn't obligatory. Sick people weren't allowed to fast. They had to pray without fasting so as not to harm their health.

The Kapparos ritual was observed in our family, though not with chicken, but with money. [Editor's note: Kapparos is a traditional animal sacrifice that takes place on the eve of Yom Kippur. Classically, it is performed by moving a live chicken around one's head three times, symbolically transferring one's sins to the chicken. The chicken is then slaughtered and donated to the poor, preferably eaten at the pre-Yom Kippur meal. In modern times, most communities perform it with charity money substituted for the chicken, swung over one's head in a similar fashion and then donated to charity.] Money was given to the synagogue as a donation for poor families for them to have a chance to celebrate Pesach in accordance with the rules. We always went to my grandfather on Rosh Hashanah and on Pesach. His place looked neat, beautiful and ceremonious. We also celebrated Purim and Chanukkah.

There were kosher stores in Tallinn. My father's sister Vikhne Ivanovskaya and her husband owned a kosher store. They sold kosher meat and chicken. They also made very delicious kosher sausages. Vikhne was a great cook; she baked very tasty Jewish cookies, honey cake and keiglach, rolls cooked in honey.

Jews in Estonia felt free. Anti-Semitism was not free. In the period of the First Estonian Republic 5 Jews obtained cultural autonomy 6 according to the government resolution. There were Jewish stores, Jewish schools and Jewish organizations. All boys who reached the age of thirteen were to go through their bar mitzvah. There was a Judaic department in Tartu University. Jews were free to enter any institutions of higher education except for military schools, where there was no admissions quota 7.

The Jewish community of Tallinn was wealthy. Of course, there were poor families, but most people lived comfortably. Jews owned houses, stores and shops. There were a lot of representatives of Jewish intelligentsia: doctors, teachers and lawyers. In general, people made a good living, nobody starved. The community helped the poor.

There was a Jewish canteen in Tallinn, funded by the Gleizer family. Not only Jews came there to eat Jewish food, but many other people came too. There were a lot of dishes on the menu, to satisfy any taste. There was a Jewish club on Karia Street, called Byalik's club 8. There was Jewish cuisine there as well. In the evenings people got together there, had dinner, played cards and pool. All kinds of get-togethers and family reunions were arranged there.

My mother was involved in charity work. She was the chairman of the ladies Zionist organization WIZO 9. My mother helped poor Jews a lot. Every day students from poor families came to our home for lunch. One boy, whose parents were divorced, lived with us for a year as he was lonely. My mother lead a group of women who visited the poor, gave them food and presents, and tried to support them the best they could. WIZO ladies collected clothing and footwear from rich families and then distributed them to poor people. There was a buffet in our Jewish school 10 where rolls, sandwiches, coffee, tea and stewed fruit were sold. Every day during recess, WIZO ladies served children from the buffet. My mother was also behind the counter. Apart from that, WIZO ladies baked rolls and cakes for children and handed them out for free. My mother knew all the students from the poor families in the school and always took care of them. She was also a member of the school's parents' association. My father donated furniture and curtains.

There were two Jewish schools in Tallinn, both in the same building. There were only private Jewish schools, there were no state ones. In one school, classes were in Ivrit and in the other one they were in Yiddish. Children from poor families studied there as well, on the charity programs. Such students were maintained by rich Jews. Students of both schools were on friendly terms, but we, the students of the Ivrit school always found a way to say that we were the true Jews, and they were Yiddishists 11.

Most children didn't know Ivrit. That's why there was a kindergarten in the Ivrit school, which was attended by children at the age of six, one year before school. I also went to that kindergarten. At the age of seven I entered the Ivrit school, where my elder siblings went. Apart from Ivrit, we studied German, French and English. The school was secular, but we studied religion, history and Jewish tradition.

There was a great chazzan, Gurevich, from the Tallinn synagogue, who taught music at our school. His son was the famous Estonian conductor Eri Klas. A handsome man, Gurevich had a wonderful voice. He played a small harmonica to which we sang. The director of our school, Gurin, came from Romania. The mathematics teacher, Bronimov, and the geography teacher, Kosotskiv, were from Poland. They had an excellent command of Ivrit. My distant relative Motle Zhitomirskiy taught Ivrit in junior grade. He came from a very religious family. I was friends with Evgeniya Gurina, the headmaster's daughter. We had been friends since kindergarten.

There were wonderful Jewish festivals in school. Children gave concerts; parents were invited and they were very grateful. My mother and the WIZO ladies always baked cookies and cakes for the festivals. They were sold dirt cheap in the buffet. There was also a charity auction. Rich people donated something precious: a crystal vase, golden ring or a necklace for the auction. The bid prices were higher than usual. The money from the auction and the baked goods were distributed to the poor. Those who were leaving for Palestine were given money as well.

We were members of youth Zionist organizations at school. I was a member of Hashomer Hatzair 12, my friend joined Betar 13. There was no animosity among us.

My mother always took me to the synagogue with her. Of course, I didn't know all the prayers by heart, but I knew how to read Ivrit. My mother told me which prayers to read; she and I were on the second floor, in the women's section, and my father was on the first, where the men prayed. There was a magnificent choir in the synagogue, consisting of Jewish men and boys. Cantor Gurevich was the principal. The singing was beautiful as they had wonderful voices. During intervals between prayers little kids were allowed to go downstairs, so I went to my father. There was a festive meal in the synagogue during holidays. Ladies baked delicious sponge cakes, which were shared with everybody.

Having finished at the Jewish high school both of my elder brothers entered the economics department at Tartu University. My brother Rudolf was born crippled. During birth his right hand was damaged by obstetrical forceps and it remained mutilated. Rudolf was not in despair though. He learned how to write with his left hand and was good at drawing. He was intelligent and charming and everybody who spent time with him soon forgot that he was disabled.

My sister Ida was afflicted with pneumonia in 1939. There were no antibiotics at the time and they didn't know how to treat the disease, so. she died within a couple of days. Ida was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn in accordance with Jewish rites. My sister Vera had a very good ear for music. After school she entered the grand piano department at Tallinn conservatoire.

Jews and Estonians were very friendly towards each other. In 1936 my father celebrated his 50th birthday. There were a lot of guests, including his business partners, Estonian entrepreneurs. They didn't find it shameful to come over to a Jew and congratulate him on his birthday.

When in 1933 Hitler came to power in Germany 14, the spirit of hatred towards Jews started penetrating Estonia. All of us felt the anti-Semitism. At that time we didn't understand the scale of it. There were short articles in the press, without details and comments. We learned about those events from the radio and papers, but no details were provided. We had wirelesses and could listen to any radio station of the world. Thus, we found out about the atrocities the fascists in Germany were committing and about the concentration camps.

Then fugitives from Germany showed up. There weren't very many of them. It must have been hard to escape. Once, somebody rang on the door and I opened it. There was a Jewish fugitive on the threshold. Half of his beard was torn. My mother let him in and gave him food and clothes. Then he was taken care of by the Jewish community.

We should all have understood that no good should be expected from Germans, but unfortunately, most Jews didn't take it seriously. At that time, Estonian fascist organizations were founded. It was during this period that for the first time in my life I heard someone say, 'Bloody Jews.' Nobody had ever said anything like that before. We didn't bother anybody in Estonia.

In about 1938 discrimination of Jews started; it was not that conspicuous, but it was still there. I remember I called my grandmother every day and brought her papers in Yiddish, which Father was subscribed to. My grandmother perused them and when she saw Hitler's picture in the paper, she hit it and said, 'Die, die!' My grandmother died in the late 1930s. She was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn.

During the War

In 1939, the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact 15 was signed and the first Soviet military bases were established 16. Soviet troops came. They acted neutrally, not very confidently. I remember a funny case: a Soviet soldier came to the grocery store and asked gingerly whether he could buy 200 grams of sausages. 'Yes, please,' said the sales assistant. Then in two or three hours he came back again and asked for another 200 grams of sausages. He came in the store several more times and bought some more sausages. Finally, the astonished sales-assistant asked why he wouldn't buy as much as he needs in one go, and he asked, 'Can I?' At that time we didn't know that there were rations in the food stores, we weren't aware that there might be no goods in the stores. We knew nothing about Soviet life. Soviet soldiers couldn't believe they could just walk into a store and buy anything they liked.

There were some distant relatives of my mother in Leningrad, but after the revolution in Russia 17 we no longer kept in touch with them 18. Correspondence with relatives abroad was not encouraged in the USSR, Soviet citizens who were found to be doing that might be arrested or sent to a Gulag 19. That's why we just knew that they were there, and that was it.

Once a sailor came and said that he was a relative of ours, Elya Berkinov. He came to see us and brought friends with him: first a Jew named Mikhail Levin and then another friend. Soviet soldiers and marines, Jews often came to us. My friends also came over for a chat. Most of my friends spoke Russian; we spoke Yiddish with the soldiers. After 1940, some of my friends even married some soldiers, who they had met in our house. Then in 1939 Elya came and said that they weren't permitted to call on us as we were bourgeois, capitalists. So that put an end to the visits.

In 1940, the communists came to power with the help of Soviet troops. There were demonstrations of the workers, accompanied by Soviet tanks. The government resigned and the parliament was dissolved and preterm elections were announced. The communists won the elections by a majority vote. The Estonian Soviet Republic was established right away and Soviet Estonia officially became one of the Soviet republics. That was how all the Baltic countries were occupied 20.

When a number of people came to Estonia from the USSR, anti-Semitism became more common, mostly due to the newcomers. It seems to me that anti-Semitism was always present in Russia and was natural for citizens of the USSR. They were the ones who brought it into our country.

We immediately felt that a new regime had come to power. Somebody rang on our door and a Soviet colonel came in carrying a bed. He said that the municipal authorities had told him to take one room in our house. My parents gave him the largest room and he moved in there. After a while another soldier came and told us to vacate our apartment within two days. Our house was nationalized; it was needed by the Soviet regime, who decided to make a hospital there. We, the former bourgeois, had to leave there at once. My father found a small house in a beautiful suburb of Tallinn, called N?mme, so we moved there.

Of course, my parents were not delighted by the new regime, like most Estonian people. Only the communists, who were in the underground during the Estonian republic, were rejoicing as they wanted the Soviet regime. Our standards of living were pretty good before the Soviets came. Those who were working earned enough for a comfortable living. It was definitely hard to find a good job, but it was possible if a person wanted work and had skills. Food was cheap. Even if there weren't enough delicacies, there was potato, sprat and bread in every house. So, people wouldn't starve to death.

My father's store was confiscated. He was a kind man and treated his employees very well; he was loved by everybody. When my father was told to give the keys of the store to a commissar 21 who had been assigned to run the store, all the workers started to talk the commissar into letting my father stay, but my father wasn't willing to. It was the end of our trouble.

When we were still in our house, one man came and told Father to pay a huge tax to the state. I don't remember the exact amount. When my father asked why he was supposed to pay, since his store had been taken, the man just told him not to ask silly questions and give the money. My mother gave him her jewelry and he left. In two weeks he showed up again and named a new sum for the tax. My mother gave away her diamond rings. When he came for the third time we were in Nomme. He said that we were supposed to give the state all our precious belongings, table silverware and so on. My mother gave him everything and my parents were nervously awaiting another visit. They packed a suitcase and when a car passed by our house, we feared that it was the NKVD 22 coming after us.

The 14th of June 1941 was a dreadful day, remembered in Estonian history as the day of deportation 23. It was the day when the Soviet regime exiled over 10,000 Estonian citizens to Siberia. There were Jews among them, but most of those exiled were Estonians. The majority of those exiled were political activists and soldiers of the Estonian army. They were arrested before, but exiled on that day. Intelligentsia and wealthy people were also exiled. There were people who were exiled by accident. It must have been the case that some people were included in the list simply because they were disliked.

My mother's brother Nisson Tsipikov and his family were also exiled, though they were poor people. My uncle was in the Gulag. Every day they had to walk to the work site, 20 kilometers from the camp. My uncle was involved in timbering, he cut trees. He had never done anything like this before, and he barely survived there. His teeth fell out and he became unable to do any work. By a miracle, Nisson was exempt from the camp due to poor health. He didn't live long though; he died in the 1950s. His wife died in exile as well.

We felt lucky and surprised at the same time not to have been included in the list of those exiled. I don't know how we managed to stay safe. I guess, another stage of exile might have been planned, if Germany hadn't attacked the USSR. The war was unleashed. It was called the Great Patriotic War 24 in the Soviet Union.

I met my husband-to-be Marcus Kaplan in the last but one grade at school. I went to see my relatives in Tartu. Whilst there I met a Jewish girl named Berta, who had graduated from the Estonian Philology Department of Tartu University and taught Estonian at Tartu Jewish school. Berta and I had a frank conversation and it wasn't long before we both felt like we had been friends for ages. Berta suggested showing me Tartu. On our way we called on her brother Marcus, who owned a small store downtown. Berta introduced me to him and said that we were on the way to a café and asked if he'd join us, if he'd like to. Berta and I went to a café and after a couple of minutes Marcus came in. We spent some time together and then Berta tactfully left, leaving Marcus and I to spend the whole day together.

We started seeing each other after that. Marcus came to Tallinn, and I made trips to Tartu. Both of my parents liked Marcus and things were evolving, so I was to marry him after leaving school. Marcus was born in Tartu in 1912. His parents were no longer alive. His sister Berta and brother Abram lived in Tartu. His other brother and sister lived in Kazan, in the USSR. They left there before the revolution to study, but then they couldn't come back.

In 1941, Jewish schools were closed down in Estonia by the new regime. Our Jewish school was turned into secondary school. Our 12th grade was left and we finished our studies in early June 1941. The war was unleashed in two weeks.

Unfortunately people are not always wise; people can be so stupid and selfish that they don't want to leave their belongings, and instead they hope for the best without thinking about saving their lives. This could easily have happened to us as well. We were on the verge of staying in Estonia, but fortunately my elder brother Samuel insisted on our evacuation. We left on 9th July 1941.

Samuel was called-up and was to be on the frontline within two days. Shortly before war broke out, he married his classmate Sarah Katsev. They had been in love since childhood, either from fifth or sixth grade. Unfortunately they weren't able to live together for a long time. Sarah came to see us off. I begged her to leave with us, but she refused. Her mother was dying of cancer and Sarah couldn't leave her. Besides, Samuel had already been mobilized and Sarah was afraid that Samuel wouldn't be able to find her if she was evacuated. Sarah's married sister Mary Lurie stayed with her son Hersh as well. Mary was a surgeon.

Later, when we came back from evacuation, the warden of the Jewish cemetery told us that they had all been taken during the night to the concentration camp Harku 25. A couple of nights later, two Estonian men brought the corpses of Mary Lurie and little Hersh to the cemetery. Mary couldn't stand the ordeal of the concentration camp and couldn't bear to see the execution of her little son, so she poisoned him and cut her veins. Those wonderful Estonian guys brought their bodies to the Jewish cemetery and asked for them to be buried in accordance with Jewish law. The warden did as she asked, though according to Jewish law, those who commit suicide are not meant to be buried in a Jewish cemetery. But if you think deeper, Mary and her son were murdered by the fascists.

Sarah and her mother were also killed in the Harku concentration camp. My brother Samuel was killed on 10th January 1943 in the battle in the vicinity of Velikiye Luki [a city on the Lovat River in the southern part of Pskov Oblast, Russia]. My mother's brother Leopold didn't want to get evacuated and stayed in Tallinn. He didn't think the Germans would be any worse than the Russians. He died when the Germans occupied Estonia.

On 9th July Samuel came to us. Each of us took a backpack, my brother hired a cab and we went to the station. The five of us went: my parents, my brother Rudolf, my sister Vera and I. David Berkovit?, the son of my father's younger brother Iosif Berkovit?, and Mother's sister Rosa joined us at the station. Their eldest son Samuel went into the army as a volunteer. In 1944 Samuel perished in the battles under Narva. David was 14 in 1941. He was a very gifted boy; he played the violin. He was the student of a great teacher at the Tallinn conservatoire. David took the train with us, but a military convoy took him from the car. He was told that he was an adult and was supposed to dig antitank trenches with the others. David stayed in Tallinn and perished during the occupation. His parents weren't going to leave. They stayed in Tallinn and died in the concentration camp.

We were lucky to get a passenger train; our trip was comfortable. There were trains with open carriages, full of evacuees. We saw a train coming from Riga, where a lady stood on the open carriage with an infant in her hands. It was horrible. The train set off, the pace was slow. We had to let the trains going to the front go first. When we were approaching the bridge across Narva, an air raid started. Our train was being bombed, but antiaircraft weapons which were on the bank, were aiming at the planes. The train was crossing the bridge and I was trembling with fear thinking that the bridge would be crushed and the train would fall into the river. For many years after war I had a recurring dream: the train was going along the bridge and we didn't know whether we made it or not.

We passed the bridge and had the first stop at Mga station. It was burned after a bombing and I heard cries, the lamentations of scattering people. I remember people rushed to the station trying to look for a place where bread was being handed out. It was a brief stop and the train started off pretty soon. It was a long and tiring trip and finally we reached Arsk station, in Tatarstan [1000 km east of Moscow].

All those who were evacuated were split up in kolkhozes 26. We took the cart and went to a kolkhoz in the village of Surda. We settled in a small house belonging to a Tartar lady. There was one room, where a huge oven took most of the space. Apart from the five of us, the hostess, a nanny- goat, a chicken and lots of fleas lived in that room.

Although I was not as accomplished as my sister Vera, I too was rather musical. When I went to school, I dreamed that I had a small Italian accordion. I considered it to be a luxury. Besides, I was a proud girl and didn't want to ask my father for money to buy one. I gave classes to younger kids at school and was paid for that. I didn't squander money on anything and eventually saved enough to buy an accordion.

Of course, it was the most precious thing I owned and when we left for evacuation, I took it with me. Owing to that we managed to scrape along. My sister Vera, a singer called Arder and a fiddler called Leivald organized a small band. Arder sang, Leivald played the violin and Vera played the accordion. They went from one village to another giving concerts. Local residents paid them with products: peas, a loaf of bread and some potatoes. The winter was coming, and we had neither warm footwear nor clothes.

I was really worried about Marcus and his family. I didn't know if they had managed to leave Tartu. There was no news from them. The only thing I knew was that his siblings lived in Kazan. My father and I decided to go there to find out about Marcus. We took some things with us to sell and get tickets. It was really amazing for us to get the ticket to Kazan. We had been looking for Marcus's relatives all day long, but to no avail. We came back to the station, and stopped on the platform by the train. Suddenly a man jumped out of the train and took my hand. It was Marcus! He had come to Kazan with his sister to look for his relatives. It turned out that they were in evacuation not far from us, in Chuvashiya, but we bumped into each other in Russia.

Marcus went to the village with us. He had stayed there for a day and left. He said we had a week to think about what we'd do next. We had to leave for Central Asia or somewhere else so as not to die of cold in the winter. It was decided that my family would stay in Surda, but Marcus and I would try to find a place to live and work.

A week later, Marcus met me at Arsk station with his sister Berta and brother Abram. There were a lot of people and we were really lucky to be able to take one train. We reached Alma-Aty, but failed to find a job there. We took another train, leaving for Kirghizia [Kyrgyzstan]. Evacuees were met there by kolkhoz people on carts with high wheels, harnessed to camels. We were taken to a kolkhoz named after Kaganovich 27 in Djalabad region. The four of us were given lodgings in a small clay house. We stayed there for a couple of months and worked on the kolkhoz.

On 27th February 1942 my future husband and his brother Abram were mobilized in the Estonian corps of the Soviet army 28. Early in the morning Marcus and I walked to the regional center and got our marriage registered at the local regional council at 8am. At 9am my husband was at the collection point and was to join the front line. We didn't see each other for three and a half years. We only started our life together when he came back from the front.

We stayed in Kirghizia. I invited my parents and Rudolf. Vera left for Yaroslavl. The Estonian government and ministry of culture 29 were evacuated to there. Temporary accommodation was given there to artists, singers and musicians by the Estonian government. All the participants of our musical band were invited to Yaroslavl. My parents came to stay with me in Kyrgyz. I lived with my parents, my brother and Berta and Marcus' sister before our return to Estonia.

Berta and I worked in the cotton fields. It was a hard work and, being used to the cold Baltic climate, we couldn't stand the heat. It was 40° Celcius all year round. My parents were sick as it was even harder for them to bear the heat. They couldn't work because of it. Every day both of us got one scone made of flour and water, which was to feed my parents and brother as well. The kolkhoz didn't provide anything for them. I sold my watch and bought some flour with that money so that my parents and brother would have some food for a while. Then Berta sold her watch as well.

We were given a small plot of land where we planted some corn. We harvested it and ate corn every day. Since that time I loathe even the word 'corn.' Luckily when I learned how to speak the languages Kazakh, Kyrgyz and Uzbek pretty well, I was given some work to do in the kolkhoz office. Whilst working there, I was given a daily ration of 200 grams of flour and a little bit of butter. Life was easier on us. There were a lot of melons and we ate them often.

We took water from an aryk [artificial irrigation canal]. There was a small aryk by our house. The water came from the Tien Shan mountains via the Fergana valley to our canal. It looked dirty. We drank water from that aryk along with camels and donkeys. We took water at night, when the sediment went down. We filtered it through gauze sheets, boiled it and only after that we used it for drinking. It was a long process to get it ready, but we had to have water for cooking and bathing.

There was no medicine on the settlement. Women gave birth to children in the open, in the fields. It was hard to maintain hygiene. Firstly, everybody was lice-ridden. We had to cut our hair to get rid of the lice. The locals were very religious Muslims. In accordance with Islamic law, you can't kill even a louse as it was created by God, and by killing anything created by God you insult him. The local population treated us very well and people tried to help us out as best they could, though they were terribly indigent.

I remember once at night we woke up from cries and noise. It turned out that exiled Chechens 30 were being brought into the settlement. There were 200 people. It was scary to look at them, they were so gaunt. Their children's bellies were swollen from dystrophy. Almost all of them died, first the children, then the adults. It was horrible. There was nothing we could do.

I received a letter from my friends, saying that my cousin Haim Karshenstein, the son of my father's sister Vikhne Ivanovskaya, was living in exile not far from us. We sold a couple of our things and I sent him some money via my friends. Haim wrote me a letter saying that thanks to the money I sent he bought some garlic and it saved him from beriberi [a disease of the nervous system caused by a lack of vitamin B1 in the diet].

I corresponded with my husband. He was in the Estonian corps. He became a medical orderly. He finished the front line courses for giving first aid. Marcus was always on the leading edge, taking the wounded from the battlefield. He won awards. After the war some people whom he took from a fire during the war, came up to him in the street. They thanked him for saving their lives.

In 1944 we found out that Estonia was liberated from the Germans, but we didn't manage to return home until July 1945. We were supposed to get the permit for re-evacuation in the re-evacuation department of the Council of Ministers of Estonia.

During the war there were a lot of concentration camps in Estonia. There was the notorious Klooga camp in Tallinn 31, by Harku Lake. My husband told me that when the Estonian corps was liberating Estonia, they came to Klooga and saw burning fires made of layers of corpses and logs. They came too late.

Many of our distant and close relatives, about one hundred in total, who remained in Estonia, were exterminated. They each stayed for different reasons: some of them were sick, others thought that they were too old to move, others truly didn't believe that the Germans would murder Jews. I knew that Estonians supported the fascists, but I thought it was because they hated the Soviet regime. Their loved ones were exiled in Siberia, their property was taken, and they were banished to the streets. How could they have loved the Soviet regime? Of course, they thought that the Germans would liberate them from Soviet oppression. Germans treated Estonians pretty well. Communists were definitely persecuted during the German occupation, but common people were treated loyally.

But still, I think that the Holocaust cannot be compared to living in exile. I understand that the latter was terrible, that many people died there as well, but still the difference between exile and the Holocaust is enormous. Jews in concentration camps were leaving on their last trip to the crematorium, holding a small child. They were to face death and they were aware of it. There was no chance for them to be saved. In exile there were inhuman conditions: people died from emaciation and overwork, but still many of them survived. No matter how it might sound, exile turned out to save them.

My sister Vera came back from evacuation with the ministry of culture earlier than we did. She worked for the ministry of culture as secretary to the minister. There was a poky room, about five square meters at the ministry, and all of us lived there for about a month. Former workers from my father's store helped us a lot. Hugo Kleimeyer worked for my father before his property was confiscated. When we came back from evacuation in 1945, he was the Estonian Trade Minister. Once he met my father in the street, recognized him and told him to call on him whenever his assistance was needed.

After the War

At that time there was a great deficit and there were hardly any goods in the stores; the lines were huge. Upon our return, we didn't have anything. Kleimeyer helped all of us. When we could no longer stay at the ministry of culture, one of my father's former employees let us lodge in her place for three months. She gave us food and clothes. This was how my father was treated by his former employees. This says a lot about my dad.

Finally we moved to the house in Nomme, where we had lived before evacuation. It was dilapidated. Germans had stayed there leaving it filthy and falling apart. It was hard to bring things back to order. The house was empty. There were none of our things left. There was neither a bed, nor linen, nor a spoon. There wasn't anything. We had to buy all the basics. When we were evacuated, we took hardly anything with us, leaving everything at home. The neighbors, Estonians, told us that some people had ransacked our house with torches at night.

Food cards were introduced 32, but there was very little bread. My school friend worked in the re-evacuation department of the Council of Ministers of Estonia. She offered me a job there when we came back home. I worked there for seven years and the department was reorganized into a repatriation department. Many Estonians were forced to leave the country for Germany or Austria. They were only able to return if they had a permit from our department. We took care of different things, even distributing clothes, sent by American Jews. My husband was still in the army. When I started working for the re-evacuation department, life became easier. We were given food rations which came in very handy.

My brother Rudolf returned to his previous job upon his return to Tallinn. He worked for a shoe factory, and soon became head of a department. Rudolf assembled a unique archive on tanning and leather manufacturing. My brother collected postcards with copies of famous paintings. He had a huge collection. Rudolf was single, he lived with our parents. He was always weak, and died in 1994. Vera was also single. She died in 1992. They were buried in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn.

Having been demobilized Marcus finished medical school and found a job as an assistant to the doctor at the sanitation station. Marcus did well at work. He was appreciated at work and sent to refresher courses. He worked there until the last days of his life.

My husband was still in the army when the war ended. His unit was disbanded in Tallinn and he came home to spend the night. Our first son was born in 1946. When we were in Kirghizia I saw a pomegranate tree in bloom. It was so beautiful: orange and ruby-red flowers like little roses. In Ivrit, the pomegranate is called a Rimon. I made up my mind, if I had a son, I would call him Rimon, or if I had a daughter, Rimona. So I gave birth to a son and called him Rimon. My second son was born in 1948. My husband wanted to name him Movsha after my husband's father. In Ivrit Avi means 'my father,' and I called my second son Avi.

Both of my sons were circumcised. It was mandatory and natural for my husband and I. There was no synagogue in Tallinn at that time. It burned down in 1944. There was a smaller place, a prayer house. The circumcisions were made at our place. We invited a surgeon who did things the way they were supposed to be done.

We kept on observing Jewish traditions at home. Of course, it was hard to do that, but we did our best. Matzah was not sold there. There was no place to buy candles for Chanukkah, and there was no chanukkiyah. We managed somehow. We taught our sons the Jewish traditions, the history of the Jewish people. Our sons knew all about the Jewish holidays and the purpose of each of them. We were not ashamed of being Jews and didn't try to hide it. We also marked Soviet holidays: 1st May, 7th November 33. They were just additional days off at home. Only the Victory Day, 9th May 34 was a true holiday for us.

After evacuation we lived in Soviet Estonia, in the Soviet Union. It was strange and unclear to us: totally different laws, customs and way of life. We couldn't correspond with our relatives aboard. Such people became 'peoples' enemies' right away 35. We weren't allowed to speak Ivrit as we could be blamed for being Zionists or even imprisoned. My husband and his relatives spoke Yiddish mostly, but at work and at school we had to speak Russian. My sons know Yiddish, but they mostly speak Estonian. We couldn't even think of teaching Ivrit, not even Yiddish. We couldn't have dreamed of having Jewish schools.

Though the USSR was called the state of all people who resided there, the regime was intolerant of those who wanted to speak their mother tongue. If a person lived in the USSR and didn't want to speak Russian, he was considered a peoples' enemy. There was a struggle against religion 36, any kind of religion, not only Judaism. People couldn't even tell their friends that they were thinking of leaving for Israel. I knew one person who was imprisoned just for considering leaving for Israel. He stayed in prison for ten years and finally he got a permit for departure. When he left, he wasn't allowed to take any of his things.

I knew that I should get an education. There was a course to become a technical information expert at the Tallinn Polytechnic Institute. I finished that course. I left the repatriation department and worked as a technician at the design institute Esgiproselkhozstroy for a short period of time. Then I went to work for the design bureau of furniture and the wood processing industry as a director of the engineering library. I put in a lot of effort for our library to become the best.

Then I was assigned as head of the information department. I was fluent in Estonian, Russian and German, and had basic knowledge of English. I worked with foreign manuals, searching for materials for furniture manufacturing, lacquer materials and patents for our designers. I translated those materials into Russian from Estonian, German and English. We were subscribed to 120 journals. I was supposed to browse all of them and find the necessary information there. I loved my job and found it interesting. I worked in the design bureau until I retired.

In 1948 the cosmopolitan campaigns began in the USSR 37. They were against Jewish scientists, actors and writers. This happened in Estonia as well. Soviet laws were equally enforced in the entire Soviet Union. This was when a wonderful Jewish actor, Solomon Mikhoels 38 was assassinated. People treated him differently. Cleverer people understood what was going on and what to believe, others trusted things written in the papers and assumed they were true.

Then the Doctors' Plot began 39. My husband was a medical worker and he was afraid that he would be fired. Fortunately his director was a decent man and told my husband, 'Kaplan, don't worry, you have nothing to fear while I am your boss.' At that time I worked as a technician in the design institute Esgiproselkhozstroy. My director, the architect Kesper called me into his office and told me that I shouldn't be afraid of losing my job while he was the boss. There were other people who wanted to get rid of Jews and fired them groundlessly. It has always happened.

The local population disapproved of many actions of the Soviet regime, and was against it in general, but there were no organized attacks. People were too scared that they would fail because any force would seem insignificant in comparison to the Soviet army. Of course some Estonians welcomed the Soviet regime. They were communists. There were a lot of go-getters, who joined the communist part only in order to advance their career. They understood that they would benefit from being a member of the party. They didn't even know to what extent they believed in the party's philosophy.

Stalin died in March 1953. There was no sense of grief, but all of us were very scared. We were afraid of uncertainty. We thought that an even worse tyrant would take his place. Beriya 40 became the successor of Stalin and we were horrified. Beriya was feared even when Stalin was alive. Then there was the twentieth communist party congress 41, where Khrushchev 42 held the speech exposing Stalin's personality. All of us understood that nothing would change for the better while the Soviet Union existed. We couldn't hope for normal life.

My mother died on 10th February 1966. My father survived her by two years. He passed away on 18th February 1968. They were buried in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn. Their tombs are next to each other. They were buried in accordance with Jewish tradition. It's strange that the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn wasn't destroyed during occupation and the Soviet times, none of the graves were desecrated by the fascists, nor any of the tombstones demolished. That cemetery is still there.

In the 1970s mass immigration of Jews to Israel started in the USSR. Of course, it was easier here than in any other parts of the USSR. People were supposed to get the recommendation approved by the general meeting of employees. I know that such types of meetings in the USSR were turned into mere trials, where those applying to immigrate were called traitors. In Estonia everything depended on the person in charge. It was hard to get the permission from Russian directors, but the Estonians supported and helped. Our whole family was willing to immigrate to Israel. My husband had two heart attacks before that. He had the third attack before leaving and we couldn't even think of immigration. His doctors flatly banned him from moving to a different climate.

My sons went to an Estonian school. Having finished school my elder son, Rimon, went to Construction College in Tallinn, the department of metal processing. He was given a mandatory job assignment 43 in a jewelry plant in Tallinn. He worked there for 30 years. My son has good hands and a good head. He managed to work on seven machines. Rimon was eventually in charge of the workshop. The plant was purchased after the 1990s during Estonian Independence 44. Half of the employees, including my son, were fired. Since then my son has done odd jobs. He's 58 and it's pretty hard for him to find a good job.

His wife has been a child-minder in a kindergarten for a long time. My son's wife Mariana is half-Jewish: her mother is a Jew and her father is Estonian [according to Jewish Law, a person is considered Jewish as long as at least their mother is Jewish]. I was troubled that my son married a non- Jew, but nothing could be done about that. The most important thing was that they loved each other. They have a daughter, Khana, born in 1983. Having finished school she entered the architecture and construction department of Tallinn Polytechnic University. She does well. Khana will obtain a diploma in engineering.

My younger son Avi has been interested in cars since childhood. His toys were just a selection of cars of different sizes. He put his favorite cars under his pillow before going to sleep. He never stopped liking cars. Now he's the director of the automobile school. Avi has been married twice. His first wife, Galina, was a Jew, and together they had a daughter, Sorena. She was named after his wife's aunt Sore. They got divorced after a while and Avi got married again. His second wife is Estonian. They have a happy life together. I took his second marriage as a tragedy. We had such a Jewish family, with such a Jewish spirit and it was hard for me to get over my son's choice.

My sons identify themselves as Jews and I thank God for that. Both of them live in Mordu, a small town about 80 kilometers from Tallinn. Both sons and their families come to us on all the Jewish holidays. My sons are very close to me, they love and respect me. They help support me with anything I need, and call me and come to visit.

My husband died in 1988. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Tallinn according to Jewish tradition. My sons recited the Kaddish over his grave. Every year on the anniversary of his death they come to Tallinn and go to the cemetery with me. I have lived by myself since my husband's death.

When the General Secretary of the Communist Party, Mikhail Gorbachev 45, declared perestroika 46, I took it skeptically. Then I felt more optimistic when I saw quick changes happen in my country. We obtained the freedoms we had been bereft of since 1917, namely freedom of speech, meetings, demonstrations, press and religion. We really felt that our lives were changing for the better. The Iron Curtain 47, having severed us from the rest of the world for over 70 years, wasn't there any more. It became possible to correspond with people who live in other countries, go abroad, invite relatives and friends from overseas.

Since childhood I have dreamed of visiting Israel. It became possible during perestroika, but I couldn't afford it. Now I can't go there for another reason: my legs hurt and I can barely walk. Thus, this dream has remained unrealized.

The Jewish community of Estonia 48 was one of the first Jewish communities officially founded in the Soviet republics. We had high expectations from Gorbachev and it was sad for us to observe the downfall during perestroika. Things gradually reverted to how they were in the past. Even in my most audacious dreams I would never have imagined the collapse of the Soviet Union. It's the miracle of all miracles!

When the putsch started in 1991 49, we were glued to our TV sets and followed the news blow by blow. There were tanks in Moscow. People were shot and killed. Nobody knew the outcome and dreaded to think what would happen next. It ended in the breakup of the USSR. My first reaction to that was boundless surprise. I needed time to get used to the thought that it had really happened. Now we see that it was real. It's good that it happened. Every country should be free, allowed its own political views. The most important thing is to tune the economy. That's why any state should strategically count on its neighbors and the global economy not to go down. It's the most important thing. Estonia succeeds in that.

Of course, it's harder from a material standpoint. Pensions are skimpy and prices are going up. We were promised our pensions would be increased, but if pensions were raised, prices would be increased as well. It's one and the same thing. We're aware that we are living in hard times and our government does its best. Recently I got to know a pleasant piece of news from my community. Our parliament adopted a resolution to increase pensions for those who had been evacuated, as they would be considered having suffered in Stalin's time. I've already submitted all the necessary documents.

When I retired, I started working for the Jewish community. I liked the job as I knew I was helping people. The ladies Jewish organization WIZO 50 regained its work in Estonia. WIZO ladies work as volunteers. I and other WIZO volunteers call on elderly people and collect information: what kind of help is needed, medical or psychological. We fill in the forms for all of them. They were processed in the community and the data was computerized. Volunteers work in accordance with the information provided on the forms. There are thirty people working in WIZO and many of them are volunteers. We help people the best way we can.

Now I have trouble with my legs. I have pain in my knees and have to walk with a cane. I was offered to be operated on, but I'm afraid as I'm old. Besides, there would be nobody to take care of me as I wouldn't be able to move for two to three months. I can't work a lot in WIZO due to my illness. Now I take care of three elderly ladies, whom I call on the phone and visit. WIZO has monthly meetings. Unfortunately we have problems with finance. WIZO is not funded and we have no sponsors. We buy food for the holidays and small presents using our small membership fees. If somebody supported WIZO, we would do more for those we're helping.

Our community provides considerable assistance to people who are leaving for Israel. None of us help those Jews who are immigrating to Germany. I personally despise such people and don't understand those who just think of their welfare and forget the Holocaust. I haven't forgotten it. How can Jews calmly walk around on German streets, where Jewish blood was shed? How can they accept German assistance? Maybe I'm too brusque, but I wouldn't wave to a German if I saw one in the street.

Jews are treated very well in Estonia; Estonians classified Jews into Estonian Jews, born in Estonia, and Russian Jews, who came to Estonia during the Soviet regime. Russian Jews are treated with a cold shoulder. There are reasons for that. If someone immigrates to the USA for example, he's aware that he should know English. It's natural. When Russians or Jews immigrated to Estonia, they didn't consider it necessary to study Estonian, thinking that Russian would be enough. People have lived here for many years, without knowing the language of the country, and the worst thing is that they don't even want to learn it. How can it be like that? They are perturbed saying that they are persecuted and disgraced. But is it really true? Nobody says they can't be citizens; just learn the language if you want to become a citizen of Estonia. It happens all over the world. It doesn't relate only to Jews, but predominantly Russian speakers.

Of course, not all people are friendly towards Jews. For example, there is a radio station called 'Nomme Radio' in Tallinn. Every single day they say nasty things about Jews. People are different: some are friends with Jews, others don't like them. I think it's like that in the entire world. It's important that there is no state anti-Semitism in Estonia and that our government takes care of us. We are voting citizens of free Estonia.

Glossary:

1 Nikolai's army

Soldier of the tsarist army during the reign of Nicholas I when the draft lasted for 25 years.

2 Cantonist

The cantonists were Jewish children who were conscripted to military institutions in tsarist Russia with the intention that the conditions in which they were placed would force them to adopt Christianity. Enlistment for the cantonist institutions was most rigorously enforced in the first half of the 19th century. It was abolished in 1856 under Alexander II. Compulsory military service for Jews was introduced in 1827. Jews between the age of 12 and 25 could be drafted and those under 18 were placed in the cantonist units. The Jewish communal authorities were obliged to furnish a certain quota of army recruits. The high quota that was demanded, the severe service conditions, and the knowledge that the conscript wouldn't observe Jewish religious laws and would be cut off from his family, made those liable for conscription try to evade it.. Thus, the communal leaders filled the quota from children of the poorest homes.

3 Common name

4 Tallinn Synagogue

built in 1883 and designed by architect Nikolai Tamm; burnt down completely in 1944.

5 Estonian Independence

Estonia was under Russian rule since 1721, when Peter the Great defeated the Swedes and made the area officially a part of Russia. During World War I, after the collapse of the tsarist regime, Estonia was partly conquered by the German army. After the German capitulation (11th November 1918) the Estonians succeeded in founding their own state, and on 2nd February 1920 the Treaty of Tartu was concluded between independent Estonia and Russia. Estonia remained independent until 1940.

6 Jewish Cultural Autonomy

Cultural autonomy, which was proclaimed in Estonia in 1926, allowing the Jewish community to promote national values (education, culture, religion).

7 Five percent quota

couldn'tIn tsarist Russia the number of Jews in higher educational institutions couldn't exceed 5% of the total number of students.

8 Bialik, Chaim Nachman

(1873-1934): One of the greatest Hebrew poets. He was also an essayist, writer, translator and editor. Born in Rady, Volhynia, Ukraine, he received a traditional education in cheder and yeshivah. His first collection of poetry appeared in 1901 in Warsaw. He established a Hebrew publishing house in Odessa, where he lived but after the Revolution of 1917 Bialik's activity for Hebrew culture was viewed by the communist authorities with suspicion and the publishing house was closed. In 1921 Bialik emigrated to Germany and in 1924 to Palestine where he became a celebrated literary figure. Bialik's poems occupy an important place in modern Israeli culture and education.

9 WIZO

Women's International Zionist Organization, founded in London in 1920 with humanitarian purposes aiming at supporting Jewish women all over the world in the field of education, economics, science and culture. A network of health, social and educational institutions was created in Palestine between 1921 and 1933, along with numerous local groups worldwide. After WWII its office was moved to Tel Aviv. WIZO became an advisory organ to the UN after WWII (similar to UNICEF or ECOSOC). Today it operates on a voluntary basis, as a party-neutral, non-profit organization, with about 250,000 members in 50 countries (2003).

10 Tallinn Jewish Gymnasium

During the Soviet period, the building hosted Vocational School #1. In 1990, the school building was restored to the Jewish community of Estonia; it is now home to the Tallinn Jewish School.

11 Yiddishists

They were Jewish intellectuals who repudiated Hebrew as a dead language and considered Yiddish the language of the Jewish people. They promoted Yiddish literature, Yiddish education and culture.

12 Hashomer Hatzair

'The Young Watchman'; Left-wing Zionist youth organization, which started in Poland in 1912 and managed to gather supporters from all over Europe. Their goal was to educate the youth in the Zionist mentality and to prepare them to immigrate to Palestine. To achieve this goal they paid special attention to the so-called shomer-movement (boy scout education) and supported the re-stratification of the Jewish society. They operated several agricultural and industrial training grounds (the so- called chalutz grounds) to train those who wanted to immigrate. In Transylvania the first Hashomer Hatzair groups were established in the 1920s. During World War II, members of the Hashomer Hatzair were leading active resistance against German forces, in ghettoes and concentration camps. After the war, Hashomer Hatzair was active in 'illegal' immigration to Palestine.

13 Betar

Brith Trumpledor (Hebrew) meaning Trumpledor Society; right- wing Revisionist Jewish youth movement. It was founded in 1923 in Riga by Vladimir Jabotinsky, in memory of J. Trumpledor, one of the first fighters to be killed in Palestine, and the fortress Betar, which was heroically defended for many months during the Bar Kohba uprising. Its aim was to propagate the program of the revisionists and prepare young people to fight and live in Palestine. It organized emigration through both legal and illegal channels. It was a paramilitary organization; its members wore uniforms. They supported the idea to create a Jewish legion in order to liberate Palestine. From 1936-39 the popularity of Betar diminished. During WWII many of its members formed guerrilla groups.

14 Hitler's rise to power

In the German parliamentary elections in January 1933, the National Socialist German Workers' Party (NSDAP) won one- third of the votes. On 30th January 1933 the German president swore in Adolf Hitler, the party's leader, as chancellor. On 27th February 1933 the building of the Reichstag (the parliament) in Berlin was burned down. The government laid the blame with the Bulgarian communists, and a show trial was staged. This served as the pretext for ushering in a state of emergency and holding a re-election. It was won by the NSDAP, which gained 44% of the votes, and following the cancellation of the communists' votes it commanded over half of the mandates. The new Reichstag passed an extraordinary resolution granting the government special legislative powers and waiving the constitution for 4 years. This enabled the implementation of a series of moves that laid the foundations of the totalitarian state: all parties other than the NSDAP were dissolved, key state offices were filled by party luminaries, and the political police and the apparatus of terror swiftly developed.

15 Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact

Non-aggression pact between Germany and the Soviet Union, which became known under the name of Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. Engaged in a border war with Japan in the Far East and fearing the German advance in the west, the Soviet government began secret negotiations for a non-aggression pact with Germany in 1939. In August 1939 it suddenly announced the conclusion of a Soviet-German agreement of friendship and non- aggression. The Pact contained a secret clause providing for the partition of Poland and for Soviet and German spheres of influence in Eastern Europe.

16 Estonia in 1939-1940

On September 24, 1939, Moscow demanded that Estonia make available military bases for the Red Army units. On June 16, Moscow issued an ultimatum insisting on the change of government and the right of occupation of Estonia. On June 17, Estonia accepted the provisions and ceased to exist de facto, becoming Estonian Soviet Republic within USSR.

17 Russian Revolution of 1917

Revolution in which the tsarist regime was overthrown in the Russian Empire and, under Lenin, was replaced by the Bolshevik rule. The two phases of the Revolution were: February Revolution, which came about due to food and fuel shortages during World War I, and during which the tsar abdicated and a provisional government took over. The second phase took place in the form of a coup led by Lenin in October/November (October Revolution) and saw the seizure of power by the Bolsheviks.

18 Keep in touch with relatives abroad

The authorities could arrest an individual corresponding with his/her relatives abroad and charge him/her with espionage, send them to a concentration camp or even sentence them to death.

19 Gulag

The Soviet system of forced labor camps in the remote regions of Siberia and the Far North, which was first established in 1919. However, it was not until the early 1930s that there was a significant number of inmates in the camps. By 1934 the Gulag, or the Main Directorate for Corrective Labor Camps, then under the Cheka's successor organization the NKVD, had several million inmates. The prisoners included murderers, thieves, and other common criminals, along with political and religious dissenters. The Gulag camps made significant contributions to the Soviet economy during the rule of Stalin. Conditions in the camps were extremely harsh. After Stalin died in 1953, the population of the camps was reduced significantly, and conditions for the inmates improved somewhat.

20 Occupation of the Baltic Republics (Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania)

21 Political officer

These "commissars," as they were first called, exercised specific official and unofficial control functions over their military command counterparts. The political officers also served to further Party interests with the masses of drafted soldiery of the USSR by indoctrination in Marxist-Leninism. The 'zampolit', or political officers, appeared at the regimental level in the army, as well as in the navy and air force, and at higher and lower levels, they had similar duties and functions. The chast (regiment) of the Soviet Army numbered 2000-3000 personnel, and was the lowest level of military command that doctrinally combined all arms (infantry, armor, artillery, and supporting services) and was capable of independent military missions. The regiment was commanded by a colonel, or lieutenant colonel, with a lieutenant or major as his zampolit, officially titled "deputy commander for political affairs."

22 NKVD

(Russ.: Narodnyi Komissariat Vnutrennikh Del), People's Committee of Internal Affairs, the supreme security authority in the USSR - the secret police. Founded by Lenin in 1917, it nevertheless played an insignificant role until 1934, when it took over the GPU (the State Political Administration), the political police. The NKVD had its own police and military formations, and also possessed the powers to pass sentence on political matters, and as such in practice had total control over society. Under Stalin's rule the NKVD was the key instrument used to terrorize the civilian population. The NKVD ran a network of labor camps for millions of prisoners, the Gulag. The heads of the NKVD were as follows: Genrikh Yagoda (to 1936), Nikolai Yezhov (to 1938) and Lavrenti Beria. During the war against Germany the political police, the KGB, was spun off from the NKVD. After the war it also operated on USSR-occupied territories, including in Poland, where it assisted the nascent communist authorities in suppressing opposition. In 1946 the NKVD was renamed the Ministry of the Interior.

23 Soviet Deportation of Estonian Civilians

June 14, 1941 - the first of mass deportations organized by the Soviet regime in Estonia. There were about 400 Jews among a total of 10,000 people who were deported or removed to reformatory camps.

24 Great Patriotic War

25 Military execution on Lake Harku

didn'tLake Harku is the second lake within the borders of Tallinn. Before WWII it was the place where Tallinn residents liked to relax in their pastime. When the Germans invaded Tallinn they captured about 1000 Jews, who either didn't want or failed to evacuate. Men were taken to jail in the town where they were killed between 21st September and 10th October 1941. Women and children were killed at Lake Harku. Their dead bodies were buried in the swamp near the lake. In total about 700 people perished there.

26 Kolkhoz

27 Kaganovich, Lazar (1893-1991)

Soviet Communist leader. A Jewish shoemaker and labor organizer, he joined the Communist Party in 1911. He rose quickly through the party ranks and by 1930 he had become Moscow party secretary-general and a member of the Politburo. He was an influential proponent of forced collectivization and played a role in the purges of 1936-38. He was known for his ruthless and merciless personality. He became commissar for transportation (1935) and after the purges was responsible for heavy industrial policy in the Soviet Union. In 1957, he joined in an unsuccessful attempt to oust Khrushchev and was stripped of all his posts.

28 Estonian Rifle Corps

Military unit established in late 1941 as a part of the Soviet Army. The Corps was made up of two rifle divisions. Those signed up for the Estonian Corps by military enlistment offices were ethnic Estonians regardless of their residence within the Soviet Union as well as men of call-up age residing in Estonia before the Soviet occupation (1940). The Corps took part in the bloody battle of Velikiye Luki (December 1942 - January 1943), where it suffered great losses and was sent to the back areas for re-formation and training. In the summer of 1944, the Corps took part in the liberation of Estonia and in March 1945 in the actions on Latvian territory. In 1946, the Corps was disbanded.

29 Estonian Government in Evacuation

Both the Government of the Estonian Soviet Socialist Republic and the Central Committee of the Estonian Communist Party were created in 1940 and were evacuated to Moscow as the war started. Their task was to provide for Estonian residents who had been evacuated or drafted into the labor army. They succeeded in restoring life and work conditions of many evacuees. Former leaders of the Estonian Soviet Socialist Republic took active part in the formation of the Estonian Rifle Corps assisting the transfer of former Estonian citizens from the labor army into the Corps. At the beginning of 1944, top authority institutions of the Estonian Soviet Socialist Republic were moved to Leningrad, and the permanent Estonian representation office remained in Moscow. In September 1944, Estonia was re-established as part of the USSR and the Estonian government moved to Tallinn.

30 Forced deportation to Siberia

Stalin introduced the deportation of certain people, like the Crimean Tatars and the Chechens, to Siberia. Without warning, people were thrown out of their houses and into vehicles at night. The majority of them died on the way of starvation, cold and illnesses.

31 Klooga

SSubcamp of the Vaivara camp in Estonia, set up in 1943 and one of the largest camps in the country. Most of the prisoners came from the Vilnius ghetto; they worked under extreme conditions. There were 3,000 to 5,000 inmates kept in the Klooga camp. It was eliminated together with all of its inmates in spring 1944, before the advance by the Soviet army.

32 Card system

The food card system regulating the distribution of food and industrial products was introduced in the USSR in 1929 due to extreme deficit of consumer goods and food. The system was canceled in 1931. In 1941, food cards were reintroduced to keep records, distribute and regulate food supplies to the population. The card system covered main food products such as bread, meat, oil, sugar, salt, cereals, etc. The rations varied depending on which social group one belonged to, and what kind of work one did. Workers in the heavy industry and defense enterprises received a daily ration of 800 g (miners - 1 kg) of bread per person; workers in other industries 600 g. Non-manual workers received 400 or 500 g based on the significance of their enterprise, and children 400 g. However, the card system only covered industrial workers and residents of towns while villagers never had any provisions of this kind. The card system was canceled in 1947.

33 October Revolution Day

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

34 Victory Day in Russia (9th May)

National holiday to commemorate the defeat of Nazi Germany and the end of World War II and to honor the Soviets who died in the war.

35 Enemy of the people

Soviet official term; euphemism used for real or assumed political opposition.

36 Struggle against religion

The 1930s was a time of anti-religion struggle in the USSR. In those years it was not safe to go to synagogue or to church. Places of worship, statues of saints, etc. were removed; rabbis, Orthodox and Roman Catholic priests disappeared behind KGB walls.

37 Campaign against 'cosmopolitans'

38 Mikhoels, Solomon (1890-1948) (born Vovsi)

Great Soviet actor, producer and pedagogue. He worked in the Moscow State Jewish Theater (and was its art director from 1929). He directed philosophical, vivid and monumental works. Mikhoels was murdered by order of the State Security Ministry.

39 Doctors' Plot

The Doctors' Plot was an alleged conspiracy of a group of Moscow doctors to murder leading government and party officials. In January 1953, the Soviet press reported that nine doctors, six of whom were Jewish, had been arrested and confessed their guilt. As Stalin died in March 1953, the trial never took place. The official paper of the Party, the Pravda, later announced that the charges against the doctors were false and their confessions obtained by torture. This case was one of the worst anti-Semitic incidents during Stalin's reign. In his secret speech at the Twentieth Party Congress in 1956 Khrushchev stated that Stalin wanted to use the Plot to purge the top Soviet leadership.

40 Beriya, Lavrentiy Pavlovich (1899-1953)

Communist politician, one of the main organizers of the mass arrests and political persecution between the 1930s and the early 1950s. Minister of Internal Affairs, 1938-1953. In 1953 he was expelled from the Communist Party and sentenced to death by the Supreme Court of the USSR.

41 Twentieth Party Congress

At the Twentieth Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union in 1956 Khrushchev publicly debunked the cult of Stalin and lifted the veil of secrecy from what had happened in the USSR during Stalin's leadership.

42 Khrushchev, Nikita (1894-1971)

Soviet communist leader. After Stalin's death in 1953, he became first secretary of the Central Committee, in effect the head of the Communist Party of the USSR. In 1956, during the 20th Party Congress, Khrushchev took an unprecedented step and denounced Stalin and his methods. He was deposed as premier and party head in October 1964. In 1966 he was dropped from the Party's Central Committee.

43 Mandatory job assignment in the USSR

Graduates of higher educational institutions had to complete a mandatory 2-year job assignment issued by the institution from which they graduated. After finishing this assignment young people were allowed to get employment at their discretion in any town or organization.

44 Reestablishment of the Estonian Republic

According to the referendum conducted in the Baltic Republics in March 1991, 77.8 percent of participating Estonian residents supported the restoration of Estonian state independence. On 20th August 1991, at the time of the coup attempt in Moscow, the Estonian Republic's Supreme Council issued the Decree of Estonian Independence. On 6th September 1991, the USSR's State Council recognized full independence of Estonia, and the country was accepted into the UN on 17th September 1991.

45 Gorbachev, Mikhail (1931- )

Soviet political leader. Gorbachev joined the Communist Party in 1952 and gradually moved up in the party hierarchy. In 1970 he was elected to the Supreme Soviet of the USSR, where he remained until 1990. In 1980 he joined the politburo, and in 1985 he was appointed general secretary of the party. In 1986 he embarked on a comprehensive program of political, economic, and social liberalization under the slogans of glasnost (openness) and perestroika (restructuring). The government released political prisoners, allowed increased emigration, attacked corruption, and encouraged the critical reexamination of Soviet history. The Congress of People's Deputies, founded in 1989, voted to end the Communist Party's control over the government and elected Gorbachev executive president. Gorbachev dissolved the Communist Party and granted the Baltic states independence. Following the establishment of the Commonwealth of Independent States in 1991, he resigned as president. Since 1992, Gorbachev has headed international organizations.

46 Perestroika (Russian for restructuring)

Soviet economic and social policy of the late 1980s, associated with the name of Soviet politician Mikhail Gorbachev. The term designated the attempts to transform the stagnant, inefficient command economy of the Soviet Union into a decentralized, market-oriented economy. Industrial managers and local government and party officials were granted greater autonomy, and open elections were introduced in an attempt to democratize the Communist Party organization. By 1991, perestroika was declining and was soon eclipsed by the dissolution of the USSR.

47 Iron Curtain

A term popularized by Sir Winston Churchill in a speech in 1946. He used it to designate the Soviet Union's consolidation of its grip over Eastern Europe. The phrase denoted the separation of East and West during the Cold War, which placed the totalitarian states of the Soviet bloc behind an 'Iron Curtain'. The fall of the Iron Curtain corresponds to the period of perestroika in the former Soviet Union, the reunification of Germany, and the democratization of Eastern Europe beginning in the late 1980s and early 1990s.

48 Jewish community of Estonia

On 30th March 1988 in a meeting of Jews of Estonia, consisting of 100 people, convened by David Slomka, a resolution was made to establish the Community of Jewish Culture of Estonia (KJCE) and in May 1988 the community was registered in the Tallinn municipal Ispolkom. KJCE was the first independent Jewish cultural organization in the USSR to be officially registered by the Soviet authorities. In 1989 the first Ivrit courses started, although the study of Ivrit was equal to Zionist propaganda and considered to be anti-Soviet activity. Contacts with Jewish organizations of other countries were established. KJCE was part of the Peoples' Front of Estonia, struggling for an independent state. In December 1989 the first issue of the KJCE paper Kashachar (Dawn) was published in Estonian and Russian language. In 1991 the first radio program about Jewish culture and activities of KJCE, 'Sholem Aleichem,' was broadcast in Estonia. In 1991 the Jewish religious community and KJCE had a joined meeting, where it was decided to found the Jewish Community of Estonia.

49 1991 Moscow coup d'etat

Starting spontaniously on the streets of Moscow, its leaders went public on 19th August. TASS (Soviet Telegraphical Agency) made an announcement that Gorbachev had been relieved of his duties for health reasons. His powers were assumed by Vice President Gennady Yanayev. A State Committee on the State of Emergency (GKChP) was established, led by eight officials, including KGB head Vladimir Kryuchkov, Soviet Prime Minister Valentin Pavlov, and Defense Minister Dmitry Yazov. Seizing on President Mikhail Gorbachev's summer absence from the capital, eight of the Soviet leader's most trusted ministers attempted to take control of the government. Within three days, the poorly planned coup collapsed and Gorbachev returned to the Kremlin. But an era had abruptly ended. The Soviet Union, which the coup plotters had desperately tried to save, was dead.

50 WIZO

Güler Orgun

Güler Orgun
Istanbul
Turkey
Interviewer: Anet Pase
Date of the interview: May 2005

Güler Orgun is a small woman of 70, with small light brown eyes, short white hair, more Balkan in type than Turkish. She always has a smiling face. She looks like a gentle grandmother who always has a story to tell. She always wears a sort of loose checkered shirt on top of a high-collared T-shirt, slacks and flat-heeled shoes. She lives in the Cengelköy district on the Asian coast of the Bosphorus. She drives her own car. As she puts it, she likes to look for a different occupation, a different excitement every five years. She speaks English and French well, and Ladino and Spanish fairly well. In short, she is someone interesting, whom I always enjoy meeting and chatting with. Only after meeting with her and talking for some time, could I perceive the person beneath that soft appearance. Güler Orgun has a strong personality. She could decide to settle in Polonezköy, while living in Istanbul and being engaged in commerce. She was then able to end a lucrative business in Polonezköy and undertake something completely different. Güler Orgun now works at Shalom 1, in the publication of the monthly supplement El Amaneser 2. She also takes a course in Modern Spanish for the Sephardic Jews at the Cervantes Institute of Istanbul.

Family background
Growing up
During the war
Post war
Glossary

Family background

The house my mother's family lived in was situated in Sirkeci, on the European side of Istanbul. My mother's paternal grandmother lived with them. She was called appropriately 'La Senyora' [Ladino for 'the Lady'], as she was the real mistress of the household. However, I never got to know her real name. Beside my grandfather, La Senyora had also a son called Haim, who went to America and whom, therefore, those of my generation did not know.

My mother's maternal grandmother, Miryam Levi, nee Yafe, also lived with them. I believe she was born in 1847. We called her Nonika - the diminutive of nona, or grandmother. I remember her very well since I was six years old when she died. She was a tiny, dainty lady with white and wavy hair, and she always wore a 'tülbent' [muslin scarf] tied at the back of her head. Slim and small, she probably weighed no more than 45 kilograms. She must have shrunk in size with age, as many elderly people do. She always wore black.

Nonika died in 1943, probably at age 96. My mother thought that she was a real philosopher in all fields. Like many people in our society, she had a proverb or saying for every situation. Both Nonika and my maternal grandmother, who were born in Istanbul, knew French, but always spoke Ladino 3 at home.

Nonika had only one child, my maternal grandmother. When I was born, they had already moved to the neighborhood known as Bankalar [a district on the European side of Istanbul with an important Jewish population]. We, the children of my generation, never knew the house in Sirkeci. The women's days were spent doing housework. As far as I can remember, my family members then didn't go out very much, although they visited their neighbors quite a lot. The whole building was occupied by Jewish families. It was called Rashel Han and located on Bankalar Caddesi. The neighbors were indeed like close relatives. They included the Benaroyas. They went to each other's apartments with no notice at all, all the time.

My grandparents had not been able to pay their 'Varlik Vergisi' [Wealth Tax] 4 and most of their furniture, therefore, had to be confiscated. I am not sure whether I was just told about it or just remember it faintly, because I was barely five or six at the time, but I'm quite certain I saw the furniture being taken away by horse carriage, down Bankalar Street.

When the government enforcers came, only a room where Nonika happened to be in at that moment, had the door closed. When they tried to go in, they were told, 'That is a toilet and there is an old lady in there, let us not disturb her.' So they didn't go in. That is how the furniture of that one room wasn't taken away. Nonika said afterwards, 'Had I known the outcome in advance, I'd have stuffed more furniture in there.' But they had come without warning.

After that, very little furniture remained in the apartment - a few chairs, a wooden table, etc. That is why Nonika slept in an ingeniously improvised bed on chairs, as follows: She had six chairs, which she placed three by three, facing each other, and placed a plank on them and a small mattress on top. During the day, they put away the bedding and used the chairs to sit on. My cousin Meri tells me that Nonika loved her and frequently allowed her to sleep on her chair-bed together with her. Nonika had books in Ladino, written in Rashi 5 letters and read Meri stories from those books. Meri remembers this vividly.

We were lots of great-grandchildren. She had a brazier in her room. She gathered us around it, and burned cloves to exorcise us, literally. She murmured some things in the process. We sat with crossed legs around the brazier, while she exorcised us by turning her hand holding the cloves over our heads, to protect us from the evil eye. I remember her distinctly - her and those pleasant scents.

I found out recently, from family documents, that my father's father, Izak David Nassi was born in Istanbul in 1855. I believe the family moved to Romania from Istanbul, as they had cousins here, maybe children of cousins. There was a Mayir Araf and an Eskenazi family whom we used to see often. The Eskenazi family's mother was Rashel Eskenazi. She had two sons, Jak and Marsel, and two daughters, Viktorya and Suzan. Another relative of theirs, Beki Eskenazi, was married to a Yaesh. Their niece was an opera singer in Istanbul, a mezzo soprano, named Süzi Leal.

My grandfather got married in Constanza probably in 1894 and had children there. In Constanza, he worked in a bank called Marmarosh Bank, as a wheat expert, but applying his expertise to the insurance side of banking. Wheat is merchandise that is transported in bulk in big cargo ships. He could evaluate how many tons a shipment weighed just by looking at the wheat hold. Thus the bank could insure the goods. The skill strikes me as utterly extraordinary in retrospect. Later, when we looked at the documents he left us, we realized that he held the title of Doctor. I guess he was a Doctor of agriculture.

Constanza is a city on the Black Sea. My father's family used to live in a house built on steep rocks by the water. The house had a garden, nevertheless. When the family members went to bed, they fell asleep listening to the waves hitting the rocks. This was at the beginning of the 1900s. At that time, they had a horse carriage with a coachman. Their economic situation was quite good - living in a house with a garden, employing a coachman... This implies that working for the insurance department of a bank in those days paid well.

In Constanza, the family used to dress in uncovered [unveiled] fashion. In the only picture we have of my grandfather, he wears the modern clothes of a bank employee of that period, that is to say, a jacket, shirt, etc.

My father's father, my father and his sister used to speak Romanian among themselves. My father's mother, Neama Nassi, had passed away at a young age. They moved to Istanbul two or three years after her death, around 1920. My grandfather had been appointed to the Istanbul branch of the Marmarosh Bank for which he had been working.

Upon their arrival from Romania, the three of them - my aunt Viktorya, my father Henri, and their father Izak Nassi - settled in Altinci Daire [another district on the European side of Istanbul with an important Jewish population]. Afterwards, they moved to a rented apartment in the Findikli neighborhood [a district on the European side of Istanbul, on the shore of the Marmara Sea].

My grandfather worked for two years, but by that time, the Marmarosh Bank was not doing well. The management started to liquidate slowly, dismissing many of their employees. As the first to be dismissed were the elderly, Grandfather's turn came early. He did not work thereafter; he stayed at home and died in 1936 of cirrhosis of the liver.

My father always mentioned his father with respect. It was my mother who talked more about the character or other aspects of her father-in-law. She always mentioned him with love.

A silver pocket watch was passed on to us from my grandfather. My father used to take it out once a month, take it apart with care, clean it with some type of fuel and put it back in his safe. We also had another heirloom, a chiming clock, which hung on our wall. They had brought it from Romania. It was encased in carved wood, with a pendulum, and had been given to my grandparents as a wedding gift. I am lucky and proud to have both the pocket-watch and the chiming clock, which I shall cherish forever.

My father's mother was Neama Nassi. I know little about her other than her name and that she passed away in 1917, when my father was 14. According to my aunt Viktorya, she was in ill health nearly all of her life. This is why she is remembered mostly sitting in an armchair, with covers on her legs. We have a quilted baby cover she made herself - a cradle cover. The embroidery on it is unbelievably fine, with silver and colored threads. Although she was in poor health, she prepared that cover for a baby Viktorya might have one day. Unfortunately, she died in Romania at a relatively young age.

My mother's father was from Canakkale [a city on the Anatolian shore of the Dardanelles, with an important Jewish community at the time]. His name was Mose Benezra Finanser, and he must have been born, by my estimation, in 1865.

He came to Istanbul to work as a very young man. At first, I believe he owned a street stand, selling towels in the business district of Mahmutpasha [an important retail shopping district on the European side of Istanbul]. Then he married my grandmother, Ester Levi, who was only fourteen years old. They lived in a house in Sirkeci and had nine children together.

Later, my grandfather became an independent salesman of textiles; he sold textiles to shops and derived an income by getting a commission from the owner of the goods of the factory. Many of my uncles did the same or a similar job - one of them owned a wholesale textile shop himself - with the result that the textile business became the equivalent of a family profession or occupation.

At the purchasing power of that time, an earning of a golden lira by my grandfather in a given week, was enough to delight my grandmother who would say, 'This week we are fine, we'll have plenty of food to eat.' Despite their modest income, my mother told me they had a fine, merry life. In fact, she remembered those days with nostalgia. On special occasions like holidays, they would fill baskets with varied foods, hire a boat and go on picnics to the historic Kagithane [a recreation area, formerly a summer residence of the Ottoman Court], on the coast of the Golden Horn. Incidentally, the free day of the week then may have been Friday, instead of Sunday, and besides Saturday for religious Jewish folk. One year, I think they went to Beykoz on the Anatolian side for the duration of the summer.

In Sirkeci, they occupied a house with a big living room, all 16 of them. The 16 included: my grandfather's mother whom they called 'La Senyora,' my mother's grandmother, who was affectionately called 'Nonika,' my grandmother and grandfather, the nine children, plus some uncles and aunts, too, as I am sure of the number 16.

Remarkably, the only person working among those 16 people was my grandfather who, as noted, derived an income by selling textiles, on commission, to shop-owners for resale.

In the house's large living room, the family gathered around a big table, surrounded by couches with lots of cushions on them. Most evenings, after dinner, they told stories and sang songs, with special attention to the children, who dropped off to sleep, starting with the youngest, on the cushioned couches. As each child fell asleep, my grandfather would carry him or her to the upper floor in his arms, and place him or her on his bed. The children were not ordered to go to bed; they were allowed to stay right there, with the grown-ups, until they fell asleep.

My mother had a recollection about her father's military service. As my mother was born in 1900, she was 14 years old when my grandfather went to war at the outbreak of World War I 6. He was a fair man, blond, with blue eyes and pink cheeks. My mother remembered, 'One day, a certain time after he left, there was a knock on the door.' My mother answered it and saw a dark, almost black, thin man she didn't recognize. She ran to her mother saying, 'There is a soldier at the door.' It seems that my grandfather had 'dried out' while he was away and turned into someone emaciated and dark.

Incidentally, in normal times he would drink a small glass of raki 7 every evening, just one. So, when that was not possible, he lost his joy and good spirits. 'When he came back,' my mother remembered, 'he started to drink his raki again and soon regained his former weight and fair and pink- cheeked appearance.'

Although I had heard quite a bit about the house in Sirkeci from my mother, I was to learn something new concerning it years later. My uncle Izak had lost his sight due to diabetes and was about to go to Israel. We went to see him off and say good-bye properly. He gathered us around him, my children and all and Uncle Izak said, 'I remember something strange: when I was very small, we used to live in a house in Sirkeci. Another family occupied the upper floor, but we lived as if we belonged to a single household. We would go up an open flight of stairs several times a day. In the hall above, that family had at all times a big cushion, reserved for their grandfather - a blind and very old man. After feeding him in the mornings, they would place him on that cushion for the remainder of the day. A favorite pastime for us, children, was to go up and sit on that cushion with the old man, and listen to him talk to us. I never imagined that the day would come when I myself would become a blind grandfather.'

Thus, I learned that they shared that house with another family which had a blind grandfather. As time went by, the then children grew up, got married and some of them left home and that house. However, my eldest uncle Nisim never left; he always lived with my grandfather.

When the Surname Law 8 came into effect, my grandfather's family changed their surname from Benezra to Finanser, even though apparently they didn't have to. At that time, some of the registry officials accepted to register the existing surname, whereas others claimed that a new surname had to be adopted. This is why many people modified their names slightly, registering them as Tamfranko, Barmizrahi, Öztoledo, etc.

Growing up

When my cousins and I were born, the family had already moved to Bankalar Caddesi. I remember the residence vividly. It was in an apartment building called Rashel Han. It had four rooms and a big hall where they ate, a kitchen, an alaturca bathroom, and a small toilet. Many people lived together in the apartment. There were ceramic-tile stoves almost in every room. In the rooms which didn't have a stove, they had a brazier.

As one entered the apartment, on the right-hand side, stood a big cupboard reaching the ceiling, where they kept their mattresses and beddings during the day. At night, they would spread them out. They could not have separate bedrooms for everyone, because they were so many.

On holidays, like the Anniversary of the Republic, one could observe from the windows the trams decorated with paper flags passing through Bankalar Caddesi. My grandfather sat cross-legged on cushions on the wooden sofa facing the street, smoked the 'narghile' [water-pipe], looking out of the window, and fondled his 'tespih' or beads on a string.

By the time I start remembering those days, my grandfather was no longer working, but he would unfailingly go to see each one of his children on a different day of the week. For example, he came to us on Tuesdays, always walking up Bankalar Caddesi, regardless of the distance. We lived in Taksim [a district on the European side of Istanbul] then, which wasn't near. We knew he would be coming on Tuesdays; so, on those days my mother cooked dry beans and pilav, his favorites, for him. On Fridays, he went to see Alber, and another child on other days, always walking and always wearing a regular suit and a tie - his uniform on those occasions.

'Sari Madam,' now a two-level road in Shishane [a district on the European side of Istanbul, at the corner of the Bankalar street], was an open-air garden/café then. My grandfather had a story about it. After he retired, and when the weather was nice, he used to go to Sari Madam to play backgammon passionately. Those familiar with the game know that backgammon is a game that often generates heated argument and even quarrel...

As grandfather's eyesight began deteriorating with age, his backgammon partners started to cheat by lying about the numbers on the dice he threw, and he started to lose. Never one to give up, he hired a young student whom he paid to sit beside him and read his dice, and he started winning again! This must have been the first and possibly the only occasion in the world when a 'dice reader' was employed... successfully, I might add, in this case.

During his lifetime, my grandfather gathered all of his children and their families in his home for the religious feasts. On a typical Passover seder, we were thirty to thirty-five people around the table. He used to read the Haggadah himself and performed all the rituals meticulously. At the conclusion of the seder, we each took turns kissing his hand. This, too, was part of the ritual. He sat at the head of the table and paid great attention to those traditions up until he passed away. When he died, that tradition died with him.

Throughout his life, Grandfather's children were very respectful, very affectionate towards him. His death and its aftermath made it clear to everyone - and certainly to me - that he, and primarily he, had been the one who had kept the family together. After his death, the various family members went their own ways. After him, there were no more festive gatherings or anything remotely like that. Some of the uncles tried to organize small reunions for a year or two, but they soon realized that it didn't work. The magic had gone with the beloved magician that he was - at least for his grandchildren like me. My grandfather died in Istanbul, in the Bankalar home, in 1952, at approximately 87 years of age.

My maternal grandmother, Ester Benezra Finanser, nee Levi, was born in Istanbul. She was 14 years old when she married Moshe Benezra. They had children immediately, twins, who didn't survive. A year later, my eldest uncle was born. My grandmother was 15 then. They had eight more children in the following years - seven boys and two girls in all - quite an achievement for my grandmother who was her parents' only child. This prompted my mother to say about her mother, 'I don't remember a time when she wasn't pregnant!' My mother was the third child, but the eldest girl.

I was told that when she was pregnant and there was no one in the room, Grandmother used to scrape the whitewash off the walls and eat it, probably to satisfy her need for calcium. Often, people would ask her which of her nine children was her favorite. She would reply, 'For me, each one of them is an only child.'

When my grandfather did his military service during World War I, my grandmother supported the members of the household - which were numerous - by sewing cloth sacks for an exporter of hazelnuts. The exporter supplied the rolls of cloth and my grandmother, with the help of the children, did the cutting up and the sewing. Grandmother knew how to sew other things very well, too, but she had enough of sewing clothes for all her children, and once told my mother, 'Don't ever learn how to sew, because if you do, you'll spend your whole life sewing.'

While they led a modest, family-centered life, they knew a certain Benbasat family, to whom they were very close. Every Thursday, my grandmother packed her children and went to spend the day with Madame Benbasat, her best friend! I believe the Benbasats lived in Sirkeci, too, in a mansion-like house, with many floors, and a large kitchen down a few steps from the street level. There, a number of servants and cooks worked seemingly endlessly. The kitchen's door was never closed, to allow them to serve food to the poor who happened to pass by.

Some of the children were probably already married when the core family moved from Sirkeci to Bankalar. They were by then a much smaller group. In the Bankalar home, there were Nonika, my grandmother Ester, my elder uncle's wife Sara, and my aunt Rashel, who was mentally disadvantaged, but could do physical work - a total of four women in one house, with no need for hired help, which they couldn't afford anyway.

They used to prepare all the traditional Sephardic dishes. I don't know if they followed the kashrut rules. Since the name of a Jewish butcher called Dalva in Shishhane was often mentioned, I suppose they bought kosher meat from him, although I am not sure if they kept a kosher house in all respects.

In the week of Chanukkah, in my grandmother's house, they used to hang a chanukkiyah on the wall. It was metallic, but I don't remember if it was made out of silver. They put oil in it. My grandmother made cotton-wrapped wicks for the occasion. Each night, the entire family gathered standing around the chanukkiyah and recited the appropriate prayer, after which they lit a wick, an additional one every night, until the seventh, when the feast was over. After the prayer and the lighting, they sat, sang songs, and told jokes. Every Friday night, too, my grandmother placed cotton wicks in a special glass, lit them and said a prayer. Once when asked why, she said it was 'for our dead.'

My grandmother stayed home most of the time. The rest of us used to go to see her. She was a tall, slender, darkish, graceful woman. She liked to wear dark clothes, brown or black house dresses, high-necked. When I knew her, her hair had already turned white. She wore her hair in a knot on the back of her head.

She owned a gold chain we called 'kolana.' Later, when she got older, that is to say, when she felt that her end was near, she broke the 'kolana' into pieces and gave a piece to each of her granddaughters, which we cherish as a reminder of her.

My grandmother's death was unusual in its speed and simplicity. One day, my aunt and my grandmother were alone at home for a few hours. Grandmother was sitting on a chair, looking out of the window. At one point she said, 'Rashel, will you fetch me a glass of water; I am thirsty.' By the time Rashel went to the kitchen and came back with the water, Grandmother had gotten up from her chair, lay down on the sofa and died. We always said, 'What a nice way to die. One minute, she was looking out of the window, a few minutes later, she was gone.'

My uncle Nisim, her eldest son, had died earlier. His death had affected her deeply and caused her to age, to become a really old woman, suddenly. It is said that the loss of a child is the worst thing for a mother. Grandmother was 83 when she died in 1968.

My grandfather had a brother called Haim. My generation didn't know or ever see him. Yet when my mother was still a child, he used to live with them. In 1907, he married Ermoza Zara. She was an aunt of the Zaras who had a shop in Galatasaray [in the center of Beyoglu (Pera), a district on the European side of Istanbul]. I heard that Haim Benezra went to America at the beginning of the 20th century, and that people wondered if husband and wife would separate as a result. However, after a while the wife joined him in America. We never heard of them again.

My father, Henri Nassi, was born in Constanza, Romania, in 1903. His family lived in a beautiful place in a farm-like setting - an independent, detached house built on steep rocks overlooking the sea. They had chicken that roamed in the garden and laid their eggs anywhere. My father, who was the youngest sibling, loved to search for the eggs, before he started going to school, and was delighted when he found some.

My father was very blond, with nearly white hair. My aunt loved her youngest brother; she used to say, 'He was like a small chick. When we wanted to call him for dinner time, we called: 'Dinner is ready, piu piu piu piu piuuu, Rikutsule!' [the Romanian diminutive for the name Henri].'

This was at the beginning of the 1900s. The family had a horse-carriage and a coachman who used to take the children to school. My father's greatest joy was to sit beside the coachman, especially when he was allowed to hold the reins and the whip.

Their mother-tongue was Romanian. My father knew a little Greek, but just picked up by ear. He came to Istanbul permanently when he was 17, but he never spoke to me about what he did in Romania until then. He was a realist; he lived in the present and thought mostly of tomorrow, never of yesterday. For him, memories were not relevant...

But this changed one special day in 1990, when my daughter was about to go to Scotland for her master's degree and doctorate. Before leaving, we went to see Grandfather and Grandmother one last time, in their home. He took my daughter aside, led her to a small room next to the living room and told her recollections of his childhood in Romania - something he had never done with anyone before, including me. I heard him tell my daughter that he used to sweep floors in a factory, worked at a printer's shop, and did other odd jobs in the summers or in the evenings after school.

My father was born and raised Jewish; I am certain, for example, that he had his bar mitzvah. He had the necessary instruction for it, which I'm sure he always remembered because he had a very good memory. However, a few years after coming to Turkey, and before getting married, he changed both his name and his religion in order to acquire Turkish citizenship. He adopted Islam on paper and the name Avni Tuncer.

When he and his father came to Istanbul, my father started working as an assistant accountant at the Marmarosh Bank, where his father was working. Both worked there for about two years, until 1922. Thanks to his gifts, such as his superior intelligence and very good memory, Father rose quickly to a good position in the bank's accounting department. But at that time, the Marmarosh Bank's financial situation and prospects started to deteriorate, forcing it to downsize, liquidate and dismiss many people, offering them an indemnity. Significantly, for our story, however, employees who resigned did not qualify for an indemnity. As they dismissed the older employees first, my grandfather's dismissal was impending.

The year was 1922, the end of Turkey's War of Independence 9, and the eve of the Republic. Father had already decided to go into commerce on his own. He felt strongly that he did not want to spend the rest of his life as a bank clerk. Besides, the bank was closing down anyway. But since father and son had both been on a fixed salary, they had not accumulated anything remotely resembling a capital.

Before my grandfather's dismissal was due, Father went to the bank's director and said, 'I would like to ask for a favor. You like me and you promoted me. I want to go into commerce on my own, and I need your help. You have been dismissing employees. Could you let me go by dismissing me, so that I can get an indemnity, which I can then use as capital, to start my own business?' At first, the director balked, asking my father not to leave, because the bank appreciated his work.

Later, Father would remember that day as 'the day I committed the greatest faux pas of my life. I told the director, 'Should I stay and remain an employee for the rest of my life?' I didn't realize that the director himself was an employee! It really was a disgraceful thing to say to the kind man. How could I do this! But the man was really mature. He didn't say anything in anger. He just repeated, 'Don't leave, stay,' etc.' But my father said, 'No, I've made up my mind, I'll go into business.' 'In that case,' said the director, 'I'll pretend I dismissed you and pay you the indemnity, but on one condition: You'll take your father along. If you both leave together, I'll give you two indemnities.' My father accepted.

So, with the three months' salary for both of them as capital, he launched his own business formally, with the proper legal registration and all. He was entirely on his own, which he liked. He rented office space in a historic building called Cermanya Han, in Sirkeci, on the corner opposite the establishment Atabek. Cermanya Han, which still exists, is a building with a round tower, which belonged to the Deutsche Orient Bank then, but is owned by the Yapi ve Kredi Bank at present. Father had two rooms on the sixth floor.

One of the first things Father did was to obtain or consult the commercial directories and yearbooks of various countries, which contain information on the manufacturing industries and companies, their products, addresses, etc. He also got himself a typewriter, and started sending 'offers of service' to those addresses.

My father had a talent for languages; he knew French, and he had also picked up some German. He contacted, among others, manufacturers of aluminum kitchenware, glassware, and injectors. There was no manufacturing to speak of in Turkey at the time; practically everything was imported. He wrote, 'I am a young man. I am applying to be your representative in Turkey.'

My father succeeded in obtaining lots of representation rights for a range of goods like thermometers, caps for carbonated-drink bottles, clasps for gloves, etc. He went to the wholesalers of such goods and got orders from them, which he, in turn, passed on to the factories abroad. After the goods arrived and the client paid the factory, the latter paid my father a commission, something like 5 percent, for his services.

Father was then twenty years of age and still a bachelor. The first years of being on his own were hard times, but he managed to support the family.

He got the representation rights of a very important essential oils producer in Switzerland, namely, Chuit, Naef et Cie., which later became Firmenich. This was a business owned by such a prominent family that, when Eisenhower visited Switzerland, he stayed at their mansion.

My father was hard-working, almost a workaholic, and was absorbed with the business day and night - just like I now think of El Amaneser day and night - and succeeded in controlling 80 percent of the market in essential oils. They called him 'Avni Bey, the Essence King.' When he earned this royal title, he hired a secretary and expanded the business. The secretary was a nice young woman called Viki Abuizak. She became like one of the family.

Incidentally, it is possible that Father took a Turkish name earlier because he thought it would help him when starting a business. I should note, however, that all his friends were members of the Jewish community; he never had any non-Jewish friends, ever.

Already while working at the Marmarosh Bank's accounting department, he was a member of the Jewish Amicale society, or club 10. On weekends, young people in pairs, a boy and a girl, used to visit the homes of members of the community, with money-boxes, and collected donations for the society. He thus took part in the social life of the community. Then he volunteered to do the accounting - a skill he had developed at the bank - for the community-run Or-ahayim Hospital 11 for no pay.

As the years went by, he was more and more busy with his commission work and could not spare time any more to work pro bono for the Or-ahayim Hospital. At that time, a young woman volunteered for the hospital job: my mother! They met as he was transferring the accounts to her. She fell in love with him immediately.

My father was not very tall, 1.74 meters, but largely built; he weighed 80 kilos. His hair, which was originally blond, progressively became light brown. He had brown eyes. He liked to dress elegantly, and had ties of all colors. My mother, Ema Benezra Finanser, was three years older than him. She was 'mignonne,' slim, 48 kilos, 1.58 meters, had bright blue eyes and light brown hair - all in all, a dainty lady.

After a few weeks, during which Mother took over the Hospital's accounting, my father was out of sight. About six months later, my mother was walking in Beyoglu - her family used to live in Bankalar caddesi - when upon reaching the Galatasaray Post Office, it started to rain torrentially. She took refuge under the eaves of a building, trying to figure out how best to cross the street.

Just then, she saw and immediately recognized my father holding a black umbrella and saying, 'Would you allow me to escort you across the street?' She promptly accepted. He opened his umbrella, gave her his arm, and they crossed the street arm in arm under the umbrella. Then my father said, 'How will you walk home? Please, let me accompany you there'... which he did.

That is the moment when it all happened. They made a date to meet again and started to see each other. This was in 1931 or 1932. In the months that followed, whenever he fetched or took her home, he would go up to her apartment and meet my grandparents, who liked him. In time, however, they started to attract people's attention, which gave way to gossip in the community. People said, 'Avni Bey is seeing a girl, but she is much too young for him.' Although my mother was three years older than my father, she was so petite and dainty that people thought she was much younger than him. My mother enjoyed relating this with a laugh.

Mother was in love with my father and probably so was he with her. He in particular was a serious person. They reportedly said such old-fashioned things to each other -always in French, their common language - that they made me laugh. For instance, my father said - we used to speak French, so I'll say it in French, because the thought and the words are so quaint: 'Je l'avais compromise: je devais lui promettre mariage." [French for: 'I had compromised her honor, so I had to promise marriage.']

But marriage was not possible. At least not yet, because he had an unmarried sister. At that time, according to tradition, as long as there were unmarried sisters at home, a man could not marry. That is why he said, 'I cannot get married until my sister does. If you accept this fact, we can live together and plan a life together, but marriage will have to wait until my sister herself gets married.'

My mother readily accepted, being so in love. My father then said to my grandmother, 'I want to ask your permission on a serious matter. Ema is my wife in the name of God, and in whose presence I gave her my word. But I cannot marry her because my sister is not yet married. However, please rest assured that I will fulfill all the obligations of a husband to her and never desert her. Please, allow her to live with me.'

Since my father had gone in and out of their house for some time, they had come to know, love and appreciate him for the serious and correct person he was. So, they trusted that he would keep his promise and granted him the permission he asked for. My mother moved to his family's home occupied also by her father-in-law and sister-in-law, and they all lived together for quite a long time, without their being married. I never heard of something so modern, especially so indicative of my grandparents' open-mindedness, in the 1930s!

This was a courageous decision, indeed. The interesting part is that the whole community, that is to say, my mother's father, a simple man who had come from Canakkale, her mother, the local Jewish community, all those who gossiped if they saw two people going out together, everybody accepted the situation. Nobody censured their living together without being married, and nobody turned their backs on them.

Their broad social life continued as before. It is noteworthy that their friendly relations with people of their own social level continued unaffectedly. Nobody seemed to care, maybe because they really considered themselves and lived like married people in every way, but just could not make it official, because of the sister's situation.

When after five years, my aunt got married, I believe - though no one ever admitted it openly - that it was just to end this untenable situation, as my mother had become pregnant with me. Also, they were not getting any younger. My mother was already 37 when she gave birth to me. So, in 1936, they had a double wedding - my father's and his sister's. I was born in 1937.

Five months after I was born, they moved to Talimhane in Taksim [a district on the European side of Istanbul]. My grandfather had already died by then. When I was maybe two, we started going to Büyükada [a summer resort on one of the islands in the Marmara Sea] for the summers. After summering in various rented houses until I reached five, we bought a house in Büyükada. We used to go to picnics there, with baskets filled with food; the grown- ups used to play cards or backgammon under the pine trees. My father also played a game called 'bezigue' at home.

My father proceeded with his business. He traveled to Europe two or three times a year; acquired more representation rights; and often went to Switzerland to visit that essential oils factory, which was still central to his business. Sales representatives came here from the Swiss factory as well; on those occasions, they visited the clients together.

My father also dealt in hardware, injectors, hot water bottles, hernia belts, etc. He imported all kinds of goods that are sold in pharmacies, other than medicines. The business was booming. He now occupied four rooms on the 6th floor of Cermanya Han. He employed an office boy and two or three qualified staff. When at work, he always wore a suit with a shirt and a tie.

In 1942, the Government imposed the so-called Wealth Tax. The Turkish name my father had acquired earlier helped him weather the infamous tax. Non- Muslims were heavily taxed, but Avni Tuncer, who had a capital of 30,000 liras, was assessed that amount. He was thus able to pay the tax and avoid being punished or fined. He struck bottom, yes, but his possessions were not confiscated. They took away from my grandmother's house, beds, cupboards, etc. but nothing from us.

On the other hand, the Anavi family I knew well did not fare as well, to say the least. They were in the paint business. Their assets, including real estate, were evaluated at 3 million liras at the time. They were taxed 1 million liras, which was not so bad, except for the sad fact that all goods and real estate had to be sold almost immediately. With everyone selling and liquidating their assets at the same time, prices plummeted. The Anavis' possessions worth 3 million liras brought just 700,000 liras, which they paid, but still owed 300,000 liras.

So, in order to force him to pay this debt, but more to punish him, Father Anavi was sent to Askale [labor camp in Eastern Turkey] to work in stone quarries, with the ridiculous daily pay of 125 kurus. How could anyone pay 300,000 liras with a daily pay of 125 kurus! But after several months, the ordeal ended when the tax was rescinded, and the Anavis did not lose their father, which was not true of all those who sent their loved ones to Askale.

Shortly after the Wealth Tax debacle, my father was drafted for the 20 Classes 12 by the Armed Forces, together with my uncles. He served for eight months in a place called Dumlupinar, planting trees. He never had anything bad to say about the treatment he received during his military service.

During the war

When World War II started, my father had a commission of 5000 franks owed him by the Swiss factory. He sent them a cable saying, 'Don't send me my commission. Don't even write me about it. Just keep it. I'll let you know when I want it.' They complied. In 1945, when the war was over, he wrote them, 'You can send it to me now.'

With that money as capital, he started his business anew, literally from zero. He was nevertheless, step by step, successful. He still had the factory representations - he had lost none of them. He started working on commission again. He had also started to import the essential oils for himself, as an importer. The customers placed their orders with him; he imported the goods on his own; and distributed, or resold them. He earned, in the process, both the commission and the profit from the import transaction.

In 1945, when my father started working again, I was eight. By 1947 or 1948, a couple of years after the war, business was doing so well that they could afford to send me to the English High School for Girls of Istanbul, which was an expensive school, and they could buy a house in Büyükada.

Father bought a car, too, a pre-war 1938 blue Nash. It was like a tank. He was the first member of the family to own a car. He hired a Greek chauffeur, to give him driving lessons. When Father was at work, the chauffeur worked the car as a taxi. At that time, the license plates for private cars and taxis were not different. In two to three months, Father learned how to drive. He used to take people for drives to the Bosphorus, to places like Tarabya [district on the shore of the European side of the Bosphorus], or on picnics to Circir [recreation area and famous drinking water source on European side of Istanbul]. We were very proud to own a car, as nobody we knew did.

The fruits of my father's hard work included then also a rowing boat, on which he installed sails after one year. He and I often went sailing together. Father learned to ride a bicycle at age 48. After that, we went touring around the island on our bicycles. We were friends, my father and I. We did all those things, including swimming, together. He taught swimming to my cousin Meri and myself by throwing us into the sea and saying, 'You'll learn to swim by splashing about.' And we did.

When we were in the city, not the island, we used to go to the cinema with the neighbors every Saturday afternoon, and had dinner somewhere afterwards. Despite his sweetness with me, Father had a hard disposition. I remember one of those post-cinema dinners with mixed feelings. When Father's order - fish with mayonnaise, I remember - arrived late, after everyone else was served, despite assurances that it was ready, Father was so upset that he dumped the plate down the waiter's head and left the restaurant in anger.

When their finances improved, my mother and father made a list of the things they wanted to do or acquire. As my father was very methodical, their wishes were prioritized: first, a house on the island, which they bought; next, a car, which they also got; and then, a trip to Europe and a diamond ring.

Post war

When the turn had come for the trip to Europe, my father could not get away from his business. He proposed to send my mother, anyway, but as she did not want to go alone, he sent her with his sister on a cruise to Italy, Nice and Marseilles. The year was 1950. The two of us, my father and I, remained behind and had a lot of fun together, as we were such good friends. He took me to eat delicacies like tripe and döner kebab, and taught me how to enjoy life. We had a splendid time, the memory of which lingers.

Then, before my mother was back from her trip, he was seized by a serious illness: meningitis. On her return, my mother found him in hospital. Meningitis is an illness with the dismal recovery rate of one in a million. If kids struck by it survive, they do so with severe brain damage; grownups simply do not survive... Then, all his friends told him, 'Avni Bey, if working all those years was worthwhile at all, it is for a day like this. Go to France.' My mother and father agreed, and they went to France. He was admitted to a hospital there, had brain surgery but came out of it in a coma. Every evening, the doctors told my mother, like a refrain: 'It is a hopeless case. Be prepared to lose him, because you probably won't find him when you return in the morning.'

He remained in a coma for 15 days straight and had to have a second brain operation. He still lay in a coma, surviving on serums, etc. On the third day after the second surgery, while still in a coma, my mother observed a faint movement on his lips. She put her ear to his mouth and heard him whisper, 'Je ne vais pas mourir, je ne peux pas mourir: J'ai une fille a marier.' [French for: 'I shall not die, I cannot die: I have a daughter to marry off.'] This shows how much he loved me, as well as his strong attachment to life.

After that, slowly, very very slowly, one eye, one lip, one finger a day, he started to recover. It took him three years to achieve a partial recovery, re-learning first sitting and then moving, first by wheel-chair and then on crutches. They stayed there for a full year, which I spent with my Tantika.

At that point, my mother came back, and my father was transferred to a rehabilitation facility in Switzerland. He remained there for about the next two years, moving about on crutches. He returned to Turkey when he was able to graduate to a walking stick and after an absence of nearly three years. He had a capital of 300,000 liras when he got ill; not a penny had remained by the time he was back.

For the third time in his life, Father had to start a business from scratch, with the added difficulty that he had lost his hearing with the meningitis. The ossicles were damaged - a condition that cannot be corrected with a hearing-aid because sounds are heard in such a distorted manner and with such interference as to cause a terrible headache. As he was very intelligent, he could communicate by guessing what people were trying to say. However, the kind of business he was in necessitated visiting customers, showing samples, and actually doing a 'selling' job.

Before Father had gone to France for treatment, the son of a cousin, Jak Eskenazi, was working for him. Jak was a very dynamic and hard-working young man, and had mastered the job. My father left him in charge, and was able to keep his representations. But he lost eventually and seriously. When my father came back, the same Jak Eskenazi, who also turned out to be clever, went to the essential oils factory in Switzerland and told them, 'Avni Bey is back, but he lost his hearing, and he is old and invalid. Take away his agency and give it to me.' And that is what happened, and this, in essence, is how my father lost the Swiss agency.

This was a terrible blow to him, because he thought of Jak as a son. He did not get over this for the rest of his life. To survive, he hired another person to continue with the other, insignificant agencies - dealing in goods like kitchenware, pots and pans, etc. - by sharing the commission fifty-fifty with him. That man followed up the contacts with the clients.

Understandably, my father's social activities practically ended after meningitis struck him at age 49, he spent three years in hospitals, and lost his hearing after that.

The year was now 1958. In the meantime, I had gotten married and divorced, and come back to live and work with my father. When we imported goods, the cases of merchandise went from Customs straight to the client's store. They would telephone and say, for instance, 'I'll pay on 20th June,' and my father would note on a small agenda, 'The firm Voreopulos-Behar will pay 3000 liras on 20th June.' I would say, 'Shouldn't we establish a contract, an IOU?' He would answer, 'Of course not. That man is a businessman in Tahtakale. If he says 20th June, there is no need for an IOU.' And come 20th June, the money would arrive at our office. Those were different times, when paying on time was a matter of honor, and a phone call sufficed.

After Taksim, we lived in a rented apartment in Shishli [district on European side of Istanbul] for a few years. In 1964, my father bought an apartment in Yeshilyurt [suburb on the European side of Istanbul, close to the airport]. It was the first time we owned our own home, not counting the small house on the island. Apartment buildings in Yeshilyurt are surrounded by gardens on four sides. Our apartment was in a three-story building, with seven dwellings. We bought an apartment away from the center of town for my sake.

After one year, I got married and moved to my husband's house, while my parents remained in Yeshilyurt. They were quite happy there. My father used to commute to his office in Sirkeci by train, which was easy for him in his condition.

Father was an authoritarian person; so, when I decided to marry a Muslim Turk, I faced the difficulty of introducing my future husband to him first, before telling my mother. I told my future husband to come to our office in Cermanya Han. Shortly before he appeared, I told my father, 'There is someone I am seeing. He wants to marry me. I invited him to come and meet you.' My father simply said, 'OK.'

Then Günel arrived; I introduced him; he sat down. There was a brief silence, after which my father said, 'I am going to ask you something.' Günel said, 'Go ahead.' My father asked, 'Do you like white [feta] cheese?' Günel was surprised and replied, 'I like it a lot.' 'Well, then,' said my father, 'I give you the girl.' My father liked to joke.

I worked with my father for nine years. By then, we represented an important Dutch factory which produced raw materials for the enamel industry, called Ferro Enamels. I worked until I became pregnant with my second child. I left in 1968, and my husband took over. He worked with my father for ten years, and the business really developed during this time, maybe owing to Günel's enterprising approach or to the business climate, or both... Yet by 1978, both of us had had enough of business life and decided to quit. We so informed the Dutch factory, and they designated another representative.

My father loved life so much, but his life was so limited after the young age of 52! Yet I never heard him complain. He had such a great personality! Only at the very end, in the last six or seven years of his life, when he could hardly see any more, due to cataracts in his eyes, and when, after a lifetime of reading, he could not even read the paper, he told me, 'You cannot imagine how bored I am, not being able to read anything.' That was the only complaint I heard from him in all his life.

After my mother passed away [in 1997], my father continued to live in Yeshilyurt. But one year before his death, his apartment was to be given to a builder, to be demolished and rebuilt. We could not take him with us, because our apartment in Cengelköy [district on the Asian shore of the Bosphorus] was too small, and my father's physically constrained lifestyle would not fit ours. He was not in a position to live by himself, either; so, he had a caretaker and a cleaning lady.

We rented two adjacent rooms for him in an old people's home on the road to Kayisdagi [district on the Asian side of Istanbul], moved his own furniture there, and arranged one of the rooms as a sitting-room with a sofa where his caretaker or I slept alternately. We furnished the second room as a bedroom for him, with his own TV set, etc. It was like a two-room suite. He lived there for seven months, until his death in 1999, at 96.

My mother's name was Neama, the name of her great aunt, but they called her Ema. Her surname was Benezra at birth but it was changed to Finanser, with the introduction of the Surname Law.

Mother was born in 1900. Birth dates were not known for sure in those times, because births were not promptly registered. My mother 'chose' the 14th of July as her birthday - the date of the French Revolution, which she loved. She had it registered and even celebrated it on occasion.

Mother attended the Alliance 13 school in her youth, reaching it from Sirkeci, where they lived, by crossing the Galata Bridge daily on foot and walking all the way to the School in Tünel. She was always the top or the second best pupil of her class. She wore to school the dresses my grandmother sewed for her, either light blue - like the color of her eyes - or white in color.

Mother had eight siblings. As she was the third child, she saw her mother pregnant most of the time and helped raise many of her siblings. She took so much care of her brother Eli, who was 18 years younger, that she loved him more like a son than a brother. She would tell me, 'He is not your uncle, he is your brother.' As I was an only child, this is how I came to have an uncle/brother.

In my mother's youth, her family had close relations with a family called Benbasat. When Mother finished the Alliance school, she started working for the wholesale drug supply company named Sisa-Benbasat, as an assistant accountant. She worked there up until she got married, and she liked to boast about knowing the place and price of some 3000 products the company sold. My mother was an all-around conscientious worker who enjoyed her work.

During World War I, when her father was drafted - possibly at the same time as a couple of his sons - Mother was the only member of the family with an outside income, which enabled the family to survive, other than the contribution of those hazelnut bags that my grandmother used to sew.

My mother carried a great responsibility, indeed, because she had to work not only to support the whole family, but also to pay all the school fees, given the importance they attached to education. She used to worry about what would happen to them if something were to prevent her from working.

The worry was to prove justified, in her eyes - at least initially. One day, she fell seriously ill and lay unconscious for five whole weeks, with a high fever. When she regained consciousness, her first thought was fear of what may have happened to the family. Then she heard people singing, children running up and down the stairs four steps at a time, on their way to play, foods being cooked and life going on. 'Right then,' said my mother, 'I realized that nobody is indispensable and that the whole burden of life is not just on one person's shoulder.' She made this her life's philosophy.

My mother liked to tell whoever would listen about her childhood in Sirkeci. With hindsight, I am so sorry we used to interrupt her. We said, 'Mummy, it's enough; you've already told us about it a hundred times.' We didn't take any notes of those gems. How I regret this now!

My mother was a member of the Amicale Society. Later, she applied to do the accounting for the Or-ahayim Hospital, a function which my father had been performing. She met my father as he transferred the books to her. My mother fell immediately in love with him, and courtship - in the form of going out together - followed.

As I mentioned earlier, tradition constrained my father from marrying, because he had an unmarried elder sister at home. Nevertheless, with my grandparents' explicit permission, my mother moved to my father's house, and they lived there as husband and wife for five years, at the end of which my aunt decided to get married - so that my father could at last get married, too - and they had a double wedding. I strongly suspect the double event was somewhat precipitated by my mother's pregnancy with me.

When my mother moved to my father's house in Findikli, my grandfather Izak Nassi and my aunt Viktorya lived there, too. My aunt used to do all the housework. When my mother joined the family, the two women started sharing the housework. They used to do the laundry by hand, then climb up to the terrace on the roof to hang it out to dry. All this manual work was difficult for my mother, who had always worked as an accountant and was not accustomed to do such housework.

Every evening, when the men came home from work, the four of them used to go to a pastry shop in Beyoglu to treat themselves to cakes. The cost came to 25 kurush. My mother would say, 'The daily wage of a cleaning woman was 25 kurush. Yet I could never convince them to give up eating those cakes in Beyoglu twice a week, and engage a cleaning lady with that money.' It is about this matter that they first fell out with my aunt.

Mother got married late, at age 36. Before getting married, she converted to Islam, together with my father. According to what she told me, they needed to go to the Mufti together to get the necessary permission. The Mufti asked them why they chose to convert to Islam. They candidly said that it was in order to get Turkish citizenship for my father, who was Romanian. The Mufti signed the necessary permission promptly without giving them a sermon or making the least difficulty. My mother was very impressed with that Mufti's maturity.

I was born in 1937, when my mother was 37. When I was five months old, my parents moved to an apartment in the Tas Apt. in Talimhane. It was a very nice apartment. It had two bedrooms, a small room for the maid or nanny, an L-shaped living-room where stood my piano, an entry hallway, a kitchen, a full bathroom, a small half-bathroom, and a closet. It had central heating and a bathtub in the bathroom, though not the built-in [encased] kind, but an enameled, self-standing one on four feet. Hot water was available just twice a week. Later, 10-15 years later, in the postwar years, we installed a gas heater.

We owned a radio, a record-player and hundreds of records. We also had a number of books at home, although we mostly borrowed books from the French Cultural Center Library at the French Consulate in Taksim. Thus, we had the possibility of reading a great number of books, which was important for Mother and I, who normally devoured a book in the span of two days.

My mother had a foot-operated sewing machine. To use it, she had to attend a sewing and machine-embroidering course at the Singer Sewing Machine shop, because her own mother had not taught her how to sew.

I don't remember Atatürk's 14 death because I was just a year old, but my parents went to the funeral and said they had never seen such a large crowd all in tears.

My parents hired an Armenian lady as a nanny for me. Her story is particularly interesting. Her husband had died during the Armenian Massacre. She fled to Istanbul from her village Keskin Maden near Ankara, with her two children of two to three years of age and worked as a servant at the Armenian Orphanage. Her children grew up there. Then she entered our service, renting a small apartment in Tarlabasi. She managed to take care of her children there and at the same time to work in various capacities in our house.

She formally lived with us, but she got up at four every morning; went to her children's apartment, which was at five minutes' distance; she made them breakfast, and prepared them for school. By the time we got up at seven, she was already back, to take care of us. I can truly say that she raised me. My mother was bed-ridden for two years with rheumatism. That lady did all the housework, cooked for the family and took care of me.

She also raised her two children, both of whom grew to become doctors. Her name was Nuritsa, and her sons, the doctors, were Jan and Minas Apkaryan. She worked for us until I was 13. Then, after they became doctors, her sons took her with them and did not let her work any more. The whole thing makes a touching story with a happy ending, I think.

As I grew up, my mother had also hired the younger sister of my Uncle Jak's wife, to act as a 'mademoiselle' [governess] for me. Vivi was 16 or 17 then. She stayed with us, and took me out for a stroll or to the park. I suppose she needed the income, and my mother took her in to help out. At one point, Vivi got married and left.

I should also note that when I was four, Madame Claire Kamhi, my Uncle Izak's mother-in-law, started giving me piano lessons at home. Then there was a Mademoiselle Nanasoff, a young White Russian woman, who also came home to give me ballet lessons. As the above shows, when I was a child, my mother made me do all those bourgeois things!

My mother treated me very well. However, as I had a nanny and a 'mademoiselle,' she didn't care for me physically and in a detailed manner. She mostly told me stories, fables and tales from the Bible. She did not feed or dress me; others did that generally.

We did not have special Friday, that is, Sabbath eve dinners. I did not have any formal religious training. The nearest thing to it occurred when my mother took me in her bed, where we sat, while she told me stories from the Bible: Moses leaving Egypt, Jacob's quarrels with his brothers, etc. She was such a great story teller; she made all those stories come to life, though more like sweet, semi-educational fiction than religious training.

We did our shopping at the corner grocery store. There were a green-grocer and a butcher, both in the neighborhood, in Talimhane. There were also a small dairy shop that sold products and eggs; and two grocery stores, the Nea Agora and the Taksim Pazari. We did not go to the open market; we didn't need to. An itinerant, street vendor used to pass by, with a horse carrying two large baskets overflowing with fresh vegetables and shout, 'Zarzavatciiii' ['vegetable man' in Turkish], and we bought what we needed from him thus: we lowered a basket tied at the end of a rope; he weighed the goods and put them in the basket, which we then pulled up.

A yoghurt vendor also passed by almost daily, with two flat containers of yoghurt from Silivri, balanced on a long stick resting on his shoulder. It was a kind of thick, solid yoghurt, which had to be cut with a spatula and placed on a dish. On winter nights, a sahlep vendor passed. All the vendors we dealt with were Muslims; the only Jewish shop owner in the neighborhood was a merchant of 'tuhafiye' [haberdashery].

Most of our neighbors were Jewish. They had close relations with my mother. They visited each other to have coffee. We, my nuclear family, spoke French at home and read the Journal d'Orient 15. My parents' common language was French, because my father, who had come from Romania, did not know Ladino when they met. My mother spoke Ladino with the neighbors.

My mother's favorite pastime activity was to play cards - a game called 'kumkam'- with the neighbors. They had set 'days' for it. They also got dressed up to do window-shopping in Beyoglu. Mother had a brooch and 'chevaliere' ring she always wore. She was always well groomed, with make- up and manicured hands. We had a Greek lady in our building, who came to our apartment for a day's work and sewed very elegant clothes.

My mother's brothers rarely came to visit us with their families. Mother, on the other hand, was very attached to them and called them often. They came to see her, but mostly by themselves.

My mother used to apply 'ventosa' [suction] cups to our back, to fight colds. The treatment worked as follows. You burned a piece of cotton dipped in alcohol and placed it in the ventosa cup, or 'cupping glass,' which sucked out the oxygen and produced a vacuum. Then and quickly, very quickly, you applied the cups to the bare back with a 'plop-like' sound, pulling the surface flesh in. She stuck five or ten of those to our back. These were kept on for a few minutes. The effect was hurtful and pleasurable, ticklish, at the same time. Then, they wrapped a piece of cotton around the end of a pencil, dipped it in iodine and drew horizontal and vertical lines two to three centimeters apart on our backs. As part of what I can call the 'ceremony,' mother also prepared infusions of linden tea or chamomile. We had hot water bottles as well.

In the summer, we went to Büyükada, where we rented a house. My mother took care of the move. The moving firm was called Emanetci Sultana but, in fact, we never saw Sultana herself, if she ever existed. A man called Leon came home, packed our stuff, transported it to the island and delivered it there. He wrapped everything in big 'harars' [large sacks made of haircloth]. Refrigerator, beds, everything traveled to the island in summer, and traveled back to town in fall.

Later, when we bought our own house, we acquired two or two sets of everything - one for each residence. Almost as a rule, everything we left in town during the summer, furniture and all was covered with bed sheets to protect them from dust.

When I turned five, my parents bought a small house in Büyükada. We spent three months a year there, coinciding with the schools' summer vacations. The house had initially three rooms; later on they added a room in part of the garden. In those years, there was no running water on the island. We had a cistern that stored rain-water, and a water-tank which we filled using a hand-pump. The house had a big, curved terrace and a small garden. A gardener came once a week to take care of the garden.

When we lived in Büyükada, we, the women, went to the Turkish Bath for Women every week. Like the rest of the children and womenfolk, in the evenings, we went to the quay, the boat landing, to meet my father returning from work by boat. Sometimes my mother would sit in an outdoor cafe by the sea and watch, with binoculars, my father and I go sailing.

After I reached school age, I attended the Aydin Okul elementary school in Taksim. We had a neighbor, Berta Rutli, who was a graduate of the English High School for Girls 16, and had a daughter, Nadya, of about my age. On her strong suggestion, my mother enrolled me in that high school when I was still in second grade. In those days, admission was through early enrolment, or registration, not through testing. Early on - as early as when I was in second grade - my mother knew in her heart that English would be an important language to learn. That's why and how I entered the English High School and learned English.

We did not eat out too often, but I remember going to Rejans, a White Russian Restaurant in Ayazpasa, to Fisher, Abdullah Efendi's and a place, I believe, called Piknik, which was a simpler, informal restaurant. In the summer, we went to a fish restaurant called Selekt on the Iskele quay by the sea, in Büyükada.

The year now was 1950. I was 13 and had started high school. My mother and aunt had gone on a trip. My father and his sister's husband were no longer on speaking terms, due to differences they had had in business. When my mother returned from her trip, she found my father in hospital with meningitis. Shortly thereafter, they went to Paris for treatment. I remained in Istanbul with my aunt for more than a year - the two of us, with my mother being far away, and no father!

When my father got ill, my mother sold the summer house in Büyükada, because they needed all the cash they could get. While they were abroad, I got engaged to Ceki Karasu. They knew nothing of it until they returned. But as both families were suitable and the people mutually acceptable, there was no objection. The result was that I got married at 17, at the Neve Shalom Synagogue 17. My parents had to sign for me because I was a minor. Three and a half years later, when I got divorced, they gave me again their full support. They were aged between 55 and 60 at the time.

I have always worked. When I was married and lived in Ankara, I worked as a secretary. In 1958, when I returned to my father's house after my divorce, one day I told my mother that I wanted to start working again. When she reported it to my father, he said, 'I need a secretary myself. Instead of working somewhere else, let her come and work for me.' That's when I started to work for my father.

We lived in that apartment in Talimhane [part of the district of Taksim, on the European side of Istanbul] until I was 23. In 1960, we left that apartment after 23 years and rented an apartment in Sisli. At that time, my mother said, 'Instead of paying two rents, let Viktorya move in with us.' And so she did. In 1964, for the first time in their lives, they bought their own apartment - in Yesilyurt, for my sake - because I had voiced the opinion that it was better to live away from the city. After about a year, I got married and left, while they remained in Yesilyurt.

In 1965, when I decided to get married to a Turk, I introduced him first to my father. Later, after I had gotten married, my mother told me one day that, when my father had heard I was going to marry a Turk, he had asked her how they ought to react, how they should take it. And my mother said then, 'We have no other alternative but to accept, because if the young ones have their minds set on something, they go ahead and do it anyway and if we oppose them, we'd be the losers. If you don't want to lose your daughter, you better say nothing.' And that is what they did, or didn't do!

The respective families did not socialize, although they paid each other a visit of courtesy. My husband Günel's mother had died when he was 14. He had been raised by his aunt. She invited us one day and we took my mother there. And the aunt came once to Yesilyurt to visit my parents.

When they lived in Yesilyurt, at first, they employed village girls as live- in maids. With time, they had help only once a week, then once in a fortnight.

In 1964, when they moved to Yesilyurt, my mother made a large circle of friends from the Jewish Community. For many years, they got together in each other's houses to play 'kumkam,' the card game I mentioned earlier. I still call them to inquire about how they are.

My mother was a lively, cheerful person, who enjoyed life. She loved telling jokes. One day, when my children were between eight and ten years of age, she called them to her side and said, 'You are old enough now; I can tell you adult jokes from now on.' My children remember her with a great deal of affection. They say, 'Who else has a grandmother who told her ten-year-old grandchildren adult no-no jokes?'

My mother also liked to have some fun on her own. When I started to go horseback riding as a sport, she started to attend the horse races at Veliefendi [racetrack of Istanbul] and do a bit of betting.

In 1995, when my parents got really old, I moved in with them. At that time, of my mother's eight siblings, only Eli, the youngest brother, was still alive. He used to visit his elder sister at least once a month. On such a visit, he said it was time to think about how they wanted to be buried. My uncle wished them to return to Judaism. For this reason, he went to the Chief Rabbinate, to inquire about what this entailed. He learned that they had to apply to the Mufti and get written permission. But they were already 95 years old and did not leave the house any more.

After thinking about it for a week, my mother told me that they had discussed the matter with my father and that, as they had a Muslim son-in- law and Muslim grandchildren, and as these were the ones who would continue the family, and while they would always remain attached to their past, with love and respect, they had decided to be buried as Muslims.

My mother lived all her life exclusively in Istanbul. She died in Yesilyurt on 16th May 1997, one Friday evening at 8 o'clock. She was exactly 97 years old. Early on Saturday morning, we applied to the Municipality of Bakirköy and got permission to bury her in the Altinsehir Cemetery, during the noon 'namaz.' The imam who conducted the service, probably understood that we were Jews in reality, because he said, looking us in the eyes: 'We now invoke all our prophets, from Moses to Muhammed.' This touched me so much that I still remember it with tears in my eyes and recall that very mature imam with gratitude.

Now let me tell you about my aunt Viktorya, my father's elder sister. Viktorya was born in 1895, in Constanza, a port city by the Black Sea. My aunt, Tante Viktorya, was very close to us. I called her Tantika. Women enjoy speaking and tend to share a lot; and so did my aunt. She spoke frequently about their house, whereas my father did not.

Viktorya was educated up to the secondary level. Interestingly, she attended a Greek school in Constanza. She knew Greek very well. Since her mother was ill most of the time, my aunt did housework from a very young age on, and was very good at it. She also knew how to sew very well. I have in my possession an old foot-operated Singer sewing machine which she had brought all the way from Romania to Turkey. It must be 100 years old, but is still in good working condition.

In 1917, when my father was 14 years old, their mother died. My aunt was 22 then. Being the only woman of the family, she had to take care of her father and three brothers, which meant keeping the house, cooking and acting as a mother to them. Of course, it is possible that they had help in the house, considering that they employed a coachman - you don't have a coachman and not afford a maid - but I don't remember any mention of helpers.

When they came to Istanbul in the 1920s, Tantika was a young girl. She loved people and established good relations with the neighbors in no time. She learned a great deal from the friends she made, yet she had some skills others didn't have and knew some things from Romania that people here did not know, like preparing chicken with dried apricots. Here's the recipe:

Put to soak 300 grams dried apricots for about an hour. Sauté pieces of chicken in a pan, in sunflower or olive oil until slightly brown. Add half a cup boiling water, salt and pepper, cover and simmer until juice is almost completely reduced. Transfer chicken to another dish. Place drained apricots in bottom of pan, add cooked pieces of chicken, cover with boiling water and simmer until only a small amount of sauce remains.

This is a typically Romanian dish. Viktorya knew and prepared Sephardic dishes Romanian style. When introducing me to certain recipes, she pointed to the differences between Istanbul and Romanian cooking. For example, she said that they never added bread crumbs to the meat when preparing meatballs, and that she had learned to do that in Istanbul.

She did all the housework herself. I know for certain that they did not employ any help in Istanbul. As I noted, she knew how to sew very well. She sewed all my clothes until I was seven or eight years old... She cooked and did the washing all by hand.

Viktorya was rather heavily built and had light brown hair. She was not particularly pretty, but walked keeping her body upright and with a self- confident allure which reflected her strong personality. She was of medium height. She valued cleanliness and orderliness, which were reflected in the way she kept herself - no hair out of place, so-to-speak. She liked to dress well, chic but on the formal side, suits in the winter, sun dresses or prints in the summer. She always wore jewelry: pins, earrings, rings. All in all, she was a doer, hard on herself. She never spent an idle moment. When she had nothing to do, she found something to sew.

My aunt was deeply sorry that her brother had to stay engaged for five years because she wasn't married. I believe this caused her to marry somebody who, under normal circumstances, would not have been her first choice, nor apparently vice versa. The groom's decision was facilitated by the lure of a small dowry and participation in my father's business. It is very likely, that Israel Levi married Tantika for the little amount of money and the job. Tantika was about 40 then, her husband a little younger.

It was not a successful marriage, to say the least. Nor did it lead to a fruitful business relationship with my father. After a few years, my father and he had a fight and separated, and were not on speaking terms. This was terrible for Tantika, who loved her brother dearly. For a long time, during the day, she would come to see us 'secretly.'

After about 15 years, the said Israel Levi found a pretty Greek woman and left my aunt, who went on living in her apartment. My father supported her. Later, we heard that he was paralyzed. I used to tease my aunt by telling her that it was a good thing she had divorced, because she would have had to care for a paralyzed man now!

When I was a child, my aunt did not live with us literally, but in practice she did, because she lived just one street away, and not having any children of her own, she came to us daily, right after sending her husband off to work and making her bed. She stayed with us practically till dinner time.

As she didn't do the shopping herself, she used to cook whatever was available, always imaginatively, always with pleasure. She loved being useful: she either did the housework or she sewed - mostly for others.

She was a most obliging person. If anything needed to be done in the house, she felt she had to do it. She worked incessantly. She was a truly good person. She lived in Lamartin Caddesi in Taksim and had a neighbor, who had to work during the day, despite having a boy of three or four. Tantika took care of that boy until he started school. She took him with her, gave him his lunch, put him to nap, and when he woke up, she dressed up and took him for a walk from Taksim to Galatasaray. All this without any pay, just to help a neighbor.

She took care of me, too - this way and much more. She was like a second mother to me.

She also loved going out a little every day. She went strolling in Pera, looking at the shop windows. Or she and my mother went to play cards, with friends. In those days, the women of our community used to meet in the afternoons to play card games like 'kumkam.' As they lived in the same neighborhood, my mother and Tantika had the same friends.

Then, in 1960, we had to leave the apartment where we had lived for 23 years, because the landlord's daughter had gotten married and needed it. Until then, we had been paying a rather low rent. When we were forced to move, our rent went up significantly. Then, as I noted before, my mother said, 'Since Viktorya comes to us everyday and only goes to her own apartment to sleep, we may as well all live together, rather than go on paying two rents.'

This appeared quite logical for economical reasons, but led to unforeseen friction between the now two ladies of the house. Viktorya was accustomed to being mistress of her own house. My mother liked to linger in bed in the mornings and got up at 10, do her housework whenever she felt like it, or just leave it for the next day. Therefore, when Viktorya got up at 8 and finished all the work, my mother got cross and said, 'I was going to do all that after I got up at 10!'

When this friction arose, my mother found that she had had enough of being together day and night with her sister-in-law and go to play cards together as well. My aunt got offended and stopped going out together. For a while, she had some friends and relatives apart from my mother. But she soon stopped seeing them and started to sit at home, seemingly unhappy, more and more.

All the hardships Tantika had suffered in her life were reflected - one might say - in her appearance, which was rather tragic. Through much of her life, she had been sad and somewhat gloomy, as opposed to my mother who had a cheerful disposition. Viktorya suffered from high blood pressure and chronic gastritis, and had to take all kinds of pills.

When I got married and had my own two children, Tantika preferred to come and stay with us and take care of them, and to help me out, which I needed because I was working. She was like a grandmother to them, came over on Monday mornings and went home on Friday evenings. She did this willingly and generously because that's the kind of person she was.

Then she got older. When my children grew up and started to go to university, I invited her over and fetched her on occasion, not to work but to spend a week with us from time to time.

All this time, she continued to live in my parents' house. In 1977, she suffered a slight paralysis, then recovered and lived another two years. Two years later, she had a relapse but did not recover this time. She was admitted to the Or-ahayim Hospital, where she passed away after three months, in the year 1979, at the age of 84.

My father's elder brother, David Nassi, who was three years younger than Viktorya, was born in 1898 and raised in Romania. The only thing I know about him is this: when he was 17, he volunteered to fight in World War I. He served in the Romanian army and fought from 1915 till 1918. When the war ended, he came home. Three months later, when he turned 20, he was called to do his military service. He tried to explain that he had served in the war as a volunteer for three years, but was told that volunteering was one thing, military service another. He got so infuriated that he ran away, deserting home, family, country, everything. They never heard of him again.

One day, 10-15 years ago, my telephone rang. Somebody speaking Spanish - almost as little as me then - said, 'I am Moshe Nassi.' I got terribly excited: it was my uncle David's son calling! He and his wife had come from Israel and were staying at a hotel in Aksaray. I immediately went to fetch them and took them to see my father. Their meeting was very emotional. My father told his newly-found nephew all the things he did not know about our family. He didn't even know that our grandfather's name was Izak, nor that he himself was named after a younger brother of his father, who had died at a young age. We gave him photographs.

Moshe, on his part, told us what had happened to David after he left Romania. David crossed to Bulgaria, where he started to work on a farm and married Blanca, the daughter of a Jewish family who also worked there. They had a boy and a girl, whom they named Moshe and Nehama. They emigrated to Palestine before World War II. My cousin Moshe is exactly my age, his sister Nehama seven years younger.

When Moshe turned ten, his father died. Their mother raised the children. As they lost their father at a very young age, they did not know much about his family background. I don't know how he found out that we were in Istanbul; apparently, he got our name and address from the Chief Rabbinate.

A year after Moshe's visit, his sister Nehama also came and met my father. That encounter was as, if not more, emotional as the earlier one with her brother. Nehama was only three when she lost her father. When she saw my father, therefore, she clasped both his hands and held them for the duration of the meeting. Now, we keep in touch with them by telephone and e- mail.

My father's second brother, Moiz Nassi, born in 1900, worked in the same bank as his father, as 'cash collector.' Every Friday evening, he would go to the various villages where the Marmarosh Bank had branches, by horse- carriage driven by a coachman, collect the cash, bring it to the main branch, and lock it in the main safe. On a winter day, when passing through a forest, his party was attacked and robbed by brigands, who killed the horse and the coachman, and left Moiz for dead. He remained lying in the snow for three days. When they finally found him, he had pneumonia and died three months later. He was about 18.

My eldest uncle, Nisim Finanser, born circa 1896, was in the wholesale textile business on commission, in Sirkeci, like his father. He was married to Sara Baruh and had two sons. He died in 1958 of a brain hemorrhage. His elder son Moris moved to Israel and died there. His younger son Alper is exactly my age. He still lives in Istanbul. Both Moris and Alper attended the St. Benoit French School.

Pepo Finanser was also in the same business. He was married to Rashel Tovi. They had a daughter, Esterika. They lived in Istanbul but emigrated to Israel towards the end of their lives. Pepo died there in 1971, as did his wife shortly after. Their daughter still lives in Israel.

Alber Finanser opened a wholesale textile shop in Asirefendi caddesi. He had a partner called Katalan. Alber's first wife died when she was only 23. They had a daughter, Meri, who lives in the USA currently. Alber got married again - to Estrea from Kadiköy. They had a daughter, too, Ayten. They lived in Yazici sokak, two or three buildings away from the famous Dogan Apt., which used to be called Botton Han then. They did their shopping from the window, with a basket tied to a rope.

Concerning the laundry, Meri told me that all the neighbors gathered on the roof terrace [taraca], lit up fires in the open, on which they heated water in enormous cauldrons, and did their washing all together. They then hung the washing to dry on ropes that were extended from each other's windows on opposite sides of the street, from one end to the other. I witnessed the laundry hanging in the streets thus all the time. Lots of photographs of this exist and attest to it, too.

Meri and Ayten attended the Ste. Pulchérie French School. After a long and successful career of 40 years as a dress-maker - she had an atelier in a part of her house, with 5 Mexican girls helping with the sewing. She made haute-couture 'sur commande' clothes for fashionable ladies who came to her house for the fittings - Meri went to university at the age of 69, got her BA in French, then went on and obtained her master's degree from Wake Forest University in North Carolina.

Alber Finanser lived in Istanbul, but moved to the US, to live with his daughter Meri, after his wife died. He died there in 1988.

My uncle Alber had many books written in Rashi letters, which were passed on to him from his father's household. Before going to America, he donated them to the Chief Rabbinate. I hope they kept them well.

Leon Finanser was a customs agent. He adopted the name Cemil Finanser. He was married to Süzan from Edirne. They didn't have any children. They moved to Israel in the 1970s. There, Leon adopted the name Ari Finanser. He died there in 1989. As far as I know, his wife Süzan still lives in Israel.

Rashel Finanser had typhus at the age of two and a half. The terrible disease, with its very high fever, caused brain damage. She did not develop well mentally due to that, but was able to learn housework, which she did very well. She worked at home every day until noon and went to the Sari Madam Tea Garden in the afternoons. All the women of the neighborhood who frequented that garden were very fond of her. She was a good, simple person. Maybe because of that, she was our favorite aunt, when we were children, because she liked to play with us.

Aunt Rashel lived with my grandmother, until my grandmother's death in 1962. Then she went to live with her younger brother Jak. Grandmother had made my mother responsible for Rashel's welfare after her own death. So, my mother arranged for all the brothers to contribute to her upkeep. Rashel was of great help at Jak's house, as she knew how to do housework, including cooking, ironing ... everything. She continued going to have tea at Sari Madam in the afternoons. But Jak died relatively young, of cancer.

After that, still on my mother's initiative and with her organizational skills, all the brothers contributed to pay for her to stay at the Old People's Home at the La Paix French Hospital. She was already quite ill with diabetes. She lived for about two years at the La Paix and died there of diabetes, in 1976.

Izak Finanser had a wholesale drug supply company, buying drugs from the various producers and distributing them to the pharmacies. He attended the St. Benoit French School. He married Naile Kamhi and had a daughter named Aysel, who attended the Ste. Pulchérie French School. Towards the end of his life, he lost his eyesight due to diabetes. His daughter Aysel, who lived in Israel, came to Istanbul in 1984 and took him there. Izak died there in 1986.

I don't know what Jak Finanser did for a living. He was married to Öjeni and had two sons, Moris and Viktor. Jak died in Istanbul in 1974. His wife and sons still live here.

The youngest brother Eli Finanser also attended the St. Benoit French School. He had a wholesale business of pharmacy equipment. He was married to Vilma Bubic and had two daughters, Etel and Rozi, both of whom attended the Ste. Pulchérie French School. Rozi then went on to the St. Michel Lycée and the Academy of Fine Arts, where she studied Textile Designing. Eli died in Istanbul in 1997. His wife and daughters still live here.

Most of my uncles' children are businessmen.

My mother's brothers went to the synagogue most Saturdays as well as on religious holidays.

I was born in Istanbul on 23rd February 1937. I am an only child. My mother was 37 years old when she gave birth to me. When I was five months old, we moved to the Tas apt. at No. 33/1 in Taksim, Talimhane, Sehit Muhtar caddesi. I remember this well because we lived there till I was 23.

When mother suffered from a severe case of rheumatism, my parents hired an Armenian nanny called Nuritsa for me. She always used to tell me two stories when she put me to bed; one was 'Tas Bebek' [The Stone Doll] and the other 'Asik Garip' [The Wandering Minstrel]. Unfortunately, I never heard the ending of these stories because she was so tired that she fell asleep before me. Apart from a nanny, I had a 'mademoiselle' who took me out to the park. I also took piano and ballet lessons then, thus fulfilling all bourgeois requirements.

When I was about two years old, we started going to Büyükada to spend the summers. There, in the evenings, we used to meet my father at the 'débarcadaire' [quay]. We hired a rowing boat and my parents swam.

When World War II started, I was barely three. What impressed me most then and has stuck in my memory, were the dark blue spring-roller blinds - we called them 'stors' - on the windows, which we had to pull down in the evenings in order to block out the lights. This was part of everyone's routine called 'black-out.' I still have those 'stors' which I keep in case they come in useful some day, because they were made of a very strong tarpaulin-like material.

Of course, basic foods like bread and sugar were rationed, but - thanks to my parents' care - I was not affected by that.

I never attended kindergarten, which made me feel deprived and was a source of frustration, because all my friends did.

The year 1942 saw the imposition of the 'Varlik Vergisi' [Wealth Tax]. My father's situation was affected less by the tax than by the war itself, but improved on the whole after the war. After several years of being a seasonal renter in Büyükada, he bought a house there, as well as a boat. After using it as a rowing boat for a year, he installed sails on it and took me sailing with him. We learned to ride a bicycle together, my father and I. He was 45 then, and I was eleven. We toured the island on our bikes, sailed and swam together.

During the summer, in Büyükada, my mother and I went to the women's Turkish Bath. It was a small hamam. There was a central place where everyone washed together, and three small, private cubicles on one side. Skinny women wearing bath-wraps made of thin cotton cloth, from the waist down, called 'peshtamal,' used to massage and scrub us, literally, with rough mitts that felt like steel wool.

We used to go to my grandparents' house every holiday without fail. My grandfather was very particular about that. We were a crowd of 35 people around the Pesach table. He read the Haggadah himself and performed all the Seder rituals.

In my parents' house, there was no observance of religious or traditional customs. We went to the synagogue only for weddings or funerals.

When I was a child, my father's elder sister Viktorya, who I called Tantika, did not live with us, but she came to our house every day and stayed until just before dinner time. She took great care of me and was like a second mother.

I attended the Taksim Aydin Okulu elementary school and the English High School for Girls.

My father was an authoritarian person but always indulgent with me. He was very fond of me; he talked with me and was concerned about me. I trusted him implicitly. Once, while in elementary school, I was having difficulties with my 'Yurttaslik Bilgisi' [Citizenship course] homework. I asked for his help. He sat with me for a couple of hours and explained it to me. He did it so well that I always got 'Pek Iyi' [a 'Very Good' mark] on that subject after that day.

Most of our neighbors were Jewish. Relations were very close. They all visited each other for coffee, coming to us frequently. They spoke Ladino among themselves. I consider French my mother tongue, because that was what we spoke at home.

I never spoke Ladino myself. My cousin Meri tells me that when our grandmother spoke to me in Ladino, I answered in French, being so stubborn. And they thought I did not know or understand it!!! But I did understand everything. One day, I must have been around eight, during a neighbors' gathering, they told a somewhat spicy story, and I burst out laughing. Then they realized that I understood - and that put an end to it: they stopped telling spicy stories in my presence!

When I was eleven, we traveled to Izmir by train. Trains were very chic then, with sleepers known as 'Wagon-lit' and 'Wagon-Restaurant.' The trip lasted a whole day. My father was in the essential oils business. He had agents in Izmir, namely, two partners who were called Sadi and Krespin. We were invited to Krespin's house where I stayed for a month. They had a boy of my age, Daviko. This David had kites that he put together himself, with long tails made of newspapers. For the first time in my life, I flew kites in the fields, whirled tops, ran and played in the streets with other children, got tired, sweaty and flushed, in short, I learned how to be a child in Izmir. As an only child, I had been a quiet child at home, with my books. That is why Izmir has had and will always have a very special meaning for me.

At eleven, after finishing elementary school, I started attending the English High School. It was for girls only at that time. It was situated between Galatasaray and Tünel, in Beyoglu [Pera]. It still exists, but as the Beyoglu Anadolu Lisesi for boys and girls. I used to go back and forth by tramway. Those days, I received one lira per week from my parents as pocket money, which I tried to save by sometimes walking - or running - to school, because the tram cost 3 kurus, and I used that saved money to buy books.

In high school, all subjects were taught in English - sciences and math, literature, language, grammar and all. In the afternoons, Turkish Language and Literature, Grammar, History and Geography were taught in Turkish. The pupils were Turkish, Greek, Armenian, and Jewish. Foreign nationals could attend the elementary school and did. Among these, there were English, Italian and Greek nationals. The elementary school was for foreign nationals only, but when they reached high school, they joined in the 6th grade, with the Turkish nationals who came from the prep classes where they had learned English.

The subjects taught in English had foreign teachers, and those taught in Turkish had, understandably, Turkish teachers. There were no Jewish teachers. Most of the teachers were English and came from England under two to three-year contracts. Only in the preparatory classes, there were two woman teachers who seemed to have been there forever. My colleague Karen Gerson Sarhon, who is 20 years younger than I, learned English from the same teacher as I, 20 years later.

My friends and I used to visit each other in our homes after school hours. Of course, normally one has only two or three close friends.

On weekends, I went out with my cousins, especially with my uncle Alber's daughter Ayten who was my age, and her friends, because I was not an outgoing person and did not make friends easily when left to myself. Ayten went to Ste. Pulchérie French High School and had lots of friends from her class. I joined them and we went to the cinema at 4:30 on Saturday afternoons. We ate Profiterol chocolate cakes at the Inci patisserie. Hot dogs had just started to be popular then. We went to a place called Mandra in Tünel to eat hot dogs, and to drink 'tursu suyu' [pickle veggies' water] at a place in Sishane. In Beyoglu, across from the Saray Muhallebici, there was a place called Atlantik, which had started selling hot toast sandwiches with cheese.

We had books at home, but we borrowed many more from the French Cultural Center Library at the French Consulate in Taksim. In this way, my mother and I could read a great number of books, about a book every couple of days. Reading was my hobby; in contrast, playing the piano was a chore. I remember reading in bed, at night, with a small lamp, under the cover, till three or four in the morning.

When I became aware of what had been done to the Jews in Europe, I could not believe how such a thing was possible. Later, from books, I learned that similar treatment had occurred all along the centuries. For instance, in a book called 'The Last of the Just' [by André Schwarz-Bart (1928-2006), French author of Polish-Jewish origins]. I read in detail all the horrible things that had been done to Jews through one to two thousand years in different parts of the world. Then I realized that the mass killing was not new, just that it had gotten worse and worse as time went by.

After World War II, when there was a wave of Zionism, there emerged several secret societies in Istanbul. I joined one of them called Betar 18, together with some friends. We used to meet secretly, once or twice a week, in the houses of some of the members, about 10-15 young people. They taught us Zionism and a few words of Hebrew.

After attending a few times, a close friend and I thought, 'They tell us to go to Palestine. Why don't they go themselves?' This got on our nerves and we stopped going. Among all those people, I know only one who actually went to Palestine. But, of course, they say that about 35,000 people went when Israel was founded 19.

In 1950, when my father got ill and went to Paris with my mother, to be operated on, I remained a whole year with Tantika at the age of 13.

I met my first husband at a birthday party. I was 15. The party was five to ten minutes away from our apartment in Taksim, but when I left, he accompanied me home. Then we started seeing each other, meeting in Taksim and chatting. His name was Ceki Karasu. I was in the 8th grade.

That summer, Tantika and I went to Büyükada. Although his family did not normally go to Büyükada, Ceki insisted and they did that year. We continued seeing each other on the island. One day, we were strolling in the street when we saw someone Ceki knew. He said, 'Let me introduce you my fiancée.' He had not proposed, formally or otherwise, before then, but through his act of introducing me as his fiancée, we became engaged - almost out of the blue.

Being away in Paris, my parents became aware of all this only upon their return. But as the families were suitable, there was no objection; and all was well. I got married at 17, with my parents' authorization, which I needed because of my age.

We got married at the Neve Shalom Synagogue. As my parents had converted to Islam before they got married, I was born Muslim. In order to get married at the Neve Shalom, I had to go through the process of becoming Jewish. For this, I needed to get the Mufti's permission. He asked me why I wanted to change my religion. I said that it was in order to get married. He then asked, 'Have you thought it over carefully?' I said, 'Yes,' and he signed the permit.

On the other hand, in a ceremony prepared by the Chief Rabbinate, I had to undress and get completely immersed three times in a bath [mikveh] in the presence of several women, and repeat certain words in Hebrew, which I did not understand. I gather that, coming from a family who was originally Jewish, still registered with the Community and paying Kizba 20, I did not need to take any lessons about my 'new' religion. Afterwards - after my Jewish identity was officially noted in my revised identity card - I could get married at the Neve Shalom.

Then Ceki went to do his military service in Ankara and I went with him. We stayed there for one and a half years, then returned to Istanbul.

I had left school in the middle of the 8th grade in order to get married. Later I came to regret this. While Ceki was doing his military service in Ankara, I started studying in order to take the secondary school graduation exams by working at home, without attending any classes, which was allowed. When we were back in Istanbul, I took the exams at the Galatasaray Lycée and passed.

I remember the events of 6th -7th September 21 because I had to take an exam on that day. We were in Caddebostan, so we did not hear or notice anything. When later in the morning I went to Beyoglu, I was quite shocked to see the streets covered in broken glass, torn furs and destroyed goods. We had to step on all that to be able to walk. By that time, the disturbances had ended, but all the shop windows were broken and the entire street of Beyoglu was covered, to a depth of 30-40 centimeters, with destroyed goods. I can't remember if the exam did take place or not that day.

Ceki tried to work in my father's office for a while, but they did not get along well. He found an interpreting job in Ankara; so we went back and lived there for another two years.

Strangely enough, the only anti-Semitic incident that happened to me in all my life occurred in Turkey but not through Turks. During my first marriage, while I was living in Ankara, I was looking for a secretarial job. At that time, many international petroleum companies were establishing operations in Turkey to search for oil, and I applied to all of them.

That anti-Semitic incident I mentioned before happened at the British Petroleum Oil Company. They gave me a form to fill, which asked for my religion. None of the other applications had asked for that. I wrote 'Jewish,' upon which they called me for an interview and said bluntly and unapologetically whatsoever, 'We cannot employ you because you are Jewish.' I was shocked and asked, 'So what?' They replied that they were careful not to employ people from different ethnic groups. And I said, 'I was born and raised in this country, and this is the first time in my life that I am told that there is something I cannot do because my religion is different.' They said, 'Sorry, this is our company's policy' and I didn't get the job, although I was fully qualified. I got a job, nevertheless, at the Tidewater Oil Co., which was an American company belonging to Paul Getty.

Later, my first husband decided to go to the US to study and stay there. I helped him actively to apply to numerous universities, but when he got accepted, I did not wish to go with him and decided to separate. He left, and I stayed in Turkey. We had been married for three and a half years, without having children. I got married at 17 and divorced at 21.

This was not a particularly courageous thing to do, for it was fairly common to divorce. But in my case, it was an uncharacteristically courageous act, because Ceki had been a manipulative person, guiding me in every aspect of life. In time, I rebelled against this, being perhaps somewhat harsh because he refused to let me go. At that stage, my character, which was on the timid, docile and introverted side, had to change, and it did.

Then I returned to Istanbul, lived with my family and worked with my father, went horseback riding, traveled, had a wider and expanding social entourage, or circle of acquaintances and friends.

My parents were very supportive, although they probably were a bit sorry and would have wanted the marriage to have succeeded. But I could not bring myself to go to America with someone I did not love, leaving my family, and living under suppression. My close family consisted of three elderly people: my parents, who were already nearing their sixties, and the older Tantika. They would have had nobody had I left them, which I just could not do.

In fact, after I started working for my father, the last company I had worked for in Ankara, had a meeting at the Istanbul Hilton Hotel, and asked me to do some secretarial work for it. Then and there, one of the persons for whom I acted as secretary, someone from Italy, offered me a job in Italy at a salary sufficient to live decently there: 250 dollars per month, which was attractive and consistent with prevailing salaries in the West.

I thought about it a lot, but did not take the job. Maybe if I had, my whole life would have been altered, but I could not abandon my people here. Eventually, they all died practically in my arms, which makes my decision, in retrospect, appropriate.

When I started to work for my father in 1958, I learned the business. After a year, Mr. Grünstayn, who had acted as our sales person, that is, took the orders, left us and I started to visit the customers myself. By that time, we had obtained the agency of the Ferro Enamels Company of Holland, which produced raw materials, installations, machinery and equipment for the enameling and ceramic industries. I went to Holland to learn the business.

In those years, 1958-1959 maybe, I was the only woman who drove herself to factories to sell raw materials and machinery. I was extremely well received. Even in Holland, when we visited factories and foundries, they were surprised to see me, because even there, there were no women in this line of work, and it surprised them all that the first woman to do this should come from Turkey.

After my divorce, I went to the Istanbul Atli Spor Kulübü [Istanbul Horseback Riding Club] with a friend from elementary school, Rozi Arditti. Thereafter, between my two marriages, from the age of 21 to 28, I went horseback riding and on vacations frequently with friends.

In 1964, my family had already moved to Yesilyurt.

I met my second husband in 1965 through a friend, Sehnaz Akinci, at the horse-riding club. She lived on the same floor, in the same apartment, as a lady called Mina Urgan. I met her for the first time when I went to Sehnaz's apartment. Mina Urgan had had a beloved classmate at the American College, Saffet Orgun, who had passed away, and had a son, Günel Orgun. He was a young man of about my age, who had been married and divorced after three years. Mina thought that we should be compatible, and that being both divorcees, we could have some good time together. So, she introduced us. Günel had a motorboat. Mina asked my friend Sehnaz and me to a boat ride on a Sunday. We went and that is how we met.

At that time, Günel was on the verge of buying a farm by the sea in Datca [a town in southwest Turkey], together with four friends. The farm was called Mersincik and was situated at 18 kilometers from Bodrum, on the opposite shore, and could only be reached from there by sea. It was a dream- like place of 5000 dönüms [approx. 1250 acres]. Some 500 dönüms of it was flatland by the sea; the rest consisted of hills covered with trees that reached 800 meters. There were 1500 tangerine, orange and grapefruit trees, and a flock of 150 goats. The hills were full of olive trees of the variety grown for their oil.

Everyone dreams of owning a farm at some time or another, but the fact that Günel was about to realize that dream was one of the things that impressed me the most about him. Our mutual love of classical music also drew us to each other. We got married three months after we met, in 1965, and have been together for 42 years.

Mina Urgan, who had brought us together, was a retired professor of English Literature at the University of Istanbul. She later became famous with her best-selling book 'Bir Dinozor'un Anilari' [Memoirs of a Dinosaur] and its sequel, 'Bir Dinozor'un Gezileri' [Travels of a Dinosaur], where she mentions us, our family and our children.

We got married at the Üsküdar Registry Office. Günel is a graduate of Robert College 22. He had lots of friends from school, Turkish, Jewish, Greek, Armenians, etc., reflecting the diversity of RC's student body. His family was very Westernized. He teases me to this day by saying that my family is far more 'a la turca' than his. After all, my grandfather was from Canakkale, used to smoke the 'narghile' sitting cross-legged on the sofa, on top of cushions, played with worry beads, etc. In comparison, Günel's relatives were the avant-garde of the day, having been to Europe, studied at the Galatasaray Lycée, in short, much more Western than my relatives.

Shortly after we got married in 1965, Günel and I drove to Bodrum in my car. On the old highway, going from Milas to Bodrum, there was a very steep and curved road, winding through the pine forests, with a precipice on one side and a mountain on the other. That road was called 'Avram Yokusu' [Avram's Slope]. It must have been named after Avram Galante [Jewish historian who was also one of the first members of parliament after the Turkish Republic was founded], who was born in Bodrum. That road is no longer used, because there is a new highway going to Bodrum by the coast. A real pity.

From Bodrum, we crossed to Mersincik by boat and spent our honeymoon there. We had 2500 olive trees - of the eating-olives variety - planted. We did this by hiring 45 workers from the surrounding villages. They worked on daily wages and slept in caves that were around the farm. The wives of the 'kahya' and the workers cooked food in big cauldrons and baked bread in the oven situated in the garden. In 1965, Datca was a largely undeveloped place. As a result of the work we provided, a traveling open-air cinema came there, for the first time, because they got informed that our 45 workers had earned some money. Nothing like that had ever happened in the surrounding villages at that time.

When we got back, we rented a house on the Bosphorus, on the Asian coast. In those years it was cheaper to live in a 'Yali' [sea-side villa] than in an apartment in town. Günel worked in an automotive company called Tatko. He was in charge of the spare parts department.

Then we had two children: my son Orhan, born in 1966, and my daughter Gün, born in 1968. I worked in my father's office. My aunt Viktorya, who was like a grandmother to them, came to stay with us on Monday mornings and went back on Friday evenings. This continued until my son turned two. I stopped working when my daughter was about to be born, because Tantika had become too old to take care of two small children.

One day, my husband and I had a serious talk and considered the two alternatives open to us: either we moved near my parents' home in Yesilyurt and left the children with them when I went to work, or he quit his job and went to work with my father. We chose the latter because my father had a good business; we also reasoned that we could not leave him alone, as he could not hear well, could not drive, could not talk with the clients on the phone and that, in short, the business would collapse if we left.

I remember the particulars well: Günel used to earn 4000 liras per month, plus a bonus, at Tatko. He came to work with my father for 2500 liras per month. He worked there for about ten years, and the business prospered, thanks to his ability, regardless of how much the market situation may have contributed to it.

By the year 1971, we had saved up enough money to buy an apartment. But we had always lived in nice houses by the sea, with gardens, and could not envisage being squeezed in a town apartment. We looked at the choices a little away from the city in order to afford a house with a garden. We were lucky to buy a farm in Polonezköy [a village 15 km north of Istanbul, on the Asian side, founded by refugees of Polish origin, after the Crimean War] 23 for the price of an apartment in town.

We then started a poultry farm. Our intention was to stop working in business, as soon as the farm would support us because, by that time, Günel had had enough of city life in general and business life, in particular. The children, who were two and four when we moved to Polonezköy, later attended the village elementary school, which consisted of a single room where all 5 grades were taught by a single teacher. We had a very good life there. We owned cows, a few sheep, ducks, cats and dogs, and some 6000 chicken. Four families worked for us. We made a living by selling eggs.

There we lived a life completely different and removed from Jewish culture. We lived after all in a Catholic village populated by people of Polish origin. But my children have always been aware of my being Jewish, from what I told them and from visiting my parents' home frequently. They went to synagogue with me for weddings. After attending the wedding of one of my cousins, my daughter who was four, was so impressed that she said she wanted to become a bride when she grew up, thinking that it was a profession. Also, I usually cooked, and still do, Sephardic dishes like gratinated spinach and squash. As for circumcision, my son was circumcised at the age of eight, by a medical specialist.

We lived all year long in Polonezköy, summer and winter, for ten years. After elementary school, my children attended for one year a secondary school called Kültür Lisesi. I stayed with them in Yesilyurt, at my parents', and Günel stayed in Polonezköy, where I went with the children to spend the weekends. At the end of that year, the Kültür Lisesi was closed down. Then, the children went to boarding school, at the Esenis Lisesi, for three years.

However, we would have had to move to town, when the time came to attend university. So, we decided to get an apartment in town and bought one in Cengelköy, before they finished the lycée. Eventually they both succeeded in being accepted to the Bogazici University [24 ]. It's then that we sold the chickens, and stopped the poultry farming.

We always spoke Turkish at home, but I spoke French with Tantika, and hearing the language almost daily no doubt helped the children a lot. Proof is that while at the university, they took French courses at the French Cultural Center, and were able to speak it after just two months.

During the four years when the children were in university, we drove to the Aegean and Mediterranean coasts, the four of us, during the semester holidays.

While I managed the poultry farm in Polonezköy, my husband commuted daily by car to the office in Sirkeci. In 1978, he decided to quit commerce for good and informed the Ferro Enamels factory in Holland of his decision. They appointed a new representative, who was the technical manager of one of our customers. We offered to help him by transferring all our know-how and introducing him to all our customers. In fact, my husband worked with him for several months. Business turned out to be quite good the first year and the new rep earned a lot of money.

However, by the end of the year 1978 or 1979, Turkey was in a severe economic crisis, as a result of which imports stopped completely. Turkey had to reschedule its heavy external debt, accepting to repay it in installments in ten years. This affected us, too, since we had a commission due to us which we could not receive until the end of these ten years.

On the whole, though, our decision to stop the business when we did was quite fortuitous, as we would have been out of work at the end of one year. People who knew us thought that it was all pre-planned - that we had foreseen the situation and stopped in time. The truth is that is was just a matter of pure luck.

We had a similarly positive experience at a later date. In 1981, we sold our 6000 chickens and moved to town to prepare for our children's university studies. We had to do that because there were no dormitories available for people who were residents of Istanbul. So, we liquidated our poultry farm and bought an apartment in Cengelköy. Within a year after that, the poultry business collapsed, and people in it went bankrupt. In one case, the entrepreneur concerned - the Jewish owner of the Yupi poultry farm in Izmir - committed suicide. As things turned out, we stopped the poultry business just in time, again by pure chance.

My husband was 42 years old when he retired. His hobby was skin-diving and spear-fishing. When we moved to Cengelköy, he also started line-fishing with a friend who was a professional fisherman. They went out fishing by boat in the Bosphorus, the Marmara and Black Seas. Günel didn't engage in it for profit; he gave his friend all his catch but had a splendid time, which is what drove him to this activity. This he did for about four or five years.

After moving to Cengelköy, I, on the other hand, took a five-week course in hand-weaving rugs and kilims. After acquiring the necessary skill and familiarity with the business, I bought some looms and started a cottage industry, together with a friend, Belkis Balpinar, who was a graduate in Textile Designing from the Academy of Fine Arts. We worked together for eight years, Belkis doing the designing and I supervising the weaving. Our workers consisted of housewives from Malatya, who lived in a district called Kavacik.

We bought the raw wool [fleece] from Konya and had it carded and spun by hand. Then we dyed it ourselves by boiling it in big cauldrons on open fires in the garden. We produced many valuable kilims in this manner, only one of each design. I took care of the production end on my account, that is, Belkis paid for the preparation of the yarn and I, who owned the looms and employed the workers, produced the final product - the kilims themselves.

According to this arrangement, known as 'sur façon,' I financed the whole process of manufacturing and charged so much per square meter. In turn, Belkis, who paid me by the square meter produced, sold the kilims in exhibitions she organized in places like New York, Washington, San Francisco, London, Milan, and even Tokyo. She still does this; I, on the other hand, had to stop when my parents became too old and I had to move in with them.

The truth is that I never earned anything from the weaving business, because I felt that the workers were not paid enough, and kept raising their wages. I had, nevertheless, a wonderful time during those eight years, thanks to all those beautiful exhibitions, and meeting all those interesting collectors.

In 1988, my son Orhan graduated from the Mechanical Engineering Department of the Bogazici University and went to the University of California at Berkeley for his master's degree. When he was about to start on his doctorate, he changed subjects and studied Linguistics instead.

In 1993, he married Sharon Inkelas, a linguist like himself, and they had two sons, Jem in 1995, and Eli in 1998. Unfortunately they were divorced, though amicably, in 2006. The boys live with their mother, but my son takes them a couple of days a week, when they spend some time together.

In 1989, my daughter Gün graduated from the English Language and Literature Department of the Bogazici University. She went for her master's degree to the University of Edinburgh, and then for her doctor's degree to the University of Glasgow. In 1994, she married Stewart Carruth, a housing expert. They had a son, Jamie, in 2000, and a daughter, Lisha, in 2003.

After closing the business and the poultry farm, we rented out our office space and have been living off the income. We also have our retirement salaries. We still have the property in Polonezköy and spend eight months of the year there and only the four winter months in Cengelköy.

Every year, we visit our children in the USA and Scotland; they, in turn, often come to visit us in Turkey. Sometimes we all get together at my daughter's home in Scotland.

Jem and Eli, our American grandchildren, go to an elementary school which teaches half day in English and half day in Spanish. In 2002, I saw an ad of the Cervantes Institute about a course of Modern Spanish for Sephardi, and I immediately enrolled in it. Thanks to that decision, I can now speak Spanish with my grandchildren.

That course had another interesting outcome: It helped me remember the Ladino language I had heard and understood, but never spoke as a child. In that course, we started to prepare a dictionary in Ladino-Spanish-English- Turkish, which, in time, Antonio Ruiz Tinoco, who is a Professor of Spanish in Japan, installed on the Internet.

One day, I visited the offices of the Shalom periodical in order to buy a book in Ladino called 'En Tierras Ajenas Yo Me Vo Murir.' Gila Erbes, who was in charge of the bookstore, proposed that I should write a piece in Ladino. I wrote a couple of pieces in my free time, and thus met Karen Gerson Sarhon there. Karen was at that time organizing the Ottoman-Turkish Sephardic Culture Research Center. She asked me to talk about our Internet Dictionary at the opening reunion. This was the beginning of a deep friendship and fruitful collaboration.

Now, since 2004, we are publishing El Amaneser, which is a monthly supplement in Ladino of the Shalom Newspaper. Karen is the editor-in-chief of the publication, and I am the co-editor and coordinator. We receive by electronic mail articles from the whole world, largely from people who have not forgotten the language, and we publish them. Those people who see their pieces published become incredibly emotional and happy.

I am very pleased to be doing such a sentimental job at this stage of my life. My mother loved the Judeo-Spanish language very much. Although we always spoke French at home, she went back to speaking Ladino in the last two years of her life. And I feel that, with this activity, I do something that would have pleased her a lot.

Glossary

1 Shalom

Istanbul Jewish weekly, founded by Avram Leyon in 1948. During Leyon's ownership, the paper was entirely in Ladino. Upon the death of its founder in 1985, the newspaper passed into the hands of the Jewish community owned company Gozlem Gazetecilik. It then started to be published in Turkish with one or two pages in Ladino. It is presently distributed to 4,000 subscribers.

2 El Amaneser

Istanbul Jewish monthly supplement to the Shalom newspaper. Founded as part of the activities of the Ottoman-Turkish Sephardic Culture Research Center in March 2005, it is published wholly in Ladino with subscribers and writers from all over the world. It is presently distributed to all Shalom subscribers plus an additional 250 who have subscribed only to El Amaneser.

3 Ladino

Also known as Judeo-Spanish, it is the spoken and written Hispanic language of Jews of Spanish and Portuguese origin. Ladino did not become a specifically Jewish language until after the expulsion of the Jews from Spain in 1492 (and Portugal in 1495) - it was merely the language of their province. It is also known as Judezmo, Dzhudezmo, or Spaniolit. When the Jews were expelled from Spain and Portugal they were cut off from the further development of the language, but they continued to speak it in the communities and countries to which they emigrated. Ladino therefore reflects the grammar and vocabulary of 15th-century Spanish. In Amsterdam, England and Italy, those Jews who continued to speak 'Ladino' were in constant contact with Spain and therefore they basically continued to speak the Castilian Spanish of the time. Ladino was nowhere near as diverse as the various forms of Yiddish, but there were still two different dialects, which corresponded to the different origins of the speakers: 'Oriental' Ladino was spoken in Turkey and Rhodes and reflected Castilian Spanish, whereas 'Western' Ladino was spoken in Greece, Macedonia, Bosnia, Serbia and Romania, and preserved the characteristics of northern Spanish and Portuguese. The vocabulary of Ladino includes hundreds of archaic Spanish words, and also includes many words from different languages: mainly from Hebrew, Arabic, Turkish, Greek, French, and to a lesser extent from Italian. In the Ladino spoken in Israel, several words have been borrowed from Yiddish. For most of its lifetime, Ladino was written in the Hebrew alphabet, in Rashi script, or in Solitreo. It was only in the late 19th century that Ladino was ever written using the Latin alphabet. At various times Ladino has been spoken in North Africa, Egypt, Greece, Turkey, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, Romania, France, Israel, and, to a lesser extent, in the United States and Latin America.

4 Wealth Tax

Introduced in December 1942 by the Grand National Assembly in a desperate effort to resolve depressed economic conditions caused by wartime mobilization measures against a possible German influx to Turkey via the occupied Greece. It was administered in such a way to bear most heavily on urban merchants, many of who were Christians and Jews. Those who lacked the financial liquidity had to sell everything or declare bankruptcy and even work on government projects in order to pay their debts, in the process losing most or all of their properties. Those unable to pay were subjected to deportation to labor camps until their obligations were paid off.

5 Rashi alphabet

A Hebrew alphabet traditionally used for Rashi (Rabbi Solomon ben Isaac, 1040-1105) commentaries of the Bible and the Talmud, it is also the traditional alphabet of Judeo-Spanish. The Judeo-Spanish alphabet also used certain characters to denote the Spanish sounds that are alien to the Hebrew phonetics. Judeo-Spanish religious as well as secular texts were written in Rashi letters up until the introduction of the Latin alphabet, first by Alliance Israelite Universelle after 1860.

6 The Ottoman Empire in World War I

The Ottoman Empire entered the war on the side of the Central Powers in October 1914, as they were the ones fighting the traditional Ottoman enemy: the Russian Empire. During the winter of 1914-15 the Ottomans launched an ill prepared campaign in the Caucasus against Russia with the hope to be able to turn the local Turkish- speaking Russian subjects (Azerbaijan) to their sides. Instead, the Russian counter-offensive drove the Ottomans back behind the borders and Russia occupied North Eastern Anatolia. In the spring of 1915 the Entente was to occupy the straits (Bosphorus and Dardanelles) and ensure the passage of supply to the Russian Black Sea ports. British troops landed in Galippoli (Dardanelles) but were not able to expand their beachheads against the army of Mustafa Kemal Pasha (later Kemal Ataturk); they evacuated in February 1916. Although the Ottomans were able to resist the British in Mesopotamia (Iraq) in 1915, they finally took Baghdad in 1917 and drove the Ottomans out of the entire province. Although the Russians made further advance in Eastern Anatolia they left the war after the October Revolution and according to the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk (March 1918) the Ottomans were able to regain Eastern Anatolia. Due to the Arab Revolt supported by the British as well as the direct British military intervention the Ottomans lost both Palestine and Syria; Mustafa Kemal was able only to withdraw his forces intact to Anatolia. Sultan Mohammed VI (1818-22) was forced to sign an armistice with the Entente (October 1918) and as a result British and French battle ships reached the port of Istanbul. The Sultan finally signed the Peace Treaty in Sevres in August 1920, according to which the Arab and Kurdish provinces and Armenia were lost as well as the whole of European Turkey with Istanbul, and the Aegean littoral was to be given to Greece.

7 Raki

Anise liquor, popular in many places in the Balkans, Anatolia and the Middle East. It is principally the same as Greek Ouzo, Bulgarian Mastika or Arabic Arak.

8 Surname Law

Passed on 21st June 1934, in the early years of the Turkish Republic, requiring every citizen to acquire a surname. Up to then the Muslims, contrary to the Jews and Christians, were mostly called by their father's name beside their own.

9 Turkish War of Independence (1919-1922)

After the Ottoman capitulation to the Entente, Mustafa Kemal Pasha (later Kemal Ataturk) organized the Turkish Nationalist Party (1919) and set up a new government in Ankara to rival Sultan Mohammed VI, who had been forced to sign the treaty of Sevres (August 1920). He was able to regain much of the lost provinces; stopped the advancing Greek troops only 8 km from Ankara and was able to finally expel them from Anatolia (August 1922). He gained important victories in diplomacy too: he managed to have both the French and the Italian withdrawn from Anatolia by October 1921 and Soviet Russia recognize the country and establish the Russian-Turkish boundary. Signing a British-proposed armistice in Thrace he managed to have the Greeks withdrawn beyond the Meric (Maritsa) River and accepted a continuous Entente presence in the straits and Istanbul. In November 1922 the Grand National Assembly abolished the Sultanate (retained the Caliphate though) by which act the Ottoman Empire 'de jure' ceased to exist. Sultan Mohammed VI fled to Malta and his cousin, Abdulmejid, was named the Caliph. Turkey was the only defeated country able to negotiate with the Entente as equal and influence the terms of the peace treaty. At the Lausanne conference (November 1922- July 1923) the Entente recognized the present day borders of Turkey, including the areas acquired through warfare after the signing of the Treaty in Sevres.

10 Amical

Jewish youth club, formerly located on the first floor at the back of the Sisli Beth Israel Synagogue in Istanbul, and frequented by university students, who took part in social and cultural activities like theater performances, conferences and dance parties.

11 Or Ahayim Hospital

Istanbul Jewish hospital, established in 1898 with the decree of Sultan Abdulhamit II and the help of idealistic doctors and philanthropists. As a result of various fundraising activities the initially small clinic was expanded in 1900. Today, the hospital is still operating, serving both Jewish and non-Jewish patients with the latest technologies and qualified staff.

12 The 20 military classes

In May 1941 non-Muslims aged 26-45 were called to military service. Some of them had just come back from their military service but were told to report for duty again. Great chaos occurred, as the Turkish officials took men from the streets and from their jobs and sent them to military camps. They were used in road building for a year and disbanded in July 1942.

13 Alliance Israelite Universelle

An international Jewish organization based in France. It was founded in Paris in 1860 by Adolphe Gremieux, as a response to the Damascus Affair, with the goal to protect human rights of Jews as citizens of the countries where they live. The organization was created to combine the ideals of self defense and self sufficiency through education and professional development among Jews around the world. In addition, the organization operated a number of Jewish day schools and has done a lot to standardize the Ladino language. The Alliance schools were organized in network with their Central Committee in Paris. The teaching body was usually the alumni trained in France. The schools emphasized modern sciences and history in their curriculum; nevertheless Hebrew and religion were also taught. The Alliance Israelite Universelle ideology consisted in teaching the local language to Jews so they could be integrated to their country's culture. This was part of the modernization of the Jews. Most Ottoman Jews, however, did not take up the Turkish language (because it was optional), and as a result a new generation of Ottoman Jews grew up that was more familiar with France and the West than with the surrounding society. In the Balkans the first school was opened in Greece (Volos) in 1865, then in the Ottoman Empire in Adrianople in 1867, Shumla (Shumen) in 1870 and in Istanbul, Smyrna (Izmir), and Salonika in 1870s. In 1870, Carl Netter of the AIU received a tract of land from the Ottoman Empire as a gift and started an agricultural school, Mikveh Israel, the first modern Jewish agricultural settlement in the Land of Israel. The modernist Jewish elite and intelligentsia of the late 19th-century Ottoman Empire was known for having graduated from Alliance schools; they were closely attached to the Young Turk circles, and after 1908 three of them (Carasso, Farraggi, and Masliah) were members of the new Ottoman Chamber of Deputies.

14 Ataturk, Mustafa Kemal (1881-1938)

Great Turkish statesman, the founder of modern Turkey. Mustafa Kemal was born in Salonika; he adapted the name Ataturk (father of the Turks) when he introduced surnames in Turkey. He joined the liberal Young Turk movement, aiming at turning the Ottoman Empire into a modern Turkish nation state and also participated in the Young Turk Revolt (1908). He fought in the Second Balkan War (1913) and World War I. After the Ottoman capitulation to the Entente, Mustafa Kemal Pasha organized the Turkish Nationalist Party (1919) and set up a new government in Ankara to rival Sultan Mohammed VI, who had been forced to sign the treaty of Sevres (1920), according to which Turkey would loose the Arab and Kurdish provinces, Armenia, and the whole of European Turkey with Istanbul and the Aegean littoral to Greece. He was able to regain much of the lost provinces and expelled the Greeks from Anatolia. He abolished the Sultanate and attained international recognition for the Turkish Republic at the Lausanne Treaty (1923). Under his presidency Turkey became a constitutional state (1924), universal male suffrage was introduced, state and church were divided and he also introduced the Latin script.

15 Journal d'Orient

The main newspaper of the French-speaking Sephardi Jews in Turkey, it was published between 1917 and 1971 by Albert Karasu, his wife Angele Loreley and Jean de Peyrat idi. It consisted of four pages of daily news. The paper ceased publication on 25th August 1971, when Albert Karasu retired.

16 English High School for Girls

It was established by Lady Redcliffe, the wife of the British Ambassador, in 1849 on Bursa Street, Beyoglu, Istanbul. In 1979 Great Britain stopped subsidizing the school and the Turkish government took it over; it was renamed English Secondary. In 1980 new classes were introduced and it was renamed again and called Beyoglu Anatolian High School.

17 Neve Shalom Synagogue

Situated near the Galata Tower, it is the largest synagogue of Istanbul. Although the present building was erected only in 1952, a synagogue bearing the same name had been standing there as early as the 15th century.

18 Betar

19 Creation of the State of Israel

From 1917 Palestine was a British mandate. Also in 1917 the Balfour Declaration was published, which supported the idea of the creation of a Jewish homeland in Palestine. Throughout the interwar period, Jews were migrating to Palestine, which caused the conflict with the local Arabs to escalate. On the other hand, British restrictions on immigration sparked increasing opposition to the mandate powers. Immediately after World War II there were increasing numbers of terrorist attacks designed to force Britain to recognize the right of the Jews to their own state. These aspirations provoked the hostile reaction of the Palestinian Arabs and the Arab states. In February 1947 the British foreign minister Ernest Bevin ceded the Palestinian mandate to the UN, which took the decision to divide Palestine into a Jewish section and an Arab section and to create an independent Jewish state. On 14th May 1948 David Ben Gurion proclaimed the creation of the State of Israel. It was recognized immediately by the US and the USSR. On the following day the armies of Egypt, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, Yemen, Iraq, Syria and Lebanon attacked Israel, starting a war that continued, with intermissions, until the beginning of 1949 and ended in a truce.

20 Kizba

(Hebrew for 'taxation') Turkish Jewish community organization, which collects annual taxes from community members.

21 Events of 6th-7th September 1955

Pogrom against the ethnic Greeks in Istanbul. It broke out after the rumor that Ataturk's house in Salonika (Greece) was being bombarded. As most of the Greek houses and businesses had been registered by the authorities earlier it was easy to carry out the pogrom. The Greek (and other non-Muslim communities) were hit severely: 3 people were killed, 30 were wounded, also 1004 houses, 4348 shops, 27 pharmacies and laboratories, 21 factories, 110 restaurants and cafes, 73 churches, 26 schools, 5 sports clubs and 2 cemeteries were destroyed; 200 Greek women were raped. A great wave of immigration occurred after these events and Istanbul was cleansed of its Greek population.

22 Robert College

The oldest and most prestigious English language school in Istanbul since the mid-19th century, providing education to the elite of Turkey as well as other countries in the region. Robert College was born in 1863 in the village of Bebek by the Bosphorus, when Christopher Robert approached Cyrus Hamlin with his desires and found a receptive audience. Hamlin, an American schoolmaster, had been running a school, a bakery and a laundry in Bebek at the time. Robert was a wealthy American industrialist desiring to establish in Turkey a modern university along American lines with instruction in English. These two men, an educator and a philanthropist, successfully collaborated to found Robert College. Until 1971, it included two campuses: the actual Robert College exclusively for boys and the American College for Girls. In 1971, the American College for Girls and the Robert College boys' school united and co-education started under the name of Robert College at the previous American College for Girls campus. At the same time the Turkish government took over the boys' campus, which became Bogazici University (Bosphorus University). Robert College and today's Bogazici University were and still are the best schools in Turkey. Through the years, these schools have had graduates occupying top positions in Turkey's business, political, academic and art sectors.

23 Crimean war

1853-1956, in many respects the first modern war in History. The Russian Empire with aspirations concerning the Balkans occupied the Ottoman principalities of Moldova and Walachia in July 1853. The great powers fearing from a Russian advance in the region and wanting to preserve the European equilibrium sided with the Ottoman Empire in the conflict: Great Britain and France declared war on Russia in March 1854. Although the Habsburg Empire remained neutral its threats to enter the war forced the Russians to evacuate the two Ottoman principalities and they were occupied by the Austrians. In September 1854 allied troops landed on the Crimea in order to capture Sevastopol, the major Russian Black Sea port. The Russians defended the city heroically for 11 months under the command of V. Kornilov and P. Nakhimov. Allied commanders were Lord Raglan for the British and Marshal Saint-Arnaud, succeeded later by Marshal Canrobert, for the French. Military operations, which were marked on both sides by great stubbornness, gallantry, and disregard for casualties, remained localized. Famous episodes were the battles of Balaklava and Inkerman (1854) and the allied capture (1855) of Malakhov and Redan, which preceded the fall of Sevastopol. The accession (1855) of Tsar Alexander II and the capture of Sevastopol led to peace negotiations that resulted in the Treaty of Paris (February 1856). The Crimean war stopped Russian aspirations towards the Balkans and the Straits for another 22 years and rescued the position of the Ottoman Empire as a great power. It also resulted in spoiling the previously very good Habsburg-Russian relation.

24 Bogazici University

Successor of Robert College, the old and prestigious American school, founded in Istanbul in 1863. With the consent of the administration of Robert College it was founded jointly with the Turkish state in 1971. Since then the university has expanded both physically and academically and today it is growing in popularity.

Josef Baruhovic

The Baruhovic family posing for a photo outside their home in Pristina

Josef Baruhovic
Interviewer: Rachel Chanin

My family background
Growing up
During the war
Post-war

My family background

My family was a typical assimilated Jewish family for this part of the world. Life and circumstances moved us from place to place, but even today I remain a typical assimilated Jew. I am called Josef (Juski) Baruhovic and I was born on December 21, 1934. My mother and father lived in Pristina, where my father's family was from. However, my mother wanted to be surrounded by her family for my birth, so I came into this world in Sarajevo.

My mati, as we called my mother, Simha (Sida) Baruhovic (maiden name- Izrael), was born in 1906 to a large Sarajevan family. She had three brothers and three sisters, and they all lived comfortably in Sarajevo, where my grandfather, Josef Izrael, made a good living off the shares he owned in various companies.

He indulged his children and catered to their interests. For instance, he sent my mother to Vienna for voice lessons when she was a young woman. She had a wonderful voice and she tried to encourageus to appreciate music as much as she did.

My grandfather was a very smart and capable man; he had been a supplier to the Austro-Hungarian army, and then he lived off his investments. His health was bad, though, and to avoid problems, he spent winters in a hotel in Herceg Novi, on the Adriatic coast. He died in 1935 in Mostar at my mother's sister Erna'shouse.

His body was transported back to Sarajevo where he was buried. He was lucky to have died in bed and not in a gas chamber, as was the fate of many of my family members and so many other Jews here.

When he and my grandmother, Rahela Izrael (maiden name - Salom), married, she brought a large dowry to the marriage. In those days, marriage was more of an obligation and social merger than a question of love. People married partners who would improve their social standing, and the matchmaker was the one who made those arrangements. The Jews had their matchmakers, whowere usually quite talkative and skilled women, whose job it was to seekout the right person.

There were Serbian, Turkish, and Muslim matchmakers, and each one matched pairs from within their religious group-intermarriagewas unheard of at the time and certainly not the job of the matchmaker. A family got the word out that they were looking to marry off a child, the other families did the same, and the matchmaker connected the two.

It was important that they both be from similar financial backgrounds and that Jews married Jews. The last step of the process was for the two young people to meet each other. It was almost a blind process for them. The goal was always a good and reasonable match. The matchmaker was of course compensated with a "gift."

My father's family was of lower social standing than my mother's. They were small-scale merchants in Pristina, where they owned a small family-run shop. My grandfather knew how to read and write and his shop they wrote in Hebrew letters and spoke Ladino. My father's family was mainly looked after by my Vava (Pristina Ladino for grandmother), Rahela Baruh (maiden name -Simon).

My grandfather, Mose Baruh, liked to drink and did not make too much of an effort to look after his large family. Those responsibilities fell on my Vava. Looking back, it seems to me that the women in my family were much more capable than the men, starting with my Vava, then my mother,and now my sister. Otherwise the Baruhs were a typical Pristina Sephardic family--traditional in their religious observances and modest in their means.

My father, Haim (or Mika) Baruh was born in Pristina in 1898. He studied medicine and dentistry in Zagreb and in Prague. When he finished his studies he enlisted in the military and became an active officer. When he joined the military he Serbianized his name. He was not compelled to make this change but felt it would help his career and make life lesscomplicated.

My father knew how to read Hebrew but he did not understand it. He learned Hebrew in school in Pristina with Rabbi Levi. At that time, Jewish youth were obligated to go to Jewish school for at least a year or two to learn how to read and write Hebrew. My mother could also read Hebrew, which was unusual for women of her generation.

In Pristina and Sarajevo all the Sephardi Jews spoke Ladino. My parents spoke both Serbian and Ladino at home. When they wanted to hide something from us they would speak Ladino. But we knew Ladino and understood what they said. Today my sister and her husband try the same trick on their children. When they do not want their children to understandthey speak in Spanish and the rest of the time in Hebrew.

Growing up

Trying to recall our religious practices before the war is like looking back through a thick fog and we really weren't very observant. We did go to synagogue on occasion, and the first time I even saw an Ashkenazi servive was in the synagogue in Zagreb in 1936, when we moved there. That's where my father had been transferred to and my sister, Rahela (Seli or Selika, as I call her), was born there in 1939.

Since my father was an officer, we also had many military people around our house helping us. My father even had a car and a chauffeur to drive him. As an officer, my father, in general, socialized with other officers. My mother generally socialized with Jews in Zagreb.

During the war

In the early 1940s, a huge number of jews Jews from Germany and Austria sought refuge inthe Kingdom of Yugoslavia. Every Jewish family was expected to take in at least one of these families. We had a big apartment and good conditions, and we took in a couple from Germany. They were in such terrible straits -- they had no one, nothing, and they were running.

While they were with us, we talked a lot (my mother knew German from her studies in Vienna) and they warned us about what lay ahead and told us we needed to run. My father did not want to listen. He would say, "I was born here. Why do I need to hide, to run?"

In 1941 much of what the young couple told us came true, but a month or two before the war began, my mother, sister and I moved from Zagreb to Sarajevo. She believed that young German couple and wanted to be with her family. And I must say this: my mother had an instinct for danger that, over the next three years, never deserted her, and it saved our life more times than I can count.

The German invasion came in April 1941; it lasted a short time, only two or three weeks and the Yugoslav army capitulated. My father was taken prisoner as an officer, which we only found out later.

At the beginning we stayed with my mother's sister, Esperanza, in the center of Sarajevo. From her apartment, near the large Cathedral, about 10 meters up the hill, I could see the Ustashe destroying and looting what was perhaps the most beautiful synagogue in the Balkans.

Aunt Esperanza was taken to the Jasenovac or Gradiska concentration camp where they murdered her. Once the Ustashe took over and the threat of danger increased, we left this apartment and moved in with another one of my mother's sisters who lived a bit further out of town.

They started issues sanctions against the Jews. First came the curfews, then we had to wear yellow badges in the shape of the letter Z (Zido = Jew). Commissars were entrusted to control Jewish property, basically to ensure that the Jews did not try to sell their property.

One of these commissars lived in my uncle's apartment. At this point, special police began picking people up on the streets, ten to twenty people a night, putting them into trucks and taking them to camps. Later, they began going from house to house.

We knew that there were camps, but we did not know what happened in them. We certainly did not know that they were death camps. Therefore, people did not look at the camps as such a tragic thing. We each had a small sack packed, with underwear, towels, a little food, some clothing so we were prepared should they come to take us.

One day my mother's sister, Aunt Erna, sent her Catholic Croatian servant from Mostar up to Sarajevo to bring me to Mostar ,where she and her husband lived. We travelled by train, and since I was so small, no one asked any questions. A week later my aunt sent a taxi to Sarajevo to pick up my mother and sister and bring them, too. Of course, she had to pay for these interventions. My aunt and uncle did a great mitzvah during the war. They saved and helped many Jews, and at one point there must have been twenty of us living with them. That is how wecame to Mostar, which was a relatively livable town under Italian control.The Italians were entirely different from the Ustashe, and their treatment of the Jews was much better and more humane. We had freedom to move around,and we did not have to wear the yellow Z.

My uncle, David Kohen, Erna's husband, was a religious man. Every Shabbat he read something but I do not remember what. Ironically, I had religious lessons during the war. While we lived there my uncle sent my sister, our cousins and me for private religious lessons with the rabbi two or three times a week, where we learned Hebrew, and about the holidays and history.

We lived with Aunt Erna and Uncle David for a year and a half until the idiotic evil Ustashe bandits took over from the Italians in September 1943. Since we knew what it meant to live under Ustashe control, we knew it was time to run. My father was from Pristina and since that region was still under Italian control my mother decided that should be our next destination. Aunt Erna and Aunt Blanka went to an Italian camp where they were treated correctly and eventually joined the partisans. Uncle David stayed behind, and he was killed in Mostar.

Uncle David had been a friend of the Italian Consul, a philatelist. David gave him German marks, which were very valuable at the time, in return for a letter granting my mother, sister and me permission to pass through all check points on the way to Pristina. My mother guarded that letter with her life. Literally. We went from Mostar to Dubrovnik, from Dubrovnik by ship to a port in Albania, and from the Albanian port by bus or some other transport to Pristina. The entire way we were so worried that there would be mines orother obstacles on the roads.

My father's family was still there in Pristina in mid-1943 and things were relatively quiet. When we arrived we stayed at one of the two houses that my parents owned. However, very soon the Italians begancapitulating, and once again my mother understood that we needed to flee from the incoming Germans, who were only days away.

Now we hurried back into Albania, but before leaving Pristina my mother sold one of our houses so we would have money to live off of. Selling the house was a great production. Albanians can bevery honest and extremely strict, as my mother found out. My mother made a deal with an Albanian who gave her a deposit with the understanding that he would get the house when he paid the remainder.

A short while later, another Albanian appeared who was willing to pay more. My mother, like a shrewd businesswoman, decided to give it to the second buyer. When my mother tried to return the deposit to the first buyer he tried to kill her. She cried and complained and barely escaped with her life. He figured that since she was a woman, and women are not on the same level as men, he'd better let her go. In the end we sold the house and fled for Skadar, Albania.

Mother hired a taxi to drive us over the border to Skadar. There were still some Italians in command, so we went to the Italian police and they gave us the permission to stay. The Italian police simply didn't care.

In Albania we rented rooms in private houses that my mother paid for with the money she got from selling the house. A woman with two young children did not draw much interest or attention.

But then the Germans arrived even here and my mother sensed danger. We lived near a Catholic church and we all went to pray there, regularly, in a good Catholic style. Every Sunday they gave us a wafer and I chewed it—people were shocked – and my mother pulled me out and she couldn't accept that I wasn't going to school. She found a man selling fruit, so she got me a job working for him. To be honest, I had been happy doing nothing, but my mother wouldn't hear of it.

With the Germans now living near us, my mother moved us into the Muslim part of the town. She changed my name Yusef, she became Sahida, and my sister went from Rachel to Rachida.

This Turkish part of town was very closed off, very insulated. We lived in one room, there was no running water. We had a toilet outside. Everyone was poor, but nobody asked questions. We just said we are foreigners; we paid the rent.

Once again, my mother insisted I work and she got me a job with a carpenter. My job was to fix old nails. Every day, all day, straightening nails. My fingers became bloody. I told my mother I can't do it any more, and finally, in our neighborhood, she found a dentist, so I worked for him, cleaning everything.

Then the son of our landlord got married and they took our flat. This was toward the end of the war—we were thrown on the street—the Germans were on the hunt for people, and we kept asking from door to door, house to house. Finally, we got a flat just fifty meters from the German barracks, their military camp. Our landlord was an Albanian peasant, he traded in wheat, and he figured out who we were and he said to my mother that there was a room in his house where he was keeping the wheat, and we could move in just behind it.

With the Germans were quite a few Ukrainian workers. They were good workers, but they liked to drink. A few of us boys from the neighborhood went to the pub, bought some bottles, and then we slid under the barbed wire and went to the Ukrainians' barracks and sold them liquor. They also gave us food.

I did this with boys in the neighborhood—I had learned Albanian by then. Now it seems bizarre, of course: a Jewish boy posing as an Albanian selling booze to Ukrainians working for the German army!

By this time, the Germans were retreating, and not just from Albania, but from Greece, too, and they poured through constantly. Masses of them. We watched the German pulling out and we could even watch as British Spitfires would rake their columns of trucks.

Then a group of retreating Germans commandeered our room, and my mother had to think: should she speak with them or hide from them. She went up to them and spoke with them with her Viennese accent.

Most of the soldiers didn't listen or care, but an SS man shoved me and my sister out of the way, and my mother started sobbing. He wanted to know why a German speaking woman was living next to a German military barracks. He could have shot her. Was she an agent, he wanted to know.

Fortunately, my mother showed him a letter from my father in the special envelope from a POW camp, and he stormed out. This was the scariest day of the war for us and to this very day, I actually shake when I talk about this.

My mother washed the shirts for the German soldiers and they paid in food. This went on for one or two months. They would come over and pat me on the head—they were Austrians. They were actually very kind.

One day we saw shooting out in the streets, and the Germans were fleeing as quickly as they could. The partisans had come, but no one cheered when they arrived. But for us the danger was over. The problem was, how could we possibly get home.

Once we were liberated my mother began to concern herself with getting us back to Yugoslavia. It wasn't easy, but in ten days, we arrived in Belgrade.

Post-war

My father knew that we were alive because we had written to him during the war, using special envelopes the Germans issued for sending letters to prisoners of war. In time, we found each other and we were truly one of the few Jewish families who had survived the war intact. Most others didn't survive at all.

We thought about emigrating to Israel, but because my father was a doctor, they refused to give him an exit visa. We also had to return to Pristina for a while.

After the war, I started using the last name Baruh. It just seemed more natural. All of my friends knew me as Baruh and my university diploma has that name on it. But when I joined the army and started working they forced me to make a decision concerning my name. The administrative process for changing names is complicated so I decided to stick with Baruhovic.

My father continued fasting on Yom Kippur even after the war, and we always were members of every Jewish community we lived in—meaning, Pristina and Belgrade.

I got my degree in engineering, and when my sister finished her degree in physical chemistry in 1963, she went to Israel on a month-long holiday. During her trip she met Shimon Malina, a Jew from Argentina. They married in Kiryat Moskin in 1963 and today she has three sons and four grandchildren and is still as active as ever.

I am still working as an engineer but I intend to retire in the near future. I live in Belgrade with my wife, Jelena. In my spare time I enjoy painting and am currently working on pictures with Biblical themes. A rather big surprise for me was that I was asked to become vice president of the Belgrade Jewish community, and of course I said yet.

Ida Kristina

Ida Kristina and her friends

Ida Kristina
Chernigov
Ukraine
Interviewer: Zhanna Litinskaya
Date of interview: April 2003

Ida Kristina lives in the very center of Chernigov, an old green town with ancient Christian monument in the Kiev Rus. Ida has a two-bedroom apartment in a nine-storied apartment building constructed 25 years ago. There is good furniture, bought in the 1980s, in the rooms. The apartment is very clean and decorated with embroidered or knitted napkins, fancy pillowcases and embroidered pictures of landscapes made by the mistress of the house. Ida is knitting something again since she has her knitting basket in the kitchen. She makes an impression of being a very reserved, but hospitable and amicable woman. She welcomes me warmly and apologizes that she may have forgotten some names or dates due to her age of 83 before we start the interview. We talk in the kitchen where a branch of blooming acacia was knocking on the window. After the interview we went into the living-room where we took turns to play the piano and sang Jewish and Russian songs.

Family background
Growing up
During the War
After the War
Glossary

Family background

My parents' families came from Chernigov region. I know very little about my father's family. They lived in Oleshevka, a Ukrainian village, where two or three other Jewish families lived apart from them. My grandfather's name was Zalman Rubin, but I don't know my grandmother's name. I don't know what my grandfather did for a living, but my father told me that his family was very poor but very religious. There was no synagogue in the village, of course, since there weren't even enough men for a minyan. Therefore, the Jews of Oleshevka often went to pray with other Jews in the neighboring village. There were five children in the family: three daughters and two sons.

My father's older brother, whose name I don't remember, was born about 1870. He lived in the town of Gomel in Belarus where he was a craftsman. He had five daughters. I saw two of them only once, around 1960, when my husband and I went on a tour to Belarus. We met with our relatives briefly and I only know that they had families and children and were wealthy. I don't even remember their names. We never corresponded or met again and I have no information about my cousins. My uncle died in evacuation in the 1940s.

My father's sisters were married. They didn't have any education and became housewives. They observed Jewish traditions and celebrated holidays in their families. However, they or their husbands weren't real believers and their children, who grew up in the Soviet times, were far from religion and didn't even celebrate holidays.

My father's older sister, Tsylia, born in 1872, was married. I don't remember her husband's name. He died in the early 1920s when I was just a child. Tsylia had three children: two daughters and a son. Her older daughter died in infancy. The other children, Basia and Michael, who I knew, lived in Chernigov with their mother. I have very little information about them. After the Great Patriotic War 1 they stayed in the town in the Ural where they had been in evacuation. Aunt Tsylia died shortly after the war in the early 1950s. Basia and Michael have also passed away by now.

My father's sister Riva, born in 1875, lived in Chernigov with her husband. Riva died in the early 1930s, shortly after her husband passed away. Her only daughter Manya got married. Her last name after her husband was Nepomniaschaya. Her husband was the manager of the planning department of Chernigov wool yarn factory. Manya finished an accounting school and worked as an accountant. During the war Manya, her husband and two sons were in evacuation. Regretfully, I don't remember her sons' names, but I know that they got a good education. Her older son was a journalist and worked in Leningrad. He died three years ago. Her younger son was at the front during the war. He was a professional military and retired from the army in the rank of lieutenant colonel. Now he lives in Israel with his family.

My father's younger sister Vera, her Jewish name was Dvoira, was born in 1880. She was married. Her husband died before the Great Patriotic War. Vera had no children. She was in evacuation during the war. She died in Chernigov in the middle of the 1960s.

My father, Yankel Rubin, was the youngest in the family, a nipper. He was born in Oleshevka in 1882. There was no cheder in the village. My father and his brothers and sisters attended classes with a melamed, who came to the village once a week. He taught them to read and write in Yiddish. My father didn't have the traditional bar mitzvah at the age of 13 since in 1895, shortly before he was to come of age, my father's parents died one after another. My father's older sisters and brother had their own families. My father became an orphan. A Jewish joiner, who lived in the same village as my father, took him to teach him his profession. So my father became his apprentice. My father followed his family to Chernigov in 1907. He became a skilled cabinetmaker. In 1907 my father met my mother through matchmakers and they got married a year later.

My mother came from a Ukrainian village in Chernigov region. Her father, Samuel Kantor, born in the 1860s, owned a small store in the village of Tarkhovka near Oleshevka. I don't know my maternal grandmother's name. My mother told me that they were a wealthy family. They had a big house and kept livestock: three horses and several cows. They were one of the wealthiest families in the village. My grandfather sold all essential goods in his store: haberdashery and household goods, tools, instruments and fabrics. Villagers often bought goods on credit and respected my grandfather for not charging them interest. My grandfather's family was very religious. They strictly followed kosher rules and celebrated Saturday. They often invited poor Jews from Tarkhovka and neighboring villages to share a meal with them. My grandfather prayed every day, before and after the [Russian] Revolution of 1917 2 when he lived in the family of his older daughter, Etl. He put on his tallit and tefillin and prayed for a long time. There were three daughters in the family: Etl, the oldest, born in 1885, my mother Leya, born in 1887, and the youngest Basia, born in 1898. There were other children in the family, but they died in infancy.

In 1905 escaping from pogroms 3 that rolled over Russia - Kishinev and Odessa, Kiev, Chernigov and towns in Belarus - the family left their house and belongings and moved to Chernigov taking only money and valuables. My grandmother died shortly afterward and my grandfather lived with his older daughter Etl.

Etl's last name after her husband was Levitina. Her husband inherited a store from his father, but after the time of the NEP 4 authorities expropriated his store and his belongings; he fell ill and died shortly afterwards. Etl had five children: four sons and a daughter. By the time their father died the oldest children were old enough to go to work to support their mother and their younger siblings. Etl didn't work. She stayed at home and helped her children with the housework: cooking, cleaning and fixing their clothes. Aunt Etl died in Leningrad in the middle of the 1960s. Her daughter, whose name I don't remember, finished a pedagogical college and worked as an English teacher. She married a Russian man, a commissar of division, and hero of the Civil War 5. They moved to the Far East and I had no information about her after that. One of their sons, Mikholka, perished at the front during the the Great Patriotic War. Boris and Matvey worked in cinematography. Boris was a cinema operator. As for Matvey, I don't know what exactly he was doing. Their younger son, Michael, became a professional military. They lived in Leningrad after the war and were married, but I have no more information about them. We weren't in contact with them.

My mother's younger sister, Basia, married a Jewish man from Gomel region. They lived in the town of Novo-Belitsa. Her husband, whose last name was Gomelskiy, was a member of the Party and worked as a secretary in the Gomel party committee. I never met him. I know that he perished during the Great Patriotic War. Basia and her children were in evacuation. She had six children: five girls and a boy. Basia died shortly after the war. Her daughter, Maria, also passed away and the rest of her children live in Israel and America. We don't correspond.

My mother Leya, born in 1887, got practically no education. However, she could read and write in Yiddish. My grandfather Samuel taught her and her sisters the basics of Jewish education. After my grandmother died my mother was busy with housework. She also learned sewing. My grandfather bought her a Zinger sewing machine and my mother earned some money by sewing at home.

In 1907 my mother met my father through matchmakers, which was customary in Jewish families. It was also a tradition that girls got dowry from their parents and my grandfather gave my mother 400 rubles, which was quite a lot of money for the time. My parents got married in 1908. They had a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah in the synagogue and many guests from Chernigov, Gomel and other nearby towns came to the wedding. At that time the population of Chernigov was almost half Jewish. There were several big synagogues near the ancient Christian churches, a cheder and several prayer houses. There were also Ukrainian, Russian and Belarus citizens. There were no nationalitly conflicts among the people. Jews were craftsmen in their majority; they made clothes, shoes and furniture, cut glass and owned stores.

After the wedding my father rented an apartment for his family. He became a very skilled cabinetmaker and could provide well for the family. My mother became a housewife.

My older sister, Riva, was born in 1910 and my second sister, Sonia, followed in 1914. Riva finished a lower secondary Russian school and went to work as a typist, an assistant accountant, an accountant and then became chief accountant with Energosbyt company [a power supply company]. At 23 Riva married David Strashnoy, a very nice Jewish man. They didn't have a Jewish wedding. They had a civil ceremony and in the evening our mother arranged a wedding dinner for relatives and friends. The young people considered themselves to be progressive people without any patriarchal illusions. David finished Kharkov Construction College. He worked with Gorplan company and the town executive committee in Chernigov. Their son Felix was born in 1935. He followed into his father's footsteps and became a construction man. He is an honored constructor of Ukraine. He lives and works in Chernigov. During the Great Patriotic War David went into evacuation with us, but then he was recruited to the army. After the war he returned home. Riva and Felix were in evacuation in the town of Mirzachul, Uzbekistan, with us. Their daughter, Ada, was born in 1946. Ada finished Polytechnic College in Chernigov. She moved to Israel in the late 1970s with her husband and two children. Riva's husband died in 1996. Riva moved to her daughter in Israel in 1997. She died at the age of 91 in 2001.

My second sister, Sonia, finished a lower secondary school and entered a veterinary school. When she was on a training session in a kolkhoz 6 she met a veterinarian called Leonid Safroniev. He was much older than Sonia and was married. His wife was severely ill. She died and Leonid came to Chernigov to seek my mother's consent to their marriage. My mother turned him down at first. It had nothing to do with his nationality; my mother just thought that Sonia was too young. Leonid continued to court Sonia and after a year my mother gave in. She wanted her daughter to be happy. They got married in 1932, and in 1934 their son, Edward, was born. Leonid was at the front during the Great Patriotic War. He served as a veterinarian. Sonia and Edward were in evacuation with us. After the war Sonia lived with her husband in Kazakhstan and then they settled down in Stavropol. Leonid was promoted to the rank of colonel and Sonia was a housewife. Leonid died in the 1970s, and Sonia passed away in 1978. Edward finished two colleges in Leningrad. He is a physicist. He lives and works in Novgorod. Edward was married, but he divorced his wife. They had no children.

When Sonia was about two months old my father was recruited to the tsarist army. World War I began and our father went to the front. Our mother received two letters from him and then she received the notification that he was missing. It turned out that he was in captivity in Austria where he stayed until 1918. Our father told us that prisoners of war were treated decently. They wore their uniforms and insignia. My father worked for a master in Austria and returned home as soon as he got a chance after the October Revolution of 1917.

My mother had a very hard life throughout all these years. She had practically nothing to live on. She even went to see a governor with her small children. She asked him to release our father from the army to support the family, but this was impossible at that time. However, the governor's wife felt sorry for our mother and tried to keep her busy to provide for the family. She gave her orders for making clothing and sent her clients, who paid well, to my mother.

Growing up

Our father returned at the end of 1918. I was born on 17th August 1919. I was their youngest and favorite daughter, a 'love child', as my father used to say. My mother and father loved each other, even though they got married through a matchmaker, and my mother was happy that my father had come back from Austria.

At that time, during the Civil War, the power in the town often switched between Reds 7, Whites 8 and Greens 9. If a gang 10 came to town a pogrom was inevitable. When I was six weeks old a Makhno 11 gang came to town. Our family and our landlords, old Jews, found shelter in the basement. My mother told me that I screamed very loudly and she pressed me tightly to her chest to stop me from crying because if bandits had found us they would have killed us.

There were two rooms and a kitchen in our apartment. We lived in one room and the owners of the apartment in the other one. There was too little space for the five of us, of course. My father worked a lot saving money to buy a house. He continued to work for his master, the man that taught him his profession. Besides, our father brought a small machine for making cigarettes from Austria. My mother and my father made cigarettes and sold them. This was some additional income for the family. However, they didn't have a license for making cigarettes and at that time any private business was persecuted by the authorities. One of my first memories was that my mother closed the door to the room and windows when they were busy doing their business. They were afraid that somebody would see them and report them to the authorities. Finally, in 1935, my parents bought a small decrepit house with a ground floor and a half-destroyed ceiling. However my father was nimble-fingered. He repaired the house. There were three small rooms and a kitchen with a Russian stove 12. There was an orchard and a kitchen garden. My mother kept chickens and geese. We also had three little goats that followed me like puppies since it was my responsibility to feed them.

My parents went to the nearby synagogue on Saturday. There were several synagogues in Chernigov. My mother, my sisters and I went upstairs and our father stayed downstairs with the other men. Women prayed and cried and I couldn't understand why they were crying [Editor's note: the interviewee may remember the ceremony of Yom Kippur]. The synagogue was big. It was fancy inside. There were many children and a handsome man with a well- groomed beard wearing long black clothing; he was the rabbi. I couldn't see much from the balcony and was bored. I couldn't understand the words of the prayer recited by the women around me.

On Friday my mother made dinner. We got together at the table. My mother lit candles and prayed over them. My father said a blessing and we had dinner. Friday dinner was different from others; more plentiful and delicious. On Saturday morning our parents went to the synagogue. We went with them and waited for them in the yard of the synagogue. We had lunch after we came back from the synagogue. Lunch was still hot in the oven where it was kept from Friday. Nobody did any work on Saturday. We all rested. I remember a merry Simchat Torah in fall when a rabbi and Jewish men following him with Torah scrolls went around the square in front of the synagogue. At Yom Kippur my parents fasted and went to the synagogue. My sisters and I didn't have to fast. We celebrated Chanukkah, when our mother made sweet doughnuts with jam and gave us some money, and Purim when she made hamantashen pies.

The biggest preparations in the house were for Pesach: we cleaned and washed the house, dusted all rooms, covered sofas and beds with starched white cloths and washed the curtains. We washed all crockery and utensils with soda powder and koshered them at the synagogue. We didn't have special crockery for Pesach. We sometimes bought matzah at the synagogue and sometimes made some in our Russian stove. Before the holiday our mother took a chicken to the shochet at the synagogue to have it slaughtered. She made gefilte fish and chicken broth with dumplings made from matzah flour - we called them 'galki'. There was a silver dish on the table with all the different food on it which is required to be on the seder plate by tradition: an egg, horseradish, chicken bone. Grandfather Samuel came to the celebrations. He lived with Aunt Etl, but he liked to celebrate Jewish holidays with us. He liked to attend the seder that our father conducted. I asked my father the four traditional questions [the mah nishtanah] about the history of Pesach and he answered them.

We followed the kashrut, didn't eat pork and didn't mix meat and dairy products. This was before I went to school. Later, when I went to school and became a pioneer, we celebrated Jewish holidays, but it was just a festive meal and we didn't observe traditions. My parents went to the synagogue and celebrated holidays, but they mostly did it for the sake of Jewish traditions. They weren't extremely deep believers. At least, when religion was persecuted [during the struggle against religion] 13 and synagogues were closed in the middle of the 1930s they still celebrated holidays, but it was more like a habit. My father tried to get the day off at work on Saturday, but he didn't always succeed. They didn't always follow the kashrut, especially during the period of famine in 1932-33 14. We had to eat what we managed to get.

I went to a Ukrainian school in Leskovitsa in 1927. There were still Jewish schools in the town, they were closed later, in the late 1930s, but my father thought it was better for me to study in a Ukrainian school since religious persecutions had already begun. My parents were convinced that life would be easier for me if I spoke without a Jewish accent and that it would be easier for me to enter a higher educational institution since the language of teaching there was Russian, the state language. I was the only Jewish girl in my class; my classmates were Ukrainian and Russian. Most of my classmates were Ukrainian boys and girls from the neighboring villages. I got along well with my classmates and there were no conflicts. Nobody ever hurt me and basically nobody cared about nationality. After I finished the 4th grade I went to study at another Ukrainian higher secondary school. I got along well with my schoolmates. I liked studying at school. I became a Young Octobrist 15, and then a pioneer. I took part in public activities. I sang in our school choir. At home I had classes with a private music teacher. She taught me to play the piano. My music classes didn't last long since my parents couldn't afford to pay for my classes. However, I liked playing the piano and picked up tunes by myself.

When the collectivization 16 began and kolkhozes started to be organized in the 1930s we often had guests from villages. Our house was across the street from the prison and our acquaintances from Oleshevka and Tarkhovka, or acquaintances of our acquaintances or just strangers, came to visit their relatives that were arrested for being kulaks 17. All those people stayed in our house. Our father came from Tarkhovka and our mother came from Oleshevka and all their acquaintances came to see their relatives in prison. Prisoners' relatives arrived on horse-drawn carts that they parked in our yard. They tried to bribe the guard to take parcels with food to the prisoners, but only occasionally they managed to do this. I remember that I went to stand in line to the window to hand over parcels early in the morning and my mother or somebody else brought boiled potatoes or soup later. Those visitors rescued us from starving to death during the famine in Ukraine in 1932-33. They brought us potatoes, vegetables, pumpkin, sunflower seeds and pork fat. Yes, that's right, my mother and father ate pork fat during that period and there was no observance of kosher laws. We didn't have bread in the house, but we didn't starve. Many people stayed in our house. Their relatives were sent to exile [during Stalin's forced deportation to Siberia] 18: they marched in columns of 400-500 people under a convoy to the railway station and from there they proceeded by train. Many of them disappeared for good. Very few survived: most of them died on the way or in Siberia from hard work, hunger and the cold.

Many people starved to death during this period and I saw dead people in the streets of the town. But I was young and forgot bad things and kept thinking about bright and nice things. We celebrated Soviet holidays at school: 1st May and October Revolution Day 19. We went to parades. We celebrated revolutionary holidays at home. Riva's husband David and Sonia's husband Leonid were sophisticated people. David Strashnoy was a communist. He was well-known in the town and was elected town council deputy several times. Leonid was eager to join the Party. He even rejected his father, who was a priest, in public when the persecution of religion began. His father was sent into exile to Siberia and we never heard about him again. We didn't blame Leonid. We believed he was right and religion was opium for the people. Leonid became a communist while at the front in the 1940s.

I liked to go to the cinema with my friends. There was a jazz band playing in the vestibule before the screening of a film. I liked the young fair- haired pianist that played in the orchestra. I simply fell in love with him. I dreamed that we would be together. He rented a room from our neighbor. One evening this man came to our home and asked my parents their consent to our marriage. They were stunned since I was just 15 years old and studied in the 9th grade at school. Boris Kristin, that was his name, told my parents that he would wait until I finished school and my parents gave their consent. My parents didn't mind that he wasn't a Jew. I became his fiancée. I looked forward to coming of age and getting married.

Boris' grandmother was Czech and his grandfather was French. Boris' real last name was Kristain. I don't know how his family came to live in Russia. They lived somewhere in the south of Russia. Boris' father, Alexandr, was a postmaster before the Revolution. He died a long time ago, leaving his wife with 13 children. I didn't know them. I only knew Boris' sister Lidia and his brother Alexei. Boris was much older than I. He was born in 1906. He was very good at music. Besides working in the orchestra Boris played at a restaurant in the evenings.

A year and half passed quickly. Boris and I were never alone, we could only meet in the presence of adults. They probably stood guard over my virginity. He visited us at home and we had tea with our family. Sometimes he took me to the cinema holding my hand. Boris addressed me with the formal 'You' until we got married. He promised that after we got married he would take best care of me.

During my last year at school my parents prepared me for getting married. They bought me two dresses, a crepe de Chine one and a woolen one, fabric for a suit and a woolen coat. Before this I had walked in the street barefoot wearing my sister's clothes.

We had a small wedding party in 1936 when I was 17 years old. A big table for guests was set up in our garden. Our guests were musicians from the orchestra, colleagues from the cinema, my sisters and their husbands and our neighbors. Pronia Sereda, my schoolmate, also came to the wedding. We were life-long friends with her. She was Ukrainian.

After the wedding Boris came to live in our house and my mother gave us a room to live in. I was happy. My dream had come true: the most handsome man I had ever known was with me. He was also a very decent man. My parents liked him and my father, who was very ill at the time - he had lung emphysema, a typical disease among cabinetmakers - was very happy for me and said that he was sure that the family was in good hands.

Our son, Stanislav, was born in 1938. My mother adored him and helped me with everything. When my son turned a year and a half I decided to go to work. My husband believed that I had to be among people and find a job that I liked. I became an assistant accountant with a bookselling company where I worked for almost two years. My mother looked after my son.

I was happy and didn't see what was happening around me. This was the period of arrests [during the so-called Great Terror] 20. There were again crowds of downcast women at the gate of the prison waiting to meet with their relatives or get some information about them. The director of our company was also arrested. He was kept in prison for several months. I don't know what he was accused of, but he died in prison. Later people said that he was acquitted of all charges, but it was too late. Sonia's husband Leonid also had problems, but thank God, everything turned out all right. They lived in a village in Chernigov region were Leonid was a vet in a kolkhoz. He was charged for sabotage and for the death of cattle in the kolkhoz. Sonia and their child came to us in Chernigov and Leonid stayed in the village waiting for his arrest. It never came to it though, due to Poland joining the Soviet Union: he was recruited to the army.

In 1940 I was fired due to reduction of staff and I went to work as a secretary at the Mechanization College.

During the War

My husband Boris had to go to the annual military training on 15th June 1941. He served in VNOS troops [air observation, notification and communication]. When war was declared on 22nd June I was alone at home: my husband was in a barrack, my mother was at the market and my father went for a walk with my son. I was optimistic about this announcement: I just didn't know what a war was about. I heard that there was a war going on, but it seemed to be so far away. I couldn't imagine that somebody dared to attack our powerful country. I went to weed radishes and onions in our kitchen garden. When I went back home my mother was already in. She was crying bitterly since she knew what a war was like, but she couldn't imagine how horrible this one was going to be.

Soon residents of the town began to panic, especially Jews. They said that the Germans exterminated the Jewish population in the occupied territories and that it was necessary to evacuate. A few days after the war began Sonia and Edward arrived. They fled from Rava-Russkaya where Leonid was on military service without any luggage. We were in town until 20th August. Riva's husband, David Strashnoy, who was the director of the water supply agency in Chernigov made the necessary arrangements for us to leave Chernigov on a truck on 20th August. He couldn't go with us since he had the order of the Town Party Committee to hide the equipment by burying it.

Boris was a military man: he taught younger officers and soldiers military disciplines, theory and tactics, and he conducted political information classes. Boris was lucky to be on service in his own town and he came home every day. Many of his fellow comrades came from other towns and had to live in barracks. We understood that we were going to have to part soon. On 19th August he came home and said, 'Ida, I had a dream. My brother Alexei [he perished in WWI] came to me in this dream, I took my green suitcase and we left. Ida, I know that I won't be back from the war and that this is the last time we see each other'. It was the last time we saw each other and our last night together.

In the morning we boarded a big truck: my mother, my father, my sisters and I and our three children - each of us had a son. The family of joiner Shehtman - his wife and their three daughters - and some other people were on this truck apart from us. Boris held Stanislav for the last time, gave me a hug and a kiss and left. Grandfather Samuel stayed in Chernigov. He was over 80 and didn't want to leave. He told everyone that the Germans were cultured people and weren't going to hurt him. People told us later that my grandfather was shot during the first shooting in town. The cabinetmaker that actually raised my father and taught him the craft also perished. His Russian wife followed him and was shot, too. We heard this when we returned from evacuation.

On 20th August we left for the unknown. When we reached Nezhyn [a small town in the East of Ukraine, about 100 km from Kiev], we felt like refugees. We were thirsty, but not in one single house did we get anything to drink. They said 'zhydy are fleeing' ['Kikes' are leaving in Ukrainian]. On 23rd August some people that we met on the way told us that Chernigov was being bombed. So, we left at the last moment, so to speak. There were several trains in Nezhyn. Nobody asked in what direction they were going. We just boarded one. It was a freight train and we were going on an open platform with some equipment under tarpaulin cover. Our trip lasted a month. We often stopped on the way. The train was bombed many times. During one of them our mother and father ran to hide in the steppe and my sisters and our children stayed on the platform. We lay under a blanket and thought, 'Be what may, at least, if we perished, we shall all be together'.

We reached the town of Azov, Rostov region, 1,500 kilometers from home. We were accommodated in a kolkhoz; I don't remember the name. We got an apartment and were given food. We went to work at the kolkhoz: we picked stems of cotton plants for the manufacturing of aviation oil. We worked very hard and people respected us for that. In villages they judge people by how hard they work. My mother stayed home with the children. Later, when the front was getting closer and we began to pack to move on, other kolkhoz people said, 'Let the zhydy go, and you stay.' And when they found out the truth they said, 'You are Jews, too? Well, but you are nice people, so stay'. But we knew that the frontline was getting closer and asked the chairman of the kolkhoz to help us leave. He gave us a big cart, we put our children and luggage onto the cart and we walked 30 kilometers to the station. Walking was difficult for my father. His emphysema got worse and we had to make frequent stops.

At the station we got on a train that took us to Makhachkala, the capital of Dagestan in Northern Caucasus, near the Caspian Sea, 2,500 kilometers from home. We stayed there on the ground near the seaport for about two weeks. There were tens of thousands of refugees, there was no food or water. Later we boarded the 'Derbent' tanker; there were tanks with oil in the ship's belly and about 5,000 refugees on the deck. There was no water and many people were seasick. There were only two toilets on the tanker and after using it one had to stand in line to the toilet since it took two to three hours before one could get there again. We were sitting on the very top. We crossed the Caspian Sea to Kazakhstan. When we got off the tanker I saw that dead people were being taken off the tanker. The trip had been too hard for them. In some time we boarded a train. On 7th November 1941 we reached Golodnaya Steppe station in Uzbekistan, near Mirzachul town, 3,500 kilometers from home.

Mirzachul was a small town with a population of 7,000 consisting of half- ignorant Uzbek people. Many people were in evacuation there, but there were no arrangements made for us. Some locals were sympathetic with us, others were indifferent. Uzbeks didn't speak Russian and we couldn't speak their language, so we didn't mix. We rented a small room of nine or ten square meters and a kitchen in a pise-walled hut. Shortly afterwards Riva's husband, David, joined us. He had passed by Kharkov on his way to evacuation. He told us that he saw Grandfather Samuel before leaving Chernigov and and offered my grandfather to go with him, but my grandfather refused. We lived in this small room together: our family of ten people and the Shehtmans - there were four of them. We slept on the floor in the kitchen and in the room. Somebody slept on the table. My mother and father slept on the only bed in there.

David became the director of the district industrial association and helped my sisters and me getting employment. My sisters and I worked in a special cardboard shop. We applied a special casein mixture on carton sheets and dried them. Later this carton was used to make filling for bullets, I think. I received 600 grams of bread per day with my worker card and 400 grams for the child. I worked there less than a month. In late December 1941 my son fell ill with measles and then pellagra. There were no medications available. David and I took our son to a doctor, but he couldn't do anything. Almost all children under five died from pellagra in Mirzachul at that time. At the beginning of January 1942 my son died. My father made a small casket and buried my little son in the Uzbek cemetery. My father said a prayer. I kept crying and constantly thought what I was going to tell Boris when he returned and how to explain the loss of our son.

I went back to work. I was transferred to the spinning shop that produced cotton wool for the front. My mother made rope on a spinning machine at home. This rope was used to make bags to pack cotton wool and wound textile. Later I went to work in the knitting shop: I knitted gloves, socks and hats for the front. Sonia worked with me and Riva became chief accountant at the district industrial association. David was recruited to the army in early 1942. Sonia and Riva received food packages for being officers' wives. Since I was a soldier's wife, this privilege didn't apply to me.

Once, when I was standing in line for food our neighbor approached me and said, 'It's all right. Sometimes they write that a person perished while he's still alive'. I didn't understand what she meant. At home I noticed that my relatives looked sad and avoided my glance. I asked what had happened. Sonia showed me a letter from Boris' sister Lida that she had received a couple of weeks before. Boris' friend, who was recruited along with Boris from Chernigov, had written the letter. There were three friends and they had an agreement that each of them would notify the family if one of them perished. They didn't have my address and so that man wrote to Lida that Boris and the other friend had perished. This happened in summer 1942. I don't even remember how I felt. I stayed in bed and didn't talk to anyone. I didn't go out for over a month and stopped eating. Only my father could convince me to swallow some food. I didn't even feel the taste of it. But I was young and life went on. I went to work and began to talk with people again.

Life was hard. Although Sonia and Riva received food packages and my mother and I had workers' cards and dependants' cards for the children we never had enough food. Everything that we planted on the plot of land that we received, dried up since we didn't have the knowledge of how to grow plants in this dry soil. Once I bought a bucket of inexpensive cherries that I took to the station to sell. I walked 30 kilometers to sell them, but nobody bought them and I brought them back home. The cherries became wet and dark and my mother sold them to someone for peanuts.

My father didn't go to work. He was feeling worse. There was no goat milk that my mother had given to him at home, or decent food. In September he fell very ill and was getting worse and worse. Once in early October, before leaving for work I looked at him and said to my mother, 'Father will die today. Please bury him without me. It's too much for me to bear!' And it happened. A girl came to the shop where I was working and began to whisper something to the others without looking at me. I understood that my father had died, but I continued working. I loved him dearly and was unable to see him dead. I didn't go to the funeral. I was told that there was no casket since there was nobody to make one. They put planks at the bottom and on the sides of the grave, lay my father's body into a shroud and put in into the grave. A few weeks later, when my mother and I went to the cemetery, we couldn't find neither my father's nor my son's grave: jackals had destroyed the graves and eaten the bodies. That's what we had to live through.

In 1943 the situation improved a bit. We began to have hope for victory: we listened to the news from the front on the radio and cheered up. I was very young and life went on. I made new friends. We often got together and sang: my sisters and I and our friends that evacuated from various towns of the USSR. We sang Soviet and moving Ukrainian songs and Russian ballads. When Kiev was liberated in 1943 we organized a big celebration. By that time we received an apartment from the cotton factory in a barrack-type building. We had many neighbors. We laid a table and everybody brought what they had. We partied, sang and drank to our motherland, Kiev and Moscow and to the great Stalin, of course, all night long. Young men courted me, but it never occurred to me that I might get married again. I loved my husband and besides, I didn't receive a notification that he had died and I was hoping for a miracle. Efim, a Jewish man from Western Ukraine, visited me more often than anybody else. I didn't like him for his lack of education and hatred for the Soviet power. I didn't even say goodbye to him when we were leaving.

After Kiev was liberated we applied to obtain permission to go home. We wrote to the director of the water supply company where David Strashnoy had worked before the war and he mailed the documents that served as permission for us to come home. There was some confusion with me, though, since he wrote my maiden name Rubina in the permit while my last name at that time was already Kristina. I had to prove that I was Rubina.

The family of Shehtman, the mother and three daughters, had died of pellagra in evacuation. We got to Tashkent where it was impossible to get tickets. There were crowds of people going home. We had to bribe employees at the station: 1,300 rubles for tickets and 1,200 for getting on a train without waiting in lines. There were crowds of people trying to get on a train. We boarded a military train that took us back to Chernigov. I was feeling very ill; I had pellagra and I was swollen from hunger and diseases. My legs were like lumps, I had a huge belly and high fever, and there was blood in my stomach. When we were getting on the train my mother didn't know whether I would survive this trip. I stayed on the upper berth in the train. I was unable to get up. A military doctor examined me and told my mother to buy good food for me at stations and when we reached another climatic zone with no heat my condition would improve. That was true. I remember that my mother bought me fish, sour cream, cottage cheese and fruit at stations. When we arrived at Chernigov I felt all right, only my belly was still swollen for a long time and people thought I was pregnant.

We arrived at Chernigov in November 1944. Immediately after we arrived I received the death notification for Boris at the district military registry office. My last hope was gone. There were other tenants in our house that were very aggressive when we arrived. They said, 'Zhydy are back'. However, an old woman, who lived in our kitchen met us saying, 'Welcome back, owners of the house' and left. We stayed in our kitchen several days until Sonia went to the executive committee, showed them our documents for the house with our names on them and we got back one room. In 1947 our whole house was returned to us.

I went to work as an operator at the post office. I did well at work and made many new friends and acquaintances. I also met with my pre-war friends: Pronia Sereda and others. Pronia, who had been in Chernigov during the occupation, told me about the brutality of the Germans in Chernigov and about my grandfather Samuel, who had been shot.

We arranged quite a celebration on 9th May 1945, Victory Day 21. We sang and danced in the central square, cried for our lost ones and laughed of joy that the war was over.

After the War

Life was very hard. 1946/47 were hungry years and we lived on food cards. David, who returned from the front with many orders and medals, helped us. He began to work at the town executive committee [Ispolkom] 22. Leonid also returned. He and Sonia and Edward got a job assignment and left for Kazakhstan. I was always hungry, but I was very proud. I was seeing a young man and when he invited me to a café or restaurant I declined, saying I didn't feel like eating, although I was hungry as usual.

I was 25 and I began to think about what I should do with my life. We had Jewish neighbors: Manya Belmont and her husband, who lived in the same street as us. Once Manya came to our house and said that she wanted me to meet her son, who had returned from hospital. They came to see us that evening and I met my second husband, Iosif Zalevski.

Iosif was born to a Jewish family in Chernigov in 1919. His father died in the early 1920s. His mother came from Novie Mliny Chernigov province. She didn't have any education. They had a hard life. His mother took various jobs; she sold ice cream, sewed and did laundry until she got married for the second time. After finishing a higher secondary school Iosif worked as a mechanic in the port. He was recruited to the army in 1939. When the war began he was on service in marine troops in the Crimea. Germans sent their landing troops at the very beginning of the war and Iosif was captured. Iosif pretended he was Ukrainian. He kept it a secret that he was Jewish by applying much soap foam in the shower and sleeping under a blanket at night. During a check-up in a concentration camp Iosif ran out into the snow naked to avoid the check-up because he was circumcised. I don't know in which camps Iosif was. All I know is that they were in Poland. He escaped three times and was captured twice. They beat him and put him back into the camp.

In early 1944 Iosif and his friend Alexandr made a hole into the floor of the railcar during transportation and escaped. People around told them they were in France. Iosif found partisans that helped them to get to Belgium. In Belgium Iosif got accommodation with a family of farmers that was aware that their tenant was a partisan. Iosif and his friend worked at the farm helping their landlords. They got a message about when they were needed at the partisan group. When Iosif and his friend returned to the farm they knew that if there was underwear drying on the line that meant Germans were in the village. This served as a warning. Iosif and his friend did mining and blasting work. He didn't tell me any details of his participation in the partisan movement. I believe he was a good performer since he got a wonderful letter of evaluation of his performance after Belgium was liberated in December 1944. Iosif liked his landlords very much. He said they treated him like a son.

When Belgium was liberated Iosif got an invitation to go to USA, but he turned it down. He was dreaming about returning home, but his motherland was not as welcoming as he had expected. All those that returned from concentration camps or occupied territories were subject to the so-called filtration. Fortunately, Iosif had a certificate that he was a blaster otherwise he wouldn't have escaped Stalin's camps. During the war Iosif was severely wounded and shell-shocked. He had splinters in his head and for a year and half after the war he spent most of the time in hospitals.

I liked Iosif. I looked forward to seeing him again. I thought he would invite me to the cinema or to a park. Two weeks passed. It turned out that he called me at work and asked Rubina to the phone, and was told that there was no such employee. I still had my first husband's last name, Kristina. About two weeks later he came to my workplace and invited me to the cinema. I cannot say that I fell in love with Iosif like I had with Boris. Besides, I had another fiancé. There was a nice Russian guy courting me. We went to the cinema and dance parties, but I wasn't in love with him. I felt sorry for Iosif. I saw that he loved me very much and I agreed to marry him. Of course, there was no such passion as in my first marriage, but I never regretted marrying him. We got married in 1947. We had a small wedding dinner with our relatives.

Iosif was a very ill man. He had trauma epilepsy and I often called an ambulance at night, but they were helpless. My husband was an invalid. He couldn't go to work and thought he was a burden on me. My husband decided to go to Kiev where doctors offered a surgery that might either improve his condition or be lethal in the worst case. He didn't want to continue living with his problems and decided for the surgery. Fortunately, the surgery was a success. The doctors removed the bone splinters, but they couldn't reach the steel splinters in his head. Iosif was acknowledged as a war invalid and had some privileges. He stayed in Kiev for a long term of rehabilitation. Kiev is a two-hour drive from Chernigov and he came home at weekends, holidays or just to stay home a couple of months before he had to start another course of treatment. I also visited him there when he couldn't come home. Only 13 years after we got married his condition improved significantly. While he was in Kiev Iosif finished Construction College and entered the Leningrad Water Transport Institute by correspondence, but he couldn't study there due to his illness. Iosif was the director of a hostel and then worked at a shop. I always tried to take good care of him.

I was eager to have a baby, but doctors told me that my husband's trauma epilepsy could have an impact on the baby and so we didn't have children. I took care of my husband as if he were a child. His mother died in the early 1950s; we buried her in the town cemetery. Iosif liked my mother very much. We got along very well. Iosif was grateful for my care and was very good to me. We had many friends and when my husband was feeling okay we went to the cinema or theaters. We traveled in summer. We visited many towns and historic places. We went to the Crimea and Caucasus, Middle Asia and the Carpathians. Every Sunday we went to a village on the Desna River on a motorcycle. We fished and made a fire. We always enjoyed being together.

My colleagues treated me well. In due time I was promoted to the position of supervisor at the post office where I worked for 35 years. There was a hard time in the early 1950s, during the Doctors' Plot 23. Although nobody said anything directly every Jew felt suspicious attitudes. We felt like outcasts. We didn't even feel comfortable to go out, but I didn't face anything like that at work. I remember Stalin's death. I didn't cry, but I remember the feeling of irreplaceable loss. We never took any interest in politics. We were busy with our own life. Nobody in our family was a member of the Party.

In the early 1960s we received a one-bedroom apartment in the center of Chernigov and later we received this two-bedroom apartment where I still live. My mother always lived with us. She liked Iosif a lot. We always celebrated Pesach. My mother managed to get matzah even at the time when one couldn't get it anywhere. There were underground bakeries in the houses of older Jews. They made matzah for sale. All religious Jews knew these addresses and placed their orders at night. We celebrated Purim and Yom Kippur. We had a festive meal, and there was always the spirit of a holiday in the house. For my mother it was important as a tribute to traditions and my father's memory and we respected her desires. My mother died in 1978; we buried her in the town cemetery.

Perestroika 24 didn't bring anything good into our life. We became poor in one day. We lost all our savings. Our pension in the past was sufficient for a vacation or medical treatment, our monthly bills and food. Don't we deserve this? In the late 1980s our pension was hardly enough for food.

Iosif and I lived 48 and a half years together. In the early 1990s we decided to move to Israel. It was always our dream to go there, but in the 1970s when the majority of Jews were leaving, my mother was ill and the issue of emigration was out of the question. We failed to leave since my husband fell severely ill. He died in 1995. His death didn't come as a surprise to me since he had been suffering for a long time before he died, but it was a terrible loss nonetheless. I didn't even have money to bury my husband. The Jewish community that was established in Chernigov helped me. I have been a member of the community since then. I attend every meeting or event and read Jewish newspapers. I don't go to the synagogue since I don't consider myself a believer, although I think there must be a God and I'm grateful to Him for my basically happy and interesting life. One thing I cannot forgive God is that He took away children's lives: the life of my son and others. They were innocent souls.

I attend the 'Warm House' in Hesed where I have meals with other old Jews like myself. However, I'm not a passive consumer - I try to give people what I can. On Jewish holidays our group from Hesed sing songs and I rehearse with my friends playing the piano. We celebrate holidays and birthdays together and get together at hard times, when somebody loses their relatives. We support each other.

In 1997 I visited my sister Riva and my niece Ada in Israel. I liked the country very much. I visited the country when it celebrated its 50th anniversary. Anyway, I don't have any friends there and I don't want to be a burden to my sister. I have the friends of my life here, at Hesed and our community - it's not about assistance, this is my life now!

Glossary

1 Great Patriotic War

2 Russian Revolution of 1917

Revolution in which the tsarist regime was overthrown in the Russian Empire and, under Lenin, was replaced by the Bolshevik rule. The two phases of the Revolution were: February Revolution, which came about due to food and fuel shortages during World War I, and during which the tsar abdicated and a provisional government took over. The second phase took place in the form of a coup led by Lenin in October/November (October Revolution) and saw the seizure of power by the Bolsheviks.

3 Pogroms in Ukraine

In the 1920s there were many anti-Semitic gangs in Ukraine. They killed Jews and burnt their houses, they robbed their houses, raped women and killed children.

4 NEP

The so-called New Economic Policy of the Soviet authorities was launched by Lenin in 1921. It meant that private business was allowed on a small scale in order to save the country ruined by the Revolution of 1917 and the Russian Civil War. They allowed priority development of private capital and entrepreneurship. The NEP was gradually abandoned in the 1920s with the introduction of the planned economy.

5 Civil War (1918-1920)

The Civil War between the Reds (the Bolsheviks) and the Whites (the anti-Bolsheviks), which broke out in early 1918, ravaged Russia until 1920. The Whites represented all shades of anti- communist groups - Russian army units from World War I, led by anti- Bolshevik officers, by anti-Bolshevik volunteers and some Mensheviks and Social Revolutionaries. Several of their leaders favored setting up a military dictatorship, but few were outspoken tsarists. Atrocities were committed throughout the Civil War by both sides. The Civil War ended with Bolshevik military victory, thanks to the lack of cooperation among the various White commanders and to the reorganization of the Red forces after Trotsky became commissar for war. It was won, however, only at the price of immense sacrifice; by 1920 Russia was ruined and devastated. In 1920 industrial production was reduced to 14% and agriculture to 50% as compared to 1913.

6 Kolkhoz

7 Reds

Red (Soviet) Army supporting the Soviet authorities.

8 Whites (White Army)

Counter-revolutionary armed forces that fought against the Bolsheviks during the Russian Civil War. The White forces were very heterogeneous: They included monarchists and liberals - supporters of the Constituent Assembly and the tsar. Nationalist and anti-Semitic attitude was very common among rank-and-file members of the white movement, and expressed in both their propaganda material and in the organization of pogroms against Jews. White Army slogans were patriotic. The Whites were united by hatred towards the Bolsheviks and the desire to restore a 'one and inseparable' Russia. The main forces of the White Army were defeated by the Red Army at the end of 1920.

9 Greens

members of the gang headed by Ataman Zeleniy (his nickname means 'green' in Russian).

10 Gangs

During the Russian Civil War there were all kinds of gangs in the Ukraine. Their members came from all the classes of former Russia, but most of them were peasants. Their leaders used political slogans to dress their criminal acts. These gangs were anti-Soviet and anti-Semitic. They killed Jews and burnt their houses, they robbed their houses, raped women and killed children.

11 Makhno, Nestor (1888-1934)

Ukrainian anarchist and leader of an insurrectionist army of peasants which fought Ukrainian nationalists, the Whites, and the Bolsheviks during the Civil War. His troops, which numbered 500 to 35 thousand members, marched under the slogans of 'state without power' and 'free soviets'. The Red Army put an end to the Makhnovist movement in the Ukraine in 1919 and Makhno emigrated in 1921.

12 Russian stove

Big stone stove stoked with wood. They were usually built in a corner of the kitchen and served to heat the house and cook food. It had a bench that made a comfortable bed for children and adults in wintertime.

13 Struggle against religion

14 Famine in Ukraine

15 Young Octobrist

In Russian Oktyabrenok, or 'pre-pioneer', designates Soviet children of seven years or over preparing for entry into the pioneer organization.

16 Collectivization in the USSR

In the late 1920s - early 1930s private farms were liquidated and collective farms established by force on a mass scale in the USSR. Many peasants were arrested during this process. As a result of the collectivization, the number of farmers and the amount of agricultural production was greatly reduced and famine struck in the Ukraine, the Northern Caucasus, the Volga and other regions in 1932-33.

17 Kulaks

In the Soviet Union the majority of wealthy peasants that refused to join collective farms and give their grain and property to Soviet power were called kulaks, declared enemies of the people and exterminated in the 1930s.

18 Forced deportation to Siberia

Stalin introduced the deportation of Middle Asian people, like the Crimean Tatars and the Chechens, to Siberia. Without warning, people were thrown out of their houses and into vehicles at night. The majority of them died on the way of starvation, cold and illnesses.

19 October Revolution Day

20 Great Terror (1934-1938)

21 Victory Day in Russia (9th May)

National holiday to commemorate the defeat of Nazi Germany and the end of World War II and honor the Soviets who died in the war.

22 Ispolkom

After the tsar's abdication (March, 1917), power passed to a Provisional Government appointed by a temporary committee of the Duma, which proposed to share power to some extent with councils of workers and soldiers known as 'soviets'. Following a brief and chaotic period of fairly democratic procedures, a mixed body of socialist intellectuals known as the Ispolkom secured the right to 'represent' the soviets. The democratic credentials of the soviets were highly imperfect to begin with: peasants - the overwhelming majority of the Russian population - had virtually no say, and soldiers were grossly over-represented. The Ispolkom's assumption of power turned this highly imperfect democracy into an intellectuals' oligarchy.

23 Doctors' Plot

24 Perestroika (Russian for restructuring)

Soviet economic and social policy of the late 1980s, associated with the name of Soviet politician Mikhail Gorbachev. The term designated the attempts to transform the stagnant, inefficient command economy of the Soviet Union into a decentralized, market-oriented economy. Industrial managers and local government and party officials were granted greater autonomy, and open elections were introduced in an attempt to democratize the Communist Party organization. By 1991, perestroika was declining and was soon eclipsed by the dissolution of the USSR.