Travel

Albert Eskenazi
Belgrade
Serbia
Interviewer: Ida Labudovic

My family background
Growing up
During the war
Post-war
My life in Israel
My return to Yugoslavia

My family background

I do not remember my paternal grandparents. My grandmother died three months before I was born, and my grandfather a few years earlier. My grandfather was Abraham Eskenazi and I am named Abraham, after him. Later we changed that to Albert. This is what they called me at home; however, in my first certificate from the Jewish elementary school in Zagreb, my name was "Abraham Eskenazi." When I was in the first grade of the gymnasium, when my Serbian language teacher, who liked me very much, called on other students to answer a question and they did not know, he would then say: "Let's go, Abraham, child of God." Otherwise, no one ever called me "Abraham." When I came back to Yugoslavia from Israel I had a problem with the authorities, so I officially changed my name from Abraham to Albert. I entered a request with all the details, because in my birth certificate it said Abraham Eskenazi. They told me that Albert and Abraham are not the same. But, I told them that I am now called Albert, and not Abraham. They allowed me to continue using the name Albert, but Abraham remained written in the registry.

My paternal grandfather was a lawyer in Bjeljina. He lived there. He was Sephardi. He observed the traditions. He was not Orthodox, but like the rest of the Jews from his generation, he observed the holidays, went to temple and socialized with others. It was not a ghetto, but all the Jews, especially from smaller places, socialized in the communities or at the holiday parties for Purim, Hanukah. At that time, there were about 150 Jews in Bjeljina. The Jewish community organized cultural activities and people gathered there, not only on holidays but during the rest of the year, when there was a lecture or a guest. They were very close. All the Jews were from the middle class; maybe there was a group who were poorer, maybe 20 percent, most likely those who were tradesmen. But Jewish solidarity was well-known, and our fellow citizens looked upon this with envy. Rich Jews helped the poorer ones, and it was not just with alms but with substantial help for their children - clothing and shoes. During the holidays, the children would get all they needed from the richer members of the community. I do not remember if there was anti-Semitism there, as I do not remember it in the whole of Bosnia.

My grandfather was buried in Bjeljina. His daughter went there after the war went to visit his grave, but she could not find it. The Jewish cemetery had been dug up.

My grandfather had three daughters: Vikica, Perl and Heda. All of them were born in Bjeljina. His first two sons, Michael - known as Mikica - and Jakov - known as Jakica - were born nearby in Brcko. Since there were no descendants there to maintain and visit the graves, the graves were dug up and new gravesites were made from them. After my grandfather's death, my grandmother moved to Slavonski Brod. I do not know how she managed; most likely, she received her husband's pension. As far as I know she was a housewife. She was not employed and she lived there until her death in February 1929. I was born in June of that year but she had died three months earlier.

I remember my maternal grandparents. My grandfather was a rabbi for the whole area of northern Bosnia. My grandfather was born in Bosnia but I cannot remember where. Together with his brother, Nisim Kabiljo, he went on pilgrimage to Palestine around 1890 and there two things happened. My grandfather met my grandmother, who was born in Palestine, they married and had their first four children: three sons and one daughter. My grandfather went back to Bosnia, and had another seven children. His brother remained in Israel where he made a big family. He was no longer known as Kabiljo, but rather Haviljo, which became a famous name in Jerusalem. In the center of the city there is a Haviljo Family Square. They were producers of candy, halvah and sweets. Theirs was the first big factory and it operated for a long, long time. When I came to Israel I went to the factory. The halvah produced by Shmuel Haviljo was well known and they were famous for it. After his death, the city of Jerusalem decided to name a small square in the center of town Haviljo Family Square. I have seen this street sign. Their grandchildren still live in Israel. They were real Israelis. One, Shlomo Haviljo, was a colonel in the Israeli army; another was Avram Haviljo, he worked as a diplomat; a third, Mose Haviljo, worked in the factory. Shmuel Haviljo hired several Yugoslavs who came to Israel as part of the first aliya because his father, Nisim Haviljo, was of Yugoslavian descent.

Growing up

I was born in Slavonski Brod. My parents lived in Bosanski Brod, but there was no maternity hospital, so they moved to my grandmother's and lived there. Then my sister was born 16 months later, on October 20, 1930. Today, when I want to joke with Bosnians, I tell them that I am not a Bosnian. A large bridge spanning the Sava River separates me from Bosnia. You are on one side, and I am on the other in Slavonia, a Slavonian. Life and circumstances made it so that I do not even remember my birth place, as I was not even 2 years old when we moved to Zagreb. I saw Slavonski Brod when I was 35. I went to Slavonski Brod with my mother and she showed me where she used to walk with me in my carriage, and where we lived. I do not remember what our house looked like, but I know that the street was called Trenk. Trenk Street exists today, named after the Croatian baron, Trenk.

Because of the war, when we fled Zagreb in 1942, for Mostar, I had to go through Slavonski Brod and Sarajevo. We spent a whole night at the station waiting for the train in Slavonski Brod. I spent the whole night at the station and did not manage to see my birth place.

My parents met in Derventa. My maternal grandfather had a manufacturing workshop there where he sold all sorts of things. The two saleswomen in the store were his two daughters: my mother and her sister. I do not remember what brought my father to Derventa or how long he remained there. He fell in love with my mother and she with him and, according to custom, they received their parents' blessings and married in Doboj on August 10, 1925. I do not why they married in Doboj. I was born four years later. Their first child died during birth. My father worked for a Jew as a traveling salesman supplying materials and scraps of material. They sold everything in bundles, which his boss obtained in Zagreb, where he had a big warehouse. My mother was a housewife and never worked.

I started school in Zagreb when I was 6. I went to the Jewish school, which at the time was well known and experimental. All the Jewish children went to this school. It was called the Jewish Elementary School. The school had four grades, then there were four grades of lower gymnasium and four upper grades. It was lovely, as school children we went to temple on Fridays two at a time in the morning. The temple was close to the school. The school was in the Jewish community building. Today the Jewish community is still in the same place. In the Jewish elementary school we had religious studies and Hebrew lessons, in the third and fourth year. The teachers were named Martin Mozes and Greta Vajs. I started to learn my first letters and words in Hebrew in the school. I did not know that I would live so many years in Israel and that I would teach and translate Hebrew one day, but that is when I started.

My mother's father was a rabbi and his two sons also learned to be rabbis, although they never worked as such. One was named Samuel and the other Moric Kabiljo. They knew everything that a rabbi needed to know. In addition to being a rabbi, my grandfather was a shochet, and he circumcised newborn male babies. He circumcised all his male grandchildren born before 1941, including me.

I do not know why, but my maternal grandmother and grandfather moved from Sarajevo to Zagreb in 1939. They probably made this move because they had a daughter, my mother, there who could take care of them because they were quite old and sick. Their other children who had made something of themselves also helped them. The second-eldest son, Jozef Kabiljo, had a big information bureau in the center of Belgrade. David Kabiljo, the eldest son, was a successful merchant in Prijedor. Moric was a merchant in Derventa. The others worked in someone else's firms. Two of them worked for Jozef.

I remember when they moved to Zagreb. I went with my mother and father to their place. They changed apartments twice. Whenever I went to visit them, my grandfather sat on the couch and prayed. He had big and small prayerbooks, and whenever I went there he was praying. He spent several hours a day praying or reading, but his reading was like his praying. He knew a lot of things by heart. He had an enormous amount of books. My grandmother took ill and died at the end of January. It was a nice funeral with all her eight sons and two daughters there. Their eldest daughter died from diabetes problems in Belgrade, before her mother.

All of my grandmother's eight sons married Jewish women, even Sephardi women. I do not think there was an Ashkenazi woman among them. All three daughters also married Jews: My mother married Eskenazi, another Kraus, and the third Altarac. At the time it was possible for everyone to find their own mate and our elders and parents wanted their children to marry Jews, which after World War II was impossible. All were dead, disappeared.

Our entire childhood in Zagreb was fully involved in Jewish activities. My sister and I went to the Jewish school, and were active in all events. We had religious studies and Hebrew language lessons. When we entered the gymnasium, religious studies was part of the curriculum. There were two of us Jews and one Evangelist; we went out during these classes and played football. But we went to Bible once a week with our rabbi, Samuel Romano. Every half-year, we needed to get a stamped certificate stating that we had been to religious classes, and our grade was entered into the certificate.

We were a poor family. We lived in an apartment that did not have its own bathroom; we used the bathroom in the hall. We were the only ones who used it, but it was not in our apartment. We lived very modestly, and my sister and I received help from rich Jews who had shoe, coat and clothing stores around Zagreb. When there was a holiday, we would go to their stores and receive a coat, shoes. They took care of the poor children. There was a time when we could not even pay the rent. The rent was 200 dinars monthly, and my uncle, who lived in Belgrade and who was rich compared to us, sent 200 dinars every month to pay our rent. What my father made was enough to feed us. 

During the war

World War II arrived. The Germans came to Croatia. They created and installed their own authorities, and with them came the Ustashe. Laws against the Jews were enacted. First they had to register, then that they had to hand over, their stores and property. Everyone who lived in a better apartment was evicted and slowly they were taken to camps. Once my grandfather was widowed he spent one month with one daughter and another month with one son, etc. He had two remaining daughters: one in Zagreb and one in Nova Gradiska. In November 1941 he went to stay with his daughter in Nova Gradiska because she still had not been deported. They said that those that lived in smaller towns might be saved. However, one day the Ustashe came and took my aunt Mirjam; Merjama, my mother's sister; her husband, Bernard Kraus; their children, Zlata and Jelena; and her elderly father. Zlata was older than me and Jelena was my age. They were all taken to the Stara Gradiska camp. From there, the women and children were taken to Djakovo. None of them returned.

My grandfather did not conduct services in Zagreb because he was already too old. He went to temple. There were two temples in Zagreb, one Sephardi and one Ashkenazi, which was enormous and was destroyed by the Ustashe in 1941. My grandfather demanded that all of his children - and this was not hard because they all listened to him and respected him - observe the Jewish tradition, practices, go to temple on the holidays, if not every Saturday and Friday evening. All of his children had to teach their children about Judaism from a young age, which we continued later in the Jewish school. I remember when my mother taught my sister and I the basic Jewish prayers. We still had not started school at that time. She would take us in her lap and recite Shema Israel, and we would repeat it a few times. After a few days we knew the Shema Israel. My mother - and even more so her brothers, two of whom had studied to be rabbis - observed the holidays at home. The two of them surely observed kashrut. From the earliest childhood, we received lessons in Judaism and knowledge about our roots. When we began the Jewish elementary school we received even more.

In Zagreb, Belgrade and other places, there was a Jewish youth society called Hashomer Hatzair - "Ken," which in Hebrew means "nest." There were social events; we had clubs for youth, students and children. Some of them were in the community's building, but most were in a special space. Ken and Hashomer Hatzair had a space in the center of Zagreb on Ilici Street on the second floor. There was a third Jewish group, B'nai Akiva. My sister and I went to B'nai Akiva for some time because we got the nicest cakes there, but I went to Ken before that. I hear that even today the children come to the club only to get Coca-Cola, cakes and snacks. That is almost equally as attractive as that which they learn in the clubs. I remember that we went because of the cakes, which were made by Jewish women who brought them to the club. This club was at the Kresimirov Square, which still exists today. We also had a very developed sports club called Maccabi. It was originally called the Zidovsko Gombacko Drustvo Makabi (Maccabi Jewish Gymnastics Society). Maccabi had a very strong table tennis section. Maccabi played in the Zagreb football league. We went twice a week for exercise, gymnastics. It was on the same street as the Jewish school. The hall was beautiful and it still exists. It made our day when we went to Maccabi. We had some famous, first-rate athletes in boxing, fencing, gymnastics and football. The table tennis player Herskovic was the best in the country. Leo Polak, the boxer, was first in the Balkans. A few years later, someone said he had been the best Croatian boxer of all time, even though he was a Jew. I met him when we were getting ready to escape in 1941; he came to the community to get his documents. My father introduced me to him: "Leo Polak, the famous boxing champion."

As soon as the war began and the independent state of Croatia was established, the persecution of the Jews began. They expelled us from all schools and faculties of the university. I remember that the director of my gymnasium called my mother and, in a very cultured way, he said that he unfortunately had to inform her that her son could no longer attend school, that he was very sorry, but that the order came from the government, and he asked her to please understand. I remember that he said: "There will come a time when they will be able to go to school again." Clearly, that referred to only those who survived, because 80 percent did not survive. My sister almost finished elementary school, but she could not enroll in the gymnasium.

Our community established a Jewish school so that we did not miss out on our education. This was in Zagreb. The school functioned very well. The professors were all Jews. There was one for Croatian-Serbian language, another for mathematics, handiwork, etc. However, since there were waves of deportations to the camps, every day there was one professor fewer or two students fewer. They would come to people's houses during the night and take them away to the camps.

In school, we celebrated Shabbat. We lit candles and sang songs. We did this until the school lost its sense, once 80 percent of the teachers had been deported, and maybe there was one left. One day Mikija was not there, they had taken him; Lee was not there, they had taken her.

My father was taken to Jasenovac on September 19, 1941. First he was taken to Stara Gradiska and then to Jasenovac. It is hard to know what was worse, to be in Stara Gradiska or Jasenovac - the camps were even connected. We stayed in Zagreb, and no one touched us. They took the Jews in two ways, sometimes the whole family and sometimes just the head of the family. When they took my father, they took only the men. However, two months later, they came after the women and children as well. We were not at home. I remember the details. We heard that the next day they were going to deport all the Jews whose last name began with K. We had relatives named Kon. That morning my mother went with us to the Kons, who did not live far from us, to tell them what we had heard and to hide. My mother drank coffee with them, then we went back to our apartment where our neighbor told us: "Mrs. Eskenazi, run away; they are looking for you. Hide until this passes." We hid for a few days with relatives, he was a Jew and she was a Catholic and was in some way protected. Afterward, we hid with a Croatian family we knew from when we had lived on Sava Road. Then we hid with a Moslem waiter who knew my father. My father had gone to a café where he worked; his name was Fajko. He hid us with his wife. At some point my mother lost her nerves and patience and said: "No one is going to hide us any longer. We are going home and whatever is the fate of the others will be our fate as well."

In the meantime, my uncle came from Derventa. He had done so much for the economic development of Derventa and the region that he received Aryan rights. It was the rare Jew who was rewarded for his involvement in Croatian causes, culture, architecture. The Aryan rights would protect them, or at least they believed these would protect them. However, my uncle along with his entire family was captured, put on a train and taken to Zagreb. At the Zagreb station, they waited to be sent someplace else. We raced to the station to see them. Then something unexplainable happened - they were sent back to Derventa, and it was clear to my uncle that they must flee before they came for him again. They came to Zagreb. They hid in our apartment while they prepared papers to flee. The destinations were between Mostar and Split, because the Italians were there. Their papers arrived and luckily they arrived in Split. My uncle's Croatian assistant from the store followed them to Split to make sure that they arrived safely. His name was Marko Covic. Indeed, they did arrive safely. They fled further, for Argentina, and my other uncle from Belgrade had successfully made it to Split, so they had money and gold to bring with them.

Before they went to Argentina they sent my mother, sister and I false documents. These said we lived on Brac, and that the children were being treated for an illness in Zagreb, and they were now returning to Brac through Sarajevo and Mostar. The goal was to get us to Mostar. Marko Covic followed us as well, to be sure that we arrived in Mostar. Mostar was the destination for the majority of Bosnian Jews from Sarajevo and western Bosnia. All those who were able to reach Mostar were saved. There were two or three families there from Zagreb.

There was a Jewish community in Mostar, which had its own kitchen, where we received two meals a day. However, because of some agreement with the state of Croatia, the Italian authorities had to hand over Mostar to Croatia. The Italians knew that as soon as the Ustashe enter Mostar, they would come after the Jews first. So, the Italians organized to have us transferred to an island that remained under Italian authority.

We were transferred from Mostar to Jelsa Island, then to the city of Hvar. We had our own kitchen in some deserted hotel on Jelsa. The women organized themselves, and we had a stove and wood from the surrounding forests. We children collected oak-apples. Every seven days the Italian authorities gave us sugar, flour, pasta, parmesan cheese and jelly, according to the number of members in a family. Each adult had to register at the police station every day. After Jelsa, where we were for three or four months, we were transferred to Hvar where we were put up in five hotels, which were empty because there was no tourism. We were in Hotel Slavija, which had a wonderful owner named Tonci Maricic, who gave us everything. He left us alone to organize ourselves and he solved all the problems. The Italians paid for this, but what was important was how he treated us. After liberation, many people visited him and he came to Sarajevo and Zagreb. This friendship lasted as long as he lived.

Then the Italian occupational authorities decided that all Jews who were on Hvar, Korcula, Lopud and Kuparij should be transferred to Rab. On Rab there was a camp where Slovenes lived before, under terrible conditions. Half of the camp was comprised of brick buildings and the other half of barracks. The camp was surrounded with multi-layered thorns, wires. When we saw this, we realized this was a real camp, with wires. Later we realized this was neither Jasenovac nor Auschwitz. We were organized. We had a big kitchen; we organized cultural life. There were pianists, actors, doctors, lawyers and other experts among us. We children were divided by age. The elder ones worked. As children, we did not feel camp life. We were so small and we were able to go swimming every day. There was one Italian guard for all 100 of us.

My mother was employed in the tailor shop that made uniforms - not new uniforms; they repaired used ones. She worked seven hours in this tailor workshop and the prize was one loaf of bread. My mother worked for that, so that we would have a little more bread, for the growing children. We could withstand all of that - until the Italians capitulated. The Italians were anxious to do this because they were never soldiers like the Germans. This is a nation that has a nice language, nice poetry, a nation that loves to love - but they are not warriors. Yes, their army did damage throughout Dalmatia, and certainly people were killed, but they were humane in their treatment of us, if one can say that. The Italians threw down their weapons, and the partisans came. In the camp itself, there was a partisan organization, which we children did not even know about. The partisans knew that we would be unable to hold the island much longer and, since they had already liberated us, they wanted to transfer us to more secure territory.

Post-war

We were transferred in groups to liberated territory by large and small boats. First we were sent to Lika and then to Kordun and the last destinations were the Banija in Petrinj, Glin and Topusko. We came to Topusko, where there were many deserted hotels and buildings, and we found accommodation there. Everyone had work. My mother worked as a cook and my sister and I took care of some baths. This was the spa at Topusko; there was a building with pools of warm water from nearby springs. We bathed every day and they called us the cleanest partisans, because partisans tended to have lice and only bathed once in a while. I became a courier, first in the command center in Topusko and then in the Zavnoh, the anti- fascist organization. This was the partisan authority for Croatia.

Zavnoh had its own management, technical and health sections, the partisans' future ministry. I was assigned to the management department, which was responsible for legislation. My boss was Leon Gerskovic, a Jew. He later became the third most-important person dealing with legislation in Yugoslavia: first was Mosa Pijade, then Kardelj and then Leon Gerskovic. When they transferred me to the propaganda section, where the mimeograph machines spun out materials, this started my love of printed things, of printing things. I was in this section of Zavnoh almost until the end of the war. When the Germans capitulated, Zavnoh was moved to Sibenik, liberated territory, as was the rest of Dalmatia. We were in Topusko for some time and then we transferred with some other command to liberated Zadar, for a month. One day the Zadarian whose house we lived in, a partisan himself, told us that our command was being transferred to Zagreb, which was already liberated on May 8, 1945. We all jumped on the truck. We parted ways at Hrvatski Karlovac, because military men could not transport civilians. We were transferred to a huge empty factory hall where we spent two days and where we awaited a freight train to Zagreb. We missed the train but another truck came with a covered tarpaulin. We jumped on. On the bridge over the Sava there were the guards who we had feared would not let us through. From the other side of the bridge, through which was the entrance to Zagreb, the sentries raised the flag, when they saw partisan hats they said, "Pass through." We got off with our luggage before the Zagreb Cathedral. We went to the first guest house, we asked the owner if we could leave our luggage until we found our relatives, and one told him that there were weapons inside so not to touch anything. The man responded: "Mister comrade, do not worry." It took them a long time to learn to say "comrade" instead of "mister." We found our relatives; it was a happy homecoming from the partisans. We hoped my father survived, but he did not return.

At the age of 16 I became employed in state service in the president's office of the Republic of Croatia, in the printing department, a continuation of the propaganda department from Topusko. The boss was the same, the staff new and then my mother went to the center of Zagreb where Tanjug was in the same building. We found my boss from the partisans who wrote a letter of recommendation for me: "Comrade Albert Eskenazi worked as a courier in the management board of Zavnoh. He is a lucid, reliable and hard-working young man, we believe he would be able to be of use for more important work - signed by the chairman, Nikola Rupcic." His wife, Ruza Rupcic, was my professor of Serbo-Croatian.

My friends from school returned to Zagreb within two or three months, some from Italy, some from Switzerland and some from the partisans. A cafeteria was opened in the Jewish community. The first and second floors, where earlier there had been a school and community offices, were for homeless people.

Because I went to work when I was 16, in the printing department, I was unable to go to the gymnasium on a regular basis. I started going to night school where I was able to pass two grades in one year. Every night I went to classes. I skipped the seventh year because I left for Israel.

I fell in love with the world of newspapers; I started to write for the main syndicated paper in Croatia. I wrote articles on sports and a column called "the voice of work." I started to feel great love toward this calling, and I had lots of material at my disposal as I could access the whole archive. I started to write articles in other Zagreb newspapers. I wrote for "Napred" and "Vjesnik." After two years in the printing department, the editorial office of the Belgrade "Borba" decided to print an edition in Latin characters in Zagreb. By phone and teleprinter, the text was copied in our department. I asked my boss to allow me to be a real reporter and to work in a real newspaper editorial room. From the first day that "Borba" began publishing a Latin edition in March 1948, I was transferred to the editorial room. I was the youngest reporter; I worked on cultural and sports columns.

My life in Israel

On May 15, 1948, Israel was declared a state, and preparations began for aliya. Whoever wanted to could sign up to go, except doctors and engineers, until 1951, when the five-year plan was finished. My sister went on the first aliya in December 1948. Two months earlier, she had married, and she went to Israel with her husband and his parents. I did not want to go, but my uncles in Argentina pressured us - after everything that happened, Jews could once again be declared guilty - and they persuaded my mother. In the meantime, my sister contacted us and told us that our relatives and the old- timers received her nicely. When she left she was already pregnant, and in June she had her first son.

I had work I liked very much and I lived very well; we had a nice small apartment. However, my relatives managed to convince us to leave, and my mother began to yearn for her daughter. We went to Israel in July 1949 - even though my sister wrote that we should not come because, "there you are a gentleman and here you will be just a worker." This did not bother me. I thought I would stay a little, learn about the situation and when I returned I would be a little expert on the Middle East. We traveled six days. In Haifa they sent us to the reception camp "Sent Lux." All of the people my age were immediately mobilized into the army, but since I came by myself I was not taken. From this camp we were transferred to another, closer to Jerusalem, so that we could be closer to my sister and our relatives. We were in these buildings another two or three months, but I still did not have work even though before that I had worked in the larger reception center in Bet Lit, in Netanya. One of our people who came on the same boat as me gave me a job. He was a professional cook and he got me work in a bar in Tel Aviv. I worked as an assistant in the kitchen and as a dishwasher for two months. Then we went to Jerusalem and found an apartment in the old part, a Jewish apartment in an Arab-style house. We had permission to bring all our things with us. Only those who had paintings had to seek special permission. The apartment had three rooms. Then I read in "Hitadut ole Jugoslavia" that a locksmith was looking for an assistant. His name was Laci Balok. I thought I needed to learn some trade. He had a workshop, we made keys, fixed stoves, made frames for doors. I worked almost a year with him and then I was advised to go into the army. I went in October 1950 and I came out in December 1952. After demobilization, I registered in Jerusalem. Again I did not have a trade, so I worked as a collector for a political party, until a friend of mine suggested that I learn a good trade that is valuable everywhere. It was zincography in the best printing house in Jerusalem, with Mihael Pinkovski, a Russian emigrant. We agreed that even though most trades are learned in four years that I would learn everything in two years because I was no longer young enough to be an apprentice. I did this until I left Israel.

In the meantime, I went to visit my relatives in Italy, Zagreb and Belgrade after nine years. In Belgrade, I visited my uncle's brother. We got along very well. Even though he was 15 years older than me, I respected him like a father. We were in the partisans together. I went to visit him for two days. One afternoon, an elderly couple came; they were his good friends Sandor and Ruzica Katan. An hour later, there was someone else at the door - a girl of 20 or 21 came in and moved toward my uncle's brother to kiss him. Being a miscreant, I asked her if she gave everyone kisses. She answered: "No, everyone who gets one from me must earn it." And that is how I met Sarina. I asked right away how the Jewish community was organized. At that time, Albi Vajs, the president of the federation, was giving a lecture. I went to the lecture, then we all went together to the theatre to watch "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof." The third day we sat in a nice pastry shop and ate cakes. At that point, I asked her if she wanted to marry me. I was sure she did not. She said she would and we decided to get married. I had to go back to Israel; she came once she had her papers in order. We were married in Israel.

My return to Yugoslavia

The whole time I was in Israel, I wanted to return to Yugoslavia. I made a request through the Yugoslav Embassy in Jaffa. A month later, a negative response arrived, stating that I left of my own free will. A condition for going to Israel was that we renounce our Yugoslav citizenship. Later I learned that the government sent all the ambassadors a circular letter not to accept returnees, because many wanted to return because of the hard life in Israel. I wrote a second request, but no one told me to go to Belgrade and find a connection there. My father-in-law was a driver for a general who was third in the hierarchy of the Yugoslav army, Vlado Janic. The general called the assistant minister for interior affairs and that is how we got permission to return.

I received work immediately in BIGZU in the department for zincography; there were not enough people who knew this trade. I remained there for 27 years; for the last 10 years I was a boss. In the meantime, I got an apartment. I had two children. I have five grandchildren. We live in a big house where each has his own apartment. After retiring I wanted to start writing, but my brother-in-law made an appointment with the then-president of the Jewish community, Jasa Almuli, to discuss the position of secretary. As soon as he saw me, he offered me the job. The $300 salary attracted me and, instead of staying two or three years, I remained for 10 years. After 10 years, I was tired and spent, and wanted someone younger to take my place. In addition, since I have been involved in Hebrew language for more than 50 years, I became a teacher of language and an official translator for Hebrew language, translating in both directions.

Since my return from Israel, 39 years have passed. I feel secure as a Jew. I never felt any anti-Semitism, even though everyone knows I am a Jew. My children also never felt anything in school. Here and there, there were a few situations, but the government very quickly punished those who carried them out. This is not strange since Serbs and Jews suffered together in the past, especially under the Nazis. Many Serbs even hid and saved Jews. This is very dear to me. It makes me proud and soothes me.

Agi Sofferová
roz. Kahan
Znojmo
Česká republika
Rozhovor pořídila: Zuzana Strouhová
Období vzniku rozhovoru: prosinec 2005 - únor 2006

Paní Agi Sofferová, rozená Kahan, pochází z Podkarpatské Rusi 1. Narodila se v Mukačevě v roce 1923 jako nejmladší, osmé dítě. Paní Agi Sofferová se provdala za Josefa Soffera, jehož první žena i syn válku nepřežili. Spolu pak měli dvě dcery, Růženu a Věru. Paní Agi pracovala v mateřské školce, tuto profesi po ní pak převzala i mladší dcera Věra, která do revoluce 2 působila jako ředitelka mateřské školky ve Znojmě. Po revoluci začala podnikat. Starší dcera Růžena celý život pracovala jako zdravotní sestra, po revoluci dojížděla za prací do Rakouska. V současné době žije paní Agi ve Znojmě, ve společném rodinném domku se svou dcerou Růženou. Má pět vnoučat a tři pravnoučata a je stále v kontaktu s rodinami svých sourozenců. Rodina Sofferů zase mívá srazy, na které se sjíždějí příbuzní z různých koutů světa.

Rodina
Dětství
Za války
Po válce
Glosář

Rodina

Vzhledem k tomu, že jsem nejmladší z osmi dětí a mému otci, Bence Kahanovi, bylo kolem padesáti let, když jsem se narodila, o jeho rodičích, ani o rodičích své matky, Miriam, toho mnoho nevím. To už je tolik let, nepamatuji se na ně. V té době už většinou nežili a já ani nevím, kdy vlastně zemřeli. Nemáme žádné doklady, o všechno jsme za války přišli. Zůstal mi jen můj rodný list.

Dědeček se příjmením musel jmenovat Kahan, protože tak se jmenoval můj tatínek, ale jeho křestní jméno nevím. Otec pocházel z Máramaros Szigetu [Máramoros Sziget, maďarské jméno pro současné rumunské město Signet Marmatiei – pozn. red. ] v Podkarpatské Rusi a jeho rodiče tam nejspíš žili celý život. Babička se, myslím, jmenovala Hana. Víc ovšem o nich, ani o jejich sourozencích, jestli nějaké měli, nevím. A jejich vzdělání? Co tenkrát mohli mít za vzdělání? Počítejte, kolik je to let, nejméně sto padesát. Dědeček měl možná jenom tu židovskou školu, ten cheder [Cheder: náboženská základní škola k výuce Tóry a judaismu – pozn. red.], jak se říká. Jejich mateřským jazykem byla jidiš.

Matčini rodiče pocházejí z Mukačeva, oba se tam narodili a vždy tam žili. Jejich rodný jazyk byla maďarština a tehdy se tam mluvilo i jidiš. Na dědečka se vůbec nepamatuji, myslím, že už nežil, když jsem se narodila. Jmenoval se Berger, křestní jméno neznám, ani nic o jeho vzdělání nebo zaměstnání. Asi obchodoval, nebo měl nějaké řemeslo. To vám neřeknu.

Na babičku z matčiny strany si pamatuji. Zemřela ve třiatřicátém, to mi bylo deset let, to lehce vypočítám. Za svobodna se jmenovala Hochman. Ta rodina měla pekařství, pekli chleba, ale nevím, jestli to bylo od jejích rodičů, nebo od bratra. Na její křestní jméno si nepamatuji, to je už strašně dlouho, to máte šedesát let. To člověk opravdu leccos zapomene. Když jsem byla mladší, měla jsem udělat ten strom života, teď bych to potřebovala, teď to schází. Ani si nejsem jistá, kolik měla babička sourozenců. Vzdělání měla asi základní, to víte, jaké vzdělání tenkrát mohli lidé na Podkarpatské Rusi mít. A ženy vůbec moc vzdělání neměly.
Nábožensky zcela určitě všichni moji prarodiče žili, tam se všechno dodržovalo. Chodilo se do synagog, držela se sobota [Šabat: Čtvrté přikázání Desatera zní: "Pomni na den sobotní, abys jej světil" (Ex 20, 8), neboť sedmý den po stvoření světa odpočíval Bůh. Šabat začíná v pátek se západem slunce, po němž se v domácnostech koná slavnostní večeře. Od této doby jsou zakázány určité druhy práce a věřící se má věnovat odpočinku a studiu svatých textů. Šabat končí v sobotu po západu slunce v synagoze bohoslužbou a večeří – pozn. red.], slavily se svátky, všechno. Určitě se nijak nevymykali.
Můj otec se jmenoval Bence, to je maďarské jméno, v hebrejštině ben Zion, syn Sionu. Narodil se v Máramoros Szigetu. Dneska by mu bylo kolem sto třicet let. Když jsem se narodila, tak matka měla už přes čtyřicet a otci muselo být tak padesát let, takže se narodil někdy kolem roku 1873. Ještě v Máramoros Szigetu chodil na obecnou školu, tam to byl tehdy chudý kraj, na vzdělání nebylo. Ani čas, ani peníze. Jeho mateřským jazykem byla snad jidiš, ale mluvil i maďarsky, tam se maďarsky mluvilo. Později se z Máramoros Szigetu dostal do Mukačeva a tam se oženil s mou matkou, Miriam. Jak se spolu seznámili, nevím. V Mukačevě můj otec také zemřel, v devětatřicátém. Takže jeho válka nepostihla.

Za první světové války byl na frontě a tam dostal nemoc, anginu pectoris, takže pak už moc nepracoval. Předtím obchodoval, se vším možným, měl takové stánky. Za války sloužil podle vyprávění někde v Itálii, ale kde přesně a v kterých letech, to nevím. Ale vím, že bojoval. Pěšák nebyl, možná byl u dělostřelectva, protože prý byl někde na nějakém tom voze nebo něco a tam spadl šrapnel a on se zázrakem zachránil. O svých zážitcích z války možná něco vyprávěl, ale mně už ne. Už byl starší, když jsem trošku dospěla.

Můj tatínek židovské tradice dodržoval, slavil všechno, chodil do synagogy, nebo častěji do modliteben. Chodíval i na ranní a večerní modlitbu, to se v Mukačevě chodívalo. Kašrut 3, jak se říká, to se také doma drželo. Měli jsme trojí nádobí. To pesachové bylo na půdě. A vždycky o Velikonocích [Pesach: připomíná odchod Izraelitů z egyptského zajetí a vyznačuje se mnoha předpisy a zvyky. Hlavním je zákaz konzumace všeho kvašeného - pozn. red.] se muselo snést dolů, bylo takové keramické, ozdobné. Seder [Seder: termín vyjadřující domácí bohoslužbu a předepsaný rituál pro první noc svátku Pesach – poz. red.] byl vždycky slavný, protože se rodina sešla. Víte, to se vracívala ta děcka, která už byla ve světě. To bylo vždycky hezké. I sobota [šabat] se držela a přísně. To se nevařilo, nedělalo se nic. 

Kolik měl otec sourozenců, nevím. Myslím, že tam byla sestra, s tou jsem se sešla v koncentráku, v Osvětimi. Oni tam přišli odněkud z Podkarpatské Rusi. Pamatuji se, že jsem se v Osvětimi, a potom i v Karlových Varech 4, po válce, sešla i s jednou její dcerou. Mám takovou vzpomínku, moje sestra Róžika [Ružena] porodila v Terezíně 5 děcko. Ona před válkou žila v Československu, takže šla tady odsud. Porodila děcko a vybrali ji na transport do Osvětimi. Tak ušila velkou tašku - ona a ještě jedna paní - uspala to děcko a převezla ho na ten transport. V Osvětimi se toho dítětě ujala taky otcova sestra. Jenže pak šli oba do plynu. Takže proto si vzpomínám, že měl otec sestru, jinak bych to možná ani nevěděla.

Maminka se jmenovala Miriam, za svobodna Berger. Narodila se v Mukačevu přibližně v roce 1882. Já jsem dvacátý třetí ročník a matce bylo kolem čtyřiceti, když jsem přišla na svět. Jejím mateřským jazykem byla maďarština a vzdělání měla nejspíš základní. Nepracovala, byla v domácnosti. V Mukačevu žila celý život až do transportů. Transporty tam šly moc rychle. Jestli tam bylo ghetto měsíc... Co oni tady v Česku dělali čtyři roky, tak tam v Mukačevě udělali za pár měsíců. Já s matkou jsme v dubnu 1944 společně odjely do Osvětimi, kde matka zahynula. Matka samozřejmě nábožensky žila, dodržovala kašrut, všechno a o velkých svátcích chodívala do synagogy. Ženy ale moc do synagogy nechodily a navíc tam sedávaly odděleně [během bohoslužeb ortodoxních obcí musí být podle zákona muži od žen odděleni – pozn. red.].

Matka měla bratra, který nějak brzy po první světové válce, snad ve dvacátých letech, vyvandroval do Ameriky. Jmenoval se Herbert Berger. Ten měl moc dětí, snad osm, ale my jsme s nimi nikdy do styku nepřišli. Dokud žila matka, tak psával, nebo poslal nějaký ten balík. Potom měla matka ještě tři sestry, na ty se pamatuji, s těmi jsme se stýkali. Jedna se jmenovala Mermelstein, druhá se jmenovala Taube, ale její příjmení si už nepamatuji, a jméno té třetí si již nepamatuji. Všechny tři byly vdané a měly děti.

Ten Mermelstein byl učitelem na židovské škole, na chederu. Měli spolu víc dětí, pět nebo sedm. Za války většinou všichni zahynuli v koncentráku, co jiného. Jedna z jejich dcer přežila, ta žije v Izraeli, s tou jsem se tam později setkala. A jeden syn je v Užhorodě. 

Co dělali ti druzí manželé, nevím. Taube měla, myslím, jednu dceru a ta měla pět synů. Shodou okolností si pak vzala mého bratránka, Wiedera, synovce od mého otce. Za války oba zahynuli v koncentráku, ale všech pět jejich synů přežilo. Jeden žije v Belgii, ten je stejně starý jako já, druhý žije v Mukačevě. Už si moc nepíšeme. Ta třetí maminčina sestra měla, myslím, syna. Ale ti už také nežijí. Nevím, možná zahynuli v koncentráku. 

Jak jsem říkala, pocházím z osmi dětí. Můj nejstarší bratr se jmenoval Mendu, ale říkal si Ubul. Ten by dneska mohl mít nad sto let. Já jsem se narodila ve třiadvacátém roce, on byl určitě tak o třicet let starší než já. Musel se narodit někdy koncem devatenáctého století. Byl novinář. Určitě měl nějaké vzdělání, asi střední školu, jinak by to nemohl dělat.  Nebo měl možná jen nadání. Jeho mateřským jazykem byla maďarština. Narodil se v Mukačevu, ale žil v Užhorodě, kde se oženil. Jeho manželka se jmenovala Hermína. Ve čtyřiačtyřicátém odrodila syna, ale pak přišli do koncentráku, rovnou do Osvětimi. Ona to přežila, ale to dítě ne a ani její manžel, můj bratr. Zemřel asi někdy ve čtyřiačtyřicátém nebo pětačtyřicátém roce.

Druhá nejstarší sestra byla Jolán [Jolana]. Narodila se někdy kolem roku 1903 v Mukačevu – byla tak o dvacet let starší než já - a pak se vdala do Nyírbátoru [Nyírbátor, městečko v Maďarsku, nalézá se v župě Szabolcs – Szatmár – Bereg – pozn. red.] za nějakého Frieda, Morice Frieda. Měla s ním dvě děti a zahynula s nimi v Osvětimi. Jejich dcera se jmenovala Věruška, té bylo pět nebo šest let, když jeli do koncentráku. Jméno toho chlapečka, malinkatého, ročního, si už nepamatuji. Jolán byla v domácnosti a její manžel dělal koňského handlíře.

Další v pořadí byl bratr Jan. Také on se narodil v Mukačevě a to v roce 1905. Žil v Mukačevě, přežil koncentrák, vrátil se do Mukačeva a tam zemřel. Za války byl ve více koncentračních táborech, protože bojoval ve Španělsku 6. V osmatřicátém tam šel jako dobrovolník.  Byl v lágru ve Francii, tam mu pomohli dostat se načerno domů do Mukačeva. To bylo jako zázrakem, to víte, podzemní hnutí bylo i tam. Dostal se domů, ale nebyl tam ani hodinu nebo dvě hodiny a hned pro něho přišli. Odvezli ho do koncentračního tábora v Maďarsku. Odtamtud šel do Osvětimi. Vystřídal toho tedy hodně, ale vrátil se a zůstal žít v Mukačevě, kde někdy v osmdesátých letech zemřel. V Mukačevě vedl po válce nějakou továrnu na prošívané deky, nebo něco takového, jelikož byl v tom Španělsku na straně komunistů a v Mukačevě pak byli Rusové, a tak mu umožnili vést tu továrnu. Jan byl ženatý, ale děti neměl. Jeho manželka se jmenovala Móni [Mónika].

Další byla Róžika, Róži. Narodila se v Mukačevě v roce 1907, ale pak se přestěhovala do Znojma. Koupila si tady nějaký obchod, dělala podprsenky a podvazkové pásy. Seznámila se tam s Emilem Jockerem, za kterého se pak provdala. On byl také ročník 1907. Měla jenom jedno dítě, to, které se narodilo v koncentráku a zahynulo tam. Ona sama také válku nepřežila, zemřela nejspíš někde v Osvětimi v roce 1945.

Potom byl Kolja, ten se také narodil v Mukačevě. On byl třináctý ročník. Měl dvě vysoké školy, byl velice nadaný na řeči. Jeho rodným jazykem byla maďarština, určitě mluvil i jidiš, německy a také rusky, anglicky a francouzsky. Studoval v Praze na Linguě, kde pak učil jazyky. Byl také ve Francii na Sorbonně, kde nejspíš také studoval jazyky. V Praze studoval i na advokáta, už měl titul JUDr., k doktorátu mu chyběla už jen jedna zkouška. Jak se do Prahy dostal a jak to dělal, nevím, protože z domu na to nemohl nic dostat, my jsme byli chudí. Před válkou dělal v Praze na ambasádě, myslím, že na polské. Pak šel víc a víc do vnitrozemí, byl v armádě jako důstojník, kde měl díky znalosti jazyků určitou svobodu. Nakonec se ale v Rusku dostal do koncentráku a někdy ve čtyřiačtyřicátém nebo pětačtyřicátém tam zahynul. Byl svobodný a děti neměl. Nic víc o něm nevím. Ačkoliv ten věkový rozdíl už nebyl tak velký, tak byl dost často pryč.

Další bratr se jmenoval Josef, neboli Joe. Ten se v devětatřicátém nebo ve čtyřicátém dostal do Anglie, kde byl u letectva jako letecký elektrikář. Narodil se v Mukačevě v roce 1916. Po válce se v Anglii živil jako elektrikář, oženil se a vzal si Angličanku, Margaret, ale říkalo se jí Peggy. Měli spolu čtyři děti. Syn se jmenuje George, ten je v Kanadě. Potom je Mary, ta žije v Anglii. A pak je John a potom Peter, ten žije ve Skotsku. Joe s Peggy žili společně v Orpingtonu, to je městečko nedaleko od Londýna. Když jedete vlakem z přístavu do Londýna, tak to staví v Orpingtonu. I za komunistů jsem za nimi občas jezdívala, bratr mi vždycky poslal pozvání a oni mě pouštěli. On k nám přijel až po revoluci [1989]. Zemřel nedávno, v devadesátém osmém roce, také v Orpingtonu. S vnučkou Magdou jsem byla na jeho pohřbu.

Mým posledním sourozencem je Helena, říká se jí Ibi. Ta je ročník devatenáct. Před válkou si udělala učitelský ústav v Miškolci a pak učila v Užhorodě. Do koncentráku jela z Užhorodu, i s těmi svými žáky. Stále ještě žije, v kanadském Halifaxu, je starší než já, ale je to čipr holka. Po válce si vzala toho Emila Jockera, manžela po sestře Růženě, která za války zahynula. Žili ve Znojmě, ale těsně před revolucí [před rokem 1989] vyvandrovali do Kanady, kam se jim předtím vdala dcera Jana, lékařka, a také tam zdrhnul jejich syn Pavel. Ten v Kanadě dělá zástupce nějaké firmy. Potraviny a tak, něco takového. Teď je v Praze, přes zimu pracuje tady a zjara se vrátí do Kanady. Jana se tenkrát chtěla dostat ven a tak si vzala muže, který žil v Kanadě. Emigrovala, když jí bylo asi jednadvacet let, takže to muselo být někdy v sedmdesátém roce. Jana se narodila v roce 1949 ve Znojmě. Pavel byl mladší, ten se narodil ve třiapadesátém roce také ve Znojmě. Emigroval o dva tři roky později i s manželkou a dětmi – mají dva syny, Tomáše a Jana. Jeli tenkrát do Jugoslávie a nevrátili se.

Dětství

Já se jmenuji Agi Sofferová a narodila jsem se 15. března 1923 v Mukačevě. Když jsem přišla na svět, byla jsem takové škaredé káčátko a  matka se, chudák, styděla. Tenkrát jí sousedka řekla: „Neplač, Miriam, neplač, všichni ti vyletí z hnízda, zůstane ti jen ona“. A opravdu, všichni vyletěli z hnízda a my dvě jsme šly na transport spolu. Mou mateřštinou je maďarština. U nás se mluvilo maďarsky, i trochu jidiš, ale hlavně maďarsky. A měla jsem hebrejské školy. Ale hebrejsky jsem samozřejmě za tu dobu zapomněla. Nebylo s kým mluvit, takže jsem zapomněla. Tady jsem si osvojila češtinu. Umím i němčinu a teď také angličtinu. Mluvila jsem kdysi i jidiš, z toho jsem při té němčině vycházela, jidiš je němčině dost podobná. Takže teď nemluvím jidiš, mluvím německy. I když možná bych se ještě jidiš domluvila. Měla jsem čtyři třídy gymnázia, ale pak jsem musela školu přerušit, protože v osmatřicátém nebo v devětatřicátém přišli Maďaři 7.

Do transportu jsem žila v Mukačevu. Bylo to velké krásné moderní město. Dláždění, elektřina, to všechno jsme tam měli. Mukačevo  vybudovali Češi [Mukačevo patřilo v letech 1918 - 1938 k území První československé republiky. Většina starších budov města byla vybudována právě v tomto období. Viz i 1 a 7 – pozn. red.]. Když přišli, tak to bylo takové území nikoho. Tam se to hodně střídalo, byli tam Rumuni, Maďaři, i Rusíni, a pak se to v pětačtyřicátém odstoupilo Rusům, takže se to stalo součástí Sovětského svazu a my [rozuměj Československo] jsme o to přišli. Bývala to krásná úrodná zem, podobná jako tady ve Znojmě, hrozny, jablka, meruňky. Rusové tam pak začali dolovat sůl a všechno vydolovali a zničili.

Polovička obyvatel Mukačeva byla židovského původu. Byla tam sice židovská ulice, ale Židé byli v zásadě roztroušení po celém městě. Židy možná trochu odlišovalo, že dělali víc do obchodu, měli takové malé obchody. Ale často to také byli řemeslníci, ševci, krejčí a tak, všechno možné. Jaké tam byly vztahy mezi Židy a křesťany? No, žilo se. To víte, když byl někdo bohatý, tak se závidělo. Ale já jsem vyrostla mezi křesťany a se sousedy jsme vždycky dobře vycházeli. Přátele jsem měla spíše mezi Židy, ale tam, kde jsme bydleli, žily i křesťanské rodiny a tak s těmi dětmi jsme si také hráli. S antisemitismem jsem se nesetkala.

Židovská komunita byla v Mukačevě různorodá. Bylo tam i hodně chasidů 8. My jsme ale mezi těmihle radikálními Židy, s pejzy a kaftany 9, žádné přátele ani přízeň neměli, i když v naší rodině se také všechno dodržovalo. Byla tam velká synagoga a pak malé synagogy a takové malé modlitebny. Ty byly všude, v každé ulici, nebo v každé druhé ulici. Otec chodíval spíše do modlitebny. Jen možná na vysoké svátky jsme chodili do synagogy. Matka určitě chodila do mikve: [rituální koupel – pozn. red.], ta tam také byla.

V Mukačevě se všechny tradice držely přísně. Kašrut, všechno. Mými nejoblíbenějšími svátky byl Pesach. To bylo krásné. Tatínek dělal seder a rodina se sešla. Také se hodně držel Nový rok [Roš hašana: židovský nový rok – pozn. red.]. To byly asi tak největší svátky. Ale nejvíc se mi líbil ten Pesach, to už bylo jaro. Omezení spojená tradicemi jsem brala prostě tak, jak jsou. Jak jsem říkala, Mukačevo bylo z polovičky židovské, takže tam to bylo normální. Ale my už jsme to pak moc nedodržovali, ta mládež už to nebrala tak vážně, my jsme v sobotu i rozsvítili [Šábes: na šabat je zakázaných 39 hlavních pracovních činností, od nichž se poté odvozuje zákaz ostatních. Mezi zakázané činnosti patří i "rozsvěcení světel" – pozn. red.]. Ta starší generace na to samozřejmě reagovala špatně, hlavně otec. Protože synové se od toho dost odklonili, už nevěřili jako on. On byl ještě takový pobožný a matka také, ale ta děcka už ne. Starší sestra Jolán, ta dodržovala dost, všechno, i když se pak vdala. Ti další sourozenci, Róži, Jan, Kolja, ti, myslím, už tak moc ne. Sice nedodržovali, ale nikdy svůj původ nezapřeli. Ani já ne.

Měli jsme tam i hodně židovských škol, těch chederů, děcka tam chodila hodně. Škol jsme vůbec měli v Mukačevu několik, ruské školy, ukrajinské, já jsem chodila do hebrejského reálného gymnázia. To od nás bylo docela daleko, ale nic takového jako autobusy tam v té době samozřejmě nejezdily. Do školy mě vodili. Tak do deseti let jsem určitě sama nešla. Ono to bylo opravdu dost daleko. Ta škola samotná mně nijak zvlášť v paměti neutkvěla. Myslím, že jsme jezdili někam na nějaké výlety.

S rodiči jsme nikam nejezdili, jak vám říkám, nebyly na to prostředky. Jen se pamatuji, že jsme chodívali do lesa nebo plavat do řeky, s rodiči nebo i bez nich. V sobotu se chodilo do synagogy a pak, jako děcka, jsme si hráli na dvoře a když jsme byli starší, tak jsme měli takovou partu a to jsme chodili na procházky a tak. V Mukačevě byly krásné parky, kam jsme často, než přišla válka, chodívali. Sport jsme doma moc neprovozovali, matce už bylo přes čtyřicet, když jsem se narodila, otec už byl také starší a nemocný. Ale v židovských spolcích se sportovalo, do války se prostě v Mukačevě žilo normálně. Ani já jsem nijak moc nesportovala.

V Mukačevě žili i zámožní lidé, ale my jsem mezi ně nepatřili. Pocházím z chudých poměrů, žádné služebnictvo nebo chůvy, nic takového jsme neměli. Tam, kde jsme žili – to byla taková krásná velká ulice – byl takový velký dvůr a z každé strany bydleli lidé. Bohatí měli v Mukačevě i krásné domy a všechno. Kromě křesťanských rodin bydlelo v okolí také hodně Židů. Bydleli jsme v nájmu, v dvoupokojovém bytě s kuchyňkou a předsíňkou. Ty byty tam nebyly moc vybavené, třeba koupelnu jsme neměli. Nějaká knihovnička tam snad byla, matka určitě čítávala. A otec chodíval studovat Tóru. I já jsem hodně čítávala. Když jsem dospěla, četla jsem světovou literaturu, to byly krásné knížky. Romain Rolland [Rolland, Romain (1866 – 1944): francouzský prozaik, dramatik, hudební historik a literární kritik – pozn. red.], Feuchtwanger [Feuchtwanger, Lion (1884 – 1958): německý spisovatel a překladatel židovského původu – pozn. red.] a tak. Krásné knížky. To jsem si často říkala: „Panebože nenech mě umřít, abych to mohla dočíst.“ Když jsem ty knížky pak četla třeba o dvacet let později, tak už to byl zase úplně jiný dojem.

Byla jsem nejmladší, takže pak už jsem žila s matkou a s otcem sama. Každý ze sourozenců už si šel vlastní cestou. Otec pak v devětatřicátém zemřel. Nebylo to lehké, starší sestry matce pomáhaly, rodina se přece jenom nějak musela uživit. To víte, nebyly důchody, nebylo nic. Já jsem také něco vydělala, uměla jsem trochu šít. Prostě dělala jsem, co se dalo. Nějaký čas jsem také žila u sestry Jolán. Byla těžká doba.

Za války

Jak jsem říkala, likvidace Židů v Mukačevu byla hodně rychlá. Museli jsme do ghetta, ale to tam bylo tak sotva měsíc. V dubnu 1944 jsem šla s matkou na transport do Osvětimi. Nejstarší sestra, Jolana, šla se dvěma dětmi ve čtyřiačtyřicátém z Maďarska, z Nyírbátoru, kde žila. Druhá sestra, Helena, jela z Užhorodu, kde učila.

Róži žila, jak jsem říkala ve Znojmě, takže ta jela do koncentračního tábora z Československa. Nejdřív byla v Terezíně, tam otěhotněla a za trest ji poslali do Osvětimi, jak jsem Vám o tom vyprávěla. No, ještě jsem ani nebyla za bránou lágru a už tam byli známí a říkají: „Máš tam sestru, máš tam sestru.“ Mě to ani nenapadlo, že by tam mohla být. A tak jsme se tam u drátů sešly, kde mi ukázala i své dítě. Róži měla to dítě v náručí. Když ten rodinný tábor, ve kterém v Osvětimi byla, likvidovali, ty mladé vybrali na práci. A tak odjela někam do Německa na práci, nevím kam. Vojnu nepřežila. Z vyprávění vím, že snad také dělali pochod smrti. Buď dostala otravu, nebo byla tak oslabená, že už potom dál nemohla. To bylo asi někdy v pětačtyřicátém, když tenkrát před koncem války přesunovali vězně. Prý se tak chtěla vrátit. Ale měla smůlu, chudák. Ty, co byly s ní a přežily, vyprávěly, jaké byla sluníčko, jak je držela v náladě, přestože měla s tím dítětem tak těžký osud. Ona tak toužila po dítěti, kdyby bývala nepřišla do jiného stavu, mohla přežít. Ale s dítětem neměla šanci. Také málokteré děcko to přežilo. Možná ještě v Terezíně, ale v Osvětimi? A bylo tam tolik krásných dětí, kdo ví, co by z nich pak vyrostlo. Byly opravdu krásné a nadané.

Když jsme šly s matkou do transportu, mohly jsme si vzít jen dvacet kilo zavazadel. No, co jste si mohla vzít s sebou? Moc toho nebylo, to stačilo tak na trochu prádla a trošku toho jídla. Pamatuji si, že matka zapomněla v ghettu hrneček, nebo snad kastrolek, šla zpátky a strčil do ní nějaký četník, maďarský četník. Vidím to jako dnes. Já vstoupila před ni a říkám: „To je moje matka.“ On byl úplně překvapený. Táhli jsme všichni ta zavazadla, bylo to dost daleko, hnali nás do cihelny přes celé město. Chudák matka, ona byla dost košer, ale když viděla, že nic není, tak mi koupila kousek klobásy. Ona sama to nejedla, ale mně to koupila. Něco se vám zaryje hluboko do mysli a nedostanete to ven. Byl tam jeden otec, vezl retardovanou dceru na vozíku. Esesák řekl, aby ho tam nechal. On nechtěl. Samozřejmě že toho otce zastřelil. Co bylo s tím děckem, to nevím, jestli ho také zastřelili, nebo ho tam nechali. Ale ti nedělali žádné cavyky.

V Osvětimi byla krematoria, nevím kolik a nevím kolik plynových komor. Oni plynovali, kde se dalo. Už v těch vagónech, jak jste tam seděla, jste to čekala… proslýchalo se to… alespoň já to čekala. No a když jsme vystoupily z toho vagónu, říkám matce: „Tady už je všechno jedno“. Protože jste viděla ty psy a Němci volali: „Všichni ven, všichni ven“ a viděla jste komíny kouřit a cítila jste to a věděla jste, že to není z pekárny nebo něco. No a nás potom na té rampě rozdělili. Doprava, doleva, jak se říkalo. Já jsem šla doprava, matka doleva. Pak už jsem ji neviděla. Ale zajímavé je, že když potom přijely ty maďarské transporty, když přijímali ty lidi z  Maďarska, z Budapešti, z Debrecína a tak okolo, tak oni si mysleli, že je to pekárna. A říkali: „No, tady se budeme mít dobře. Tady aj blázni chodí volně.“  Mysleli si, že ti ostříhaní lidé v hadrech a dřevácích, jsou blázni.  

Ne všechny dali na práci, já jsem byla vybraná náhodou, měla jsem štěstí. Byla tam švagrová, ta taky, chudinka, měla malé dítě a to jí sebrali. S babičkou, nebo s někým, šlo do plynu. Vybírali pracovnice, které umějí německy. A ona uměla německy. Tak přišla tam, jak dělali kartotéky, protože Němci to všechno psali. Oni si potrpěli na pořádek. Vybírali také Židovky do kuchyně. Tam byla velká kuchyň, velké kotle a původně tam vařily Polky. Místo nich vybrali mimo jiné nás. Napřed vybrali starší sestru a tetovali a když jsem to viděla, tak jsem vyváděla. Sestra nechtěla, abych byla zvlášť, tak jsem pracovala v té kuchyni. Prý jsme byly lepší jak ty Polky, ty byly špinavé. Byly třeba nastrojené, načančané, třeba nabarvené. Jedna esesačka taky vyzdvihla, že prý musí uznat, že jsme pracovité. Musely jsme těžko pracovat, těžké věci tahat. Ale díky tomu jsme možná trochu přežily. Přece jenom, nějaký ten brambor, nebo kousek té konzervy, nebo větší kousek řepy. Člověk trošku k něčemu přišel.

Tam jsme pracovaly půl roku, do pětačtyřicátého. Osmnáctého ledna [Koncentrační tábor Auschwitz byl osvobozen Rudou armádou 27. ledna 1945 – pozn. red.] se Rusové blížili k lágru. Němci to chtěli vyhodit do povětří, ale nějak se jim to nepovedlo. Tak nás nahnali na pochod smrti 10. Prošla jsem si tím s Helenou. Dvakrát. Kdyby se jedné něco stalo, tak ta druhá taky nepřežila. Člověk už byl na konci sil. První pochod byl tedy v lednu. Sto dvacet kilometrů za tři dny. Šli jsme do Breslaw [polsky Wroclaw], to bylo v Polsku. Tam nás nakládali do otevřených vagónů a vezli nás do Ravensbrücku 11. Pamatuji si, jaká byla zima. Seděli jsme v těch otevřených vagonech a pak nás nechali v tom Breslaw celou noc venku. Ten druhý pochod byl v dubnu. Ten snad byl ještě horší než ten v zimě. Bylo krásně, to jste šla a šla, musela jít, protože kdybyste nešla, tak do vás stříleli a zůstala jste tam ležet. Ale pud sebezáchovy je silný. V tom dubnu s námi chtěli dojít do Terezína, ale už k tomu nedošlo, protože ze všech stran byla fronta a my jsme tam nemohli. Dlouho se chodilo sem a tam. Němci vězně hnali dál na Západ, protože chtěli být osvobození u zápaďáků, u Američanů. Oni se strašně báli Rusů. Ty esesačky už měly pod esesáckým oblečením civilní šaty. Strašně se báli bombardování.

Zůstalo nás sto dvacet ženských. Někde v Německu, už si přesně nepamatuji to jméno, to víte, to už je dávno, ale bylo to někde u Labe, protože jsme přešli tu řeku tam a zase zpátky, jsme se v nějaké maštali zahrabaly do sena. I když nás ten Němec, majitel, nechtěl pustit dovnitř, že kůň musí mít klid. Byl tam s námi také jeden esesák, ten tam asi s nějakou z vězeňkyň držel, a tak s námi zůstal a chránil nás. Zůstaly jsme tenkrát v tom seně a druhý den ráno bylo slyšet předvoj, ruský předvoj. Druhý den, když už potom padaly šrapnely, tak tam ten majitel koně ležel, rozpřáhlý, mrtvý.  Rusové bojovali kousek odtamtud. No a tak nás pak Rusové osvobodili.

Co bylo s tím druhým Němcem, nevím, my jsme se pak rozdělily. Šly jsme pospolu jen ti nejbližší, asi deset nebo dvanáct nás bylo. Rekvírovaly jsme si koně a s povozem a koněm jsme dojely z Německa do Česka.  Já byla tak zesláblá, že mě posadily na vůz a sestru taky. Kobyla se splašila a vůz se převrátil. Člověk tam mohl zůstat, ale naštěstí se nic nestalo. Jen Helena si vymkla nohu, mně se nestalo nic. Musely jsme být blízko hranic, protože brzy jsme se dostaly do Ústí nad Labem. Ale ta cesta byla kalvárie. Nemyslete, že to bylo tak jednoduché. Jeden Rus vám dal, druhý vám vzal. A chtěli nás znásilňovat. Jen tak tak se člověk ubránil, opravdu.

Po válce

Z Ústí nad Labem jsme pak jely vlakem do Prahy, kam jsme přijely někdy koncem května, začátkem června. Praha byla nádherná. Tam to úplně vřelo, to bylo něco, jak Praha vězně přijala. To bylo něco úžasného. To člověk nemůže nikdy zapomenout. Na třech, pěti místech jste mohla jíst. Starali se o Vás, oblékli Vás, měla jste kde spát, tramvají jste mohla jezdit zdarma. Sestra byla nešťastná, jak se bude legitimovat. Ale já jsem jí říkala, nevím, jestli jsem to předvídala, ale říkala jsem: „Neboj, ukážeš tetování a uvidíš.“ A fakt, stačilo ukázat ruku a vozila jste se v Praze tramvají zadarmo. My už jsme původně seděly ve vlaku do Mukačeva, když přišla nějaká známá. „To jste hloupí,“ říkala, „kam jedete?“ A ještě štěstí, že jsme nejely. V Mukačevě to bylo všechno strašné, rozvrácené.

V Praze jsme nějaký čas pobyly, čtrnáct dní, tři týdny. Na návštěvu nějakých památek ale nebyl čas a ani nálada. Přišla jste oslabená, hladová, zavšivená. To víte, v Osvětimi jsem dělala v kuchyni a tam jsem měla takové teplé prádlo. Tam se vši držely, vši a srab. Přestože se člověk umýval každý den. Byly tam takové džbery, ve kterých jsme se myly, i když studenou vodou, svrab jsem nedostala, ale vši ano.

Z Prahy jsme přijely sem do Znojma. Před válkou tady žila má starší sestra Róžika, ta, jak měla to děcko.  My jsme ji sem přišly hledat. Ale přežil jen její manžel, Emil, co si potom vzal mou sestru Helenu. Ten se nás ujal a bydlely jsme u něho. Mezi tím nás také hledal mladší bratr, voják z Anglie, Josef. Sešli jsme se tady ve Znojmě. On byl vždycky takový klidný. Já, když jsem ho uviděla, tak jsem křičela nahoru „Ibi, Ibi“, na sestru Helenu -  to je zdrobnělina - „Ibi, Ibi, Josi je tady.“ A on mi  řekl: „Co tak křičíš?“ A to jsme se viděli po tolika letech a po válce.

Po válce jsem zůstala žít ve Znojmě a do Mukačeva jsem se jela jenom podívat. Ze sourozenců se tam nikdo nevrátil, ale nějaké známé a příbuzné jsem tam měla. V Československu žil nějakou dobu po válce i můj bratr Josef.  V Mariánských Lázních 12 dostal nějaký obchod s elektrikou. Jeho první syn, George, se narodil v pětačtyřicátém ještě v Anglii, ale dcerka Mary už přišla na svět tady v Karlových Varech, v sedmačtyřicátém. V padesátých letech, když  tu začali dělat ty věci, jak potírali zápaďáky 13, co bojovali v Anglii, a dost po nich jeli, odjel i s dětmi do Anglie.

Po válce jsem se už na gymnázium nevrátila. V Boskovicích jsem si udělala dvouletý kurz s maturitou pro učitelky mateřské školy. Tenkrát nám umožnili studovat i bez ukončení střední školy, protože měli nedostatek kantorů. Udělali dvě třídy, protože o ten kurz byl velký zájem. Studovala jsem ho dálkově. Ve čtyřiapadesátém, poté, co jsem měla děti, jsem totiž ve Znojmě nastoupila do práce jako pěstounka. A v roce padesát osm až šedesát byl ten kurz. Učitelku v mateřské škole jsem dělala až do důchodu, kam jsem odcházela v roce 1978. Ale pak jsem ještě trošku pracovala. Ještě mě potřebovali, tak jsem ještě dělala. Ne na plný úvazek, ale už asi na procenta. Já mohla jít do důchodu v pětapadesáti letech, protože jsem byla v tom koncentráku, ale pracovala jsem déle.

Můj manžel se jmenoval Josef Soffer. To je hebrejské jméno, Soffer znamená písař. Byl o dost starší než já, narodil roku 1907 v Kravsku, to je tady kousek od Znojma. Jeho mateřský jazyk byla čeština a on se vždycky považoval za Čecha, byl velký vlastenec. Už jako děcko se s rodiči přistěhoval do Znojma a tady chodil do školy. Měl jenom obecnou školu 14, ale možná měl pak nějakou tu obchodní, takovou tu, kterou dělali příručí. Před válkou dělal obchodního zástupce pro velkou firmu. Obchodoval s prádlem a s kravatami a byl docela úspěšný. No a pak přišel do koncentráku. Byl ve více koncentrácích, v Terezíně, v Osvětimi. Tam ztratil svou první ženu i dítě. Jeho první žena se jmenovala Herta, stejně jako jeho sestra. Byla taková drobná. Jeho syn Robert byl jen o deset let mladší než já. Herta nebyla stará, když šla do plynu, ale matky s dětmi neměly šanci. Z Osvětimi pak jel manžel dál někam do Německa na práci. Myslím, že osvobození zažil v Buchenwaldu 15.

Rodiče mého manžela se jmenovali Hynek a Anna. Ona byla moc hodná, taková malá, drobná paní. Byla taková fajnová, pocházela z dobré rodiny. Jejich dcera Herta je před válkou nějak dostala do Palestiny, kde pak společně žili v kibucu. V sedmačtyřicátém se oba vrátili sem do Znojma a jeden čas žili u nás. Jejich domek totiž Němci předtím vyvlastnili. Ale manžel to pak nějak dostal v restituci [Restituce: zákon o navracení majetku – pozn. red.] zpátky. Před válkou měl v tom domě manželův otec vpředu obchod a vzadu chladírnu, dělal totiž výsek. Prodával kuřata, slepice, husy, prostě drůbež. V osmačtyřicátém se jeho rodiče zase vrátili zpátky do Izraele a babička, manželova matka, tam zemřela.  Tak se děda zase vrátil do Znojma. Pamatuji se, že když bylo dětem deset let, tak tady nějaký čas žil. Ale potom mu manžel zaplatil cestu a on jel zpátky do Izraele, zase do toho kibucu. Tam se mohl vždycky vrátit. Oba manželovi rodiče jsou v Izraeli v tom kibucu pochovaní. Jeho otec zemřel někdy v osmdesátých letech.

Manžel měl tři sestry, dvě starší, Trude a Hertu, a mladší, Hermu. Ta Herta žila v Izraeli v kibucu a tam zemřela. Trude, která byla ze sourozenců nejstarší, emigrovala i se svým manželem do Chile, kde se jim narodily tři děti. Pak se ale také odstěhovali do Izraele a v Chile zůstala jen ta nejstarší dcera. Trude zemřela někdy v devadesátých letech. Pak měl ještě bratra, ale ten brzy umřel. Dostal se do Izraele, jel na té lodi, na té Patrii [Patria: loď s židovskými uprchlíky, která byla 25.listopadu 1940 potopena v přístavu Haifa, s přibližně 267 lidmi na palubě– pozn. red.], jak je nechtěli Angličané pustit, něco jim udělali s tou lodí a oni ztroskotali. On v té vodě dostal nějakou nemoc a umřel.

S manželem jsme se seznámili tady ve Znojmě.  On mě viděl, zamiloval se a nedal jinak. Byl celý divý. Brali jsme se ve čtyřicátém sedmém roce. Věkový rozdíl byl mezi námi dost veliký, sedmnáct let. Jemu v té době, když jsem se brali, bylo dvaačtyřicet a mně pětadvacet. Dnes bych to své dceři nedoporučila, ale já jsem si tenkrát dala říct. Po válce byl člověk jako vytržený z kořenů, byla jsem bolavá tak, že křesťanského chlapa jsem za muže nechtěla. Ani nebyla příležitost, abych vám pravdu řekla. I sestra Helena si dala říct, ta si vzala toho švagra, manžela od naší sestry Róžiky, Emila. Protože židovští chlapci, kteří se vrátili, si většinou brali křesťanské ženy. O nás nestáli a přitom já jsem nebyla škaredá.

Po válce dělal manžel ve Frutě [Národní podnik Fruta Brno: potravinářský podnik, např. v roku 1968 vyrobil první licenční nápoj Coca Cola v Československu – pozn. red.]. Napřed jako skladník a potom dělal nákupčího. Tam to vydržel až do důchodu. Zemřel ve Znojmě, v devadesátém devátém. Stejně to vydržel dlouho, na to, co prodělal. Bylo mu přes devadesát, když zemřel.

Měli jsme spolu dvě děti, Růženku a Věrušku. U nás je zvykem dávat jméno po mrtvých, ne po živých. Růženka se jmenuje po sestře Róžice a Věra po té neteři, Jolany dceři. My jsme jí říkali Pötyi, maďarsky malá, drobná. Krásná byla, taková šikovná, chytrá holčička. Taky nepřežila. Když měly dcery vlastní děti, tak jsem si přála, aby jim daly jméno Miriam, po mé matce. No, nedaly na mě. Obě dcery se narodily ve Znojmě, Růženka v roce 1948 a Věruška v roce 1950.

Hned po válce jsme chtěli emigrovat, do Izraele, uvažovali jsme o tom, jenomže já jsem přišla do jiného stavu s Věrou. Navíc by to bylo těžké. Manžel neuměl žádné řemeslo. A na jazyky byl také tvrdý. Tak jsme se potom báli jet a zůstali jsme tady. Ale bylo by to bývalo všechno jiné, protože tehdy jsem ještě dobře mluvila hebrejsky a uměla jsem trochu šít, to by se neztratilo. No, ale bylo to těžké. Kdyby byl elektrikář nebo stolař, nebo něco jiného. Ale obchodník… když neumíte řeč, co by dělal? Potom tady byla sestra, nechtěla jsem ji opustit. Nakonec ale odjela ona. No, v padesátých letech jsme o tom uvažovali, ale později už ne.

Takže jsme zůstali ve Znojmě a bydleli jsme v domku ve starém městě, kousek od radnice. Ty domy jsou tam všechny podsklepené, asi tři sklepy hluboké. Prý to bylo i nějak propojené. My jsme bydleli blízko vchodů do podzemí. V těch sklepích se bohužel držela podzemní voda. Pak se to spravovalo, dělali tam takové šedesáticentimetrové zdi.

Ve volném čase jsme s dětmi jezdívali na Vranov, to je asi 20 km odsud. Tam jsme si postavili, když začaly půjčky, chatu, takový dřevěný srub. Tam jsme trávili s děcky prázdniny. To byl krásný srub. Zezačátku, když nebylo auto, jsme tam jezdívali vlakem a pěšky. S ruksakem. Bývalo to tam pěkné, takové společenské, s těmi sousedy a tak. Měli jsme kolem hodně známých. Jeden začal stavět tu chatu, manžel to viděl, a musel to mít taky. Tak jsme tam přes léto žili. Bylo to tam veselé, dělali jsme táboráky, dalo se tam plavat, chodit do lesa na houby a na maliny. Děcka tam na té chatě vyrostla.

Růžena vystudovala střední zdravotní školu tady ve Znojmě a pracovala jako zdravotní sestra u praktické lékařky. V devadesátém roce šla pracovat do Rakouska, do Sankt Pöltenu, což je asi devadesát kilometrů ze Znojma. Nežila tam, jen dojížděla. V sesterském domě tam měla byt, kde byla, když měla služby, nebo když nejela domů. Mívala dvanáctky, a když měla tři dvanáctky nebo dvě, tak pak měla tři dny volno. Pracovala tam až do důchodu, což bylo někdy loni nebo předloni. V Rakousku vyšel nějaký výnos, podle kterého mohla jít do důchodu dřív. Pracovala totiž na intenzivní péči, u malých dětí, a tak patřila mezi těžce pracující. No a když mohla jít, tak to využila, protože to ježdění sem a tam nebylo lehké. Stálo to moc peněz a také strašně trpěla na migrény. Od té doby, co přestala jezdit, tak se ty migrény už tolik neobjevují.

Růžena se provdala za Karla Svobodu, který pracoval jako automechanik a pak jako řidič. Teď je v důchodu. Mají spolu dvě děti, Hanu a Kájina [Karel]. Hana se také narodila ve Znojmě, někdy v roce 1973. Žije ve Znojmě a dělá kadeřnici. Je vdaná, její manžel se jmenuje Petr Vrabec. Mají spolu dvě malé děti, Davida a Vendulku. Synovi říkáme Kájin, aby se to nepletlo se jménem jeho otce, Růženčina manžela. Ten se jmenuje Karel Svoboda. Kájin je mladší než Hana, možná sedmdesátý pátý ročník. Také pochází ze Znojma a žije tady. Je vyučený kuchař a má tady ve Znojmě hospodu. Ženatý není a ani nemá děti.

Věra vystudovala gymnázium a  potom si udělala ještě druhou maturitu, aby mohla dělat učitelku mateřské školy. Tu školu studovala asi čtyři roky dálkově. Ve Znojmě potom pracovala jako ředitelka mateřské školky. Po revoluci, v devadesátém roce, začala podnikat. Spolu se zetěm – provdala se za Pavla Šestáka, geodeta - vedla fitcentrum. U toho byla malá restaurace, kosmetika a kadeřnictví. Pak se rozvedla a teď to fitcentrum vede sama.

Má tři děti. Magdu, Pavlínu a Petra. Všechny se narodily ve Znojmě. Pavlíně je osmadvacet nebo devětadvacet let a Petrovi je třiadvacet. Magda je stejně stará jako Kájín. Pavlína je vdaná a pracuje jako kosmetička. Petr je svobodný a studuje v Praze češtinu-občanskou výchovu, bude učitelem.  Ještě mu chybí jeden rok. Během studia přerušil a byl v Anglii, kde trošku pracoval a naučil se tam anglicky. Podobně byla v zahraničí i Pavlínka a Magda. Magda studovala v Izraeli, nějaký divadelní nebo umělecký obor. Odešla tam hned po maturitě a byla tam čtyři nebo pět let. Chtěla tam moc jet, nenechala si to vymluvit. Pak byla ještě rok v Americe, kde studovala angličtinu a pracovala. Myslím, že dělala i au-pair. Teď je na mateřské dovolené, ale protože byla podnikatel a neměla žádnou nemocenskou, tak se musí nějak živit. Teď je povolený částečný výdělek, tak tlumočí, například při svatbách, a překládá, myslím, že většinou z hebrejštiny.

Když dcery dospěly, tak jsme je podělili. Růžena dostala domek, který jsme měli na starém městě, a tu chatu dostala Věra. Ale Věra potřebovala peníze, tak ji prodala. A také protože byla po rozvodu sama a chata potřebuje chlapa, který by to spravoval. Dneska je jí to líto, ale oni se stěhují do Prahy, tak by tam stejně nemohli jezdit.

I Růžena ten dům ve staré zástavbě prodala. Chtěli domek, pořád. Tak to v osmdesátých letech prodali, za ty peníze koupili tenhle domek a opravili ho. Vzali si na to půjčku, tenkrát nebyly tak drahé, a udělali půdní vestavbu - to by tam v tom starém městě ani nešlo. A nebyl tam ani plyn, tady je to modernější. Takže nahoře má teď krásný byt. Dole jsme to vyspravili, nové dveře, nová okna. Žila jsem tu s manželem a až tady nebudu, přijde sem vnučka Hana. A ti si tu udělají, co budou chtít.

Za komunismu jsem  žádné velké problémy moc necítila. Život samozřejmě nebyl procházka v růžové zahradě. Můj plat nebyl veliký, manžel také mnoho nevydělal. Zdálky ten komunismus ani nevypadal tak zle, protože mám sociální cítění, ale člověk nevěděl o těch zvěrstvech. V padesátých letech jsem byla strašně otřesena tím Slánským 16, 17 a tak, to si pamatuju. Ale já osobně jsem na sobě žádné represe nepociťovala. Jezdívala jsem ven, v Anglii jsem byla několikrát, brácha mi vždycky poslal pozvání. Také jsme od něj občas dostala nějaké peníze. On nebyl bohatý, ale držel mě, víte, pomáhal. Něco také, myslím, bral od Němců. Ale hlavně byl šetrný. Také jsme měli známého v Rakousku. On byl ze Znojma, měl tady ženu, ale rozvedl se, protože nebyla k ničemu, a oženil se v Rakousku. Ten nám vždycky dal tisíc šilinků, to bylo tisíc korun [Počátkem 60. let 20. století byl kurs 1 koruny československé k 1 rakouskému šilinku 1:1. K poslednímu stanovení zlatého obsahu koruny došlo zákonem č. 41/1953 o peněžní reformě, kdy byl zlatý obsah koruny stanoven (nerealisticky a bez širších souvislostí) na 0,123426 g ryzího zlata, což zůstalo až do konce osmdesátých let – pozn. red.]. A za tisíce šilinků už jste ledacos koupila. Tady tenkrát nic nebylo a když jste tam viděla ty věci, ty sýry a ta masa a to všechno, to bylo něco. Měla jste pět liber nebo kolik, dala jste tady za to spoustu peněz a tam jste si představovala, že za to koupíte půl Anglie. Pamatuju se, že jsme si dovezli televizor, mikrotroubu, nějaké povlečení. No, byli jsme strašně moc nabalení, když jsme se vraceli a celníci nás v pohodě pustili. Byli ohromní. Ani jsme nemuseli nic schovávat. S mužem jsem také byla několikrát ve Vídni, protože tam měl sestru Hermu. To bylo také na pozvání. Herma tam snad nejdříve byla v domácnosti, ale pak šla do zaměstnání. Někam, kde se balí léky. A její manžel něco vyráběl. Byla jsem i u přízně v Kanadě.

Komunisté na mě ani nijak netlačili, abych vstoupila do strany. Po manželovi ale chtěli, aby donášel. To ale nepadalo v úvahu. Náš jediný problém s komunisty byl, že manžela nechtěli pustit za sestrou. On měl v Izraeli sestru a strašně moc tam toužil jet. To je také tragikomedie. Když mohl, když měl peníze, tak mu to nedovolili. Žádal, několikrát žádal. Měl všechno, chudák, vždycky jim v tašce nesl to pozvání. Ale nepustili ho. V sedmdesátém sedmém jsme měli dvě svatby. To už byl manžel v důchodu, ale pracoval a něco si tak vydělal mimo.  No a ty peníze, co měl chudák našetřené, to jsem mu sebrala na ty dvě svatby. No, a tenkrát, když neměl peníze, to mu povolili jet. A když už mu to povolili a byly by i ty peníze, tak už neměl sílu. To už byl příliš starý a nemocný. Já jsem v Izraeli byla, ale tajně, on to nevěděl, protože kdyby to věděl, tak by umřel.

V Izraeli jsem byla jednou, až po revoluci 2. Magdička, má vnučka, tam studovala, tak nás pozvala. A měli jsme tam přízeň. Růženka pracovala venku, tak mi to dala dárkem, k Vánocům. A já jsem měla toho bratra v Anglii, který mi dost pomáhal, tak jsem od něj měla trošku peněz a mohla jsem to zase platit tam. Jela jsem tam s dcerou Růženou a bydlely jsme u vnučky Magdy v Jeruzalémě, ta tam měla byt, takže ubytování jsme platit nemusely. Byly jsme tam tři týdny nebo měsíc.

V Izraeli se mi líbilo všechno. Sešla jsem se tam s dcerou mé sestřenice, to byla dcera od matčiny sestry, která žila v Izraeli, v kibucu. Tak jsem ji jela navštívit. Nijak zvlášť si nedopisujeme, ale když jsem tam byla, tak jsem za ní jela. Žila si v tom kibucu dobře, nijak nenaříkala. Setkala jsem se tam i s dcerou té manželovy sestry Herty, s Ruth. Ona také žila v kibucu. Jen její manžel, to byl maďarský Žid, s tím se dalo komunikovat dobře, ten mluvil maďarsky.

Také jsme se jely podívat po Izraeli. Byly jsme v Netanyi. Tam měl manžel bratránka. Ty děti tam stále ještě žijí a my jsme s nimi ve spojení. Byly jsme i u Mrtvého moře, na těch vykopávkách, byly jsme u Jordánu, smočila jsem si nožičky v Jordánu. To byl také zážitek, ten Jordán. Ta voda tam je moc špinavá a oni ji dokonce pili.  Byla tam jedna žena, pomodlila se, myslím arabsky, a pak šla do té vody a manžel ji omýval. Asi to byl nějaký zájezd a my jsme k tomu přišly. To člověk úplně žasl, když to viděl, jak se tam v té vodě máchali. Pak se mi také líbilo v kostele ukřižování, tam ta atmosféra na vás také působila. Bylo tam strašně moc lidí. Ne že by se mi to líbilo nebo nelíbilo, ale ta atmosféra, ten fanatismus, to vás očaruje. A u toho Jordánu také. Zajímavá byla i Zeď nářků, tam je to také působivé. Když vidíte, jak se tam modlí a jak tam strkají ty papírky.

Když přišla v osmadevadesátém revoluce, to jsem právě byla v Rakousku, týden nebo tak, u manželovy sestry. A tam jsme to v televizi viděli. Nejvíc nás to ovlivnilo v tom, že jsem pak už mohla jezdit do zahraničí bez pozvání a že dcerka mohla jít pracovat ven, do Rakouska. Naskytla se jí ta příležitost a protože uměla německy, využila jí. Když jsme totiž s manželem nechtěli, aby děcka rozuměla, co říkáme, mluvili jsme německy a ona to pochytila. Ona je na řeči, to má asi po mně, to máme v rodině. Ta druhá dcerka, Věra, je spíš na počty. Takže Růženka se přihlásila a udělala dobře, protože co si pořídila, když tam dělala, to by tady, ještě kdyby dvacet let žila, nepořídila. To víte, ten rozdíl byl dost velký. I když to cestování do práce nebylo nic lehkého, ani ta práce nebyla lehká. Ale já jsem byla doma a mohla jsem jí  pohlídat děti. Měla to tak lehčí.

Po revoluci jsme se také dozvěděli, že manžel nechal tu svou první ženu pojistit na dvacet tisíc. Shodou okolností jsem se to nějak dozvěděla, ani jsem to nevěděla. Oni poslali nějaké papíry z Bavorova. Tenkrát to starým lidem vyřizoval nějaký advokát. Tak mi taky poslali ty papíry, mysleli, že nikoho nemám, a že mi to jako vyřídí. Ale on velkou část toho vzal. To jsme ani nevěděli, na to jsme přišli v počítači. A ani jsme ani nevěděli, že manžel měl ženu pojištěnou na dvacet tisíc. Tak jsme něco dostali, nevím kolik, nějaký ten dolar. Já měla z toho pojistného půlku a děvčata každá čtvrtku. Tak to víte, že jsem to rozdala. Já neumím držet peníze.

Nedávno jsme v létě byly v Rakousku, kde jsme měli setkání celé rodiny Sofferů. Sešli se tam příbuzní z Rakouska, to byly ty děti od Hermy, z Izraele i z Ameriky – on tam měl starý pan Soffer sestru. Z Izraele přijela od Trude celá rodina, syn s ženou a dětmi, od Herty tam byl jenom syn, ta Ruth nepřijela, té umřelo dítě na otravu hub nebo co a od té doby není úplně v pořádku. Dohromady nás mohlo být tak pětatřicet, čtyřicet. To bylo hodně zajímavé setkání, máme to nahrané na DVD. Je na něm všechno, celá rodina a průběh toho setkání, ta večeře a oběd a ten proslov a fotky. Organizoval to od neteře syn. Chtěli, že se budeme scházet pravidelně, že máme složit nevím kolik eur a zaplatit tu cestu do Ameriky a oni by to pak platili nám. Já jsem řekla ne, mně je dvaaosmdesát let a ani na to nemám. Možná že za dva roky bude to setkání v Praze, aby to udělali někde blíž. Jestli tady ještě budu.

Co se týká náboženství, tak po válce jsme je s manželem už tak nedrželi, možná určité svátky, chanuku [Chanuka: svátek světel, rovněž připomíná makabejské povstání a opětovné zasvěcení chrámu v Jeruzalémě – pozn. red.], pesach a tak, ale jen vlažně. Například košer, kde byste to tady mohla držet. To byste nesměla nic jíst, maso, mléko, to tady vůbec neexistovalo. Až potom později v Brně. Tady ve Znojmě bývala krásná synagoga, ale za války byla zničená. Po válce tu pak můj manžel vedl židovské obci agendu, ale ta pak přešla do Brna. Takže teď jsem členka židovské obce v Brně, jsem přihlášená tam a daň platím v Brně. Já nedržím moc ani křesťanské, ani židovské svátky. No, stromeček ustrojíme, dárky si dáme. Ale hlavně kvůli dětem. To víte, po válce to bylo těžké. Židovské děti tady nebyly a holky viděly ty stromečky, tak jsme je strojili taky. A dneska se to zase dělá kvůli těm malým. To víte, člověk se asimiloval a po té válce byl takový rozpolcený.

Ale jak jsem říkala, antisemitismus jsem na sobě nikdy necítila. Když nadávali na moje děcka, to jsem si vyřídila. Jednou, když byly holky ve škole, jim nadával nějaký chlapeček. Já jsem ho chytla, zmáčkla jsem mu pusu a říkám: „Jestli ještě jednou jim něco řekneš, tak ti ten zadek zmydlím, že měsíc na to nesedneš.“ A byl pokoj. 

Jednou jsem byla v nemocnici, operovali mi srdíčko, a byla tam ze Znojma jedna paní. Měla jsem tam takové šikovné hadříčky na umývání, takové jednorázové, dcerka mi to donesla. Když jsem šla z nemocnice domů, tak jsem to tam té paní dala. Jenže když vyšla ven, tak ta druhá paní mi říkala: „Nedávejte jí to. Ona vás pomlouvala.“ Říkám si, co mě mohla pomlouvat. Mohla říct, že jsem Židovka. Ale já bych to nikdy nezapřela. To je jako bych zapřela vlastní matku. Proč? Křesťané nejsou ani horší, ani lepší. Mezi těmi i oněmi jsou jak dobří, tak zlí lidé. Jednou mi to rodiče dali do kolébky, já jsem si to nevybrala. Kdybych měla možnost si vybrat, tak by to bylo něco jiného. I když svátky moc nedržím, jsem plnokrevná Židovka, cítím to tak.

U mých dětí je to něco jiného. Víte, tady tenkrát po válce nebyla možnost, aby si vzaly židovské kluky. Protože ti židovští chlapci si většinou brali křesťanky a my jsme to musely brát, jak to přišlo. Já, i moje dcery. Ještě když byly mladé, tak se scházely v Brně s židovskými chlapci, ale ti pak z Brna odjeli. Nebyla možnost. Nejsou, nebyli. Ve Znojmě vůbec ne a kde to mají shánět. Z mých dětí nebo vnoučat už zvyky nedodržuje nikdo, jen vnučka Magda, ta je jediná.

Takže teď bydlím s Růženkou v jednom domku. Já bydlím dole a ona bydlí nahoře. Je to tady krásná ulice, taková klidná a tichá, ale není to daleko do středu města. Máme tu i zahrádku a dcera si teď postavila bazén, její sen byl bazén. Ale já už teď ven moc nechodím, sama si netroufám. Někdy je to horší, někdy je to lepší. Když je trojka [biopředpoěď, rizikový stupeň číslo 3 – pozn. red.], tak mi nebývá dobře. Nějak po revoluci, jak dcera začala s tím fitness centrem, snad z toho stresu, mi našli cukrovku. Léta už se léčím, byla jsem na práškách, a teď to bude rok, nebo tři čtvrtě, co si píchám inzulín. Píchá mi to dcerka a když ona nemůže, tak sama. To si nadělám modřiny. Ale ona je zdravotní sestra, takže má jemnou ruku. Od ní to nebolí. Ta cukrovka je prevít, zákeřná nemoc. Od té doby, co jsem si začala píchat, tak když nedám pozor, je to velice nepříjemné. Když máte vyšší cukr, tak to není tak nepříjemné, jako když ho máte nízký. Zpočátku s tím člověk nemá zkušenosti, jednou jsem si píchla a klesl mi cukr ve městě a mně vám bylo tak špatně. Teď už si dávám pozor. První je, že se musím nasnídat. Kousek chleba, kafe. A také musím trošku víc držet dietu. A také mám strojek na srdíčko, kardiostimulátor. Měla jsem slabý infarkt a tenkrát jsem, myslím, dostala ten strojek. Tak jde jedno s druhým. Zánět do noh, slezina. Tedy původně cétéčko ukázalo slinivku. Ale naštěstí to slinivka nebyla. Ale bylo něco na slezině, takže brali tu slezinu. To víte, léta přibývají, ale zdraví nepřibylo.

Glosář:

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

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

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

Family background

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She didn't wear any makeup or lipstick but she used face powder and I still have a small box of it, well hidden, just to smell my mother.

I know that my parents' marriage was arranged by a match-maker. How did match-making work? Well, somebody who knew the families and knew that this family had a daughter, let's say 20 years old, could suit that family that had that and that boy, and they tried to put them in contact. The parents, of course, not the children. That was well before the age they get married now, at 18, 19, 20; if a girl was not married my 29, she was an old maid.

Marriages were combined. They knew the family; they were brokers, marriage brokers. He/she knew your family and he said, 'ah, he has a son, he has a daughter let's try to get them together .They went and they bargained: 'Yes, I will give you my daughter but how much does he want for a dowry? Dowry that much, and house furnishing that much, and clothing that much.'

Sometimes, during the first years, they lived with the wife's family, they said the groom will stay with the family and then he will make his own home. My parents didn't live with their parents because when they married my mother had no father and Grandmother lived with her boys who weren't married yet.

Marriage depended on what hands you were going to be in, what kind of person your spouse would be. It was rare then to have marriages based on love. I don't know any.

At this time there were not many mixed marriages, very very few. In our family the sisters of Aunt Mitsa, Ida Margariti, and Silva intermarried and all their children are Christians. I don't know what the opinion of the rest of the family was because when it happened I was a little girl. When I was a child, we lived in a house that had a big yard. In this yard was a big two-story house where my uncle Sinto lived with his family, on the first floor, and on the ground floor my grandmother and my grandfather with Uncle Mentesh and Uncle Sabetai, who were not married yet.

Family life

Our house was a small one on the other side of the yard. It had two rooms and a living room: a living room as you entered, two bedrooms and a kitchen, of course. It was heated by wood stoves but not in every room - one in the living room and one in the kitchen; the bedrooms were cold. One bedroom was for our parents and the other one for us, the three girls. Matilde had a bed of her own but Eda and I used to sleep together in the same bed.

Eda was younger than me and she was a joyful person. She was no pessimist, I was more of a pessimist, and I have always been. I always was much more reserved. Eda was exuberant, like my mother, happy, and she danced, she danced that Russian dance sitting down, kalinka, I think they call it, she danced a lot and she liked it.

In the house we had running water. We had running water, but in the yard was a hand-operated water pump. We used it to water the plants. The funny thing is that we also had a bath tub although this wasn't a common thing at the time. We had some kind of a boiler that operated with gas. It had a small base with seven beaks, you would open it, put a lit match to all the beaks and with the fire have hot water. It was a round thing, approximately 20cm, and when the fuel was finished you would open it up and put some more. We also had electricity.

In this garden we didn't grow anything edible, vegetables or so, just flowers and green plants. In this garden, all of us children gathered to play; five of Uncle Sinto and us three, but I used to sit on the fence and watch what they were doing because they were wild.

We didn't have any animals. In this yard we played and every night Uncle Sabetai gathered us and made us sing 'be, a, ba, be, a, be, ba, bo.' He would say the letters and we would sing like stupid 'l, le, l, la,' and then he would response with a cry of admiration 'Aaa,' or a cry of exclamation, 'Ooo.' He kept us busy; he gave us money and then took it back.

When we lived in this yard, my grandfather used to sit on a low parapet in front of the house and watched his grandchildren playing. There was a pomegranate tree that was very small, with two flowers, and he was waiting for them to turn into fruit, and one day he saw that one of the flowers was fading and fading. Eda had cut the flower and then when she realized what she had done she took a needle and pinched it back on. When my grandfather saw what had happened he was moved by her thought and didn't punish her.

My grandfather use to sit on this parapet because he had a hernia and a huge belly and he couldn't walk, and he was sitting on the parapet there, looking at his grandchildren play. He used to wear an andari 6. He couldn't wear anything else because his belly was enormous.

He didn't wear a kippah but he was a religious man. Every Friday evening a minyan would gather his house and do the traditional reading there, instead of at the synagogue. I don't know which synagogue they went to the rest of the week.

My father didn't attend. He couldn't leave his work. At first they didn't work on Sabbath but then, there was a law issued by the Greek government, in 1924, that defined Sunday to be the official weekly holiday and they had to work even if they didn't want to.

My grandmother dressed as we dress now. She didn't wear any of the traditional clothing of the Jewish women. I know those clothes only from pictures; nobody wore them any more when I was a little girl.

Many Jews lived in our neighborhood, but our family was so big, that we didn't look outside of it for friends. Actually all of them were Jews. The grocer and the man selling vegetables, and what I remember is that they would pass through the neighborhood and cry their wares. The man that sold glassware, he used to sing, 'The glass man is here, the cheap stuff is here, three for twelve and a half, three glasses twelve and a half.'

When the vegetable seller passed by my grandmother's home - my grandmother's home had two windows facing the street, in one window stood my grandfather and in the other, a bit in the rear, my grandmother - and my grandfather used to call the man and ask him, 'How much is it for a tomato today?' 'Ah very expensive, I don't want it, will you give it to me at a lower price?' 'Well, what can I do with you Mr. Samuel, how much do you want to pay?'

My grandfather would say a price and my grandmother, from the other window, would wave to the man, 'Say yes, say yes.' 'Well, what can I do with you, Mr. Samuel? I will give it to you but only because it's you.' Grandfather would take the goods and my grandmother would pay the difference from the other window, just to make my grandfather happy, to give him the satisfaction of having achieved something.

The streets? Who went out in the streets? From what I can recall they were unpaved, covered with earth not asphalt. I don't remember when I first saw asphalt. We didn't have a car but yes, of course, there were cars in the streets. We didn't have horses either; we rode on the bus or tram, rather the tram than the bus. I don't remember when I first rode in a bus, a tram, a car or a train.

We were still very young when we left that house. We left when we had to go to school, every time the school moved we moved too. First Konstandinidi then Gravias then... We were following the Mission Laique Francaise 7.

When we left this first house, we were still not alone, we were never alone, because the house we moved to was in a street full of Jews, all the neighborhoods were full of Jews, and we played hide and seek, and we went to hide one bus stop away from home. How can someone find you, can you tell me? And we played kede - kede. We used to put a stone in the middle, and whoever was called, kede kede Spain, kede kede Vienna, the person that was Vienna had to throw the stone at someone, if the stone touched him he lost.

Our religious life

My parents were religious people but not fanatics. My father used to go to the synagogue for the high holidays of New Year [Rosh Hashanah], Passover [Pesach], Yom Kippur etc. We were three girls, and girls didn't go to the synagogue then, almost only men. We stayed at home with Mother, but when my father went, he used to dress formally in striped trousers, a black jacket and a bow-tie [Ascot style, like an English gentleman].

We observed the kashrut in the sense that the butcher was Jewish and the meat was kosher. Every Friday the butcher came to our home to take an order, 'What shall I bring, should I bring a lombo?' Lombo was a piece of meat that you could boil and cut into thin slices, and he also brought meat to make minced meat. We would never buy it ready, we would mince it by hand, with a machine at home, and my mother used to call us, 'Who will come to mince the meat?'

Every Friday night my father recited the Kiddush. Not only did he recite the Kiddush, but he also cut some baked eggs [huevos encaminados], and gave us a piece and then, after the Kiddush, we went and kissed his hand and he blessed us. Every Friday. No Friday would go by that we didn't do it. We didn't make any special bread for Friday; we bought it from the Jewish baker.

At Rosh Hashanah we did whatever we should do. We ate whatever the religion says that we should eat. We did everything, and I remember some things that he used to say in Hebrew; they are still in my head although I don't know any Hebrew. My father didn't speak Hebrew but he read it. The traditional things of Rosh Hashanah are the same as we have now: apple sweet, to wish a good year, and meat balls with leek and with spinach.

We kept Yom Kippur. When my father came home, on the first evening of Yom Kippur we had to be ready, washed, clean, calm and my father would come and we would eat the traditional meal before the fast. We ate okra, meat balls and rice, a salad as a starter, and fruit at the end. We used to put dry raisins on top of the rice and eat it. We all kept the fast, my mother and father, also.

My father would go to the synagogue in the morning, but we, because we were girls, didn't go. We stayed at home and our friends would come over to our house or we would go to theirs, or we would go for long walks in the streets to pass the time. We stayed on the main roads that were paved. I went with my sisters and our friends.

When we ended the fast, we first ate sweets, to wish for a sweet new year, sweets with no lemon. Then we would drink lemonade and have biscuits with it; we bought those biscuits at the Jewish pastry shop, Almosnino. After that we had chicken in tomato sauce. There was no salad, just some fruit at the end as dessert. That's it, chicken with red sauce. No, before that we had a soup with angel hair pasta, and then the chicken. That's it.

Apple sweet, I make apple sweet without lemon, just sugar so that things will come sweetly. I grate the apple, then add sugar, approximately half the quantity of the apple and put it on a low fire. Then I taste it and, if need be, I add sugar. I never use specific measures.

We drink lemonade at Kippur because, it seems, it is good on an empty stomach. This is what we did as far as I can remember: have lemonade with biscuits. It seems that it is good for your stomach and prevents you from having to belch, or wanting to vomit. First the lemonade with the biscuits, then the soup, then the chicken with the red sauce. That was it, in every house the same thing, the same. This is a standard menu, if you take the book 'Les Fêtes Juives' [Jewish high holidays], this is what you will read.

Nobody taught me how to cook, you know how to cook without anyone teaching you, you look and you learn.

Pesach, I don't remember any more. We ate what you traditionally had to. The first night of Pesach my mother's brothers, Uncle David and Uncle Pepo, went to Aunt Rachelle and the second night, they would come to our house and we would have Pesach all together, and read the Haggadah, just like the first night. We read the Seder in Spanish, as we spoke in Spanish among us: 'He who says, this bread of slavery that our fathers eat in the land of Egypt.'

We eat matzah because on Pesach we don't eat bread. Matzah is bread that doesn't rise, and now we buy the matzah from the community. There used to be bakeries that made matzah in Thessaloniki when I was a child. It is not like now, that we have to buy matzah from the community. The Jewish population was so numerous that they made it here. They brought the matzah from the bakery, to the house and the pieces were so big that we had a special trunk to put it in, big pieces like 40 by 40 centimeters. and for eight days, during the whole period of Pesach, there was no bread in the house.

On Pesach we also make charoset. To be honest, nowadays I buy it ready from Daniel, a Jewish delicatessen shop and then at home, I taste it and say, 'Ah, what is missing? And I will put a little bit of this, of that, of orange peels ... because the one I bought is like mud, let me add a little bit of...'

Charoset is very complicated to make. There are a lot of things that you put in. In the old times we used to make it. You put orange peels, figs, plums, cracked nuts and dates, but no almonds, and a little bit of honey and sugar.

On Pesach we used to make burmoelos. When we finished dinner we had to have sweets and those were burmoelos; they are like donuts. First, you put a small cup of oil and a cup of water and you make them boil. When it is boiling you add a cup of matzah flour and take it off the heat and slowly you put six eggs until you get a firm dough and then you deep fry them. We fry them in olive oil.

When I was a child we had special frying pans that had hollow places in them, to put each burmoelo separately, but now we just put a spoon-full and it shapes itself on its own. Those are the burmoelos, and when they are well colored, we put them on a piece of paper, to absorb the oil, and then we put them in syrup and on a nice plate to be ready to serve. Many people put honey, but we make syrup. We also serve syrup separately so that everybody can add to his taste. The syrup is made from three quarters of a cup of sugar, 1 cup of water, 1 cup of orange juice and half a cup of lemon juice. You boil it until it is thick like honey and it is very, very tasty.

With matzah, people also make pastel [pitta]. You put one layer of matzah in a baking tin, wet it with water and some oil, and then, you put one layer of whatever you want - it can be minced meat or cheese with eggs, or something else you like - and more matzah on top and bake it in the oven; but in my house we didn't like it. It is heavy on the stomach.

We also made matzah soup. For the soup you take the juice from a chicken or lamb that we usually eat for Pesach and you break the matzah into pieces with your hands - not very small pieces - and when the juice is boiling you put it in. One minute is enough.

And after diner we sang many songs, all together, such as: 'There was a lamb that my father bought ...'

During Pesach we also baked eggs [huevos enchaminados]. There was a custom in Thessaloniki to visit relatives before Pesach. Visitors would come with their pockets already full of eggs that they were already given in the other houses, and by the end of the day, at their home, they had at least 15 of them. We didn't go to visit other houses. Girls didn't go, only men.

We prepared the house, we spread new embroideries, beautiful things, my mother put her jewelry on and visitors would come, dressed formally, and the house was shining. Everybody was in a hurry because there was another visit to make, and another, and another, but at least they came, and we saw each other, and we never lost contact.

For the Jewish high holidays there are many books. The book I have, 'Jewish high holidays,' gives you an explanation at first and then tells you what the Sephardic Jews eat and what the Ashkenazi Jews eat. Gefilte fish, we don't know. Gefilte fish, is the fish they, the Ashkenazi Jews, eat.

The Sephardim eat, instead of gefilte fish, what they call 'sazan,' which is fish in sauce. Sazan is a lake fish. They put the fish in a thick sauce with vinegar and leave it there. Also they used to take the caviar of the fish and make small balls and they put it with the rest of the fish. It is something that you eat whenever you feel like it. It is something you eat also cold. I never did because it is very heavy on the stomach.

During Sukkot, of course, we made a sukkah. My uncle Sinto, my father's brother, had a very big balcony, almost like a room; he made the sukkah and we all went there. They used to put blankets all around, in order to create a small room and then white sheets and pin white flowers all over. We sat there, we ate there, we saw each other, we talked, and it was very nice but we didn't sleep there.

My father went to the synagogue for every festivity, and we used to wait for him to come home, bring sweets and turn on all the lights in the house, for good luck. He brought home 'baissées,' special sweets made with eggs and sugar, which are completely white. He bought them at Almosnino, the Jewish pastry shop that was near our house and he came home. Then we went to our grandmother's, to kiss her hand and receive her blessings.

Sweets that we made at home were almond sweets, and quince sweets, as I told you. Now we don't make that kind of things any more. To make almond sweets you take a kilo of almonds, you boil them a little and then you peel them, so they become white, and then you mince them and you add half a kilo of powdered sugar, and the white part of two eggs, that you beat up so that they become fluffy as snow, and mix all of it well. Then you wet you hand with some water and lemon, so that the dough will not stick, and shape it into small pieces like children's fingers.

We also made Sotlach. We made a cream with rice flour and milk and sugar. We made this cream and then we put sugar in a pan, heated it, and let it become caramel and then we poured this hot cream inside the caramel and let it burn a little. It was very, very tasty.

At Chanukkah we lit the chanukkiyah, and that's it. And we sang 'Chanukkiyah dance with your aunt, Chanukkah dance with my grandmother.' That's all we did.

Bat mitzvah for the girls we did not do. As for bar mitzvah for the boys: our cousins had theirs at the synagogue and we all went, even the girls. We went to any synagogue they chose, but there was one here, in the neighborhood. Exactly where we now take the bus, it was the Bet Shaoul. The one we go to now, the Monastirioton 9, was at Vardari and it was far from our house, and we didn't go there.

I don't remember any other synagogues than the Bet Shaoul, since the girls didn't go often. We went when there was a marriage, a celebration, or a festivity. Women didn't go to the synagogue as they do now.

Women, let alone girls, didn't go to funerals either, nor to the cemetery. When my grandfather Saltiel died they put black curtains outside his house that went all the way down to the floor, and they took my grandfather and they had the funeral, and then they came back home and sat on the floor for the Kria.

All the family, and they were many, and then they served a meal, and it was like a big fiesta, because all his grandchildren were there, and he had many grandchildren. Aunt Sol had nine children, Aunt Julia five, Aunt Berta two, uncle Avram two, we were three. Anyway, the table was extended, because everybody had to be seated, the grandchildren too.

My grandmother, sitting on the floor, for the Kria, when she saw that she said, 'Is Samuel dead or are we celebrating a wedding?' And she was right. You see, my grandfather Saltiel had asked, before he died, that people not wear black clothes at his funeral, so grandmother said, 'When I will die you will wear black clothes.' They did nothing, when grandmother died there was no way to do it, she died in Israel and was buried in a hush, hush way. I cannot give you details because I wasn't there any more. They didn't have a kria or anything. My grandmother died full of sorrow.

Growing up

We were rather well off. We had a maid. We had maids that would live in the house and sleep in the house, all day and all night, and they were Jewish, all of them. Later, just before the war, we got one Christian from Ai Vat, but generally we had no strangers in our home. We had one, Paloma was her name, when she was feeling blue she would take a chair, put it on top of the trunk - we had a big trunk where we used to put our burning wood - and look at the tramway passing by.

We did not take care of finding husbands for them, they did that by themselves. We had a woman that came to do the washing, because all the washing was done by hand, and one day we asked her about her daughter and she said, 'She has a free love affair.' Now, can you see that this is nothing new? It has always existed.

Sterina was a maid we had when we were very young. She loved me very much and used to take me with her when she went to the grocer's. When she decided to leave us, well before the war, she went to Israel and got married there. When she got married she sent us a picture of her wedding. When I went to Israel during the occupation, she came to see me various times, with her kids, always happy and always at my service. She was in a good economical position; she was well.

My father, as I told you, was very strict and very severe and he wouldn't let us out of the house. Sometimes during the summer when we wanted to go to the movies, as we could not really lie, we used to tell him, 'We are going with Mr. Saporta.' Mr. Saporta was Raf, my friend Tida's brother, the one that married Eda after the war, and he was younger than us, and we went to Apollon, an open air movie theater. If my father had known that this so- called Mr. Saporta was Raf he would have never permitted us to go.

We went to the movies, all the girls together, my friend Tida Saporta, another friend called Frida Benroubi, my sisters, their friends, and usually we went to Appolon as it was near our house. Other friends were Frida's sister Nita Benroubi and Matilde's friends, because the age difference was so small that we were all friends. Some of my sister's friends were Ida Arouesti, Sara Naar and Rita Naar, her sister. We were all together, just girls, there were no boys in our group.

What kind of movies did we watch? Well, not those erotic things we see now, never. They were adventure films mainly. I remember Greta Garbo was in some of the movies.

During the summer my mother, who suffered from her legs, used to go to Langada, a village near Thessaloniki, approximately 50 kilometers north- west, which had natural hot springs, to take baths. She went by carriage, stayed there as long as it took for a complete cure, and then came back. She would go and leave us alone at home. One of the girls would go with her, usually it was Matilde, sometimes Eda, and sometimes I, but I was calmer and because my father had a preference [faible] for me, I stayed behind. Things with me were calm, nice and I did not fight with anyone.

What kind of kids were we? Well, as I said, I was very calm, no doubt about it, but Matilde and Eda used to fight; they pushed each other. They were not very disciplined. I don't know why they fought but they did. They were more... well, how shall I put it, they reacted more than me, while I was more patient. However. sometimes it is hard not to quarrel. On Saturday - I told you already that on Saturday we went to the movies - I took peanuts and piled them and prepared them, to take them with me to the movies and all of a sudden Matilde would take everything and, of course, there was a huge quarrel.

Eda was probably even naughtier than Matilde. My mother didn't know what to do with her, so she put her in the bathroom and locked the door, and Eda would kick and scream to get out. 'Let me out, let me out, I will be a good girl.' I don't remember what she did to be locked up.

I told you, my father slapped me only once and I was sick of rage for three weeks. 'How could he hit me?' I don't even remember why he slapped me. I remember that as I was sick Miss Morley, my American teacher from Anatolia [College] 10, came home to visit and see why I wasn't going to school and how I was doing.

When Miss Morley came my aunt Julia was at home. Aunt Julia was my father's sister, Julia Saltiel, who also married a Saltiel, Avram Saltiel. Well, Miss Morley says, in her best Greek, 'How are you?' and Aunt Julia replies in her best Spanish, 'Tell her I don't speak English.'

Other sicknesses? My mother, after giving birth to Eda, had some kind of a problem and every time she had her period she suffered a lot, was in great pain and didn't leave the house. I remember that she used to put towels with some kind of medicine on her belly to help her. I don't think she took any pills.

When Eda was young she got scarlet fever and they sent Matilde and me to my aunt Mitza's house, and my uncle Pepo's nanny came to our home to sit next to Eda and take care of her. We didn't see our parents throughout this period because they were afraid of contaminating us. We lived with Uncle Pepo and Aunt Mitza, and Eda was at home with Father and Mother.

I also remember that once, I was very sick. We had a very good doctor, but I could not see, I think it was typhus I had. And once they put me in a warm bath to lower my very high fever and it felt so cold! Well, you know what it's like when you have a fever...

We did not go for vacation apart from my mother's stays at the hot springs. Our house was on the sea, not looking out onto the sea but right on the shores; so we didn't feel the need of going elsewhere.

I went to the French school here in Thessaloniki, the Lycee Francais. I finished the Mission Laique Francaise and then I went to the American school, Anatolia College. I never went to a Jewish or a Greek school. My sister Matilde first went to the French school and then to 'Cshina,' a Greek private school for girls. That's why she knows better Greek than me.

There was a law 11 that said that we could not continue our schooling, as we had started. The law said that, all foreign citizens were obliged to go to the Greek elementary school, and then do as they wished. We were Spanish citizens, therefore we had to change schools. Matilde was about to finish the French school so she went to the Greek one afterwards.

Normally, I should also have been included but because I was very advanced in my studies, as compared to my age, my father didn't want to interfere and I was free to go as planed: finish the French school and then go to the American School.

Eda, on the other hand, was very young, still at elementary school, so she was sent to the Greek school immediately. She was put in the 5th grade, the corresponding class of the French school she used to go to, but she didn't know any Greek, so my father asked her teacher at school to tutor her for some time until she would be ready.

This teacher was Miss Evgenia and she used to say to my father, 'It is a pity, Mr. Saltiel, to push her so much, she is so young. Why start in the 5th grade, when she knows no Greek.' Anyway, Eda started her Greek lessons, and by the middle of the school year she was the best in her class, and Miss Evgenia said, 'You were right, Mr. Saltiel, you were right.'

We always knew there were other religions. We knew, we saw them, heard them, even in the neighborhood. In the Mission Laique Francaise we were not only Jews; we had an Armenian schoolmate, Irini Lazian, and also a Greek girl.

We didn't have any close relations with the Christians. Of course, I had Christian schoolmates and we saw each other sometimes outside school but there were no close relations. Nevertheless we had no exterior characteristics that would differentiate us from the rest of the Greek population either in our dressing code or in our behavior. They couldn't tell us apart.

When we went to school we dressed in a blue uniform with a white collar. At school we also studied Greek, but the way that now, they teach English at Greek schools. Everything was in French and we had two hours of Greek per week.

Surely there were teachers that you like or dislike more than others but I don't remember any of them. I was a very good student with regards to all subjects; I didn't like or dislike any. I was good everywhere.

At some point, when we finished school, we went on a five-day excursion with the Anatolia College; all the girls of my class and my teacher. We were 13-14 girls, three of us were Jewish: Germain Alvo, Roza Kohen, who now is married and lives in Athens, and me. What did I think of it? It was normal. I had finished school and went on a trip with everybody else. We went to Olympia and we saw wonderful things that I couldn't even imagine I would ever see, since my father was very strict. [Olympia: major archaeological site. In the center of Peloponnesus was the temple of Olympia where the Olympic Games were held in antiquity.]

I thought nothing of not sleeping at home; I was in good company, I was not alone, and I was with all the girls and my teacher, who were my daily companions.

Matilde, although she was older than me, didn't go on an excursion, because at the French school they didn't have a tradition of going on an excursion after finishing school; it was just the Anatolia College that did it.

At Anatolia we also celebrated the so-called commencement and we all dressed in white and everything. [Commencement: an event organized by Anatolia College every year, upon the graduation of its new alumni; something like the debutantes' ball.] My dress for the commencement was pleated all over and it had a big belt. You can see it in the picture that is still hanging in the hall of the school today.

We also used to wear hats; we called them 'shishia.' I had a green one, a very nice one. We wouldn't go out of the house without a hat. The hat, the scarf, the gloves. Yes, we also wore gloves. If only you knew how many gloves we knitted during the war! I cannot start telling you how many we knitted for the soldiers at the beginning of the war.

Our hair, at that time, we used to comb it a little rolling out at the edge. I had long tresses and I used to roll them on my ears, like telephones, as they would say. My sisters had no 'telephones.' I don't remember when I cut them off. To have a hair cut we went to a hairdresser, and my mother came with us. We had good legs then. It is only now that the hairdresser comes to our home because we cannot move properly any longer.

Books, other's than the ones for school, we didn't really read. My father read things related to the religion. He was not a fanatic but he read because he wanted to be well informed. In the evening we would all sit together and each of us did his/her own thing. Studying, reading, sewing...

Matilde used to play the piano. Almost eight hours a day on the piano. And now, nothing! She used to play the piano many hours a day. I had also started learning it but I had no patience to sit down and practice and I gave it up. Matilde had started learning with Lily Abravanel, who later on went to Paris and got married there.

Lily Abravanel was my mother's cousin: her father and my mother's father were brothers. Her father's name was Lazar. Lily went to the Catholic school 'Les Soeurs de Calamari,' and she had been influenced by them. They found her once, wearing a nun's hat [cornet] that she had made herself, and to protect her they sent her to Paris. In Paris she changed her religion, and married a Christian.

She had a daughter, who is a language teacher, and a son, who was working for the French electricity company, and another son, whose occupation I don't know, but he looks just like my uncle Leon.

She never told her children that she was Jewish and now there is a big mess about it because there is a Lazar Abravanel in Israel. He is the grandson of Lazar Abravanel, my mother's grandfather's brother, who in 1918 and 1920 was sent to Turkey with the Greek army and never came back. He deserted and went to Israel and stayed there and got completely cut off from the rest of the family. Now this Lazar Abravanel started looking for his relatives and his family and found out about his roots from Thessaloniki and through the computer [Internet] he was able to trace Lily's children in Paris and this created a whole mess.

At home we had no gramophone. My grandmother Abravanel had one and we went to visit her almost every Saturday. There, we would listen to music, classical music and all the songs that were en vogue then. There, we also found all the magazines because my uncle David, who lived with Grandmother, used to buy all the magazines considered serious. When we went to see my grandmother, my aunt Rachelle would also come with her children and the family united. They lived at one end of the city, the Vardari area, and we at the other end. My grandmother used to prepare separate food for everybody, whatever he/she liked, just to make us all happy. We found there good food, music, magazines, warmth. We were very happy to visit my grandmother.

The dreams that we had at that period were simple, young girls' dreams. It was normal that we were going to get married and found our own families. But in reality I couldn't see how we were going to get married because at that time you had to give a dowry and I don't know if my father could have afforded three dowries. Marriages were combined and bargained.

I don't know if I would have been able to marry then. And first of all there was absolute priority, for instance I couldn't marry before Matilde, she had to marry first since she was the oldest and then it was my turn and then Eda's, and this is why all the attention was given to her. Matilde always had to be very well dressed, by the famous fashion dressmakers, and her underwear was hand-embroidered and this and that...

Personal liking had nothing to do with marriage. Personal liking is only when you are not pressed to give a dowry and I don't know what else. I don't know anybody who got married without a dowry before the war.

Since we had no brothers we had no contact with boys. It was only later, at the beginning of the war, when we started living in the same house with Aunt Rachelle, with her sons, Nadir and Elio, and her daughters, Silvia and Renée, that we started having our first contacts with boys. The boys who were their friends.

Of course it was on my personal agenda to work. When I finished school I had already taken typing and stenography lessons. I had already applied for work at a petroleum oil company, and there were high chances I would have gotten the job had it not been for the war.

Matilde, she was stuck to her piano. At least eight hours a day she played. This is what she wanted to do. Eda was still very young, too young to work. My father, although he didn't like the idea of me working, didn't say anything because we needed the money. His shop had been burned down. I don't remember if it was in 1934 or 1935 but we were very short of money. My uncle David, my mother's brother, is the one that supported us and gave the money to my father to restart his business. Uncle David was such a nice man! He opened a bank account, in my mother's name, so that she wouldn't have to ask whenever she needed something.

My father's partner was my uncle Avran who had a very rich father-in-law and didn't care about anything. His father-in-law was Mr. Angel. My uncle Avran married my aunt Regina who was his cousin, Regina Angel, the daughter of one of my grandfather's sisters. It was not just my father's shop that burned down, it was the whole neighborhood, but unfortunately his was the last one for them to put out the fire. In this neighborhood were all the shops that sold construction wood, on Santaroza Street.

I have the impression that everybody was a Jew there, all the construction wood was sold by Jews; because my uncle Sinto, was also there, and my uncle Daniel, and my uncle Avran. Only my uncle Mentesh and uncle Sabetai were in the glass business. They sold widow glasses, mirrors etc.

I don't know any kind of job that was not done by Jews. No. They did everything and when we had a riot here and they burned down the houses in the Campbell district 12 - well, if you can call them houses, they were tin-huts, really - all the people who lived there and worked mainly in the port of Thessaloniki, decided, after the riot, to leave for Israel. They went to Haifa and built the port there, and the reason the port of Haifa exists, is because of them.

What I remember from Campbell is that my father had to take two buses to go to work, because his shop was very far away, compared to our house, and it was very early in the morning, and my mother stood on the balcony watching him going away, until he disappeared, and I felt something odd, a fear in my heart, without realizing what exactly was going on. I didn't ask any questions but everybody was scared. Proof of this fear is that they left. We didn't talk about it at home, not at all.

During the War

When the war with the Italians 13 was declared we moved to my aunt Mitza's house on Gravias Street. I don't know why we moved there, but my uncle Pepo and my aunt Mitza were in Athens, for some reason unknown to me. At their house were my uncle Leon and my aunt Mitza's sister, Silvia, with her husband Mr. Margaritis, my aunt Rachelle with her family, and all of us.

Our contribution to the war was knitting. We made socks and gloves for the soldiers. I don't know to whom we gave them but we knitted day and night. Me, my sisters, my friends, all of us sitting around and knitting for the soldiers in Albania.

Those soldiers were freezing and when they came back they had frozen fingers and frozen toes. I knew somebody named Saqui, he came back from the front with frozen legs and I don't remember if they amputated them or not but this was the issue. After the war he left for Israel and never came back.

Knitting and singing the patriotic song that Vembo 14 sang: 'Stupid Mussolini, nobody will stay, you and your ridiculous country, you are all afraid of our khaki colors [Greek military uniform].' We believed in those songs, we were impressed by them, Vembo was great, and we were putting all our souls into those songs.

When the Italians were defeated by the Greeks, the Germans, who were their allies, came rushing, to solve the problem! To save the face. I have a vague memory of that. I know that we were living at aunt Mitza's house, and the first day the Germans entered Salonica, they confiscated the house. We were all scared, obliged to move out, and find another house very quickly. They came and confiscated the house, I saw them but I didn't see them. I was so afraid. When they confiscated the house, they also confiscated my father's shop, and in exchange, they gave him some kind of a paper - I don't know where it is now - and we never got any kind of compensation for that.

I know that they confiscated all the important Jewish shops; they went to Alvo and emptied everything. He sold baths, and tiles, sanitary supplies and wires. For days German trucks were emptying it.

We moved here, to this neighborhood, just across the street from where we are now. The name of the street was Mizrahi and not Fleming as it is now. It was a big house that we rented, across Solono's house, who I didn't know at the time. Of course there were food rations. We went to the baker and were given a piece of moist 'bobota' [bread made of corn; during World War II it was the only one available and was part of the food ration]. One piece, not one loaf of bread each; the portions we could take were according to the members of the family.

Later on, when we moved into the ghetto with my aunt Rashel and her family we made our own bread. I don't know were we found the flour; it was the boys, Elio and Nadir, who took care of that.

We knew what was going on from the radio. We had an amazing radio and we could hear everything, even Vembo's songs.

We had no contact with the Germans. Somehow, because we were Spanish citizens, we felt protected, since we knew that Spain was an ally of Germany. What did I feel the first time I saw a German? I cannot see meanness; I cannot see it in the first glance. They looked normal, like normal people with nothing special, nothing to make you want to turn your head away.

We heard nothing about the camps, nothing about the concentration camps because they concealed it very well. And our rabbi, who was from Germany, maybe he knew, maybe he was aware of what was going on, but he chose not to speak. Rabbi Koretz. We thought that we were going to work and then come back.

People were so fooled that, even the money they had - when they were deported - they gave to the Germans, taking in exchange either Polish zloty or some kind of paper saying it was due to them, and they were going to cash it at the end of the trip. What did we know? We had no idea what concentration camps were. No idea! Some people had come from abroad, from outside Greece, and were saying some things but we couldn't imagine it. Our minds were not able to conceive it. We thought that they were telling stories.

Mrs. Kounio parents' had come from Austria but they were much older than us and we had no real contact with them. We could not form an opinion, because we didn't know enough to understand, and anyway, when the powerful want to fool you they do. They have the means to do it. We didn't know, and the people that came and told us we didn't believe. It was simply inconceivable. What they were telling us was impossible to digest, it was not real, and it couldn't have been real. They were not lying, they were gravely exaggerating. Or so we thought.

I had a schoolmate that was married in Yugoslavia, Bella, and when the Germans entered Yugoslavia she came back to Salonica to her mother, and she also had a little girl named Ettika with the most beautiful red - very red - hair. And they came here and they didn't have anything to eat, and her husband started selling small things, such as buttons, pins, handkerchiefs and things like that, and he was going from one house to the other to make some money, and buy bread. They had no bread, but Bella was smoking. When I went to Israel, I started smoking too, and all of a sudden I remembered Bella, how they had no bread but had to smoke, and I said to myself, 'Am I crazy? I quit on the spot.

Bella told us that when the Germans came they took everything. She told us of atrocities, but it was just in our imagination that we could see things like that. And then the order came to wear a star, and everybody wore a star. I don't know what would have happened if you didn't wear one. I didn't wear one. I was Spanish.

Then the Germans gave the order that Jews had to move into the ghettos. In Salonica we had never had a ghetto. We moved again, this time with my aunt Rashel, my mother's sister and her children. We went into the ghetto, with our own people, although I'm not sure that as Spanish citizens we had to. We felt more protected, as Spanish, since when they gathered the others, they didn't dare touch the Spanish.

Nina Benroubi probably didn't move into the ghetto. Her family name is Revah and the Spanish consul was married to a Revah from the same family. The name of the Spanish consul was Ezrati and he was Jewish too. I have letters of him and sometimes I wonder how we managed, writing letters, seeing the consul, the ambassador, etc.

Of course, we were scared at first. What am I saying. Not at first. It was after that we started being really scared - when people started disappearing, when we had to go to the ghetto, when we could not move around any more. How can you not be scared when you don't know one day what the next day will bring you, what will happen to you.

My father, when we were in the ghetto, was already sick and my mother had died. My mother had a small operation; she had a polypus that had to be removed. Since it was during the occupation my father took her to a private clinic for the surgery, and he was so precautious, so afraid that something would happen to her, that he took a stove to her room, to keep her warm, and he bought alcohol, and he sat in my mother's room, and whoever came in was obliged to clean his hands with alcohol, to be disinfected.

The operation was successful but the patient died. The operation was done during the German occupation and nobody took care of her, nobody came to see how she was doing, or to help her get up, or anything, and she got pneumonia and died. When the doctor saw her, he said that if she could make it to midnight she would survive. She passed away at five to midnight. It is written somewhere when exactly she died.

Then there was the funeral but I didn't go to it. The day she died, and there was the funeral, there was a terrible, terrible snow storm. It was snowing heavily and it was bitter cold, and they came to the house, and they took her, and I didn't even see her, and we did nothing about it. They took her, in a hurry, because they had to walk to the cemetery and come back before the night, and they buried her there. The men of the family took care of that. My uncle Sinto, her brother, his son Samuel, my father ... only men. We were girls, we couldn't do anything, we didn't go to funerals, and we didn't go to the cemetery. It is only now that it is fashionable for the women to go to the funerals. After the funeral we had the kria, at home, and everything was done as it should be, because we still had a certain freedom.

When the Germans took our cemetery 15 they had to unbury her, take the remains out of the tomb, and put her in the new cemetery, in the same grave with my grandfather and everybody was very upset and felt uneasy and afraid but what could we do? We had no power, nothing, no way we could defend ourselves.

At the beginning, when we entered the ghetto, we were afraid. Actually, not exactly in the beginning. Later, when we had to wear the star, when they started picking up people, making them disappear, limiting free movement ... You could not but feel afraid not knowing what will happen to you from one day to the other.

As for myself, I wasn't moving at all. It was due to my father, who was sick. He had cancer. He went through a period when he had a fever every evening, and it was only when his condition started to deteriorate, that the cancer was diagnosed, but they couldn't do anything about it.

During that period we were renting a home on Broufa Street together with Aunt Rashelle and her kids. It was in the ghetto. I have no idea how the limits of the ghetto were defined... We, the girls, didn't leave the house, but the others were moving around, within the ghetto. Food? We were buying it from the shops that were in the ghetto.

The other Jews were wearing the yellow star but I never put it on. I was a Spanish subject and they were not after us. None of our family wore the yellow star, despite the fact that we were living within the ghetto. I don't know for sure if other people that had no yellow star could move out of the ghetto. I was confined to our house, with my father, and had no particular wish to go out either.

Although we were feeling some sort of liberty of movement, compared to the others, we didn't make use of it, and whoever wanted to see us came to our place. All of Nadir's friends were coming, that is Toto Benies, Solon Molho, Davi Frances, and Senegal, who was the funniest of all. Actually his name was Rousso but his nickname was Senegal. You see he was going to the port, to have fun with the fishermen, and as his hair was very, very curly, one fisherman called him Senegal, the only African thing he could recall, and that became his name for all of us. Nobody would call him any other name and I think that, not even he himself would have responded to any other name.

This group of friends was coming to our place almost every evening. We had all sorts of discussions, we had fun, we were singing and sometimes we used to play games, all kind of childish games, and sometimes we played cards. We played cards with the neighbor downstairs, Isaac was his name. You see, he would get passionate in his desire to win while we didn't really care, so one would go behind him, see his cards and step on the foot or give another sign and Mr. Isaac would lose. I don't know why we liked to tease him but we were all very young and full of life, and we had to have a diversion from all the horrible things that we were suffering.

I cannot recall the first time I went dancing but I find it quite improbable that I would have gone alone, that is, without my sister. As we had no brother and our father was very strict we had nobody to take us dancing. Probably it was during this period that it first occurred with Nadir, Toto and the others, or it could have been at home where we listened to the music on the radio and probably danced.

We had a lady neighbor, of German roots, who was always complaining and shouting at us about the music, always wanting us to be quiet. Regarding anti-Semitism all I can recall is a servant from AiVat 16 that we had at home, who once couldn't control herself and said, 'You Jews deserve it.' When exactly this happened I cannot recall. She was referring to all the rules and limitations we were forced to follow.

Let me tell you another story. Aunt Mitsa had a cook who had two daughters. One of them got married and came to visit us on Broufa Street and she was crying. 'What is wrong, Eftihia?' we asked her. 'I'm not a lucky person at all,' she told us, and continued, 'A friend of mine entered a deserted house and she found it furnished and with everything in it and I cannot find anything.' And she was crying. Crying while telling us that she couldn't find an empty, furnished Jewish house!

My grandmother was deaf, because of the fall of the Zeppelin that was shot down in Thessaloniki during World War I, and since they didn't want to shout the names, particularly in front of the four-year-old son of uncle Sabetai, they would use nicknames like the 'the big grinch' and 'the small grinch' in order to talk. The big grinch was Hitler and the small grinch was Mussolini 17 and her grandson, who was four years old at the time, was telling her, and showing her, putting his little hands on top of the other, indicating, 'not even a stone on top of another will remain,' and this is exactly what actually happened.

We were afraid, actually very afraid, scared, particularly since we knew that they could come anytime, knock at your door, grab you and take you away. I don't remember to whom exactly this happened, but there were many rumors about who was caught, who was taken out of the ghetto, people that nobody knew what had become of them etc.

A few days after the death of our mother, it was probably my sister Matilde who had the idea to organize a white marriage between our father and Aunt Rachelle, our mother's sister, so that she could acquire the Spanish nationality in order to be somewhat better protected.

This white marriage didn't take place in the synagogue. I don't know where, probably in the house, and I have the document from the Spanish consulate. Nobody would go to the synagogue for such a marriage. My father was already quite sick, he was lying in bed, and he would do whatever we would tell him. So Aunt Rachelle became Spanish, but not her children.

During that period a second marriage was quite rare. You see, people wouldn't divorce. People would normally accept all sorts of conditions in order not to divorce, which is not happening now.

If a wife died, and she had a sister, they would try to marry her husband to the wife's sister, etc. Every effort would be made, so that people wouldn't be left alone. There are physical needs that have to be dealt with, and such moves should keep the families closely connected. It is better than leaving people wander, like street dogs.

This was the period of our friendly group. We were staying at home and every evening the 'group' would come home to keep us accompany. Nadir and his friends Solon, Totos and the others were there every night. They were all making their best efforts to make us laugh, by saying whatever would come to their minds. This is how I became friends with Solon and later our friendship turned into love.

Nadir was by nature a funny fellow, and together with Senegal they would play theatrical sketches for our benefit. There may even exist photographs of Nadir, wearing a round hat and long trousers, just like Charlie Chaplin. This is what they were doing, making fools of themselves, trying to make us laugh and put some humor in our lives.

There was also Bob. Bob was the son of a friend of Aunt Rachelle who lived in the Vardari area. He also was included in the company. Now he lives in Israel but a few years ago he came to see me here, in Thessaloniki.

This is how we witnessed the departure from Thessaloniki: The people who were gathered, were leaving with a small valise, or a small sack, walking without knowing where they were going. And, as we learned later, when they reached the railway station they were told to leave their money here, since it wouldn't be valid at their destination, and this is how they would take even their money. All this we learned from descriptions by others since we were staying at home and didn't experience any of this first-hand. We were living in an empty Jewish neighborhood. When they collected all the other Jews, we remained in this house.

The difference between the Germans and the Italians was that the Italians were human. They helped us at this point. It was them who provided us with the proper false papers, in order to travel to Athens, which was under Italian occupation at the time.

This is when Aunt Rachelle decided to go to Israel with Elio and the rest of her children and so she did, in two steps. First three of the children, Nadir, Silvia and Rene left, and later the rest of the family, that is, she and Elio.

All our relatives were Spanish subjects. The Germans had no right to take Spanish subjects to the concentration camps but, all the same, they were all gathered and sent to a concentration camp, with no forced labor. Later they were taken to a camp in Spain, then to a camp in North Africa, in Casablanca, Morocco, and later they were taken to Israel. All of them, with the exception of our father, my sisters and I, who had made an application to the German 'commandature' and asked for an exemption since our father was suffering from cancer, and somehow we were left alone.

This Italian man, Neri, helped us greatly since when they finally came for us, he managed to put Eda, our younger sister, with our father on a train to Athens, and a few days later Matilde and myself.

The decision to leave for Athens was made when we realized that we couldn't take proper care of our father. This Italian guy, Neri, who was working in the Italian consulate, agreed to prepare the proper documents for us to travel to Athens. It was my sister Matilde who went to him, and took care of all the proper documents. Was it Neri who came to our place or Matilde who went to his office? I'm not sure, since I was fully occupied with our sick father. According to these documents, we were Italian citizens, and these documents were to be given directly to the train commander.

This is how our father and Eda left for Athens. Eda and our father left while Matilde and myself left the apartment, we were living in, and went to stay at the place of a girl that was a manicurist. She put us up in a bedroom and we were there all day and all night, with the shutters closed. You see, she was a Christian and her father, who was living in the same house, knew nothing about us. She was bringing us food and we were waiting for when our turn would come to leave for Athens. The girls' name was Angela, simply Angela, no last name. We stayed there more than a week.

Matilde and I were left to leave last. They told us to come to the railway station at a particular date and time. The Italians were in charge of the train, we were with the Italians and we embarked on our journey on it. We had no papers since they were all given to the train commander. The train was supposed to stop at Plati or some other station after it. It was stopped well before for the Germans to control it. It seems that they guessed that something was happening in that train and we knew nothing, not even our names on our false papers or birth dates or anything. The only thing we were taught to say in Italian was, 'The train commander has all the free passages.'

And the moment comes that the Germans get into the train. All the passengers, we were asleep, and it seems that the train commandant took care of the Germans, gave him the papers and finally they got off the train again.

This train left with at least a whole wagon of Jews. Among others there were Rosa, who lives in Athens, the one who remarried, Charliko Joseph, she was first married to Marcel Nagari. All her family was in this wagon.

There were also young Italian soldiers in that train. One of them seemed to like me particularly and he asked to meet me in Athens but with so much fear, no room was left for flirting.

We arrived in Athens and went to a house in Magoufana, a suburb of Athens - Lefki today - a house offered to us by a monk from Mount Athos. The area was full of small farms, and this monk was coming every week, and we would open all the doors as he would pray, so that the entire neighborhood would listen. Once an airplane passed close by and I said to Matilde, 'Adio, Mary look!' You see, we were very easy to be spotted by someone who was after us.

At this place at Magoufana we were not alone. There was also Toto and two of his sisters. One of them was later deported and never came back, the other one married a Christian called Mikes, a member of the yachting club, and his children still live here in Thessaloniki. Toto also had another sister who had a slight mental disability and was not with us in Athens. She was also deported and never came back.

We stayed at Magoufana for quite some time. We were washing the sheets by hand and our hands would bleed, and when this priest saw the condition of our hands, he told us how to wash 'cloth against cloth' and how to tumble it. We would start at one end and fight our way to the other. In a minute he showed us how to do it, and it was simple.

This priest was called Father Kissarios. He would come to visit us every week at this little house, in Magoufana, with the farm and the vines. We were left with no money, and later it was Paul Noah who paid my share to the partisans. I suppose that this house in Magoufana must also have been paid for, but I don't know by whom.

Normally we would walk from Magoufana to Kifissia, a distance of approximately 13 kilometers. In order to purchase medicine for our father. We would walk in the dark, in the loneliness, with dogs barking and no papers, but at the pharmacy they would give us what we asked for.

The only outside contact we had was Elios, my cousin, who was hidden in a room on 3rd September Street with his mother, our aunt Rachelle. Later, when they left for Israel, we lost contact for a while.

It was quite lonely in Magoufana, so when Elios and Aunt Rachelle left for Israel we decided to go to Athens, to their place on 3rd September Street, which now was empty. First, our sick father was taken and the rest of us walked for a whole night from Magoufana to Athens. Thank God we had no unfortunate adventure, but we were walking all night, and it's a long walk!

So we stayed in Athens with our father. In the room we had a big container where our father could sit and make, whatever it was he had to make, and then, he was moved to an armchair, from the armchair to his container and back. It wasn't easy. We, the three sisters, were using the house toilet, which belonged to another family but I cannot recall their name.

One night a group of traitors came with the Germans, a quisling Jew and three Germans, to arrest Elios, who was living there before us. They didn't find him but they found us, who were Spanish citizens. At this time they had already deported all the Spanish citizens, and when they realized the situation that we were facing with the sickness of our father, they decided to take the two girls and leave one behind so she could take care of him.

Since I was the one with more patience in dealing with our father, I was left alone in taking care of him, and my sisters were taken away. They said they were taking them to check our papers etc but they didn't say where. During those moments you cannot think or feel. You are faced with fate, you live an accomplished act, and there is nothing you can do. I was left with the impression that my sisters would return but instead of that, after a short visit to the Gestapo, they were held in the military barracks at Haidari 18, a prison for all kind of people. This I learned, of course, only after the end of the war.

While we were still all together, taking care of our father, there was this lady, Mrs. Lembessi, who was the wife of an air force officer, who was helping us continuously. She happened to live in the same apartment block as Ida Asseo, who was a cousin of my best friend Tida Saporta, and she took us under her wing, always trying to help us.

Mrs. Lembessi was following closely the evolution of my father's health. She communicated with the doctor who was following his condition almost daily. The day my father died, Mrs. Lembessi was at our place at eight o'clock in the morning, having already been informed, by the doctor, that in his opinion it was quite improbable that he could last any longer.

He died exactly 13 days after my sisters were taken away. It happened early in the morning, while I was feeding him in bed and he refused to open his mouth. He turned his head aside and died.

Mrs. Lembessi was there to help me. She told me not to worry. It was the doctor that informed her and she was here now and she would take care of everything. She cleaned and dressed the body and then she went to telephone the Spanish Embassy. A little later some men came on behalf of the embassy; they told us to undress the body, wash it and put it in a sheet. Once again Mrs. Lembessi told me not to worry and went alone to do whatever was asked. Then we waited for a little and they took the body. They didn't tell us where they were taking him.

Mrs. Lembessi, once again, took over and took me, almost by force, since I was not in a position to think, to stay at her place telling me that, I should never return to this apartment, were my father had died. That same night the Germans returned for me, but I had fled.

What Mrs. Lembessi actually did was to ask her daughter to sleep on the floor so that I could have her bed. I cannot recall how many days I stayed there but she took very good care of me and even her husband was pressing me to drink some wine with my lunch every day since I was very weak. Mrs. Lembessi is included on the list of the Righteous Among the Nations 19.

Then it was time to worry, with the assistance of Toto, how we would leave the county. I have no idea where Toto was during all this period. I suppose he was somewhere around watching over us in his own way. I was staying at Mrs. Lembessi's, who would see that Toto was after me, and madly in love with me, and she would advise me not to marry him, because he didn't seem to her to be of the same value as me. All that love seemed improper to her. Mrs. Lembessi knew nothing about Toto's sister and her mental disability.

Following the instructions given to Toto, we went on Good Friday, the one preceding Easter, in the evening, to a place where a lorry, sent by the resistance, was expected to pick us up and take us to Evoia 20. Everything was arranged by Toto in agreement with the partisans.

At this place arrived all the people who wanted to leave Greece: there was Paul Noah and his wife Rita and their young daughter, Lela Nahmias, the wife of Moise Nahmias, who was one of Solon's friends, and many others whose names I don't remember. We were all scattered and the appointment was at a coffee shop where the lorry would come to pick us up. I was sitting with Toto at this coffee shop and we waited and waited and waited and nobody arrived. At some point it became clear that nobody was coming. We were very, very disappointed, and we had to return.

We were later informed that they couldn't manage to come and pick all of us up, and that half of the people were left behind. A few days later we received the message that it was this coming Friday, at the same place, that the lorry would come. Once again we went to the same place, we found the same people and at long last we got into the lorry.

The funny thing is that the driver wouldn't start the engine unless I would wave to him. Of course, I didn't want to do it but the social pressure of all the other passengers was such that I had no choice but to do it and quickly we went off...

With this lorry we went from Athens to the land across from Evoia. It was night when we started out; it was night when we arrived. Everything was very dark and we had to cross the sea to go to Evoia and the Germans had a big searchlight, searching the sea, and we entered little boats, and we had to be very quiet and paddle very silently and finally we arrived in Evoia.

It was during early summer and when we arrived in Evoia it was still very dark. We had to climb a big mountain in order to arrive where the partisans were. This is when, forced to walk what seemed an eternity, I started having blisters on my feet that same day, because I was wearing sandals.

Once we were up there, we were taken to a big room. The floor was not bare ground, it was maybe mosaic or marble, I don't remember, and there were some stinking blankets and we had to sleep there.

It was full of people. A lot of Jews. No, not a lot, everybody was a Jew; Jews that we knew and Jews we didn't know. Yvonne said, 'It's been three weeks that we are here,' and I panicked, only trying to imagine to spend three weeks up there!

We tried to sleep and at four o'clock in the morning they started shouting at us that the boat to take us across to Turkey had arrived and we had to hurry, hurry. Those people had been waiting three weeks and the boat came the same night we arrived!

Since we were up the mountain they gave us mules to take us down. Not for everybody of course; some would walk and others would go on the mules. We knew nothing about mules. The women who sat on the mules the 'cowboy way' by the time we arrived down there, had started bleeding, from the friction, from the animal's movement. Happily enough I sat sideways, you know, two feet together like in a side-saddle and I suffered much less.

When we arrived at the sea, to our big surprise, we found even more people, probably coming from other shelters, and children and old people and all of them were Jews. The partisans had long beards and I was very scared, to be honest you were scared only to look at them. And they gave us a 'lesson.' And what was the lesson? They gathered us and told us that they had caught a guy lying and put a knife here and took it out there: right through his throat. Now if you feel like lying or anything else, think twice.

Of course, the partisans were armed and they had big, long beards and they had bullets all around their belts and chest and... The same night we got up at 3 or 4 in the morning. They called us because the fishermen boat had come. We hardly stayed on the mountain at all. We just slept a little wrapped in a blanket on the floor. We didn't have the time to worry about what to eat, or where to eat, or how or where to wash, how to organize ourselves. We left immediately; we didn't stay three weeks like the others.

They asked for money. They said that whatever you have leave it here because for you it is useless, your money has no value from here on. This was not true, but people left their money there.

As for me, I had nothing to leave. My fee for the trip was paid by Paul Noah and he also gave me some money, because I had nothing. I had no money at all, hardly any clothes, no relatives around me, I had nothing, nothing at all.

I don't know how Paul did it - how he paid the partisans - but I know he did and he paid for Toto too, and I cannot tell you the amount because I was not directly involved in the act; it was Toto who took care of those things. I know that I am in dept to Paul.

We got into the small fishing boat. Except for myself and Toto there was also Mois Nahmias. Rita and Paul Noah with their daughter and Bob were not with us, they had left earlier and everything happened very, very quickly, and when we arrived in Turkey we were already expected there.

Nadir, Silvia and Rene, my cousins, had decided, long before us, to form a group of their own with two of the Noah children. They also left with the partisans but they never arrived. We have no idea whether they were betrayed, whether the boat was sunk, when and how they died, who caught them, etc. Up to this day nobody knows what really happened.

Anyway, so we entered the boat and we were crammed in the hold. We were less than fifty people, close to thirty. As the boat left, due to the stormy sea, people started vomiting. We had some containers, like buckets, and when they were full somebody would lift them up, throw the content in the sea and give them back to us.

I decided I that I couldn't stay in there anymore. I couldn't breathe. I wasn't seasick so I climbed to the deck and sat in a corner. The captain, a 23-year-old man - I was 20 at the time - saw me and told me that he had his own small cabin and I could go and rest there. All this happened without any effort from my side to charm him. No effort whatsoever.

This way I traveled rather distant from the rest of the passengers, having a place of my own. Toto was also out of the hold and our young captain very efficiently reached the coast of Turkey.

We arrived early in the morning at a place called Tsesme 21, and the captain would take each one of us and carry us one by one to dry land by walking in the sea and when he had brought the last of us he told us to walk ten minutes in a particular direction and wait there, as there were people coming to pick us up. The sun had not risen yet when he and his boat were gone.

A little later Greek people, representing the Greek state, came and took us to a coffee shop where they offered us breakfast. They were from the Greek consulate and they were there to assist us. I cannot recall if we met any Turks.

After we had our breakfast they put us on a train. I remember the train vividly and we were taken to a sort of camp where there were soldiers, Greeks and others. Of course, there were also many Jews.

We decided to look for Paul and Rita who had been loaded on another boat earlier. When we asked, we were told that they had not arrived yet despite the fact that they had left Greece a week earlier than us. We were very worried but one week later they arrived. You see, their captain had a girlfriend on an island and he took the boat with the passengers there, and in order to be with his girlfriend he stayed on the island for a week or ten days and, of course, the passengers stayed in the hold having extreme difficulty with food and the water and all.

What I can say for sure is that our captain was much more efficient in that respect, and brave, and within one or two days he took us to Turkey while the others that had departed one week earlier arrived ten days later.

This is what luck brings. When we were left in Athens, while they departed, we felt sorry for ourselves and thought we had bad luck but in terms of arriving in Turkey it ended up as our good luck, so you see, with luck you never know which is good and which is bad. Things are not what they seem.

The name of the camp where we were was Halep, I think, and upon arrival we were sprayed and showered in order to get sanitized. They were afraid that we had fleas and who knows what else, and maybe they were not wrong. There we met a lot of other Jews waiting to be sent to Israel by train, but we had rather limited contacts with the soldiers.

Soon after we arrived there was a Romanian family leaving for Israel by car and I was approached with the proposal to leave with this family. Despite the fact that I didn't know them, I decided to go. I thought to myself: they are going by taxi, the others will be sent in a goods train, let me take this chance and we will see. So I left with them, and in no time I found myself in Haifa and then Tel Aviv. I cannot recall how long this journey lasted. All I remember is that we left early in the morning and they spoke among themselves in Romanian and I didn't understand a word. When we arrived in Haifa, Sochnut 22 took over and we were taken to Tel Aviv. I stayed about eight days under the wings of Sochnut, which was an organization providing assistance and help to the newcomers. A nephew of my grandmother Saporta was living in Tel Aviv. He had a loan library; his name was Albert Alcheh. Finally, after eight days I went to stay with Lina, a first cousin of mine. At the back of my mind I was hoping to find Aunt Rachelle and Elio.

After I had stayed at Lina's for a week Samuel Molho came with a proposal. This guy, Samuel Molho, was somehow a relative since one of my father's sisters was married to a Molho, from his family. The proposal was to move to his place where he had built rooms on the top floor and there were staying Paul, Rita, Totos, and Mimi Nahmias, who was Rita's sister, and Paul's father and mother. He said, 'Since your whole group of friends is living in my place come and stay here too, so that you will not burden Lina.' This is how I decided to move and stay at Samuel Molho's place.

There I stayed in the same room with Mrs. Noah and her husband and Mimi who was the sister of their bride. My bed was under another bed and it was pulled out when the time would come for me to sleep. Four people in a small room. It was not easy. Poor Mrs. Noah couldn't sleep at night but she would cry for the loss of their two children that disappeared with Nadir, Rene and Sylvia. She had a lot of difficulty accepting the loss.

All my friends were staying at the top floor, where Samuel had built rooms and a kitchen and a toilet - everything that was needed - and there were also Frida and Jacque Saltiel. However, for me, the fourth person in the bedroom, it was rather tight. It was hard to wash yourself or put on some basic clothing and go to the bathroom, etc.

Now, Tel Aviv had a Thessaloniki Club, 'Le Club des Saloniciens,' and they were trying to accommodate whomever they could. Mrs. Angel, who was a member of the club, said that she would gladly accept at her house a girl from Thessaloniki approximately at the age of her own daughter.

Although I never went to the club they came with this proposal to me. They told me that I would be much more comfortable there, and it would be more peaceful, and I don't know what else. I thought that even three left in this small bedroom, it still was too much. And since I had a chance to move to this new place although it was away from my friends and with people I did not know, I decided to go for it and went.

At Mrs. Angel's place I had a room to myself. There was this couch that would turn into a bed. Every night I would make my bed and undo it in the morning in order to turn it back into a couch. Mrs. Angel's daughter was Nora and she was a fine girl and we got along very well, the two of us.

As soon as I arrived in Tel Aviv my priority was to find a job. I handed in all kind of applications for a job. I wrote that I knew French, English, Spanish and Greek. I applied at the post office, stating also that I knew typing and stenography, I applied at the military camp, at the bank that all the Thessaloniki's Jews were going to, the Discount Bank, which belonged to Tida Saporta's cousin, as well as the Cyprus Bank. Suddenly, an invitation to work came from the military camp and I went to work for them. It was the British military. I would wake up at five in the morning, get on a military lorry and go to the camp, which was rather far from the city. I don't even know in which direction we were going but once there I would type on a machine all day long. I would write whatever I was given but I cannot recall the subjects of the letters. During all this period I was wearing civilian clothing contrary to everybody else in the camp. I don't even remember at what time I would arrive back home from work. All I know is that it was extremely tiring.

I hadn't been working for a very long time for the military when a positive response came from the post office, and a little later from the bank. This is how I decided to quit the job at the military camp, since the long commuting in combination with the early waking up time and the long hours of work, was quite exhausting. I had a possibility to change all that and would have been stupid not to take it.

The post office had explained in their letter that they wanted me for some kind of censorship. I was supposed to read the letters of others and report whatever didn't look proper. I decided it was not a job for me and as soon as I received the bank's letter I went to the bank. That was the Cyprus Bank.

At the bank I was the secretary of the bank managers. We had two, one British manager and one Cypriot, and I had a small office to myself next to the managers while all the rest of the personnel were located in a big common room. The English manager would write the letters, I would type them and take them to him for signing. This, followed by the appropriated filing, was my job. The Cypriot manager would advise me on what to do and how to facilitate the British guy without pressuring him.

I had no exact time schedule since I would leave when I had finished with my daily job and put everything in order. It could be at three, or three thirty, or four, depending on the workload. When I finished I would not return to Mrs. Angel's for lunch but I went to a close-by Sephardic restaurant. The owner was Issua and there you could eat properly, with the others, the Ashkenazi.

At this restaurant I could eat alone. He would cook our way. He also made stuffed tomatoes since he, the owner, was from Thessaloniki and both the quantity and the quality of the food were highly satisfactory. There I would meet Charles Josef with his wife Nini and many other people like us.

Since I had no money and Paul had paid the partisans for me, I found a second job. After lunch at the restaurant I would go to an import-export agent, whose name I cannot remember, despite the present he gave me when I left. There I would take care of all his correspondence. He was telling me what he wanted and then I had to phrase it and write the letters properly. I was dealing with everything.

I would normally finish by eight in the evening and at that time I was so tired that I had no energy left for anything else, and this is the reason I never learned Hebrew. I studied for a week or so, at the beginning of my arrival, but had to drop it when I started working.

Then one day the bank manager called me and asked me about my second employment. He also asked me if I knew that I was not permitted to have a second job as I was involved with banking permissions. I had access to all the files, and whoever wanted information could contact me. I told the bank manager that despite the fact that I had no family, the money I was receiving was not enough and I had no other alternative but to have a second job. Then he told me that, formally, he knew nothing about my second employment. He was so satisfied with the quality of my work that he was prepared to cover up for me with regards to my second employment, and later, when I got engaged to my future husband he was literally crying when I was leaving. Believe it or not he explained to me that it was the first time he felt things where in such good order, due to my presence.

During the period I lived in Israel the only group of people I had contact with was my old group of friends. Most of them went to work in factories, since they didn't know any foreign languages. Some went to the Discount Bank, as the owner was from Thessaloniki and he was hiring people originating from there. It is worth noting that Matoula Haim, who later became Elio's wife, was also there, going to school, but I don't know any details about her. We hardly knew each other then.

With the two jobs, my days were fully occupied and I could do nothing else. All this period I never went any place. I didn't go to the synagogue, not even once, and all the high holidays I would stay at Mrs. Angel's. This family, the husband being also a distant relative of my mother, was not very religious; they would play cards and I would stay with them and not go out of the house.

During all my life in Thessaloniki there were no 'traditional' Jews there. In Israel I first saw Jews with long beards, round hats and black robes filled with greasy spots and I said to myself: Now I can understand the expression 'dirty Jew.' Not even in photographs had we ever seen Jews dressed like that. Even the children were like that and this was my first impression. In Thessaloniki we had no conscious knowledge that we were different from the rest.

People in Israel gave me the impression of being aggressive and rude. We were used to be more attentive and we showed more respect to each other. We were also sweeter in our way of speaking and wouldn't say 'tipesh,' which means idiot. Very quickly we learned the expression 'tipesh pilit/pilita,' which means foolish, idiotic refugees. After that I found a job and stopped being in contact with them.

Except from being arrogant, people in Israel also didn't take care of the way they dressed. They would wear these shorts down to the knee level, which we had never seen before in Thessaloniki. Even the officers of the army were wearing these shorts. After some time even your eye gets used to it, and, admittedly, it is practical for a hot climate, but at first they looked very neglected to me.

Some people from Thessaloniki ended up wearing these 'not taken care of' clothes, but I never did. I had one dress which I wore and it was always clean and ironed, I was never badly dressed or neglected, never. Of course, it was summer there as I had left when winter started.

We didn't have any contact with Israelis, men or women. All the contacts we had were with people from Thessaloniki and particularly I, as I was working in the bank, with an office to myself, and had no contact with the other employees who were working in the common room. I would not go to the common room.

I certainly missed my group of friends, but each one of them was occupied with earning his or her daily bread by working in factories, etc. Of course, I had more advantageous conditions but it was due to my knowledge of English and French and of typing.

The liberation found me in Israel. Later I learned what had happened to my sisters. As I wasn't in Greece I don't know what the liberation was like here. I remember a big cry of joy: the war is over, the war is over! I don't remember any celebrations but when you are closed in, working all day, you don't always know what is happening.

After the War

What changed immediately is that contact with Thessaloniki was established immediately. I learned that Uncle David and Aunt Mitsa were alive. Letters were the only form of communication, only letters. As they knew I was in Israel they could send me letters via Albert Altcheh and he would pass them on to me.

First, I made contact with the people who stayed in Greece, that is, Uncle Pepo and Uncle David. All the other members of my family had been moved from the concentration camps to Spain and then Israel. Actually, from Spain they were sent to North Africa, to Casablanca, and then to a camp in Israel. When they arrived I went to see them there.

When they came to Israel, Uncle Mentesh and Uncle Sabetai rented a small apartment to share and since it was rather small, there was no room for their mother, my grandmother, who was put in an old people's home.

During the war, Grandmother was with all the Spanish citizens and it was Rosa, the sister of Alice and Linda, who was a kind-hearted person, who took care of her, washing her clothes and everything else.

Life in the old people's home was not at all happy for Grandmother. As she was almost deaf, she would make noises when she was pulling the metal pots to pee, during the night, and other 'guests' were complaining. She was instructed to be more careful, but she couldn't hear.

Anyhow one day, they came to her and asked her if she wanted a haircut and as she didn't hear them or understood, she smiled and nodded and they came and cut her hair that she was wearing long, all during her adult life, tied in a low chignon. When Grandmother saw her face after her haircut she couldn't accept the outcome and she was crying and crying, and when I went to see her she told me, 'Look, look what has become of Mazaltov Saltiel, look!' And she was crying. What was there to say? The people, responsible for this hair disaster, said that she had been asked and agreed, and she said that she didn't understand. Grandmother died very, very sad.

All I had in my mind was returning to my people. I was starving for the warmth of my family and I knew that both Uncle David and Uncle Pepo were alive. Uncle David didn't get married and was living with his brother Pepo and his wife, Aunt Mitsa. All three of them thought of going to a small island and live there, hidden with their young baby daughter Rena. Unfortunately, the Germans caught them on the Island of Lesvos and put them in prison, but since Aunt Mitsa, who came from Vienna, knew the German language, she somehow managed to stay out of prison with her little daughter.

Aunt Mitsa made her living on the island by telling the future from reading coffee cups. She would learn what the news of the neighborhood were and as she knew the facts, she would say, for example, 'I can see here, in the marks of the leftovers of the coffee, that you have a relationship with someone. Ah! This is serious. Be very careful.' Her clients would bring her as payment a chicken or some potatoes or other useful things that would help her survive, as they had no money and no other means of support.

This lasted until the liberation when they all returned to Athens and later on to Thessaloniki. During this period I was in Israel so I don't know the rest of the details. What I know is that she never again touched a cup of coffee.

They sent me letters though Albert Altcheh since they knew how to contact me. Even the Spanish embassy in Athens knew how to reach me; they sent my travel papers to Ida Arouesti, a friend of my sister Matilde. This Ida, before the war, had a cousin who committed suicide by jumping from a balcony and to honor her memory, her father had built a synagogue, which today is called Monastirioton, and it is the big synagogue of Thessaloniki.

This is how I learned that my sisters were fine and we started our correspondence. Of course, I kept on working during all that time. Despite my desire to return I knew that my sisters were experiencing a severe lack of funds with the respective results.

They were both staying in Athens at Ida Arouesti's and as they had one overcoat to share, one of them would obligatorily stay at home in order to allow the other to go out. This unique overcoat was also a present from Ida. They were also making shoes out of rope as they had absolutely no money. They used rope for the bottom part of their shoes and they bought a sack, which were normally filled with 50 kilos of sugar, and used it to make the upper part of the shoes. Those were very difficult times!

Later Eda found a job at the Greek-British Chamber of Commerce while Matilde was unemployed. They were both passing the poorest period of their life. Ida later got married and went to Milan in Italy.

Some of my relatives that had gone to Spain had already returned to Thessaloniki. Uncle Sinto, Rene's father, wrote me a fine, touching letter asking me to go to him: 'You will be like my own daughter,' he promised, but Aunt Sol, his wife, Rena's grandmother and my father's sister, didn't agree to have us. I have kept this letter where Aunt Sol says that she has four boys - Davi, Sumuel, Joseph and Marcel - and that she cannot take care of us, having also three daughters, Mathilde, Jeannette and Paullina.

Uncle Pepo and Uncle David said that we were welcome and we could go and live with them anytime we wanted.

At this exact time Solon Molho came back from the island of Skopelos, where he was hiding during the war, and went to Uncle David and explained to him that he loved me and that he wanted to marry me. Uncle David wrote to me in Israel and my response to the proposal was positive.

Solon didn't know where to find me so he said to himself: 'Let me go to Uncle David.' So he went to Uncle David and told him, 'I love Renée, what are we going to do about it?' And uncle David wrote me a letter and I said to myself, 'Let me weigh things, we are alone, we have no money - not that Solon had any, I already told you that we started from scratch - anyway I have to get married. This is a person that I know, I know his family. Why not marry him?'

I knew Solon from the time of the occupation. As I have already told you there was a period that Solon, Totos, Bob and all the group of friends were coming every evening to our place. Of course, I had memories and I remembered Solon and after I gave the positive response I began to get prepared to return to Thessaloniki

I knew Solon's parents from before the war. They were Mair and Sterina Molho. Mair was a bookseller, Sterina a housewife and their children, in addition to Solon, were Victoria and Yvonne. Both his sisters were married and had children before the war. Yvonne, the eldest, was married to Henry Michel and had a son, Daviko, and Victoria was married to Youda Leon and had a son, Niko, and a daughter, Nina.

The Molhos were not a family of Spanish origin, contrary to my family, and I wonder if I should not go and get a Spanish identification card even now.

The Molho family was living in a house opposite ours, so they knew us and Sterina, as we passed by with my sisters, was saying to her son Solon, 'This is a girl for you to take as a wife.'

Sterina Molho was easy going and good willed, while at the same time she was a realist. She also had brothers that had gone to Italy, but I know nothing more about them. Here at home we have a set of dishes with the initial E which belonged to Sterina as her maiden name was Errera, and she was the only member of her family that didn't go to live in Italy, being married at the time the decision was made.

Now, Solon Molho was very much loved as a boy. You see, he had an older brother, who he didn't meet, because he set himself on fire while playing with matches under his bed and died. Family legend has it that it was the day that the Orient-Express arrived in Thessaloniki. When Solon was born, all the parents' love was directed to him. Solon's sisters were considerably older than him. I believe that the brother that was lost to this fire was born between the two sisters.

Solon, as a young man, was rather athletic. He would go on excursions, climb the mountains, go fishing, etc. He was also a boy scout. This is the reason why, later, we sent all our children to the boy scouts, to summer camps, etc.

Solon was attending the Altcheh school, which was located opposite their house, and it was rather convenient as during the break he would return to his house. He wasn't particularly quiet, prudent or calm as a child.

In the neighborhood was the shop of Thomas, a bicycle shop, where you could either rent or repair your bicycle, and Solon was at his shop every time he would get a chance.

Many years later, after the war, a middle aged lady approached me once at a pastry shop. She asked me about Solon, and what the news was, and how he was, and she explained to me that she was Thomas's sister. I told her, 'He is fine, thank you ...' She told me that Salomonikos used to come to the shop to get a bicycle and ride away and Mrs. Sterina would also come after him and ask Thomas to take good care of Solon. He was very much loved, you see.

Solon's father, Mair Molho, was a rather severe man and right after the marriage of his daughter Victoria, he took Solon, who was 16 years old at the time, to the bookshop and started training him. His first job was to count sheets of paper, to receive the newspapers, etc. so that he could have personal experience with all the bookshop tasks. The bookshop was the only one in Thessaloniki to carry international press and foreign, that is, English, French, German, etc. books.

Going back to the period of my positive response to getting married, all I knew then was that Solon belonged to a respected family that had a famous bookshop, that I had visited to buy books, that he was a close friend of Nadir, my cousin, that he was a member of our group of friends, that the was a Jew, that he seemed to be of a nice disposition and that was it. However, although we started from nothing, we fought and had a good life together.

At the time I met Solon, he was engaged to a girl called Dolly Modiano but apparently his mother didn't agree with it. Later Dolly got engaged to somebody else, as she realized that Solon didn't respond positively to her, that is, to Mardoche. She left with Mardoche and didn't go to the concentration camp since Mardoche had a lot of money. He wasn't very good- looking and didn't seem to be on the same level with Dolly, who was an intelligent and fine girl.

Solon, of course, had gone to the Greek army; actually he was in the army with Nadir and that's how they became friends. When the Germans arrived he was still serving in the army. I'm not sure where exactly he served, maybe Albania, or actually I think it was in Sidirokastro. From Sidirokastro he returned to Thessaloniki on foot. [Sidirokastro: A fort on the Greek- Bulgarian border. It was attacked by the Germans on 6th April 1941, and was taken three days later.]

He had to present the contents of the cash register he was managing in the army and they, Solon and other soldiers, walked to a port, took a boat that was chased by planes and then walked again in order to make it to Thessaloniki. The cash he was responsible for, was a serious source of anxiety for him, since it didn't belong to him but to the army, and when he managed to pass it to someone else, he left and arrived in Thessaloniki, as a civilian, not a soldier any more.

In the meantime the Germans had arrived in the city. As soon as they arrived, they confiscated the bookshop, threw everybody out without permitting them - owner and staff - to take even their personal belongings, not even their clothes and jackets, and they sent Mair Molho into exile. I don't know where exactly this exile was, maybe the island of Ios 23, but I know that shortly after, he was brought back and forced to sell the whole business to a German collaborator, a bookseller called Vosniadis, for the sum of three golden pounds. This is how the bookshop ownership 'changed.'

Solon stayed in Thessaloniki until the Germans decided to take measures against the Jews. Right after the gathering at Eleutherias Square in Thessaloniki, Solon left on a rowboat, saying, 'I am not staying here,' and went rowing to Evoia, and finally ended up in Athens, which was under Italian occupation. When those new instructions against the Jews were issued and all the Jews were put into the ghetto and later on, many left for the camps, our relationship suddenly ended.

However, in the meantime, from his return from the army until his departure for Athens, he was coming every evening to our place for a visit. We were staying at Brouffa Street with Aunt Rachelle, who had two boys and two girls. If you include us, there were five girls and the boys were, of course, rather happy to be in our company instead of going here and there. As our mother had recently died, they would come home and try to make us laugh. This is how I first met Solon and his behavior was very proper.

Uncle Pepo had invited me to return and I could stay at his place. Solon had returned and subconsciously he had me as his wife in his head, probably because of his mother telling him when she first saw me, 'This little girl is for you.' So when he came back from the island he went to Uncle David and told him that he wanted me as his wife and he wanted to settle down. Uncle David wrote to me, as I told you, and I evaluated the proposal, and I decided that I also wanted to settle down with him since I knew him and his family, and I didn't want to look elsewhere.

I knew very well, at that period, that Totos loved me. So how could I say yes to Solon had I not secretly loved him too? So when I said yes, I got prepared and took the return trip. It is worth noting that during that period in Israel a cousin of mine, Leon, was also after me and he would have liked very much to be engaged to me, let alone Toto. Solon was my choice. This Leon was a cousin of my mother, I don't remember how he was related, and his mother was English, and he would come and we would go out, but that was it.

During all this period we didn't go dancing even once. We would go to the coffee shop, have a coffee, sing a song, etc. We would find life, and the whole situation in Israel, rather monotonous. We were used to live different rhythms. We would go to the coffee shops in the evening and we wanted to sing, and be merry, and we sang the Greek songs that we knew in the streets. I cannot recall the exact songs we were singing, but we were singing with a lot of nostalgia for Greece and in this atmosphere I said to myself, 'I will go back.' I didn't ask the advice of anyone since I really knew what I wanted and I sent the positive response to uncle David and said that I would try to return.

What made me happy with the liberation was that letters started arriving, and I have kept these letters. Letters from my sisters and letters to my sisters, letters from Uncle Pepo and, of course, Solon's letters. I was happy. I would have my own family and not stay in a foreign country or in a foreign house. My days were very long as I would go out at eight in the morning and at best return at eight at night, but they were full of anticipation and joy.

So I arranged all the necessary papers and I returned with Charles Joseph and his first wife, Nini, who was the daughter of a first cousin of my father. All members of the Saltiel family, and even his second wife, Rosa, was also a Saltiel.

We first arrived in Piraeus and from there went to Thessaloniki. I cannot recall where I first saw my sisters after the war. Was it in Athens? Was it here? I do not remember. I stayed at Aunt Mitsa's place as there was nowhere else to go.

Eda was working at the Greek-British Chamber of Commerce in Athens. Matilde was also there but not working, and they were staying at Idas's. I cannot bring to my mind our first meeting after the war.

When I arrived in Thessaloniki, Victoria came to me as Solon was sick in bed. He participated in a yachting tournament and as he was shouting very much he had had a hernia and he was taken to the hospital, he was operated on and exactly when I arrived he was in bed recovering. Victoria was Solon's sister, married to Youda Leon with two children; Niko and Nina. I knew them from the period before the war but we did not have any relationship.

As for the Molho family, they were all deported to Germany: Solon's father and mother, Yvonne, his sister, and her husband and child. The same goes for all the rest of his relatives. The only one left was Victoria and her family.

The way they were saved is that one day they were at a drugstore and at this drugstore happened to be Doctor Kallinikides, and he was commenting about the dreadful things that were happening to the Jews. He also was saying that he would be willing to save a family of Jews. When they heard that statement, although they didn't know him, they approached him. Mrs. Kallinikides went to their place to take the children, to his own house. Later he managed to get in touch with the people who were occupied with transporting illegally the Jews to Athens, under the very nose of the Germans.

This way, very quietly, Mr. Kallinikieds saved first the children and then arranged for someone to pick up the adults, from another place, and arranged all the details for their safe journey to Athens. They left together with the youngsters, Niko and Nina who were five and two years old, respectively. They were very lucky and Mrs. Kallinikides remained a friend of the family forever.

When this happened, Solon was already in Athens. In Athens, when they found each other and in order to survive, they were manufacturing soaps: Solon assisting Victoria's husband, Youda, who had had a soap manufacturing factory in Thessaloniki and knew all about it. Selling them from house to house they were making a living. Later the Germans occupied Athens, so they were forced to go and hide themselves elsewhere.

They went to Glossa Skopelou. Giorgos Mitziliotis, the mayor of the village was one of the suppliers of Uncle Youda's factory, providing him with olive oil, which is a raw material for soap. All the Leon family, the grandfather and grandmother, Maurice, Jackos, Youda and his family and Victoria's brother, that is, Solon, etc. 14 persons were taken by him to Glossa. During the whole period of the occupation and until the liberation of Thessaloniki they all stayed there.

Giorgos took an immense risk, not only for himself and his family, but also for the whole village since he was the mayor and therefore the one in charge. The ones that could help did so. They were going out with Giorgos, cutting trees, assembling wood, looking after the animals, etc. They even had a mule. Once the mule refused to move and after various efforts that had angered Giorgos very, very much, in his desperation, he put his shoulders under the mule's belly and lifted her up and threw her over. The mule fell, got up and started walking back to the village.

The first period in Skopelos was a period with no Germans but when they arrived, the family was forced to move from place to place, so that the Germans would not notice them. What a life full of anxiety!

During that period, Solon, was also going to the local shipyard assisting in whichever job he could as he was young, full of strength and life. He also worked with the local ironsmith and on his false ID, his job is that of an ironsmith.

They also listened to a hidden radio so that they knew what was going on and what was happening in an effort to be in front of unfortunate happenings. When the war was over, they all came back to Thessaloniki.

Giorgos Mitziliotis and his brother Stephanis are on the list of the Righteous Among the Nations.

As soon as he arrived in Thessaloniki he went to the bookshop and a few days later he was given back the shop and the first floor was taken by the British Intelligence Service, who used it as a 'lecture and training salon.' I don't know from whom he took back the shop as I was not here during that period, but I know that one or two days later he was in his shop. The books, of course, were all taken by Vosniades, but the stationary, out-dated of course, was there. Later they brought the books that had not been sold by Vosniades, back to the shop.

Every day the top floor was full of people because the British had a big map and they were noting on the map the movement of the armies and how the Germans were retreating, etc. until the end of the war. The British were located in the shop until every spot was liberated. Then they opened the British Council, where amongst other things they had a library and they were teaching the English language. Exactly as it is today.

As the bookshop opened, books started coming from abroad and Greek books too, and I have the impression that we are certainly the oldest bookshop in Thessaloniki if not in the whole of Greece - older than Elefteroudaquis.

Solon was staying with his sister Victoria and her husband Youda at Karolou Deal Street while I stayed at Aunt Mitza's house. What I recall from our first meeting is that we were both very emotional. He was moved, as I was too, and we were crying and everything. We were greatly moved sentimentally. We were crying and we were kissing. What can I say? It is the desire to share what overcomes you and you do not calculate what you do. You do not think, let me kiss him now; you just do it as it comes with the moment. And it is quite natural and normal to kiss, to cry and laugh afterwards. First, the cries and certainly laughter follows.

When I returned to Thessaloniki the city was free. It was 1944 or 1945 and I had no problems whatsoever.

I cannot recall how long after this reunion we got married. It was Mrs. Margaritis, the sister of my aunt Mitsa, who was a musician who gave me my wedding dress, which was one of the dresses she was wearing to go to concerts.

The marriage took place at the Monastirioton Synagogue on 17th March 1946. I remember that all the marriage preparations were taken care of by Aunt Mitsa and Uncle Pepo and everything was very fine. And we were very happy. After the marriage, we all went to Aunt Mitsa's house. I don't remember who it was that placed his hand on top of the fireplace with such enthusiasm that the fireplace fell apart.

It is that the same place where we are living today, that was Solon's parents' house. It is here that Solon was born and where he came after he left Victoria's place. In this house, his parents' house, he found other people living: refugees, and, of course, they didn't want to move out. This happened with all the Jewish houses that were left 'empty' during the war. People moved in and after the war it was difficult to force them out. Anyhow, I don't know how Solon got the house back. I think it was with the help of Thomas, the bicycle man, but when we got married it was already available to us. I don't remember if there was any furniture left. All I know is that Solon took good care of it, and even built a fireplace for my sake. He wanted to make me happy.

Our honeymoon was a trip to Athens by boat. We went to Kifissia, a suburb of Athens, and stayed a few days there at a hotel and then came back to Thessaloniki. Upon that we started working and working and doing nothing else but work.

So we were married. He was a bookseller and I tried to make curtains out of an anti-mosquito cloth which I also dyed in a happy color, and hung them on the windows as they were facing the street, and it was the only way to protect our privacy, not allow to see from the outside what was happening inside. All our belongings, things, clothes, etc. were stolen by the man that was supposed to take care of them and it was very difficult for us to manage.

In the meantime, Eda was staying in Athens, working at the Greek-British Chamber of Commerce and Matilde, I think, stayed at Aunt Mitza's. Matilde married David Dzivre. Of course, it was match-making. Some people who knew them proposed and that's how they approached each other. They had two children, Nico and Yofi [Joseph]. Nico has already died.

Eda had first been engaged to Albertico Abravanel, but they didn't agree as he was a dark character and they separated. In the meantime, Raf loved her secretly, Rafael Saporta was Tida's brother and was one of our closest friends. All their family had been deported with the Spanish Jews, and after the war he never came back to Greece but lived in Paris, France. When Tida went to visit him she arranged for their engagement. Later they got married but I didn't manage to go to their wedding. They had a daughter named Sylvie.

In general, I would say that my sisters were never informed in detail of how I lived in Israel, neither did I get details about their life in the Haidari prison. All I know is that, from time to time, they would gather all of the prisoners in the yard and a German would select and take some individuals out of the line and send them to the firing squad.

As my sisters were Spanish subjects they were protected from the firing squad and the Spanish ambassador, Mr. De Romero, had involved himself with their survival. Every week he was sending a package with food to my sisters. It was Mrs. Lembessi, the lady who also helped me with my father, who was taking the packages to them.

If I go through my papers I'm sure I will find something about him. There are also pictures that were saved, and also the letters I wrote to my sisters, and other letters. I don't know how they happen to be in my house. I was the first one to get married and to have a house of my own, so I suppose, they gave them to me to guard and never claimed them back. Sometimes I open these letters and read them and see them from new prisms but anyhow ...

Going back, as a newly-wed I was very unhappy that I was staying in a house from where I couldn't see the sea and I had neighbors living that close. At first I had the impression that I was in a prison, with no space in front, as all my life I had grown up in houses overlooking and next to the sea.

Then Solon and I decided that it was about time to have children and so I got pregnant. I was very, very happy. Having a child in the family! It had been a number of years since we had seen children and when I first gave birth it was a boy! What a happy moment.

Samiko and his wife Clarice were in love with him; Samiko remembers Mair on his pot and gets emotional! Samiko Saltiel was a very close friend of Solon. He was living in the Vardari area, close to Nadir, and it is through Nadir that Solon met him and started hanging out with him until they became very close. The two couples, we were meeting quite frequently. We were close. Samiko and Clarice at some point decided to live in Switzerland and the friendship faded.

This first child was my first joy. The first joy for a long time and when we organized the brit milah, what a beauty he was, and how many people came! The Athens mohel came for it and I remember the brit, and the joy, and the majesty of it, and the atmosphere of joy, and the sweets, and the invitations, the people, and the live music, the Tchalgin.

In Thessaloniki before the war and for a short period after it, the Jewish musicians that would be invited in marriages, engagements and other fiestas, were called Tchalgin. And they played and played and played. I don't know the exact musical instruments they were using but they were sitting and playing and playing. I don't think that people danced at the brit milah.

When the second boy was born I was rather disappointed as I wanted it to be a girl. And once again the brit and the fiesta and everything; but I wanted a girl. God listened to me and, 'if not the second it will be the next child, so make another,' and it worked. The third child was a girl.

I never had a miscarriage but when I got pregnant for the fourth time I didn't want it since it would have been a lot more weight on my shoulders and the times were difficult so I forced a stop of the pregnancy. I think that, at the end of the day, this was a big mistake. After this fourth stopped pregnancy I was lucky and I never had problems with my health.

I started working at the bookshop when I decided that I wanted to be there.

All my children went to a good school. When they were at school, at home we had two ladies with the same name, Olga, who were taking care of the house and the children. 'Olga mama,' the older Olga, had been a maid of my mother- in-law for many years, well before the war, before they were deported. She was a couple of years older than Solon and this was the only family she remembered. When Victoria returned from the island, 'Olga mama' came back to work at her house, and when Solon and I had children she came to live with us. She spoke Spanish like all the rest of the family.

The other Olga was taking care of the house and also helping with the children, while 'Olga mama' knew how to cook exactly like my mother-in-law, as she had been with the family for many years and, of course, always kept an eye on the young ones.

I worked very intensively. First, I started by dealing with current problems, to order the requested subscriptions of the foreign magazines for the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, for the departments of Medicine, Architecture, Mechanics, etc. Then I started studying the French bibliography and little by little I was managing the whole French department.

Right after the war my husband was at the bookshop day and night. In order to start again he went to the Bank of Greece and asked for a loan. Let's say he asked for 150,000 drachmae. The bank manager sent him to the cashier and he gave him 300,000 drachmae, double of what he had asked for. With this money Solon managed to order the books for the first school term. We were in competition with another bookseller, and we would bring the first books by plane in order to be the first to have them.

Retail book sellers would be coming to the shop even at midnight, so that they would have the new books the next morning, in their shop. And I had the feeling that we never stopped working.

Of course, as I told you, we started with no capital. Not only that, but when the bookshop was closed by the Germans, there were open balances with foreign suppliers. When we re-opened after the war, in order to re-open our accounts with our main furnishers, despite the fact that obviously we were not responsible, we promised to pay whatever we owed them from before the war. We owed them nothing but we paid all the same.

This way, we paid Hachette, Oxford and the others, the French, the English, even the Germans, we paid. I don't remember the exact details of those accounts but what I know for certain is that we paid even the last penny of all our foreign debts. Not all of them together but slowly we managed to reduce and finally pay off all our accounts. We never used other peoples' money for ourselves!

One day there was an article in the foreign newspapers about King Paul. [Paul, King of the Hellenes (1901-1964): King of Greece from 1947 to 1964.] I don't know exactly what the article was about, as there was censorship during that period, but they came and wanted to arrest Solon who, of course, was not responsible since the newspapers had already been given permission by the censorship to circulate.

Solon, probably out of his anxiety, had a big boil on his top lip, right below his nose and it was very dangerous due to the amount of puss and it became a serious threat to his health. He saw many physicians and it took quite some time for him to be treated and recover, as the boil had to be neutralized.

At the bookshop we had all the newspapers and we were reading them. I cannot say that I was reading the Greek press, since it was much easier for me to read the French or the English papers.

The years went by slowly and we approached the 100th anniversary of the bookshop in 1988, its official date of creation being in 1888, and we decide to celebrate it. We organized a very successful reception and the French state decorated Solon and me with the title of 'Chevalier des Lettres et des Arts' and this is not an easy recognition to be given by the French.

They decorated us for services offered to the French Nation. If you work 100 years, and you are in contact with French publishers, it is expected that they may honor you, not only because they wish it but because you have earned it yourself, and it is due to your own merit. It is not an easy and simple thing.

For the celebration of the 100 years we printed a small commemorative booklet with the bookshop history and we also gave a reception. Whatever I do not remember is included in this booklet, and there was also a book where professors of the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki and clients and friends were writing their thoughts and their impressions about us.

Anyhow, time keeps on passing and since then we have received a number of 'slaps in the face.' I couldn't say that I faced any sort of anti-Semitism. Even the first book orders of the Aristotle University were given to us. It was not at the very beginning of the bookshop after the war, but the professors of the university were coming to the shop and we had very good relationships with them, particularly the good and active ones, not the ones who were there only for the title.

I never faced any problems because I was a Jew, no, no. We had a lot of acquaintances and friends who were Christians and you can go through the pictures of Mair's marriage to see many of them. From my early childhood, I was chic, elegant, and this is no joke. Whatever I needed, I wanted it to be top quality. I preferred to have one piece of good quality as opposed to two or three inferior ones. I went to the top couturiers, dressmakers of Thessaloniki and even Mrs. Kiouka, the top one, when she gave an interview a few years ago, she made reference to me being a good and proper client of hers.

Every summer, when my children were young, we were going for vacation to Agia Triada, a small village on the sea shore near Thessaloniki, as my husband could come and go every day. In the morning he would depart with the car of Jack Saltiel, or directly by boat, which would leave him in the wharf next to the market and the bookshop. They would return in the evening.

Jack and Frida Saltiel lived in Thessaloniki for a number of years after the war and then left for Athens and later Canada. They had three boys, Riro, Tiko and a third one, no girls. They went to live in Canada where they are now. It never occurred to us to leave Greece and go to live elsewhere.

We were not going to the synagogue very frequently. Of course for the memorial service of my father, and my mother, and quite frequently on Fridays, I would go to light a candle and ask God to take care of us and not to forget us.

All the Jewish high holidays we celebrated at home, like Rosh Hashanah, Pesach, Sukkot etc. We certainly didn't make our own sukkah during Sukkot. After the war nobody was doing it, so we were all going to the sukkah that was set up at the community and we were going only on one day, not the eight days that Sukkot lasts. I cannot recall until which age I was taking my children there.

At the door you can see a mezuzah which for me symbolizes a prayer, a prayer of protection by God. This is what it represents for me. I don't stick to the mezuzah as an object, since when I want to pray, I pray wherever and whenever I wish. I don't consider the existence of the mezuzah as a push towards praying. It is in order for God to protect this house in which I live.

I don't know if I have taught Judaism to my children. I believe in God but I don't consider myself a fanatic stuck to the religious rules. As for my children I don't know what they do where religion is concerned.

Spanish was the language we were using with my husband. With my children we were speaking in Greek and sometimes I would use Spanish so that their ears could get used to its sound.

After the war, we kept contact with all the relatives that were alive. All of my father's family was alive as they were Spanish subjects, except for Uncle Leon who was deported with his family and never came back. He was deported with his neighborhood. They deported him with the rest of the non- Spanish Jews. He was married to Nini Nahmias and they had two children, Riki, or Rikoula, who was named after my grandmother, and Victoria, innocent Victoritsa, who was four or five years old.

In particular, we met Uncle Sinto who was here with his family, Uncle Avram, Uncle Mentesh and Uncle Sabetai. All of them have now passed away. Uncle Mentesh and Uncle Sabetai, as Spanish subjects, were taken to Israel during the war. After the liberation they came back here, stayed a few years and later returned to Israel again, where they lived and died. Uncle Avram also went to Israel, only Sinto stayed here. Two of his children are still alive, Rene Arditi and Linda Erera.

How do I think my life would have evolved if there had been no war? It would have depended, I guess, let's say on the person I would have married. If we assume that he would have been as good as the one I actually married, it would have made no difference, provided that I could manage to love him.

It happened in our society that people, with no education, had managed to have a lot of money, but had no manners. You have to understand that our family from both my father's and my mother's side were 'very refined socially.' This is the reason that I say it all depends on the husband you get. Love marriages were very rare. I don't know any.

The city, on the external side, would look the same, but with no presence of the people we knew. All the neighborhoods in which Jews were living were now empty of Jews, their houses full of Christians. Whole streets like Misrahi, today Fleming Street, where we are now staying, were occupied only by Jews with the exception of one laborer called Filipou, who would come to the houses for small jobs. His son later became an architect and good friend of Jews.

However, the fact is that now, in this street, we are the only Jewish family while in the past there was not one Christian family. This is not only in this street but in many neighborhoods like '151' 24, 'Vardaris' 25, etc., but I wasn't very familiar with these areas. The true outcome was that we had lost all our contacts and we were isolated.

The Christians were very, very neutral toward us. When they would see you in the street they would look at you as if to say, 'Ah, so you survived,' a little surprised, but an approach that was neither a friend's nor an enemy's reaction.

Discussions took place based on certain circumstances, particularly when we were meeting Maurice Leon, Jako Leon, the grandmother and all of the people that were hidden on the island with Solon. We had a lot of contact with them, despite the fact that they were relatives among themselves, their life in common on the island had strengthened their ties, and it was us and them and them and us.

Somehow Victoria and Solon knew about their parents - that they would never return. They would know it by what the people that came back; by what the survivors of the concentrations camps, were saying and they were not saying much.

I never had an opportunity to talk with people who returned. We were not discussing the subject, not even with the Capon family that retuned, Hasday Capon, who was a close friend of ours and we were going out together often, never spoke. We didn't talk about it because they refused to touch the subject. Even Marcel, Marcel Nadgari who, as you know, wrote whatever he could, and put it in a bottle which he buried, and it was found years later, and this is how they know what happened to him. Even him, he never talked about his experience in the concentration camps at that time.

All the people who came back, refused to talk about their experiences, as they didn't want to remember it. Also, they were confronted at first with people's disbelief and that didn't help at all. It was only later, after fifty or sixty years, that they decided to talk.

Since their experiences contained extreme acts, difficult for the human brain to grasp, in terms of evil, and the people who would listen couldn't believe that those things had really happened, it was only at the end of the survivors' lives and under the fear of the approaching end that they decided to write and talk about their experiences so that people would know. Some of them fifty years later.

It has never happened. Discussions were not welcome and Hasday wouldn't talk. How can I explain, the Jewish society that was left were all Spanish and Italians. Even some Italians had disappeared at the end, as had happened to the Fernandez family that was completely wiped out.

We never discussed the subject with Solon either. It was silently decided that as they had no news, they would never return. Neither his parents nor Yvonne, the other sister, who had been deported with her son and husband and never returned. They never really learned it officially. What did you expect? For them to send you the death certificate?

Still, it is good that some talked. I was listening at Simone Veil 26, who was explaining why she started talking, and about the implications they were making, as if they had gone on a pleasure trip. And she said to herself, at the end, they are going to give them medals! Let me sit down and write things as they are.

I never discussed these subjects with my children because they never had the patience to sit down and listen. I am very sorry to say it but had you not been asking, you would not know how I grew up, what I have been through and how and how my life has been.

I didn't have much contact with the Jewish community, only with the children's camp when the kids were young. I cannot say that I have any particular contact with the Jewish community even now but I was always correct concerning my obligations. I just didn't have close contact with anyone. Of course, I knew all of them, I respect them and they respect me, but I have no closer contacts.

It has been quite some time since I have sent an application to the Claims Conference, which sent me a positive reply, but for the time being I have not seen a practical outcome.

Normally, I go to the cemetery in Thessaloniki, where the great majority of my relatives are buried. My father was buried in Athens. His dead body was taken care of by the Spanish embassy and I left as soon as possible and a couple of hours later the Germans were there, looking for me, but I was gone. When I left that house, I stayed with Mrs. Lembess and from there after many adventures went to Israel. I didn't know where my father was buried; it was only when I came back from Israel that I learned that he was buried in the Jewish section of the 1st cemetery of Athens, which is a Christian cemetery with this small Jewish section. Of course I have visited my father's grave and prayed and paid my respects.

In the cemetery I start with the grave of my mother who is buried with my grandfather, their names are Stella Saltiel and Samuel Saltiel. Then I go to the graves of Uncle David Abravanel, who died first, and then to Uncle Pepo Abravanel, then to Aunt Mitsa Abravanel. The next grave I go to is my husband Solon Molho's.

Then I go to the grave of Jeannette Bensousan, the mother of Rena Molho, my daughter-in-law, who is married to my son Mair. Next is Renée Avram, the second wife of Joseph Avram, a friend who had been married in his first marriage to my best friend, Tida Saporta, who later became sister-in-law to my sister, who married her brother Rafael. After that, I go to Mme. Gentille Saporta who is Tida's mother and her grave is next to my mother's.

Next I go to Maurice Haim. He was an employee we had at the shop who was killed by the 'rebels' when he was drafted into the army during the civil war 27. I cannot remember any other Jews taking part in the civil war; after all it's sixty years back and I simply can't recall.

Then I go to the monument for the ones lost in the concentration camps and say a prayer. Then there is a series of rabbis, and I also say another prayer over their graves. Oh, I forgot, I also go to the graves of Uncle Sinto and Aunt Bella Saltiel, the brother of my father and his wife.

Of course, we recite the Kaddish at the memorial anniversary of my father's and mother's death. First, I refer to them and then I have written down all the names of the men and women that I feel should be remembered.

A few years ago I would go to the synagogue for those anniversaries, but now I call a rabbi to recite it at home. His name is Daviko Saltiel. Naturally, we make a separate memorial for each one of them and I take the opportunity to refer to all the names of the dead people I would like to remember.

My son, Yofi, continued the bookshop and my son Mair opened a stationary shop and my daughter worked sometimes at the bookshop and sometimes at the stationary, nothing steady.

Yofi married Yolanda Papathanasopoulou, who was Christian and became a Jew. She studied the Jewish religion and when we went to Yugoslavia for the marriage, the rabbi passed her through a series of examinations on religious issues, converted her and then they got married. I cannot say I was glad, as I would have preferred an outright Jew, but I find that, even now that they are divorced, she has done a very good job with her children, who are growing up very properly.

Her son had a nice bar mitzvah and her daughter who is called Renee after me, had her bat mitzvah, all under her supervision. I could say that somehow they are following the Jewish religion, as they went to the Jewish school, they went to the synagogue every Friday, then to the Jewish club, and they kept the traditions with their mother, etc. Anyhow we don't know what the future will bring.

I have six grand children. I have three children and each one has two children, a boy and a girl. My eldest son Mair married Rena Bensousan and their children are Solon and Milena. My second son married Yolanda Papathanosopoulou and their children are Sami and Renee. My daughter Nina married Maurice Carasso and her children are Naomi and Dov, and now she is divorced. They all are Jews but not fanatics with regards to religion.

My favorite grandchild is Milena who shows me more love than the others. I do not see her very frequently but this is not easy since she lives in Athens, but when she comes to Thessaloniki she will always drop by and see me, always.

I have many wishes, but all of them now depend on the wishes of others, to assist me with transports, etc. As long as my husband was alive they would all come to our place during the celebrations and we would sit at the table, eat, play cards, sing, laugh and everything was fine.

Today things are different. My daughter Nina is trying to gather us, all together, at her place but it is not the old atmosphere. That is normal when the head of the family is missing. Anyhow, thanks to Nina we all get together.

I cannot say that I cook any more. Since Nina took over, there is no real reason for me to cook. Of course, when I am asked to do something and help, I will do whatever is necessary, for example make the sweet for Rosh Hashanah, the sweet called 'doulce de manzana.' I do it myself and we should not put any lemon, only sugar, so that everything will be sweet.

I thank God that he gave me a good husband who loved me and helped me. I have three children whose health and well-being I wish for with all my heart, and I pray to God to take me sweetly. This is my prayer.

Glossary

Semyon Nezhynski
Kiev
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: July 2003

My father's family lived in Lokhvitsa Poltava province. My grandfather, Morduch Nezhynski, was born in Nezhin, Chernigov province [present-day Kiev region] in 1852. He moved to Lokhvitsa when he was around 20. Our last name, Nezhynskiye, is derived from the name of my grandfather's native town. I never heard anything about my grandfather Morduch's family. All I know is that Morduch was the younger son in a large family. My grandfather studied in cheder in Nezhyn. All I know about my paternal grandmother is that she died in 1900. My grandfather and his first wife had twelve children. After my grandmother passed away my grandfather remarried. I don't remember his second wife. She died long before grandfather Morduch. They had six children in their marriage.

Lokhvitsa was a district town in Poltava province. After the Russian Revolution of 1917 1 it became a district town in Poltava region. The Jewish population constituted 2,400 out of a total of 5,000 people living in the town. The townspeople were Ukrainian, Russian and Polish. There was a long building housing Jewish stores in the center of town. Merchants purchased or rented facilities for their shops. There was a market where villagers sold their products near this building. There was also a church in the main square. There was a two-storied hotel with ten rooms near the market square. The town stood on the Lokhvitsa River. Our family lived on the right bank of the river. There was a big church on the hill near our house. There were two synagogues in Lokhvitsa: one on the right bank of the river and the other on the left. They were two-storied synagogues with balconies for women. There was a cheder and a Jewish school in the town before the Soviet regime. The cheder and the school closed in the 1930s.

Jews lived in the central part of the town for the most part. Their neighbors were Ukrainians. There was no anti-Semitism, however. Jews and Ukrainians got along very well. Jews were tailors, shoemakers and barbers. There was a leather shop in Lokhvitsa. Most of its employees were Jews. There were other Jewish shops that made soda water and ice cream. Jews sold manufactured goods, garments and other products. There were some wealthy Jewish families, but just a few. Most of the Jewish families lived from hand to mouth. Jews didn't do any farming. Land in the center of the town was expensive and there were just small plots of land near their houses. There was a big Jewish community in Lokhvitsa before the Revolution. The community supported old miserable Jews and needy families. They delivered matzah to them at Pesach, provided meals on Sabbath and Jewish holidays. In 1932 a sugar factory opened in Lokhvitsa. There was a Ukrainian higher secondary school and several lower secondary schools in Lokhvitsa. There was also a pedagogical college.

My grandfather Morduch and his companion owned a small food store. I was too small to remember my grandfather's house or store. During the Revolution of 1917 my grandfather and his companion didn't suffer from expropriation. Soviet authorities were interested in bigger owners. My grandmother was a housewife like most married Jewish women. I only knew a few of their twelve children.

My father's brother Shleime-Leib was the oldest. He was much older than my father. In 1886 Israel Nezhynski was born and my father Moisey Nezhynski followed in 1888. His sister Fania was born in 1889 and their brother Iosif in 1890. My father had two younger sisters: Lisa and Rachil, but I don't remember anything about them. My father's other sisters and brothers moved to other parts of the world. As for my grandfather's children in his second marriage I knew the youngest: Boris, or Boruch as was his Jewish name. He was born in 1913.

My parents told me that before the Revolution of 1917 and the Civil War 2 that followed there were no Jewish pogroms 3 in Lokhvitsa. During the Civil War Petliura 4 and Denikin 5 troops robbed Jewish homes, beat and killed Jews. Jews took shelter in the woods or in the houses of their neighbors. They knew about approaching gangs in advance due to the 'Jewish telegraph'. Villagers notified their acquaintances and relatives from surrounding villages about the threat of a pogrom. Our family didn't suffer from pogroms.

My father's family was religious. My grandfather went to the synagogue on Sabbath and Jewish holidays. On weekdays he prayed at home in the morning and in the evening. He had a tallit, tefillin and prayer books. My father's parents always celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays. All sons had their brit milah. My grandmother and grandfather observed Jewish traditions. All boys had their bar mitzvah at the age of 13. My father and his brothers studied in cheder where they received a traditional Jewish education. My father knew Yiddish and Hebrew.

My father's oldest brother, Shleime-Leib, was married. I don't remember his wife's name. Uncle Shleime-Leib worked in a shop with my father. His son, Michael Nezhynski, was several years older than I. After World War II Uncle Shleime-Leib moved to Leningrad where his brothers and sister lived. He worked in a household appliances repair shop like my father's other brothers that lived in Leningrad. He died in Leningrad in 1972. Michael finished Medical College in Kiev. During World War II he was a captain of medical services in a front hospital. After the war Michael lived in Leningrad. He was married. He worked in a military hospital. He died in the late 1990s.

My father's brother Israel married my mother's older sister Hana. My parents and they were close friends. They had two daughters and a son. Their daughter Riva was born in 1913, their second daughter, Sophia, in 1916 and their son, Anatoli, in 1920. Uncle Israel died of stomach cancer in 1937. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Lokhvitsa. Riva married Semyon Turevski, a local Jew. They had a daughter. During World War II Semyon went to the front and perished in 1943. Riva and her daughter were in evacuation in the Ural. After World War II they moved to Leningrad. Riva died in the 1980s. Sophia moved to Kiev. She married Abram Odesski and in 1936 their daughter Inna was born. Inna was an accountant in a household appliances repair shop. I shall tell her story later. After Israel died Hana and her son moved to Leningrad. She died in Leningrad in 1962. Her son Anatoli was married and had two sons. He named his older son Israel after his father. His younger son's name is Gennadi. Anatoli died in the 1990s. He was buried near his mother's grave.

My father's sister Fania was my favorite aunt. She was holding me during the brit and treated me like her son ever since. Fania married Kundik, a local Jew. They had two sons: Naum, born in 1915, and Efim, born in 1919. We were friends. In the 1930s Fania and her family moved to Leningrad. Her sons were doctors. During World War II Fania was in evacuation in Tashkent [today Uzbekistan]. After World War II she returned to Leningrad where she lived with Efim's family. Fania died in Leningrad in 1962.

My father's brother Iosif and his family moved to Leningrad in 1934. He repaired household appliances. He had two sons and a daughter. Iosif was a cheerful and friendly man. My wife and I visited him after World War II and he was a very hospitable host. Uncle Iosif died in Leningrad in 1959. His son Anatoli lives in Israel. I don't have any information about him. All other members of Iosif's family passed away.

My father's sister Lisa lived with her family in the village of Beryozovka, Odessa region. I have no more information about her. There was another sister, Rachil, but all I know about her is her name.

Of all my father's stepbrothers or sisters I only knew Boris, the youngest. He lived in our family and we were friends. In the 1930s Boris moved to Leningrad. He worked in the same shop where his brothers were working. He was married and had a son named Mark. In the 1980s Boris and his family moved to the USA. He died in San Francisco in 2003 at the age of 90. His son and I correspond.

My father's brothers and sister Fania were religious. They couldn't follow the kashrut after World War II, but other than that they observed all the traditions and celebrated the holidays. I have no information about Lisa or Rachil in this regard. As for Boris, he was an atheist.

After finishing cheder my father studied four years in a Jewish school. After finishing his studies he went to work as an assistant clerk in a store. Soon he became a clerk himself and his master gave him a rise in salary. In 1911 my father was recruited to the tsarist army. In 1913 he was released from the army and had a 'white card', probably due to some illness. [Editor's note: the 'white card' was a release from service in the tsarist army before the Revolution of 1917, issued by a medical commission, that determined whether a young man was fit for military service.] My father got married shortly afterward.

My mother's father, Shleime Lantsman, was a rabbi in a synagogue in Lokhvitsa. My grandfather died in 1917, long before I was born. I don't have any information about my maternal grandmother. As far as I know she died before my grandfather passed away.

I don't know exactly how many children they had. I know that my mother's older brother, Ilia, moved to the USA in 1919. The family didn't have any contact with him. My mother missed him a lot. I vaguely knew my mother's older brother Zakhar. His Jewish name was Skharia. My mother's sister Hana was born in 1897. My mother's family was religious. All children got a traditional Jewish education.

I have little information about my mother's brother Zakhar. He lived in Lokhvitsa before World War II. Then I lost contact with him. His son, Michael Lantsman, was my mother's favorite nephew. Michael lived in Kiev. He was much older than I. He was at the front during the war and after the war he served in railroad troops in Kiev. Later he was transferred to railroad troops in Leningrad. He reached the rank of lieutenant colonel. He died in Leningrad in 1976.

My mother Vera was born in Lokhvitsa in 1890. Her Jewish name was Dveira. My mother could read and write in Yiddish and Hebrew. I don't know whether she studied with a private teacher, or whether it was her father who taught her. Besides, my mother finished a four-year Jewish school.

My father and mother had been acquainted since they were children. My parents got married in 1913. They had a traditional Jewish wedding. This was the only way they could have it since it was a rabbi's daughter getting married! Besides, their families were wealthy and this was a quiet and peaceful period before the Revolution and the Civil War. They had a chuppah and there were many guests and musicians. After their wedding my parents rented an apartment from Michael Tischenko and his wife Anna, a Ukrainian family. This was half of the house and in the other half their landlords lived.

There was another house in the yard owned by Tischenko. They leased it to three other Jewish families. Our parents had two rooms and a kitchen. One room was our parents' bedroom and the other was the children's room. There was a bed and a wardrobe in my parents' room, and in our room we had sofas and couches where we slept, a table and stools. There was a Russian stove 6 in the kitchen. My mother cooked on it and it was also used to heat the rooms. It was stoked with wood, straw and rush. We made stocks of those in summer and fall and stored them in a shed. There was a well in the yard, and a small kitchen garden that belonged to the landlady.

Our father was the only breadwinner in the family. After the Revolution of 1917 the Soviet authorities expropriated the store where my father was working from its owner. My father lost his job. During the NEP 7 he and his Jewish friends opened a soda water shop. After the NEP this shop was closed and they opened a metal scrap shop and later switched to household appliances repair. There were only Jewish employees in this shop and it was closed on Saturday.

Our mother was a housewife. There were three children in the family. My older sister Anna was born in 1914. Her Jewish name was Hana. My brother Arkadi was born in 1916. His Jewish name was Abram. I was born on 29th January 1923. I was named Semyon after my maternal grandfather Shleime. My father took his youngest stepbrother Boris to live with our family. When Boris was born my grandfather and his second wife were older people. Their elder children moved out of their parents' home. Of course, it wasn't easy for them to raise a son. He was only one year older than my older sister Anna. My father loved Boris dearly. He took him into his family raising him as if he was his own child. Boris and I became lifelong friends.

We only spoke Yiddish in the family. When I started playing with the children of our Ukrainian neighbors I picked up some Ukrainian. My parents spoke fluent Ukrainian, but they were never hesitant to speak Yiddish even in front of Ukrainians. My father wrote to his sister Fania, who lived in Leningrad, in Yiddish.

My father and mother were religious. My father went to the synagogue on Sabbath and Jewish holidays. On weekday mornings my father's brothers, Shleime-Leib and Israel, came to our home before work. The three of them put on their tallit and tefillin to pray. My father also prayed in the evening. My mother went to the synagogue on Jewish holidays.

My father wore a beard before World War II. He didn't wear payes. After World War II he didn't wear a beard. He was clean shaved. At home my father wore a kippah and when going out he put on a cap. He wore common clothes. My mother wore a wig after she got married. She sometimes wore a kerchief. She wore long skirts and long-sleeved jackets like any other woman in Lokhvitsa. After World War II I often visited my parents and brought them gifts. I brought my mother bright-colored, flower-patterned dresses that she enjoyed wearing. My mother didn't wear a wig after she returned from evacuation. It's a really interesting topic why people gave up tradition to some extent after the war. It's hard to say why it happened so often: perhaps, it was due to all hardships of life during and after the war. They had too many problems to face and go through.

We celebrated Sabbath at home. There was a Jewish bakery in Lokhvitsa that made challah for Sabbath. On Friday morning my mother began preparations for Sabbath. She cooked food for two days since no work was allowed after lighting candles on Sabbath. She left the food in the oven to keep it warm for Saturday. In the evening the family got together and my mother lit candles. She said a prayer over the candles and my father blessed a meal. We had dinner together. On Saturday my father didn't go to work. In the morning he went to the synagogue and then he read us the Torah and told us about the exodus of Jews from Egypt and the granting of the Torah to Moses.

My favorite holiday was Pesach. There was a big celebration. My mother saved money for Pesach. The Jewish bakery sold matzah for Pesach, but my mother often made it herself. She rolled the dough and then made little holes with a cogwheel. My mother also made lokshen, noodles for chicken broth. My parents bought chickens at the market and then father took them to a shochet. Mother boiled a chicken, made gefilte fish, tsymes, strudels from matzah flour and cookies. Those were rare delicacies for us. My mother cleaned the house thoroughly, swept out and burned all breadcrumbs. On the first morning at Pesach my parents went to the synagogue. When they returned my mother served a festive meal. It always started with a prayer. In the evening my father conducted the seder. During seder everyone was supposed to drink four glasses of special red wine. Adults dipped matzah into the wine and ate it. There was an extra glass for Elijah 8 the Prophet. The back door was kept open for him to come into the house. My brother asked our father the four traditional questions [the mah nishtanah]. Then our parents prayed and we sang traditional songs. There was no bread allowed in the house during Pesach. On the second day we visited our relatives and had guests at home.

I also liked Purim and Chanukkah. My father told me the story of Purim. He read out the Book of Esther to us. At Purim we delivered treats - shelakhmones - to our relatives and friends. Children always looked forward to Purim since we got so many sweets then. At Chanukkah we were given some change - Chanukkah gelt. Every day my mother lit another candle in the big Chanukkah stand.

We celebrated Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. We had delicious food on this day. At Yom Kippur our parents fasted. We, children, didn't fast on this day. We began to fast at the age of seven or eight. I believe, there were other holidays, but the above are the ones that I remember.

My brother Arkadi and my sister Anna studied in a lower secondary Jewish school. This was an ordinary school. The only difference was that we studied in Yiddish. After finishing school my sister entered a pedagogical school and my brother became an apprentice at a construction site. After finishing school in 1934 my sister married Lipavski, a Jewish man from Kiev. He was a communist and, of course, a Jewish wedding was out of the question. My sister had a civil ceremony and in the evening the newly-weds had a small wedding dinner for the family and friends. After the wedding my sister moved to Kiev with her husband. Anna became an accountant assistant first and then began to work as an accountant. Her son Zakhar was born in 1936.

My brother also moved to Kiev shortly afterwards. He began to work as a builder there. Arkadi got married in Kiev. His wife, Claudia Nezhynskaya, nee Skitetskaya, wasn't Jewish. My parents did not approve of this marriage, but what could they do... My brother and his wife had three children: in 1937 their daughter Nelly was born, in 1938 their son Anatoli and, shortly before World War II, in 1941 their younger daughter Raisa.

I went to a Jewish school in 1930. After my first year of studies this Jewish school was closed and I continued my studies at the Ukrainian school near our house. I didn't have any problems with Ukrainian. I studied well. There were Jewish and non-Jewish children in our school. All children got along well. We never cared about each other's nationality. I became a young Octobrist 9 in the 2nd grade. Later I became a pioneer [see all-union pioneer organization] 10 and a Komsomol 11 member.

I spent my summer vacations at home. My friends and I went to the river or to the woods. Besides, we went to the fields of the 'Pobeda' kolkhoz 12 to pick berries and vegetables and we were paid with a certain quantity of what we had picked.

In winter 1936 my grandfather slipped on ice and fractured both his legs. He lived alone at that time. His children had their own families and my father's stepmother had passed away. My parents took my grandfather into our house. I shared my room with him. Since he couldn't walk I did all the chores for him. My grandfather told my parents that he was going to live for two more years since in the Nezhynski family younger sons lived until the age of 86. This was true: my grandfather died in 1938 at the age of 86. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Lokhvitsa in accordance with the Jewish traditions. I don't remember any details about the funeral, but I remember that my father recited the Kaddish for my grandfather. My grandfather said about me that I was going to live until the age of 86. I am 80 now and we'll see whether my grandfather's prophecy will come true.

In 1938 my father decided to move to Kiev. My older sister and brother lived in Kiev with their families and they convinced my father to move closer to them. My father went to work at a construction site and received a small room in a barrack. My mother and I stayed in Lokhvitsa for another year and in summer 1939 we moved to Kiev as well. My parents observed Jewish traditions and celebrated holidays after we moved to Kiev, only my father couldn't celebrate Sabbath since he had to go to work on Saturday.

I had finished the 9th grade in Lokhvitsa. I was supposed to go to the 10th grade in Kiev. My father wanted me to become a doctor, but I always dreamed of a military career. We, boys, liked watching movies about the Civil War and its heroes. Probably, under the influence of those films many of my contemporaries were dreaming of taking up a military career. In 1939 I went to the 10th grade of the special artillery school #13 13. It was my decision and my father wasn't really happy with this choice of mine. This was a military school. We wore uniforms and had military discipline. By the way, there was a bas-relief installed on the building of this former artillery school - the building on Yaroslaviv Val Street that houses a drama college now: four boys wearing military uniforms leave for the front.

The majority of the pupils were Jewish. I still see my former schoolmate Israel Tsepenyuk. During World War II he was commanding officer of a battery. He was severely wounded: he lost both his legs at the front. He has artificial limbs. After World War II he graduated from the Law Faculty. He became a well-known lawyer. He still works. Israel is a member of the veteran's organization that I head. We meet twice a month. Many graduates of our special artillery school perished during World War II. Many Jewish graduates became commanding officers and Heroes of the Great Patriotic War 14 during World War II. I finished this special school in 1940.

Then I was sent to Leningrad Artillery College #3 where I was to study for another three years. We studied heavy artillery equipment: 152, 130 and 205 mm cannons. I did very well in college. The only problem was Russian since I spoke Yiddish and Ukrainian and used many Ukrainian words in my Russian. In this college my Russian improved. I lived in Leningrad for a year. We lived in barracks and followed the military discipline. We were allowed a leave on Sunday. I always spent my weekend in the house of my father's sister Fania.

In 1941 the Great Patriotic War began. Before graduation I had served in an artillery battery of the artillery school cadets at the Leningrad front for a month. On 21st July 1941 we graduated from this college in the rank of lieutenants before the end of the term. We were sent to various fronts. Upon graduation I was sent to the Moscow regiment where they began to form the first 9 Mine Firing regiments of the Guards on 4th August 1941. Later they were called 'Katyusha' units; the wonderful 'Katyusha' about which songs were composed during the war.

'Katyusha' was a BM-13 mobile combat unit. It was first installed on Soviet ZIL-6 trucks and in 1943 they began to be installed on American Studebaker vehicles. A jet unit with directed missiles was assembled on vehicles. There was a control panel in the cabin. A commanding officer turned the handle and every 30 seconds a missile flew out of the unit. There were 16 missiles in the unit that left it within minutes. There was a maintenance crew of six military on a vehicle. There was no similar weapon at the time and in order to prevent the Germans from getting a hold of the units there was a box of tolite and a detonation cord installed on each unit. A commanding officer was to blast the unit if there was the risk that an enemy would capture it. There were such cases during the war when this was done.

I was assigned to regiment 2. Lieutenant Shenkel, a Jew, was the commander of the regiment and another Jew was the chief of the general headquarters. Captain Yuffa was the commanding officer of the battery where I was commanding officer of a platoon, and there was first lieutenant Israel Kobylnikov, also a Jew. There were many Jews in the regiment. A month after it was formed our regiment was sent to the Southern front. In early September 1941 we were involved in combat action on the left bank of the Dnieper near the village of Velikiy Tokmak in the vicinity of Zaporozhie. Germans suffered great casualties and damages due to our attacks.

We were moving to Donetsk. In December 1941 I was appointed chief of the intelligence service of our division. I was also promoted to the rank of first lieutenant and appointed commanding officer of a battery. In the intelligence service I was responsible for survey of the points at the front line where we had to shoot during attacks. I sat at an observation point near the frontline trenches and surveyed the German disposition area with my stereoscope and binoculars. When I observed accumulation of their forces and equipment I transferred my messages to our command post and from there they issued directions as for where 'Katyusha' units were to shoot.

In December 1941 I received my first wartime award: the medal 'For courage'. I was one of the first in our regiment to receive this award. In March 1942 I was sent to Moscow where they were forming new Guards units. I was appointed chief of the headquarters of a division of 'Katyusha' units in the 49 Guards Mining Firing Regiment. At the end of March 1942 our regiment was sent to the Southern front where I was assigned to the Guards Mine Firing Regiment 2. There were 1,300 military in this regiment. I was chief of headquarters of a division of 320 military.

When our regiment was deployed in villages we were accommodated in houses and in the field we lodged in dugouts. In winter we used a stove for heating and kerosene lamps for light. We made them from cannon shells. We made a wick for such a lamp and had sufficient lighting, actually. There were usually six to ten military in a dugout. When I was appointed commanding officer of a division in 1942 I had a dugout made just for me. I also had an orderly at my disposal. There were field kitchen units that provided three hot meals per day. When we were in continuous action field cooks used to bring food in thermos vessels to the frontline.

There was medical service in our regiment. Colonel Naumov, a military doctor, was in charge of this medical unit. There were assistant doctors and medical nurses in our regiment. The wounded got medical aid in the regiment and then were sent to the army or field hospital. Severely wounded were taken to rear hospitals by train. There were such hospitals in Moscow, Podmoscovie, Povolzhie, Siberia and Middle Asia. The patients were trying to stay in front hospitals to join their military units after they recovered. Many of them returned even if their treatment wasn't over. There was strong frontline friendship. Friends were like family at the front.

Sometimes we were next to penal battalions at the front. There were penal battalions in almost all rifle divisions in the last stage of the war. They were the first to attack the enemy. Usually the military tribunal decided who was to serve in such units. They were people that acted cowardly in action or violated the military statute or committed crimes at the front. The most severe crime was parricide. Such people were sentenced to death. The rest of them were sent to penal battalions. There were also prisoners that wanted to go to the front in penal battalions. They had to atone their guilt with their own blood. There were criminals and political prisoners in penal battalions. They remained in penal battalions until they shed 'the first blood', as they said. They either perished in battles or were released from their sentence after medical treatment in hospitals and returned to an ordinary military unit at the front.

The commanding officers at penal battalions were no criminals. They were awarded medals for the successful completion of their tasks. Sometimes they were awarded titles of 'Heroes of the Soviet Union' during World War II. This was the highest award.

In summer 1942 we were retreating to the Don River on the east. I was at the lead of a column of our division. Captain Pyotr Puzik, commanding officer of our division, was bringing up the rear. Now Pyotr has the rank of a general. We are friends. All of a sudden a column of German tanks showed up in front of us. My battery and I moved to Novocherkassk and Puzik moved to the Bagaevskaya river crossing. There was a frontline storage facility for weapons for 'Katyusha' units near Novocherkassk. There were about 600 shells stored there. In Novocherkassk Nikolay Nesterenko, the commanding officer of the Guards units of the Southern Front ordered our battalion to keep Novocherkassk from German invasion and fire all shells since it was impossible to remove them. We kept the Germans on the Northern side of Novocherkassk for 24 hours. In the evening I checked the storages for shells: there was none left. Colonel Nesterenko thanked me for the completion of this combat task and said, 'I owe you an order, but now you need to move to Rostov, cross the Don River and the commandant of Bataysk will issue another combat task to you'.

In 1942, when Germans were advancing in the south of the country, heading to Stalingrad and Vladicaucasus, Stalin issued Order #227, 'Not a step backward!'. There were barrage units formed to capture deserters from combat fields. Such units were following military units. They had the right to shoot deserters. Such units closed main roads to prevent deserters from escaping. They only stopped solitary soldiers. They didn't stop military units since they could only be moving following someone's order. Many of those that were captured were sent to military tribunals where they were either sentenced to death or sent to penal battalions.

Following this order three-person courts were formed in military units. Members of these groups were party members. They were in full competence of issuing a verdict and carry out an execution with no further authorization. The members of such a 'troika' -a group of three - were: a political officer, a SMERSH representative - military intelligence [special units within the NKVD 15 structure called SMERSH; lit. 'death to spies!'], and an officer or soldier, a member of the Party.

Here is what happened in our regiment 49 in 1942 when I was chief of headquarters of our division: A commanding officer had to blast a 'Katyusha' unit if there was the risk that our enemy could get a hold of it. In July 1942 the Germans split us into two groups. One of the 'Katyusha' units was behind our column moving in the direction of a river crossing. German tanks were following it. 'Katyusha' was moving along a path between a cornfield on one side and a field of sunflowers on the other. The commanding officer got frightened, jumped off his unit and ran away into the cornfield. The driver of the 'Katyusha' turned left, into the field of sunflowers and managed to escape from the German tanks. The commanding officer crossed the river with other military units and returned to our division. He wanted to continue his service. To save his life he said he had blasted his 'Katyusha'. Our commandment believed him and he even received another unit when two weeks later his 'Katyusha' returned. The crew of cannon layer, soldier and driver, an old worker and a communist - all of them from Moscow - joined a tank brigade that was retreating and came to the river crossing with it. They fired their final volley and the tank brigade they were with helped them to cross the river to get to its left bank ahead of all. They found their military unit and then it became clear that their commanding officer had disgracefully left his unit in the face of the enemy. He was judged by a 'troika', sentenced to death and shot.

SMERSH units were also responsible for military counter intelligence in the army. There was a SMERSH representative in every military unit. This representative had to make sure that there were no spies or traitors in the unit. They had their informers that reported everything that people talked about to them, and a SMERSH representative could decide whether he should open a case or leave what he heard at that. We had two such officers in our regiment: an officer and his assistant. They didn't interfere with our business and we didn't bother ourselves with theirs. However, if something happened in the regiment that needed to be conveyed to the commanding officer of the regiment or chief of headquarters they informed them. Of course, there were no German spies and those representatives were interested in people that expressed doubts about our victory or said something negative about the Soviet power or Stalin.

After I became chief of headquarters of our regiment in 1943 there wasn't a single case of arrest or investigation there. People were patriotic and besides, the situation in the war was developing to our favor. When our regiment was staying in a town or village the SMERSH representatives asked questions about residents of this town or village since we were accommodated in their houses. If this town was under occupation they asked questions about how residents behaved during the occupation. Of course, there were people that wrote false reports on somebody else. Once I heard someone had written a slander report on somebody that held the post he was willing to get. Things like this happen, you know. People are just human. However, nothing of this kind happened in my regiment. There was also the possibility to get rid of someone that didn't quite fit into a team. There was the option to issue a recommendation for that individual so that he could get a promotion, but with transfer to another military unit - let somebody else suffer. There was even a humorous incident when a person was promoted to another unit and then returned as a boss into the initial military unit from where his career began. The circle was closed.

There were political classes in every unit. There were political departments in all military units. They were responsible for political education and training of the military. The Communist Party was a leading force in the USSR and political departments enforced the Party policies in the army. The chief of the political department in our military unit was Evgeni Yurovski. He had a party policy assistant, a Komsomol policy assistant and a mass media assistant. There were political meetings and discussions where they informed on the Party and government decrees and conducted political training. Besides, we conducted party meetings to make decisions about the daily schedule of the military unit. Political classes were extra hours of classes and we had to plan them when the schedule allowed it. The shortest meetings lasted about ten minutes and the longest were an hour maximum: we couldn't afford to make them longer considering the situation. This was the function of political departments.

In July 1942, after battles on the Don, I was promoted to the rank of a captain. I was 19 and was commanding officer of a division. We moved to Ordzhonikidze [Vladicaucasus at present, North Osetia] in the Northern Caucasus. We were provided with winter clothing - sheepskin jackets, valenki boots and fur hats, since it was very cold. Then our division went onto the battlefield.

My life changed once and for all there. During intervals we sometimes went to town. On 16th October 1942 I met Irina Razumnaya who was a student of Ordjonikidze Pedagogical College. Irina was born in Ordjonikidze in 1923. She is Russian, but I didn't care about it. I fell in love with her. She was the only child in her family. Her father, Alexandr Razumny, born in 1899 was a violinist in an orchestra, and her mother, Antonina Razumnaya, was a schoolteacher. After World War II she was awarded the title of an 'Honored Teacher of the USSR' and an 'Order of the Red Banner of Labor'. Irina wanted to become a teacher like her mother. Her parents welcomed me into their family.

In 1942, at the age of 19, in Ordjonikidze I became a candidate to the Communist Party. I thought it was my duty to join the ranks of advanced units struggling for the victory of the communist ideals. There was a simplified procedure of admission into the Party at the front. The candidateship was shorter in time. The rest of it was the standard procedure: an applicant had to submit a request and attach letters of recommendation signed by two party members. At a party meeting its resolution was issued, which had to be approved by a party commission. Then, in a short while, a party membership card was issued to a new member. I was admitted as a candidate to the Party by the political department of Army 9. In January 1943 I became a member of the Party. At that time I received the award that colonel Nesterenko had promised a while before: for battles near Novocherkassk I was awarded the 'Order of the Red Star' 16.

After the battles in Northern Caucasus in October 1943 I was promoted to the rank of major and was appointed chief of headquarters of the 305 Guards Navy Mine Firing Regiment. It was a navy unit, but the commanding officer of the regiment and chief of headquarters were from artillery units. There were 'Katyusha' units in the land and navy forces.

The regiment where I was chief of headquarters participated in the elimination of German troops in Taman' [Northern Caucasus]. We participated in battles for Novorossiysk. Then our regiment sent landing troops to the Crimea: they landed in the spit of Chushka near Kerch. The regiment was exhausted after the battles near Kerch. We suffered great casualties and equipment losses. Due to this our regiment became a part of reserve troops of the Supreme Commandment staff. There were equipment losses and casualties in our unit. We were sent to the Schemilovo camp near Moscow to be reformed. We had to repair and replace lots of equipment damaged during air raids and firing. We also had to reman the unit. In January-February 1944 our regiment was remanned and reequipped, preparing for further action.

Through the whole period since my departure from Ordjonikidze I corresponded with Irina. This was very important to me since I didn't have any information about my parents' whereabouts until March 1944. Irina was the only close person for me. Irina's letters were of the utmost importance to me.

My wife was finishing college when my regiment was being remanned. This was probably the only opportunity for us to see each other. Nobody could say what was ahead of us.

I sent Irina a telegram signed by the commanding officer of the unit, saying 'Nezhynski is wounded. Please arrive, if possible'. I put down my address. There was no direct train from Rostov then. Irina got to Schemilovo via Stalinabad. She didn't know whether I was alive, but she was hoping for the best intending to look after me until I recovered. I had already recovered and met her at the railway station. She stayed with me for a few days and then I said, 'Let's take a risk. If I survive we shall live together. We shall see what life has in store for us. Let's get married!' We got married on 19th January 1944 in the town of Noginsk near Moscow. We had the choice between Moscow and Noginsk. Both were about 30 kilometers from our location. We then decided that since our last name starts with the same letter as Noginsk we should go there.

My birthday is on 29th January. My fellow officers wanted to celebrate the birthday of their chief of headquarters. I decided to celebrate our wedding on this day as well. On 29th January about 60 guests came to the cultural center in Schemilovo. Each officer brought his day's ration of food so we could make a dinner. Our guests also signed their photos and gave them as wedding gifts - there was nothing else to serve as a gift. It was a memorable party. Irina and I were young and full of hopes to be together for the rest of our life. In 2004 we shall celebrate our 60th wedding anniversary. We also celebrate 16th October, the day we met. We don't invite guests or even the children - it is our holiday and we celebrate it together.

My best friend, Pyotr Puzik, got married on the same day. I met him at the front and he became my lifetime friend. When the 2nd Guard Mine Firing Regiment was formed I became commander of a platoon and first lieutenant Pyotr Puzik was commanding officer of a battery. Soon he became deputy commander of a division and I became chief of intelligence of a division and then was promoted to commanding officer of a battery. In March a few officers were sent to take part in the formation of a new regiment. I went to Podmoscovie where regiment 49 was formed. Puzik became commanding officer of a division in this regiment and I was assigned to be chief of headquarters of this division. We were side by side at the front. In summer 1942, when I became commanding officer of a division, he became deputy commanding officer of the regiment. In 1943 I was promoted to the rank of major and Pyotr became commanding officer of regiment number 305. He assigned me to be chief of headquarters in his regiment. From October 1943 till the end of the war we were the closest friends. He could always rely on me and I on him. Pyotr met his wife, Valentina, in Podolsk where he was on service as the commander of a platoon of cadets before World War II. Pyotr and his wife live in Moscow now.

Irina stayed with me until March. Then she left for home. She had to finish her studies. She passed her graduation exams successfully. She finished the college in the summer of 1944. She obtained her diploma in the name of Nezhynskaya. Upon graduation Irina volunteered to the front. My regiment was at the Finnish Front at the time. Irina got an assignment to my regiment. When she arrived she was assigned to the position of artillery armaments lab assistant. She was responsible for inventories of the artillery weapons delivered from a plant. According to the rules to hit the target successfully cannon shells had to be of one series. If cannon shells were of a different series we had to do additional zeroing in. A lab assistant was to watch that cannon shells of one series were delivered to each battery.

Of course, during military action Irina and I were at different locations, but we stayed together during intervals. We were both on military service and had meals in the field kitchen facilities. As an officer, I received additional food packages with tinned meat, tea and cookies or chocolate that I shared with my wife.

After I got married I managed to find my parents. The siege of Leningrad had been broken by then [see Blockade of Leningrad] 17. There was a marine that came from Leningrad into my regiment. I gave him a week's leave to Leningrad and asked him to see my father's sister Fania who lived in Leningrad before World War II. She wasn't there when he went to her address, but he went to the district housing department and got her address in evacuation. She was in Tashkent. I wrote her and she replied and sent me my parents' address. They lived in Novokuznetsk, Kemerovo region in Siberia.

Fania notified my parents that she had heard from me. We were all so happy to find each other. Back in 1941 my parents left Kiev on a horse-drawn wagon. My father evacuated my mother, my older sister and her son, my sister-in-law - my brother's wife - and their three children. My older brother was at the front. Sophia, the daughter of Israel and Hana, and her three-year-old daughter Inna also went with them. They moved to Lokhvitsa at first and when German troops approached the town they got on the move again. Sophia refused to go with them. Her husband was in the unit near Lokhvitsa and he was going to come and pick up Sophia and their daughter. Alas, this wasn't to happen. My parents left. Sophia and Inna stayed in Lokhvitsa. They were hiding until 1942. Local residents that knew our family well gave shelter to them. In 1942 someone reported on Sophia. She and her daughter were shot during one of the mass shootings of Jews in Lokhvitsa. Sophia was the most beautiful and bright of all the members of our family. What a tragic end this was.

The rest of my family reached Voronezh where they worked in a collective farm throughout the summer. In 1942 German troops were approaching Voronezh and they were all evacuated to Kemerovo in Siberia. I lost contact with my parents and didn't even know whether they were alive. My sister decided that they needed to have me get married when she heard that I was alive. She wrote me that she had found a beauty of a wife for me to marry. And I replied that I didn't need a fiancé. I wrote to her: 'I'm already married'.

In March 1944 our regiment was sent to the Karelian Front where we participated in battles against German troops from summer 1944 to September 1944 until we beat them all and freed Finland from Germans.

There was a German and a Finnish army fighting against us. One German group was in Kotlassk area and the other near Murmansk. The Finnish troops were in the south. I was in the 19th army heading for Kotlassk. Both sides incurred great losses and damage. However, Finland was beaten and capitulated. For battles in Zapoliarie I was awarded the Order of the Great Patriotic War, 2nd class. This was my third award: the first was the medal 'For courage', the 2nd the 'Red Star' and the 3rd was the Order of the Great Patriotic War for battles in Zapoliarie.

In Zapoliarie and from then on we had sufficient food supplies. We received food stocks delivered to Murmansk from Canada and America: canned meat, chocolate and sugar. The only thing we missed was brown bread. Americans only sent us white bread.

After every combat operation our regiment was pulled out into the so-called second echelon of the front line in reserve. We pulled out at the distance of 30-40 kilometers from the front line to repair and maintain equipment and train our battle craft. We also had some time for ourselves. There were amateur performers in every military unit. During intervals our soldiers and officers sang songs and recited poems. One lieutenant from Moscow sang arias from musical comedies. I heard many arias for the first time in my life. Sergeant Galina Garkusha sang pop songs beautifully. I remember 'A Raid Night' and 'A Sailor's Girl'. There were musical instruments in the units: guitars and accordions. We were young and full of energy.

After we beat German troops in Zapoliarie we were sent to the 1st Belarusian front. We traveled to Poland by train. In December 1944 we arrived at Lublin station near the Majdanek 18 death camp. I went to this camp once. It made a horrific impression. It's different from what they show in a movie or write in books. I saw with my own eyes gas chambers where people were smothered with gas and I saw a barrack full of shoes - there were children's shoes there as well. I saw heaps of women's hair in a barrack. I saw incinerator units where they burnt people. Of course, it aroused our feeling of hatred towards the fascists. We showed this to our soldiers: 'Look, here is what fascism is like. Look how it all happened'. Majdanek is located on the bank of the Vistula River nearer to the USSR. Battles were happening on the Vistula River already.

There were two bridgeheads near Warsaw: in the direction of Pulyw and Magnusy. My regiment was at the Pulyw bridgehead. In late November 1944 the Marshal of the Soviet Union, Zhukov 19, became commandant of the 1st Belarusian front. Before him Marshal Rokossovskiy 20 was in command of this front. In November 1944 he was transferred to the 2nd Belarusian Front. On 14th January 1945 the Vistula-Oder operation began under the command of Marshal Zhukov. The attack was heading to Berlin. My regiment was advancing in the south, in the vicinity of Warsaw. Our regiment participated in battles for Radom and for its successful advance was given the name of Radomskiy. After those battles our regiment was called 305th Guards Krasnoznamyonny Order of Alexandr Nevskiy Radomskiy Mine Firing Navy Regiment. Such a long name. For participation in this operation I was awarded a medal for the liberation of Warsaw. After the liberation of Poland we reached the Oder river on the territory of Germany. For the Vistula-Oder operation I was awarded the Order of the Great Patriotic War, 1st class. This was my fourth order.

Our attack lasted for almost 20 days. The principle of our attacks was similar to German battle strategy back in 1941: our troops were following tank corps that broke the enemy's defense lines without looking backward. German troops that stayed behind us were destroyed by the following echelons. Tanks, artillery, infantry and rocket armies were moving fast to Berlin.

My wife was beside me all this time. I was concerned about her, of course, but it was so important that she was with me. Irina took part in all battle operations. She has governmental awards: medals 'For victory over Germany', 'For liberation of Warsaw', 'For defense of Zapoliarie' and 'For defense of Caucasus'. After World War II Irina was awarded the Order of the 'Great Patriotic War', 2nd class, on the 40th anniversary of the victory, and on the 50th anniversary she received an order 'For courage'. She was also awarded jubilee medals on the 20th, 30th, 40th, 50th and 60th anniversaries of the victory. My wife was with me until late March 1945. She got pregnant. Of course, I didn't want to have my baby born in a frontline hospital under bombardments. When the baby was due I sent my wife to her parents in Ordzonikidze. Our daughter Olga was born there. Irina and our daughter joined me in June 1945. We've been together since then.

In April 1945 combat operations were conducted on the Oder River. Our regiment, which was in the structure of the 49 Army, participated in the encirclement of Berlin. On 24th April our military units united with the armies of the 1st Ukrainian front in the vicinity of Potsdam, thus finalizing the encirclement of Berlin. We turned our 'Katyusha' units from the west to the east, which was a different experience since before we had only fired in the western direction. Our task was to destroy German troops in Berlin. We incurred great losses. A commanding officer of a division was severely wounded near Berlin. He was at the command point when the Germans attacked us. A bullet hit his skull base. He survived, however. He still lives in Leningrad.

On 2nd May 1945 the remaining German troops tried to escape in the western direction to the location where our regiment was deployed. Those were elite SS troops. They were scared of Soviet armies realizing there would be no mercy to them and wanted to break through to cross the Elba River where American troops were located. They had nothing to lose and were fighting with courage based on despair. We were fighting with them. Before night fell the German troops were almost done with: the majority of them were captured. I knew German a little and could interrogate Germans by myself.

There was a German major, a tank man, among captives. He was about the same age as I. I interrogated him. I was the first to hear from him and informed my commandment immediately that on 30th April some SS military picked several canisters of gasoline in their tank battalion located near the Reichs counselor office. As the major told me Hitler had committed suicide and they needed gasoline to burn Hitler and Eva Braun 21. Then the remains of Hitler's staff and the tank corps where this major served tried to get out of Berlin. We had a peaceful discussion with that major. He understood that the war was over and that he was talking to a representative of the victorious army. He told me that his family was not far from Berlin and said that he would appreciate it so very much if I let him go home. I replied, 'You should have thought about it before. But now you will have to cope with some cold weather - I meant Siberia - before you can return to your wife'.

Our regiment took an active part in those battles. For battles in Berlin I was awarded the Order of the Combat Red Banner 22, the highest military award.

We advanced to the west a little. On 7th May we met with American troops north of Magdeburg and were allowed to take a rest. On 9th May we heard on the radio that Germany had capitulated and the war was over. We couldn't believe this was true. We hugged each other, congratulating each other for this victory. On 11th May I went to Berlin to take a look at the Reichstag that we had been firing during our attack on Berlin. Like other soldiers I signed my name on the wall of the Reichstag.

There were many Jews fighting on my side during the war. I met many Jews at the front. When I was commanding officer of a platoon there were two Jews in this platoon. They were radio operators. They came from Moscow. They were very intelligent. There were especially many Jews in artillery units. This branch of armies requires mathematic capabilities and an ability to take prompt decisions. Colonel Gutin, the commanding officer of the radio operator regiment fighting with us, was a Jew. The chief of his headquarters was Major Alexei Vysotskiy, brother of Vladimir Vysotskiy, the famous poet [Vladimir Vysotskiy, 1938 - 1980, a well-known Russian poet and actor in the Taganka Theater. He played a number of roles in movies. He is well known for composing and singing his own songs]. Levit, a Jewish man, was chief of the operations department of the 1st Belarusian Front - this was a very high official post; Chertok, a Jewish man, was chief of artillery of the Karelian front; colonel Bograt, a Jew, was chief of the operations department of division 107 in Zapoliarie. He became a general and was appointed commanding officer of a division. There was no anti- Semitism in the army. People were judged by their doings. There were about half a million Jews in the army at the beginning of the war. This is true data. Over half of them perished. Therefore, we can look into people's eyes and say, 'Yes, we were at the front and we fought honestly'.

Of course, every soldier at the front was fighting thinking about his family and his loved ones. Our prewar life and our hopes for a good life in the future was associated with the name of Stalin. We believed him unconditionally. During a battle when I was commanding officer of a division I gave the order 'For the Motherland, for Stalin - fire!' This wasn't a mere command - this was what we were truly feeling.

When in Germany we communicated with its residents. In late April 1945 Stalin made a speech. He said that we had to segregate fascism from German people. We didn't feel an urge for any revenge. Although we always remembered how much evil German troops caused we were loyal to German women, older people and children. As for men, there were almost none left: they were either captured or killed. No, we didn't feel hostile toward Germans. Vice versa, there were commandant offices established to support German residents with food. In the beginning women and children received food in our field kitchens. They were starving. We did it on our own initiative. We understood that German fascism brought much sorrow to the countries they occupied and to their own country.

In Germany we met many Soviet people that were taken to work in Germany. In January 1945, in the first villages we came to, we met Ukrainian and Russian girls working for wealthy farmers. I remember a farmer from one village. He lost his leg at the eastern front in 1941. He had several girls from Ukraine working for him. The girls said their master treated them all right and we left him alone. Besides, we met many prisoners-of-war: Soviet, French and English soldiers. They were very happy to gain freedom. The USSR treated former captives returning from camps as traitors, but we knew under how hard conditions they were captured by the Germans and that they were victims of circumstances. There were some that we knew among those we liberated. I met the chief of headquarters of a neighboring division of our regiment. He was first lieutenant Smirnov. The Germans found him on a battlefield. He was wounded and lost his conscience. It's hard to imagine that any of those people gave themselves up to the enemy.

After the war our regiment stayed in Germany in the so-called group of Soviet troops under the command of Zhukov. We kept training and were prepared for combat actions, if necessary. Some military were released and new young recruits arrived. They needed training.

In January 1946 I received my first leave after the war. My wife and I went to visit my parents in Novokuznetsk, Kemerovo region, in Siberia. Our trip lasted two weeks. We stayed with my parents for a week. My parents were religious and they needed time to get adjusted to the thought that my wife wasn't a Jewish woman. However, they saw that we loved each other and had a daughter. They accepted the fact that I was married, and when they got to know Irina better they began to love her as their own daughter. Irina also loved them.

My sister returned to Kiev after World War II. Her husband perished at the front. Anna worked as an accountant at a plant. In some time she remarried. Her second husband, Alexandr Rabinovich, a Jew, was an engineer. They lived a happy life together. Anna's husband died in 1980. Anna will turn 90 next year. Anna's son Zakhar finished the Faculty of History of Kiev University. He is a teacher of history at school. He has reached the age of retirement, but he continues working. School is his vocation. His former pupils still visit their favorite teacher.

My older brother Arkadi was at the front during World War II. My mother received death notifications for him three times. My mother told me that she cried her eyes out when she received those notifications, but his Claudia kept saying, 'I don't believe it. He is alive, he will come back'. My brother survived. After World War II he lived in Kiev with his family. He worked at a construction site. My brother wasn't religious. This was due to the time when we were growing up. My brother died in Kiev in 1997. He was buried in the town cemetery. His wife died shortly afterward. His older daughter, Nelly, is a pensioner. Before she retired she was selling monthly tickets for public transportation. Arkadi's son Anatoli is an electrician at a construction site. He is a very skilled employee. Arkadi's younger daughter Raisa is chief accountant at a design institute. My brother's children have families of their own.

When my leave was over Irina returned to her parents and I returned to my regiment. In April 1946 I was sent to study at the Higher Artillery School in Kolomna. In October 1946 I finished it with excellent marks in all subjects. However, when I was at school my regiment was dismissed: the army was reduced after the war. I was appointed commanding officer of a division in another regiment. This regiment was based in Leipzig in Eastern Germany. Our military unit was based in a field camp and we got lodgings in apartment houses that Germans left for us. My family was with me there. In January 1948 my son Vladimir was born in Leipzig. I was commanding officer of a division until late February 1948. There was a process of replacement of officers in the German based Soviet troops. There I faced the fact that Jewish officers were the first to be removed from Germany.

I was sent to the Transcaucasia military regiment where I became commanding officer of a division. While I was en route this division was also dismissed. I was appointed chief of headquarters of a 'Katyusha' division in the town of Kirovabad in Azerbaijan. Therefore, within two years I descended two steps lower; from chief of headquarters of a regiment to chief of headquarters of a division, but I kept my rank of a major. I understood it wasn't a favorable flow of things. I had no career perspectives in this branch of the army: there was not a single regiment in Transcaucasia, there were only divisions. In 1949 I decided to enter the Military Academy, named after the Soviet commander of the period of the Civil War, Michael Frunze 23, in Moscow. This was the primary academy in the Soviet army. This was when I faced anti-Semitism to the full.

There were 200 applicants to be admitted to the Academy. Over 50 Jews submitted their applications, but only five of them, including me, were admitted. I passed 13 entrance exams with excellent marks. I don't know what factor played its role, but they admitted me to the academy. I've never concealed my nationality. There was a mandatory line item 5 24 - nationality, in all application forms. I always wrote that I was a Jew. I had a friend named Leonid Romanenko. His father was Ukrainian. During the Civil War he was chief of ChK 25 of Poltava province. Leonid's mother was a Jew. Leonid put down in all forms that he was a Jew. He was not admitted to the academy and the deputy political chief of our training course yelled at him, 'What prevented you from writing that you were Ukrainian?' Leonid replied that his mother was a Jew and he loved his mother and wrote what he wanted to write.

In 1948 the so-called 'campaign against cosmopolitans' 26 began. It was at its height in 1949, when I studied at the academy. It didn't have any impact on me, but many lecturers and students were dismissed for various reasons.

All students of the academy were at least commanding officers of battalions in position and at least lieutenant colonels in rank. I had been a major for seven years by the time I entered the academy. In 1950 I was promoted to the rank of lieutenant colonel. It was supposed to happen at a certain period of time, even though I was a Jew. The Minister of Defense Marshal Vasilevskiy signed an order for my promotion. In 1952 I finished the academy with honors. They gave me one good mark at an exam to prevent me from getting a gold medal. I understood all too well that it was all made up.

My family was with me when I studied at the academy. We couldn't bear the thought of having to stay apart for this long. Irina and the children moved to Moscow. We were accommodated in a family hostel for students of the academy.

After finishing the academy I was sent to Transcaucasia units where I became deputy commanding officer of the artillery branch in our regiment. However, when I returned it turned out that this position wasn't vacant and I was offered the position of commanding officer of the division where I had been chief of headquarters before I entered the academy. The former commanding officer of this division retired and I replaced him. This position was a promotion for me and corresponded with my new rank.

When I returned to the division after finishing the academy in January 1953 the Doctors' Plot 27 began. I was very concerned about its possible effect on me and other Jews from our division. There were many Jews in our medical unit; all best doctors in the army were Jews. However, nobody in the army believed newspaper publications about 'poisoning doctors'. Michael Tischenko, political officer, a Ukrainian man, spoke at a meeting where he declared that he didn't believe that the doctors were guilty. This meeting took place in February 1953. If Stalin hadn't died in March 1953 Michael could have been released from the army or even taken to the military tribunal court. At that period such disagreement with an official point of view might have been evaluated as state treason for a military. There was the death penalty for such a delinquency. However, Tischenko did this, though he was aware of the consequences.

Stalin's death in March 1953 was a terrible blow for me like for the majority of the Soviet people. I thought that life should have stopped. I couldn't imagine our country without him. However, the speech of Nikita Khrushchev 28 at the Twentieth Party Congress 29 helped me to get to the essence of things. I believed Khrushchev at once. I did remember very well the role that item 5 had played in the life of an individual during Stalin's time. However, anti-Semitism was the same during the period of Khrushchev and Brezhnev, his successor. The only difference was that people weren't taken to camps.

It was too much for the budget to keep a graduate of the Frunze Academy in the position of commanding officer of a division. In 1953 a new position was introduced in divisions: assistant commanding officer of anti-aircraft defense. The commander of the division decided to use me for this position. This position had to be held by at least a colonel in rank, and in 1956 I was given the rank of colonel. I was 33 years old and was the youngest colonel in our area. In 1958 I was assigned as chief of operations department of the division: this was another promotion. Chief of operations department is assistant chief of headquarters of division. Operations department is a main department in a division: it does all the planning and scheduling. There is an operations department, intelligence, communications, engineering departments, etc. in a division. Operations department is number one. When the chief of headquarters went on vacation the commanding officer of division authorized me to be his replacement. Later I was transferred to Yerevan, the capital of Armenia where we received a good three-bedroom apartment.

In 1960 general David Dragunskiy, a Jewish man, twofold Hero of the Soviet Union, became commander of Guards Army 7. Many people still blame him that he had to be chief of the anti-Zionist committee as a party member during the period of Stalin's rule. I don't think it was his fault: in those years he couldn't refuse from being what he was. I was deputy chief of operations department in a division in the army where Dragunskiy was commander. Later the chief of the operations department went to Cuba as a counselor and I became acting chief of the operations department in Yerevan. It lasted for a year. In 1962 I was elected deputy of military at a district council of people's deputies. I took an active part in all sessions of this council. I was responsible for protection of interests of the military and their families.

In early 1964 I was appointed chief of headquarters of the 145 motor rifle division in Batumi, the capital of the Ajaria Autonomous Republic in Georgia. I served in this division until 1969. During the last year and a half I was commanding officer of this division. To some extent this position of commanding officer played a wicked joke on me. Skachenko, the general of the army, commander of Transcaucasia military regiment, recommended me for the position of chief of headquarters of corps, that was to be occupied by a lieutenant general, but when the new commander of the regiment arrived he said: 'I cannot allow a division at the frontier to have no commanding officer. Until a new commanding officer arrives, colonel Nezhynski will stay here'. There - I had to stay. I was commanding officer of the division until September 1968 when general Mishagin, a new commanding officer, arrived to take command of my division. I returned to my position of chief of headquarters of the division. Of course, I felt hurt. I decided it was time to retire from the army.

I addressed the military human resources department where I said that I was available if they wanted to use me as a lecturer in a military educational institution. I had a higher military education and sufficient experience. They promised to find me a job, but there were delays. In May 1969 I requested a medical fitness examination hoping that doctors would find out that I wasn't fit for further service in the army. In April 1969 I got a release from the army. At that time I received a cable from Moscow. They offered me a job at the same academy that I had finished. I refused since I didn't want to try my fate again. In May 1969 I retired from the army. I was allowed to continue wearing my uniform and I also got a military pension.

My wife had to travel with me a lot and had problems finding a job each time. It often happens in military units that officers' wives have to take up jobs of waitresses or hospital attendants, even those that have a higher education. After the war my wife was busy raising our children. When the children went to school and kindergarten, my wife got lucky. From 1953 to 1956 Irina was director of a library in a military unit of the division where I was chief of anti-aircraft defense. From 1964 to 1968 Irina worked as scientific employee in a historical museum of Ajaria in Batumi. She met with interesting people, guided tours and did research work.

I didn't want to stay in Yerevan after I retired. My parents returned to Kiev from Novokuznetsk in 1947. I decided to move to Kiev with my family. My parents bought a small house on the right bank of the Dnieper near the Paton bridge in Kiev. The house was on the slope of a hill. There were other small houses in the neighborhood. Many of them were clay houses.

My parents observed Jewish traditions after they returned. Of course, it was difficult to follow the kashrut at that time. It was a problem to buy food products. They ate what they could get. My parents celebrated Jewish holidays. There was a small synagogue in Podol 30. On holidays my father went to the synagogue in the morning. My mother prayed at home. She didn't go to the synagogue. She couldn't walk there, and public transportation was too irregular. My mother made matzah at Pesach and cooked delicious food for all holidays. There was no shochet in Kiev at the time. My father slaughtered chickens himself. There were two aging sisters living in a neighboring house. They believed my father to be very religious. They brought their chickens to be slaughtered by my father and believed that if my father had done it they became kosher chickens.

My father prayed at home every day and read religious books. My mother and father were poor. My father couldn't work any longer. My father and mother received miserable pensions. I supported them sending them some money each month. I also sent them gifts. My family and I visited them on my vacation. Of course, when we moved to Kiev I began to help my parents more, but I still think that I could have done more for them. My family and I visited my parents on their birthdays and on Jewish holidays. We were happy to see them. My mother died in 1966 and my father passed away in 1969. They were buried in the Jewish section of the Berkovtsy cemetery. I couldn't arrange Jewish funerals for my parents at that time. I come to the cemetery every year. I apologize for what I might have done wrong. I wish I had spent more time with them. I wish we knew how to segregate major things in life from minor ones. We only begin to understand things when it is too late to do something about it.

We received a big apartment in the center of Kiev. Once I met the retired lieutenant colonel Waisband, my former fellow comrade. He offered me the job of the director of 'Kievkniga' book supply company. I began to refuse. I was a military and could be in command of a division, but had no competence in what he was offering me. However, he said that he knew me well and believed that I would manage all right. At that time Jews had problems with finding employment. To become director of a book company I had to be approved by a Party district committee. Waisband went to the district committee and insisted that they approved me for this position. In 1969 I became director of the 'Kievkniga' supply company.

I've always had a professional attitude when it comes to a job I have to do. I entered the extramural Faculty of Directors of Book Supplies of the College of Culture in Leningrad. I finished it with honors and got a diploma. Director of book supplies was a high position at that time. I worked there until 1993. Between 1970-1978 my wife was a bibliographer in the assortment office of my supply company. Irina loved books. Besides, she finished the Faculty of History and this helped her to do her job perfectly. Irina retired in 1978. She still loves books. She is fond of reading memoirs of people of the arts and theater. She spends her pension at book markets. I retired at the age of 70. By that time I had worked for 52 years, including my military career. I decided it was time for me to rest from work. The new director tried to convince me to take any position I liked, but it was hard for me to continue working and I refused.

My daughter Olga finished a secondary school in Yerevan. After finishing school she worked as a librarian in military units where I served. When we moved to Kiev Olga entered the department of book sales in a college in Kiev. She finished it successfully. Olga is a librarian. She likes her work. She has reached her retirement age, but she keeps working. Olga is single. She didn't want to marry a local man when we were in Transcaucasia. When we moved to Kiev her time had passed. She accepted it as it was. She lives with us and is our big support in life.

Our son Vladimir finished a secondary school with a gold medal in Batumi in 1966. After finishing school he entered Medical Military Academy in Leningrad. When he was a last-year student Vladimir married a Russian girl from Leningrad, Tatiana Krupakova. Tatiana finished a medical college in Leningrad. She worked as a medical nurse. She had to travel with her husband like my wife was traveling with me, but she always found a cozy house for her family.

After finishing the academy in 1972 Vladimir worked as a doctor in a cosmodrome. Then he was transferred to the Rocket army in Vinnitsa, Ukraine. Later he became chief of medical service in a regiment in Belaya Tserkov, 100 kilometers from Kiev. From there he got a transfer to a group of Soviet troops in Hungary. There he was promoted to the rank of lieutenant colonel and became chief of medical service in the army in Hungary. After returning to Kiev my son lectured at the military department of Kiev Medical College and later at the Kiev College of Doctors' Advanced Training. In 1991 the last Minister of Defense of the USSR, Marshal Shaposhnikov, promoted my son to the rank of colonel of medical service. Vladimir works with medications now. He lives in Kiev with his family. We don't see each other often. He spends much time at work. His daughter Marianna, our only and darling granddaughter, was born in 1973. She finished a medical college and is a medical nurse.

We didn't observe Jewish traditions in our family. I was a professional military and a member of the Party. It was impossible for me to observe any traditions. Besides, I grew up during the Soviet rule, studied at a military school and a military college and was far from the Jewish religion or Jewish traditions. Like many children of our time our children didn't identify themselves as Jews. We celebrated Soviet holidays and birthdays in our family. Irina made festive food and we invited guests. We had particularly festive celebrations on Victory Day 31, 9th May. This holiday is a mixture of joy and sorrow. Our army and our people defended our country and rescued the world from fascism. When I think about the price we paid for our victory and how many people perished I cannot help crying. On this day we always met with our former fellow comrades and went to the Grave of the Unknown Soldier. Then we got together at somebody's home. We sang songs of the war time and recalled our friends and relatives that perished.

We also remember our front line friends. I've already mentioned that we keep in touch with Pyotr Puzik and his wife. We talk on the phone and correspond. During my service in the Navy unit 305 I made friends with the assistant chief of the political department, Yuli Soliterman, a Jew. He was responsible for the tutorship of Komsomol members. Yuli was born in 1918. He lives in Moscow and we keep in touch. We send greetings to each other on every holiday. Yuli became a writer. He publishes his books under the pseudonym of Annenkov. He wrote 'A Torpedo Boat Flag' and 'The Miners' Senator' about Pablo Neruda, a poet. [Editor's note: Neruda, Pablo (pen name of Ricardo Neftali Reyes, 1904-1973): Chilean poet, appointed to various consular posts in Europe by the Chilean government in the 1930s, Chilean consul in Mexico from 1939-1943. Upon returning to Chile, Neruda became active in politics and joined the Communist Party. Written in an often surrealistic style, his poems depict an anguish-ridden world of chaos, desolation and decay. Neruda was awarded the Nobel Prize in literature in 1971.]

Yuli's wife, Elena Galperina, and he wrote the libretto to the 'Sevastopol waltz', a musical comedy. We talk on the phone on Victory Day, congratulating each other. Only six of my former fellow comrades of our regiment are still alive. Three of them live in Russia: Puzik and Soliterman in Moscow and Galski in St. Petersburg. Three live in Ukraine: I and Shevchuk in Kiev and Gasenko in Pavlograd. We met in Moscow in 1990 before the break up of the USSR. We agreed that we would continue to see each other until at least two of us were alive. It happened so that three people live in one country and three in another. We are too old to travel, but we talk on the phone and write letters to each other.

My parents and I were very happy about the establishment of Israel. In the late 1960s I became proud of Israel. In the middle of the 1960s the USSR sent military counselors to the armies of Egypt and Syria. They mostly sent specialists from Transcaucasia since the climate there was very much like in these countries. People didn't have to spent time adjusting to different climatic conditions. Since I was chief of headquarters of a division I took part in the selection of officers for the Egyptian army. In particular, in 1967 twenty officers from our division were sent as counselors for commanders of battalions, regiment headquarters and regiments of the Egyptian army. After the Six-Day-War 32 they returned home. Some of them were wounded. They treated me with respect. They used to say 'Here, comrade colonel is how one must struggle - like Jews did!' They said the Egyptian army was good for nothing. When listening to their stories I felt proud for Israel, for this small country that has to stand up against the whole Arabic world. It provokes arising admiration of the military that have seen so much in their life. Basically, whenever it comes to any discussion of anti-Semitism I always say, 'Yes, anti-Semitism exists, but it's not as scaring as it used to be in the past, before we got a state of our own'. Now the Jewish country stands for all Jews and anti-Semitism is not scaring at all. We have to struggle against it and beat it, but not be afraid of it.

In the 1970s Jews began to move to Israel. I never considered emigration for several reasons. Firstly, my wife isn't a Jew and I was afraid that she would face a prejudiced attitude in Israel. Besides, I wasn't young anymore. I understood that it was unlikely that I would find a job and I didn't want to be a dependent and receive what I hadn't earned. My children weren't willing to move abroad either and we didn't want to part with them. At that time traveling wasn't allowed and we couldn't invite foreigners to visit us. At that time it was dangerous for residents of the USSR to keep in touch with friends or relatives abroad 33. I didn't approve of emigration.

Jews that were leaving inspired negative attitudes towards the ones that stayed. If a person submitted an application for departure his boss was having problems at work. Managers were summoned to district Party committees where they were accused of loss of watchfulness and support of the world of Zionism. The USSR and Israel had a tense relationship. Managers were hesitant of employing Jews. Every Jew was suspected to be a potential emigrant and this might have caused problems in the future. Everyday anti-Semitism grew stronger. One could hear 'Go away to your Israel' in public transportation or in the street. That's why I didn't approve of those that were leaving. However, I changed my attitude. My friends and relatives left. My father's youngest brother, Boris Nezhynski, and his family emigrated to San Francisco in the USA. After perestroika 34 we often talked on the phone with him. Uncle Boris died recently. He was 90 years old. I'm in contact with his son Mark.

After I retired I bumped into my old friend Arkadi Zaretski. He was deputy chairman of the Kiev Association of Jewish War Veterans at the Jewish council in Ukraine. He convinced me to join this veterans' organization. I couldn't refuse: they were my comrades, veterans of the war. I joined the Kiev organization of Jewish war veterans in 1993. A couple of years later I became a member of the council of veterans and in 1980 I became chairman of council. We do interesting work and meet twice a month. Those meetings are always interesting, but alas... There are almost 300 members in our organization, but half of them are confined to bed. About 100 veterans attend our meetings. Regretfully, one to two veterans leave us each month. The average age of the veterans is 80. However, we go on...

In the late 1980s perestroika began in the USSR. Of course, it wasn't only good things that it brought, but I believe that life improved. We lived our life in complete isolation from the rest of the world. We weren't allowed to keep in touch with friends living abroad and travel abroad. Perestroika opened opportunities. It brought us freedom and open information about the past and present of our country. It brought freedom of religion that used to be a mere item in the constitution. It mitigated anti-Semitism. Diplomatic relationships with Israel were established. Jewish organizations began to operate.

The Jewish life has revived since Ukraine gained independence. Besides working in Kiev organization of Jewish war veterans I'm a member of Kiev Association of Jewish War Veterans, department for the ties with war veterans in Israel, a member of the organization of intellectual Jews 'Bnai- Brig' and a volunteer at Hesed 35. Besides, I'm a member of the Presidium of the International Ukrainian Union of War Veterans.

I enjoy meeting with schoolchildren. I tell them about heroic deeds of our warriors on the front during World War II. I cannot say that I've turned to religion. Some of the veterans attend the synagogue regularly, but I don't. However, I appreciate those that do. I cannot say that I'm far from Jewish traditions. After I retired from my governmental service and started work with the Kiev association of veterans of the war, my family and I began to observe Jewish traditions. At that time religion wasn't persecuted any longer. In the 1990s we began to celebrate Jewish holidays at home. My wife cooks traditional Jewish food. We receive matzah for Pesach at Hesed. Irina makes chicken broth that we eat with matzah, like we used to do in my childhood. Our daughter identifies herself as a Jew. She joins our celebrations and likes going to Hesed with me. Our son is far from the Jewish life while our daughter is close to it. Our first toast at any celebration is 'Lehaim!' - 'To life!'

Glossary:

Zakhar Benderskiy
Chernovtsy
Ukraine
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: August 2002

Family background
Growing up
During the war
Anti-Semitism
Married life
Glossary

Family background

My father's parents came from Kishinev, the capital of Moldova, which belonged to Russia before 1918. My grandfather, Shmul Benderskiy, was born in Kishinev in the 1850s. He was married to Hana Benderskaya, born in Kishinev in 1858.

I have bright memories of my grandparents' house at the crossing of Podolskaya, Bolgarskaya and Dumbarskaya streets in the center of Kishinev. I was born and lived there for quite a long timethere.. It was a big stone house with a big yard. There was a flower garden in front of the house. My grandfather loved gardening and growing flowers. There was an arbor with grapevine in the yard. There were bunches of grapes in the autumn. There was a round table and six chairs in the arbor. The family got together for tea on summer evenings. There were quite a few rooms and a big kitchen in the house. Two or three rooms were usually rented out. The family lived in the five other rooms. It was always cool in the house in the summer. There was old heavy furniture. Everything seemed huge to me: the big chairs with high backs, the big sofas upholstered with velvet and the high wardrobes with many doors. There were pictures on the walls. They were portraits of my grandparents' family and religious pictures with biblical subjects.

There were also photographs on the walls. My grandfather was fond of photography. I didn't like to be photographed. I was a vivid boy, and I hated to sit still for a minute or two. Everybody in the family was trying to avoid being photographed, so my grandfather took pictures of houses and landscapes instead. He had a small room that served as his photo lab.

Part of the house was my grandfather's tobacco factory and tobacco store. My grandfather had another tobacco shop at the market. The factory 'Benderskiy and Sons' manufactured cigarettes and tobacco. My grandfather's agents purchased dry tobacco leaves from farmers. He had ten employees at the factory. The factory yielded good profit - people needed tobacco at all times.

I remember my grandmother in the wheel chair. She was paralyzed. In 1903 there was the most horrible Jewish pogrom 1 in Kishinev. It lasted three days. People said it was arranged by the Russian government. Many Jews were killed and many houses destroyed. The police didn't interfere. There were no policemen in the streets. About 600 Jews were killed. There was a high number of injured people, too. Later the police arrested those that were involved in the pogrom. They were brought to court, and some well-known lawyers and writers spoke against them. The famous Russian writer Vladimir Korolenko 2 demanded the death sentence for the pogrom-organizers. But the verdict for them was a short-term sentence.

My father and grandfather told me about this pogrom. We had quite a few pictures that my grandfather took after the pogrom, but they were all lost during the war and evacuation. I remember a picture of my grandfather's store with broken windows and a total mess inside. I knew that there was also a picture of our house after the pogrom. I asked my relatives about it, and later my brother sent it to me from Israel. There's one picture of our house and another one of the street with the bodies of our neighbors on the pavement. My father told me that my grandfather presented these pictures in court.

My grandmother also fell victim to this pogrom. My grandfather was on business in the surrounding villages at the time. My grandmother was alone at home. She was beaten very severely by the pogrom-makers. They left her unconscious in the yard thinking that she was dead. She survived, but she had her backbone injured and spent the rest of her life in a wheel chair. She had a woman to look after her. My grandmother died in 1923.

My grandfather took a lot of effort and spent a lot of money to reconstruct his factory and house after the pogrom.

My father, Srul Benderskiy, was the oldest of my grandparents' eight children. He was born in 1880. All the children were born in Kishinev. I don't remember the last names of his sisters in marriage. Raya herwas married. When the Soviet power was established she escaped to France because she didn't believe in the idea of communism and the power of the poor. She lived in Paris with her husband and daughter. She died there. My father's second sister, Frida, moved to the US before 1918 and married an American. My father's third sister, Dora Korenberg, lived in Kishinev. She owned a pharmacy where she worked with her husband. They had two daughters, who emigrated to Israel later. My father's fourth sister, Fania, and her husband lived in Kishinev. She was a housewife. I don't remember what her husband did for a living. There was another sister, Nyuka. Her husband worked at the customs in Kishinev. They had a son. During the war they were in evacuation in the Ural, and they returned to Kishinev after the war. Nyuka and her husband died in Kishinev, and their son moved to Israel. He died there recently. My father's brothers, Erik and Hil, moved to Israel with my grandfather in 1925. They died there.

My father's family was religious. There were several synagogues in Kishinev. The population was multinational, consisting of Moldavians, Romanians, Russians and Jews, who constituted about a quarter of the population. They spoke Yiddish, Russian and Romanian. There was a Jewish theater, Jewish grammar school and Jewish secondary schools. All these were closed after 1940 when the Soviet army entered Bessarabia 3 and 'liberated it from the Romanians'. My grandfather and his sons went to the big synagogue not far from their house. They celebrated Sabbath and all Jewish holidays. My grandfather wore ordinary clothes. He had a beard and wore a kippah. Before going out he put his hat on top of it.

My grandfather's sons studied at cheder, and his daughters were educated at home. All children could read and write well in Hebrew. After cheder my father and his brothers finished the Russian grammar school in Kishinev. They all got a higher education. My father and Hil studied at the Commercial Academy. Erik graduated from the Medical Academy in Kishinev. All members of the family spoke fluent Russian and had a good conduct of German and French. My father and his brothers also knew Latin. They all spoke Yiddish in the family.

My mother's family lived in Orgeyev. Orgeyev was a smaller town, about 50 km from Kishinev. Its population was Russian, Moldavian, Romanian and Russian. There were many Jewish families in Orgeyev as well. There were several synagogues, a cheder, a Jewish school and kosher shops. There were no Jewish pogroms in the town.

My grandfather on my mother's side, Solomon Tomashyn, was born in Orgeyev in 1862. He had a hardware store. My grandmother, Tzypra, was also born in Orgeyev in 1864. She was a housewife. They had nine children. My mother, Tania Benderskaya, was born in 1885. She was the first baby in the family. She was named Tube at birth but called Tania in the family.

I knew almost all of her brothers and sisters. Sarrah Krasnaya [nee Tomashyn] lived in Orgeyev. Her husband was a driver. During the war they were in evacuation in Siberia. After the war Sarrah, her husband and daughter emigrated to Israel. Their daughter got married there and moved to Argentina with her husband. In the 1960s Sarrah and her husband went to visit their daughter in Argentina and died after an epidemic broke out there.

Mara and her family lived in Orgeyev. During the war she was in evacuation in Kokand. She fell ill with typhoid and died there in 1942. Bella lived in Orgeyev. She was married and a housewife. She had two sons. Polis, the next girl, was in a ghetto in Transnistria 4 during the war and perished there. Netta got married and moved to Chernovtsy. During the war she was in evacuation in Middle Asia. After the war she returned to Kishinev.

I knew two of my mother's brothers. Fuka lived in Bucharest where he owned a hat store. The Germans shot him at the very beginning of the war. My mother's second brother, Yakov, graduated from the Faculty of Law of Kishinev University. He stayed in Kishinev and became a well-known lawyer. In 1940 Moldavia joined the USSR, and my uncle moved to France. He lived in Paris. He worked for some time until he retired. His two sons lived in Paris, too. My mother had another brother called Foka.

My mother's family lived in a big house in Orgeyev. One part of the house was my grandfather's hardware store. There was an orchard and a vegetable garden near the house. My grandmother grew green vegetables, carrots, beans, and so on. A farmer from the outskirts of Orgeyev brought eggs and meat twice or three times a week; and dairy products were delivered every day.

All children in the family got a religious education. The boys studied at cheder, and the girls were taught at home. My mother and her brothers and sisters finished Russian grammar school in Orgeyev. Only Yakov had university education.

The family was very religious. My father and I usually went to the synagogue in the morning. However early we came, we always saw my mother's brother Yakov. He usually left later than we did. I asked him once why he prayed so much. He replied that there were 16 of them in his family sitting at the table to have a meal, and he was the only one of them to pray to God. So he had to pray for all of them. My mother told me that her family strictly observed Jewish traditions, celebrated Sabbath and all Jewish holidays and followed the kashruts. I believe that people raised in smaller towns are more religious than people in bigger cities. My mother's family spoke Yiddish.

Growing up

My mother told me that she met my father through a - shadkhan. .My mother didn't like my father's beard. My father was so eager to marry her that he shaved it off. My mother gave her consent, and they got married in 1906. They had a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah. They had two wedding parties: one in Orgeyev and another one in Kishinev. After their wedding Grandfather Shmul bought them a house near his house in Kishinev. There were four rooms and a kitchen. There was also an orchard and a flower garden near the house. My father worked at my grandfather's factory for some time, and my mother was a housewife. My older brother, Fivel, was born in 1908 and my sister, Frima, followed in 1910. I was born on 28th April 1912. I was named Sukher at birth. My younger brother, Wolf, was born in 1917.

In 1918 Moldavia became part of Romania. The state had a monopoly of the tobacco industry. They expropriated my grandfather's factory and store. It was different from how it was in the USSR. My grandfather wasn't arrested or exiled. They reimbursed my grandfather the cost of his property. He bought a smaller house in the neighboring street. He didn't want to start another business. He bought another house on the outskirts of town. He grew grapes, berries and vegetables and enjoyed gardening. He gave money to all his children so that they could start their own business.

My father bought a rubber goods store for this money. My grandfather also bought him a house near the railway station to open another store. I don't remember how the others invested their money. My father wasn't good at business and almost went bankrupt in 1938. He let his house near the railway station to Baptists. A delegation of Baptists came to him in Kishinev to ask him to sell his house. They wanted to remove it and build a church. My father said that if they wanted to build a church he would just give them this house. They thanked him and gave my father a Bible for his kindness. My father always gave away what he had.

Our family was very religious. The kashruts was strictly followed in our house. We only ate kosher food. We had special utensils for meat and dairy products. There were kosher food stores at the market, and there was a shochet, who slaughtered all chicken and geese.

On Friday mornings my mother began her preparations for Sabbath. She baked challah and cookies, cooked stuffed fish and boiled chicken. In the evening my mother lit two?? candles and prayed over them. On Saturday my parents went to the synagogue. We joined them when we grew older. After dinner we sang religious songs in Hebrew glorifying Queen Saturday.

Before Pesach my mother did a general clean-up of the house. She had a woman coming in to help her. They bought a lot of matzah at the synagogue to last during Pesach. We didn't have any bread in the house on these days. My mother also made beetroot kvass [beetroot broth] for borscht [vegetable soup]. She cooked stuffed fish and stuffed chicken neck. The chicken neck stuffing consisted of fried flour, onions and giblets. My mother made clear chicken soup with matzah dumplings and borsch. She made lots of pastries: sponge cakes, strudels with jam and nuts and cookies; all from matzah flour. When my brother and I grew older my mother made it our responsibility to crush matzah in the mortar. She also made latkes, small pancakes from potatoes, matzah and eggs. My father bought special red wine for Pesach. Even children were given some wine on this holiday. We went to the synagogue and later had seder at home. Father read the Haggadah. The entrance door was kept open on the first night of Pesach. My mother explained to me that it was kept open for the prophet Elijah to come into every house.

Everybody fasted on Yom Kippur, even children over 5 years of age. On the eve of the holiday my mother brought white hens and roosters from the market for the kapores ritual. It went like this: mMy mother took a hen and gave another one to Frima, my sister. My father and all sons took the roosters. We had to turn these chickens quietly above our heads after the prayer saying, 'May this be my atonement'. Later my mother took these chickens to the synagogue for the poor. We weren't supposed to eat them. We went to the synagogue in the morning, then we came back home, read the Torah and had a nap. Then we went to the synagogue again. The services end at nightfall, with the blowing of the tekiach geedolah, a long blast on the shofar. It was required to wear white clothes on this day. The family strictly followed all rules. My mother made sure that everything went smoothly, and my father observed it all because he loved and respected her very much and wanted to please her.

My brothers and I always looked forward to Chanukkah. This was a very merry holiday. There were lots of delicious things on the table, we had guests and received Chanukkah gelt. At Sukkot my father made a sukkah in the yard, and we had lunch and dinner there. We celebrated all holidays.

I studied in cheder for a year before I went to a Romanian state school. There were a few Jewish schools in Kishinev, but they were too far from where we lived. Besides, the language of teaching in all higher educational institutions was Romanian, and my parents understood that it was better for me to study at a Romanian school. My brothers also studied in this school. It was a 4-year elementary school. Education was free of charge. Secondary education wasn't for free. We studied in Romanian. We began to study foreign languages in the 2nd grade: German, English and French. In grammar schools children also studied Latin or ancient Greek. We also studied religion, and our class was divided in two groups: one group of Christian children and one group of Jews. About half the children in my class were Jewish.

I had more Jewish friends. In our street all houses belonged to Jews. There were Jewish youth organizations in Kishinev: Maccabi and Hapoel [Hapoel Hatzair] 5. I attended the Maccabi. We were too young for any Zionist activities. We spoke Yiddish in these groups. We played tennis and other sports there. We arranged competitions. I was doing well in sports. There was also a cultural program in the Maccabi. We celebrated Jewish holidays. We arranged Purimshpil performances for Purim. We sang Jewish songs in a choir and arranged concerts and balls. I was also a member of the scout organization for teenagers. We wore a uniform: blue shorts, a white T-shirt and a blue necktie. We had strict rules there. The motto of our scout unit was, 'Our soul has to be as pure as the air here'. We took part in a number of competitions: start fire with one match, cross the river on a rope, and so on.

I had four friends. We were all Jews. I also had a Romanian friend. He was my classmate. He wasn't part of my Jewish company, but my Jewish friends knew that he was my close friend. I didn't feel any anti-Semitism when I was at school. But there was anti-Semitism when the Romanians came to power in the 1930s. It was difficult for Jews to enter higher educational institutions, and there were separate seats for Jews at some universities. Students protested against this segregation and arranged demonstrations of protest. These special seats were almost always unoccupied - the students refused to attend classes, but nothing changed and many students went to study in other countries.

I read a lot. We had many books at home. They were mainly classics and religious books. I don't remember my father reading books, though. He usually read newspapers. My mother used to read a lot. She read religious books in Hebrew and fiction in Yiddish and Russian.

In 1925 Grandfather Shmul and his two sons, Erik and Hil, moved to Palestine. My grandfather always wanted to live in this country and fight for the independence of Israel. He sold his factory and bought some land in Palestine for this money. He leased this land and made money for a living that way. My grandfather returned to Kishinev after a couple of years, but his sons stayed in Palestine. He sold his house in Kishinev and left for Palestine again, leaving the money with his children. He visited Kishinev several times. Life was difficult there. They didn't have a place to live, the soil was poor and stony, there were lots of mosquitoes and scorpions and malaria was widely spread. My grandfather didn't insist on our departure to Palestine. We had a good life here, and we didn't want to leave. We thought that we could consider moving to Palestine once our relatives had settled down there.

When I was in the army in 1932, my grandfather came to Kishinev and left for Palestine with my older brother Fivel. Fivel worked as a laborer in Ramat-Gan. He went to the beach, put up a sign saying '3 piastres per hour' and went to sleep. If somebody wanted to hire an employee for this fee they woke him up. He didn't always have work. Later Fivel studied at college. After that he got a job in the logistics department of a soap factory and worked there until his retirement. Fivel and his family lived in Ramat-Gan. He died in 2000.

I finished school in 1932. I was 20 years old. I went to the army for one year. I didn't have to serve full term because I had secondary education. During my service my commanding officer sent me to the officer's course. I became a lieutenant after finishing it.

When I went to the army my grandfather came to Kishinev and left for Palestine with my older brother Fivel. Fivel worked as a laborer at first. He went to the beach, put a sign saying "3 piastres per hour" and went to sleep. If somebody wanted to hire an employee for this fee they woke him up. He didn't always have work. Later Fivel studied at college, but I don't remember the name. After that he got a job at the logistics department of soap factory and worked there until retirement. Fivel and his family lived in Ramat-Gane. He died in 2000. My grandfather came to Kishinev again in 1933 after I returned from the army. Once he went to the market to buy some fruit. He returned home, bent over the basket to put the fruit on the table and fell over. He was dead. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Kishinev beside my grandmother Hana. The funeral was held according to Jewish traditions. Many people came to his funeral. They all knew and loved my grandfather. We corresponded with Erik and Hil for some time after my grandfather died. It lasted until the Soviet power came to Kishinev. I kept in touch with my brother until he died.

After the army I entered Commercial Academy in Bucharest. Since I was an officer who had completed service in the army, I was admitted without exams. I had to pay for my studies. I attended classes in the morning and worked in the afternoon. I worked at an insurance company. Later I got a job as a waiter in a restaurant and worked night shifts. I was a good employee and promoted to administrator soon. I was responsible for the waiters and the dance group at the restaurant. This was a good job and paid well. But I had to leave this restaurant after an incident.

This incident happened in 1938. The fascists were in power in Germany, and the Romanian fascists became more insolent because they felt that they had a backup. Once there was a fight in the restaurant. It turned out that members of a fascist organization, the Iron Guard 6, were sitting at one table, and members of another fascist, anti-Semitic organization, the Cuzist 7, at another table. They started a fight. I called the police, and they took the fighters to their office. They called me to the police station to testify. I told the commissar about the fight. Then one of the suspects, who wore a jacket of a military cut and boots, said that his name was Zelea Codreanu 8. Everybody in the room turned pale when he said his name. He was the leader of the Iron Guard. I got very scared and left the police office. On the next day I told the owner of the restaurant about the incident, but he replied that there had been no incident whatsoever. I understood that the police had hushed up this case and feared that the Iron Guard would be looking for an opportunity to take their revenge. I had to leave the restaurant. I left before they could fire me. It didn't make my life easier, but it probably helped me save my life.

I graduated from the Commercial Aacademy in 1938 and got married. My co- student introduced me to my future wife, Jeannette Duvidesku, a Romanian Jew. She was called Hana in Kishinev. She was born to the family of a Jewish tradesman in Bucharest in 1911. Jeannette only spoke Yiddish and Romanian. It was okay with me - I was fluent in both languages. We had a traditional Jewish wedding with a chuppah in Bucharest. It was no problem at that time. The synagogues were open and there were rabbis there. We couldn't imagine that it would be over so soon. There was a rabbi from the big synagogue in Bucharest. The synagogue issued the ketubbah to us. We lived with my wife's family in the beginning. I met people in Bucharest and soon they began to address me to issue annual reports for them or conduct an audit. We purchased an apartment and good furniture. I had several permanent customers, and my wife and I were quite well off. Jeannette was a housewife. We went to the synagogue on holidays and celebrated Sabbath and Jewish holidays quite like our parents did.

In 1938 my mother died in Kishinev. She was buried in the Jewish graveyard, according to Jewish tradition. After my mother died my father sold the house and moved to my younger brother Wolf. Wolf had finished the Electro- Technical College by that time. He was married and worked as an engineer at the electric appliances factory in Kishinev.

My sister Frima finished a private French school in Kishinev. The owner and director of this school was a French woman. The children studied all subjects in French. The fee they had to pay was high, but it was worth it. After finishing this school Frima went to study at the Medical Academy in Belgium. She met a Romanian princess there. This princess did a lot of charity work. She contributed money to the construction of hospitals and supported them. The princess went to the Medical Academy in Belgium to learn about the latest medical developments. The director of the academy told her that they had a student from Romania and the princess wished to meet her. They talked for a long while and the princess invited Frima to visit her when she came to Bucharest. Frima expressed her doubts, though, saying that there was little possibility that she would be allowed to enter the princess' palace in Bucharest. Then the princess gave my sister a ring telling her to show it to the guard when she arrived. Upon graduating my sister went to visit the princess. She showed the ring to the guards, and they let her in. A new hospital was being built in Kishinev, and my sister was appointed the supervisor of the therapeutic unit there. She worked well and liked her job.

Emigration to Palestine wasn't allowed. The British Embassy issued permits for emigration but only very few. There was also a green card emigration lottery for Palestine at the British Embassy. In 1936 Uncle Erik won a green card for a woman to go to Palestine, and he offered it to Frima. She decided to go. She stepped on the land of Palestine wearing a silk dress and high-heels. Uncle Erik and Fivel met her and took her to their kibbutz. People were working hard in the kibbutz, and they were wearing their working robes and no shoes. A woman gave Frima an old shirt and pants. My sister told me later that she looked into the mirror and didn't recognize herself. Frima wrote letters to us. She became a patriot of Israel. She wrote, 'I learned to struggle for the independence of my motherland here'. Later my sister got a job as a doctor.

She got married and took her husband's name, Kizbrunner. They lived in Haifa. This name was hard to pronounce and my sister changed her last name to Beer, which means 'well' in Hebrew. They had two daughters. They live in Israel now. When Frima and her husband retired they sold their house in Haifa and moved to the old people's home 'Golden Age'. It's an expensive home, but my sister and her husband could afford it. Recently my sister's husband died. She moved to a one-bedroom apartment in the same home. I visited her recently. There is a synagogue there. I was there on the eve of Rosh Hashanah, and I went to pray at this synagogue. My sister feels lonely in Israel. Her daughters live their own life. Frima calls me at 6pm every Friday. Every time she comes, she says the same - how lonely she is and how much she misses me. She doesn't live a religious life in Israel due to various reasons.

During the war

In 1939 the situation in Romania grew very unstable. Many Polish people escaped to Romania. There were many of them in Bucharest. They told us many scary things about the horrors of the German occupation and about how Hitler treated the Jews. We were afraid that Hitler would come to Romania soon. In 1939 the Romanian fascists, members of the Iron Guard, killed Prime Minister Calinescu, because he was a democrat and refused to cooperate with the Germans. After he was shot on the road by the fascists, they went to the radio station and announced that an act of justice had been done and that Calinescu was dead. On the following day people were killing the leaders of the Iron Guard in the towns. I saw four dead bodies in the uniforms of the Iron Guard at a crossing and a poster near them saying, 'All traitors will be executed this way'. But the democrats failed to get rid of all the fascists. Once I was walking home late in the evening when three strangers approached me saying, 'Remember these words: The Guard is moving ahead'. I didn't have a typical Jewish appearance. They must have mistaken me for a Romanian. If they had known that I was a Jew, they would have killed me. I felt very upset. I understood that Hitler would find big support here when he came. We realized that we had to escape while there was still a possibility.

In 1940 Moldavia joined the USSR. Kishinev became a Soviet town. My younger brother Wolf changed his name to Vladimir to obtain his Soviet passport. He was taken to the army. Many richer inhabitants of Kishinev were sent to Siberia. My father was poor at that time, and the Soviet power didn't touch him. He had become an accountant in a tobacco store in the 1930s. He received a small salary. He always went to work wearing a hat, a tie and a walking stick. The director of the store used to tell him, 'Comrade Benderskiy, we are going to a Soviet Bank. You don't need to wear a hat and your walking stick. There are no hats and sticks in the USSR'. But my father wouldn't listen to him. He continued to dress as he thought was appropriate and was always polite and reserved. My father never used the word 'comrade' which was commonly used at the time. He didn't have any problems because of his manners.

I knew very little about the Soviet Union. We didn't know anything about the crimes of Stalin and his companions. We watched Soviet films, which were showed the happy life in the Soviet Union. We believed that there was no unemployment or anti-Semitism in the USSR. We believed that people in the USSR enjoyed freedom. My friends were moving to the US, Turkey or Brazil from Romania to join their relatives or friends.

I also made my choice because my family was in the USSR, and I believed that everything would be fine here. When Kishinev became a Soviet town in 1940, my wife and I left our apartment in Bucharest along with all our belongings and moved to Kishinev. We obtained Soviet documents. My name Sukher was written as Zakhar in my passport, and my wife's changed from Jeannette to Hana. We rented an apartment in Kishinev. I got a job as an accountant at the Kishinev administration. The reality was different from the movies. The shops were empty, and we received food on ration cards. It was all pretty depressing, but we couldn't leave.

In June 1941 I received two tickets for a recreation center in Odessa. We had to obtain a permit to go to Odessa. Such was the procedure for all inhabitants of the areas that had recently joined the USSR. My wife and I obtained a permit to go to Odessa and went to the sanatorium for 12 days. I had 24 days of vacation, and I convinced my wife to make a trip to Moscow for the remaining 12 days. We arrived in Moscow on 22nd June 1941. We stayed at the International Hhotel near the Kievskiy railway station in Moscow. We had a distant relative in Moscow - the brother of Aunt Sarrah's husband. I had never seen him before, but I had his address and decided to go and see him. We went there and he told us that Molotov 9 had spoken on the radio announcing the war with Germany.

There was another announcement later saying that all holidaymakers had to return home. We went back to the hotel, and it had already been turned into a hospital. We stayed with our relative overnight, and in the morning we went to the railway station. We had to stay there for three days until I managed to get tickets to Razdelnaya in Odessa region. From Razdelnaya we went to Kishinev. On the following day I went to the military registration office and was admitted to the army. Next day there was an order issued to relieve all accountants from military conscription. We all believed that the war would be over in a few days. I went back to work. I was told there that the administration was evacuating. My wife and I were taken to the railway station and got on a train. We had one suitcase into which we had only put the most necessary clothes. We didn't know where we were going.

My younger brother and his family also went into evacuation. We were both trying to convince our father to go with us but he refused. He said he wasn't afraid of the Germans. All people that knew Germans during World War I believed that they were educated and intelligent people. My father stayed in his apartment and didn't open the door. There was a German man, Karl, who lived in our street. My father knew him very well, and they were friends. When my father heard Karl's voice at his door he opened it. Karl was with the Germans. I was told later that the Germans sent my father to the ghetto in Vinnitsa. He perished there.

Our trip lasted for about a month until we reached Tashkent [3,000 km from Kishinev]. I went to the evacuation office and told them that I was an accountant. I got a job at the equipment yard where I worked throughout our evacuation.

We shared a room with several other families. Later my wife and I moved to a separate room in a small building in the yard of the cultural center. I had good performance records at work. I learned Uzbek. I stayed there for some time after the war as an instructor in accounting. I was awarded a bicycle for my efforts. I also straightened up the tractor repair processes and was awarded a medal 'For valiant labor'. In the fall of 1945 I went to Kishinev with my family. I obtained a certificate of mobilization to the labor front from the military commandant of Tashkent.

Our daughter, Emma, was born in Tashkent in 1944. The three of us returned to Kishinev in the fall of 1945. I obtained a certificate for mobilization to the labor front from the military commandant of Tashkent.

I was told at the Ministry of Agriculture that there was no work for me. I found a job at the construction site of a shoe factory. The Germans had destroyed Kishinev. The street we used to live in was in ruins. My family lived with my childhood friend, Iosif Shwartz. He told me about the tragic fate of many of our friends. Iosif and our friend Yakov Golub were recruited to the army and went to the front. Later an order to demobilize all soldiers that came from Bessarabia and Moldova was issued. Stalin didn't trust those that had only lived under the Soviet power for a short period. They were released from the army without money or food in late fall. Many of them starved to death or died from the cold. Yakov Golub came from the family of a storeowner in Kishinev. They were a wealthy family. Yakov was helping his father at the store. He was a very nice, honest and decent man. Yakov got to Kishinev after he was released from the army. He was ill with typhoid; he had caught it on the way home. He died about a hundred meters from his home. Two of our other friends were missing. Iosif came home ill with tuberculosis.

My younger brother, Wolf, and his family returned from evacuation in 1944. During the war the electric appliances factory was in the Ural. The factory facilities in Kishinev were destroyed. Its employees and their families lived in the barracks that were storage facilities before the war. There was no heating. The barrack was heated by self-made stoves from sheet iron. My brother received an apartment in 1953 when he was deputy director of the factory.

Anti-Semitism

I didn't expect to receive an apartment in Kishinev. An acquaintance of mine told me that there were many vacant apartments in Chernovtsy and that this town hadn't been destroyed during the war. My wife and I decided to go to Chernovtsy. The local authorities told us to find a vacant apartment and obtain all necessary documents to move into it. We moved into this apartment on the following day. I became chief accountant at the furniture factory. My wife was a housewife. I was very glad that we moved to Chernovtsy, which is a beautiful town. The Jewish population constituted about 60 per cent. Now there are about 3,000 Jews in town. People spoke Yiddish in the streets, and there was a Jewish theater, school and synagogue until 1948. There was a very warm and friendly atmosphere in Chernovtsy.

I had a colleague named Savchuk, a Ukrainian man. He came from a village not far from Chernovtsy. He told me that villagers could only come to town if they wore shoes. They had their shoes in their bags and put them on when they approached the town. Jewish couples and families wearing their best and fanciest clothes used to walk in the central pedestrian street, Kobylianska street, in the evening. I didn't face any anti-Semitism, and I had a feeling that I had made the right choice to leave Romania.

By 1948 this feeling weakened. The struggle against cosmopolitans 10 began. Scientists and teachers were losing their jobs. Accusatory articles were published in the newspapers. Neither my family nor I had any problems in that regard but anti-Semitism was growing stronger. The Jewish theater and school were closed, and it wasn't advisable to go to the synagogue. Religious people were expelled from the Communist Party, got lower positions at work or were dismissed. The only Jewish holiday that my wife and I celebrated after the war was Pesach. We got matzah from a private underground bakery. I brought some flour there and received matzah on the following morning.

It was difficult to get food products at that time, and we cooked whatever we could get. Sometimes we had a chicken, but mainly we had potato pudding and fried fish from the canteen at work. Religious holidays were working days and so was Saturday. Anti-Semitism entered our life. There were anti- Semitic expressions in the public transport and in the streets. Gravestones were destroyed at the Jewish cemetery and words like 'Jews, get out and go to Israel' were written on the walls of buildings. This lasted for a long time.

In 1953 the Doctors' Plot 11 started. A doctor called Timoschuk wrote to the Pravda newspaper that a group of Jewish doctors involved in the treatment of Stalin gave him poison instead of medication. I don't know whether Stalin and Beriya 12 believed it to be true or whether they took advantage of this insinuation to trigger another round of anti-Semitism. Of course, sensible people knew that it was slander, but many other people believed it to be true. There were rumors about the deportation of Jews to Siberia.

In March 1953 Stalin died. There was a meeting at our factory. Many people were crying. They couldn't imagine their life without Stalin. I didn't cry, but I felt concerned. We weren't aware of all those horrors caused by Stalin. We only knew what the propaganda said. If only I had known how many people died in labor camps and all other crimes that he had committed, my attitude would have been different. The only thing we knew was that fascists and capitalists were bad, and that Stalin was good. This was what we had been told, and this was what became the conviction of many people.

I believed at once what Khrushchev 13 said at the Twentieth Party Congress 14 about Stalin's crimes. The Twentieth Congress was the beginning of the denunciation of the cult of Stalin and revealed the truth about this period. Nobody in our family was a party member.

Our daughter went to a Russian secondary school. She studied well. She finished school in 1962. It was difficult for a Jewish girl to enter a higher educational institution in Chernovtsy at that time. My daughter and I were aware of it. I had a friend in Lvov. He suggested that Emma came to study in Lvov. She entered the Faculty of Economics at the Polytechnic Institute in Lvov. My wife and I missed our daughter a lot. Emma lived at my friend's family during the first year of her studies until she got a bed in the hostel of the institute. She graduated and married her co-student, Grigory Koifman, a Jew from Lvov. Emma got a job in Lvov. Jeannette and I were happy for our daughter. Our happiness didn't last long. She died soon after giving birth to our grandson in 1969. She died of postpartum hemorrhage.

My wife and I couldn't have our grandson with us. My wife got very ill after we buried our daughter. We wouldn't have been able to raise the baby. He was called Alexandr. His father and grandmother took care of him. I spent my summer vacations with him in Lvov every year. Alexandr was a smart and healthy boy. He went to school when he turned 7. He came to visit us on his summer vacations, and we visited him during his winter vacations. We also supported him with some money. Alexandr finished 9 years of Russian secondary school in Lvov and continued his education in Israel. He studied under the educational program Sochnut. After finishing school he served in the Israeli army. After his service he entered university. He lives in Israel now and has a job. He has two sons. We correspond and he calls me every now and then. I think Emma would be proud of her son.

I was very enthusiastic about the foundation of Israel in 1948. The dream of all Jews finally came true, and they gained a country of their own.

In the 1970s a number of Jews began to move to Israel. I sympathized with those who were moving there and was happy for them. We had many relatives in Israel, but my wife and I weren't going to move there. I worked and my wife was a housewife. She said that she would stay where her daughter's grave was. After Emma died Jeannette became very ill. She died in 1973.

There were people returning from Israel in the 1970s. I had a colleague. He was a janitor here. He moved to Israel being sure that he would get everything immediately: an apartment and a good job. He realized that he had to work hard to get all the comforts he wanted and didn't like it at all. There were TV programs and articles in newspapers about him. They were saying that a Soviet person couldn't get adjusted to the capitalist world. He got his former job and received an apartment. He was hoping to get a better job in Chernovtsy and was very unhappy about it.

Married life

I got married for the second time in 1978. My wife's name is Sophia Lazko; she's Jewish. She was born to an assimilated Jewish family in Chernigov in 1920. Her parents were engineers. She finished school and worked as a typist at a military unit in Chernigov. During the war she went to the front. She was a topographer at the army headquarters. After the war Sophia decided to go to Chernovtsy. She didn't want to go back to Chernigov where all her relatives had perished during the war. Sophia was a lab assistant at the sanitary-epidemiological facility in Chernovtsy. She's a very nice and kind woman. We are very close. We have common interests and friends. I'm so happy to have met her. The Soviet power forced us to forget Jewish traditions. It's too late for me to restore them. We didn't live a Jewish life. We only celebrate holidays in Hesed.

My brother Wolf left for Israel in 1985. His son had left for Israel in the late 1970s. Wolf and his younger daughter went there after Wolf retired.

In 1995 I visited my sister and brother in Israel. They showed me around the country. I admired how my people had changed the desert into blooming gardens and modern towns. I visited Jerusalem and prayed for my family at the Wailing Wall. I went to synagogues and visited Christian and Muslim temples. It's a wonderful country, but I felt homesick after a month. I wanted to be back in Chernovtsy, back at my mountain and the land where my wife and daughter are buried.

Ukraine became independent and the Jewish way of life began to be restored. We have several Jewish communities in Chernovtsy. Hesed provides big assistance to us. We get food packages and medication. There are highly qualified doctors with Hesed. We also attend lectures, concerts and interesting films about Jews. We can get Jewish newspapers and magazines for free at Hesed. If it weren't for Hesed we would live a poor and miserable life. People that had been working their whole life receive a pension that's smaller than the fee they have to pay for their apartment and everyday things. It's very important that we can go out and meet people. We celebrate Sabbath and all Jewish holidays in Hesed. There was a festive Purimshpil performance at the town theater at Purim. Volunteers from Hesed visit us at home. We also have a nurse visiting us at home. It's very helpful and makes our life different. The synagogue is open. We celebrate Sabbath and all Jewish holidays with Hesed. There was a festive Purimshpil performance at the town theater on Purim. The synagogue is open. We don't go there often, but we always attend it on holidays and on the death anniversaries of our relatives. I'm 90 years old. I'm glad to have lived to the time when I can see it all with my own eyes.

Glossary

Ota Gubic
Karlovy Vary
Česká republika
Rozhovor pořídila: Barbora Pokreis
Období vzniku rozhovoru: srpen 2005

Rodina
Dětství
Za války
Po válce
Glosář

Rodina

Na starých rodičov z otcovej [Bernard Gubitsch] strany si nespomínam, pretože otec sa dvakrát ženil a už mal svoje roky, keď som sa narodil. Nikdy sa o tom ani nerozprávalo. Poznám len ich mená. Starý otec sa volal Moric Gubitsch a stara mama Anna Gubitsch, rodená Steiner. Otcovu prvú manželku som taktiež vôbec nepoznal, a druhá žena bola naša mamička.

Z matkinej strany už poznám starých rodičov. Mamička sa narodila v Medzibrode. To je dedinka na Slovensku, medzi Banskou Bystricou a Breznom nad Hronom. Narodila sa v roku 1893 a volala sa Aranyka, Zlatica Friedová. Jej rodičia boli Aneta Friedová a Emil Fried. V Banskej Bystrici vlastnili obchod so zmiešaným tovarom na Dolnej ulici dvadsaťosem. Obchod síce nebol veľký, ale veľmi prosperujúci, tak z toho žili pomerne na slušnej úrovni.  Pomocníkov nemali, pretože to všetko obstarávala teta Jozefína [Jozefína Friedová]. Žila so starými rodičmi na Dolnej ulici. Až v neskoršom veku, keď sa blížil fašizmus sa vydala do Banskej Štiavnice. Vojnu neprežila, rovnako ako ani jej manžel, Šafránek.

Friedovci neboli pobožní, boli neológovia, ostrí neológovia. Myslím si, že z väčšej časti asi držali kóšer. Nie som si úplne istý, ale svinina [bravčové mäso] sa asi nevarila, len hydina. Mali aj zvlášť riad na mäsité a mliečne pokrmy. Synagógou navštevovali len na veľké sviatky. Šábes a zapaľovanie sviečok? To určite nie, ale vedeli že šábes existuje. Hovorím, boli veľmi neologický, veď obchod mali otvorený aj v sobotu.

Starí rodičia bývali na Dolnej ulici dvadsaťosem. Ich byt bol rozdelený na dve časti – obytnú časť a obchod. Bola tam kuchyňa, z ktorej sa vchádzalo do jednej izbičky a vo dvore boli ešte dve izby. Jedna bola malá a druhá väčšia. Myslím si, že so starou mamou nežili veľmi dobre, pretože starý otec mal zvláštnu povahu. Bol v Amerike, ale  vrátil sa pretože sa mu tam nedarilo. No a potom sa oženil so starou mamou. Veľmi sme milovali babičku, aj ja [Otta Gubic, born Gubitsch] a aj brat [Ervín Gubic, born Gubitsch]. Starého otca z matkinej strany veľmi nie, pretože on bol trošku čudák. Nebol ani v rodine veľmi oblúbený, a nemal dobrú povesť ako starý otec. Viem že v tom ich obchode so zmiešaným tovarom mali obchodnú miestnosť, ktorá viedla do ulice. Medzi obchodnou miestnosťou a kuchyňou mali takú tmavú miestnosť, kde sa nalieval tvrdý alkohol a teta [Jozefína Friedová] sa veľmi hnevala na starého otca pretože tam priateľom nalieval zadarmo.

S bratom sme chodili do Banskej Bystrice pravidelne. Hlavne cez školské prázdniny a niekedy aj v zimných mesiacoch. V tom čase ešte neexistovalo priame spojenie Prievidza, sBanská Bystrica. Šlo sa do Hronského svätého Kríža, alebo do Kláštora pod Znievom a odtiaľ do Banskej Bystrice. Podľa toho aké bolo počasie. Pamätám si, z tých mladých rokov, ako sme boli zababušený proti marazu a len oči nám bolo vydieť. Iné to bolo v letných mesiacoch, pretože to detstvo [v Banskej Bystrici] bolo veľmi pekné, hlavne vďaka strýkovi Móricovi [Móric Fried]. Strýko mal dve dievčatá Noriku [Nora], na meno druhej si už nespomeniem. S nimi sme trávil prázdniny. Starí rodičia údajne zahynuli počas vojny.

Friedovci mali sedem detí, mamička bola myslím najstaršia. Po mamičke bol Móric Fried. On bol údajne druhý najväčší a najvýznamnejší vlnár na Slovensku - Móric Fried z Banskej Bystrice. Strýko Móric bol v Banskej Bystrici veľmi známy a údajne mal aj Tisovu výnimku 1. Potrebovali ho ako odborníka na vlnu. Podarilo sa mu udržať až do januára 1945, pretože v od roku 1944 už Nemci okupovali Slovensko 2. Napokon žiaľ zahynul počas vojny. Jeho manželka sa volala Helena, Eržinéni, Drechslerová, tiež pochádzala z Banskej Bystrice. Bývali na námestí. Mala nás s bratom veľmi rada.

Teta Jozefína Šafránková vynikala tým, že piekla takzvaný friedovský chlieb. V tom čase, v  Banskej Bystrici, veľmi známy. Polovica mesta chodila tento chlieb kupovať. Jozefína, v rodine sa jej hovorilo po maďarsky Jóžanéni, sa zaľúbila do výroby chleba a vydala sa za pekára v Banskej Štiavnici. Nemali deti, pretože sa vydávala v dosť pokročilom veku, možno že aj to bola príčina. Teta s manželom neprežili vojnu. Jej pamiatku nepoškvrním, keď poviem, že sa zamilovala viac do chleba, ako do pána Šafránka. Takže to bol jej koníček. A naozaj ten friedovský chlieb bol v Banskej Bystrici veľmi známy. Nie, že by som asistoval, len ma zaujímalo ako sa ten chlieb pečie. Tak som tam chodieval s ňou. Pamätám si, že v pekárni bol taký veľký kotol, muselo tam byť najmenej pädesiat možno až sto kíl cesta.

Strýko Emerich Fried zostal sám, ako starý mládenec. Hral výborne na husle a bol dušou kultúrneho života židovskej obce v Banskej Bystrici. Neprežil vojnu  Teta Elza Friedová sa tiež nevydala. Od malička sa zaoberala ručnými prácami a to viedlo k tomu, že si v Šahách otvorila obchod s ručnými prácami. Neviem čo sa sňou stalo počas vojny. Šahy obsadili Maďari 3, a neskôr ju zrjme deportovali.
Najmladší Jenő, [Eugen Fried] bola významná postava, pretože sa dostal ako zástupca Kominterny 4 do Francúzska. Už ako maturant v Banskej Bystrici v sedemnástich rokoch exceloval v tých politických otázkach. Bol neobyčajne vzdelaný človek, odmalička sedel na knihách. Bol veľmi talentovaný. Údajne ho zabili v Bruseli, 3. augusta 1943. On bol vo Francúzsku a keď prišli hitlerovci do Paríža, tak utiekol do Bruselu a tam ho asi tiež čapli.

Blanka Friedová bola tiež veľkou komunistkou, pretože jej brat Jenő bol odmalička veľký komunista a ona sa v ňom videla. Napokon pôsobila ako profesionálna komunistická funkcionárka v Prahe 5. Dodnes mi je ale záhadou, ako  prežila vojnu v Prahe. Nikdy o tom nerozprávala, ale myslím si že ju tie komunistické kruhy schovávali. Po vojne som ju vyhľadal a bola veľmi prekvapená. To bolo veľmi, veľmi záhadné stretnutie. Jej adresu som zistil od členov komunistickej strany. Išiel som na adresu, ktorú som dostal. Otvoril som bránu, viedla tam dlhá chodba. Zrazu šla postava o proti mne, tak som ju nechal trošku prejsť. Blanku som videl len pár krát na návšteve u starých rodičov, ale spoznal som ju. Nechal som ju prejsť, a už keď brala zatáčku zakričal som: „Blanka.“ Otočila sa: „Pre pána Boha, kto ste?“ Hovorím: „Tak sa dobre pozri!“ Neviem. Hovorím: „Otto“. „Ježiš-Mária, kde si sa tu zobral?! Ako si získal moju adresu!? Nikto ju nevie!“ Ešte v roku 1945 bola opatrná. Zomrela asi šesťdesiatpäťročná, zrejme na leukémiu, v Prahe. Normálne sa nikdy nevydala, ale tie posledné roky žila s istým pánom Šťastným. On bol jeden z funkcionárov komunistickej strany, zrejme preto si tak dobre rozumeli. Nemala žiadne deti. 

Dětství

V čase môjho detstva mohla mať Prievidza, moje rodné mesto, asi päťtisíc obyvateľov [v roku 1940 mala Prievidza 4578 obyvateľov, zdroj Lexikón obcí Slovenskej republiky, Štátny štatistický úrad, Bratislava 1942 – pozn. red.], z toho mohlo byť asi štyristo Židov, asi šesťdesiat rodín. V Prievidzi neexistovala židovská štvrť. Najviac Židov žilo na námestí a v jeho okolí. Napríklad Müllerovci, tam mali obchod so strižným tovarom [metrový textil], Freibergovci reštauráciu. Na rohi námestia mali obchod so zmiešaným tovarom, Gemainervci. Freiberg vlastnil hotel Slávia. Slávia bol hotel aj reštaurácia, kam chodili Židia v nedeľu hrať karty. Chodieval tam aj môj otec, ale on nehral, len kibicoval. Kibicovanie bolo o ňom v Prievidzi veľmi známe, pretože mu matka nedovolila, aby hral karty. Na to kibicovanie ho predsa len do kaviarne púštala. To bolo jeho nedeľné poobedňajšie zamestnanie. Židia v Prievidzi sa väčšinou živili obchodovaním.

Medzi najznámejšie rodiny patrili majitelia Carpathie [Carpathia: založená v roku 1875 rodinou Heuman. Podnik sa orientoval hlavne na spracovanie ovocia a marmelád. V rokoch 2. svetovej vojny bol vyhlásený za nenahraditeľné. Zameral sa na výrobu potravín pre armádu. Od roku 1994 prešiel pod značku MAGGI a od roku 2001 Nestlé Slovensko s.r.o – pozn. red.]. Carpathia existuje dodnes, ale obecne sa už nevie, že to bol kedysi židovský podnik. Majitelia bývali na tzv. Drevenom Ringu, v poschodovom dome. Boli to dvaja bratia, hovorilo sa im dolný Heumanovci a horný Heumanovci. Oni spravovali ten podnik. Z väčšej časti ho spravoval dolný Heuman, ako ten horný. Dolný mal dvoch synov. Fero [František] Heumann bol veľký dobrodruh. Dokonca bojoval v Španielskej občianskej vojne 6. Po vojne sa údajne vysťahoval do Kanady a začal hospodáriť. Vraj si ho našla nešťastná smrť, zavalil ho traktor. Či je to pravda neviem, ale hovorilo sa o tom v Prievidzi. Mladší, Richard, chodil s mojim bratom do gymnázia. Spolu maturovali v 1938-om roku. Dolný Heumanovci sa po vojne vysťahovali do Chile, ale už všetci pomreli. Oni prežili vojnu práve tým, že boli veľmi známy a skrývali sa v jednom bunkri na Kaniankoch [okres Prievidza], to je dedina v blízkosti Prievidze v povodí Maguri. Dostávali podporu od ľudí, ktorí boli ich zamestnanci, pretože oni boli veľmi slušní. V Carpathii bol len jeden štrajk, ktorý organizoval starší syn od horných Heumanovcov. On bol veľký komunista a zorganizoval štrajk proti vlastným rodičom.

K zámožnejším rodinám patrili aj Wernerovci. S ich synom Paľkom [Pavol] som sa kamarátili. Paľko sa vyznamenal tým, že nám nosil pravé kožené lopty – futbalové aj volejbalové, čo bol vtedy zázrak. Wernerovci mali dve deti, ako som už spomínal Paľka a dievča sa volalo Eva. Paľko bol môj ročník, 1922. Po vojne som sa s nimi nestretol, neviem či boli deportovaní, alebo čo sa s nimi stalo. Ďalej tu bola rodina veľkoobchodníka Bienenstocka. Samuel Kelerman vlastnil obchod s textilom. On bol neskorší predseda Židovskej náboženskej obce v Prievidzi. Mal dve deti. Edita bola veľmi pekná, mala atletickú postavu. Jej prípad bol veľmi odsudzujúci, pretože mala priateľa Jarda Machalu, syna veliteľa okresnej žandárskej stanice. On bol katolík a to bol v tom čase veľký, veľký hriech. No ale napriek tomu chodili spolu celé roky až potom v rámci akcie „Češi peši do Prahy“ 7 v 1938-om, musel Machala odísť. Nakoniec sa vydala za obchodníka so strižným tovarom. So synom Kelermanovcov, s Lackom [Ladislav], som bol najlepší kamarát. Lacko bol tiež športovo založený chlapec a zhodou okolností sa tiež vyučil v konkurenčnej kníhtlači, takže sme boli aj kolegovia, nielen kamaráti. No, ale neprežil vojnu.

K dôležitým postavám mesta patrili aj dvaja židovskýá fotografi – Adolf Kramer a Dezider Braun. Braun bol veľmi dobrým priateľom môjho staršieho brata. Kramer bol známy tým, že mal Lajku. Lajka už mala film, tak Kramer mohol denne všetko fotografovať. Prievidza mu môže poďakovať, že predvojnový život v meste sa zachoval na jeho fotografiách. Kramer bol masový fotograf, on fotografoval každodenný život. Braun sa držal len svojho remesla, chodili k nemu ľudia a on chodil na svadby a narodeniny.

V meste existovali dve náboženské obce. Väčšia bola neologiká 8 a tá menšia ortodoxná 9. Môj otec zohral úlohu v tom, aby sa tá ortodoxná obec zrušila. Napokon sa mu to nepodarilo. On bol stále taký rebel. Veľmi sa angažoval proti ortodoxom. Nemal ich rád, neviem, čo tam bolo. Orotdoxná obec nemala viac ako tridsať duší. Neologická obec bola omnoho väčšia a silnejšia. Dokonca môj otec tam istý čas pôsobil aj ako funkcionár. Mali sme jednu synagógu, kantorom bol Hellmann. Mal veľmi pekný tenor. Pri synagóge bol postavený barák a tam žil kantor a správca Frieder, ktorý mal na starosti náboženské veci. Dá sa povedať, že bol zároveň aj sekretárom náboženskej obce. On mal syna, ktorý sa stal rabínom a nekôr sa veľmi preslávil. Volala sa Armin Frieder 10. Počas vojny pracoval na tom, aby prestali deportácie 11. Mal napríklad veľmi dobré styky s ministrom školstva Jozefom Sivákom [Sivák Jozef (1886-1959): pedagóg, autor učebníc, politik minister školstva Slovenského štátu. Tejto funkcie sa vzdal r.1944 (nesúhlasil s pozvaním nemec.vojska) – pozn. red.], pretože Sivák bol tiež Prievidzčan.

Mám taký dojem, že u Bienenstockovcov bolo mikve, ale tam chodievali len ortodoxní. Myslím, že sme mali len jedného šachtera [rituálny mäsiar – pozn. red.]. Bol ním práve ten spomínaný Frieder. Pri kostle [synagóge] bol postavený dom, tam býval on aj rabín a tam sa aj podrezávalo. Bola tam miestnosť k tomu určená, takže ľudia nosili k nemu hydinu. Z našej rodiny som ju väčšinou nosil zarezávať ja. Samotný akt zarezávania bol veľmi, veľmi jednoduchý, ale zaujímavý. Chodil som tam dosť často, pretože z detského hľadiska to bola atrakcia. Miestnosť mala betónový podklad a v podlahe bol jarok, aby krv mohla odtekať.

Prvé autov meste si pamätám. Hovorili sme mu cililing. Bol to myslím Fiat, taký otvorený. Vlastnil ho pán Iring, hodinár. Hodinárstvo mal naproti nášmu domu v Piaristickej ulici. Presný rok vám nepoviem, ale mohlo to byť okol roku 1930 a možno aj skoršie. Spomínam si, že to bola veľká senzácia. Pán Iring bola veľmi zaujímavá postava. Mal zmysel pre novoty a bol určite aj jeden z prvých, ktorý mal fotoaparát mimo profesionálneho fotografa Kramera a Brauna. Prvé fotoaparáty sa mohli objaviť ešte pred rokom 1930. Zo zvedavosti a zo známosti nám dovolil pán Iring, aby sme si sadali do jeho auta a potom, už sme sa vozili u Heumanovcov. Oni mali tiež autá, ako majiteľia Carpathie, ale zrejme to boli podnikové autá, ale mali ich aj ako súkromné.

V Prievidzi sa najviac udržovala takzvaná bojnická cesta. Bojnice sú kúpele a tam viedla cesta medzi topoľami. Bola to asi tri kilometre rovná cesta od prievdzkej stanice, preto sa tomu hovorilo bojnická cesta. Ona bola udržiavaná, vykladaná bola tými mačacími kameňmi. Aj na námestí boli a potom už si pamätám, že sa postupne robili chodníčky. Piaristická ulica bola pomerne dosť skoro skultiovaná a námestie tiež, pretože na námestí sa každý deň konali trhy a každý mesiac jarmok. Na malých trhoch sa väčšinou predávala zelenina a ovocie, ale aj drobná hydina ako kačice a husy. Z rodiny tam chodievala len mamička a my deti sme ju doprevádzali. Častejšie ja, pretože brat bol knihomoľ. Stále sedel nad knihami. Mamička chodila nakupovať k pánovi Wertheimerovi [Ignác Wertheimer vlastnil obchod so zmiešaným tovarom a predaj liehovinových nápojov – pozn. red.]. Predajňu mal naproti Piaristickej ulici v takzvanom Carpathiackom dome.

Jarmoky sa konali každý mesiac na námestí. Predávalo sa tam všetko možné - oblečenie, pijatika, zelenina, ovocie. Bol tam aj jeden trhovník, ktorý sa len tým živil, že predával textil po trhoch, pretože nemal postavenú obchodnú miestnosť. Dobytok sa tam nepredával. Na to bol postavený bytúnok u Handlovky. Handlovka je riečka, ktorá sa vlievala na bojnickej ceste do rieky Nitra, ktorá tiekla od Klaku smerom na juh cez Prievidzu, Nováky a potom sa vlievala až do Dunaja. 

Všetky politické a spoločenské udalosti sa v Prievidzi odohrávali na námestí. Dokonca si spomínam na jednu komunistickú schôdzu, ktorú rozháňali žandári. Určite sa konali aj častejšie, ale len tú jednu si spomínam. Mohlo to byť okolo roku 1930, pretože som chodil ešte do obecnej školy.

Moji rodičia sa volali Bernard Gubitsch a Zlatica Gubitschová, rodená Friedová. Otecko pochádzal z Urmína [Urmín, od roku 1948 premenovaný na Mojmírovce, okres Nitra – pozn. red.]. Cez túto obec preteká rieka Nitra. Tam žili aj jeho rodičia. Viem, že otec tam mal nejaký dom, skôr to bola barabizňa, pretože stále chodili žiadosti z Urmína aby ho dali do poriadku. No ale u nás nikdy neboli také prostriedky, ktoré by mohli ten dom opraviť. Napokon neviem ako to dopadlo. Otecko sa vyučil za kníhtlačiara v Budapešti. Bol dvakrát ženatý. Jeho prvú manželku som vôbec nepoznal. Myslím, že otecko ovdovel a potom sa oženil s mojou mamičkou. Z prvého manželsta asi nemal deti, a keď aj mal, tak som ich nepoznal. Otecko bol výborný človek. Rozumel nám veľmi dobre, nebránil sa detským hrám, naopak mňa veľmi podporoval v mojej záľube v športe. Brata, Ervína obzvlášť podporovať nemuseli, pretože on večne sedel doma nad knihami, to nebola žiadna zvláštnosť. Otec mu dokonca založil aj malú knihovňu v obchode, no a navštevoval aj mestskú knižnicu. Po vojne mi knihovníčka povedala, že takého čitateľa v Prievidzi, akým bol môj brat, nebolo. Ja som čítal tiež, ale nie toľko ako Ervín.

Mamička pochádzala z Banskej Bystrice, z Friedovej rodiny. Matka ukončila dvojročnú obchodnú školu v Banskej Bystrici a pracovala v továrni na liehoviny, zrejme ako úradníčka. Ako sa zoznámili s otcom, to neviem.  Viem, že medzi nimi bol veľký vekový rozdiel. Kedže mamička nebola nikde inde len v Medzibrode a v Banskej Bystrici, asi sa zoznámili prostredníctvom dohadzovača, čo v tej dobe nebolo nič neobvyklého. Aj napriek devätnásť ročnému vekovému rozdielu to bolo pekné manželstvo. Nepamätám sa, že by u nás boli bývali nejaké rozbroje, len naozaj na pekné detstvo. Bolo to zrejme dané tým, že otec nebol žiadny milionár. Žili sme skromne, z toho papiernictva, kníhkupectva a z kníhtlačiarne. Otec zamestnával jedného učňa Emila [Emil Steiner], a aj to bol syn od jeho sestri [Zofia Steinerova]. Vyučil sa u otca, zostal ako tovariš a nakoniec sa vysťahoval do Palestíny.

Mamička bola veľmi príjemná, veľmi vzdelaná, verná, manželka. Starala sa o nás vzorne. Nemala iný záujem než rodinu. Pomáhala otcovi v obchode ako predavačka a vyjednávala s dodávateľmi. Prišiel obchodný zástupca, pamätám sa na pána Klapáča z Prahy, priniesol dve veľké bedne a tam boli vzorky. Mamička vyberala a objednávala tovar. Vykonávala všetkú administratívu v obchode.

Našu finančnú situáciu by som charakterizoval, česky povedané: „Z ruky, do huby“. Žiadny veľký majetok sme nemali. Naopak, náš podnik držala nad vodou Gazdovská banka a jej riaditeľ Štefan Vunder, ktorý bol otcovým priateľom. Neviem či sa poznali z prvej svetovej vojny ale viem, že tá Gazdovská banka držala ruku nad podnikom, pretože po vojne sme museli zaplatiť šesdesiattisíc korunovú [v novembri 1945 bola stanovená relácia koruny k zlatu na l Kčs = 0,0177734 g zlata – pozn. red.] dlžobu, ktorú tam otec narobil. Štrnásť dní, čo bola matka doma prišiel dopis z Gazdovskej banky: „Vážená pani Gubitschová, dozvedeli sme sa, že ste prežili vojnu a Váš pán manžel zanechal dlžobu šesdesiattisíc korún. Žiadame Vás, aby ste do štrnástich dní prišli a ako zákonná dedička, vyrovnali dlžobu.“ Našťastie po roku 1939, kníhtlačiareň Patria [Patria: v roku 1899 otvoril Gubitsch prvú tlačiareň v Prievidzi. V roku 1917 pribudla v meste tlačiareň majiteľa Kohna. V roku 1939, spojením oboch, vznikla tlačiareň Patria. Tlačiareň pôsobí aj v súčasnosti a má približne 140 zamestnancov – pozn. red.], spolkla firmu Bernarda Gubitscha a dlžoby prešli na ňu. Arizátori [Arizácia: prechod židovských obchodov, firiem, podnikov, atď., do vlastníctva inej osoby (arizátora) – pozn. red.] ju presťahovali, mali veľké oči a mysleli si že zbohatnú, ale nezbohatli. Presťahovali všetko, dva stroje na tlačenie formátu A4 a jeden rýchlolis na plagátovacie potreby.

Rodičia sa medzi sebou väčšinou rozprávali slovensky, ale padla aj maďarčina a nemčina, pretože Prievidza bola obklúčená nemeckými dedinami. Nemecké Pravno [nem. Deutsch Pravno, od roku 1946 premenovaná na Nitrianske Pravno], Tužina [nem. Tuschina], Gajdel [nem. Gajdell], to boli samé nemecké obce. Oteckovým materinským jazykom bola maďarčina, ale nikdy nás ju neučil. Ako otecko rozprával, tak som sa naučil i ja. Doposiaľ sa ešte dohovorím maďarsky. Matka s otcom sa obliekali skromne, veľmi skromne. Otec mal sviatočný oblek a normálny oblek. Aj my deti sme mali jeden bežný oblek, v ktorom sme chodili - nohavice, krátke nohavice a kabáty s takými veľkými gombíkmi a sviatočné oblečenie tmavej farby. Žiadne módne výstrednosti sa u nás nepestovali.

Elektrina a vodovod boli v Prievidzi zavedené asi okolo  roku 1927. My sme mali trojizbový byt. Miestnosti boli za sebou v jednom rade a pokračovalo to tlačiarenskou miestnosťou, špajzou, drevárňou a za tým bola už záhrada majiteľa domu Chikana, písalo sa to s „CH“, ale čítalo sa to Čikan. On mal dvoch synov. Z jedným z nich, s Mikulášom som sa kamarátil. Aj naši rodičia mali dobré vzťahy celé tie dlhé roky, čo sme tam bývali.

Ako som už spomínal, bývali sme v podnájme v Chikanskom dome. Prvé poschodie obývali majitelia, Chikanovci. V prízemí bola obchodná miestnosť a jeden trojizbový byt. Spáľňa rodičov viedla do ulice. Bola tam aj jedna veľmi tmavá miestnosť, tá viedla oknom do brány,  a takzvaná jedáleň, kde sme sa zdržiavali. Dnes sa tomu hovorí obývacia miestnosť.  Samozrejme, k bytu patrila aj kuchyňa so špajzou. Okná boli situované do Piarickej ulice a do dvora. My deti sme dosť dlho spávali s rodičmi, až potom, keď bola v obývačke diváň, tak tam spal brat a ja som spal v tej prostrednej izbe.

K domu patrila aj záhrada, ktorú obhospodárovali majitelia, Chikanovci. Mamička mala len také drevené krabice  a tam si pestovala kvety. Mali sme aj pomocnicu v domácnosti ale len do veľkej hospodárskej krízi v tridsitich rokoch. Spomínam si, že v kuchyni sme mali štvorcový stôl, ktorý sa cez deň používal ako jedálenský stôl a v noci tam spala naša slúžka. Na jej meno si už nespomínam. Variť nevarila, len upratovala a dávala na nás pozor.

Rodičia veľmi nevyhladávali spoločnosť. Len otec chodil v nedeľu popoludní, čo matka nerada videla, do kaviarne kibicovať, pretože ako som už spomínal  matka mu nedovolila hrať karty. Matka mala dobrú priateľku, manželku prievidzkého fotografa. Ona skončila veľmi nepekne, samovraždou. Príčiny nepoznám, ale bolo to v čase keď prišiel fašizmus. Myslím, že to bola skôr nervová záležitosť, nie politická.

Otec mal brata. Žil údajne v Amerike. Neviem o ňom nič bližšie, len na to si spomínam, že k Roš hašana [židovský Nový rok – pozn. red.], každý rok prišiel z Ameriky pozdrav. Inak spolu žiadny iný styk nemali, ani žiadne peniaze neprichádzali. Nič, len ten jeden pozdrav. Až niekedy po roku 1989 12 nás prišiel navštíviť jeho vnuk, Dany Gubitsch a hľadal náš rodokmeň a aj jeho mamičky, ktorá pochádzala z východného Slovenska. Poznal som aj akurát otcovu sestru Žofiu Steinerovú.  Žofia mala len jedného syna Emila, ktorý sa u nás vyučil a vysťahoval sa do Palestíny.

Narodil som sa 1. júna 1922 v Prievidzi. Pamätám si veľmi dobre na svoje detstvo, hlavne na čas strávený vo dvore fotoateliéra Adolfa Kramera. Uňho sa v tom čase učil fotograf Braun, ktorý ma mal veľmi rád a všade ma brával so sebou. Braun bol veľký rybár a chodili sme spolu chytať ryby, ale nikdy nemal lístok, takže keď sme uvideli žandárov tak sme utekali. Pri Prievidzi smerom na Bojnice tečie Nitra, tak tam sme chodili.

Navštevoval som židovskú ľudovú školu v Prievidzi na Drevenom Rynku. Prvá a druhá trieda bola spojená, vyučovalo sa v jednej miestnosti. V židovskej škole som absolvoval päť tried. Vyučovalo sa väčšinou doobeda, ale niektoré predmety sme mali aj poobede. Určite viem, že náboženstvo bolo dopoludnia. V sobotu a v nedeľu sa výuka nekonala. V sobotu sa chodilo do synagógy. Nebol som nejaký mimoriadny žiak, aj keď som mal jednotky, ale doma som sa veľa neučil ako môj brat, ktorý sedel nad knihami a nad učebnicami a poznal ich naspamäť. Ja som sa venoval radšej športu. Mojim obľúbeným predmetom bol tiež šport [telesná výchova].
Riaditeľom školy bol bol Ungar, on bol taký ľudový človek. Často nás vodil na výlety na tzv. „púšť“. Púšť bola asi dva a pol, tri kilometre smerom na Vtáčnik [Vtáčnik: pohorie oblasti Slovenské stredohorie. Na západe, severe a severovýchode ho ohraničuje Hornonitrianska kotlina, pohorie Žiar a Strážovské vrchy, na východe Kremnické vrchy a Žiarska kotlina, na juhu Tríbeč a Štiavnické vrchy – pozn. red.]. A tam pre nás u horára stále objednal kyslé mlieko, v tom boli také hrudky. To sa už dnes „nepestuje“. Horár mal vlastnú kravičku, teda aj vlastné mlieko a on nám ho pripravoval. Pamätám sa, platili sme päťdesiat halierov. Ja som si to kyslé mlieko tak obľúbil, že dodnes ma neprestalo baviť, ale žial, dnes sa už nevyrába. Bola to výborná pochúťka.
Chodil som do Makkabi 13 v Prievidzi a bol som aj veľmi dobrý volejbalista. Síce som malej postavy, ale ako nahrávač som bol vychýrený tým, že som vedel zalievať. Tak si ma vyberali smečiari ako nahrávača. Volejbal ma bavil aj na gymnáziu a držalo ma to až do neskoršieho veku. Ešte aj po vojne v Karlových Varoch som hral volejbal. To bol môj obľubený šport. Inak som športoval, korčuľoval som sa. Keď som bol starší, mal som aj bicyekl. Nie nejaký závodný, ale normálny štandardný bycikel.

Prievidzké Makkabi malo asi 20 – 25 členov. Zameriavalo sa tam hlavne na telovýchovu. Zvlášt sme tam chodili diečatá a zvlášť chlapci. Makkabi malo priestroy v židovskej základnej škole. Tam bola záhrada a aj volejbalový kurt, hrazda. Samostatnú telocvičňu sme nemali, prenajímali sa priestory prievidzkého gymnázia. Cvičenia sa konali dva – trikrát do týždňa vždy po večeroch. Nejaké väčšie športové úspechy asi družstvo nedoshovalo, len muži sa zúčastnili na makkabiáde v Žiline, niekedy v tridsiatich rokoch.

Gymnázium som absolval v Prievidzi. Riaditeľom bol pán Lenčo. Ja si spomínam len na profesora kreslenia, volal sa Vtáčnik, ktorý si ma v prvom štvrťroku zavolal a predviedol pred triedu a hovorí: „Pozrite sa tu Gubitsch, v živote z neho maliar nebude. Ale nikto z tých niekoľko sto žiakov, čo som doposiaľ učil, mi za prvý štvrťrok neodovzdal dvadsaťštyri výkresov! Maliar z neho nebude, ale je to velice obetavý a činorodý človek!“ K mojim obľúbencom v škole patril aj profesor Hromádko, učiteľ telocviku. Myslím, že to bolo vzájomné, pretože som spĺňal jeho prísne podmienky. On mal rôzne vnemotechnické pomôcky, napríklad pri upažovaní sme museli stáť rovno ako pravítko, ktoré aj používal. Vždy hovoril: „Snažte sa prostredníčkami rozbiť múry telocvične napravo a naľavo. Budete mať upaženie bez toho, aby ste sa dívali na ruky a budete ich mať upažené ako pravítko.“ Ja som to dodržiaval, tak ma považoval za vzor, preto som zvykol predcvičovať. Ako dieťa som bol šikovný na tie športy. Aktívne som hrával volejbal. Telocvikár Hromádko ma zaradil do družstva oktávy, aj keď ja som bol mladší. Tak toto sú také študentské spomienky. Gymnázium bolo pekné. Budova stojí dodnes. Krásna záhrada tam bola, a keď prišiel rok 1938, tak z toho urobil veľké cvičište pre brannú výchovu, pretože branná výchova sa zaviedla ako predmet do škôl. Čakalo sa, že Hitler napadne Československo a s nami sa rátalo ako s vojakmi 14.
Z gymnázia som absolvoval len štyri triedy a v roku 1936 som sa šiel učiť kníhtlačiarskemu remeslu. Bol som už vyučený úradník, preto mi ako bývalému gymnazistovi odpustili jeden rok učebnej doby. Učebná doba bola v tom čase štyri roky a gymnazistom sa rok odpúšťal. Úradne som bol vyučený 31. augusta 1939, no ale to už bol Slovenský štát 15 a na tovarišskú skúšku ma nepripustili.V roku 1942, kedy začali deportácie 11, presadili, neviem to presne ale mám taký pocit, že to bola komunistická intervencia, aby ma pripustili k tovarišským skúškam. Domov mi ale prišli dve pozvánky. Jedna na tovarišskú skúšku v Nitre a druhá do tábora Nováky 16. Otec mi telefonoval, pretože v 1942 som bol už na hachšare 17 v Budmericiach pri Trnave: „Tak čo budeš robiť?“  Povedal som: „Nerob si starosti otec, ja na tovarišskú skúšku pôjdem, pretože to je moja životná otázka, no a potom sa uvidí.“ 30. marca som teda absolvoval tovarišké skúšky. V nedeľu som prišiel do Nitry, prespal som u otcovej sestry [Žofia Steinerová] a v pondelok ráno som šiel do tlačiarne Štefana Husára v Nitre. Pamätám sa, že tovarišská skúška mala byť na dva dni, ale po praktickej časti v pondelok ma popoludní o štvrtej hodine prijal Husár a povedal mi: „No tak, od majstra tu mám správu, že ste praktickú skúšku zložil a mali by ste ešte robiť teoretickú časť v utorok, ale ja viem že ste vzdelaný chlapec“. Tak mi položil tri alebo štyri ľahké otázky, či viem kto bol Guttenberg a podobné veci okolo tlačiarne. Husár vedel aká je situácia, tak som nemusel prísť v utorok, a mohol som ísť už  v pondelok večer domov. Doma bolo veľké haló, pretože z Hašomer hacairu 18 sme sa mali ísť schovávať do Nízkych Tatier [Nízke Tatry: nachádzajú sa na Slovensku a je v nich vyhlásený národný park. Pohorie Nízke Tatry sa tiahne v dĺžke 80 km smerom zo západu na východ medzi údoliami riek Váh a Hron. Najvyššie vrchy sú Ďumbier (2043 m) a Chopok (2024 m) – pozn. red.], ale rodičia ma nechceli pustili do neznáma, že pekne pôjdem do nováckeho tábora.
V školských rokoch som mal veľmi dobrého priateľa Vladka [Vladimír] Kuhra. Vladko bol synom českého lesmajstra Kuhra. Mal ešte dve, alebo tri sestry. Dokonca aj s nimi som sa kamarátil. Vladko bol najlepší kamarát a potom ešte Lacko [Ladislav] Kelermen, syn predsedu Neologickej židovskej náboženskej obce v Prievidzi. Už aj v predbojnovom období sme pociťovali antisemitizmus, ešte dnes si pamätám na tie posmešky: „Žid smrad kolovrat, má na riti vinohrad! Vinohrad sa krúti, Žida hovno zrúti!“ Kresťanské deti to na nás pokrikovali na Drevenom Ringu. Tam sme hrávali fudbalové zápasy, Židia proti kresťanom. Raz sme vyhrali my raz oni, ale obyčajne to končilo tým, že na nás pokrikovali túto riekanku. Aj my sme pokrikovali: „Kresťan, katolík, vysral sa na kolík. Nejak vežu odrežú,...“ Neviem ako to už bolo ďalej.

Môj brat, Ervín Gubitsch, sa narodil v roku 1920 v Banskej Bystrici. Medzi nami bol dvojročný vekový rozdiel. Od malička sedel na knihách. Mali sme písací stôl so šuflíkmi, ktoré boli plné kníh. V neskoršíh rokoch potom aj v otcovom obchode bola menšia knižnica. Iné záujmy asi ani nemal. Mal jedného veľmi dobrého kamaráta Karolka [Karol] Handlera. Karol bol veľký komunista, neviem či nebol predseda konsomolu. Počas vojny bol ale veľmi nešikovný, pretože ho povolali na vojnu a vtedy sa z vojenčiny dalo za desať korún na deň vykúpiť. On spravil tú kardinálnu chybu, že sa vykúpil a prišiel do Prievidze. Samozrejme fašisti to zistili a prvým transportom ho odvliekli. Karolko bol veľmi nadaný novinár. Písal do A - Z, to bol bulvárny časopis. Viem že si chodil požičiavať knihy  a noviny k nám do obchodu. Tam čítal, pretože jeho otec bol sklenár. Mal síce sklenárstvo v Prievidzi na Piarickej ulici, ale bol veľmi nešikovný. Keď rezal sklo, tak viacej škody narobil ako osohu, kým sa mu podarilo zarámovať obraz. Takže neboli bohatý, patril k chudobnej časti prievidzkých remeselníkov.

Ervín navštevoval židovskú základnú školu v Prievidzi a Gymnázium v Banskej Bystrici, kde aj zmaturoval. Lenže v tom čase už bol viacmenej platný Numerus clausus [obmedzenie prijímať študentov na základe ekonomických alebo politických dôvodov – pozn. red.], takže už nemohol ísť študovať. Ervín tým veľmi trpel. Pamätám sa, že v roku 1938 po Mníchovskej schôdzke 19 sa hodil na diváň a začal revať: „Nič nebude! Nič nebude! Žiadne štúdia nebudú!“ Bol to pre neho taký nervový šok, z ktorého sa prakticky už nikdy nespamätal. I keď po vojne mohol študovať, aj som ho presviedčal, prišiel za mnou aj do Prahy. Mohol študovať, pretože som pomerne slušne zarábal a mal som aj byt, kde bolo možné dať aj druhú posteľ, ale nemal už silu. Po zvyšok života sa živil všeliakým, k jeho nadaniu a inteligencii, neadekvátnym spôsobom. Robil napríklad vrátnika v Bojnických kúpeľoch a prakticky aj vyhadzovača v reštauráciách. Oženil sa, jeho manželka bola tiež Židovka. Mala za sebou Osvienčim. Mal dve dievčatá, Katku [Katarína], vyštudovala právo. Myslím, že už je sudkyňou v Prievidzi a druhá dcéra, Marika [Mária] zostala robotníčkou. Myslím, že sa vyučila kuchárkou.

Rodičia boli neológovia, ale všetky sviatky sa dodržiavali. Na Roš hašana sa chodilo do synagógy a po sviatku sme mali slávnostnú veľkú večeru, ktorá pozostávala z predkrmu – nejaká miešanina chrenu. Ďalej sa podávala mäsová polievka s knedlíčkami a hlavné jedlo. Na stole samozrejme nesmela chýbať mrkva nakrájaná na kolieska, med a jabĺčka [na Roš hašana sa jedia tradičné jedlá, ktoré majú svoju symboliku. Napr. mrkva symbolizuje hojnosť, jablká namočené v mede, dobrý a sladký nadchádzajúci rok – pozn. red.]. Nedodržiavalo sa to úplne ortodoxne, ale len ten židovský zvyk. Rodičia držali pôst na Jom kipur [Deň zmierenia. Najslávnostnejšia udalosš v židovskom kalendáry – pozn. red.], ale ja som bol rebel tak som si dokonca kúpil bravčovú šunku a tajne sme ju jedli s kamarátom. Brat myslím, tiež držal pôst. Jemu to bolo jedno, on sedel doma len nad knihami a nemal chuť na jedlo.

Na Chanuku [Chanuka: sviatok svetiel, tiež pripomína povstanie Makabejcov a opätovné vysvätenie chrámu v Jeruzaleme – pozn. red.] sa zapaľovala menóra, ktorá sa dala do okna a myslím, že na druhý deň sa šlo do synagógy. Sviečky sme zapaľovali my s bratom a otec sa modlil. My sme sa veľmi nemodlili, i keď sme sa vedeli. Ešte aj dnes prečítam hebrejskú abecedu. V detstve sme sa hrali aj s trenderli [Denderli, trenderli: v jiddiš ’dreidl’. Štvorstranné otáčadlo. Počas sviatku chanuka sa s ním hrajú deti o peniaze, ktoré im darovali počas tohoto sviatku. Peniaze sa často nahrádzali inými komoditami, jako napríklad ovocím alebo cukrovinkami – pozn. red.] o oriešky a tak. Sukot [Sukot: Sviatok stanov. Po celý týždeň, kedy sviatok prebieha, panuje jedinečná sviatočná atmosféra, pričom najpodstatnejšie je prebývať v suke – pozn. red.] sme držali podľa predpisov. Na dvore sme mali každý rok postavený stánok. Vlastník domu nebol veľmi nábožensky založený, takže on nenamietal nič. Ani jeho manželka, ktorá pochádzala z veľmi kresťanskej prievidzkej rodiny nenamietala nič. Počas sviatku sme sa len v stánku stravovali.

Pesach [Pesach: pripomína odchod izraelcov z egyptského zajatia a vyznačuje sa mnohými predpismy a zvykmi. Hlavný je zákaz konzumácie všetkého kvaseného – pozn. red.] sa tiež dodržiaval. Bolo veľké upratovanie. Zvyčajne upratovala matka, ale aj ja som pomáhal. Vytiahli sme pesachový riad a bežný sme odložili a kúpili sa macesy. Večer sa konal séder [Séder: termín vyjadrujúci domácu bohoslužbu a predpísaný rituál pre prvú noc sviatku Pesach – poz. red.], podávala sa polievka s macesovými knedlíkmy. Na stole bola octová voda, vajíčka, všetko to čo tam má byť. Bola pripravená aj čaša s vínom. Zo zvyku som musel klásť aj otázky [Ma ništana: štyri otázky tradične prednesené najmladším účastníkom sederu – pozn. red.], ale to bola len formalita. Vedel som, že sa to patrí, tak som nechcel otcovi odporovať.

S bratom sme mali bar micvu [„syn prikázania“, židovský chlapec, ktorý dosiahol trinásť rokov. Obrad, pri ktorom je chlapec prehlásený bar micvou, od tejto chvíle musí plniť všetky prikázania predpísané Tórou – pozn. red.]. Niečo si z toho ešte aj pamätám. Najprv som v synagóge musel odriekať pasáž z Tóry, síce som ovládal hebrejščinu, ale som sa to nenaučil naspamäť, tak s pomocou predriekača som to nejako povedal. Popoludní bola hostina. Pri príležitosti mojej bar micva som dostal nový oblek, taký námornícky s veľkými gombíkmi. S bratom sme sa hrali na schovávačku. V blízkosti bol kurník a ja som tam vyliezol a skočil dole. Celé nohavice som si roztrhal. To bolo veľké haló, myslím že som dostal aj na zadok. Prvý a posledný raz, čo si pamätám že som dostal na zadok. „Čo si myslíš, že kradneme!“ hovoril otec. „Vieš koľko to stálo peňazí?“ Na tú dobu to bol drahý oblek. Inak som nebol nábožensky založený. Bol som členom Hašomer Hacairu, čo bola ateistická organizácia a ja som sa podľa toho riadil.

Hašomer Hacair som navštevoval od svojich desiatich rokov. Otec to toleroval, ale skôr by som povedal, že sa to snažil nebrať na vedomie. Stretávali sme sa raz za týždeň a potom na letnom tábore. Jeden bol dokonca aj v Prievidzi, lenže to bolo nešťastie, že sa tam nevarilo kóšer. Tábor bol asi tri kilometre za Prievidzou. Rodičia sa vybrali na prechádzku a prišli ma pozrieť. Keď uvideli, kde sme, tak to bol môj posledný tábor. Až v roku 1938 sa mi podarilo  dostať do Považskej Bystrice na tábor, a aj to som šiel so súhlasom starej matky. Najprv som pricestoval do Banskej Bystrice na prázdniny a prehovoril som babku, aby ma pustila. Napokon otec na to aj tak prišiel a po týždni ma zobral domov.

Na týždenné stretávky hašomeru som ale chodil pravidelne. Učili sme sa hebrejštinu a chodili sme na výlety. Počas vojnového obdobia som krátky čas bol aj v Hachšare, ktorú otvorili v Prievidzi v roku 1939. Vtedy už som bol síce vyučený, ale nemohol som ísť k záverečným skúškam. Ako tovariš som nedostal žiadnu prácu a naša tlačiareň bola už viac – menej arizovaná, tak som odišiel na Hachšaru. Najprv do Heumanovskej tehelne, tam sa pracovalo buď priamo v tehelni alebo u rôznych obchodníkov. Bolo nás tam jedenásť, z toho jedno dievča. Binaciová z Prešova, alebo zo Sabinova. Veľmi sa mi páčila. V Prievidzi sme sa veľmi neučili, skôr sme pracovali v priemyselných podnikoch ako Carpathii. Na Hachšare v Letanovciach, tak tam sme sa učili poľnohospodárstvu, pretože to bol statok. Odtiaľ sme chodili aj na Nový Majer u Budmeríc a tam sme tiež vykonávali poľnohospodárske práce a pracovali sme v maštaliach. To bol židovský statok, ktorý mal výnimku od prezidenta Tisa. Bolo nás tam desať chlapcov a jedno dievča. Rachel Hoffmanová, zhodou okolností z Prievidze. Veľmi usilovné dievča. Pochádzala z chudobnej rodiny, žial neprežila vojnu.

V Hachšare sa často konali rôzne prednášky o sionizme 20 a židovstve. Pamätám si obzvlášť na prednášku doktora Oskara Neumanna 21, pretože poznámky z jeho prednášky mám dodnes. Poznal som len jedného človeka, ktorý sa vysťahoval do Palestíny a to bol môj bratranec Emil Steiner. Odišiel v roku 1939 v prvej vlne vysťahovalestva, ktorú organizoval Hechaluc 22.

V Budmericiach sme pracovali na Sonnenfeldovskom majetku. To bol poľnohospodársky statok, ja som pracoval konkrétne v sviniarni. Veľmi ma to zaujímalo, hlavne šlachtiteľská stanica, pretože tam sa krížili nemecký Edelschwein s anglickými matkami. To boli také dlhé svine, ktoré sa posielali do Prahy na pražské šunky. Sonnenfeld bol veľmi odmeraný židovský statkár, veľký pán, ani raz sa neprišiel pozrieť na ubikáciu, kde sme bývali. Ubytovanie bolo veľmi skromné, jedna izba a kuchyňka. V kuchyňke spala Rachel Hoffmanová a nás desať chlapcov spalo na pričniach v tej malej izbe.

Za války

V roku 1942, ako som už spomínal mi otec zavolal, že som dostal pozvánku na tovarišské skúšky a to ma vlastne zachránilo pred transportom, pretože medzitým ako som telefonoval s otcom, prišla eskorta a všetkých z hachšary odviekla. Po skúškach som prišiel domov a bola z toho veľká tragédia. Ja som nechcel nastúpiť do Novák, ale obaja rodičia sa rozplakali, čo som to za syna, lebo keď nepôjdem ja, zoberú ich.. Neplatilo nič, i keď som im hovoril, že je to len otázka času kedy zoberú aj ich. Najprv berú mladých chlapcov a potom prídu na rad aj oni. Nepomohlo to. Nnakoniec som súhlasil a povedal: „Tak dobre pôjdem do tábora.“ Ešte si pamätám aj na dátum, 31. marca 1942.

Pracovný tábor Nováky bol zriadený v roku 1941 na území vojenských skladov. Boli to tri objekty, medzi ktorými bolo asi asi desať barakov. Najvyšší povolený stav v Novákoch bol asi tisíc - tisícdvesto ľudí, vraj to presadil generál Čatloš 23, minister vnútra Slovenského štátu. Z Novák sa uskutočnili aj prvé transporty do Poľska. Z jedného tákehoto transportu do Poľska, v ktorom som mal byť aj ja, ale prievidžania v židovskej rade tábora ma v poslednej chvíli vytiahli z transportu a preradili na tretí objekt, pretože tam boli sústredení tí, čo pracovali. Prvý objekt bol koncentračný [sústreďovali sa tam ľudia na ďalšie deportácie – pozn. red.], pod druhý spadali hospodárske budovy a kuchyňa. 

Mal som kamaráta Alfréda Löwyho a Lacka [Ladislav] Kelermana, ktorí boli bratranci. Mamička Lacka a otec Alfrédka boli brat a sestra. Otec Lacka bol predsedom náboženskej obce v Prievidzi, tak mal nejaké styky. Keď som prišiel do tábora tak ma „vykradli“ z transportu do Poľska a odviezli, do toho tretieho objektu, a pridelili ma k Nándorovi Löwymu, otcovi Alfréda Löwyho. Nándora Löwyho pracoval v Novákoch ako závozník. Mal k dispozícii koňa a voz a stral sa o zásobovanie tábora. Zásobáreň bývalej Československej armády bola v Zemianskych Kostoľanoch, ale často sme chodili aj do Prievidze. Samozrejme, že ma využívali, musel som nosiť ilegálne do tábora rôzne balíčky a potraviny od príbuzných.

Nándor Löwy bol dlhé roky prievidzkým hasičom, čo bola veľká zvláštnosť, pretože Židia neboli veľmi hasičmi. V celej Prievidzi boli len dvaja v hasičskej jednotke. Klampiar, Nándor Löwy jeho konkurencia tiež klampiar Spitzer. Löwy sa stal závozníkom, čo bolo veľmi dobré, pretože mal rôzne známosti. Patril k nim aj Štefan Wunder, ktorý vlastnil veľkoobchod s potravinovým tovarom a bol jedným zo zásbovateľov tábora.  Najmenej raz za týždeň sme boli v Prievidzi u Wundera a niekedy aj u Kardoša, druhého veľkoobchodníka, ale on sa nechcel veľmi angažovať, mal strach. Wunder bol veľmi kresťansky orientovaný, bol aj funkcionárom v katolíckej organizácii, Orol. Návšteva Wundera vyzerala asi takto: v predu bol obchod a vzadu boli obchodné miestnosti a sklad. My sme prichádzali zo zadu a viac menej pololegálne sme nakladali tovar. Väčšina vecí prechádzala účtovaním, ale vždy sme nakladali aj veci, ktoré sa na čierno pašovali. Pamätám sa, raz sa nám podarilo priniesť do tábora celú bedničku sardiniek. To bolo také obzvláštnenie jedálnička, inak stravovanie bolo veľmi skromné. Občas sme dostali aj nejaké to mäso aj to pololegálne sa privážali tie telatá. Považujem za jeden z tých zázrakov, ktoré sa stali, že sa nám to vždy prepieklo.

Ako závozník som zažil aj jednu veľmi, veľmi nepríjemnú udalosť. Löwyovci mali tri deti – Alfréda, Paľka [Pavol] a ešte jedno dievčatko. Paľko a Alfréd sa zachránil, ale to dievčatko odviekli do Poľska. Ich matka ma nemohla ani vidieť, pretože hneď začala revať „Ty si tuna a moje dieťa je preč!“ Nezniesla kamarátov svojej dcéry, s tým sa nedalo nič robiť. Tak som sa snažil nechodiť jej  na oči, čo bolo ťažké, pretože som jej manželovi robil závozníka.

V Novákoch sa sformovala ilegálna komunistická organizáciu. Dalo by sa povedať, že ju viedli bratia Hagarovci [František Hagar a Jozef Hagar – pozn. red.]. Tí utiekli a vytvorili na Vtáčniku poloilegálnu organizáciu, pretože ju prenasledovali len tak naoko, pred Nemcami. V skutočnosti to bola dosť veľká organizácia. Podporovali ju ľudia z okolitých obcí, nosili sa im aj potraviny. Aj ja som chodil z tábora ilegálne na Vtáčnik. Cez tábor tiekol potôčik hore až na Vtáčnik a okolo potôčika sme v noci chodili hore. Pod ostnatým drôtom sme urobili dieru a v noci sme vynášali potraviny. K táboru prišli spojky a im sme predávali balíky. Okolo tábora bola dosť veľa zelene, vysoké stromy a tam sme im to predávali. Samozrjeme niektorí väzni nám to vyčítali, ale my sme im to vysvetľovali, že mi v tábore ešte niečo máme, ale oni nemajú nič, takže je našou povinnosťou pomôcť im. Na Vtáčniku pôsobila aj Hornonitrianska partizánska brigáda bratia Hagarovci, František Mišeje. Ja som robil spojku medzi táborom a partizánmi. Pamätám sa ako keby to bolo dnes. V máji 1943 som šiel s tábora okolo riečky hore až na Vtáčnik, vyviedli ma až úplne hore. Bol krásny deň a ukázali mi tábor, bolo vidieť všetky tri objekty tábora. Strechy boli z térového papiera a slniečko ich krásne osvetľovalo. Bol to pohľad za všetky peniaze. V noci som prišiel do tábora a priniesol som správu, že druhú zimu neprežijeme v tábore, pretože v roku 1944 bude povstanie 2.

Vedenie tábora o našich nočných výletoch vedelo. V 1942-m sme chodili popod ostnatý drôt a po Stalingrade 24 v roku 1943 sme si už obstarali klúč od brány. Pretože po Stalingrade tieklo do topánok aj gardistom 25 a už neboli tak prísni a tvrdí. Zvlášť jeden gardista sa angažoval, nie verejne ale skryto, aj kľúče nám dal. „Ale musíte len v noci vychádzať, nie cez deň!“ V strojárskej dielni sme si vyrobili kľúč a dostali sme sa normálne von. V roku 1943, pri treťom tábore bola vytvorená židovská stráž, tak sme už nemuseli chodiť pod plotom a na čierno.Veliteľom Nováckeho tábora bol Polhora, ktorý po vojne utiekol. Chytili ho v Rakúsku a odsúdili ho. Jozef Polhora, fešák v gardistickej uniforme. Po Stalingrade ho vymenili, pretože sa aj gardistické hliadky menili na žandárske. To bola tá alibistická politika Slovenskej fašistickej vlády. Žandári nám šli často na ruku, nevšímali si, keď sme šli z tábora, už to bolo lepšie.

Tábor bol prakticky oslobodený Slovenským národným povstaním, 28. augusta 1944 a tým skončila aj novácka éra. Časť bývalých väzňov nás nastúpilo do Nováckej jednotky. Vedúcim jednotky sa stal prievidzký profesor Imrich Müller. Po vojne nemal dobrý osud, pretože v päťdesiatich rokoch bol prenasledovaný. V prvých dňoch povstania mnoho z nás padlo pri Baťovanoch. Neviem, či to bol vplyv antiseminizmu, alebo nás Židov považovali za najobetavejších vojakov, ale ocitli sme sa v prvej línii. Ja som tam našťastie nebol, pretože som ešte mal prácu v tábore. Keďže sme nemali vojenskú prípravu preradili nás do vojenského prípravného tábora v Hiadly [obec Hiadel]. Po páde povstania sme sa pridali k Jegorovovej brigáde, žili sme v zrube nad Pohronským Bukovcom. V zrube nás bolo desať, dvaja ruský parašutisti Nikolaj Galkin a Jevgenij Jonuv. Jonuv bol Čuvaš a  Galkin bol pôvodne Sibíran, ale považovali sme ho za Rusa. Boli tam aj dvaja Francúzi, Janko Brada z Banskej Bystrice, zhodou okolností môj kamarát. Bývali v Banskej Bystrici v štvrti zvanej Hušťák, priamo na Hrone. Vlastnili obchod so železom, Braunovci. Až po vojne si zmenili meno na Brada. Janko Brada prežil, bol som s ním po vojne a myslím že sa vysťahoval do Izreala.

Z Bukovca nám nosili sedliaci a sedliačky chlieb, slaninu, vajíčka a maslo. Oni nás praktricky živili. Chodili sme ale aj na prepady. Pamätám sa na jeden prepad, kedy to bolo veľmi nahnuté. Dostali sme hlášku, že okolo desiatej večer pôjde kolónia Nemcov z Brezna na Banskú Bystricu. Tak sme ich prepadli. Došlo k prestrelke, ale Nemci si vyžiadali svetlicami pomoc z Banskej Bystrice a museli sme ustúpiť. Mne sa podarilo ujsť po hrebeni. Niekedy vo februári, myslím že 28. februára 1945 sme prišli do Mýta pod Ďumbierom. Dozvedeli sme sa, že toto územie už je oslobodené. Ubytovali nás jednotlivo po domoch. Zažil som aj jeden dobrodružný príbeh. Pridelili ma na povalu k jednej starej žene. Na povale bola slama a seno, kedže som bol na smrť unavený rýchlo som zaspal. Keď som sa prebudil nadomnou stál sedliak s vidlami. Veľmi mi do smiechu nebolo, ale napokon všetko dobre dopadlo. Z Mýta pod Ďumbierom sme šli pešo do Popradu a tam našu bojovú jednotku rozpustili. Tým pre mňa skončilo povstanie. V Poprade som nastúpil do tlačiarní, radovali sa, že prišiel sadzač. Moja prvá práca bola sadzať mobolizačnú vyhlášku. V Poprade som bol len mesiaca, pretože hneď ako som sa dozvedel, že matka prežila vybral som sa do Prievidze.

Brat bol ročník 1920, takže v roku 1939 musel narukovať do takzvanej „kóšer roty“, ktorá pôsobila na východnom Slovensku. Brat sa dostal do tábora, ktorého veliteľom sa stal bývalí prievidzký starosta Anton Adamic, invalid z prvej svetovej vojny. Keď prišiel brat do tábora a uvidel na zozname meno Gubitsch Ervín nechal nastúpiť celý tábor chlapcov a zakričal: „Gubitsch vystúpi! Pozrite sa, to je syn najslušnejšej židovskej rodiny v Prievidzi.“ Starosta Adamic ho urobil kantínskym, nebol deportovaný a tým pádom sa zachránil. Minister  národnej obrany Ferdinant Čatloš sa ujal židovskej pracovnej roty 26. Napriek tomu že sa ich snažili likvidovať, tak sa hovorí, že on zachránil rotu pred deportáciou. Odmietol ich deportovať, argumentoval tým, že sú to vojaci. Po absolvovaní vojenčiny ich previedli buď do Nováckého tábora, alebo do pracovného tábora v Seredi 27.

V roku 1942 sa brat dostal do nováckeho tábora. Zaradili ho ako syna kníhtlačiara do kartonážnej dielne a práve v kartonážnej dielni sa stala zaujímavá udalosť. V ´43-ťom roku, po Stalingradskej bitke prišla z Bratislavy, z ministerstva vnútra delegácia. Delegácia sa skladala z členov ministerstva vnútra, vedúci delegácie sa volal Pečúch [Július Pečúch]. Prišli asi čuchať, čo si myslia Židia o riešení židovskej otázky. Pečúch prišiel k bratovi a spýtal sa: „Čo bude s nami po vojne?“ Brat akurát pracoval na kartonážnom stroji, ktorý spracovával papundekel [lepenka]. Neodpovedal mu, ale nakreslil na ten papudekel srp [kosák] a kladivo. Pečúch sa ho znova opýtal: „No a čo urobíte s nami?“ Brat odpovedal: „Obesia vás!“ Tak z toho bol veľký poprask v tábore, každý si myslel, že zoberú brata a obesia jeho, ale nestalo sa nič. On mal sklony vydávať sa za hrdinu. Brat zostal v tomto zmysle hrdinom nováckeho tábora. To už bolo v roku 1943, po Stalingrade. Po oslobodení tábora sa pridal tiež k partizánskej jednotke a po vojne sa vrátil domov. Neboli sme spolu v jednotke, nevedeli sme o sebe, až po vojne.

Matka prežila, ale otec zomrel v horách v jej náručí. Skrývali sa v chate nad Horným Jelencom. Otec mal cukrovku a omrzli mu nohy, dostal gangrénu... Pochovaný je nad Horným Jelencom, nechceli nám povoliť exhumáciu. Úrady žiadal za vydanie povolenia päťdesiattisíc korún a ja som nemal ani päťtisíc, nie ešte päťdesiattisíc korún. Tak sme si povedali s bratom: „Obaja sme boli partizáni, otec zostane ležať v horách!“

Po válce

Mama zostala žiť v Prievidzi, v roku 1946 bola už na tom po zdravotnej stránke veľmi zle a v júni aj zomrela. Pochovali sme ju v Prievidzi na židovskom cintoríne, ktorý bohužial už zlikvidovali. Židovský cintorín bol na ceste smerom na Handlovú. Keď som tam bol naposledy, tak tam stál ešte dom smútku, ale hroby už boli zlikvidované. Pochovával ju niekto z prievidzkej náboženskej obce, pretože po vojne sa židovská obec obnovila. Vrátilo sa nás asi štyridsať, ale potom sa všetci vysťahovali do Palestíny. Už ani neviem prečo som sa tiež nevysťahoval. Nemali sme ani prostriedky a tam sa sťahovali skôr ľudia, ktorí mali poschovávané prostriedky, alebo mali zlato, ktoré speňažili. My sme mali schované akurát doklady.

V Prievidzi nám pridelili malú izbietku s kuchyňou. Nastúpil som do tlačiarne Patria ako sadzač. Mal som taký detský sen, ako sadzač som chcel študovať tipografiu v Lipsku, pretože Lipsko bolo najväčšiou tipografickou veľmocou v Európe. Vedel som, že je to len sen a nemôžem sa tam dostať, tak som prijal miesto v Prahe. V 1945-tom som sa teda na korbe nákladného auta Carpathie vybral do Prahy. Heumanovci, majitelia marmeládky mi dali adresu, kam mám ísť. Kupodivu som tam trafil veľmi jednoducho. Dostali sme izbu v Prahe III. Na ulici Liliová. Bývali sme tam traja. Ja, syn Heumanovcov a ešte jedna žena. Heuman  sa potom vysťahoval, tak som zostal sám. Zamestnanie som mal blízko, len som prešiel cez dvor a už som bol v tlačiarni. Bolo to premňa výhodné, bral som 4500 korún [v novembri 1945 bola stanovená relácia koruny k zlatu na l Kčs = 0,0177734 g zlata – pozn. red.]. Bol som slobodný, do Národného divadla som to mal päť minút, do Stavovského divadla, na Vltavu som to mal tiež päť minút a na Betlehemské námestie som sa díval z okna, takže pre mňa to boli  krásne roky 1945 a 1946.

V roku 1947 som prišiel na liečenie do Karlových Varov a spoznal som tu svoju manželku, ktorá sem chodila na návštevy ku svojej kamarátke. Slovo dalo slovo a na Mikuláša 1947 sme sa vzali. Pridelili nám jednoizbový byt. Zamestnal som sa v tlačiarni. Nemal som problémy kvôli svôjmu židovskému pôvodu. Som komunikatívny človek, nemal som problém zaradiť sa do kolektívu. Športoval som hrával som stolný tenis. Podnik mal oddiel stolného tenisu, hneď ma prijali aj do družstva. Hrali sme aj krajský preboj. Už ani neviem ako ma vtiahli do funkcie krajského tajomníka. To bolo vo februári 1948 28. Komunistická strana pred februárom 1948 vytvorila tzv. funkciu ujezdných [obvodný] tajomníkov. Každý okres bol rozdelený na obvody. Bol to ohromný ťah Komunistickej strany, pretože sa dostala blízko k ľuďom. Ja som mal na starosti asi päť organizácií. Schôdze sa konali aspoň raz týždenne, niekedy aj dvakrát. Vo februári som sa zúčastnil aj tých februárových udalostí.

Nastúpil som do funkcie sekretára Okresného výboru KSČ. V tejto funkcii som bol päť rokov a potom som robil na Krajskom výbore ako referent kultúry. To je smutná kapitola môjho života, aj keď mám čisté ruky. Nemám ani štipku krvy za nechtami, ani ma neprenasledovali po revolúcii, pretože som sa choval normálne. Môžem sa s kľudným svedoním pozrieť na tých päť rokov, ale na druhej strane predsa to len nebol žiaden med byť sekretárom komunistiskej strany. Bolo tu dosť takých všelijakých komunistov, takže to bolo dosť ťažké. Mal som aj veľa nepriateľov. Napokon som musel odísť so svojej funkcie a robil už len sadzača v tlačiarni, odkiaľ som šiel aj do dôchodku.

Prežil som demokraciu ako spoločenské zriadenie, mal som za sebou partizánske hnutie a ilegálnu prácu komunistickú. Pre mňa to bolo samozrejmé, že som po vojne zostal komunistom. V pädesiatych rokoch ma vyrazili. Neprijal som to veľmi dobre, preto som sa snažil, aby ma prijali späť, čo sa mi napokon aj podarilo, ale potom 29 ma znovu vyrazili. Bol som pre nich príliš veľký demokrat.

Svoju manželku [Terézia Gubičová, rod. Schweitová] som povrchne poznal už z Hašomer Hacairu. Znova sme sa stretli tu v Karlových Varoch. Ja som prišiel do Varov na liečenie a zapáčilo sa mi tu. Dostal som tu prácu a pridelili mi aj byt. Manželka pochádzala z Levoče, ale po vojne stratila domov tak prišla za kamarátkou do Kraslíc. Zamestnala sa v závode Amati, ktorý vyrábal hudobné nástroje. Do Varov chodila k svojej kamarátke. Slovo dalo slovo a na Mikuláša 1947 sme mali svadbu. Svadba bola židovská, veľmi skromná. Zúčastnili sa na nej len manželkiny svedkovia a môj svedok Janko [Jan] Porges. Traja svedkovia a my. To bolo všetko. Manželka po svadbe najprv pracovala na okresnom výbore a po roku dostala miesto na základnej škole. Učila na prvom stupni.

Narodili sa nám dve deti. V roku 1949 dcéra Tatiana a v 1950-tom syn Igor. Obe naše deti pracujú ako učitelia. Tatianna sa vydala za pána Koskuba, ale rozviedli sa. Nebolo to podarené manželstvo. Narodila sa im dcéra Lenka. Tatiana a Lenka žijú so mnou v jednom byte. Igor sa oženil s dievčaťom z Kutnej Hory. Má dcéru Danielu a syna Štefana. Daniela pracuje v Karlových Varoch jako kúpeľná sestra a Štefan študuje v Plzni archeológiu.  Igor je riaditeľom základnej školy v Nejdeku. Igor je typ človeka, ktorý nevyhľadáva žiadne konflikty, skôr naopoak snaží sa všetko riešiť chladnou hlavou. Tatiana tiež. Moje deti nikdy nemali žiadne konflikty ani v škole, ani teraz.

S manželkou sme mali predplatné do karlovarského divadla. Chodili sme aj na rôzne zábavy. Manželka moc veľká tanečnica nebola, ale ja som rád tancoval. Bol som aj veľký športovec, preto som aj deti viedol k športu. Dcéra napokon vyštudovala aj telovýchovu, ale učí aj češtinu. S manželkou sme nedodržiavali žiadne židovské tradície. Naše deti vedia, že sú Židia, ale o židovstve nevedia nič. Mali sme Vianoce, ale len tak symbolicky. Na veľké sviatky zvyknem chodiť do modlitebne, pretože sa musí zísť desať ľudí na modlenie, minjan [minjan: modlitebné minimum desiatich mužov vo veku nad trinásť rokov – pozn. red.], a keď sa nezídu, tak ma volajú.

Bol som rád, že vznikol štát Izrael a Židia z celého sveta budú mať domovinu. Ja som sa cítil národnostne Slovákom. Židovstvo bolo na druhom mieste. Mal som priateľov z katolícko kresťanských kruhov, takže o kresťanstve som toho vedel pomerne dosť. Samozrejme, cítil som sa byť Židom, v mladosti som to aj pestoval, však som bol aj v Hašomer Hacair, ale v dospelosti ma to prestalo baviť. Vytvoril som si jedno heslo: „Jednej vojny mám dosť, nechcem prežívať druhú!“ Nikdy som nebol v Izraeli. Vo svojom voľnom čase sa zaoberám históriou, píšem svoje spomienky, úprimne povedané, rád by som ich vydal.  

Glosář:

Ota Gubic
Karlovy Vary
Czech Republic
Interviewer: Barbora Pokreis
Date of interview: August 2005

Mr. Otto Gubic lives among his family in Karlovy Vary. He spends his free time collecting photographs and archival documents that are directly related to prewar, but also postwar life in his beloved home town of Prievidza. He gladly provided to us his collection of photographs and documents that thoroughly map not only the life of his family, but also of the entire Jewish community in prewar times. After the war, he started a new life in Karlovy Vary, where he became an active member of the Communist Party, from which he was repeatedly expelled though, due to his Jewish background. Due to his past, Mr. Gubic spoke about life in Communist Czechoslovakia only very reluctantly and marginally.

My family background
Jewish life in Prievidza
My parents
Growing up
Our religious life
During the war
Post-war
Married life
Glossary

My family background

I don't remember my paternal grandparents, because my father [Bernard Gubitsch] was married twice, and was already older when I was born. No one talked about them either. I know only their names. My grandfather was named Moric [Moritz] Gubitsch, and my grandmother Anna Gubitsch, née Steiner. I didn't know my father's first wife either, and his second wife was our mother.

I do know my maternal grandparents. My mother was born in Medzibrod. That's a hamlet in Slovakia, between Banska Bystrica and Brezno nad Hronom. She was born in 1893, and was named Aranyka, Zlatica Friedova. Her parents were Aneta Friedova and Emil Fried. They owned a general store in Banska Bystrica, at 28 Dolna Street. The store wasn't large, but was prosperous, so they had a relatively decent standard of living. They didn't have any assistants, because that was all taken care of by Aunt Jozefina [Friedova]. She lived with my grandparents on Dolna Street. Up until her later years, when Fascism was approaching and she got married and moved to Banska Stiavnica. She didn't survive the war, the same as her husband, Safranek.

The Frieds weren't devout, they were Neologs, keen Neologs 1. I think that for the most part they kept kosher. I'm not completely sure, but they probably didn't eat pork, only poultry. They also had separate dishes for meat and dairy foods. They attended synagogue only during the High Holidays. The Sabbath, and the lighting of candles? Certainly not that, but they knew that the Sabbath existed. As I say, they were very Neolog, after all, the store was open on Saturday as well.

My grandparents lived at 28 Dolna Street. Their apartment was divided into two parts - living quarters and the store. There was a kitchen, from which you entered one room, and in the courtyard there were two more rooms. One was small and the other larger. I don't think that my grandparents got along very well, because my grandfather had a peculiar nature. He'd been in America, but returned because he hadn't been successful there. Well, and then he married my grandmother. We loved our grandma very much, both my brother [Ervin Gubic, born Gubitsch] and I [Ota Gubic, born Gubitsch]. Our maternal grandfather not so much, because he was a bit of a codger. He wasn't very well-liked in the family either, and his reputation as a grandfather wasn't very good. I know that in that general store of theirs, they had a storefront room that faced the street. Between the storefront room and the kitchen, they had this dark room where they served liquor, and our aunt [Jozefina Safrankova, nee Friedova] used to get very angry at our grandfather because he used to serve his friends for free.

My brother and I used to go to Banska Bystrica regularly. Mainly during summer vacation, and sometimes during the winter as well. In those days there wasn't yet a direct connection between Prievidza and Banska Bystrica. You would go to Hronsky Svaty Kriz, or to Klastor pod Znievom, and from there to Banska Bystrica. Depending on what the weather was like. I remember when we were young, how we'd be all bundled up against the cold, and you could see only our eyes. During the summer months it was different, because our childhood [in Banska Bystrica] was very nice, mainly thanks to Uncle Moric [Fried]. Our uncle had two girls, Norika [Nora], and I don't remember the name of the second one any more. We used to spend summer vacation with them. As far as I know, our grandparents died during the war.

The Frieds had seven children, I think my mother was the oldest. Next after our mother was Moric Fried. He was apparently the second biggest and most important person in the wool industry in Slovakia - Moric Fried from Banska Bystrica. Uncle Moric was very well-known in Banska Bystrica, and it's said that he also had an exception from Tiso 2. They needed him as an expert on wool. He managed to hold on until January 1945, because in 1944 the Germans had already occupied Slovakia 3. Unfortunately, in the end he died during the war. His wife was named Helena, Erzineni, Drechslerova, and was also from Banska Bystrica. They lived on the main square. She liked me and my brother very much.

Aunt Jozefina Safrankova excelled in baking so-called Fried bread. Very popular in Banska Bystrica in those days. Half the city used to go buy that bread. Jozefina, who was called by the Hungarian name of Jozaneni in the family, fell in love with bread-making and married a baker in Banska Stiavnica. They had no children, because she got married at a quite advanced age, perhaps that was also the cause. My aunt and her husband didn't survive the war. I won't do her memory an injustice when I say that she loved bread more than Mr. Safranek. So that was her hobby. And that Fried bread was very popular in Banska Bystrica. Not that I used to help out, but I was only interested in how the bread was baked. So I used to go there with her. I remember that there was this big cauldron in the bakery which must have held at least 50 and maybe even 100 kilos of dough.

Uncle Emerich Fried ended up alone, a bachelor. He was an excellent violin player, and was the heart and soul of the Banska Bystrica Jewish community's cultural life. He didn't survive the war. Aunt Elza Friedova never got married either. Since she was little she did handiwork, and it led to her opening a handiwork store in Sahy. I don't know what happened to her during the war. The Hungarians occupied Sahy 4, and later they apparently deported her.

They youngest, Jeno [Eugen Fried] was a prominent figure, because he ended up in France as a representative of the Comintern 5. Already as a high school graduate in Banska Bystrica, at the age of 17, he excelled in these political matters. He was an exceptionally educated person, and read a lot from the time he was very young. He was very talented. They allegedly killed him in Brussels on 3rd August 1943. He was in France, and when the Nazis came to Paris, he escaped to Brussels, and that's where they probably caught him as well.

Blanka Friedova was also a fervent Communist, because her brother Jeno had been a fervent Communist since he'd been young, and she looked up to him. She eventually worked as a professional Communist functionary in Prague 6. But to this day it's a mystery to me how she survived the war in Prague. She never talked about it, but I think that she was hidden by the Communists.

After the war, I searched her out, and she was very surprised. That was a very, very mysterious meeting. I found out her address from some Communist Party members. I went to the address I'd been given. I opened the gate, behind which was a long hallway. Suddenly a figure approached me, so I let it walk past me a bit. I had seen Blanka only a couple of times while visiting my grandparents, but I recognized her. I let her walk by, and when she was already walking around the corner, I yelled out, 'Blanka.' She turned around: 'For God's sake, who are you?' I said, 'Have a good look!' 'I don't know.' 'Otto,' I said. 'Jesus Mary, where did you come from!? How did you get my address!? No one knows it!' In 1945 she was still being careful.

She died at around the age of 65, apparently of leukemia, in Prague. She never actually got married, but during those last years she lived with a certain Mr. Stastny. He was a Communist Party official, that's likely why they got along so well. She didn't have any children.

Jewish life in Prievidza

During my childhood, Prievidza, my home town, might have had a population of about 5000, of that about 400 could have been Jews, about 60 families. [In 1940 Prievidza had a population of 4578; Source: The Lexicon of Towns in the Slovak Republic, State Statistical Office, Bratislava 1942] Prievidza didn't have a Jewish quarter. The largest number of Jews lived on and around the town square. The Müllers, for example, had a textile store there, the Freibergs a restaurant. The Gemainers had a general store on one corner of the town square. Freiberg owned the Slavia Hotel. Slavia was a hotel as well as a restaurant, where Jews used to go on Sunday to play cards. My father used to go there too, but he didn't play, but only kibitzed. He was a very notorious kibitzer in Prievidza, because my mother didn't allow him to play cards. But she would at least let him go to the café to kibitz. That was his Sunday afternoon pastime. In Prievidza Jews mostly made a living as businessmen.

Among the most well-known families were the owners of Carpathia. [Carpathia: founded in 1875 by the Heuman family. The company focused primarily on the processing of fruit and jams. During World War II it was proclaimed to be irreplaceable. It focused itself on producing food for the army. From 1994 it has belonged to the MAGGI brand, and since 2001 to Nestlé Slovensko s.r.o.] Carpathia exists to this day, but it's not generally known that at one time it used to be a Jewish company. The owners used to lived on the so-called Wooden Ring, in a multi-story building. They were two brothers, they used to call them the Lower Heumans and the Upper Heumans. They managed the company. The lower Heuman used to manage it more than the upper one. The lower one had two sons. Fero [Frantisek] Heuman was a major adventurer. He even fought in the Spanish Civil War 7. After the war he apparently moved to Canada and took up farming. It's rumored that he died tragically, he was run over by a tractor. I don't know whether it's true or not, but that's what they used to say in Prievidza. The younger, Richard, attended high school with my brother. They graduated together in 1938. The Lower Heumans moved to Chile after the war, but they're all dead now. They survived the war precisely because they were very well-known and hid in a bunker in Kanianky [Prievidza district], which is a village close to Prievidza in the Maguri basin. They were supported by their former employees, because they were very decent people. There was only one strike in Carpathia, which was organized by the Upper Heumans' older son. He was a fervent Communist, and organized a strike against his own parents.

Another family that belonged among the more affluent were the Werners. Their son Palko [Pavol] was a friend of mine. Palko distinguished himself by bringing us genuine leather balls - soccer as well as volleyball, which back then was a miracle. The Werners had two children, Palko, as I've already mentioned, and a girl named Eva. Palko was born the same year as I, 1922. I didn't see them after the war, I don't know if they were deported or what happened to them. Then there was also the family of Bienenstock, a wholesaler. Samuel Kelerman owned a textile store. Later he was the president of the Prievidza Jewish religious community. He had two children. Edita was very pretty, and had an athletic figure. People condemned her, because her boyfriend was Jarda Machala, the son of the commander of the local police station. He was a Catholic, and in those days that was a big, big sin. But despite that they went out together for years, until as part of the 'Czechs walk to Prague' campaign 8 in 1938, Machala had to leave. In the end she married a textile merchant. The Kelermans' son, Lacko [Ladislav] was my best friend. Lacko was also into sports, and by coincidence also apprenticed at a competing book printer's, so we were not only friends, but also colleagues. But he didn't survive the war.

Two Jewish photographers - Adolf Kramer and Dezider Braun - belonged among the town's important figures. Braun was a very good friend of my older brother's. Kramer was known for having a Leica. Leicas already used film, so Kramer could photograph everything daily. Prievidza can thank him that the town's pre-war life was preserved in his photographs. Kramer was a documentarian, and photographed daily life. Braun just kept to his craft, people used to come to him, and he used to go to weddings and birthdays.

There were two religious communities in the town. The Neolog one was larger, and the Orthodox 9 one was smaller. My father played a part in trying to have the Orthodox community dissolved. In the end he didn't succeed. He was always somewhat of a rebel. He was very anti-Orthodox. He didn't like them, I don't know what it was. The Orthodox community didn't have more than 30 members. The Neolog community was much larger and stronger. My father even held a position in it for some time. We had one synagogue, whose cantor was Hellmann. He had a very nice tenor. There was a building beside the synagogue where the cantor lived with Frieder the trustee, who took care of religious matters. You could say he was at the same time the religious community's secretary. He had a son who became a rabbi and later became very famous. He was named Armin Frieder 10. During the war he worked on having the deportations stopped 11. He for example had very good relations with the education minister, Jozef Sivak, because Sivak was also from Prievidza. [Sivak, Jozef (1886 - 1959): teacher, author of textbooks, politician, education minister under the Slovak State. He gave up this function in 1944 (he didn't agree with the invitation of the German Army).]

I've got this impression that there was a mikveh at the Bienenstocks' but only the Orthodox used to go there. I think that we had only one shachter [ritual butcher]. This was the aforementioned Frieder. By the church [synagogue] there was a building where he and the rabbi lived, and that's also where they used to slaughter animals. There was a room there dedicated for that purpose, so people used to bring him poultry. In our family I was usually the one that would bring them to be slaughtered. The act of slaughtering was very, very simple, but interesting. I used to go there quite often, because from a child's perspective it was an attraction. The room had a concrete floor, and in the corner there was a gutter so the blood could drain off.

I remember the first car in town. We used to call it 'ring-a-ding.' I think it was a Fiat, an open one. Its owner was Mr. Iring, a watchmaker. His watchmaker's was across from our building on Piaristicka Street. I can't tell you the exact year, but it might have been around 1930, and maybe even earlier. I remember that it was a big sensation. Mr. Iring was a very interesting figure. He liked novelties, and he was certainly one of the first who had a camera, besides Kramer and Braun, the professional photographers. The first cameras might have appeared before 1930. Because we were curious and knew him, Mr. Iring would allow us to sit in his car, and later we would ride around at the Heumans'. They, as the owners of Carpathia, also had cars, but apparently they were company cars, though they also had them as personal ones.

The best-kept road in Prievidza was the so-called Bojnice road. Bojnice is a spa, and a poplar-lined road led there. It was a straight road, about three kilometers long, which led from Prievidza Station, which is why it was called the Bojnice road. It was kept up, paved with cobblestones. They were also used on the town square, and then I remember that sidewalks were gradually made. Piaristicka Street was fixed up quite early on, and the town square as well, because every day there were markets held on the square, and each month a fair. The small markets mostly sold fruit and vegetables, but also smaller poultry like ducks and geese. From our family only our mother used to go, and we children would accompany her. More often I, because my brother was a bookworm. He was always sitting and reading. My mother used to go shopping to Mr. Werther's [Ignac Werther owned a general goods and liquor store]. His store was across Piaristicka Street in the so- called Carpathia building.

Fairs were held each month on the square. All sorts of things were sold there - clothing, alcohol, vegetables, fruit. There was also one merchant there who made a living only by selling textiles in markets, because he didn't have a store. Cattle wasn't sold there. There was a building for that purpose built by the Handlovka. The Handlovka is a stream that merged along the Bojnice road with the Nitra River, which flowed southward from Klak through Prievidza, Novaky, and then flowed into the Danube.

All political and social events in Prievidza took place in the square. I even remember one Communist meeting that was broken up by the police. They definitely took place more often, but I remember only this one. It might have been around 1930, because I was still in public school.

My parents

My parents were named Bernard Gubitsch and Zlatica Gubitschova, née Friedova. My father was from Urmin [in 1948 renamed to Mojmirovce, Nitra district]. The Nitra River runs through this town. His parents lived there as well. I know that my father had some sort of house there, more of a hovel, because there were always requests coming from Urmin for them to fix it up. But we never had the kind of money needed to fix up that house. I don't know how it finally ended up. My father apprenticed as a printer in Budapest. He was married twice. I never met his first wife. I think that my father was a widower, and then he married my mother. He probably didn't have any children from his first marriage, and if he did, I never met them. My father was an excellent person. He understood us very well, and didn't resist childhood games; on the contrary, he very much supported me in my enthusiasm for sports. They didn't have to support my brother Ervin in any particular fashion, because he was always sitting at home surrounded by books, that was nothing unusual. Our father even set up a small library for him in the store, and he also visited the town library. After the war the librarian told me that there had never been a reader like my brother in Prievidza. I also read, but not as much as Ervin.

My mother was from Banska Bystrica, from the Fried family. My mother finished a two-year mercantile academy in Banska Bystrica, and then worked in a distillery, likely as a clerk. I don't know how she and my father met. I do know that there was a very large age difference between them. As my mother had never been anywhere else besides Mezibrod and Banska Bystrica, they probably met through a matchmaker, which back then was nothing unusual. Even despite the 19-year age difference, it was a nice marriage. I don't remember there being any conflicts in our family, really just a nice childhood. This was probably given by the fact that my father was no millionaire. We lived modestly, from the stationery store, bookstore and printers'. My father employed one apprentice, Emil [Emil Steiner], and even he was the son of his sister [Zofia Steinerova]. He apprenticed at my father's, stayed on as a journeyman, and in the end immigrated to Palestine.

My mother was very pleasant, very educated, a faithful wife. She took exemplary care of us. She had no interests other than the family. She helped Father in the store and negotiated with suppliers. A sales representative would come, I remember Mr. Klapac from Prague, who would bring two large crates with samples. My mother picked our and ordered goods. She took care of all the administrative work in the store.

I would characterize our financial situation as 'from hand to mouth.' We didn't own very much. Quite the opposite, our business was kept above water by the Gazdovska Bank and its manager, Stefan Vunder, who was a friend of my father's. I don't know if they met during World War I, but I do know that the Gazdovska Bank kept a protective hand over our company, because after the war we had to pay a debt of 60,000 crowns that our father had run up there. [In November 1945 the value of the crown was set to 1 Kcs = 0.0177734 g of gold.]

After my mother had been home for fourteen days, a letter arrived from the Gazdovska Bank: 'Dear Mrs. Gubitschova, we've found out that you survived the war, and your husband left a debt of 60,000 crowns. We request that you come within 14 days, and as the lawful heiress, pay the debt.' Luckily, after 1939 the Patria printing company swallowed up Bernard Gubitsch's company, and the debts were transferred to it. [Patria: in 1899 Gubitsch opened the first printer's in Prievidza. In 1917 a printer's belonging to Kohn opened. In 1939 the Patria printing house was created by the merging of the two. The printing house is currently still operating, and has around 140 employees.] The Aryanizers moved it, they were greedy and thought they'd get rich, but they didn't get rich. [Aryanization: the transfer of Jewish stores, companies, businesses etc. into the ownership of another person (the Aryanizer).] They moved everything, two A4 format [European paper format roughly equivalent to US letter] printing machines, and one flatbed press for poster making.

My parents usually spoke Slovak to each other, but would occasionally also speak Hungarian and German, because Prievidza was surrounded by German villages. The German Pravno [renamed in 1946 to Nitrianske Pravno], Tuzin [Germ. Tuschin], Gajdel [Germ. Gajdell]; those were all German communities. My father's native tongue was Hungarian, but he never taught it to us. I learned to speak it like my father spoke it. I can still get by in Hungarian. My mother and father dressed modestly, very modestly. My father had a Sunday suit and a normal suit. We children had one normal suit that we wore - pants, short pants and coats with these big buttons and dark- colored Sunday clothes. We didn't follow any modern trends.

Electricity and running water were brought in to Prievidza probably around 1927. We had a three-room apartment. The rooms were in a row, one behind the other, and it continued on with the printing room, larder, woodshed, and behind that was the yard belonging to the building owner, Chikan. He had two sons. I was friends with one of them, with Mikulas. Our parents also had good relations all those long years that we lived there.

The building also had a garden that the owners, the Chikans, took care of. My mother had only these wooden boxes where she grew flowers. We also had a household helper, but only up to the Great Depression of the 1930s 12. I remember that we had a square table in the kitchen, which during the day was used as a dining table, and at night our maid slept there. I don't remember her name any more. She didn't cook, but only cleaned and kept an eye on us.

Our parents didn't socialize very much. Just our father, which our mother didn't like, used to go to the café to kibitz, because as I've already mentioned, our mother didn't allow him to play cards. My mother had a good friend, the wife of the Prievidza photographer. She came to a bad end, suicide. I don't know the cause, but it was at the time when Fascism arrived. I think it was more of a matter of nerves, and not politics.

Our father had a brother. He apparently lived in America. I don't know anything more about him, all I remember is that each year at Rosh Hashanah, a greeting card would arrive from America. Otherwise they didn't keep in touch, and neither was any money ever sent. Nothing, just that one greeting. Until sometime after 1989 13, his grandson, Danny Gubitsch, came to visit us, and was researching his family tree and also his mother's, who was from eastern Slovakia. I also knew Father's sister, Zofia Steinerova. Zofia had only one son, Emil, who apprenticed with us and moved to Palestine.

Growing up

I was born on 1st June 1922 in Prievidza. I remember my childhood very well, mainly the time I spent in the courtyard of Adolf Kramer's photo studio. At that time, Braun, the photographer, was studying with him; he liked children a lot, and used to take me everywhere with him. Braun was a fervent fisherman, and we used to go fishing together, but he never had a license, so when we saw the police we would run. The Nitra flows near Prievidza in the direction of Bojnice, so we used to go there.

I used to attend the Jewish school in Prievidza at Dreveny Rynek. Grades 1 and 2 were combined, and classes took place in one room. I absolved five grades in the Jewish school. Classes were mostly held up until lunch, but some subjects were also in the afternoon. For sure I know that religion was in the morning. There was no school on Saturday and Sunday. On Saturday people went to synagogue. I wasn't some sort of exceptional student, even when I had A's, but I didn't study much at home the way my brother did, who always had his head in books and textbooks, and knew them by heart. I was more into sports. My favorite subject was also sport [physical education].

The school principal was Ungar, who had this common touch. He would often take us on trips to the so-called 'wilderness.' The wilderness was about two and a half, three kilometers in the direction of Vtacnik [Vtacnik: a mountain range in the Central Slovak Mountains. On the west, north and northeast it is bordered by the High Tatra Basin, the Ziar mountain range and the Strazov Hills, on the east the Kremnica Hills and the Ziar Basin, and on the south Tribec and the Stiavnica Hills]. There he'd always order sour milk for us from the game warden, it used to have these lumps in it. That's not something very popular these days. The warden had his own cow, so also his own milk, and he used to make it for us. I remember that we used to pay 50 halers. I got to like that sour milk so much, that it hasn't stopped being a favorite of mine to this day, but unfortunately today it's no longer made. It was an excellent treat.

I used to attend Maccabi 14 in Prievidza, and was also a very good volleyball player. I may be of small stature, but as a setter I was notorious for being able to attack. So the spikers picked me out as their setter. I liked volleyball in high school as well, and it stayed with me until later years. After the war, in Karlovy Vary, I was still playing volleyball. It was my favorite sport. Otherwise I was active, I used to skate. When I was older I also had a bicycle. Not some sort of racing model, but a normal, standard bike.

The Prievidza Maccabi had about 20 to 25 members. They were focused mainly on physical education. Boys and girls used to attend separately. The Maccabi had some space at the Jewish elementary school. There was a yard there, as well as a volleyball court, and a horizontal bar. We didn't have our own gym, we used to rent space at the Prievidza high school. We used to practice twice or three times a week, always in the evening. The team probably didn't achieve any larger sports success, just the men participated in the Maccabiade in Zilina, sometime in the 1930s.

I attended high school in Prievidza. The principal was Mr. Lenco. I remember our art teacher, named Vtacnik, who called me up in front of the class in the first quarter year, and said, 'Look at Gubitsch, he'll never ever be a painter. But none of the several hundred students that I've taught up to now has ever turned in 42 drawings in the first quarter! He'll never be a painter, but he's a very self-sacrificing and industrious person!'

One of my favorites at school was also Professor Hromadko, the gym teacher. I think it was mutual, because I met his strict requirements. He had all sorts of technical aids, for example when doing arm raises we had to stand as straight as a yardstick, which he also used. He would always say, 'Try to break the gym walls with your middle fingers. You'll do arm raises without looking at your arms, and you'll have them stretched out like a yardstick.' I followed this, so he considered me to be an example, which is why I got used to demonstrating things. As a child I was good at sports. I played volleyball a lot. Hromadko the gym teacher put me on the senior team even though I was younger.

So these are those memories of school days. The high school was nice. The building stands to this day. There was a beautiful garden there, and when the year 1938 came, they made it into a large military training ground, because military training was instituted as a school subject. It was expected that Hitler would attach Czechoslovakia, and they were counting on us as soldiers 15.

I did only four grades of high school, and in 1936 I left to learn the printing trade. I was already a clerk by trade, so as a former high school student they gave me a one-year credit for my apprenticeship period. In those days the apprenticeship took four years, and high school students were credited with one year. Officially I finished on 31st August 1939, but that was already the time of the Slovak State 16, and they didn't let me take my journeyman's exam. In 1942, when the deportations began, someone pushed through that I was able to take my journeyman's exams. I don't know exactly, but I have this feeling that it was intervention by the Communists. But I got two invitations in the mail. One for the journeyman's exam in Nitra, and the second to the Novaky camp 17.

My father phoned me, because in 1942 I was already on hakhsharah 18 in Budmerice by Trnava, 'So what are you going to do?' I said, 'Don't worry dad, I'll go to the journeyman's exam, because that's the most important thing in my life, and then we'll see.' So, on March 30th I absolved my journeyman's exam. On Sunday I arrived in Nitra, slept over at my father's sister's [Zofia Steinerova], and on Monday morning I went to Stefan Husar's printing plant in Nitra. I remember that the journeyman's exam was supposed to last two days, but after the practical part on Monday, at 4pm, Husar called me in and said, 'All right, I've got a message here from the master that you've passed the practical portion, and you still have to do the theoretical part on Tuesday, but I know that you're an educated boy.' So he asked me three or four easy questions, if I knew who Guttenberg was and similar things to do with printing. Husar knew what the situation was, so I didn't have to come on Tuesday, and could already go home on Monday evening.

At home there was a big commotion, because we from Hashomer Hatzair 19 were supposed to go into hiding in the Low Tatras, but my parents didn't want to let me go into parts unknown, that we'd go to the Novaky camp all nice and proper. [Low Tatras: found in Slovakia, and contain a renowned national park. The Low Tatra mountain range runs for 80 km from west to east between the Vah and Hron river valleys. The highest peaks are Dumbier (2043 m) and Chopok (2024 m).]

During my school years I had a very good friend, Vladko [Vladimir] Kuhra. Vladko was the son of the Czech forest warden Kuhra. He had two or three sisters. I was friends with them too. Vladko was my best friend, and then also Lacko [Ladislav] Kelermen, the son of the president of the Neolog Jewish religious community in Prievidza. Already in prewar times we felt anti-Semitism, to this day I still remember the insulting sayings that Christian children used to yell at us at Dreveny [Wooden] Ring. That's where we used to play soccer matches, Jews against the Christians. Once we'd win, once they'd win, but usually it would end with them yelling insults at us. We also used to yell things like 'Christian, Catholic, crapped on a stick....' I don't know how it continued.

My brother, Ervin Gubitsch, was born in 1920 in Banska Bystrica. There was a two year age difference between us. He buried himself in books from the time he was little. We had a writing desk with drawers that were full of books. In later years there was also a smaller library in our father's store. I don't think he was interested in much else. He had one very good friend, Karolko [Karol] Handler. Karol was a fervent Communist, he may even have been the chairman of the Komsomol 20. But during the war he bungled things, because he was drafted, and back then you could buy your way out of the army for ten crowns a day. He made the cardinal mistake of buying his way out and coming to Prievidza. The fascists of course found out about it, and dragged him off on the first transport.

Karolko was a very talented journalist. He wrote for A-Z, which was a tabloid magazine. I know that he used to come to our store to borrow books and magazines. He used to read there because his father was a glass cutter. He had a glazier's in Prievidza in Piaricka Street, but was very clumsy. When he was cutting glass, before he managed to frame a picture he wasted more than he produced. So they weren't wealthy, he belonged to the poorer of Prievidza tradesmen.

Ervin attended Jewish elementary school in Prievidza and high school in Banska Bystrica, where he also graduated. However at that time the Numerus Clausus [limitations on accepting students on the basis of economic or political reasons] was already more or less in effect, so he could no longer study. Ervin suffered very much because of this. I remember that in 1938, after the Munich meeting 21 he threw himself on the couch and began shouting, 'There won't be anything! There won't be anything! There won't be any school!' It was a huge shock to his psyche that he practically never recovered from.

Even when after the war he could have studied, I also tried to convince him, he also came to Prague to see me. He could have gone to school, because I was making decent money and also had an apartment, where we could have put another bed, but he didn't have the strength any longer. For the rest of his life he made a living in all sorts of ways unsuited to his talent and intelligence. He for example worked as a gatekeeper at the Bojnice spa, and practically also a bouncer in restaurants. He got married, his wife was also Jewish. She had gone through Auschwitz. He had two daughters, Katka [Katarina], who graduated from law. I think that she's already a judge in Prievidza, and his second daughter, Marika [Maria] remained a worker. I think that she studied cooking.

Our religious life

Our parents were Neolog, but we observed all holidays. For Rosh Hashanah we would go to synagogue, and after the holiday we would have a big festive supper, which started with an appetizer - some sort of horseradish mixture. Then soup with meat and dumplings and the main course. On the table there of course also had to be round carrots slices, honey and apples. [Traditionally at Rosh Hashanah foods that have a symbolic value are eaten. For example, carrots symbolize plenty, apples soaked in honey that the next year will be good and sweet.] We didn't observe it in a completely Orthodox fashion, but just those Jewish customs. My parents fasted at Yom Kippur, but I was a rebel, so I even bought some ham and ate it secretly with a friend. My brother fasted, I think. It was all the same to him, he just sat at home buried in books and had no appetite for food.

For Chanukkah we'd light the menorah, which would be put in the window, and I think that the next day we'd go to the synagogue. My brother and I would light the candles, and our father would pray. We didn't pray very much, even though we knew how. Even today I still know the Hebrew alphabet. As children we also played with dreidels for nuts and things. We observed Sukkot according to custom. Every year we had a booth [sukkah] set up in the courtyard. The building owner wasn't religious, so he didn't object. Neither did his wife, who was from a very Christian family from Prievidza, have any objections. During the holiday we ate only in the booth.

We also observed Passover. There'd be a major housecleaning. Usually our mother cleaned, but I also helped. We'd pull out the Passover dishes and put away the normal ones, and buy matzot. In the evening we'd have seder, and have soup with matzah dumplings. On the table there would be water with vinegar, eggs, everything that should be there. A goblet with wine would also be ready. By custom I also had to ask questions, but that was only a formality. I knew that it belonged, so I didn't want to resist my father. [Mah nishtanah: the so-called four questions. Traditionally recited by the youngest participant of the seder during the Passover holiday, when reading from the Haggadah begins.]

My brother and I had a bar mitzvah. I still remember something of it. First I had to recite a passage from the Torah at the synagogue, and though I knew Hebrew I didn't learn it by heart, so I recited it after a fashion with the help of a prompter. In the afternoon there was a feast. On the occasion of my bar mitzvah, I got a new outfit, this sailor's outfit with big buttons. My brother and I played hide and seek. There was a chicken coop nearby, and I climbed up on it and jumped off. I ripped my pants apart. That caused a big commotion, I think I even got a spanking. The first and last time I remember getting a spanking. 'What do you think, that we steal?' said my father. 'Do you know how much money it cost?' For the times it was an expensive outfit. Otherwise, I wasn't religiously inclined. I was a member of Hashomer Hatzair, which was an atheist organization, and I behaved accordingly.

I attended Hashomer Hatzair from the age of ten. My father tolerated it, but I'd say more that he tried to ignore it. We used to meet once a week, and then at summer camp. One was even in Prievidza, but as luck would have it, they didn't cook kosher there. The camp was about three kilometers out of Prievidza. My parents went out for a walk and came to see me. When they saw where we were, that was my last time at camp. It wasn't until 1938 that I managed to get to a camp in Povazska Bystrica, and that was only with my grandma's agreement. First I arrived in Banska Bystrica for summer holidays, and talked my grandmother into letting me go. Finally my father found out about it anyways, and after a week took me back home.

But I attended the weekly Hashomer meeting regularly. We studied Hebrew and went on outings. During wartime I was also in hakhsharah for a short time, which they had opened in Prievidza in 1939. At that time I had already finished my schooling, but couldn't take my final exams. As a journeyman I didn't get any work, and our printing shop was already more or less Aryanized, so I left for hakhsharah. First to the Heumans' brick factory, where we worked either directly in the factory or with various merchants. There were eleven of us, of which one was a girl. Bianiciova, from Presov or Sabinov. I liked her a lot. We didn't study much in Prievidza, but mostly worked in companies like Carpathia. On hakhsharah in Letanovce we studied agriculture, because it was a farm. From there we would also go to Novy Majer by Budmerice, where we also did farm work and worked in the stables. It was a Jewish farm that had an exception from President Tiso. We were ten boys and one girl. Rachel Hoffmanova, by coincidence from Prievidza. A very hard-working girl. She was from a poor family, and unfortunately didn't survive the war.

In hakhsharah there were often various lectures on Zionism 22 and Judaism. I especially remember a lecture by Dr. Oskar Neumann 23, because I have notes from his lecture to this day. I knew only one person who moved to the Palestine, which was my cousin Emil Steiner. He left in 1939 in the first wave of emigrants, which was organized by Hechalutz 24.

In Budmerice we worked on property belonging to the Sonnenfelds. It was a farm, and I worked in the pig barn. I found it very interesting, especially the breeding station, because they were cross-breeding the German Edelschwein breed with English sows. They were these long pigs that would be sent to Prague for Prague ham. Sonnenfeld was a very curt Jewish farmer, a big-shot, not even once did he come to see our living accommodations. Our accommodations were very modest, one room and a kitchen. Rachel Hoffmannova slept in the kitchen, and the ten of us boys slept on plank bunks in that little room.

During the war

As I've already mentioned, in 1942 my father called that I'd been invited for my journeyman's exams, and that's actually what saved me from the transport, because while I was on the phone with my father, an escort arrived and dragged off everyone from the hakhsharahh. After my exams I came home, and it was a big tragedy. I didn't want to go to Novaky, but both my parents started weeping, what sort of son was I, because if I don't go, they'll take them. Nothing could convince them, even when I told them that it was only a question of time before they came for them too. First they'd take the young boys, and then their turn would come. It didn't help. Finally I agreed and said, 'All right, I'll go to the camp.' I still remember the date, 31st March 1942.

The Novaky labor camp was set up in 1941 on property where there were army warehouses. There were three sections, between which there were about ten houses. The highest number of people allowed in Novaky was about 1000 - 1200 people; it's believed that it was at the behest of General Catlos 25, the interior minister of the Slovak State. The first transports to Poland went from Novaky. I was also supposed to be on one such transport to Poland, but people from Prievidza on the camp's Jewish council 26 pulled me off at the last moment, and transferred me to the third section, because those that worked were gathered there. The first building was concentrational [they concentrated people for further deportation there], the second contained the farm buildings and the kitchen.

I had two friends, Alfred Löwy and Lacko [Ladislav] Kelerman, who were cousins. Lacko's mother and Alfred's father were brother and sister. Lacko's father was the president of the Prievidza religious community, so he had some connections. When I arrived at the camp, they 'stole' me off the transport to Poland and took me away to that third section, and assigned me to Nandor Löwy, Alfred Löwy's father. Nandor Löwy worked in Novaky as a delivery man. He had a horse and wagon at his disposition, and took care of supplying the camp. The supply warehouse of the former Czechoslovak army was in Zemianske Kostolany, but we also often went to Prievidza. They of course made use of me, I had to illegally carry into the camp all sorts of packages and food from relatives.

For long years Nandor Löwy had been a fireman in Prievidza, which was very unusual, because Jews weren't firemen too often. All of Prievidza had only two people in the fire crew. The tinsmith Nandor Löwy, and his competition, Spitzer, also a tinsmith. Löwy became the delivery man, which was very good, because he had various connections. One of them was also Stefan Wunder, who owned a grocery wholesale business and was one of the camp's suppliers. At least once a week we'd be in Prievidza at Wunder's, and sometimes also to see Kardos, another wholesaler, but he was afraid and didn't want to be too involved. Wunder was very Christian, he even had some position in Orol, a Catholic organization.

Visits to Wunder looked something like this: in the front there was a store, and in the back there were offices and a warehouse. We used to come to the back, and more or less semi-legally loaded up goods. Most things went through accounting, but we always also loaded up things that were being smuggled in. I remember that once we managed to bring a whole case of sardines into the camp. That enriched our menu, otherwise the food was very scant. Occasionally we also got some meat, semi-legally as well, calves were brought in. I consider it to be one of those miracles that happened that it always came off.

As a delivery boy I also experienced one very, very unpleasant event. The Löwys had three children - Alfred, Palko [Pavol] plus a girl. Palko and Alfred survived, but the girl was dragged off to Poland. Their mother couldn't stand the sight of me, because she would immediately start shrieking 'You're here and my baby is gone!' She couldn't stand her daughter's friends, nothing could be done about it. So I tried to keep out of her way, it was hard, because I was her husband's assistant.

An illegal Communist organization was formed in Novaky. You could say that it was led by the Hagar brothers [Frantisek Hagar and Jozef Hagar]. They escaped and formed a semi-illegal organization in Vtacnik, semi-illegal because it was persecuted only for the sake of appearances, in front of the Germans. In reality it was a quite large organization. It was supported by people from the surrounding towns, who would also bring them food.

I also used to go from the camp illegally to Vtacnik. A small stream ran all the way down from Vtacnik to the camp, and at night we used to follow the stream up there. We dug a hole under the barbed wire, and at night we'd carry out food. People would come to meet us, and we'd give them the packages. There was a lot of vegetation around the camp, high trees, and that's where we would give it to them. Of course, some prisoners held it against us, but we would explain to them that we still had something in the camp, while they didn't have anything, so it was our duty to help them.

The Upper Nitra Partisan Brigade, with the Hagar brothers and Frantisek Miseje, was active in Vtacnik. I was the connection between the camp and the partisans. I remember it as if it were yesterday. In May of 1943 I went from the camp along the creek all the way to Vtacnik, they led me all the way to the top. It was a beautiful day, and they showed me the camp, you could see all three parts of the camp. The roofs were made of tar paper, and were beautifully lit by the sun. It was a sight to see. At night I returned to the camp and brought them the news that we wouldn't survive another winter in the camp, because there was going to be an uprising in 1944.

The camp's leadership knew about our nighttime outings. In 1942 we used to go underneath the barbed wire, and after Stalingrad 27 in 1943 we got ourselves a key to the front gate. Because after Stalingrad even the Guardists 28 were growing nervous, and weren't that strict and tough anymore. One Guardist got especially involved, not publicly but in secret, and gave us keys. 'But you can only leave at night, not during the day!' We made a key in the machine shop, and normally got out. In 1943, a Jewish guard was instituted at the third camp, so we didn't have to go under the fence and on the sly anymore.

The commander of the Novaky camp was Polhora, who escaped after the war. They caught him in Austria and convicted him. Jozef Polhora, a handsome guy in a Guardist uniform. After Stalingrad they replaced him, because the Guardist sentries were being replaced by ones from the police. Those were the Slovak fascist government's pass-the-buck politics. The police often did what we wanted and looked the other way when we left he camp, by then it was better.

They camp was basically liberated by the Slovak National Rebellion on 28th August 1944, and thus the Novaky era ended as well. Part of the former prisoners joined the Novaky unit. Imrich Müller, a professor from Prievidza, became the unit's commander. His fate after the war wasn't good, because he was persecuted during the 1950s. During the first days of the rebellion, many of us fell by Batovany. I don't know if it was anti- Semitism or whether they considered us Jews to be the most self-sacrificing soldiers, but we ended up in the front line. Luckily, I wasn't there, because I still had work in the camp. Because we didn't have military training, they transferred us to the army training camp in Hiadel.

After the fall of the uprising, we joined Yegorov's brigade, and lived in a log cabin above Pohronsky Bukovec. There were ten of us in the cabin, including two Russian parachutists, Nikolai Galkin and Yevgenii Yonuv. Yonuv was Chuvashian, and Galkin was originally a Siberian, but we considered him to be a Russian. There were two Frenchmen there, and also Janko Brada from Banska Bystrica, who was by coincidence a friend of mine. They used to live in Banska Bystrica in a neighborhood named Hustak, right by the Hron River. The Brauns owned a hardware store. It wasn't until after the war that they changed their name to Brada. Janko Brada survived, I was with him after the war, and I think he moved to Israel.

The farmers from Bukovec and their wives used to bring us bread, bacon, eggs and butter. They basically fed us. But we also used to go on ambushes. I remember one ambush, when things got pretty scary. We got a message that around 10pm a German column would be going from Brezno to Banska Bystrica. So we attacked them. Some shooting took place, but the Germans called for support from Banska Bystrica by using flares, and we had to retreat. I managed to escape along a ridge.

Sometime in February, I think on 28th February 1945, we arrived in Myto pod Dumbierom. We'd learned that this territory had already been liberated. We were put up individually in people's homes. I also had one adventure. They put me up in one old lady's attic. There was hay and straw in the attic, and as I was deathly tired, I quickly fell asleep. When I woke up, there was a farmer holding a pitchfork standing above me. I didn't much feel like laughing, but in the end everything ended up fine. We proceeded on foot from Myto pod Dumbierom to Poprad, and there they dissolved our unit. That was the end of the uprising for me.

In Poprad I started working at a printer's, they were happy that a typesetter had arrived. My first task was to typeset a mobilization proclamation. I was in Poprad for only a month, because as soon as I found out that my mother had survived, I set off for Prievidza.

My brother was born in 1920, so in 1939 he had to join the so-called 'kosher company' that was located in eastern Slovakia. My brother ended up in a camp whose commander became the former mayor of Prievidza, Anton Adamic, an invalid from World War II. When my brother arrived in the camp, and he saw the name Ervin Gubitsch on the list, he had all the boys in the camp stand in formation and shouted, 'Gubitsch, front and center! Look here, this is the son of the most decent Jewish family in Prievidza.' Mayor Adamic put him in charge of the canteen, so he wasn't deported and thus survived. The minister of national defense, Ferdinand Catlos, took charge of the work company 29. Despite the fact that he tried to liquidate them, it's said that he saved the company from deportation. He refused to deport them, and argued that they were soldiers. After the army, they either transferred them to the Novaky camp, or to the Sered work camp 30.

My brother arrived at the Novaky camp in 1942. As he was the son of a book printer, they assigned him to the cartonnage workshop, and it was in the cartonnage shop that an interesting incident took place. In 1943, after the Battle of Stalingrad, a delegation from the Ministry of the Interior came from Bratislava. The delegation was composed of members of the Ministry of the Interior, and the head of the delegation was named Pecuch [Julius Pecuch]. They probably came to sniff out what Jews thought about the solution to the Jewish question. Pecuch came up to my brother, and asked, 'What will happen to us after the war?' At that moment my brother was working on a machine that was processing cardboard. He didn't answer him, but drew a hammer and sickle on the cardboard. Pecuch asked him again, 'Well, and what will you do with us?' My brother answered him, 'You'll hang!'

Well, that caused a big uproar in the camp, everyone thought that they'd grab my brother and hang him, but nothing happened. He had a tendency to act the hero. In that sense my brother became the hero of the Novaky camp. That was already in 1943, after Stalingrad. After the camp's liberation, he also joined a partisan unit, and returned home after the war. We weren't in the same unit, and didn't know anything about each other until after the war.

Our mother survived, but our father died in her arms in the mountains. They were hiding in a cabin up above Horny [Upper] Jelenec. My father had diabetes, and his feet got frostbitten, he got gangrene... He's buried above Horny Jelenec; they didn't want to allow us to have him exhumed. The officials were asking fifty thousand crowns to issue the permit, and I didn't have even five thousand, much less fifty thousand. So my brother and I said to each other: 'We were both partisans, so our father will remain in the mountains!'

Post-war

Our mother continued living in Prievidza; in 1946 her health was already very poor and in June she died. We buried her in Prievidza at the Jewish cemetery, which unfortunately has since been destroyed. The Jewish cemetery was on the way to Handlova. When I was there last, the house of mourning was still there, but the graves had already been destroyed. She was buried by someone from the Prievidza religious community, because after the war the Jewish community was renewed. About forty of us returned, but then everyone moved to Palestine. I don't even know anymore why I didn't move away as well. We didn't have any resources, and it was more people that had some funds hidden away that were moving there, or they had gold that they sold. All we had hidden away were documents.

In Prievidza they allocated us a tiny little room with a kitchen. I started working at the Patria printing house as a typesetter. I had this childhood dream, as a typesetter I wanted to study typography in Leipzig, because Leipzig was the biggest typographic power in Europe. I knew that it was only a dream and that I couldn't get over there, so I accepted a position in Prague. So in 1945 I set out for Prague in the back of a truck belonging to Carpathia. The Heumans, the owners of the jam factory, had given me an address to go to. Surprisingly, I found it very easily.

I got a room on Liliova Street. There were three of us living there. I, the Heuman's son, and some woman. Heuman then moved away, so I remained alone. I was close to work, all I had to do was cross the courtyard, and I was in the print shop. It was a good thing for me, I was being paid 4500 crowns [in November 1945, the crown's value was set at 1 Kcs = 0.0177734 g of gold]. I was single, I was five minutes away from the National Theater and the Estates Theater, the Vltava River was also five minutes away, and my window looked out over Bethlehem Square, so for me the years 1945 and 1946 were beautiful.

In 1947 I arrived in Karlovy Vary for some treatments, and here I met my wife, who used to come here to visit a girlfriend. One thing led to another, and on St. Nicholas Day in 1947 we were married. They allocated us a one-room apartment. I got a job in a printing shop. I didn't have any problems due to my being Jewish. I'm a communicative person, and didn't have any problems fitting in. I used to play table tennis. The company had a table tennis league, and they immediately accepted me onto the team. We even played in the regional championships. I don't even know anymore how they convinced me to become the regional secretary. That was in February 1948 31. Before February 1948, the Communist Party created the position of so-called district secretaries. Each region was divided up into districts. It was a major coup for the Communist Party, because they got close to the people. I was in charge of about five organizations. Meetings were held at least once a week, sometimes even twice. In February, I also took part in those February events.

I started working as the secretary of the regional committee of the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia. I held this position for five years, and then was a cultural officer at the Regional Committee. This is a sad chapter of my life, even though my hands are clean. I don't have even a smidgen of blood behind my fingernails, neither was I persecuted after the revolution, because I acted normally. I can look back at those five years with a clear conscience, but on the other hand, it was after all no smooth ride being a secretary of the Communist Party. There were enough of all sorts of Communists here, so it was quite difficult. I also had a lot of enemies. Finally I had to leave my position and then worked only as a typesetter, from where I went into retirement.

I lived through democracy as a social order, I had the partisan movement behind me as well as illegal Communist work. For me it was a matter of fact that after the war I remained a Communist. In the 1950s they threw me out. I didn't accept it very easily, so I tried to get them to take me back, which I finally succeeded in doing, but then 32 they threw me out again. I was too much of a democrat for their tastes.

Married life

I had already superficially gotten to know my wife [Terezia Gubicova, née Schweitova] in Hashomer Hatzair. We then met again in Karlovy Vary. I had come to Karlovy Vary for treatments, and liked it here. I got work here, and they also allocated me an apartment. My wife was from Levoc, but after the war she lost her home, so she came to Kraslice to see a girlfriend of hers. She got a job in the Amati factory, which manufactured musical instruments. She used to come to Karlovy Vary to see a friend. One thing led to another, and on St. Nicholas Day in 1947 we got married. The wedding was Jewish, and very modest. The only participants were my wife's witnesses and my witness, Janko [Jan] Porges. Three witnesses, and us. That was all. After our wedding, my wife at first worked for the regional committee, and after a year got a job at an elementary school. She taught Grade One.

We had two children. In 1949 our daughter Tatiana was born, and in 1950 our son Igor. Both our children work as teachers. Tatiana married Mr. Koskuba, but they got divorced. It wasn't a good marriage. They had a daughter, Lenka. Tatiana and Lenka live in the same apartment with me. Igor married a girl from Kutna Hora. He's got a daughter, Daniela, and a son, Stefan. Daniela works in Karlovy Vary as a spa nurse, and Stefan is studying archeology in Pilsen. Igor is the principal of an elementary school in Nejdek. Igor is the type of person who doesn't look for any conflicts, but on the contrary tries to resolve everything with a cool head. Tatiana as well. My children never had any conflicts, neither in school nor now.

My wife and I had season tickets to the Karlovy Vary theater. We also used to attend various social events. My wife wasn't a big dancer, but I liked dancing. I was also big on sports, which is why I encouraged my children to play sports. My daughter eventually graduated from physical education, but also teaches Czech. My wife and I didn't observe any Jewish traditions. Our children know that they're Jews, but don't know anything about Judaism. We had Christmas, but only symbolically. I'm used to going to the prayer hall for the High Holidays, because ten people have to gather for prayers, for a minyan, and when there aren't enough, they call me.

I was glad when the state of Israel was created, and that Jews from the whole world over will have a home. I felt myself to be a Slovak by nationality. Jewishness was in second place. I had friends from Catholic Christian circles, so I knew a fair bit about Christianity. I of course felt myself to be a Jew, in my youth I also practiced it, after all I was in Hashomer Hatzair, but in adulthood I no longer cared for it. I had this one slogan: 'One war was enough for me, I don't want to live through another!' I've never been to Israel. In my spare time, I concern myself with history, write my memoirs; to tell the truth, I'd like to publish them.

Glossary

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.

Ernest Galpert
Uschhord, Ukraine

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
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

Adolf Landsman
Moscow
Russia
Interviewer: Ella Levitskaya
Date of interview: October 2004

Adolf Landsman is a short stout man. His gray hair is getting thinner. He has a pleasant face. He speaks slowly and pensively. Adolf is very affable. He eagerly speaks of his family showing his family relics. After his wife passed away he now lives in a small two-room apartment in one of the "dormant" districts of Moscow. The apartment is very clean and cozy.

There are a lot of books there. There are pictures of Adolf's wife all over the apartment. It's hard for Adolf to get over his wife's death and he is constantly mentioning her name in the conversation. 
They must have loved each other very much and been heart and soul for each other.

My family history

Growing up

Exile

During the War

After the War

Glossary
 

My family history

I don't know much about my father's family. They lived in a Belarusian town called Liozno [450 km from Moscow]. My grandfather, Boruh Landsman, was a drayman. I don't know exactly where he was born. All I know is that it was either in Belarus or in Lithuania in the 1860s. I saw my grandfather only once, when I was five. He came to see us. He was a stubby man with a gray beard. He wore a black felt cap. As far as I can remember, my grandfather didn't speak very good Russian, but he understood it very well. He preferred speaking Yiddish. I saw my grandmother, Helena Landsman, only in pictures. There is hardly anything I can say about her. She was a housewife. She was petite, amiable, kind-hearted, tacit and modest. Her hair was gray. Her head was covered with a kerchief.

There were three sons in the family. All of them were born in Liozno. The eldest brother, Morduhai, was born in 1887, my father Isaac was born in 1893, and the youngest brother Pavel [see common name] 1, Jewish name Pinhas, was born in 1895. My father never told me about his childhood and adolescence. His family spoke Yiddish. I think my father's family was religious. It couldn't have been different at that time, especially in hick towns. My father and his brothers moved to Nizhniy Novgorod [400 km east of Moscow] before World War I. It was a big city, but it was included in the Jewish Pale of Settlement 2, and Jews were permitted to live there. My grandparents stayed in Liozno. I'm ashamed to say that I have never been there and there is nothing I know about that town. My father and his brothers were married in Nizhniy Novgorod. Morduhai's wife was Khana-Khaya Lemfort. Their son, Jacob, was born in 1924. Pavel was married to Etya Spungina. They had two children - a daughter, Sofia, born in 1918, and a son, Arkadiy, born in 1923.

My grandfather died in 1934. He was buried in the Jewish cemetery in Liozno. My grandmother stayed by herself. She went to live with the family of Morduhai, who lived in the city of Pushkino [25 km from Moscow] at that time. But Morduhai didn't live much longer than his father; he passed away in the winter of 1934. My grandmother still stayed with his family and came to see us a couple of times. She died in 1937. She was buried in the Jewish plot of the Pushkino cemetery next to her son Morduhai. [Editor's note: In the USSR city cemeteries were territorially divided into sectors. Usually all city cemeteries have common land plots, plots for the burial of children, sectors for the burial of the titled militaries, a Jewish sector, land plots for political leaders, etc. People were usually buried in accordance with the will of the relatives of the deceased or the testament.]

Nizhniy Novgorod was one of the few large Russian cities, where Jews were permitted to live in the tsarist times. There was a large Jewish community and a large choral synagogue, the construction of which commenced in 1881. In August 1883, there was the first prayer house there. This synagogue is still there. There were also smaller synagogues and chapels. There were a lot of Orthodox churches, chapels and monasteries in the city. Nizhniy Novgorod was a city of commerce and merchants. There were a lot of rich and well-off Jews .They were charitable, helped out the indigent, built community houses, schools, hospitals, hospices and orphanages. There was a spiritual, and a public rabbi. [Editor's note: The interviewee means the rabbi and the community representative, who was at the governmental service, being a link between the government and the Jews of the district. He was responsible for the Jewish community. There was also a rabbi elected by the people - the spiritual rabbi. He was the most just, educated and intelligent man, who was supposed to resolve disputes and find solutions to the issues addressed by the people.]

After moving to Nizhniy Novgorod, my father's eldest brother, Morduhai, learned the craft of glass-blowing. My father and his younger brother rented the premises for the shop and sold secondhand men's suits. My father met his future wife in Nizhniy Novgorod. My mother told me the story of how they met. The central street in Nizhniy Novgorod was called Bolshaya Pokrovskaya; it has the same name now. In the evenings and during the weekends young people used to saunter in the street, sing songs and eat ice- cream. My father was with his friends and my mother was with hers. Somebody broached the conversation and they got acquainted. In 1920 they got married.

My maternal grandfather, Gersh Sherman, was born in the 1860s in the town of Vitebsk [Belarus, 450 km from Moscow]. My grandmother's name was Basya- Mirra. I barely remember her. There is only one picture with her, where she holds me in her arms. My grandfather was a painter. He was a window dresser. His kin lived in Nizhniy Novgorod. That was the reason why he was called there. Besides, his profession was in demand. He moved to Nizhniy Novgorod in 1909, got his own shop and commenced his work successfully.

There were seven children in the Sherman family. I knew two of my mother's younger sisters, who lived with their families in Moscow. I didn't see my mother's relatives from Moscow very often, and there isn't much I can say about them. Her sister, Marta, Jewish name Mariam, was the eldest. Then Berta was born. Her Jewish name was Basya. The third one was Evgenia; her Jewish name was Genya. Then Lev and my mother followed. After my mother two more children were born: Isaac and Elisavetta - Jewish name Leya.

My grandparents were religious. My grandfather went to the synagogue on holidays. I think he went there on Sabbath as well. Jewish holidays and Sabbath were celebrated at home. I don't know the details, as I only remember bits and pieces of my mother's tales from my childhood. Both parents and children spoke good Russian, but Yiddish was spoken at home. The family was most likely well-off before the revolution [see Russian Revolution of 1917] 3 because the two elder daughters finished lyceum. The rest of the children, except for Elisavetta, weren't able to get a thorough education. Elisavetta graduated from a medical institute in Nizhniy Novgorod and became a pediatrician.

Marta was a seamstress before getting married. She married a Jew, Naum Krivin, before the revolution. He was a pharmacist. Before the revolution he had a small pharmaceutical enterprise, where several people made medicine. After the revolution, his enterprise was taken over and the Krivins moved to Moscow. Naum worked as a pharmacist in the state apothecary. After getting married Marta was a housewife and raised the children. They had three children: the eldest, David, was born in 1912, then Vladimir was born in 1926, and the youngest, Tatiana, was born in 1929.

Berta graduated from a lyceum and knew Latin very well. She finished some courses and worked in the pharmacy dealing with prescriptions for medicine. She was married to a Jew called Boris Rothstein. Boris didn't acquire any education, but he was a very brisk man and soon after their arrival in Moscow, he began to work for an ammunition manufacturer. Then in the course of time he was appointed for a very responsible position in one of the trusts of the Ministry of Mortar Armament. They didn't have any children.

I know very little about my mother's relatives who stayed in Nizhniy Novgorod. I'm sorry to say that I hardly asked anything about the lives of my relatives. Only last year when I visited my nephew in Nizhniy Novgorod, he told me about my kin from Nizhniy Novgorod and about my parents' life in that period, in his mother's words. From his story I understood that my parents were considered rather well-heeled, and I wasn't aware of that. All I know about my mother's sister Evgenia is that she was married. She was a housewife and had two children. Her husband, Lev Khudalov, was the director of the rope factory in Nizhniy Novgorod. They had two daughters: Sofia, born in 1922, and I don't remember the name of the second child but she was born in 1926.

My mother's brother Lev Sherman was very good at painting without acquiring special education. Her second brother, Isaac, hadn't got any special education either. He was very gifted: he played the violin very well, and was good at painting. He worked for some company. Isaac was married. He had a daughter, whose name I don't remember. I know she was married to a certain Feltermeister. Her son became a composer, professor and rector of Nizhniy Novgorod conservatoire. Elisavetta worked in a district polyclinic as a pediatrician. I don't remember her husband's name; all I know is that his surname was Kugel. He worked for the NKVD 4 as a steward. They had a son of my age.

My mother finished six grades of the Jewish school. She worked in a pharmacy before getting married. She weighed the components of the medicine. She quit her job after getting married. I think my parents had a traditional Jewish wedding as my grandparents would have objected to a non- Jewish one as they were very religious. My parents didn't have their own house. They got very lucky - they moved into the apartment with the Lubotskiy sisters. They said they didn't mind us moving into their apartment. Those sisters' brother was the closest counsel of Lenin 5, the first secretary of the Moscow Party Committee. He died tragically in 1918. A bomb was thrown in the office where the party committee was. Lubotskiy took that bomb to throw it away, but it exploded in his hands. Many people died. His revolutionary pseudonym was Zagorskiy and that's why the town Sergiev Posad was named after him - Zagorsk.

One of his sisters was a seamstress, and the other, Elena, was involved in revolutionary activities. even before the revolution. She probably didn't get a higher education, but she finished lyceum and was an intelligent and well-mannered woman. She often conversed with my mother and later on, my mother told me that she acquired all her knowledge at a mature age owing to Elena Lubotskaya. Of course, I don't remember those sisters very well from back then, as we left Nizhniy Novgorod when I was four. When I went to Nizhniy Novgorod after the Great Patriotic War 6, I went to see the Lubotskiy sisters. Amazingly enough they recognized me at once. We spent the whole day together, having tea along with a pleasant chat, remembering the past.

I was born on 14th April 1924 in Nizhniy Novgorod. My parents called me Adolf. I don't have a Jewish name. My father still worked in his shop with his brother Pavel. My mother was a housewife and took care of me. We were pretty well-off during the NEP 7 times, and the Soviet regime encouraged entrepreneurship.

Growing up

I hardly remember anything about my life in Nizhniy Novgorod. We left for Moscow in 1928. Pavel's family moved from Nizhniy Novgorod with us. In Moscow my father and Pavel rented a shop for rubber manufacturing. They hired a manufacturing engineer, who helped them launch the manufacturing process. Then he worked with clientele and orders. He knew which plants required rubber products and recommended my father's shop to the plant. The plant made production samples, provided them with the raw materials and orders were manufactured in the workshop. My father and Pavel worked together. When there were no large orders, they manufactured consumer goods such as footballs, baby comforters, hot water bottles, etc. They didn't hire people to work full time; they just hired workers for odd jobs, e.g. a drayman and stevedores when they were supposed to take orders somewhere. Other than that they coped with the work themselves, but in spite of that they were considered entrepreneurs.

At that time such entrepreneurs as my father and Pavel were called 'sole motorized artisans', i.e. the artisans that were equipped with tools and gadgets. The owners of such petty enterprises were thought to grow gradually and become owners of big factories, who would exploit workers. There were also sole artisans without motor, i.e. cobblers, hair-dressers, etc. These were primary terms for my generation. My mother didn't approve of my father's activity. She came from a common family, and didn't get any education except for the six grades of Jewish school. She wanted my father to become an engineer. She thought it was very honorable to be an engineer. There was an extramural technical institute not very far away from us. There were no entrance exams, they didn't even ask for a secondary school certificate. It was possible to get enrolled and attend classes. My father was enrolled there and attended classes after work.

We lived in the city center in Moscow, on Alexander Nevskiy Street. The name of that street hasn't been changed. We lived in a communal apartment 8, where there was another family apart from us. Our neighbors were Russians. It was the Nikiphorov family. The husband was an engineer, and his wife was a school teacher. They didn't have children. They were very friendly, I don't even think that they got irritated judging by the tone of their conversation, and there were no quarrels. We had two small rooms and a hall.

My parents spoke only Russian with me. They spoke Russian, too [with each other] and they switched to Yiddish when they needed to conceal something from me. Unfortunately, I wasn't taught Yiddish. I don't think my parents were religious. They stuck to Jewish traditions rather conventionally. My parents didn't pray. My father worked on Sabbath and my mother also had things to do. Maybe it was connected with the rigid struggle of the Soviet regime against religion [see struggle against religion] 9. Religious people were persecuted and disdained. Pesach was the only holiday we celebrated at home. We bought matzah for the holiday. My mother cooked traditional festive dishes: chicken broth and gefilte fish. She also baked strudels. I think they just paid tribute to the tradition. My mother never went to the synagogue. My father went on Pesach and Yom Kippur. He had a prayer book and a tallit made from rich silk. That tallit was kept in the family for many years.

When we moved to Moscow, my parents decided to give me the best education possible. I went to a private German kindergarten, where there were eight to ten children. [Editor's note: there were no private kindergartens in the USSR. Some people who couldn't find a job otherwise were involved in such businesses running the risk of being arrested.] The group was organized by a German lady, from the Froebel Institute 10. She wasn't young and had graduated from that institute before 1917. She spoke only German with us. Children were good at learning foreign languages and soon we spoke pretty good German. In the morning we went to her and brought food for the whole day. We went strolling with her. She played with us. We didn't speak German only with her; we were supposed to communicate in German amongst ourselves. We were forbidden to speak Russian. Then we went back home and had lunch. She read books in German. Then we took some rest. I continued studying German at school. When I went back home after the war my hatred towards the Germans was so strong that I couldn't stand hearing German speech and gradually I forgot the German language.

When I reached school age, my parents managed to send me to the best school in Moscow. It was the privileged school # 25 11, where the children of the Party and the governmental elite studied. It was a hard time. There wasn't enough food but our school breakfasts were pretty good. Before the revolution this school used to be a lyceum, and some teachers from that lyceum taught there. Of course, I wasn't aware that the children of governmental authorities went to our school. The teachers had the same attitude towards everybody. They treated everybody equally and in a good- wishing manner. I became a Young Octobrist 12 in the first grade.

Exile

I finished the first grade when my father was arrested. Authorities knew that my father was a businessman and during the NEP his business was closed down, but entrepreneurs were persecuted and restricted in civil rights. When in 1933 there was a passport exchange, Pavel and my father weren't given new passports for being NEPists, and they were put behind bars. My father strongly disliked talking about his imprisonment. Only when I grew up I understood that my father had been beaten and teased during interrogations judging from skimpy recollections of that time. My father and uncle were charged for political reasons, but in actuality the police merely wanted gold and currency. Of course, my father and Pavel had gold but they decided not to confess that and not to give away anything to the sleuth. There was nothing they could indict my father and Pavel for, they were innocent, and that is why they framed them for illegitimate currency operations. So my father and Pavel were charged with crimes, which weren't proven, and they were exiled to Arkhangelsk by a court ruling [about 1,200 km north of Moscow].

My mother and I remained on our own. My father had some savings and we lived comfortably for some time. My mother wasn't given a passport as she was the wife of an exiled. It was very strict at that time, if the husband was exiled the wife was supposed to follow him and a passport could be issued only in the area of the exile. Even if spouses were divorced, wives were supposed to go to the exile anyway, as they thought that the divorce might have been fictitious. Such people were called deprivees [see Admission privilege] 13 - they weren't only deprived of the election rights, which would be easily overcome, but many other rights, and one of them was the right to live in a big city.

My mother couldn't find a job without a passport, she couldn't even go to the polyclinic to see the doctor as she was supposed to show her passport with the registered address at the reception. Soon after my father's arrest, my grandfather, Gersh Sherman, passed away. My mother couldn't go to his funeral, as she was supposed to show her passport at the railway stations and in the train during the stops as the passengers were checked by the patrols of railroad police. She would be forced to leave the train immediately at any station. My mother and I were evicted from the apartment. We lived with Marta, my mother's sister, for about a year.

My mother tried to take some actions. She managed to get an appointment with Maria Ulyanova, Lenin's sister. She wanted to ask her to help us stay in Moscow. When my mother went for the appointment she was asked for her passport at the reception and she wasn't let in. She went to the hall hoping that when Maria Ulyanova left the office she would have a chance to have a talk with her in the hall. She understood that she might have to stay there for the whole day and had brought a bag with sandwiches with her. She had the bag in her hands. When Ulyanova left the office, my mother went up to her. She started out with her request, but Ulyanova wasn't listening to my mother, just looking at the bag. Later my mother said that Ulyanova had such frightened eyes. She might have thought that there was a bomb in the bag. She didn't react to my mother's request and left hastily. It had been the last chance to hang on, so my mother and I had to go to exile.

My father and Pavel were lucky not be sent to the Gulag 14. It was an administrative exile under surveillance of the militia. They were supposed to go to the district militia department twice a week. The rest of the time they could lead a normal life - rent an apartment, get a job, etc. It was a very lenient punishment as compared to the others. My father didn't have a passport, only a certificate from the militia. He was entitled to get a passport only when the term of exile was over. He rented a room from a landlady, whose husband was an entrepreneur during the NEP and had the same deprivee status. He was also exiled.

People from the European part of the USSR were exiled in Arkhangelsk and those who were from Arkhangelsk were exiled further to the Polar circle. [Arkhangelsk is in fact a major port city in the extreme north of European Russia on the White Sea. However, it is not the northernmost place in the Russian arctic]. The only way to get there was by steamboat. Navigation could last three to four months, the rest of the time, rivers were covered with ice. Each time during navigation time the landlady left to see her husband. My father found a job as an economist in forestry. My mother was immediately given a passport in Arkhangelsk. The population of Arkhangelsk was doubled at that time due to the exiled. There were many families from Leningrad and Moscow. I went to the second grade. Half of the class consisted of the children of the exiled. We were treated very well. Neither teachers nor classmates gave us a cold shoulder. Maybe not all school teachers knew who we were. Anyway when in 1936 my father's term of exile was over, and we were going to leave, I went to my grade master to get a certificate stating that I had attended school. She asked me why I was leaving and was very surprised when I said that we had been exiled. Maybe she pretended to be surprised. I became a pioneer [see All-Union pioneer organization] 15 in the third grade.

My father didn't have the right to live in Moscow. He got a passport after exile and in there was a line saying that the passport was issued in accordance with the certificate stating the service of the full term in the administrative exile [see passport 24] 16. There was no way to get registered in Moscow or other large cities with such a passport [see residence permit] 17, and it was impossible to get employed without a registration. We settled in the dacha village [holiday village] of Tarasovka and rented a room there. My father was given a job owing to connections of one of his pals.

It was a very brave deed of the director of the enterprise to hire my father, as my father didn't have a labor book, because he had never worked for a state enterprise. [Editor's note: The labor book was the main document of the track record of the employee in the USSR. All employees of an enterprise, company or organization were issued labor books if they had worked for at least five days. The labor book contains information about the employee, his job title and all bonuses or awards for exceptional work. Sanctions weren't to be written in the labor book with the exception of dismissal as a disciplinary sanction.]

Clever people advised my father to be very quiet and tacit. It didn't matter that my father was arrested half a year before graduation, and in spite of his being an intelligent and entrepreneurial man he became a worker after exile. He worked as a supply agent with different factories. He was organized, bona-fide and did what he was told without taking any initiative. Besides, my father had to change his work place every half year or every year. When we lived in Arkhangelsk, Kirov 18 was assassinated in 1934, and that assassination caused the commencement of 'enemy of the people' 19 trials, and mass repressions [Great Terror] 20. Then the personnel department was given an assignment to compile a dossier for every employee.

If a person worked for a long time, there was collection of information about him. If a person didn't work for a long time, they merely had no chance to do that. We were very aloof. My parents tried not to make friends with anybody, even not to have friends. They didn't visit anybody. When I went to school I also was very offish. I had very few friends and they never came to our house. Even in their conversation my parents didn't remember the prosperous life they used to have. They survived a personal tragedy and didn't want to recall anything and make me an antagonistic against the Soviet regime, which had taken away everything from us.

The enterprise my father had to work at had a warehouse base in Moscow on Dmitrovskoye highway. There were accountants and security guards there. Then the warehouse was liquidated but the base still pertained to the trust. The base premises were remodeled into apartments and our family and another family were given apartments there. My father had to go to the militia every year for a record and a renewal of registration because Dimitrovskoye highway was considered governmental [All roads of strategic purpose were considered governmental as well as the roads that governmental leaders and dignitaries used to drive through. Such roads were kept in special order and were guarded by security] as Voroshylov 21 lived not very far away from it. My father decided to get rid of the black stain for ever and filed a report in the militia that he had lost his passport, but he was sent a new passport with the same indication of exile in Arkhangelsk.

At that time repressions were continual. Every single day there were articles in the papers disposing a new peoples' enemy. Almost all of those peoples' enemies were well-known and respectable people, governmental authorities, party activists, eminent military commanders. I was about 14 or 15 and I understood a lot about life in exile. I remember how I was shocked when Tukhachevskiy 22 was arrested. He was a brilliant military; boys considered him an idol. I remember the phrase that I heard about him on the radio, 'the peoples' enemies were divulged and neutralized and now the Red Army would be strong and invincible.'

I was flabbergasted as Tukhachevskiy was the one who did the most for the Red Army to be strong. My father never talked to me about repressions, but I understood that he didn't believe anything. There were things I couldn't speak of in spite of the propaganda. I didn't believe in the treason of military leaders, who gave their lives for communist ideas; Trotsky 23 and Tukhachevskiy were some of those decent people. It was a subconscious disbelief on my side and an organic protest of common sense. Of course, I didn't share my thoughts with anybody as I was aware how perilous it was.

There were children of the repressed in my class maybe because the school was on the outskirts of Moscow. I never came across that. I had doubts but anyway I became a Komsomol 24 member. I didn't join the Komsomol because I believed in its ideas; I just did what everybody else was doing. I understood many things in those years and considered myself to be an adult. But now I can definitely say that I was influenced by continual Soviet propaganda.

In 1933 Hitler came to power in Germany. The USSR condemned fascism. There were antifascist articles and movies. I remembered two movies: 'Professor Mamlock' 25 and 'The Oppenheimers' screen adaptation of the novel by Lion Feuchtwanger 26. [Editor's note: The feature film 'The Oppenheim family' is about the tragic fate of a Jewish family in Nazi Germany. The film was shot by Russian director and producer, Grigoriy Roshal, and screened since 1939.] In 1939 we were surprised to find out that Germany was our friend and ally [following the signing of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact] 27. It began with the message about Ribbentrop's visit to Moscow. [Joachim von Ribbentrop (1893-1946): Nazi diplomat and Foreign Minister (1938-1945).] There was no television at that time but Ribbentrop's meeting with Stalin and Molotov 28 was shown in a newsreel. Then the non-aggression pact was signed, and again we didn't understand whether this was right or wrong.

Now they say that the USSR became an accessory of unleashing the war because the pact had been signed. In accordance with the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact there was a division of the territory. The Baltic countries joined the USSR [see Occupation of the Baltic Republics] 29. On 1st September 1939, Hitler's troops invaded Poland [see Invasion of Poland] 30. On 18th September our troops went to Poland [Editor's note: The Soviet invasion lasted from 17th to 28th September] and after that Western Belarus and Western Ukraine were joined to the USSR [see Annexation of Eastern Poland] 31. Now, pondering over those events, I can say that from the standpoint of tactics, that pact was advantageous for the USSR, as we were able to widen our Western boundaries for 200-400 kilometers. From the standpoint of morale it was treason to Poland. I remember Molotov's speech on the radio where he said, 'There is no State of Poland anymore.' I was shocked by those words. What kind of attitude did the Poles have towards us after that? Of course, they were very antagonistic towards our country.

After finishing the Polish war the Soviet Red Army was eulogized as invincible. But after the Finnish campaign [see Soviet-Finnish War] 32 our army wasn't as strong, as a small Finnish army was able to resist it for such a long time. Like everybody, I believed that if someone attacked our country we would banish the enemy from our land immediately with minor casualties. My parents didn't seem to strongly believe it especially after getting to know about Hitler's 'walkover' in Europe. We knew how the German troops raided Poland and France, and the way they encroached onto new territories.

Eight days before the war was unleashed, i.e. 14th June 1941, there was the following message in the newspapers as far as I remember, 'There are rumors overseas that there are a lot of German troops close to the boundaries of the Soviet Union. In actuality this gossip is spread by our enemies and instigators. We believe that Germany as well as the USSR will stick to the peace agreement and Germany is no threat to the USSR.' Smart people said it was a trick and that the government was waiting for the Germans to respond along the lines of: 'Yes, we are loyal to the non-aggression pact and the troops are having peace.'

At that time France was raided. They awaited Hitler's answer but it didn't come. Later I read in Zhukov's 33 memoirs that the Soviet ambassador to Germany was constantly being called and told to have an audience with Ribbentrop and find out why there was no answer from Hitler. The ambassador tried to get an appointment with Ribbentrop, but failed. And on 22nd June 1941, the German troops crossed the border of the USSR. When they called the German attack disloyal it was true, but when they said it was unexpected it was totally wrong. They were expecting attack and were well aware of that and our intelligence reported on that. They knew, but it appeared that we would be the first to attack. There wasn't enough ammunition to attack. We didn't even have automatic weapons. The first year of the war, the soldiers were armed with the rifles that had been used during World War I.

During the War

In June 1941 I finished the ninth grade of school. The Great Patriotic War started on 22nd June 1941, at 12:16am. I went to school. All senior pupils got together. We weren't of the drafting age, but all of us were willing to go to the front as volunteers. They told us in the military enlistment office that we were needed at home and that we should come back in a year if the war was still on. The senior schoolboys organized volunteer fighting battalions 34. We went from house to house and explained how to equip air- raid shelters, i.e. dig-outs should be at a distance of ten meters from the house. Most of the houses were wooden, and they would burn immediately if a bomb hit them. We stood sentry in the street.

When the bombing started we covered fire-bombs with sand. In a week we were offered to join the Komsomol squad, which was supposed to be involved in the construction of defense fortifications on the access road to Moscow. There were throngs of senior pupils and students at Kiev train-station in Moscow. We went in freight cars in the western direction. We stopped in a village of Bryansk district. We settled in the houses of the villagers and we were fed in the canteens of the collective farmers. Military engineers were commanders of our squads. We dug anti-tank trenches. It was a pretty hard job for the urban teenagers, who had never used a spade before. We stayed there for a couple of months.

At first we use to work during the day then we started working at dusk, taking a rest during the day. We tried not to go outside if there was no need to. It was difficult to work at night, especially during those nights when there was no moonlight, as the trenches were to be of a certain configuration. There I got my first 'battle injury' - I jumped into a trench and at that time somebody threw a spade there and I didn't see it. I was strewn by sand and my head was hit by the spade. I was sent to the sanitary unit, where my head was bandaged. I was released from work for some time. In the middle of August we got together again. We were given certificates of the diggers of a certain category and were even paid money for our work. It was my first salary. At the end of August they took us back to Moscow.

Shortly after my departure to Bryansk district the expiration date of my father's passport issued in Arkhangelsk was getting close and he had to exchange it for a new one. My father was really afraid of exile from Moscow and being refused the issuance of a new passport. His position was almost illegal. We constantly talked about that, and wondered what would happen to us. When I went back home being lean and lice-ridden, the first question I asked my father was that regarding his passport. He got really lucky. When he went to the passport officer and gave him the certificate from work, an air-raid signal came in. The officer said that he had to lock the room and go down to the air-raid shelter. My father began talking to him to issue him a passport, elucidating that the air-raid was on the opposite side of the city. The officer was in a hurry trying to get rid of the issuance procedure as soon as possible.

He issued my father a Moscow passport with a Moscow registration without even looking in his expired passport. Due to this miracle my father was employed by the ministry of mortar armament, as an economist. Soon the ministry was evacuated to Penza [550 km east of Moscow], and the whole family left for Penza. I finished the tenth grade of the compulsory school in Penza. My father saw me off to the collection point. His valediction was, 'Take care of yourself! You are our only son.' I was sent to Penza artillery school. In May 1943, I completed the school and was sent to the front, to the 20th separate artillery squad of the Russian Supreme Command.

Like many other officers in my position I had to smell gun powder for the first time in my life. I was appointed as a commander of the firing platoon. Two gun groups, six people each were under my command. There were two cannons among our ammunition as well. Half of my subordinates were battle-seasoned soldiers, many of them twice as old as I was, who had taken part in the Stalingrad battle 34 and been awarded with orders and medals, and such an unseasoned lieutenant as I was supposed to give orders during tactic classes when we were to work out different tank defense options. It was hard to make them resign to my control, but gradually they began to respect me.

My name, Adolf, was associated with Hitler and sounded almost indecent. In military school everybody called me Arkadiy. I didn't change my name officially, and I was called Arkadiy on the front, too. In my documents Adolf was written, but I didn't mind people calling me Arkadiy.

On 5th July 1943, the Germans attacked at Kursk [battle] 35. They wanted to take revenge for their defeat in Stalingrad. From the very outset of the attack, the Germans used a lot of tanks, including the tanks of the newest makes such as '?igers' and 'Panthers', and self-propelled weapons: 'Ferdinand'. On that day our squad went to the town of Maloarkhangelsk in a railway echelon. It was my baptism of fire. Over sixty years have passed but some episodes are engraved in my memory and I remember them as if it was yesterday. It was almost a momentary transition from the peaceful life to a fierce war life. At dusk our squad was to take a firing position, i.e. we were supposed to fire at the tanks of the adversary as soon as they appeared in front of us. The weapons were placed at a distance of 60-70 meters from each other and my trench was right between them.

At dawn I noticed that I was at a distance of 1.5 kilometers from the leading edge of the enemy in the second layer of defense. Behind us there was ammunition of a larger caliber. The adversary noticed us and started continuous mortar fire, but we didn't have any casualties as we stayed in the narrow pits. On the second day we heard the roaring of a motor. We were given a signal to kick-off tank attack. The engine roaring was getting strong and finally it was heard all over the place. We understood that an armored column was moving towards us, which was out of sight. Tanks seemed to be a couple of kilometers away. I could see from my trench that piercing shells were ready to fire at Tigers and Ferdinands, which had the thickest armor. Everybody was very strained as we knew many of us would fall in this battle.

Threats and curses towards Germans were heard from our trenches. Artillery and mortar fire was terminated by the Germans. The sound of the tank roaring continued for another hour and then faded out. We were despondent and exhausted despite there being no battle. Later on that evening when we discussed that case with the regiment commander, somebody made an assumption that it was a psychological tank attack in order to instill fear and uncertainty. There were more such attacks, but we didn't react to them so acutely. On the nights of 11th and 12th July, our battalion was transferred to another place. Early in the morning the commander said that counteroffensive was expected and we were supposed to accompany the infantry and exterminate enemy tanks and firing-points.

We couldn't use gun-transporters as they might have become a good target for the enemy. We were supposed to move the weapon ourselves. We had to go up a hill. The first attempt to move the weapon seemed futile as it weighed around 1.5 tons. Two groups of people were required to move only one weapon a little bit. We were supposed to carry the boxes with shells. While we tried to move the ammunition, the artillery preparation began. Hundreds of weapons and mortars were included and the eminent Katyusha as well [Rocket launchers built and fielded by the Soviet Union in World War II. They got this unofficial, but immediately recognized name from the title of a Soviet wartime song]. We could hardly hear each other in the din of cannonade and had to cry out at the top of our lungs. We were located on the slope of a mountain opposite the Germans and they couldn't see us.

At that moment a lot of planes appeared in the sky, both our planes and the Germans. Shell bursts could be seen in the sky and it was unclear who was firing. Both columns of the planes were wedging into each other. I saw one plane split in two parts by an anti-aircraft shell. I couldn't figure out whether it was our plane or the Germans'. The infantry was ahead of us as it was easier for them to go uphill. They marched in a couple of chains at a distance of 50 meters from each other. Mobile headquarters with radio were in the second chain. All soldiers were clad in new uniforms as the replenishment division was sent to our counterattack. We could hardly move the ammunition and were considerably lacking behind as compared to the infantry. Finally our ascent was over and we were on ground level. Our leading edge was here with the trenches and separate pits of the machine guns. There was nobody in the trenches .Everybody was attacking.

We happened to have a great view of the adversary and the Germans had an obstructed sight of us and started firing. My soldiers jumped in the trenches to take cover from the gun fire. When the firing was over I shouted and swore to make my soldiers leave the trenches and level them with the earth so we could move our weapons closer. We were frightened by our prospects. There were a couple of killed soldiers, and one of them who was severely wounded, was convulsing. The soldiers around him were raising their hands up from time to time. Then I was told that those soldiers were Muslims and they were reading prayers without paying attention to the shell burst and whistling bullets. One of the soldiers, probably a sergeant was trying to make them move forward, but he didn't succeed; the soldiers kept praying.

There was another group of wounded and killed not very far from us. Those were the officers and the soldiers of the headquarters who outran us. They were mostly likely hit by a mine. One of the soldiers and a lady nurse were helping the wounded. I got very scared. I remembered my father's valediction as I was aware that I might be killed any minute. I could escape death by hiding in a pit, but at the same time I understood the responsibility of being a commander. If I rushed to the pit my subordinates would follow my example. I deliberately banished that sense of fear from me. I understood that I ought to fulfill my duty. I got to understand that in my very first battle. However, I was very reckless in my first battle as I was young and inexperienced. Later I became experienced, and wasn't headlong any more.

It was arid and sultry on that day and there were swarms of dust due to multiple shell bursts, and the visibility depended on the direction of the wind, and whether it changed from better to worse and vice versa. Suddenly, I saw the group of our soldiers who were trying to take cover from the machine-gun firing. I gave an immediate order, 'Get the weapons ready', and in a couple of minutes all was set. I determined the distance to the machine gun and indicted the target to the pointer, determined the type of the shell, detonator and the range setting [an artillery term meaning angle of slope of the weapon to visible horizon]. The first shot missed. I adjusted the range setting and commanded once again. The second shot was precise and the machine-gun ceased fire. Our weapon was noticed by a German from another machine gun and he, in his turn, started firing at our weapon. I and two more soldiers were wounded. I was wounded in the leg and fell down. The weapon commander put a tourniquet over the wound and when the battery commander found out that I had been wounded, he ordered me to crawl back to my initial position.

I returned to the weapon commander, who bandaged my wound. He showed me the way to the sanitary unit. I began crawling again. It started raining and in no time I was drenched to the skin. Soon I saw the cart with the nurse and the soldiers. I began crying and waving my hands as I couldn't get up. They noticed me, came up and helped me get in the cart with the wounded. We were taken to the medical battalion. It was a very large tent with a few tables with wounded soldiers on them. Military doctors and nurses were taking care of the wounded. I was put on the table and given an injection. A young lady- doctor began to treat me. The whole procedure didn't last more than 15 minutes and when it was over, the doctor told me that I had a penetrating wound on the shin. My bone wasn't touched and I would be back in the squad in a month. In a couple of hours the truck came to the medical battalion. I was taken to the hospital in that truck together with other wounded soldiers. My first battle was over.

I was discharged from hospital in a month, just the way I had been promised by the doctor and sent to the separate tank fighter division #874 of the artillery regiment. I took part in the battles of Dnepr and the liberation of the left-bank of Ukraine. In April 1944 I went to the first Ukrainian front and was allocated to the 2nd Guards airborne division. I was lightly wounded in one of the battles, but remained in commission.

Now I noticed rapt glances of the officers, who newly arrived from the school. I was a real combat officer to them, while they were still to go through the first battle. Of course I got scared, but not as much as in the first battle and there were no such difficult situations as compared with the very first battle. Usually we fired from the trench where death might be caused by a direct mortar shell. If a shell burst five meters from us, it wasn't that perilous. The trenches were large for the cannons to be turned if needed. The cannon was placed in the center of the trench so that the muzzle could be turned in any direction.

In January 1945 I was wounded for the second time in the battle close to the Czechoslovakian town of Kosice. When I was discharged from the hospital, I was sent to the separate antitank squadron #108 of the artillery division #8. I stayed in that squadron until the last day of the war.

I didn't feel anti-Semitism at war. There were different values and morale. One of the pointers in my squadron was a Jew from Birobidzhan 36, a gaunt slouching man with a big hooked nose. People treated him in the kindest and most respectable way. Commanders always included him in the list of awardees, writing his name on the top of the list as an artillery pointer was a very important duty. The whole squad, including the commander could stay either in the trench or take a crouching position by the weapon. But a pointer in his turn was supposed to stay by the weapon sight of the cannon in order to observe the enemy. If the pointer quailed or hid in the trench he would die and the whole squad might be killed, too .That man had the greatest courage and equanimity. That is why people treated him very well. His nickname was 'iron man.'

There was a situation during the battle, which could be indirectly referred to my nationality. In April 1945 we drove on Czechoslovakian hilly terrain. The road was to the right, the river was to the left, and there was a cluster of houses to the right of the river. There were hills right behind the houses. It was impossible to turn the ammunition of our squadron, consisting of twelve cannons. The soldiers over there needed only one cannon. Then there was a certain schedule - the first cannon, then the second, the third, the fourth, etc., that is one cannon for each day. The second battery was planned for the next week. Being commander of the platoon I was supposed to stay by two of my weapons. Both of my cannons were moved in turns. I was to stay close to both of my cannons. Then I left, and the defense position was taken over by another platoon commander with both of his cannons.

Once at dusk, we came closer to the leading edge, which was along a brook or ravine. We started to uncouple the cannons from the machines. When a cannon such as ours, was uncoupled, it still remained in downward position - the rear part of the barrel was fastened to the stand. When the cannon was fired from, the barrel would back off due to the impact of the explosive gases, that's why the barrel is supposed to be loose. If the barrel was fastened, then the cannon would blast as it would be taken off the stand. First the stands should be separated, then rooted and only after that the barrel is to be put in the horizontal position so that the cannon can be used for shooting. So, it takes time to get the cannon ready for battle. Hardly had we uncoupled the cannon from the retriever, we noticed that the infantry was retreating and there were shouts from the opposite side of the river bank, 'Capture, Russian! Capture, Russian!'

Judging by the number of shots, we understood that it was a small group of Germans - five or six people. The cannon still wasn't in the firing position, and we tried to take cover from the shooting behind the shed. The truck which brought the cannon didn't drive far as the shells were to be unloaded from it. Because of the firing, we couldn't get close to the cannon to separate the stands and start shooting. I told one of the soldiers to get a gun from the truck and an extra disk to circumvent the ravine from the opposite side, and start fire at that group of Germans. As soon as he started firing from the gun, the Germans stopped shooting at us and fired at the gun-soldier. We turned the cannon rapidly, loaded shrapnel i.e. small pellets, in it. The Germans were rather close to us, 100-120 meters. It was dark already and we were aiming at the flashes from the firing. After the first shot with the shrapnel we could hear savage screams, and after the second shot there were no sounds any more. We killed the entire group at once.

Then we got the cannon on the truck and moved to the place where our infantry had left. The whole skirmish lasted for 10-15 minutes. We knew that my cannon commander had been captured by the Germans at the beginning of the war. We didn't know the details. We didn't ask him and he didn't tell us anything. When the skirmish was over and we left to take our new positions, the cannon commander said to me that he had already been captured by the Germans once, and he wouldn't want to be captured ever again. Then he told me to shoot him if he were wounded, so that he would escape being captured again. He said that he had seen what was happening to the Jews in captivity, and he told me that I should escape that as well. Then I also asked him to shoot me if I were wounded and incapable of doing it myself. That was the only conversation where my nationality was mentioned during my entire front-line experience.

At the end of April 1945 we understood that the war would be over very soon. Nevertheless, we came across a fierce hold out of the adversary, who was to cover the retreat of the major troops. In one of the battles on 5th May 1945, two of the youngest officers of our squadron were killed. They joined our squadron only in the middle of April 1945. On 6th May, in the afternoon, we happened to be among the officers of the Czechoslovakian army [see Army of General Svoboda] 37 in one of the small Czechoslovakian towns. At noon we were told by them that on 6th May, a surrender document regarding the capitulation of German troops in the West was to be signed in London, and that the war would be over in a couple of days. We constantly discussed the news, having hope that we would survive the war. On 8th May, we were given the task to support the artillery infantry, which was supposed to capture the closest settlements. We remembered the words of the Czech officers. In actuality we didn't have any collisions with the Germans for the last couple of days, and now we had the order to attack and we didn't know how the events would unfold.

After a short training, our and Czechoslovakian infantry started attacking. All cannons of the squadron were on direct pointing range, and we rapidly fired at those positions which were in the way of the infantry. The battle lasted for three hours, and by the evening of 8th May, the town was captured. There were no casualties in our squadron, but there were the wounded and killed in the infantry. When the battle was over the cannons of our squadron were placed along the road. We awaited the order to attack, but the order didn't come. Around 9pm, we heard desultory fire. We thought that our rear regiment, which was trying to move to the west, had a battle with the Germans. Soon we saw our soldiers holding their rifles and guns in vertical position and shooting in the air. They rushed towards us and cried out something but we couldn't hear the words.

Of course we had a hunch what their words meant but were afraid to rejoice preliminary. Finally we could hear clearly, 'The war is over!' Then our squadron commander followed them and confirmed the joyful news by saying that Germany had surrendered, and at midnight of 9th May, military actions were terminated on all fronts. We were congratulating each other on the victory, kissing each other, singing and laughing. We loaded a couple of weapons and made fireworks to celebrate the end of the war .Then we started to remember our kin, friends and comrades, who fell in battle. We felt especially sad for those who died on the victory day. On 9th May our division commander let our squadron march before the infantry.

As all of our weapons were mechanized, we moved very fast and happened to be the first representatives of the Soviet Army in Czechoslovakia during the official termination of the war. The villagers exclaimed with joy as we passed. They gave us flowers. In one of the villages they even met us ceremoniously. At the exit of the village, there was an arch, adorned with coniferous branches and there were portraits of Stalin and Benes 38. There was an orchestra playing nearby, and tables were laid along the road with wine and food. Our main task was to follow the drivers for them not to drink up. The joy of victory and the warm reception in Czechoslovakia was embossed in my memory as the happiest day of my life.

During the second half of 9th May we caught up with the first column of Germans. As my comrades told me later on, the first driver who approached the column gave a signal. It was a group of Germans, going in carts without heavy ammunition. They turned to the right immediately giving us the traffic way as they mistook us for Germans. When the trucks passed the column, the Germans realized who we were and rushed to the side of the road. Our column passed, leaving the carts, and the scattered Germans behind. Neither we nor they fired. Soon, our fighter planes appeared in the sky above us. We paid no attention to them, but the planes made a circle and then suddenly they began firing from guns. They must have mistaken us for the retreating German column and wanted to prevent us from moving to the West. Now it was our turn to run. Luckily there was only one wounded, who had a light injury in the buttock.

According to the rules of capitulation, all German troops were supposed to remain in their positions and wait for our troops, and surrender. We didn't know that. Attack aircrafts made a couple of circles above us and left. We kept on moving forward. In a while we caught up with the second German column and the same happened. Hardly had we leveled out with the column, and the Germans scattered. We stopped this time and as per order of the commander brought all the Germans together. There was no shooting. Everybody knew that the war was over. Many of them were shouting, 'Hitler kaput! War kaput!' There was no animosity and circumspection. Then there was spontaneous mixing of Russian and Germans. Everybody was curious to have a look at each other. We patted each other on the shoulders.

First, it seemed very unclear and unnatural as we remembered what we had felt towards each other the day before, a week earlier, a year ago. But what was doubtless was that both we and our adversaries were sick and tired of war. Besides, all of us understood that there would be no casualties from any side. The meeting with the Germans was real proof that the war had been terminated. There was hatred towards the enemy, who stepped on our land, killed our kin bringing so much sorrow and calamity. The hatred was towards the enemy, and the adversary, and it was instilled by the political department of the army. But the hatred vanished into thin air when we met our unarmed enemy.

I have kept the map with the route of our squadron of 8th and 9th May as real precious thing. Every year I used to look at that map recollecting the events of the last days and minutes of the war. In 1999, I gave that map to the museum of the Jewish history.

I've never been a party member. I didn't become a party member in the lines. It was almost mandatory and I escaped it by miracle. I was aware that I couldn't say directly that I didn't want to become a member of the Party. That is why I pretended to be a fool saying that it was a very responsible matter and I wasn't mature enough for such an honor. They tried to convince me, they were biased, but at the same time there was no pressure or insistence. Then after the war, my cousin, Arkadiy Landsman, explained one of the reasons for mass acceptance in the Party during the war. By the way, Arkadiy joined the Party in the lines unwillingly; he was forced. The reason was the following: when our soldiers were captured by the Germans, they were told at once, 'Jews and communists, step forward!' They were exterminated immediately.

Everybody knew that a member of the party would fight till death, especially being a Jew. At that time the party membership cards were considered sacred and not to be given to the enemy no matter what. When people were in the siege instead of rescuing their lives, they thought of the party membership cards, burying them in the land. I was steadfast, and they didn't manage to talk me into becoming a party member. I didn't believe in the communist party, its impeccability and correctness. I didn't want to prevaricate. I wasn't the only one though. The battery commander wasn't a party member either.

When our troops entered Germany, there were cases of plundering and raping. Unfortunately, it happened in our squadron on our way back to the USSR from Czechoslovakia. I didn't witness anything. I found out about what had happened later. Such cases were strictly punished. [Editor's note: The number of German women raped by Soviet soldiers in the war is estimated to be two million, half of them gang-raped (Antony Beevor, 'Berlin-The Downfall 1945', Penguin Books, 2002). Along the way towards Germany women of other nationalities were raped massively too, including thousands of Russians, Ukrainians, Poles, etc. The vast majority of these incidents weren't investigated and went unpunished.] We tried to admonish plundering, raping or other criminal offenses towards the civilians. When we were crossing the border of a certain country, we were given leaflets with the reference about the country and with the recommendations to treat the population of the country loyally. Though, sometimes civilians didn't treat us loyally.

Before invading Poland, we got together and were told that our trucks weren't to stop in any Polish settlement no matter what. We stopped in the forests without having any contact with the Poles. We were told that there was some kind of epidemic in Poland. But there was one emergency stop of our column in the center of the town of Czestochowa. It was a very large city. We were warned not to leave the trucks. We had a stop for an hour and then left. The next day we were told a story. One of our commanders disobeyed the order and went to some bar in Czestochowa to have vodka. He drank vodka and died at once as the drink was poisoned. To die right after war is more horrible than to be killed in battle. Maybe it was connected with the negative attitude of Poles after the year 1939.

I was awarded with two Orders of the Great Patriotic War 39 of the first class, the first was obtained in 1944, and the second in 1995 to commemorate the 40th jubilee of the victory, with the Order of the Red Star 40 in 1945 and with medals for the liberation of different cities and for the victory in the Great Patriotic War [Medal for Victory over Germany] 41.

I corresponded with my parents during the entire period of the war. In 1943, my parents went back to Moscow after the Germans' retreat from Moscow. I craved for going back home, but I was able to demobilize from the army only in 1946. I was sent to Lvov [Ukraine, about 550 km from Kiev] for urgent army service. There was a peculiar situation in the army at that time. Such soldiers like I, having completed secondary school and military school, and having gone through war, were convinced to stay in the army and go on with higher education in the academy. My mother was ill. I was their only son. I wanted to go back to my parents. That's why I made desperate attempts to get demobilized.

After the War

After the war, young officers eligible for a military career were supposed to go through a physical examination. I finished the war in the rank of a lieutenant. I was so unwilling to stay in the army that I even made indications to my commanders for them not to promote me in rank. But in accordance with my data - ten grades of school, artillery school and combat experience - I was supposed to stay in the army and continue the service. I met a doctor who was a member of the medical board. He was a laryngologist. I had a contusion, so he was supposed to examine me. I asked him to put my ailment in brighter colors. Then I remembered that I read somewhere that when the Germans sent young people from the occupied territories to Germany, they had to go through a medical checkup. Young people mixed tobacco and tea, put them in rolls and then smoked them before the physical examination. Then they were told that they had heart trouble and they weren't sent anywhere.

I smoked such a roll before going through a physical check. The doctor, whom I had asked to help me out, checked my heart and said that there was something wrong with it. Some other doctors also examined me and confirmed my physically restricted status. Based on the findings of the commission I was demobilized from the army in one month. I don't consider my deed shameless; I was a rather good soldier at war and did my best for my country and for the Red Army, but after the war I wanted to be a civilian. Moreover, there were a lot of people who had the intention to stay in the army. They had a different situation. Our battery commander, who had the rank of a captain, was eager to stay in the army, but he had only completed five grades of school, he was a hostler in a collective farm 42 before the war. He was promoted in the army during the war. He was demobilized as he wasn't educated despite being agog for serving in the army. He didn't want to go to the collective farm, and I understood him very well. I was happy to get demobilized.

My relatives also participated in the war. Jacob Landsman, the son of my father's elder brother, went to the front as a volunteer. He was a radio operator in the army. During the crossing of the Order he was severely wounded. He was demobilized as incapacitated. After demobilization, Jacob graduated from the juridical department of the university and worked as a lawyer. My cousin, Arkadiy, Pavel Landsman's son, also went to war. He went through the entire war. He was seriously wounded several times and survived miraculously. After the war, he graduated from the physics department of Moscow University and worked as a researcher.

My cousin Sofia Khudalova, the daughter of my mother's sister Eugenia, was in an airborne battery, which defended the district of the machine plant in Nizhniy Novgorod. She belonged to the squad. David Krivin, the son of my mother's sister Marta, was the only cousin who was of drafting age, and didn't go to war. Before the war, he graduated from the Technical University and was employed at the design bureau of plane designer Iliushin. [Iliushin, Sergey Vladimirovich (1894-1977): major Soviet aircraft designer, academician, general-colonel of the engineering troops, thrice the Hero of Socialistic Labor. Under his guidance many types of civil and military aircrafts were designed.] He took part in the development of new types of planes. He was released from drafting and he stayed in the bureau. My other cousins were too young to go to war.

I returned to my parents and entered the Moscow Energy Institute in a month. It was hard for me to pass the entrance exams. At that time it wasn't because of my nationality, just because I lost my knowledge for four years and my brain worked differently after the war. But it was taken into consideration that I was a front-line soldier and had awards, so I was accepted.

My father had his chin up after the war. He had an ordinary Moscow passport and he had a job in the trust, which belonged to the system of mortar armament. He became the deputy director of the planning department. However, my parents and I were deeply affected by my father's arrest and our illegal residence in Moscow. For many years we had lived with the fear of exile. When I returned from the front, I thought that my father might be exiled, but I wouldn't be touched for being a veteran of the war. I still remained offish and recluse. When I saw my teacher of the junior grades on the street, I was afraid to go up to her and talk as she knew that my father had been exiled. I still remember this meeting. I wanted to go to her and didn't.

At that time, even the closest people to me didn't know that we had been in exile. It wasn't a delirium of persecution as it might seem to a person born after 1960, or who never lived in the USSR. We were influenced by the repressions of our fathers. One of the brightest examples is my cousin, Arkadiy Landsman, who was exiled with my father. After the war, Arkadiy graduated from the physics department of Moscow University, and after graduation he was given a mandatory job assignment 43 in a very inconspicuous institute. Then when the era of cosmos exploration began, his institute began elaboration and manufacture of energy elements for satellite borne equipment. This institute acquired the status of top secret.

Arkadiy invented and implemented a solar battery which was installed on the satellite. He was conferred the title of candidate of science, then he acquired a doctorate degree [Soviet/Russian doctorate degrees] 44, and became a professor. Arkadiy was conferred with governmental awards for his scientific work, like the Order of Red Labor Banner 45, Order of Lenin 46, and many others; he was one of the few Jews who were the laureates of the State Prize. He had considerable merits. But when he went back to our past, he told me once, that he was supposed to fill in all kinds of forms in his institute and was scared to think what might have happened if those forms were checked. He never mentioned in his forms that his father had been exiled.

I told him, that being such a dignitary with so many awards he had nothing to fear. Arkadiy told me that he knew that system very well because once the head of the special department [entitled to checking political reliability of all employees] being a little drunk told him things about the system. He said if they found out about uncle Pavel's exile, Arkadiy could be reduced to dust in the camp because he knew many state sectors and the cosmos development program of ten years in advance, and was one of the leaders of the group of energy supply for the satellite equipment. This is the way our fathers' repressions were reflected on the second generation.

During the war my father went to the Moscow synagogue. Beginning from 1947 he went to the synagogue on Yom Kippur and on the day of his parents' death. My parents celebrated Pesach and Rosh Hashanah. Of course they didn't adhere to the tradition totally. My father didn't lead seder. He just went to the synagogue and prayed at home. On Yom Kippur both my parents fasted for the whole day just the way it's supposed to be done. I didn't object to that though it wasn't good for their health. Besides, I didn't fully understand the Jewish traditions.

At the end of the 1940s, anti-Semitism was gradually emerging and later on it was streamlined. I didn't feel that from my own experience, maybe because my appearance wasn't particularly Jewish. But I witnessed insults and brusqueness towards Jews and I thought it to be my duty to interfere and put the twerp in his place. In 1948, anti-Semitism was almost displayed as a civil position. Cosmopolitan trials started in 1948 [see campaign against 'cosmopolitans'] 47. First those campaigns referred to the scientists and cultural activists, and then there were repulsive anti- Semitic articles about the intelligentsia and engineers, where Jews were pictured as bad characters. There were Jewish names in the articles all the time and if some of the authors had an alias they were happy to dispose of their real Jewish surnames with such an implication so that their names couldn't be concealed. Of course, the authors of those articles were close to delirium but many people believed them.

I remember the article in the paper Izvestiya 48 about a Jew, who baked meat patties. He had a special gadget to separate meat from the bones with the help of which he was able to get more meat than when using a knife. Of course, his profit increased, and he paid his income tax. But he was charged with fraud against the state because he was able to get a higher profit that was provided by a technological process, and his rational idea turned out to be a criminal offense. Such was the year of 1948. Of course, there were no direct anti-Semitic attitudes, but they were implied in every phrase. I wouldn't even mention the phrase rootless cosmopolitans: that is how they called outstanding scientists, renowned actors. A word such as combination was used in the vocabulary of many Soviet people. At that time apart from fighting cosmopolitans there was a struggle against the science of genetics and cybernetics. [The Soviet regime declared genetics a 'corrupt wench of imperialism' and cybernetics 'bourgeois pseudoscience'. They were officially banned until the beginning of 1970. The government was baiting the scientists who dealt with them.] No doubt, it retarded the development of our science for many years.

I remember how in 1948 the case against genetics commenced. I was a third- year student at the Energy Institute, which was a technical institution that had nothing to do with genetics. We were called for a general meeting at the institute with the requirement to condemn the criminal actions of our biology scientists. Among ourselves we shared the common opinion that he had nothing to do with that and biologists could give their opinion in this matter. But we talked about it unofficially, and when the speaker of the meeting asked us to raise our hands to condemn genetics, everybody raised their hands. I raised my hand too as there was no way out to survive and not get in the KGB 49, and put pressure on one's conscience.

In January 1953 there was the very 'trustful' doctors' case [Doctors' Plot] 50. It was the time of horror. It was the time when anti-Semitism reached its peak. People were afraid to go to Jewish doctors. My father was in the hospital at that time. His physician was a female Jew, the head of the department. My father said that the senior nurse went from ward to ward saying to the patients, 'I don't trust that Jew.' If the head of the department reprimanded her for something, the nurse started shouting and insulting the doctor. Could you possibly imagine anything like that? I was a witness of this bizarre scandal. It was a very hard time. Neither I nor many of my acquaintances believed in the verity of the articles about the doctors being poisoners.

It was impossible to picture a doctor, whose calling was to save people, to poison his patient. There were people who believed that slander. There were even more people who used it to their advantage. Some people sincerely believed in the verity of the official information. One of my acquaintances, Lubov Mogilin, a Jewish doctor told me, 'How terrible! How could they have done that?' I asked her whether she believed that and she said she couldn't help believing things published in the newspapers.

In 1948 the state of Israel was founded. First we were more bewildered than glad, as the USSR supported the founding of the state of Israel being a member of the UN. And it happened when the struggle against cosmopolitism was in full swing. The USSR supported Israel thinking of its own advantage. It was caused by the expectation of the USSR that the state and its communist party with Meir Vilner at its head would be providing USSR politics in Israel. They thought it would be the same satellite as Bulgaria, Poland, and Romania, and that was the reason for the support. When they found out that Israel wanted to follow its own way and not be a protectorate of the USSR, the Soviet Union dramatically changed its attitude towards Israel. All decent people kept abreast with the events in Israel and sympathized with Israelis. Israel showed its vitality, making a blooming garden out of the stony desert. Israel also showed its defense capability during the Six-Day-War 51 and Doomsday war [Yom Kippur War] 52. Many people were rapt by that and Israel gained even more respect.

I graduated from the institute in 1952 during the swing of anti-Semitism. My mother was seriously ill at that time. She was confined to bed and stayed in hospital from time to time. She caught a cold during the war and since that time she had deforming poly-arthritis. My father had two apoplectic attacks and one infarction. It was hard for me to get a certificate in the hospital, as my mother was a bed-ridden patient requiring permanent nursing. I brought that certificate to the institute. The most important thing for me was to get a mandatory job assignment in Moscow. I couldn't leave two helpless old people. Due to that medical certificate I stayed in Moscow and the rest of the Jews were sent to hick places. It was hard for them to leave afterwards. I was assigned as an engineer to the foundry 'Isolite,' where anti-Semitism was flourishing.

They couldn't fire me within three years as I was a 'young specialist.' [A person given a mandatory job assignment after graduation was called 'young specialist' and couldn't be fired within three years in accordance with the Soviet law.] As soon as the three-year term was over I was fired right away in 1955; my job position was reduced and I was fired because of the needlessness of my position. The director even removed my position from the staff schedule and shortly after I was fired, my position reappeared in the staff schedule again. I had to go to multiple interviews wandering from one place to another. First they told me that I was qualified, and then when they checked my form, they said that there were no vacancies.

Finally, I was employed at a design institute of water supply systems, 'Giprovodkhoz.' There were many Jews there. First I worked as an engineer, and then I was a senior engineer. In 1973 I requested to be transferred to the All-union organization 'Soyuzvodoproyekt' [All-union water project]. I worked there as the head of the group of designers of municipal water supply, then I became a 'chief expert' - that was my job title. My functions included the check of quality and control over all design projects carried out by our department. I designed electric equipment for hydraulic power stations, elaborated automation of technological processes in melioration and took part in the adjustment of our systems in melioration sites.

I published seven articles of mine, and received five copyright certificates for inventions and I was awarded - two silver and one bronze - medals of the exhibition of the achievements in national economy. [The Exhibition of the Achievements in National Economy was located on the outskirts of Moscow and was opened in 1939. It contained modern pavilions, where the last achievements in science, technology and agriculture were demonstrated to the visitors. Winners of the annual contests were awarded in each of the above-mentioned categories. In the 1950s such exhibitions were opened in all capitals of the USSR Republics.] I retired in the year 1990.

I was despondent by Stalin's death in 1953. Stalin had been my idol since my childhood like for many other children. I believed in Stalin, in his brilliant mind and his justice. In 1953 I worked at the plant. There was a radio set in our office and I remember how we cried listening to the funeral ceremony for Stalin. It was the common mood; it was the psychology of the crowd. Everybody cried, including me. My father, who had had two apoplectic strokes and had to walk with a cane, said that he wanted to say good-bye to Stalin in spite of the fact that he was repressed and had to hide for many years without an opportunity to live and work normally. Of course, neither my mother nor I let him go to Stalin's funeral. He was worried about it. We thought it was the end of the world and we didn't know what would happen to our lives.

The shock passed and we kept on living. There was another shock after the Twentieth Party Congress 53, where Nikita Khrushchev 54 took the floor disposing Stalin's cult and divulging the crimes of Stalin and his apparatus. The whole text of his speech wasn't published in the papers or broadcast on the radio. There were only excerpts. There was a general meeting of all employees a few days after the party congress. The secretary of the party organization read us Khrushchev's speech in its entirety. I asked her if I could hold that historic document in my hands for a couple of minutes. I couldn't help believing Khrushchev and not because we were used to believing things spoken on behalf of the Party. Khrushchev said that all of us at the back of our minds understood the things he had been a witness of. Though there are people who even now say that Khrushchev calumniated Stalin, and I don't understand why. Others are prone to think that Khrushchev divulged the truth, which was to be hidden from the people. I disagree with both of those opinions.

I think people are entitled to know the truth about their leaders who govern the state and about things going on in their country. Though, before the Twentieth Party Congress there were people who had known the true personality of Stalin. These were mostly people who had suffered from Stalin's regime. They were smart and didn't blindly believe in Stalin's propaganda. My father told me that in 1949, when he was having tea, one of his good Jewish pals, the secretary of the party organization of the trust, whispered to him, that Stalin was a hard-core criminal. There were very few people who could say that. The majority of people, especially of my , believed Stalin was a genius, and we won the war because of him, and there is no way they could be convinced otherwise. They merely didn't listen to the proof. And these aren't necessarily retarded, ignorant or illiterate people.

I lived with both of my half-paralyzed bed-ridden parents. I worked and then I was supposed to do all the household chores, and take care of my parents. I didn't even have the opportunity to see girls. I couldn't invite anybody to our house, so as not to make my parents feel awkward. My father died in 1956. He was buried in the city cemetery and his funeral wasn't in accordance with the Jewish rites. My mother lived another half a year longer and she was able to find out that I was seeing a girl, who later became my wife. She was happy for me. She died in the late fall of 1956, and she was buried next to my father.

Alla Chonskaya was my fellow student, two years younger than me. We knew each other and met during classes. Then we bumped into each other in 1956. I was 34. She knew I was single and she invited me to the birthday party of her little daughter and said that she would introduce me to her cousin. When I went over and saw Nora I decided at once: either I marry Nora or remain an old bachelor. I still remember the moment how I entered the room and saw how Nora took Alla's daughter in her arms to conceal her embarrassment. She turned to me with a child. I even remember how she was dressed on that day. She wore a light grey and red checked dress. We kept that dress for ever. When my dear wife passed away [in 2002], she was buried in that dress.

Nora Chestnetskaya was born in Moscow in 1929 into a Jewish family. Her father, Ilia Chestnetskiy, was an engineer, and her mother, Sofia Chestnetskaya, was a housewife. Nora was an only child. Russian was Nora's mother tongue. Yiddish wasn't spoken in her family. Nora was a schoolgirl when the war began. Her father was drafted in the lines, and Nora was evacuated to Ufa [Bashkortostan, 1,200 km from Moscow] with her mother. In 1943, Nora's father died in the battle close to Voronezh. When Nora came back from evacuation with her mother she finished school and entered the German philological department of the Moscow Teachers' Training Institute.

Her mother got married a second time. She was married to a wonderful man, Isidor Mazur, who became Nora's stepfather. I knew Isidor. He was a remarkable man, who had a very complicated life. Isidor was born in Poland, in Lodz. He came from a very rich family. Poland was part of the Russian Empire at that time. [Poland was reunified after World War I, in 1918. Before that its territory had been controlled by its three powerful neighbors (Russia, Prussia and Austria-Hungary) for more than 100 years]. He went to a German school, where Polish was taught as a foreign language. He had only two hours of Polish language per week. His parents spoke Russian at home. When Isidor was at an adolescent age, he was keen on revolutionary ideas. After the commencement of the Russian Revolution of 1917, Isidor left Lodz for Moscow and entered the Bauman Institute [Moscow High Technical School named after renowned revolutionary Nikolay Bauman, today it is called Technical Institute].

After graduation he was employed at the Ministry of Foreign Trade and he was sent to Germany to purchase equipment with a group of engineers. He was sent with the same assignment to France and Italy. With the outbreak of repressions at the end of the 1930s the whole group of engineers was arrested. Both leaders of the group were shot, and Isidor was blamed for espionage in Germany, France, Italy and Japan for some reason. He was imprisoned in Moscow. He was tortured daily and was required to sign a testimony as they couldn't file a suit without a signed testimony. Isidor told me about the interrogation procedure. He stood leaning towards the wall. Having asked a couple of questions, the investigator struck him strongly on the jaw so that Isidor hit the wall and lost consciousness. Then there was an 'assembly-line' where the group of investigators interrogated in shifts for 48 hours. Then he was hung so that his arms were suspended to hooks attached to the door post.

After two days of being suspended his skin cracked and blood would seep from the wounds. They gave him a paper to sign; he couldn't even see what it was. His case was in the court now, and he was sentenced to ten years in the Gulag. He served there for five years only, and then he was sent to some settlement to work as an engineer. Isidor knew Nora's mother before he was arrested. They were in love with each other before his arrest, and in the year 1945 Nora's mother, Sofia, went to him and they got married. In 1948 he was released as he had served the full term in the camp; he had been in custody for ten years: five years in the camp, and another five years in exile.

Isidor was conferred the rank of a major of the engineering troops and was sent to Korea. [Engineering troops formed one of the divisions of the Soviet Army. They were involved in the design and building of defense and military constructions.] After the Twentieth Party Congress, Isidor was exonerated and the first thing he did was he went to the head of the camp to pay him a 'courtesy visit.' To his surprise the head said that he owed Isidor an apology. I dwelled on Isidor's life as he became a dear person not only to my wife but to me as well. My outlook was affected by him, he made me see things I hadn't noticed before. My wife and I lived with Nora's parents. We celebrated birthdays of family members, New Year's and Victory Day 55. Soviet holidays such as 1st May, and 7th November [see October Revolutionary Day] 56 and Soviet Army Day 57, were also celebrated. It was customary to mark those holidays at work and they were extra days off for us.

After graduation from the Teachers' Training Institute, Nora was given a mandatory job assignment at the Moscow Railroad Vocational School to work as a German teacher. She worked there all her life. Her students remained her friends. Nora was a wonderful person, a very kind and cordial woman. She couldn't be called beautiful, but she was comely and witty. She was always the life and soul of the company. Nora was a book-worm and I always was interested in her opinion on the books I read. She was able to notice details overlooked by me. Unfortunately, we didn't have children. Maybe it was the reason why we were able to talk to each other more than other spouses could afford to.

In 1970, when Brezhnev 58 was the head of the government [First Secretary of the Communist Party], mass immigration of Jews to Israel started. On one hand, immigration of certain Jews wasn't officially approved, and on the other, anti-Semitism still remained in the country. It was difficult for Jews to get a job or enter an institution of higher education. Maybe they thought the harder anti-Semitism was the more Jews would leave the country. I can't say it for sure. I, in my turn, wished the best to those who were departing, and tried to assist them in any way I could. Though there were some Jews who were ill-disposed towards the Jews who were leaving the country. Some of my acquaintances used to say that those Jews who left the country for permanent abode, betrayed their real motherland, and others said that because of mass immigration it would be harder for the remaining Jews to live in the country and they would be treated even worse.

It was very hard for Jews to get a job, as the employers used to say frankly that they wouldn't hire Jews as they would immigrate, which would cause trouble for the management. Jews were hated because they left the country, and on the other hand they were envied as they were entitled to immigrate and other nationalities couldn't do that. My wife and I didn't want to immigrate. Nora had heart disease and she couldn't stand heat. That's why we were afraid to go to this country with its sultry weather. If we had had children we would have sacrificed for their future, but we didn't have children and so we remained in the USSR. And now that I am by myself, I can't live anywhere else as there would be nobody to attend Nora's grave.

When at the end of 1980 the General Secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party, Mikhail Gorbachev 59, declared the new course to be taken by the party, i.e. perestroika 60, I was rapt by the coming prospects as we would have opportunities we had never had before. We would have the freedom of speech, the freedom of press, no censorship in the press and all kinds of other liberties. It seemed like a godsend. Frankly speaking, I couldn't even imagine anything like that in my lifetime. There was no Iron Curtain 61 anymore, which had isolated our country from the rest of the world for decades. People were able to go overseas, invite their friends and relatives who resided in foreign countries. Liberty of religion was only in the USSR constitution, but in actuality religious people were persecuted.

Finally, people were able to observe religious rites, without concealing it and taking a risk. Now people could be entrepreneurs openly. All those things brought delight. However, many communists couldn't abide what was happening; they were against free entrepreneurship. One of my intelligent friends asked me in despair, 'Are we to become capitalists?' I was happy, and he was perturbed. Perestroika turned things upside down, which caused a considerable stratification, which became more and more conspicuous every year. Very wealthy people appeared as well as really indigent ones. Then the country happened to be in a very complicated economic position and I wasn't delighted. Many leaders of the old school couldn't accept perestroika and did their best to block it. It was caused by the incorrect policy of Gorbachev's predecessors.

Our goods weren't competitive. Things had to be purchased with the gold reserves of the country. When Gorbachev was in power the country practically ran out of those reserves. Only the most vital medicines, which weren't produced in our country, were purchased. Peoples' discontent was growing and it caused the breakup of the USSR [in 1991]. It was a shock for me. There were many reasons for the breakup and the main one was written in the constitution: the USSR is the union of the independent republics, which could become separate states. I think it was a tragedy for such a large and powerful country, but it couldn't have been prevented. The republics realized their constitutional rights. As an engineer I was interested in the technical issues as well, like the electric energy supply, transport network and others, as all those branches were interlaced and interdependent between all Republics of the USSR. There were certain every- day issues that worried me. I feared that I wouldn't be able to visit my friends in the other republics.

Jewish life, which emerged during perestroika, had a revival in new Russia. There were a lot of Jewish papers and magazines, concerts of Jewish music and dance. One of the biggest events for me was the construction of the memorial synagogue at Poklonnaya Mountain. [The memorial synagogue at Poklonnaya Mountain was built in the period of 1996-1998 by the Congress of Russian Jews under the auspices of Moscow Municipal Authorities. It is devoted to the commemoration of the Jews - Holocaust victims. There is a museum of the Jewish Community of Russia on the premises of the memorial]. I have celebrated victory day starting on 9th May 1997 in that synagogue. The members of the Council of Jewish Veterans were taken to the synagogue by bus. Only the skeleton of the building was constructed, there were no windows and doors.

We were invited into the synagogue, where the rabbi was reading a prayer. Then we were invited to take seats at the laid festive table. After the feast was over, each of us was given a red carnation. We took a bus and drove along the territory of the memorial complex. When we reached the exit we were asked to get off the bus. We saw a crowd of people there. There were Russian women clad in black and wearing mourning kerchiefs, and the Tartar women clad in white kerchief [white is the mourning color of Tartars]. The mayor of the city of Moscow held a speech. He said that people got together on that day to commemorate their kin and other close people who had perished in the war.

Jews in the synagogue, Russians in the Orthodox Church, and Tartars in the Mosque. Now all of us got together to bow before the monument of our motherland, which is a symbol for all people who perished in the war, and brought flowers. We weren't going to do it separately. All of us got together, just the way it was at war. I was in a kippah and close to me there was a Tartar woman clad in a white mourning shawl. We put our carnations on the monument of the motherland. It was a very solemn event and I will always keep it in my memory. The synagogue was opened in 1998. My wife and I were present at the opening ceremony and used to go there every year for the anniversary of the victory day.

I am an active member of the group 'Russia-Israel,' founded by the Russian Committee of the Veterans of War and Military Veterans. Russians and Jews belong to this group. According to the mutual agreement, the chairman of the group is a Jew and the deputy chairman is Russian. All Russian members of the group have a very good attitude towards Jews. Our group is often invited to the Israeli cultural center, where meetings with interesting people are organized for us. Lectures and concerts are held there too. Besides, I joined the military group of the Holocaust fund. I'm also the member of the [Moscow] Council of the Jewish Veterans of War 62, which is headed by Moses Marianovskiy. I am a centurion, the head of a group consisting of one hundred people. My duty is to call those people for meetings, apprise them of events to be held in the fund and keep abreast with the times. I'm also responsible to keep their records.

When I was supposed to fill in the form for the group 'Russia-Israel,' I put 'Judaism' in the line 'Religion.' In actuality I don't consider myself to be a true Jew from the standpoint of religion. The pantheistic philosophy of Baruch Spinoza 61 is closer to me. There isn't the slightest doubt that God exists, but we can't imagine him due to our restricted thinking power. In my understanding God is like a forester, who guards his forest. He does his best to protect the anthill, but he wouldn't be taking care of every single ant. It is the responsibility of the ant to take care of himself. I think that the main task of religion is to bring the human society in order, nurture morale in people, which should be done by any religion. Maybe that is why I don't even go to the synagogue. I enjoy listening to Orthodox and Catholic sermons, if they are interesting. I enjoy talking to truly religious people no matter what religion they profess.

I often go to the Jewish history museum at Poklonnaya Mountain. From time to time I take some materials there. Some dignitaries from Israel go to this museum sometimes. I was asked to give some things to the museum, which I kept from the war. There are my personal exhibits in the museum. I gave them the compass, the map of those routes I used to take in the year 1945 and the waterproof cape - very few people know what it looks like. It is tarpaulin material of 2?2 meters. It is possible to make a cape or a tent out of it. During the war we had to sleep on the snow. For two soldiers we made the following - we put a thick layer of coniferous branches either from spruce or pine and then put a waterproof cape over it. Then we used another waterproof tent as a cover. I kept that waterproof cape as a keepsake. Now this cape is exhibited in the museum. I also gave my father's tallit to the museum. I had kept and cherished it as a sacred thing.

In 2000 my wife got severely ill. She had Parkinson's disease and suffered a lot. I tried not to leave her by herself. My friends helped me about the house. There was a nurse from the Jewish community who came to assist us. Nora couldn't stay without me even for a minute. If I had to go outside, I called her every hour. Nora died in 2002. She was buried in the Jewish cemetery. Her grandmother, mother and aunt were buried there and she wanted to be buried next to their graves. Her students came to her funeral, even the students from the first graduation year. They loved her very much. Even now I feel that she is close to me. She helps me when I ask her for advice. I believe that one day we will be together again.

Glossary:

Marietta Smolkova
Prague
Czech Republic
Interviewer: Pavla Neuner
Date of interview: April 2005

Mrs. Smolkova is a very pleasant and energetic lady. The interview took place in her apartment, which is located in the center of Prague in the local Jewish quarter. The apartment is small but cozy. It is impossible to not notice several beautiful antique clocks that remain in Mrs. Smolkova's possession from her father's original collection.

Family background">Family background

My grandfather on my father's side was named Bernard Bloch. He was born in Meclov in the year 1836. He came from a family of German Jews. His father made a living as a horse trader, he went from village to village in the Sumava region; he always slept over someplace, and returned home once a week, for Saturday. On Sunday he'd again leave to go out on the road. My great-grandfather wanted his children to already have some sort of education, so he used to send Grandpa to cheder. Cheder was a school for Jewish children, organized by the Jewish community. After the reforms under Joseph II 1 Jews were officially allowed to attend public schools, nevertheless the practice in the countryside was that children went to cheder, where they learned to read and write, studied Hebrew and basic prayers. Cheder was basically a substitute for elementary school. My grandpa had a brother, Adolf, who settled in America. His daughter Stella later married my father's oldest brother, Oskar.

My grandfather found a job with a shipping company in Karlovy Vary 2. To this day, kaolin [china clay], which is the basis for the manufacture of porcelain, is mined in the Karlovy Vary region, so naturally there was a porcelain and other ceramics industry there. My grandfather delivered raw materials for that shipper to the local factories, and it was there that he apparently got to know that type of enterprise. Then Grandpa courted a girl from Volduchy near Rokycany, my grandmother Jenny Koretz. I unfortunately don't know much about her family. My grandma was born in 1848. She was a housewife; I don't think that she had any higher education. At the age of 39 she was operated on for breast cancer, she lived to be 69, and died in 1917 in Dubi.

At that time in Uncin [due to the close proximity of the German border, in those days the town was named Hohnenstein], which was located between Teplice and Usti nad Labem, there was a ceramics factory for sale, which my grandfather was very interested in. He bought the factory with my grandmother's dowry, his savings, and money that his employer lent him. The factory, which had been well run even before him, prospered under his ownership as well.

I never got to personally know my grandmother or grandfather on my father's side. Their mother tongue was German. Both were from purely Jewish families, nevertheless I don't know what their personal relationship to Judaism was like. Judging by the attitudes of their children, I suspect that they were conscious of their Jewish identity but weren't religious. I think that more likely they financially supported Jews that found themselves in need.

My grandparents had all told eleven children, five boys and six girls. Oskar, Olga, Otto, Artur, Adela, Elsa, Bedriska, who they called Frida, Marketa, Helena, Egon and Kamil. The youngest was Kamil, who however died in childhood. Egon was the only one of my father's siblings that we didn't keep in touch with. My grandfather even left him out of his will. Egon would always start something, but never finished it. Once he decided that he was a painter, so my grandma went and bought him art supplies. Nevertheless, in two weeks he decided to start something new. Egon was lucky that he married a good woman, who was very hard-working and supported him his entire life. Thanks to her he also survived the war, because she wasn't Jewish and thus protected him. Adela had three sons; Elsa lived up until 1938 with her family in Karlovy Vary. Frida lived in Teplice and was the only one of the siblings to not have children. Helena got tuberculosis and died at the age of 24. Marketa had two children. All the sisters were married to university graduates. One was a chemical engineer, another a lawyer, another a pharmacist, who had a pharmacy on the Old Town Square. Elsa's husband was a doctor and Aunt Olga was married to the lawyer Karel Glässner. They had a son, Alfred, and daughters Trude and Erna. They lived in Lovosice.

My grandfather on my mother's side was named Adolf Bruml and was born in 1864 in the town of Strazov. His father was named Benedikt Bruml and his mother Katerina, nee Eisenschiml. My grandpa and his three brothers all named their eldest daughter after her. Grandpa and Grandma lived in Duchcov, in Northern Bohemia. He owned a textile store, a shop where they sewed and sold work clothes, like for example aprons or coveralls, which were intended for miners who worked in the Duchcov region. His mother tongue was German; nevertheless, he knew how to speak Czech. Grandpa died of cancer after the end of World War I, in 1920, so I didn't have the chance to get to know him. In his will he left a certain amount in benefit of the poor in Duchcov, with the condition that it be divided equally between the Jewish and non-Jewish residents. In this he actually favored the Jewish ones, because there were far less Jews in Duchcov than the rest of the population. My mother loved him.

My grandmother on my mother's side was named Ida Bruml, nee Abeles. She was born in Lochovice, in the district of Horovice in 1865. Her father died early on. Her mother ran a cigar store in Kostelec nad Cernymi Lesy, where she sold newspapers, tobacco and similar things, and my grandmother helped her with it from the time she was small. Her mother tongue was German, but she spoke fluent Czech. My grandmother likely didn't have a higher education. She was an expressly self-taught person. She drew beautifully and knew shorthand; she also knew a bit of French and could read Hebrew. My grandmother Ida was the only of my grandparents that I knew personally.

My grandmother was the dominant one in her and my grandfather's relationship. She was a talented designer. She helped run the store and at the same time designed patterns that were then embroidered into the clothing. I think I still have some bedclothes for which she had designed beautiful monograms. The patterns on bedclothes were hand-sewn by the seamstresses, but for example on aprons it was done by machines. In earlier times every child wore a luster [a type of fabric] apron with some type of color edging and embroidery. It didn't serve as a school uniform, because everyone wore something a little different, but served more as a clothes protector.

The store was named "Adolf Bruml." The original store was located in Duchcov. When my mother later left for Dubi to be with my father, my grandparents moved to nearby Teplice, which was about 20 kilometers from Duchcov. They then also had a few smaller branches in villages in that region. Business went well until the time of the Great Depression 3, when they then had to start over from scratch. My grandparents lived in a building where on the ground floor they had their store. I didn't ever see it, but my mother told me that there was a toy store across the street and that my sister would always sit with her nose against the glass and watched what they were selling there.

My grandmother was the most devout person in our whole family. They didn't cook kosher at home, and neither did she wear any special clothing. Nevertheless, she was very familiar with Jewish holidays, and knew everything that belonged to them. My grandparents observed Sabbath and my grandmother prayed, but she didn't attend synagogue regularly. For holidays we'd always go to her place. After Grandpa died, my grandma lived in Teplice with her son Josef and his wife Eli.

My grandmother was a big hiker, when the store was closed she'd set off with her girlfriends for trips into the Krusne Mountains. Every Sunday she'd come to our place in Dubi for lunch, and was very bothered by the fact that neither my sister nor I drank milk. So she'd sometimes take us along on a trip, and purposely order it for us. She would always bring us some work to do, because she was of the opinion that we, children, should be doing something. And so she'd bring us a box of tangled string and say: 'This is how they're sending it to us, and it's a shame to throw it out, and girls, if you do it for me, each of you will get something.' Years later, when we were already bigger, we asked her where she had always gotten so much string from. And she answered: 'Well, now I can tell you, I tangled them up myself, and wanted you to learn to be patient.' And now, when I have to be patient on some occasion, I remember by grandma, who taught it to me.

My grandmother died in 1940 in Prague. She was cremated, and we buried her urn in Teplice in Grandfather's grave in the local Jewish cemetery. The Brumls and the Blochs have a family crypt there.

Besides my mother, my grandmother and grandfather also had three sons, of whom Benedikt and Jan were twins, born in 1896 or 1897. Josef, who they called Pepa, was a year older than my mother, so born in 1893.

Uncle Pepa and his family lived in Teplice, where he took over Grandpa's clothing store. During the Great Depression they were faring very badly, so they moved to Liberec, where his father-in-law, Mr. Seger, a Jew originally from Kolin, lived. Pepa's wife was named Eli. They had two children, a son born in 1926, and a daughter, Mariana. We often spent time with Pepa's family. I liked them very much; we had a lot in common as far as personality goes, too. Pepa used to go to synagogue for Yom Kippur and sometimes during the Sabbath, too. I think that his religiousness was relatively lukewarm. They definitely didn't have a kosher household.

One sister-in-law of Pepa's got married to someone in England still before the war, and thanks to her help, Pepa and his family moved there at the last moment, in 1939, so they all survived. At first they lived with his sister-in-law and her husband, who was a Romanian Jew by origin and went to England at the beginning of the 1930s. He made a living selling goods to department stores. He gradually entrusted my uncle with one branch of his wholesale business.

Already in his youth, Benedikt was a fervent Zionist. A carpet that I still have, and which comes from the Bruml household, experienced Benedikt marching around on it every evening, and lecturing the family on Palestine. There would usually be some sweets on the table, and when Benedikt was talking, he apparently always walked around that table and when he would stop in a certain spot each time, he would take a piece. He wanted to fire them up for Zionism, and though they listened to him, he didn't infect anyone with it.

His twin Jan was a very jovial, friendly guy, always with a smile on his lips. He liked dogs and small children and people in general. Both of them voluntarily enlisted in the army for the Emperor and Monarchy during World War I 4. I don't know if they were such patriots, more likely their youth played a role; it's not hard to inspire a young person. They were both no older than 18 when they enlisted. They finished high school ahead of time, did their final exams, and went to war. Because of their high school diploma, they automatically got the rank of 'teterist,' which was the lowest officer rank.

In the end they didn't serve together, but both fell on the Italian Front 5, each on a different battlefield. After the war ended, Pepa left for Italy and began searching for their graves. He went from cemetery to cemetery until he found them both and then took care of their graves and maintained them. Grandma must have had it hard, when she first got the news of one son's death, and then also the second one's. They sent Grandma Jan's and Benedikt's death certificates as well as Benedikt's war diary, in which in one place the entries suddenly cease.

Pepa also fought in World War I, however he didn't enlist voluntarily. He was taken as a prisoner of war in Siberia. He was stuck there for a relatively long time even after the war, because he was in prison in Siberia, and in there they didn't at first know that the war had ended, and even then their release took a long time. He definitely didn't get home until after I was born, so not until after 1921. The Russians had begun to do business with the prisoners, they brought them food and in exchange they gave them their old uniforms and various army things. My uncle had always liked to cook, and he then worked there as a cook, so at least he didn't go hungry. Always when they released someone, the others would give him letters for their families back home, who thus got to know that they were alive.

Grandpa Bruml had cousins in America, some Eisners, who had a clothing factory. Once Pepa got a Russian uniform, and when he put it on, on the manufacturer's label he found the name of exactly that Eisner company. Because America and Russia were war allies, and besides weapons, the Americans were also supplying the Russians with uniforms. The label also had an address, and so he let the Eisners know that he was alive and where he was, and that he'd like to get out of there, but that it was taking a terribly long time. And the Eisners sent him a steamer ticket for the trip to America, but departing from Japan. So in some fashion he then got to Japan, but he was completely without money, when he walked by a barbershop, where he saw a sign reading 'Here we help Jews.' So he went in and they bought him a ticket so he could get to the ship.

When he landed in America, he again didn't know what next. He heard someone talking incessantly from a loudspeaker, but didn't understand a thing. So he went to the information office and when they found out his name, they told him, 'They keep calling out your name, Bruml, Bruml.' Pepa had no idea why they were calling his name, but in the end he found out that it was because the Eisners had left some money for him there, so he could get directly to them.

Pepa stayed in America for about a year and a half, and he would certainly have wanted to stay permanently, but his father died and he had to return, to take care of the store. After his return he got married. I think that if he could have had his choice, Uncle Pepa wouldn't have been a businessman. He sang very nicely and liked all beautiful things, the same as my mother. He had originally studied law, but couldn't finish his studies because the war came, and then they needed him at home for the store. I can imagine him as a judge or lawyer, but that store was probably completely against his nature. But he had to handle it.

My father was named Artur Bloch, and was born in Uncin in the year 1880. From the age of ten he rented [a place] in Prague, where he was attending academic high school. In Prague he later studied at and graduated from a German business academy. He subsequently left for Paris for two years, where he studied French and spent a year in England because of English. His first work experience was then with some shipping company in Hamburg.

In 1909 my grandfather died, and so they called my father home. My grandfather owned three prospering factories, and had left instructions as to which of his children was to run them. My father got the largest one, the porcelain factory, with the caveat that he must pay out a dowry for all his unmarried sisters, which back then they all were, save for one. So he got into financial difficulties and was forced to find a partner. His brother-in-law, Josef Freund, who had a pharmacy on the Old Town Square in Prague and made a lot of money, then invested into the factory, as well as his brother Hugo, who lived with his family in our building part of the year.

So my father then had partners, which took care of the financial side of things, which was something that my father didn't understand that much. He was responsible for the operation of the factory as such. My grandfather's original three factories, including the porcelain one, were named 'B. Bloch.' The Porcelain factory was then named 'Bloch a spol' [Bloch & Co.]. It produces to this day, under the name of 'Czech Porcelain.'

My father's brothers inherited the other two factories; Oskar got the factory in Dubi and Otto the very first one, in Uncin. Otto however went bankrupt due to the Depression. Otto's wife was named Josefina, they had a daughter named Doris, who was born the same year as my sister, and my three years older cousin, Honza. Josefina was very good friends with my father's second wife, Aunt Gusti.

Oskar died quite suddenly in his sixties, he fell down in our garden and never got up again. His wife, Stella Blochova, who was his cousin that he had brought with him from the United States, then ran the factory. They had two daughters together, Ilsa and Liza. But during the Great Depression the factory went bankrupt, so of the family property, only my father's porcelain factory remained. After Hitler's rise to power 6 Stella was warned by her brothers who lived in America, and already in 1936 she left with her younger daughter for America. Her older daughter got married and lived in Teplice, nevertheless she also left in time, in 1938, before the Germans occupied the border regions.

My mother was named Katerina, born Brumlova in the year 1894 in Duchcov. After elementary school her parents sent her to a girls' boarding school in Dresden. She probably didn't have any other education. As opposed to my father, my mother spoke Czech very fluently and well, although her mother tongue was also German. This is because there was a relatively strong Czech minority in Duchcov and Most. My mother was a merry, beautiful and emancipated woman.

My parents met in Teplice. They were married in 1915, and I think that they had a Jewish wedding. A year later my sister was born, and in 1921 I came into the world. My father was a pleasant and intelligent person, and definitely didn't only make an impression on my mother because he was 15 years older. My mother's parents and my father together bought a villa in Dubi, which today is a relatively disreputable place, nevertheless back then it was a beautiful small spa town.

My mother admired my father very much, and always spoke of him as a very honorable and decent person. Later, when I was old enough to understand, she explained to me why it couldn't work between them. Their personalities were too different, my father was a loner and my mother was on the contrary a social being. My father educated himself a lot his whole life, but no one ever knew how much he actually knew. He was very much an introvert, the same as my sister. The Blochs and Brumls were actually very different families in terms of character. The Blochs were in general more reserved, a person had to know them well to understand them. The Brumls were smiling, open and always cracking jokes, and even though they were sometimes badly off, no one ever realized it.

My father was as a matter of principle against all associations. He made one exception and became a volunteer fireman, because he considered this group to be useful. I don't think that he ever actually helped with a fire, he really just took care of their accounting and administration, and probably also contributed financially. But otherwise he didn't approve of any associations or parties. Surprisingly for a factory owner, he voted for the Social Democrats.

My father associated most often with his relatives, but what he liked the most was to spend time with his closest family, and as far as possible in such a manner so that he wouldn't have to talk much. He was a downright introvert. His big hobby was collecting old clocks. He read German, English and French. He studied Czech, but didn't do very well at it. My mother, on the other hand, was very gregarious. She had a best friend in Teplice, 'Auntie' Steli, who often used to come visit us in Dubi. For long years she wasn't able to have a baby, and so spoiled my sister and me. After some twelve years of trying, when she wasn't even expecting it any longer, she became pregnant and had a baby girl.

My parents were divorced in 1929. My mother then married Dr. Viktor Hahn, who had divorced a year earlier. First, right after my mother's divorce, they had a Jewish wedding, and then, after the couple of months required, they also had a civil wedding. My mother knew Doctor Hahn from about 1920, and about a year later he brought me into the world. Doctor Hahn worked as a gynecologist, he spent seven years at a gynecological clinic in Vienna, where he lived with his first wife Greta, and where in 1818 his son, Jindrich Hahn, was born. After World War I times were tough in Vienna, there wasn't even any food, so they moved back to Teplice, where in 1891 he had been born. He had a very good reputation as a doctor there, so my mother also began going to him. Uncle Viktor was a very merry and sociable person, my father's opposite.

During the divorce my parents came to an agreement, that my almost six year older sister would stay with our mother, and that I'd go live with my father. When I was already around 19, I asked my mother why I, as the younger one, had gone to be with my father, when at that time I hadn't even been eight years old. And my mother explained to me that she hadn't wanted to hurt my father even more, because she knew that if my sister had lived with him, they would have both withdrawn into themselves and would have become disaccustomed to talking. Each of them would have his book and his records with music and they wouldn't need to communicate with each other. So I remained with my father in Dubi, and my sister lived with our mother in Teplice with 'Uncle' Viktor.

My 'uncle's' son lived there with them for some time. Viktor's ex-wife didn't like it, so they agreed that Jindra would live halfway between, in Usti nad Labem, with some professor. Jindra's studies had gone very well in Teplice, but he must not have been very happy in Usti, and there his results weren't as good. Greta kept insisting that he should come to Prague to be with her. She had also remarried, she had married my future husband's brother, who was the director of the Unionbanka bank. They both had a very busy social life, which was also given by his job, so there wasn't that much time left over for Jindra.

Jindra's studies again didn't go very well, finally he managed to graduate and they agreed that he's to go to England to learn English. This is also what saved him. During the war he served as a pilot in the Czechoslovak Army, in the famous 311th Squadron. [The 311th Czechoslovak Bomber Squadron, belonged among the best and most famous Czechoslovak army formations during World War II. It was created in July 1940, and on 30th July it moved to the RAF air base at Honington. Its air and ground personnel were Czechoslovaks. From September 1940 until June 1945, it flew approximately 3,160 missions. The 311th Squadron finally ended its activities at the beginning of June 1945.]

My father really wasn't overly talkative, but he loved us very much. I remember how I used to wait for him to come home for supper. He knew that I was crazy about fresh walnuts, which you could crack. But I was never patient enough to crack them. On the table there would be napkins in rings with our names, and each one would put his cracked nuts into those rings. My father would then say, 'Close your eyes' and swap the piles.

My father also remarried. His second wife was named Augusta, born Diehlova in 1894. She had converted to Judaism when she had married her first husband, Mr. Neumann, who however died. He was a member of the B'nai B'rith Society, where there was this custom that upon a member's death, one of the others would be designated as the widow's guardian. And by coincidence her guardian became Josef Freund, who was the husband of my father's youngest sister, Marketa. And this Mr. Freund realized that he had a divorced brother-in-law in Dubi, who should probably get married, when he's raising a little daughter. There used to be a sanatorium in Dubi, which is around to this day, Tereza's Spa, which used to rent out rooms when there weren't enough patients. And so Augusta arrived there for a week to inconspicuously check things out.

My 'aunt' was a very merry creature, and I liked her very much, and she also looked upon me as a daughter. She didn't have children of her own, her first husband had been almost 20 years older, and I guess they hadn't been able to have them. She got along better with my father than my mother had. Although she and my mother were both the same age, it was as if each one was from a different century. And 'auntie' from the century in which in short everything was done so that the husband would like it, so it wouldn't burden him and so he wouldn't have any worries. While our mother was from the century where more equal partnerships already existed. When my father and auntie were married, I had only one condition: that I won't have to call her Mom. So for me she was Aunt Gusti. I used to call my mother's second husband Uncle, because I had addressed him that way since I was small.

My aunt spoke German with my father, but she also knew how to speak Czech. Uncle Viktor was a German Jew, the same as my father. My mother spoke fluent Czech, because she was from Duchcov, and in that part of Northern Bohemia there was a relatively strong Czech minority, while my father was from the Teplice region, where on the other hand there were very few Czechs.

My father's Judaism was very lukewarm. The only people in our family that observed the Sabbath were Aunt Gusti and Grandma Brumlova. Everyone used to go to my grandma's for seder. I remember that I was awfully glad when my younger cousin started saying the mah nishtanah, and I didn't have to any more. My grandmother went to synagogue, but neither my mother nor my father did. We didn't cook kosher at home. For Yom Kippur my father would also fast by not turning on the radio that day, which for him was worse than not eating. He was a big music lover.

My sister was born in 1916 in Teplice. We called her Hanne, but her real name was Hannerle. My mother's brother Jan picked this name from the book 'Die Geschichte von der Hannerl und ihren Liebhabern' ['The Story of Hannerl and Her Lovers']. My uncle knew that my mother was pregnant, but he never saw my sister, because he fought and fell at the Italian Front. In a letter to my mother he wrote that he'd read that book and that Hannerle was a nice name, for them to give it to her.

Growing up">Growing up

My sister and I grew up in relatively well-off families. Uncle Viktor's father got rich during World War I, when food was rationed, and he got an idea and started manufacturing artificial honey. The honey was made from sugar beets, which were grown in large quantities here. This artificial honey was sold outside of the ration system, and was bought by virtually all families. It even tasted similarly to real honey. He made a lot of money on this idea, which though after the war lost value, but in the meantime he managed to buy some buildings, which he then rented out.

So the Hahns and we were doing very well, but despite that we lived very frugally. I remember that originally I didn't have an allowance at all. I only began getting it when I once managed to run up a five-crown debt. In elementary school in Dubi I had a girlfriend that ate a lot, and though she used to get a snack just like me, she would go to the variety store next door for pickled fish. I love them to this day and always have some in the fridge. But she had money for them while I didn't have an allowance. And so I said to the lady at the store, 'Mrs. Liebscherova, could you please sell me a half a roll and put some of those pickled onions on it? And how much would it cost?' She said, 'Well, 10 halers for half of that roll, and for 10 halers I'll put those onions on it.' And by 20 haler increments I gradually built up a five-crown debt.

It came out into the open completely unexpectedly one day, it was my aunt that found out about it. I was used to giving my aunt a kiss when I returned home. And my aunt smelled something and asked, 'What did you eat?' So I confessed. She almost fainted and immediately went to pay my debt. And from that time on I used to get three crowns a week, which wasn't a lot, but it was more than enough for those pickled fish of mine. But I don't think that I was ever so extravagant as to buy a whole roll with a whole fish.

The town of Dubi was divided up into two parts, Upper and Lower. Lower Dubi was more industrial, and in Upper Dubi private villas surrounded the local sanatorium. Upper Dubi and Lower Dubi are connected by a road that leads to the German border. When they were married my parents bought a villa across from the sanatorium, and the factory was located in Lower Dubi, where my father walked every day for half an hour to the office. When it was raining too hard, he took the streetcar one stop, but then had to walk a ways more. We didn't have a car.

We lived on the middle floor of our villa. Below us lived in-laws of one of my brother's sisters, and the apartment above us was rented to some family of teachers. Our apartment had a terrace, where we usually ate in the summer. There was a large chestnut tree in the garden, whose branches reached up to the terrace. We looked out into greenery on all sides. At home we employed a cook, who also sometimes took me out in a baby carriage. But otherwise my mother brought me up, though my sister had had a nanny. On top of that we had one or two household helpers.

The apartment was made up of large rooms, we had a den, which was actually a library, where my father also had his collection of old clocks, of which three have remained in my possession. Further there was a relatively large dining room and living room, then a bedroom, washroom and kitchen with a larder. In my parents' bedroom I remember there being a large wardrobe and a bureau made of light-colored polished wood. I remember being fascinated by the quantity of drawers in that bureau. One had ties in it, another handkerchiefs, another socks. Back then it seemed like in a store to me.

As very small children my sister and I had our room downstairs with our relatives, who however had two sons, so when we were big enough, my parents thought it better to move us to a room up on the third floor, beside the teachers, that is when their daughters got married and left home, and the room was then free. I remained in it, alone, when my mother and sister moved to Teplice in 1929.

At home we had running water and electricity. We had a telephone at home as far back as I can remember, I recall that already as a little girl I liked talking on the phone. It was mounted securely on the wall, and I had to bring a chair and climb up on it to be able to use it. We had parquet floors; in the dining room, which was this fancy room, there was textile wallpaper, like in some palace. The other rooms were painted white.

We heated with a ceramic tile stove, which was made in one of my grandfather's three factories. My father had them rebuilt, and installed a slow-burning stove. It had the advantage that in the morning it was still warm and you could stoke it again. In the kitchen the cook cooked on a normal stove. It was already the time of the Great Depression when Auntie came to live with us, at that time we had only a maid, with whom my aunt was however fairly friendly with, and they more or less took turns cooking.

The Great Depression was truly an awful period. I remember the huge numbers of unemployed, and I remember how twice a week some of my classmates would come over for lunch, so that they would get a warm meal. On other days they went someplace else. It must have been horrible to wait like that until someone gave them something. My father's hair turned white overnight, because they had to let people go and he felt responsible for them and couldn't help them. So life during the First Republic 7 wasn't again as rosy as they say today. It had the potential to be ideal, however the depression hit it quite hard, if only because it was an industrialized country.

The market where people bought vegetables was all the way over in Lower Dubi. Near our house there was a variety store, where we used to go for flour, oil and butter, occasionally for bread. The store was run by one of the few Czechs that lived in Upper Dubi. I liked going shopping there, because I loved fresh bread. I never brought it home whole, on the way I'd nibble away at it. Each evening a butcher would come to our place for our order and the next day he'd bring fresh meat. We'd call the baker to tell him how much bread and rolls we'd want, and he'd then put it in cloth bags and hang it on our gate latch. We drank tap water, which was very tasty and on festive occasions we'd have wine with our meal.

We observed Jewish holidays as well as Czech holidays. We'd always celebrate things twice. Though my father had a large factory, he had no car. But as a doctor, Uncle Viktor had a car, so that he could pay calls on his patients in the region. So the way celebrations always took place was that first my sister and I would be at the Hahns' and then they'd take us by car to Dubi, where we'd continue.

Seder suppers took place in my Grandma Brumlova's and Uncle Josef's communal household. At home we had matzot, which everyone liked to eat, except for me. We also made some sweet foods from matzah meal, which I liked. For Chanukkah we lit candles in the menorah. To this day I make the soup that we used to cook the evening before Yom Kippur. It was hearty, but easy to digest:

I boil one whole smaller chicken with root vegetables and a bit of Savoy cabbage and onion. To this I add one or two cubes of chicken bullion. When the vegetables are tender and the meat separating from the bones, I remove the onion, which serves only for flavor, cut the vegetables into pieces and pick the meat from the bones. I also add dumplings to the soup, which I make from grated rolls (bread crumbs) and during Passover from matzah meal. You have to add some fat to the dumplings so that they're soft. The fat boils out of them and the dumplings remain nice and tender.

I make baba cake, which we'd have as our first food after fasting, today as well:

I use icing sugar, fat, which I combine with three yolks and the sugar, plus I add smooth flour, into which I add some baking powder, then I stir in some milk, beaten egg whites and two or three handfuls of raisins.

I remember it all as being serious and dignified. Fun belonged in between Christmas and the New Year.

At Christmas we had a tree at home, but we didn't hang crosses or angels on it, but glass globes. Instead of carols we sang neutral songs. We always did it in part because of our servants, who always got some gifts underneath the tree. I liked Christmas, all the children had a tree, and so it was natural for me to want one, too. We also had a smaller tree and gifts over at the Hahns'.

Our relatives, Hugo Freund and his family, who used the apartment downstairs, were from Trebic in Moravia, and didn't stay with us for the entire year. They spent the time between Christmas and New Year's at home in Trebic. They employed a Jewish maid, Hermina, who stayed alone with us for the Christmas holidays. Once she brought over a dog, which in that quiet and in the candlelight began to growl. Back then my sister as a joke remarked ironically: 'Quiet, you Jewish dog, don't interrupt a Christian celebration.'

All of my father's sisters lived in Prague, and all of my cousins from Prague used to spend Christmas holidays at our place. In all there were 27 of us cousins of various ages, so there was always a big commotion at our place. My father's two brothers also lived in Dubi, so together all told we had three large apartments at our disposal.

On New Year's Eve we'd make punch, play cards and listen to the radio. At midnight, besides a toast we'd also pour molten lead, and one of the cousins would always predict the future from it. He also read our palms. And then my father would peel apples, he knew how to peel them so that he'd make one long strip of peel. We'd then throw it at each other, and according to what letter or shape it was similar to, we'd guess that person's suitor. During the Christmas holidays my sister would stay with us in Dubi. The Hahns were on the order of 15 years younger than my father and used to go skiing to the mountains. Uncle Viktor loved sports, my mother went along more just for the ride. My father also liked sports, up until he got a hernia during gymnastics exercises.

I attended five grades of elementary school in Dubi, then another four grades of high school in Teplice. In elementary school in Dubi, my cousin and I were the only two Jews. Before that it had been my sister and my cousin Doris. Once every two weeks, Rabbi Herzl would come to Dubi, and when the rest of the children were already at home, my cousin and I had a religion lesson with him. However he wasn't only a rabbi, but also a music critic. He wrote concert and opera reviews in the papers. And because all three of us liked music, the way it went was that for a little while we'd devote ourselves to Judaism, and then he'd tell us about music. Sometimes he didn't even manage it all, so our religious education was very spotty.

In high school in Teplice I had a lot more Jewish classmates. There were a lot of us born after World War I, so that there were 35 of us students in the class. We had two classes in our year, in one were Protestants, and in the other Jews with Catholics, where there were more Jews than Catholics. Of the Catholics another couple of children came from mixed marriages and had either a Jewish mother or father at home. I loved going there, it was this intellectual, pleasant time. I had decided that I was going to study law. The high school was focused on the humanities. We had Latin every day. History and geography was taught by a Jewish teacher, Mrs. Maiselova. She lived alone, and committed suicide before she was scheduled to be transported to Terezin 8.

My sister, who as opposed to me graduated, had gone to the same high school before. Back then my father told me, 'These are serious times, and you need a practical career, and if everything ends well, you'll work with me in the factory.' Because my father wasn't at all a businessman at heart, and saw one in me. And so I transferred to business academy in Teplice, so that I'd gain practical knowledge.

At school I belonged among the best students. At business academy I was the only Jewess. In my class there was this one German girl, who was also a very good student and had basically the same grades as I did. Nevertheless, when someone got praise, she was usually the one to come first. Already I could feel that something wasn't right. However, that unpleasant feeling stemmed mainly from the fact that my classmates whispered to each other in front of me, and suddenly I was kind of left out.

I remember how on Mondays the boys would come to school all worn out, and I would say to myself, what could it be from. Later I found out that on Fridays the Turners 9 drove them by car to Germany, someplace by Dresden, where they trained them, maybe even taught them to shoot. These boys then later went about yelling and shouting 'Sieg Heil.'

I never got to graduate, because the Germans arrived and occupied the border regions in 1938 10, and at that time I was in only my third year of a four-year program. Afterwards I never got to some comprehensive sort of education again. After the war I took English lessons and so on, but I never actually finished my studies. I didn't even graduate from high school, because right after the war I needed to start making money.

It's about five kilometers from Dubi to Teplice, today a bus goes there, back then it took me about three quarters of an hour to get home from school in Teplice by streetcar. I managed to do my homework on the streetcar, so when I then got home, I could devote myself to my pastimes. I spent a lot of my free time in nature. There was a stream behind our house where I liked to play a lot. I made boats from matchboxes and floated them down the stream. I didn't mind being alone at all. I loved the forest, where I often went for walks, in winter on cross-country skis.

Back then we didn't buy skis for each generation, my sister and I had skis handed down from our father and one of our uncles. Even our boots were from my mother's brothers, the twins. They had ski pants and shirts sewn for us from some old uniform, it was dark blue. There where the boot ended and the pants began, you'd wrap your leg with a piece of material about two meters long, embroidered with a Nordic pattern, so that snow wouldn't get in your boots. And when there was a lot of snow, we'd even ski to school. I loved walking in the freshly fallen snow, where there weren't yet any tracks, only here and there from some fox or hare. I loved being by myself in nature, with the beautiful air and blue sky.

My aunt came to the conclusion that since I was a girl, I should have dolls and gradually bought them for me and sewed very nice dresses for every occasion for them. I played with them for a short while, but it didn't amuse me. I remember that I constantly washed one of the dolls until the newspaper it was stuffed with began coming out of it.

As a child I had interests that were quite different from other girls. While the others embroidered and played with dolls, I played with a hammer. Back then they were building the road from Dubi to Cinovec, the one today so notorious for prostitution, and a little ways away from our house the construction workers had some sort of portable blacksmith's workshop. There was an open fire where they heated hoes and shovels and straightened them again with a hammer, so that they were once again usable. I was utterly fascinated by it, I was capable of standing there for an hour after school, and they would sometimes allow me to try it and straighten the tools with a hammer.

In Teplice there used to be a fair, where with my allowance I bought for example pliers and a hammer. Then I also had to have a crown for artificial honey. I always spent three crowns for the first cherries [of the season] for my mother. It was this piece of wood wrapped with cherry leaves and maybe five single cherries, but the first ones. Once I wanted very much to buy them for my mother, but I didn't have the money for them. The Hahns had a large yard without any flowerbeds, and the entire perimeter of the property had been planted with dark red roses. And so once when they left for a vacation, I at the age of ten made a deal to sell the roses, of course at far below market price, so I could make money for my mother's cherries.

I attended German schools and at home we also spoke German. The First Republic was so tolerant that Czech wasn't enshrined as a compulsory language. From 3rd grade of elementary school I attended elective Czech classes. We used a Czech textbook about 'Kulihrasek,' but thanks to it we knew absolutely useless sentences, it didn't teach practical Czech. [Editor's note: 'Kulihrasek' was and still is the name of a character in children's books and textbooks.]

When my aunt from Prague came to Dubi to visit, she found it inconceivable that I didn't know Czech. Back then she and my father came to a decision and took out an ad in the paper looking for a Czech family with children, where I could stay and learn conversational Czech. To this day I remember that 198 people answered that ad. In the end they picked two families from Mseno, near Melnik. However when they visited the first family it was found that the three daughters mentioned were already about 30, and I was only 14. So we went to the second family, who had a 13-year-old son and two girls, one and two years older.

Initially my father and aunt sent me to be with them for four weeks. At their place I learned things that I didn't know how to do from home, like for example knitting. We were always going swimming, and I learned to play tennis. I remained lifelong friends with one of them, Lidka Kozlikova. Right from that first stay I brought Lidka over to our place, which was for her on the contrary German conversation. We would go on outings together, and due to the fact that the things were coming to a head, we felt ourselves to be great patriots. We for example went to the border with Germany, where on the other side a flag with a swastika was hanging. With great enthusiasm we would spit across the border barrier and thought that we had really done something brave. Always, when a truck with Czechoslovak soldiers would pass us, we were conscious of the fact that we were Czechoslovaks, although in my case a German-speaking one.

As soon as Hitler came to power in Germany, the once united and intermingled populace began to divide. And so the young people also belonged to various sports clubs. The Zionists had Maccabi 11, which I didn't attend. Then there was the German Deutscher Turnverein club, whose motto was 'Frisch, fromm, fröhlich, frei ist die Deutsche Turnerei.' That means 'Fresh, devout, merry and free are German athletics.' Their symbol was already reminiscent of the swastika, it was four 'F's' which overlapped at right angles. So of course I didn't go there either. And Sokol 12 was somehow distant to me. Later I used to go to Sokol with my cousin for 'sibrinky,' these dance parties. There was a private gym in Teplice, which was run by two women, one was Jewish and the other was an immigrant from Czarist Russia, and I used to go take gymnastics from them. The mother of Tomas Kraus also used to go there, today he's the secretary of the Federation of Jewish Communities in the CR.

There were only four Jewish families living in Dubi, ours and those of two of my father's brothers, Oskar and Otto, and then there was some Parizek family. They weren't local, they bought a villa in Dubi, and didn't settle there until they were retired. Dubi had a population of around 2000. In Teplice, on the other hand, there lived many Jewish families, about 15 percent of the population was Jewish. Next to Prague, Teplice was the largest Jewish community in Bohemia. Due to the large number of German- speaking inhabitants, bilingual signs were used, so Dubi was also named Eichwald [Oak Forest] and Teplice Teplitz.

Before 1933 we didn't feel any tension or anti-Semitism. Everyone lived more or less together, it wasn't until Hitler assumed power that society started differentiating itself. Which group you belonged to was demonstrated mainly during 1st May marches. The Hahns, who lived in Teplice, had wooden blinds on their windows, which they would roll down in case some rock came flying over. People tend to be brave in a crowd. I remember the last 1st May march, in 1938, when the Communists and Social Democrats walked separately from the Turners, who already had drums and knee socks.

We had always considered ourselves to be Czechoslovaks, and we loved Czechoslovakia. If someone would have asked whether I was a Czech, a German or a Jew, I wouldn't have been able to answer. We felt ourselves to be Czechoslovaks, we had Jewish origins and spoke German. We never avoided anyone and never belonged to any party. In the street in Teplice where the Hahns lived, there were five villas and in each one lived some doctor and his family. Everyone mingled, regardless of origin or religion.

In September of 1938 the workers in our porcelain factory went on strike to protest the fact that the border region was still Czechoslovak. By doing so they wanted to support Henlein 13 and his efforts to have the so-called Sudetenland 14 annexed by Germany. That day we left Dubi for Prague, and never again returned. We had only what little would fit in a small suitcase. It also meant saying goodbye to attending school at the beginning of the 3rd year of business academy, it was goodbye to our home and for my father also goodbye to his career and family business.

I don't remember that the workers somehow actively went against my father. Nevertheless, we didn't know what was going to happen next, because the local Germans were already beginning to arm themselves, going across the border for weapons. We didn't know anything, it was more of an apprehension. At that time it wasn't only we that left, but a number of other Czech and Jewish families. Then it was only another three weeks until Munich actually happened, and to the ceding of the border regions.

Thus we arrived in Prague, where my father's mother-in-law from his second marriage lived. She was named Frantiska Diehlova, born Jiraskova in 1855, she was a cousin of Alois Jirasek [Jirasek, Alois (1851-1930): Czech novelist and playwright]. Her apartment was too small, and so only my aunt stayed there and my father lived with his wife's brother for a while, who with his Jewish wife had a slightly larger apartment in the Vinohrady quarter.

Then they found an apartment near the Olsany Cemeteries and in 1939 they moved into a rented apartment in a villa in the Holesovice quarter, near the Troja Bridge. The owner and his family lived on the ground floor of the villa, my father and aunt rented the first floor, and then there was one more small apartment, where this one teacher lived. In that year, 1939, the owner accepted my father, aunt and her mother very willingly, when he didn't have the house paid off yet. After the war he then did everything to try to oust us.

My aunt may have converted to Judaism already due to her first marriage, nevertheless she came from a Christian family, her father was a German from somewhere in the Rhineland. For Germans she was therefore of Aryan origin and thus also protected my father until almost the end of the war. Her mother died right after the war, in 1945.

My mother moved to Brno with her second husband and my sister. There wasn't enough room at my father's mother-in-law's place, and so I went to the Hahns. I lived in Brno from October 1938. My sister was working there in a children's hospital and we both studied English, learned to sew, do the laundry, iron and cook. Actually, we were preparing for emigration. I don't know how seriously they had spoken of emigration at home earlier, but I think that in reality my father didn't want to emigrate. In Dubi he had a Jewish head clerk, Mr. Wagner, who was preparing to emigrate. He said to him, 'Mr. Bloch, you speak French, after all; I'm going there to work for a porcelain factory, don't you want to as well?' But my father didn't react to that.

The Hahns definitely did want to emigrate. In 1938 Uncle Viktor's son went to England to learn English, and he then stayed there. The Hahns were attending English courses and preparing to leave for England and then for the United States. Our relatives, who had a clothing factory in America, even sent affidavits for the Hahns, my sister and me. My sister and I had work arranged in one Jewish house in London, she as a cook and I as a chambermaid. We even had black dresses with white caps and aprons made, like proper servants. My sister already had all of her papers, but I wasn't 18 yet, and so my work permit wasn't valid until from August 1938. However, the war already began on 1st September 15, so my sister waited here with me, and then it was already impossible to leave. The Hahns also didn't leave, so in the end we all stayed here.

During the war">During the war

The way we found out about the German invasion in March of 1939 16, was that in the morning we leaned out of the window, and hanging in front of our window there was a flag with a swastika, which had been hung there by the building superintendent. At about 10am the commander of the Brno Gestapo arrived and at first wanted to occupy the entire building. Then he changed his mind and occupied only one floor. So for one month we lived under the same roof with the commander of the Brno Gestapo. It took a month before we found an apartment in Prague, packed our things and moved. In Prague we then lived in the Podoli quarter, and Grandma Brumlova and Uncle Viktor's father, Robert Hahn also moved in with us, so three generations of us lived together. 'Grandpa' Hahn died a week before we boarded the transport to Terezin.

We lived off our savings, and partly by selling things that we didn't need. I remember a large carpet, which due to its size not everyone could use. It was bought by one industrialist's widow, and we had an agreement with her that she'd officially transfer part of the money to a sealed bank account, which Jews had to have, and that the rest she'd give us in cash, which would have helped us very much, and would have hurt only the Germans. In reality we never got the remainder, and I'd be interested in knowing whether it laid on her conscience in any way. On the other hand, other people helped us very much, they hid our things for us so that we wouldn't have to give them to the Germans, and then after the war they came and returned them on their own initiative. Of course not everyone was like that, but they were to be found.

We had to move from our apartment in Podoli to Prague 1, to a neighborhood designated for the Jewish population. In the meantime my grandmother and grandfather had died, and we moved to an apartment in Parizska Street. It was a four-room apartment, in which originally one family had lived. With our arrival, however, the number of families living there increased to five. We got one room, which however had two doors, and so there was room for only one bed. In it slept my mother, and my sister, Uncle Viktor and I slept on mattresses that during the day were stacked in some corner, and would be laid out for the night. The rest of the perhaps 14 residents of that apartment would walk through our room to the bathroom, which was beside us. Here we stayed up until the moment we received our summons to the transport.

I never occupied myself with the question as to why we went to Terezin so early on; I always basically considered it to be a question of fate. We arrived at the gathering place in Prague, Veletrnzni Palac, on 11th December 1941, and three days later we were transported to Terezin. My sister and I were young and strong, nothing was difficult. I remember that we were helping move hundreds of suitcases and trunks, and they all seemed to be light to us. My sister, with her experience from the hospital in Brno, began helping my uncle, who already worked here as a doctor. Then in Terezin my sister worked the whole time as a nurse.

We arrived in Terezin, which at that time wasn't that organized yet. We lived in the Dresden barracks. I remember that there weren't even mattresses there yet, which got there only much later, from Prague. We had colored bedsheets with us, and there was a bit of wood wool there, which isn't anything nearly as good as straw, because wood wool makes these hard wads, so that one slept badly on it, but slept. My mother had a highly developed sense of beauty and esthetics, so she immediately began to organize and build a makeshift couch out of suitcases, which the others then copied from her. Then it looked a bit like home.

I sorted potatoes in the Dresden basement, and my sister worked with Dr. Hajek as a nurse. In the beginning my mother also used to go to the basement to sort potatoes. Uncle Viktor lived in the Magdeburg barracks in a doctor's room, and was allowed to visit us, once a week, I think. As additional transports arrived, the ghetto administration freed up additional barracks and later also private homes. Uncle Viktor became the head of the medical department in the Hamburg barracks and had the opportunity to move my mother, sister and me, so we once again lived together.

I began working in the head doctor's office, registering new cases. In the afternoon individual doctors came to the office and consulted about particularly difficult cases, about the progress of their illnesses and about the incidence of new cases. Roughly fifteen doctors would get together there and discuss further steps. I think that from this one can judge that given the primitive conditions, medical care was at a relatively decent level. Besides this, doctors from all of Central Europe were gradually concentrated in Terezin, so people with various experience.

There were also doctors that had experienced World War I, and knew the conditions of collective illness, infections and disease and emergency conditions, which sometimes helped resolve the situation, especially during times of jaundice, diphtheria, scarlet fever, typhus and dysentery. These were all very infections diseases. I myself had diphtheria, scarlet fever and jaundice. Back then Terezin didn't have a functional infectious disease hospital yet, so I always had to suffer through it in isolation.

Life in Terezin went on, and there was nothing left for us to do but accept it with everything that went on there. For example there was the roll call in the Bohusovice Hollow, known from literature. In the morning they led us out of the ghetto, where only necessary medical personnel and bedridden patients remained. We walked to a large meadow, and there we stood and the SS guarded us with dogs. No one knew why we were standing there or what was going to happen. We thought that someone had escaped, that they were going to count us. In reality no one counted us and towards evening they led us back again.

It seems like a pleasant outing, however to this day I remember the huge uncertainty that we had to live through there. Our parents had stayed in the ghetto, and my sister and I were there alone. We didn't know what was going on in the ghetto, and they what was happening to us. Besides that, the day was long and we weren't allowed to break rank. But we thought up a way to be able to get around it. Someone would take off their cloak, and would always hide the person that needed to go to the toilet. This experience came in handy later as well.

Transports left Terezin in irregular intervals. Our family was on Professor Dr. Strauss's 'Schutzliste' [German for 'protected list'], who had been deported to Terezin from Berlin at a very advanced age. The 'Schutzliste' was one of the benefits of prominent residents of Terezin. It was a list of people that a prominent person [an important scientist or meritorious and decorated officer of the German army from World War I, and so on] wanted to protect from the transport and thus keep them in Terezin. The protection worked only sometimes or only for a certain time span. Sometimes even the prominent ones themselves went onto the transport.

Uncle Viktor found Professor Strauss somewhere in an attic with pneumonia and because he knew him as a respected name, he took care of him and he paid him back by then protecting us. One day Uncle Viktor went to have a look into the so-called 'sloiska,' where, however, no one was allowed to go. [Sloiska (schleuse): the first building into which arrivals were herded and where they were stripped of all valuables.] The SS soldier there slapped him around, and likely on the basis of this incident my uncle and mother were put on the list for the second-last October transport in 1944. My sister and I volunteered to go along with them.

Thus it was that we were all deported to Auschwitz together. There were many of us, stuffed into the wagon, people were agitated, so they had diarrhea and we had only one pail at our disposal for this purpose. We arrived in Auschwitz and had absolutely no time to think, because right away the men were already separated from the women. We couldn't even say goodbye to our uncle, and we never saw him again. He was shot right after arrival, as I later found out. My mother looked relatively young, so she stayed with us, while women that were perhaps even younger in years, but looked worse, went to the other side, designated for death right off.

I don't remember the camp that we got into in Auschwitz. I know that there were eight of us lying on one bunk, and the first night our mother and we were sorry that we hadn't taken our own lives. Because we said to ourselves, that no matter what life would be like, that even if we survived, that it's not worth this kind of suffering. But fate didn't take our desires into account, and life went on. After three days came the selection. They didn't let our mother go with us, after the war I found out that she had died of dysentery about two weeks later.

My sister and I were then transported for about three days via Breslau and Dresden to Öderan, near Saska Kamenica [Klingenthal]. There, there was a textile mill that had been converted into a munitions factory. Two transports from Poland had arrived there ahead of us, one from Warsaw and the other from Krakow. All told there were five hundred of us girls, two hundred of that from Terezin. We lived there in one of the factory buildings, the drying rooms, which had the advantage that it had central heating and we didn't suffer so much from the cold. We slept, however, on three-story bunks, and because there weren't enough of them, two girls slept on each bunk. The boards were weak, and one day my sister and I fell through and so had no place to sleep. I'll never forget how two girls lay down together so that we could get some sleep. One was Dr. Freudova and the second was named Reisova, neither of them is alive now. I considered it to be an immensely good deed, that someone gave up the advantage of having a bed all for herself.

We worked in the munitions factory in alternating shifts, we worked on metal-shaping machines, unfortunately my sister and I weren't in the same workshop. We were constantly accompanied by that uncertainty, whether we'd see each other again after the shift. During weekdays the shifts were eight hours long, and on Sunday twelve hours. There was progressively less and less food. Even the German population didn't have much to eat, which we judged from the lunches of the German workers. One of the foremen used to occasionally give us soup that he brought from home. Otherwise, I think that the workers in the factory were convinced that we must have done something wrong, to be jailed, and that we were being rehabilitated, so they spoke to us very shortly and with disdain. Perhaps only that foreman realized what was really going on.

We had all been shaved bald from Auschwitz, and as time went on, our hair grew out and we needed a comb. One of the workers, an Italian war prisoner, made us a comb from a piece of aluminum, but he wanted three days' bread ration for it. My sister was far more disciplined that I was, and managed to save up one whole ration by eating a little less each day. And at Christmas we each got an extra ration, so for these three rations she bought that comb, with which several hundred girls then combed their hair.

I had tiny pearls in my ears, which were so small that in Auschwitz no one had spotted them. In the factory I sewed them into my dress, and looked upon them as financial security, that when the end of the war would arrive, we'd use them to pay for the train and go home. One girl had a sewing needle and there was enough yarn around, in light of the fact that it had been a textile mill before. When we arrived in Öderan, we unstitched the lining of the coats that we had been issued upon our departure from Auschwitz, and from that lining we would make bras, washcloths, towels and bits of rag for cleaning our teeth. We weren't allowed to wear underwear in bed, and my sister, who was fanatically hygiene-minded, rather slept without any underwear, than to have the same shirt on at night as during the day.

Each morning we had 'Zählappell' [assembly for enumeration] and everyone had to assemble. The one that was the first to arrive waited the longest, because he was then also the last to leave. We were used to discipline from home, and so when they said 'Zählappell,' we got up and went and stood in the corner where one waited the longest. We always said to ourselves that we're dumb and that we'll walk slowly, but during all those months never managed it.

Then news of the fact that the Germans were losing the war began to filter through. We observed how the SS women guards were whispering among themselves, and they allowed us to put on something like an evening of culture. In short, each one of us sang or recited something, according to ability. It was really a very nice evening, and then in closing one of the girls sang a German song, it was actually this hit back then: 'Eines Tages war alles aus, es ruhten endlich die Waffen.' [One day it was all over. Finally the weapons fell silent.] I remember that during this song we were very happy and the SS women were crying. The news that was reaching us buoyed us. We also heard that a peace conference was being planned in San Francisco in February, and we said to ourselves that a peace conference could only take place after the war. We had concrete hopes and began to count a bit on surviving. But there was still a long road ahead of us.

On the day the Americans arrived in Dresden, we had to abandon the machines, at noon they loaded us onto cattle wagons and carted us off. Later we found out that the Americans had occupied the factory four hours later, and then handed the territory over to the Soviets. Unforgettable for me is my memory of one of the foremen, who when we were leaving, when everyone knew that no one would ever make munitions there again, was fixing the machines. His task was simply to fix machines, so he did it even at a time when the war was practically over.

Each day they took us a few stations further in the direction of the Czechoslovak border. It was apparently this order that no train was allowed to stand at a station for longer than 24 hours. So we'd always arrive somewhere, spend a few hours there and then the train would start moving again. In this fashion we got to our hometown of Dubi, and thought about escaping. Unfortunately we had no one there who would have hidden us. So we stayed on the train and after seven days and eight nights we arrived in Litomerice, where they unloaded us and we proceeded on foot to Terezin. In Öderan we had gotten a loaf of bread for the road, plus one more during the trip, after that it was only turnips and the last day we had nothing to eat. When we had been stopped in the border region, in Bilina, the railway employees had brought us pails of tea, and the Germans didn't even protest any more, and let them give it to us.

When we arrived in Terezin, the first people we saw were Dr. Springer with a woman, it was our cousin from Rumburk with her husband. They took us all to a building by the Sokol club, they isolated us because they didn't know whether we have some infectious disease or not. As soon as we got our first food, we had diarrhea. We weren't used to food, much less to warm meals. I think that two days after our arrival, Mr. Dunant from the Red Cross arrived in Terezin, and with that we actually stopped being endangered by the Germans and were put under the protection of the International Red Cross. We got new clothes and fancied ourselves to be very elegant. Many reunions took place, among others we also saw our father again in Terezin, who had been protected by his 'Aryan' wife for most of that time, but three months before the end of the war he was transported to Terezin. There Father got pneumonia, of which he actually died four years later. What's more, he basically spent that entire time in bed.

Post-war">Post-war

When on 9th May 1945 we found out that Prague was already liberated, I was gripped by a mania and had to go there. I was convinced that my mother was in Prague. So we agreed that my sister would remain with our father and I'd somehow get to Prague. So I and three other girls from Öderan left with some partisans that had appeared in Terezin. We went on a truck with benches and a barrel of lard. We then found out that the truck had originally belonged to the Gestapo in Kladno, and had been confiscated by the partisans, who then took off along with that barrel of lard to go help Prague. But before we got to Prague the revolution was over, it was the morning of 10th May. I went to Aunt Gusti's place, and with this the war was over for me.

My husband was named Jaroslav Smolka. He was born in Bernatice in Southern Bohemia in 1900. We met on the street in Prague after the war, but we'd already known each other from Terezin, because his brother had married Uncle Viktor's first wife. In Terezin I had a friend, Zibrid Busch, whom I would probably have married after the war. Jaroslav had worked with him in Terezin, and knew his fate, because he had departed from Terezin one transport later than I. Along with another nine men, Zibrid had in Terezin been dumping the ashes of people out of paper boxes into the Ohra. These ten men were then shot by the Germans. When today we go to Terezin in May for the memorial ceremonies, we also go down to the river. Back then on the street, Jaroslav had told me that Zibrid would not be returning.

Jaroslav's father was named Josef Smolka and was born in 1856. He made a living selling farm machinery. His father was named Abraham and my husband's grandmother was Marie, nee Weilova. My husband's mother was named Regina Smolkova, born Finkova in 1863. She died in 1932. Her father was Jakub Fink, born in 1823 and her mother was Barbora, family name Fantlova. The Finks had a textile store, which was on the town square in Bernatice. So my husband's mother and father knew each other from the same village. Both families were Jewish.

Jaroslav graduated from high school in Pisek and continued his studies at the University of Economics in Prague. He had his first final exam, when in 1925 his father died. So Jaroslav returned, to take care of his mother and take over his father's business. His father had still made his rounds to the farmers on foot, to offer them farm machinery. Jaroslav already had a motorcycle. He always told me about how he wished that he wouldn't have to make a living in this way after the war, basically in the role of a supplicant, greatly dependent on how the harvest would end up, and if he would get paid in the end. He said that he'd be a civil servant after the war, which also happened.

In 1927 he married for the first time and moved along with his mother to Mirovice, where his wife was from. She was about two years younger and they had known each other from the age of 15, because both had attended school in Pisek and lived with one Jewish widow, because back then it was impossible to go home each day. The widow made a living by renting rooms, in one of them lived Jaroslav's future wife Zdenka along with her brother, and in the other Jaroslav with two other Jewish boys.

My husband's first wife was named Zdenka Smolkova, born in 1902. They had two children together, Hana, born in 1930, and Eva, born in 1929. The entire family was transported to Terezin, where both daughters died of meningitis, Hana in April of 1943 and Eva in March of 1944. Jaroslav and his wife were then transported further on to Auschwitz. Zdenka was sent straight into the gas. At the end of the war Jaroslav then survived a death march 17 and returned to Mirovice.

My husband had one sibling, his brother Arnost, who was ten years older. He had attended Czech schools. He worked as the director of the Unionbanka. He married Uncle Viktor's first wife and moved to Prague, where he then worked as the director of the Associated Glassworks, because his wife's family was one of the main stockholders of this company. They didn't have any children together. In 1939 they left for France right before the occupation of Czechoslovakia by the German army.

Before the war Jaroslav's father had voluntarily run the Jewish birth registry. Back then there were around ten Jewish families living in Bernatice. Jaroslav took over the running of the registry after his father's death, he had to write a registry exam at the Ministry of the Interior in Prague, and received permission to perform the function of a registrar. During and after the war, the Jewish community had some Dr. Freund as the registrar, and I don't know why, but they were looking for another registrar, and Jaroslav applied for the job and so that's how he got to Prague. The Jewish birth register was at first located at the Jewish community offices on Maiselova Street.

It took about six years before we were married. My husband was afraid of the large age difference, but for me, at the age of 21, it didn't matter at all. All my life I had actually gravitated towards older people, from the time I was little I was around older people. So for years we lived separately. In 1949 the Jewish community decided that it would turn a building in Siroka Street in Prague, where it had offices, into apartments for its employees. Unfortunately only for those that lived somewhere and could offer their own apartment in exchange. But my husband was renting, and I was living with Aunt Gusti. A friend of his helped him, who worked at the community and together with Mr. Gutig administered the Jewish community's real estate. In the neighboring building on Siroka Street he found a laundry room right at the top in the attic, and they had it converted to an apartment, which was then given to Jaroslav. I live here to this day.

Our wedding took place in 1954. We didn't have any children, both of us worked very hard, so we divided up the household chores. We had a beautiful relationship. At the beginning of our life together my husband said to me, 'I've got two requests. We'll never argue, and we'll never be without bread at home, because I don't want to be without bread ever again.' We really never argued, and I'd say that in time we melded to the degree that one actually didn't exist without the other. Among my husband's duties were cleaning the ashes from the stove in the morning, and bringing up coal from the cellar. My task was to then prepare everything so that in the evening one only had to strike a match. My husband rose a half hour earlier and would go to the washroom. He would then prepare breakfast, while I did my morning toilet. We purposely left enough time for breakfast and would have a nice conversation during it, because in the evenings we were tired.

Then we both went to work, we had the same route there and worked a little ways from each other. At first we both worked until 4pm, so we both again returned together. But then I got into higher positions, I often had to work overtime. My husband then used to do the shopping and in the evening I'd always cook supper.

Each Saturday and Sunday we'd go on outings in the region around Prague. But sometimes on weekends our place looked like an office, when we had a lot of work and took it home with us. For vacations we took trips around our country, I was familiar with nature in all of Czechoslovakia. We were always drawn more to the mountains and forests than to water.

Once we were on vacation in Yugoslavia, but we used it more to explore the country than to sunbathe. Once we were also at the sea in Sopoty, Poland. My husband didn't ski, and neither did I any more, though in childhood it had been a passion of mine. During that last winter in 1938 in Dubi I went skiing right after school like always, but for some reason my eyes were watering and I couldn't see anything, and I ran into a tree. I came to on the ground, one ski was broken and the other in a stream. And from that time on I was afraid. Besides that, back then we had to give up our skis, for the Reich's army, and after the war we didn't have the money to equip ourselves again.

We attended a lot of concerts, theater and exhibitions. I wasn't until the last two years that my husband's hearing was bad, so we began going to plays that he already knew, so he would at least see them. That last year I attended with only my former colleague from work and Jaroslav would always walk me to the theater and then come meet me afterwards. We used to go mainly to the Rudolfinum, National Theater and so on, which we had close by.

My husband was somewhat similar to my father in that he preferred spending his free time with me, and didn't need to associate with other people. He also read a lot, like my father. He respected the fact that one day a week my aunt would come visit us, and that we would visit her once a week. He liked my sister, who lived in Teplice, but occasionally came here to visit, and we would visit her, too.

After the war I met a person I knew who offered me a job as secretary in the company he worked for. I asked what they required. They wanted the ability to type and at least passive knowledge of some foreign language. Besides this I also knew German shorthand from school, and right after the war I had also taught myself Czech and English shorthand from textbooks. So I started there in October 1945. Sometime in 1947 my former colleague from this company got me into the company 'Rudolf Novotny,' which imported industrial dyes, where I made use of both my knowledge of shorthand and foreign languages. But then Victorious February 18 arrived and they liquidated our little private company.

Later, in 1948, I started working as a secretary for the Strojimport company, located in Prague on Wenceslaus Square, which did business internationally. I worked there until I retired in 1977. I started as a secretary in the machine tool department, gradually I worked my way up to departmental manager, then I became a vice-director in the woodworking machinery department and later for some time we had no director, so I managed a group of about 70 people. But I never counted on being named director, as I had never been a member of the Communist Party. They never directly pushed me into joining the Party, but of course offered me membership. Nevertheless, in the meantime the Slansky trials 19 took place, which were so markedly anti-Semitic that I refused to join.

An illegal Communist movement had existed in Terezin, so after the war many people automatically joined the Communist Party 20 and accepted the Communist ideology. I guess that in all of us there was a certain gratitude towards the Soviet Union for liberating us, but I definitely wasn't all fired up over Communism. In the machine tool department I had one colleague, who was ten years older, wasn't Jewish, but her husband had died in Terezin in the Little Fortress 21. She lived alone with her daughter and had a boyfriend whose husband had also died in the Little Fortress. She was a party member, I think that she liked me. Once she told me, 'It's not out of the question that the committee will invite you to join the Party. Do what you want, of course, but if you want to preserve at least a bit of freedom, think it over, because otherwise you'll be limited by party discipline.' That was also one of the reasons why I decided to not join the Party.

They invited my husband to join the Party in writing, but he refused and never regretted it, although it brought him troubles. The StB 22 interrogated him many times, they were always looking for some reason and made life unpleasant for him. From his student years he had belonged to the Association of Czech Academic Jews 23, which had been founded back around the year 1890. They supported Czech Jewish culture, published books, organized their own balls. University students were always involved, but after the war they didn't have any successors, they had no means of public action. Also only a few of them survived, they always met at someone's apartment, mainly in Holesovice at the Fuchs brothers' who were architects.

But the StB also persecuted my husband because of the Jewish community, I think that their interest was caused by anti-Semitism, that they were more or less looking for a reason to put one more Jew in jail. The police didn't like the fact that my husband wouldn't let them look into the birth registers, so they could find out who was of Jewish origin. Then, in 1953 the birth registries were nationalized, and my husband moved along with them from the Jewish community to the District Bureau, back then the National Committee, on Vodickova Street. My husband was quite conservative and was used to his chair and desk. When he was leaving, the community lent them both to him, and he took them with him to the National Committee. The police then made a case of it and accused him of stealing the desk and chair, and interrogated him several times because of it. From the year 1950 onwards we were also certain that we were bugged, so we were very careful during phone conversations. That lasted a good twenty years.

At work everyone knew that I was Jewish, I never tried to hide it in any way. I'd say that they quite respected the fact that I had survived the Holocaust. I'd be lying if I said that I was badly off there. In my political profile it stated that I was the daughter of a businessman, a porcelain manufacturer. It was put in a very oblique manner, they could have come right out and written that I come from a bourgeois family and that I'm the daughter of an industrialist, as it was put back then. I even got a state award, 'For Excellent Work,' for which the company had nominated me.

It began with the fact that we were tasked with importing some set of machines for making hardware. It was a purchase that involved a great deal of money. The general directorship had an offer for these machines from one Austrian company, which had good connections here and had lots of contacts, so received a lot of opportunities. But from their offer there was no way of telling who manufactured the machines, the only thing that they told me was that they were from the United States. This was in 1964, when the political atmosphere in Czechoslovakia was beginning to loosen up a bit. People began to receive permission to travel abroad. I told my husband to try requesting an exit permit, because his brother Arnost was in America, whom he hadn't seen in a long time. He said that he wouldn't go without me, but I knew that they wouldn't give both of us a permit, for fear that we'd then stay. My husband got the exit permit.

Working with me as another vice-director was Vladimir Boruvka, a Czech by origin, but born in the Ukraine. At the age of 17 he volunteered for the army and fought in good faith for the Red Army, with which he ended up in Vienna at the end of the war. He then came from Vienna to visit his relatives in Pilsen, where his family was from. And when he saw how good life was here, although he was a committed Communist, he brought his mother and sister here and settled with them in Karlovy Vary.

As a member of the tank corps he had an open door into foreign trade and at first worked in the Soviet Union for Motokov, which was a part of the company that imported and exported cars. He came over to us in Strojimport as a vice-director and sat with me in one office. He didn't like the fact that I hadn't submitted a request for an exit permit, and talked me into writing one up and giving it to him. He then took it and vouched for me, that I wouldn't emigrate. I got the permission, so my husband and I were able to spend four weeks with my brother-in-law in America. Vladimir died on a train from Moscow to Vladivostok after the year 1989. I remember him as a good person, back then I wasn't the only one he helped.

So I was in America, and knew that those machines for the hardware industry were supposed to be from there. I had a copy of the Austrian company's offer. In New York in the phone book I found some association of machine tool manufacturers, who couldn't help me, but who gave me this large catalog, so I could try to find among the appropriate manufacturers someone who would be appropriate to the size of the order. I actually succeeded in doing so, and I then asked that company for an offer, which in the end was 45 percent lower than the one from the Austrian company. In that same year I then flew to America one more time for a few days, with the general director and his two assistants, so we could negotiate the technical details of the deal directly in the factory in Chicago. The company then nominated me for an award, which I received in 1968.

My husband and I didn't consciously consider emigration, my husband was too old to start over somewhere else, and I was glad that I didn't have to abandon Aunt Gusti, who died in 1972. My husband and I weren't Zionists, so leaving for Israel didn't tempt us either. But we did take an interest in events over there. In 1948 Israel was created 24 still with the support of the Soviet Union, it became a problem the moment the Communists realized that Israel wouldn't belong to the Eastern Bloc. So from that time on, all information about events in Israel was very biased.

In 1968 25 we were very happy due to the growing freedom, the possibility of traveling. A year earlier my brother-in-law and his wife had been in Europe, and we met them in London. I won't forget how on Mustek in Wenceslaus Square my husband and I saw the Soviet tanks arriving, it was very ugly. My brother-in-law paid a dear price for the August invasion. He was very frightened by it, he managed to send us a telegram, whether we were all right and what could he do for us, and four days later he died of a heart attack.

I've always been a member of the Jewish community. On Fridays my husband used to attend the Old New Synagogue, and sometimes they'd come get him on Saturday, when they were missing a tenth person [for a minyan]. For Yom Kippur we always fasted, and I do so to this day. For Passover my husband, as opposed to me, ate matzot, as he was used to from the village, he dipped them into coffee with milk. My mother used to drip honey on them. What I do know of Jewish traditions is from Jaroslav. He knew how to pray, we attended the Jerusalem Synagogue together. My husband had a Czech-Hebrew prayer book, and I think that he knew how to read Hebrew. After the war we didn't celebrate Christmas or Easter. At Christmastime we had only some evergreen branches in a vase, because they had a beautiful fragrance, and belonged to the winter season.

My husband died in September 1983 in Prague, he's buried at the Jewish urn grove in the Strasnice quarter. Right after the funeral I left to be with my sister, who died at the beginning of November that same year. She survived the war with me, we went though it all together. At the end of the war she was 29 years old. She worked her whole life as a nurse, after the war in the Teplice hospital. During one operation she caught polio, which very much influenced the state of her health. After that she even had one leg paralyzed. She also suffered from diabetes and other diseases.

My sister married a Jew, Kurt Bloch, and lived in Sobedruhy, near Teplice. Her husband was ten years older and they didn't have any children together. Before the war, Kurt's father had a prosperous textile factory in Sobedruhy. Kurt studied at a specialized textile school in Germany, and upon his return started working in his father's factory, but didn't do a lot of work. As their youngest son, his parents spoiled him. He had been the first in Teplice to have a car, which back then wasn't something common. He had a merry little crew that he traveled around Europe with. Apparently his father supplied him with money, and his mother with recommendations.

After the war, after hotels were nationalized, he then worked as an accountant in the state company Hotely, where my sister met him. My sister was renting a place in Teplice, and her landlady worked for Hotely as a lawyer. Back then Kurt was married to his first wife, a German, who suffered from multiple sclerosis. Kurt knew that my sister worked in a hospital, and so he asked her if she could bring the necessary medicines, so he wouldn't have to always go to the hospital. My sister thus took care of Kurt's wife for three or four years, up until her death. Then after some time had passed, she and Kurt were married, in 1957.

My sister died at the age of 67. She had a Jewish funeral in Teplice. After her death Kurt wanted me to stay and live with him in Teplice. That didn't attract me though, and luckily God arranged it otherwise. Back then I slipped on some snow and broke my arm. So I wasn't of any use to him. I left for Prague right away, while the plaster was still wet. From that time on I called Kurt every day and once a month would come and visit him, but as soon as I arrived I would begin counting the minutes until my return. Kurt was a gregarious person and people liked him. He was entertaining and knew a lot. But I had the feeling that he had never appreciated my sister's true worth. Kurt died four years after her, in 1987.

My neighbor in our building used to give me the illegal magazine Listy 26, which was published in Rome by Jiri Pelikan. [Pelikan, Jiri (1923 - 1999): Czech journalist and politician. In 1969 requested political asylum in Italy. From 1970 published the leftist-oriented magazine Listy. 1979 - 1989 a member of the European Parliament.] She always said to me, 'You can have it for an hour.' Or: 'You can keep it overnight, but in the morning throw it in my hallway.' I didn't know by what fashion she came by the magazine. It wasn't until after the revolution that I found out that the son of Jiri Dienstbier [Dienstbier, Jiri (b. 1937): Czech journalist, politician and diplomat], who used to bring her the magazine, had been a student of hers. She taught at an industrial vocational school, which to this day is located in Prague's Old Town, and Dienstbier's son also started attending that school, because he couldn't get into an academic high school.

From the year 1987 I read Listy in this manner, and it was then that it first occurred to me that the regime here didn't have to last forever. But I was convinced that I wouldn't live to see the change. So I enthusiastically greeted the revolution, my only regret was that neither my husband nor my sister had lived to see it. My husband would have been even more excited than I.

The revolution 27 for me came at a time when I had already long been retired. What changed my life the most was the possibility of travel, which we used copiously. Many new people appeared in my life.

I could finally freely keep in touch with my childhood friend, Lidka Kozlikova. Her son liked bicycling a lot, and often would pass by the Bernstein Chateau in Northern Bohemia, about 14 kilometers from Melnik. And as he was always riding by, he would apparently always say to himself, this is how I'd like to live one day. He studied construction in Chomutov, and then Lidka and her family immigrated to Germany in 1969. Later she and her husband moved to be with her sister in Canada. Between the years 1969 and 1983 our contact was sporadic. Lidka used to write to her mother in Mseno, near Melnik, from where I then sometimes got news and photos. Then in 1983 Lidka and her husband paid to have their Czechoslovak citizenship cancelled, so that they could come visit their aging relatives in the CSSR. They were here for the first time in 1983, only a few days before my husband's death.

After the revolution in 1989, Lidka's son returned to Czech and bought the chateau, which had become quite dilapidated during the Communist years. He found employees in the town, and gradually repaired and improved the chateau, which is a protected historical site. Today he lives there with his girlfriend, and both of them are very hardworking and clever people. They don't have the chateau as a tourist attraction, but offer it for various social and company occasions. But when a person comes there, he can take a walk in the chateau park, part of which is also a golf course, and sit down on the chateau terrace, where they sell food and drink. Lidka died recently, in the spring of 2005. Lidka's widowed husband, who's approaching 90, moved to the Czech Republic to be with his son, and helps out at the chateau.

In 1991 as part of the restitutions I requested the return of the Hahn house in Teplice and of our house in Dubi. The house in Teplice was returned to me, but the Hahns had two more houses, which to this day haven't been returned. It always depends on whether the person that is using the property is willing to return it or not. Over 500 people found work in my father's factory, which was a condition that led to nationalization after the war, according to the Benes Decrees. Lawyers told me straight out to try have the factory returned. I tried only to get our house in Dubi, which my parents had originally bought together, and which the Communists then proclaimed to be part of the factory and also nationalized it. Unfortunately in the meantime the North Bohemia Forests company moved into it, and didn't want to leave it. I'd have to take it all the way to the Supreme Court, and I certainly didn't want to spend the rest of my life going to court and paying lawyers. That was also one of the reasons why I didn't try to get the porcelain factory, either. I basically said to myself that life is too short for things like that.

I got the house in Teplice back, because the director of the Regional Museum, which was located there, was very decent and admitted that the house didn't belong to them. We came to an agreement, and the museum remained on the ground floor for a token rent. In return they allocated one room where our Dubi porcelain was exhibited. The house needed a new facade and other investments that I didn't have the money for, so later I sold it.

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